#there's five chapters left and this one is probably the longest and i want it to be good

[wewindondowntheroad]

i've got the doc open, i just can't bring myself to reread this chapter

[alonetimelover]

Action! - tolerate it - 2020

Pairings: Harry Styles x Director!Reader

Summary: YN sees how much Harry is distancing himself from her and their relationship. She decides to confront him, not realising the cascade of events about to happen and the feelings she had buried within herself.

Warnings: angst! swearing, mention of unfaithfulness

Word count: ~3,0k

A/N: Another one based on a song, like the title says: tolerate it by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoy it! x

requested by @abbeyroad069 I hope it meets your expectations 💗

part 2 - champagne problems

series masterlist let's talk about action!universe

20th of June was, like any day in California, warm and sultry.

Sun high above illuminating his face through the dimmed windows. Book that she recommended to him in his hands, flipping pages from time to time, annotating it. Scribbling in his notebook after having found a noteworthy quote. His hair falling into place like dominoes, the pink hair-slide having been forgotten from the gym the other day. Rolled up sleeves, showing his multiple tattoos and shorts, short enough to give her a peak of his Brazil one. 

She was sitting opposite him watching. Observing his head hanging low, reading the book she loved so much. His chest was rhythmically lifting with each of the deep and calm breath. His left hand, folding down the pages he’d already read. The right one fiddling with the pencil. 

She noticed everything he did and didn’t do. 

She sat and watched him. 

“I can feel your eyes on me, baby,” Harry spoke without sparing her a glance. “You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.” Scrutinising. 

Harry closed the book and turned to her, “are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Not now, at least. Also that plant hasn’t changed since the day we bought it,” he noted, noticing her eyes watching the flower. 

He was wrong. Not for the first and probably last time. That plant was the fourth she brought to their shared house. The first one, that Harry was alluding to, was overwatered, because before it, YN hadn’t known much about plants and had thought they needed water like people, every day. But it was succulent. YN replaced it within two weeks. 

The second plant, a completely different one - a fuchsia, didn’t last longer. This one being unfortunately knocked over by a dog of YN’s friend, and chewed on, leaving just two flowers. Nothing she could’ve done with them, she searched it up. 

The third one lasted the longest - almost three months. She only needed to replace it, having learned she was allergic to ficus. After weeks of a runny nose, sneezing whenever in a living room and lacrimation, she went to a doctor, did allergic tests and wallowed over her proud achievement that a living plant was. However, she gave it to her best friend, knowing it would be in good hands. 

Harry didn’t notice any change. It couldn’t have been easy for him though. Today was the first day in five months that he decided to actually spend time with YN. During those months he was meeting up with his new costars (of a movie YN was a director of), his management (discussing newest album), his bandmates (talking over new tour dates). All of that after having begged YN for moving in with him in LA, due to worldwide quarantine. 

“You know it’s an orchid?” She asked after some time. 

“Sure.”

“And the one we bought together was a crassula.”

“You threw away our Farquad?” He asked, exaggerating the hurt.  

 “Three months - no, wait - almost four months ago. I overwatered it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s not even the funniest part,” YN started to sound sarcastic. “I then bought a totally different plant that Doger knocked over and ate. Then another one that I - how it turned out - am allergic to. This one is the fourth plant here. I bought it two weeks ago. Isn’t it hilarious?”

“You’re being sarcastic. And I don’t even know what for, YN.” Harry reached for his book, attempting to restart the chapter. 

YN was very much surprised by how quickly and drastically the person she loved could change. One talkative person who wanted to discuss the slightest and smallest problem with his partner was not here. One caring person, who was hurt whenever his loved one was, felt absent. One gentle man, who looked after his partner trying to be the best for her lost the title.

“You understand it’s not about plants?” 

“It sounds like it is,” he said dismissively, staring at the book. 

“But it isn’t. It’s about you, about us, Harry.” She emphasised the pronoun.  

“YN,” he sighed, closing the book once again. “You’re starting this pointless argument for the third time this month.”

Fifth, she thought. It was the fifth time she tried to talk it over with Harry. Perhaps, she felt, she was misreading everything. Perhaps, the neglect she felt wasn't real. She must have been exaggerating the situation. Nothing changed. He loved her as much as yesterday or two years ago. It was pointless after all.

She was waiting by the door just like she was just a kid. Waiting, having laid the table with a ‘fancy shit’ as Harry called the tableware that he’d got from his mother. It was their anniversary. YN wanted to celebrate it simply, a cosy dinner with his favourite dish, Harry’s best wine and Phil Collins playing in the background. Nothing over the top. Just them, solemnising their third year together. 

He was late. Two and half hours late. 

Was she mad? She should have been, but was hopeful. Always putting so much faith in him. 

“What are you doing still up, love?” He asked tiptoeing into the house, five hours later.

“Happy anniversary!” 

She smiled from one ear to the other, holding up the cake she had baked by herself that morning. Even though, deep down she was sad and disappointed, celebrating this milestone was more important. They’d forget about this tardiness tomorrow, only remembering what was worth it.

“Oh! Indeed, happy anniversary, babe.” His eyes not knowing where to look. He forgot.

She hated being called babe. 

“Did you have dinner?”

“Yeah, I’m full.” He patted his stomach, simultaneously taking off his black trainers. “We went to this new sushi restaurant I’d talked to you about. It was amazing! The chef was so nice, giving me a tip on how to chop the spring onions correctly.” Oh, how eager he was about it. 

“Exciting. So you won’t be eating any tacos I made?” She asked hopefully. 

“‘M sorry, YN. I’m so tired, I'm just gonna shower and head to bed. Tomorrow’s morning I’m meeting up with Olivia to talk over the few scenes we’ve got together,” Harry said, yawning and already going up the stairs. 

Harry’s and Olivia’s characters didn’t have any scenes where they would talk with each other. 

“It’s not an argument. I want to kindly and calmly talk with you. When was the last time we actually discussed our relationship?” 

“Is there anything to discuss? We’re fine.”

“Harry,” YN sat up straight, giving Harry a pointer that he’d better listen. “You don’t only discuss your relationship when something’s wrong. And,” she paused, pondering about the next question, “you really think we’re fine?”

“Yes!” He lifted up his voice, becoming edgy. “Day after day you’re insinuating something. Just say it fucking straight, whatever that is on your heart, lay it on me.” 

If she did as he had said, would it mean the end? The confrontation was the last thing she wanted. Especially when Harry already was wired. But at the same time, when would be a better moment?

“I don’t think we’re fine. We’re growing apart,” she admitted. 

“It’s your opinion.”

“Yes, it is! Thank you for noticing, Harry,” YN expressed sarcastically. “Don’t you see how much you’ve distanced yourself from this -” She pointed between them. “This relationship?”

“Distanced? I’m working, YN. I’m trying to write an album. I’m working on three films. I’m managing a relationship with you.”

“Managing?” Her voice smaller, the weight of his words landing on her.

“Of course, it’s the only fucking thing you’ve heard. Of course.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

Harry stood up from the armchair, throwing his book on an oaken coffee table. His hands brushing over his hair and then beard, he’d grown over the quarantine. 

“It’s not. You’re working, Harry. I understand that. I see you writing music and preparing for your roles. I’m here. Just like you wanted me to be. How you begged me to be.” She tried staying as calm as possible. “I am here and you’re not.”

“What do you want me to do, YN? Hmm? I can’t be at the two places at the same time. I can’t give you as much attention as you crave. I can’t.” He was throwing his hands up and down, talking with them as well. 

“Is it craving attention by just wishing your partner was there for you?”

“You think I’m not?”

“Stop asking stupid questions, Harry!” She broke her calmness, all her feelings finally having space to leave her body. “You’re not here. Not at home, not in this relationship.”

“I just said, I can’t give you all the attention you crave, “ he repeated. 

“Love?”

“What?”

“What about love? Can you give it to me?”

“Oh, now you’re sounding ridiculous. I’m done with this conversation, YN.”

He moved swiftly over the table and rushed towards the stairs. 

“I love you, Harry. Can you say it?”

He can’t, she said in her mind, observing how his shoulders tensed, halting his movements. Then, her eyes started getting teary. But she wasn’t going to cry in front of him. No. She’d wait and just like over the last two weeks, she’d wait for him to go to sleep, then she’d sit down in the downstairs bathroom and sob. Sob for minutes or hours. Shaking with all the emotions trapped inside, hurting every inch of her body.

She knew her love should have been celebrated. 

“If it’s all in my head just tell me now,” she whispered, knowing he could hear her. “Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. Tell me that for the last five months you haven’t lied about where you were going. Tell me that you really didn’t forget about our anniversary. Tell me that she’s not the one you’re going to every day. Tell me I’m wrong. I beg you,” she whimpered. 

Pathetic, she thought. 

He still hadn’t moved. Maybe he was preparing his apology, or a break up discourse, where YN’s thoughts. 

“YN,” Harry sighed, still not looking in her direction. 

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She pressed him. 

“I - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if I’m wrong or you don’t know what to say?”

“I didn’t cheat on you.” His voice was low, like it wasn’t really his. 

Many would laugh but she had never thought about it. She trusted him too much to even consider it. From day one of their relationship to this day, she’d never believed any rumour, any post on social media, any article, any fan, any ‘friend’. She believed him, she believed his ‘I love you’s, his ‘I care about you’s, his ‘you’re the love of my life’, his ‘you’re the only one for me’. No doubt there. 

What she thought and worried about was him falling out of love.

And there were more and more signs it had already happened.

“I know. It never crossed my mind.”

Harry’s mood was changing constantly for the last 20 minutes. From very relaxed, to riled up, then annoyed and eventually scared. His mind was full of enigmas he couldn’t solve. Mixed emotions and feelings, messing with him. 

“Then what are you accusing me of?”

“Assuming I - we - are fine.”

“YN-”

“Harry. Be genuine. If not with me, then - then just with yourself.” The least she could do was make him realise it.

“I am. I - I am genuine. I -” he gulped. “I love you.” 

It was like a dagger stabbing her in the heart. The sentence, echoing in her brain, quizzical voices talking over each other, ragging on her. 

Where was that man who’d throw blankets over her barbed wire? She made him her temple, her mural, her sky. Temple, she went to ask for advice, direction, forgiveness and adoration. Mural, she appreciated all over and watched being appreciated by so many. Sky, she couldn’t imagine living without, looking up to it, thanking it for its presence. 

“I love you.” 

But this one was full of it, full of actual love. It could say everything just by the way she expressed it, all feelings inside it. No more to add, nothing to cut. Just three words. Three sincere words. 

“Please,” he begged, knowing what was awaiting him. “Can we go to sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise.”

Letting it slide would mean not talking about it until the moment she’d grow some confidence. She couldn’t do it. As much as it hurt her, what was coming, she needed to be strong. She needed to hear it. No matter the heartbreak. 

“You’ll break that promise. Promises about coming home on time, meeting me up for lunch, going with me to that new sushi restaurant, showing me your newest idea for a song. Promises you break, one after the other since February.” She stood up, walking up to him. “Promises about missing me-”

“Stop.”

“Promises about caring about me.”

“I said stop, YN.” His voice slowly gaining power. 

“Promises about loving me-”

“I said stop!” He shouted, making her flinch. “Stop it, YN! The way you feel doesn’t give you a reason to put it on me, making me feel like a monster, like the one responsible for everything.”

“But you promised all those things, not meeting them at the end.”

“So what?”

She begged her brain to play with her. He didn't just say it. 

“Harry, you lied so many times that I don’t know what’s true anymore. Last month, you talked about meeting Jeff for coffee and the next day there were photos of you with Olivia all over the internet. Few days ago you mentioned the trip with Chris and Gemma, but the same day the trip is going to be, are the days Gemma is spending at her parent’s farm and Chris is visiting our house. Today you said you loved me and - and -,” she couldn’t say it. 

This conversation felt like running up to the finish line of the run, you didn’t want to participate in. One that wouldn’t bring you fulfilment. One that would leave you sore all over, but mostly hurting your poor heart. One that the winner - you - would be an actual loser. 

He stood silently, looking down at his white socks. He couldn’t bring himself to look in her eyes. She made him aware of his feelings. Or the lack of them. This whole conversation not only angered or annoyed him but mostly made him think. Why did he lie so many times? Why couldn’t he stop? What was he thinking then and now? When did it all start? When did he lose it? Where was he, not realising he was hurting one person he promised not to lay a finger on? Why wasn't there any guilt? If so, why couldn’t he look into her eyes?

“When was the last time you asked anything about my life? Do you remember what show I’m working on? Do you remember the date we scheduled to fly to London? Do you remember anything?” She started listing everything that was bothering her.

“I told you about that new show,” she started answering for him. “Stranger Things. I wrote that one character, a guy who loves music, is an outcast. Character that is so close to my heart. One, I’m proudest of. Do you remember talking about it? Or rather me telling you about it?”

Silence. 

“What about that one conversation about going upstate to my cabin? We’re supposed to leave in three days. Or are you meeting up with Olivia to discuss scenes that you do not have together?” 

Perhaps she was jealous. And perhaps, deep down, she thought about the possibility. The infidelity. She was so stunned with the love he made her used to be, trust he provided, that the concept of him being unfaithful was buried within other problems. 

“I’ll pack some stuff and leave for a few days.” It was all he said, before moving upstairs, leaving her flabbergasted. 

Like in a trance, all feelings leaving her body, she walked to the couch and sat down. Thoughts were swirling in her mind, making her numb. She looked across the room, finding the photo of her and Harry from their first visit at Anne’s, laughing maniacally because Gemma had said something funny. It was the first time she met his family properly (in real life, not on FaceTime), seven months into the relationship. It was crazy how now she considered them her family too. Even more than her own.

Was it all going to collapse now? 

“Now, lovebirds, big smiles for the family album!” Anne shouted over Christmas music playing loudly. 

The warmth coming from the fireplace behind her, and the one provided by Harry, made her cheeks feel hot. Matching sweater she had bought for her and Harry, tickling her neck, big woollen socks she got from Gemma tucking her. They were right after the big dinner, carols singing and gifts exchanging. It all felt like Christmas portrayed in movies. 

“It’s an honour, you know,” Harry whispered. 

“What d’you mean?” She looked up at him. 

“Mum has a big album with only a few photos from each year ending up there. I think it’s the last vacant space for 2018, love.” Harry squeezed her closer to himself, cuddling her. “Now say cheese or gimme a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you in front of your mum!” she protested with a teasing smile. 

“Don’t be a prude,” he joked. “One, little kiss?” 

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’. 

“Don’t make me beg.” Harry pouted, stepping on the dangerous territory. His pointing finger holding her chin, making her look at him once again. 

He smirked, “you look even more beautiful today, my love.” Smirk turning into his winning smile. 

“You are unbelievable,” she shook her head, slightly puckering her lips. 

“Okay, that’s enough flirting!” Gemma yelled. “Mum snap a photo before you become grandma.”

They laughed in embarrassment but underneath feeling peaceful.

With a Gucci suitcase in hand, Harry appeared in a corner of her eye, almost swimming to the front door. 

“I’ll be back in a few days. I - I need to think about it all. I lo - I’ll see you then, YNN.” 

Just that. 

The door closed, soon being followed by the sound of the engine starting and slowly withering. 

She knew her love should’ve been celebrated. But he tolerated it.

And she did nothing.

She sat and watched him. 

[peachy-panic]

Companion, pt. 2

A (slightly delayed) follow up to this chapter. Jaime & Sebastian add another member to their little makeshift household.

WARNINGS: The usual BBU stuff, animal shelter setting, collars, mentions of past foster care, anxiety, but mostly good things happening here.

The animal shelter they chose is in the heart of the city. Their website mentioned that they often deal with overpopulation, since it’s the biggest one in the area, so Sebastian thought they might have the most positive impact by adopting from them. They have a list of available animals with photos that they update daily, but Jaime turned down Sebastian’s offer to look through them.

He doesn’t tell him that swiping through a catalog of strays, deciding their fate behind the comfort of a computer screen, feels too much like how a prospective Keeper might shop for their Companion. How someone once shopped for him.

They make a plan to go on Saturday morning, and Jaime spends the rest of the week quietly stewing in an unnamed anxiety. He doesn’t bring it up—not when Sebastian talks excitedly about pet toys he found online over dinner, not when his nerves cut into his ability to fall asleep at night, and certainly not when he is buckled into the passenger seat, watching the big, yellow bridge that leads into downtown come into view. 

The building itself is large but sparse, all cement-gray walls and scuffed floors and signs of age that reflect a probable lack of funding. As they walk through the main hallway, flanked by rows of doors and cages, Jaime thinks that it reminds him a little of the training facility. He keeps that to himself, too. 

There is a volunteer—a young woman with her hair in a bun and a stain on her shirt—showing Jaime and Sebastian around. 

“The dogs are back this way,” she says. “Green tags on the doors are puppies under six months. Yellow tags mean they can be a little jumpy around people, red equals not good matches for homes with young children. Blue tags mean they’re seniors. Those are usually the ones that have been with us the longest.”

Jaime tries hard not to think about what happens to the senior dogs that overstay their welcome. 

“Cats are on this side,” she continues, pointing to her left. “We just ask that you wash your hands if you enter one of the playrooms, and avoid direct contact with any red tags. Any questions?”

Sebastian looks at Jaime, who tenses slightly at the attention but shakes his head. 

“I think we’re all good.” Sebastian says. 

She smiles. “Just let us know if you have any questions.”

With a nod, they set off down the hall on their own, Jaime sticking close to Sebastian’s heels. 

“So,” Sebastian says, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “Anywhere in particular you want to start? Young? Old? Big? Small?”

Jaime looks around at all the cages, suddenly overwhelmed—by the decision, by the sharp whines and barks for attention, by the closeness of the other prospective adopters, by the sad, watchful eyes of the animals as people pass them by. By the collars fastened around their necks, reminding Jaime of the weight of his own, the visibility of it peeking up through the dip in the sweatshirt neckline. Absently, he touches the warm metal with his fingertips. 

Sebastian seems to sense his discomfort, because he eases back. “You know what? Maybe we just take a lap or two and see what happens,” he says. “Maybe there will be an instant connection.”

They start with a black lab with a green tag on his cage door, who instantly jumps up and tries to paw at them when Sebastian sinks into a crouch.

“Well, aren’t you full of energy?” Sebastian’s voice lifts into a high sing-song tone when he speaks to the dogs, and the surprise of it is so endearing that it momentarily pulls Jaime from his inward spiral. “Only five months old,” he says to Jaime.

Against his wishes, memories of a long lost life in foster care rise to the surface. Jaime had been old enough when he entered to know that his chances of finding a family to adopt him were low, and only getting lower with each passing birthday.

“I’m sure she’ll be very popular,” Jaime says.

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees, sticking his finger through one of the holes in the grate so that the puppy can sniff him. “You’ll find a home in no time, sweet girl.”

They move past a few more cages, Sebastian seemingly thrilled with the prospect of bringing any one of them home, but Jaime’s anxiety only grows. It’s when they come upon a cage with a golden labrador puppy—one that looks a little too similar to the fading image he has of a puppy from his childhood—that he reaches a breaking point. 

He takes a few steps away—not so far as to wander away from Sebastian’s watch, but a couple of doors down the row. Jaime takes slow, deep breaths as he looks down at the sleeping dog in the kennel in front of him, trying to imagine her laying on Sebastian’s living room rug. Trying not to imagine what it might look like to feed her every day, to brush her, to walk her, to love her, and then to leave her behind in six months when Jaime is called back to the facility. 

Sebastian doesn’t seem to mind Jaime’s straying, so he allows himself the space, moving slowly along the row of animals. He makes it all the way to the end of the hall when a flash of movement catches his eye. At the corner, secluded away from the glass-walled play rooms, is a singular cage with a black cat inside. The flash of movement he saw, it seems, was the cat’s abrupt recoil from a pair of reaching hands.

“Don’t put your fingers in the cage!” A young mother scolds, grabbing her child’s wrist and pulling him back from the cage. “You’re going to get bit.”

The kid gies a grumble of complaint but moves onto the next door quickly, not sparing a look back at the cage. Jaime watches as the black cat shrinks even further behind a wadded up blanket, pressing herself to the back corner of the cage, where no one can reach. Her bright, green eyes scan the area, back and forth, watching for invaders. She doesn’t look aggressive, Jaime thinks. She looks scared. 

Without realizing it, Jaime has taken a step toward the cage. He sees both a blue and a yellow tag on the door and tries to remember what the codes mean. On a small slip of paper at the top of the cage, the name “Bella” is written out in sharpie. 

“Hi Bella,” he whispers, barely audible. “You’re okay.”

Slowly, broadcasting the movement as much as he can, he lifts a hand and places the tip of his finger just at the edge of the cage; not enough to intrude the walls of her space, but hopefully enough to be a show of invitation. Bella looks at his finger for a long few seconds, then up at his eyes. Stupidly, Jaime smiles, like it might soften her to him.  

“Pretty eyes, right?”

The sudden voice startles him, even more for the fact that it isn’t Sebastian’s. He pulls his hand away like it was burned and turns to find another young woman with a volunteer shirt on. 

“Sorry,” he says automatically.

“No need,” she says, then nods her head toward the cage. “I think you’ve got her attention.” 

Jaime looks back at the cage and finds that the cat has taken a few steps out from her hiding spot, a curious nose pointed where Jaime’s finger had been. Carefully, darting a quick look at the woman for approval, Jaime lifts his hand again. This time, the cat only stares at it for a few seconds before she bumps her nose against his skin. A breath of a laugh startles out of him. 

“That’s the most contact she’s had with anyone on her own terms,” the girl says. “She must like you.”

“Can I ask…?” Jaime starts then hesitates. The woman's gaze dips, almost unwittingly, to Jaime’s throat. He watches something flash across her expression before she schools it with a neutral look. 

“You can ask me,” she tells him. 

“Why is she in a cage by herself? Away from the other cats?”

“She’s FIV+.”

Jaime glances back at the cat. “She’s sick?”

The woman nods. “It’s an immunodeficiency virus. There’s no cure for it, but it’s entirely possible for cats to live full, happy lives with it. But it’s best that she goes to a home with no other cats.”

“I think he… My…” Jaime clears his throat. “I think he is looking for a dog.”

She presses her lips into a thin line. “I see.”

As if summoned, Sebastian appears at his shoulder. “Oh, look at this cutie!”

Jaime tries to conceal his startled jump. “Her name is Bella,” he says quietly. 

“Look at her,” Sebastian croons, crouching beside the cage but not attempting to make contact. “She’s a love bug.”

“She’s actually quite shy,” the woman says, taking the smallest nudge of a step in front of Jaime to stand between them. “I was just telling him how he must be special to win her over so quickly.”

Sebastian’s first instinct is to shoot Jaime a smile. He stands slowly, knees cracking, and says, “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Then, to Jaime, he adds, “I didn’t know you were a cat person.”

“I’ve never had one,” he says honestly. 

“Hmm.” Sebastian turns back toward the cat, studying her for a few long seconds before he says, “Do you like her?”

Jaime blinks, letting his hand slowly drop to his side. In his periphery, he sees Bella raise a paw to tap impatiently against the cage wall. 

“I…” He looks to the cat, to the volunteer, and back at Sebastian. “Yes.” 

Sebastian nods, once, decisively, then turns to the volunteer. “We’ll take her.”

There’s a moment’s pause. They both turn to him, surprised. “I… I thought you wanted a dog,” Jaime says. 

He shrugs. “I think Bella has made the decision for us, really.” He nods toward where she is still perched at the edge of the cage, nuzzling against the bars to reach Jaime. “I mean, look at her. It’s out of our hands.”

He is fawning over the cat—who has decided to regard him with a look of skeptical displeasure—but Jaime only has eyes for Sebastian. He blinks up at him, trying to tame the spread of warmth in his chest. “Really?” he asks. 

Sebastian gives an uncertain smile, one that Jaime is becoming more and more familiar with. “Is that okay with you?”

Jaime swallows tightly, lowering his voice. “You’ll keep her?” he asks, trying to ignore the inquisitive glance from the volunteer. “Even when I’m gone?”

It looks like there’s a lot more that Sebastian wants to say, but in their present company, he only meets Jaime’s eyes and says, “Yes. Of course”

Jaime breathes out and gives a single, decisive nod. 

“Alright then,” the woman breaks the silence after a few tense moments. “Let’s get the paperwork started.”

***

On the way home, Sebastian drives carefully enough that his knuckles go white around the steering wheel, trying to avoid every bump and crack in the road. Jaime is in the backseat, which is an arrangement Sebastian normally wouldn’t prefer, but it’s only because he wants to be able to sit next to Bella’s carrier. 

He casts a glance in the rearview mirror to see Jaime gently running the back of his finger against the mesh wall, ducking his head so he can peek inside. 

“What should we name her?” Sebastian asks, almost regretting breaking the moment of reverence. 

Jaime sits up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. A dip of confusion forms between his brows. “You don’t like the name Bella?”

“Oh.” Sebastian blinks. “I—no, it’s cute. I like it. Just… I think most of the time the names they’re given in the shelter are temporary things? People usually change them to whatever they want when they bring them home.”

Jaime is quiet long enough to make Seabstian think maybe he’s stepped in something he didn’t mean to. Then, he asks, “Do you think she had a name before the shelter?”

Sebastian shrugs. “They didn’t know much about her history. If she was a stray her whole life, I guess she probably didn’t.”

He looks back down at the carrier, continuing the slow, soothing motion of his finger. “I’m okay with whatever name you decide for her,” he says, and Seabstian can’t help but hear a bit of dejection slip through. 

The pieces connect, and Sebastian considers the kind of weight a name might carry for someone who has had his stolen. 

Sebastian tightens his grip on the steering wheel, keeping his voice as even as he can. “No, I think you’re right,” he says. “Bella suits her just fine.”

****

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[andreafmn]

Collision | Chapter 18

Word Count: 3.2K Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same. Chapter: 18/? Warnings: steamy scenes and foul language A/N: One day I'll manage both Twilight fics in a day, but today is not the day 😬😬 but hey, this is my longest story as of now, so hopefully if my creativity sparks I can consistently publish chapters like this story My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts  or buy me a coffee to support me and my love of writing Follow 😊 -> TikTok • Instagram • BusinessIf you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click hereMake sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post! Please check if you're tagged in the story, I've reached the limit of tags on Twilight again it seems. 😅

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“Paul,” (Y/N)’s voice broke him out of his trance. She had started to slip on one of Paul’s many forgotten T-shirts, stretching her limbs after their latest encounter.  “You’re staring.”

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled softly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” she smiled. “I sometimes forget they’re there.”

It had been five months since she had been hurt, four months since they had left, three since she had decided to dig herself out of the hole she had fallen into and put her life back on track. And she couldn’t look back –at least not without feeling her heart wrench inside her chest.

(Y/N) had made the decision to move forward in her life, to allow herself to release her past and unbind herself from the Cullens. She had allowed herself to be her first priority –even if meant that she had to release some people she thought the world of. But she had to push forward. Staying stuck in the mud was the last thing she wanted.

Instead, she had spent the past two months and a half investing her time between med school, her entanglement with Paul, the people at the rez, and her work at the hospital. And it had been just the shift (Y/N) had needed.

“I can’t believe I was the one that did this,” Paul whispered as he joined her side. His fingers traced the rough skin of her scars, an electric shiver running through his veins. A few months before, the three ragged lines that ran down her arm had not been there. And in a split second, he’d changed her for life. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I wish I could take that night back.”

“I don’t blame you, Paul,” she breathed. Shudders ran through her body as he kissed her shoulder, his warmth still something she had yet gotten used to. “I should have listened to my brother and step away.”

“But if I had been able to control myself I wouldn’t have scratched you,” he said, his hand running up and down her arm. “I should have been able to protect you. Protect you from myself.”

 “It was no one’s fault, Paul,” she sighed at his touch, a teasing smile spreading across her face after. “And I’ve heard scars make people hot.”

“You were already hot,” he grinned. “Scars just added to it.”

“Okay, cool it, Casanova,” she chuckled. “I can’t go for a round three. I’ve got studying to do.”

“You and I both know that studying for you is a formality,” he groaned. “You’ve been axing all your tests. You already passed Step 1, and in a couple of weeks you’ll be in your clinical rotations.”

“I still need to study, Paul. I’ve gotta make sure all the information is fresh in my brain,” she explained. “And, still, it’s almost time for your patrol shift. So, you don’t have time for anything else either.”

“The bloodsuckers are gone,” he said before kissing her neck. “What is there to patrol?”

“Probably the people of this reservation,” she breathed, trying her hardest to suppress the moan that wanted to escape. But it was as futile as denying him. “But, maybe we can go for one more round.”

Paul could simply laugh in response and take her lips on his. His hands snaked to the small of her back, pulling her body until his legs reached her bed. (Y/N) grinned at him as he buckled against the mattress and used his surprise to push him onto the bed. He forcefully sat down, spreading his legs to allow (Y/N) a space between them. But she seemed to have another idea.

The Uley girl closed his legs together before placing her knees at either side of his thighs, straddling his lap. She placed her hands on his cheeks before kissing him again, telling him she was just as hungry for him as he was for her. (Y/N) would have never admitted it out loud, but Paul knew his way around a woman’s body —not that she had mi b to compare it to. Still, she would never say it to him, afraid that he would think it would lead to something else.

Almost every week she would check in with Paul to make sure they were still on the same page regarding their relationship, or rather lack thereof. The last thing she wanted was to lead him on and she had told him so over and over again. But every single time he would tell her that he understood what they were and what they would never be. That he could separate his feelings from his urges, and that at some point she would have to believe him.

Even with her doubts, she pushed on. She couldn’t deny that she loved the convenience of having him just a couple of houses down and the fact that he was all for their… benefits. Things just seemed to be working out perfectly for her, and she continually overthought her way into thinking that the universe would mess everything up.

Still, instead of dwelling on what could happen in the future, she had started to enjoy things as they happened in the moment. And at that very instant, (Y/N) had started to deepen the kiss between her and Paul. Her hands ran through his short hair, gripping and pulling softly at the dark brown strands. At the same time and unconsciously, her lower half started grinding onto his lap, searching for that much-wanted friction.

Paul’s hand had made a home on her backside, cupping the soft skin that peeked out of her underwear and moving with her motions. Even if he loved being the one to lead in the bedroom, he couldn’t say that was the dynamic with (Y/N). She held all the power in her hands, there and in their personal life. And for the time being, he seemed to enjoy it. Mostly because it was (Y/N).

As the man’s hands finally decided to move and try to remove the shirt that dangled from (Y/N)’s neck, a knock resounded through the house. At first, they ignored it, continuing their exploration of each other’s bodies. But whoever was at the door did not relent, knocking once more and harder the second time.

“Just ignore them,” he groaned against her neck. “They’ll get the hint soon enough.”

“It’ll only take a second,” she chuckled, pushing him away from her body. “I’ll see who it is, okay? You can go eat something in the meantime.”

“Ugh, fine.”

(Y/N) lowered the shirt onto her body, the massive size drowning her inside, and slipped on a pair of sweatpants. In the meantime, Paul did the same, adjusting the ignored hard-on that would tent his pants. It made the girl laugh as she noted the discomfort on his face that was quite evidently laced with annoyance.

“Don’t worry, Paul. It’ll go down soon enough.”

“That’s not funny, (Y/N),” he grumbled. “I was promised something else.”

“I promised nothing,” she laughed, coming down the last steps of her staircase. “And you’ll be fine in a couple of minutes. It’s not like you haven’t gone months without sex.”

“You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Oh, I know I am,” she smiled. “Now go away.”

(Y/N) opened the door and was surprised by the person standing on the other side. The Forks sheriff was nervously pacing back and forth on her porch. She could see the darkened bags under his eyes and his hair was slightly disheveled. Instantly she knew why he was there.

“Sheriff Swan, what can I help you with?”

“Oh, hello, (Y/N),” Charlie breathed out. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you,” she offered him a smile. “How have you been?”

“Well, I’ll be honest, I’m feeling a bit defeated at the moment,” he sighed. “That’s actually the reason why I’m here. It’s Bella.”

“Is she okay?”

“Physically, sure. But ever since her boyfriend and his family moved away she’s been the living dead,”  the man explained. She could tell how tired he was, tired of being the only one that cared for her well-being —to care for the both of them. “I’m not one to gossip but I know you also went through something a few months back when the Cullens left. Yet, you were able to move on, and look at you now.”

“I can’t say it was easy, but I was lucky enough to have a lot of people rally behind me,” she chuckled slightly. “Still, I’m not sure how I could help you with her.”

“I was wondering if you could talk to her. Something tells me you’re the one who will understand what she’s going through the most and you’re honestly my last resort before I send her back to Florida with her mom.”

“Well then, thankfully I have a free day tomorrow and I can come over,” (Y/N) offered. “I’ll do what I can, Sheriff. I honestly didn’t know she was that bad.”

“I’ve tried my best to help her these past few months, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“No worries, Sheriff. We’ll get her out of this rut soon enough.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). I truly hope there’s something we can do,” he smiled weakly. “And, come on, what’s this sheriff business? You know you can call me Charlie.”

“Alright then, Charlie,” she chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” he offered her another smile, this time a slight hint of hope painting across his lips. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank me once I’ve done something, Charlie,” (Y/N) said with a laugh. “But I promise to try my best.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good rest of your day, (Y/N).”

“You too, Charlie.”

The girl waited until the cruiser disappeared down her road before she closed the door, a rush of guilt washing over her. She knew she hadn’t been alone in her heartbreak, that there was someone else that had tasted the Cullen drug and had been ripped away from the supply in the blink of an eye. (Y/N) had somehow forgotten that Bella had also had her heart ripped from her chest, and it seemed like she had been taking it harder than she ever had.

“What did the sheriff want?” Paul called from the kitchen, holding a plate with a sandwich.

“As if you couldn’t hear,” she chuckled. “Did you know it was that bad with Bella?”

“I’d heard whispers that she wasn’t doing good,” he shrugged. “But, honestly, my focus was on someone else. If I have to pick between one leech lover or another, I’m always picking you.”

“That’s not funny, Paul,” (Y/N) sighed, reprimanding her friend with her gaze. “It looks like she’s taking this really hard. Has Sam not gone over to check up on her? I mean, he is the one that found her that night.”

“(Y/N), we were more worried about you,” he responded sternly. “You took this hard as well. Need I remind you of your brief visit into alcoholism? Bella Swan has other people to worry about her. We needed you to be okay.”

(Y/N) remained quiet for a second. She knew if it hadn’t been for Paul and Sam, she would probably still be stuck in the overconsuming darkness of her loneliness. She had done things that she never thought she would do, she said things she never thought she would say, and she had felt the most gut-wrenching pain she had ever believed she would feel.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I know I sent you guys through hell with how I was acting a few months back.”

“Hey, hey,” he called her attention, placing a hand under her chin before wiping away a few stray tears. Paul wrapped his arms around her, letting her head rest on his chest. “You were heartbroken, (Y/N). It’d be weird if you had been fine with it.”

“Still, you guys had to witness me at my absolute worst. You more than others. I wasn’t a good person during that time.”

“Sadness and loneliness make you do crazy things, (Y/N). None of us blames you for how you were acting during that time,” he told her. His voice rumbled through her chest and sent her calming vibrations. “We will always be by your side, no matter what. We love you and care about you. And we’re just glad you’re better now.”

“I’m glad I’m better now too,” she smiled against his chest. “And I wanna help Bella get better too. If the way she’s feeling is even an ounce of the way I felt, she shouldn’t go through this by herself.”

“Want me to drive you tomorrow?”

“No,” she sighed. “I think this is something I should do by myself. Bringing someone that is so against her ex might not be the best thing.”

“She doesn’t know what I am though. At least she shouldn’t know.”

“Because of the pact.”

“Yeah,” he responded. “We can’t say what the Cullens are and they can’t say what we are. So Bella shouldn’t know why I hate them so much. She probably thinks I’m just like every other person of the rez that dislikes the Cullen because of our ancestors.”

“Still, I think I should go by myself for now,” she smiled up at him. “The last thing she needs is to meet someone new.”

“Fine,” he smiled back before it morphed into the Cheshire Cat grin. “What’re you doing the rest of the afternoon then?”

“I still need to study, and Emily invited me over for dinner tonight.”

“What you’re saying is that you have like an hour to spare?”

“I don’t think that’s what I said, Paul,” she chuckled. “But I guess I do have some time to spare —more like thirty minutes though.”

“More than enough,” he smirked.

He placed his hands under her thighs, prompting her to jump onto his waist and wrap her legs around him. She kissed his lips softly, running her hands through his hair. (Y/N) held on tight as Paul moved them back upstairs and to her bedroom. 

Once back inside the now white walls of her room, he lay her softly onto her bed, his lips never leaving hers. He kissed her hungrily, not wanting to waste a single moment he was with her. He kissed her cheek, he kissed her temple, he kissed her chin, and he kissed her neck. It was one of his favorite things. To taste every inch of her skin for as long as she allowed him to.

“What are you doing for Valentine's?” Paul asked abruptly, the question coming out of nowhere. “There’s gonna be a bonfire that night. It’s mostly for couples but we can go as friends.”

“Great timing for that question, Paul,” she panted. “And I don’t know. That’s over a month from now. The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m gonna be studying.”

“So do you wanna go if you’re free?”

(Y/N) wasn’t sure. Thanksgiving had passed, so had Christmas and New Year. She had gone through three big holidays that she had pictured spending with him, and there were still so many more that she would have to experience with other people when she only wanted to spend it with him. As much as she had chosen to move on and try her hardest to forget him, it still hurt.

Every day that passed hurt. Every second that passed hurt. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, her heart still wanted him and only him. But it was something she could not admit. Not to her mother, to her brother, much less to Paul. She said she was okay, she looked like she was okay, and she needed herself to be okay.

“I don’t wanna make a compromise like that when I don’t know what my schedule is gonna look like,” she sighed. “But ask me again on the seventh and I’ll let you know.”

“Fine,” he groaned jokingly.

“Now, can we talk about comparing schedules later and go back to kissing?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he smirked before going back to attack her lips.

As they were getting back into the game of bodies, ripping away their clothes and reveling in the other’s body, a shout from outside interrupted them. At first, they chose to ignore it, thinking it was teenagers having fun in the street. But the clear mention of Paul’s name startled them apart. It was a voice that was usually very quiet and had just recently joined the pack.

“Yo, Paul!” Embry Call yelled from (Y/N)’s backyard. “We’re supposed to be on patrol right now!”

“Gods, what fucking timing!” Paul groaned. “I hate how eager he is to follow the rules. Like, does he not know there’s no active threat right now?”

“He’s just trying to make sense of all of this the best way he knows how,” (Y/N) explained. “He’s keeping his head down and doing what he’s told. Just being able to shift is a big shock, but finding out that your father is someone from the reservation is world-shattering. The poor kid is also getting smoke at home from his mom, and he can’t ask questions because he would have no proof of where he got them.”

“You’re actually making me feel bad for him.”

“You should. Right now, he’s not only lost his friends but he’s had his whole life turned upside down. What he needs more than anything is someone to guide him and be by his side.” 

“Don’t look at me,” Paul scoffed. “That’s the alpha’s job.”

“I’m just asking that you don’t make his life harder than it already is,” she smiled at him. “He needs a friend, not someone to kick him when he’s already down.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “That kid is lucky you’re on his side.”

“Shut up and get dressed,” she laughed. “Don’t leave Embry waiting.”

Paul grumbled under his breath as he slipped on every piece of clothing he needed to get dressed in. As he complained and groaned, (Y/N) moved to the window, wanting to give Embry at least a heads up that Paul would take his time with going downstairs.

“Hey, Embry,” she called out. “Paul will be down in a sec, he’s too busy complaining at the moment.”

“Oh, hi, (Y/N),” he said as he blushed. “That’s okay. Sorry I showed up like this. Jared said that if Paul wasn’t at Sam’s that he was most likely here.”

“He is correct about that.”

“And don’t worry, I’ve been practicing suppressing my thoughts so that Sam doesn’t find out.”

“No worries, Embry,” she chuckled. “I know that Sam will eventually find out. So, it’s fine.”

“Oh, but still. It’s good practice.”

“I’m leaving now,” Paul interrupted, a definite scowl on his face. “As much as I don’t want to.”

“Well, I was saved by the bell,” she grinned teasingly. “Now I have more time to study. So, you can go.”

“Ugh, twist my arm why don’t you.”

“Go, Paul,” she chuckled.

“Fine,” he said before kissing her lips softly. “But I’ll see you later for dinner, right?” 

“Yes, Paul. You’ll see me later.”

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...continued in comment section

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Her Embrace, Her Tears

Multi-chaptered, fluff, angst, eventually smut

Lae'zel probably didn't need a good excuse, or further motivation, to go to war with Shar. But, she is about to get it anyway.

Five years post game, Dark Justiciar/Mother Superior/Chosen of Shar Shadowheart and (with a few notable exceptions) everyone got their bad endings, in that everyone is still alive, but shitty. Lae'zel is thriving though, aside from her relationship.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or read Chapter Nine below the cut

Shadowheart only had about five minutes of walking time to determine whether or not to get reinforcements from the enclave, or simply go back to the palace alone, but better prepared to resort to violence. In the end, she split the difference. She returned to the enclave, but spoke to no one, and gathered no acolytes, instead, she contented herself with changing into something more appropriate for the mission at hand, and gathering a few helpful items. There was an old piwafwi, stored far away from the light of the sun, to better preserve its drowcraft. She didn’t know where it came from, or if she ever had known. It was just one piece of her inheritance as Mother Superior.

The name that Lae’zel had spoken, Viconia DeVir stuck in her mind. It was a drow name, she was sure. Wasn’t DeVir one of the great houses of Menzoberranzan? Or, it had been, a long time ago. Like a lot of floating pieces of history in her head, Shadowheart couldn’t recall why or where she had learned this information.

She also grabbed a ring that would enable an extra few moments of invisibility—always good to have on hand, and a pair of slippers that muffled all sound. The last item she grabbed was another channeling rod, to replace the one that Astarion had snapped in two. She’d have to pay him back for that sometime.

All the same, she did have replacements on hand. A few other parasols, a cane, and her favorite variation, a bladed rod that doubled as an oddly balanced shortsword. It was called Sliver Spark and she wasn’t sure where it had come from either. She sheathed the blade, hilted with a channeling rod, around her back, fixed the piwafwi in place, and was ready to sneak into the palace of a vampire lord.

It was a warm enough day that wearing a larger cloak to cover another cloak would look suspicious, but she didn’t want to risk the magic of the piwafwi losing any of its potency. She found the longest, lightest cloak she could and made haste.

The palace guards might not have been given instruction to keep her from entering the property again, but she doubted that Astarion would be that distracted, or that negligent, so she elected to simply not be seen.

Easy enough, for the Chosen of Shar.

Once inside the palace again, the place felt darker and more neglected than ever. She hadn’t really noticed it during the last revels she attended. The addition of bodies, minstrels, music and the sweet scent of every wine and booze imaginable did a lot to disguise the overall uncared-for state of the palace. It was clean, but only just. The paint was peeling, the carpets worn, the meticulously dusted portraits were outdated and ugly. Overall, it was also ill lit, but this suited Shadowheart just fine.

She scouted around the corners to make sure the way was clear, and listened carefully.

“He just wants to be left alone,” a timid voice wafted from the turn in the hallway.

“The Master is quite slow to learn that getting what he wants isn’t always a good thing,” another voice responded.

“True enough, but I still think we ought to just leave him in there for a while to brood.”

“Gods. No matter what, I will be someone’s caretaker, won’t I?”

Something about the quality of their voices gave Shadowheart the impression that they would be facing away from the nearest bend in the hallway, so she risked swiveling her head around the corner just briefly. 

It was that shockingly resilient servant girl, Alice, and Astarion’s paramore Isolde. They were facing away, as Shadowheart suspected, and it looked as though the hall ahead of them branched into different paths. With any luck, they’d wrap up their conversation and clear the way without ever crossing Shadowheart’s path or line of egress.

“I keep meaning to ask… is it alright that I’m staying? Astarion insists it is, but it’s really you lot I’m inconveniencing. Especially now that—”

“You make my life a lot easier, in all honesty,” Alice reassured Isolde, quickly. “He needs people around. He doesn’t do well on his own, and when he’s not doing well, those of us who are stuck with him suffer the most.”

“Well,” Isolde didn’t sound convinced, “if there’s anything I can do to be less of a burden.”

“Count on me to let you know without apology,” Alice scoffed.

From the slight huff of a laugh that Isolde gave her in reply, that was somewhat more convincing. Their voices were pulling away from each other, with another quick glance around the corner Shadowheart confirmed that they were parting down opposite hallways. The way ahead was clear.

First, she tailed Alice, ensuring that the servant wasn’t on her way to tend to the child in any capacity. She was absorbed in sorting through laundry in minutes, left to work in quiet. No such disruptions anywhere. From there, Shadowheart began to work her way through the spine of the palace. She heard distant coughs and footfalls, but never came close to being caught. It was a subdued afternoon, it seemed. The excitement of the morning parted easily into a mundane routine. Perhaps, for the residents of the Vampire Lord’s Palace, violent confrontation was simply part of mundane routine.

It wasn’t until she made her way to the library that she found her quarry. The gith child was in the hallway outside, his back to her, marching to an unknown destination at a light clip. She’d already previously decided that the best course of action would be to try to speak to him, though it certainly was tempting to just hit him with a sleeping spell and hoist him over her shoulder. The problem with that method was that it was both effectively and methodologically inconsistent, and overtly hostile. It would be better, smoother, if she could maintain some high ground on an emotional level with him.

But, it would have been easier, and that was the thought she had, mingled with a mental sigh, when he turned his head just enough to catch sight of her, and immediately bolted.

She didn’t give herself more than an instant to feel exasperated before she tore after him, picking up her knees as much as she could without overcoming the sound nullification effects of her slippers.

Apparently, that was the end of her rope. The situation was too precarious, it was time to just use the necessary forceful means she had at her disposal to get this over with. Before he could turn the corner, she hurled a spell of sleep right at him. The gith child rounded the corner untouched. Strange. She had felt sure that landed.

Out of sight now, he was making chase a little too competently for comfort. More disturbing, once she couldn't see him, it became obvious that she couldn't hear him either. Perhaps it was a unique part of his personal mantle as a Chosen of Shar. He might be especially adept at hiding, which would be an asset. Once he was loyal to their Lady.

It was a bit irritating at the moment though.

She rounded the corner within seconds, but wasn't quick enough to see which room he ducked into in the hall beyond. She listened, but it was to no avail.

An uneasy doubt crept in, and it startled her, accompanied by a shudder of guilt. Was this really her Lady's power manifesting through the boy? Or was something else at work? It was uncomfortable to imagine that Shar would allow her power to be used in opposition to another Chosen, to her own will. Shadowheart couldn't reconcile it.

The cognitive dissonance slowed her pursuit, as did the cold trail, but inside the second room that she checked, she thought she saw movement in the shadows of the far corner. The flinching darkness kept her eye pinned to it in silence, then the child sprinted far faster than she'd have thought possible—he moved right past her and out the door again, still silent.

She resisted the urge to call out to him, or at least vent a sigh of frustration. Some part of her felt there was something to be noticed in the silence, and so she didn't break it.

Following nothing, she searched the next room and then the one just beyond, which turned out to be the ballroom again, where he'd fled when Lae’zel pursued him earlier that day. She entered the room just in time to see him slip through a door in the back of the room. She kept her own movements as quiet as his, closing the distance between them at a rush. The far room appeared to be little more than storage, though curiously, there was a ladder at the very back, and with no sign of the child, it was clear he'd ascended. Shadowheart climbed after him, promptly finding herself in an even more neglected area of the palace. The attic wasn't so much used for storage as it seemed to be little more than a lofty oubliette. The floor felt unstable and everything looked unfinished, damaged or decaying. Shadowheart tested her weight with every step, and the wooden panels creaked and threatened to snap. Still, she couldn't hear her quarry. He was small, but still, he ought to weigh enough to be making some noise in this rickety mess.

She was just about to retreat back to the palace proper, sure that he must have slipped by her again somehow, when she saw the slightest shift just beyond a collection of dusty crates. Without hesitation, she kicked them aside, a spell of sleep already dripping from her lips. Again, the spell landed, but did nothing as it fell over the image of the gith child.

And that was when she realized, he was just an image. The startled, slightly insubstantial, utterly silent image of a child who wasn't there. With unnecessary tenderness, she reached out to touch his golden face. Her fingers passed right through him. The perfect image shot up and silently scampered away again. She let him go this time, admiring the spellcraft as it retreated.

The child was talented, but that was the work of a very powerful sorcerer or wizard. She clenched her jaw, dispelling the sense of confusion with a slow inhale and exhale. The child was likely gone from the palace, with the decoy meant to preoccupy anyone who came looking for him. She couldn't be sure that the child she'd seen earlier had been real, as she hadn't been able to get very close. She would guess, however, that the spell had been conjured after she left, as the child she'd seen earlier could speak, and this one couldn't even make noise.

The implication was unfortunate. Either the mentioned Thayans had managed to take him, or Lae’zel had returned before her.

Her hands curled into fists at her side. Her friends had betrayed her.

She caught up with the false child one more time in the ballroom, and blocked his way, but this time she wasn't trying to catch him. Though she couldn't hear him, because there was nothing to hear in the illusion, she could see him, and something more. She could sense some greater imitation baked into the image. It could imitate the gith child’s movement and manner. Some essence of him reflected.

If she focused, she could sense the faint chill of his divine mantle, as a Chosen of Shar. It was only a fraction of his strength, which was only a fraction of Shadowheart's own power. Keeping her distance, so as to not send the image sprinting about wildly again, she focused on him, and drew her disguised channeling rod from its sheath with a snick. Silver Spark’s blade glinted with excitement as she began to let her power flow into it. “My Lady,” she began to pray, “attach to this spell work, and let my own power burden it, make a cyclone to draw in those too close to escape the storm.”

Not a spell, exactly, more a blessing. She felt Lady Shar’s approval. Appropriate retribution sometimes required a little creativity.

Those of Astarion’s household might not know that she had come by and found their deception waiting to trick her. But, they would feel the consequences of her visit in the heavy days to come.

Nothing too harsh, she assured herself as she took her leave. But such a slight could not go unanswered.

The false child would be a point of loss and nothingness that would affect all those nearby, in their thoughts, and in their nightmares.

[wingsonghalo]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @cnnmonbimee! Thank you for the tag!! Read her awesome answers here!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 66! More than I thought were on there tbh!

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? Uhhh apparently it's 684,757! Less than I thought!

3. What fandoms do you write for? In order of most fics to least: Ace Attorney, JSHK, My Hero Academia, Mob Psycho 100, Homestuck, Hunter x Hunter, Phineas and Ferb, and Supernatural. I've also written a lot of Pokemon stuff, but somehow that has escaped Ao3 despite it being my longest fandom LOL. Working on a Pokemon SV one currently though 👀

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Project: Matchmakers (shocker, I know), Sleep (Too) Tight (It's always been slowly but steadily popular), Force of Habit (bit of a surprise there honestly), Project: Matrimony (less surprising), and The Stuff of Dreams. So what I am seeing here is that no one leaves kudos on my JSHK or MP100 or MHA fics :') Some of these fics are one-shots, so it's kind of surprising! I wish PlayWright had gotten more attention; that fic killed me while I was writing it. I'm not giving number of kudos because I'm not comfortable with that and it makes me feel bad about myself haha,,,

5. Do you respond to comments? I try to! I've fallen behind on responding to them in the past 2 years or so because life has been so busy, though…

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably A Practice, For Now?? LMAO it's also my first JSHK and the one with the most kudos HMM COULD THIS FANDOM BE ADDICTED TO ANGST PERHAPS??! I don't write angst a lot!! What can I say, I'm a sucker for a happy ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Almost all of my fics end happily, LOL. Pick any of them that actually has an ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not commonly. I've gotten anon hate before about them on tumblr on rare occasions, but usually my comments on ao3 stay pretty nice.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do sometimes, but I'm so shy about it that I rarely ever post it /)//w//(\ Usually I just share it among friends, haha!

10. Do you write crossovers? Nope, and I never will!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes. Someone tried to run Project: Matchmakers through a translator to hide the word matches and sell it as an ebook on Amazon, but they only bothered to hide it for chapter 1 so someone reported it to me and then in retaliation I started actually selling it on Amazon for the lowest price I could because the thief was trying to sell the shittier version for like 7 dollars LSFJ;AKLD. Read about the whole debacle here.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, quite a few! People have been great about asking me for permission! 💖

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, here and there! Usually it's either fics where I have written one part and someone else has written another scene, or someone had me look over something they'd written and I added so much commentary or threw additional ideas at them so much that the story ended up changing and I somehow became a co-author, LOL.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Oh my god don't make me answer that ;alskdjfl;k. If I wrote a fic for them ever, they're my favorite. I have so many favorites that I've never written fics for, too.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? THE UNDERCOVER FIIIIIC [sobs] and also Left on Read hnnngh

16. What are your writing strengths? Emotions!! I'm super good at those! I'm also really strong at dialogue and banter, and making my writing kinda witty/funny.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Describing settings ;w; I write my scenes like I draw my art: in Descriptionless Blank Voids lkas;dlkf. I also struggle with the flow of action scenes sometimes, though I think they usually turn out okay if I spend enough time on them. I also probably use too many adverbs and adjectives, but y'know what? Fuck it I like my descriptive words thank you very much

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? As long as you're checking that it means what you think it means, or possibly asking a native speaker if you're unsure about context or need a sensitivity reader, I think it's fine. It annoys me if I have to check a footnote every other line, but if you can mostly understand it without a translation in context, it can be kinda nice! At least it says you're trying more than phonetically spelling out an accent, which--remember, kids!--is always cringe! 👍

19. First fandom you wrote for? On Ao3, it was Homestuck. On the internet in general, it was Animal Crossing and Pokemon, LOL.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? Don't make me cHOOSE BETWEEN MY BABIESSS 😭 I dunno man! Project: Matchmakers is my magnum opus, but the PlayWright is lowkey kind of a masterpiece, I love so many of my JSHK fics to bits and pieces, a lot of my MP100 and MHA fics are very special to me, I've been trying to write a HxH one for YEARS and have poured my heart into making it beautiful, just UGHHH every single one of my fics I have vivid memories of conceptualizing and working on and most of them are my favorite to some degree!

I tag @carochinha, @kittykatz009, @toastytoaster22, @ittybittytoostormy, and anyone else who would like to answer these questions!!

[meggie-stardust]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks to the ever lovely @lucky-bishop for the tag! <3

How many works do you have on ao3?

74! Which feels both like a lot and not that much at the same time.

What's your total ao3 word count?

270,119?!

What fandoms do you write for?

Right now primarily Teen Wolf and I recently revisited my first fandom of Gundam Wing. I've also written a ton for BBC Merlin, Percy Jackson/Heroes Of Olympus, BBC Sherlock, Harry Potter, Newsies and random other things...

Top five fics by kudos:

Act of Man | BBC Merlin | Arthur/Merlin

Nightmares | PJO/HoO | Percy/Jason

Looking for the Thing We Lost | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

Here I Am (Stuck in the Middle With You) | PJO/HoH | Percy/Jason

Know How A Man Becomes a Beast | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

Do you respond to comments?

Yes, on all of my stuff from the past few years. There are older fics that I've opted not to respond to comments on for varying reasons, but I do read them all.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

When I have angst, I like to have it with a happy ending, but I would probably say this fliclette I wrote based on the prompt: "Can you do a Jasercy fic where Jason is trying to comprehend the fact that Percy's gone, preferably death, but it doesn't have to be."

A Slow Deep Panic | PJO/HoO | Jason/Percy

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I really like the end of Stuck Between Stations. After putting Stiles and Peter in the Wild Hunt and in time loop, the least I could do was give them a happy ending.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not hate, but I have gotten weird comments. I usually just ignore if they are just odd, but I have also deleted comments that are boarding on hate.

Do you write smut?

Yep!

Craziest crossover:

Aside from one HP/Sherlock fic that was co-written with my bestie and that we both abandoned, I don't really do long form crossovers (and that one wasn't crazy anyway). That said, there was a tumblr prompt game years ago, that was for 3 sentence fics and almost every prompt I got was a crazy crossover:

Dean and Castiel. Fight Club

MJN crew (bonus points for including Herc Shipwright). Supernatural hunters.

Sherlock/John. Teenagers working at Mooby's (View Askewniverse).

Jack/Spot, Night Vale AU.

Arthur and Eames. Exorcism.

You can read all of these and a few others: 3 Sentence Fic Collection. And actually, this was a fun trend, we should bring it back.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, and knock on wood it never happens.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! A few actually, and it's always so, so, so flattering:

Acts of Man was translated into Chinese

Black Sails in the Sunset was translated into Português

Looking for the Thing We Lost was translated into Russian

This is a perfect time to say that I am always open to my fics being translated, podficced, remixed, etc. Just let me know so I can gush about it!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, the aforementioned abandoned HP/Sherlock fic, but it's been ages. @punchedbymarkesmith and I have kicked around some collab ideas, which I think would both be a blast and also for a potentially niche audience. Maybe 2024 is the year this happens!

All time favourite ship?

Steter is the one I've stuck with the longest, but I do have a few that I will always return to in the same way you might eat a comfort meal.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Look, I really, really want to finish It's Only Forever. I have like 1, maybe 2 chapters left. But it's been so long and I feel like my writing has changed, and idk. Every year I say I'm going to work on it, and every year I don't... le sigh.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm really good at finding a small moment in canon and then diverging from that. I also think I'm good at authentic dialogue and I think I'm pretty good at world building.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action/fighting. Keeping things short unless it's a drabble/other restrictive format.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I am not fluent enough in any language other than English to do this confidently. Instead, I would write something like:

Stiles cursed at them wildly in Polish.

or

Peter responded in French, then turned back to Stiles and resumed their conversation in English.

First fandom you wrote in?

Gundam Wing. All of my old fic from *cough* 20+ years ago is lost to the annals of time (actually some is still on archived GW 1x2 sites if you look hard enough). And if you are one of like 7 people who remember my username, you can find my Newsies and Harry Potter fic (my next two fandoms) still on ffn. After I got out of a bad relationship that kept me from my own interests, including fandom, I returned with BBC Sherlock fic, which you can still find on AO3 if you scroll to the beginning of my profile.

Favorite fic you've written?

Gosh, I feel like this changes all the time, but I am particularly proud of At This Truth We Have Arrived. I loved exploring certain aspects of Peter's character, and doing a different take on Nogistune Stiles. I was also able to incorporate a lot of different themes and elements into it, as well as get my own closure with Monroe, something that has bugged me since the finale. Plus, I think I was able to accomplish a reveal that would add extra elements if anyone went back and re-read the story (even if I somewhat show my hand if anyone paid attention to the epigraph).

I have no idea who has done this yet, since I sat on this for a bit... so no pressure tags for @lolahardy @mirrorthoughts @myletternevercame @punchedbymarkesmith @midmorning-bomb @like-lazarus

[mollymauktealeef]

Self Rec Tag Game

tagged by the wonderful @hello-eeveev!!

Rules: Share five of your own fanworks (fic, art, etc.). Then, tag five more people to share the things they've made.

1.something you absolutely adore

a winter's crest detour [mature, caleb/essek]

the idea for this fic actually went through two different fandoms before coming to light in critical role. i'd signed up for a christmas hallmark movie prompt thing and sadly didn't get my pick, so i left cause i got unreasonably attached to this one idea and so it came with me as i moved into another fandom where about 10k got written before the muse abandoned me until shadowgast ate my life and here we are. its probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written, purely created for moi and i love it, bonus other people seemed to like it too! woo!

2. something that was challenging to create

the edge of the blade [teen, caleb/essek]

a full YEAR in the making, this is my biggest, longest, most EVERYTHING fic. i love it, i had so much fun writing it but boy was it hard work. the time, the energy that went into this. i really challenged myself to dig deep for essek's emotions and insecurities and i'm really proud of how it turned out. i definitely improved as a writer because of the challenges this fic liked to throw at me

3. something that makes you laugh (or smile, if that fits more comfortably)

long may they reign chapter 3 [gen, caleb/essek]

not gonna lie this is one of my comfort fics that i re-read of my things that always makes me feel better. i love the dynamic of being so comfortable and in love that the simplest acts of affection become automatic and the realisation of those acts can lead to a deeper sense and understanding of that love. i'm a sucker for the old married couple troupe.

4. something that surprised you (in how it turned out, how much other people liked it, etc.)

keep me warm [explicit, caleb/essek]

listen i am not a smut writer, it is not one of my strengths, it's very difficult for me and even the smallest scene requires days/weeks/months of writing cause i just struggle with it so damn much, (maybe she's (gnc) born with it, maybe its maybelline the aroace of it all). the idea for this fic just grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go so i put word to document and it actually came out alright, i was pleasantly surprised that i actually managed to put what was in my head into the fic in a very good way so very proud of myself for it

5. something you want other people to see

act i. the interloper [gen, caleb/essek]

ok ok ok i know i haven't finished parts 2 and 3 yet, YET! but i love how this series is shaping up even though it has grown beyond the teeny tiny wee fun little three part fluff ball it was meant to be into something so big and with feelings, think fluff ball the size of one of those stupidly big plastic tourist attractions they've got out in america. i love looking into old courting practices and seeing what would fit and connect with the culture of the drow and just being able to explore different aspects of their relationship and the important moments to them as well. part three especially has me a little teary cause its gonna be so gosh darn sweet so yeah, stay tuned i am writing it, its just bigger than originally designed lol

tag you're it: @aithilin, @mollymawkwrites, @ruvigapo, @mardyart, @glossolali mwah! show off your goods and wares darlings!!

[astridthevalkyrie]

chand ko chakor dekhe, tujkho naseebo wala (the bird looks at the moon, a lucky one looks at you) | hawks x reader | chapter 2

“You’ve died twice? From clocks?” “I know you’re not blind to the rocks and debris flying literally everywhere! The world would be better off without you in it!” you scream at the villain. The machine is even louder as it breaks and jams into the ground. “Flying building pieces or something, I don’t know—one hit me yesterday. The first day I got knocked into a wall, and then I woke up hugging my body pillow. Same thing the next day. And the next, and the next. Did my number three pro hero partner save me? No, he let me get stuck in a fucking time loop!” Or, you’ll do a lot of things with infinite time on your hands, but falling in love with Keigo Takami isn’t one of them.

a/n: you know it's a good writing kick when i'm updating despite no one liking this but me LOL

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns. FOUL language, reader curses so much, and just general rudeness, lots of death because reader is morbid, reader slutshames hawks

1

“So how many times have you told me?”

“Jesus, you must be allergic to asking original questions.”

Hawks levels you with an unimpressed look. “I’d say something about how I obviously wouldn’t remember my past self’s questions—”

“‘But you’ll probably make fun of me by repeating verbatim what I’m saying.’” You smirk at the pained look on his face that accompanies your air quotes. “Yeah. Now you’re going to try and think of an original, out of the box question to ask, which, if you can believe it or not, varies on how I move or what I say. I look right, you ask me what past you has said so far, but if I look left, you ask me about how I’ve been keeping myself entertained.”

After a long pause in which you think about how much you hate this fucking coffee, Hawks says, “You’re going to be a pain to talk to.”

“I’m a goddamn delight. You’re the one I’ve had to convince of this six whole times.”

“But you keep tellin’ me, sweetheart.” Ew. Ew. “Why is that?”

“I told you, you’re a constant everyday. Besides me dying.”

“You die—”

“Yes,” you sigh impatiently, “I never get through the day without dying. The longest I’ve gone is till 4 PM.” Gesture to the clock that you know is five minutes ahead. “So, one hour left to go! Yay me.”

Now you both only stare at each other, which is new, since Hawks can usually never shut the fuck up. There’s a question you want to ask, have wanted to ask for the past few days you’ve told him (with some breaks in between because come on, you’re not a walking Wikipedia page for fucking time loops and Hawks has no idea how to not be a pain) but you’re not going to because. Uh. Insecurity or some shit. 

Taking a long swig of his yucky strawberry bright pink dark-as-his-soul drink, freaky golden eyes observe you. You only darken your own gaze. What is this? A death match? Well, you’ve died several times and he’s still stuck at zero so. You know. He can suck your dick.

“Why don’t you ask me some questions?” he finally offers, and when you narrow your eyes, he grins cheerfully. “C’mon, songbird, you know you want to.”

“What’s the ratio of men you’ve been with versus women?”

“Four to nine. Challenge me next time.”

What a smug little shit. “Slut. How crazy do you think I am right now?”

“Not any more than normal.”

“How do you not sweat in that oversized jacket?”

“Bird stuff. And style takes priority over comfort.”

“Wild.” This is boring. Fucking boring, you’re bored, and you could die at any time. How boring does something have to be for you to not be nervous about death? Goddamn. 

You’re nearly beaming when a gunshot hits the ceiling, only for your happy mood to be replaced by a horrified one when a literal mini feather takes the robber out of the store and knocks him against a lamppost. What the fuck. What the fuck, dude.

The waitress who makes the least shitty coffee in the whole cafe has tears in her eyes. “Oh, thank you, Hawks! Thank you! I was so scared!”

“When?”

A fat tear catches on her lip as she quivers. “W-what?”

“When were you scared? He dealt with that in a second! The asshole didn’t even give you time to be scared!”

“I’m fast,” Hawks winks at her, stepping too close for your comfort. Slut. WHORE. “Oh my god,” he snaps his fingers in realization, “you knew that was going to happen. You’re a bad person.” For some reason, that thought is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious to him. “You were so about to let this store be robbed.”

“Um, no. For your FYI—”

“Redundant—”

“The same things don’t happen everyday. I mean that stupid fucking shit for brains asshole clock bitch always shows up, but the cafe has never been robbed before. That’s just the universe trying to kill me. Look.” You stomp out, waving away the waitress who seems too hesitant to tell you that you have to pay they can put you in jail give you a life sentence it won’t matter now innit and kneel down by the robber.

“Aha! One more bullet. This was my death instrument. But you interrupted.” 

SCARY shimmery golden eyes get closer closerthanhewastothewaitress until you’re knelt up against the same lamppost that gave Mr. Robber a concussion. “So I saved your life. Do I get a thank you kiss?”

“You get a choke on my balls, man. Also, you’re being, like. Really casual about this. Consistently. You’re telling me to try stuff and I’m trying the stuff, like I watched the Bill Murray movie and I gave myself a really good orgasm, and none of it worked, but if I didn’t know better I’d say you were living this with me.”

“Nah.” The corners of his lips quirk up genuinely. “I’m just trying to match whatever you’re giving me. You’re not panicking, so I’m not gonna be the one who tries to push you over the edge.”

“But I am panicking. Like, it’s whatever because I can’t stop it, but Hawks, I’m still...” You blink, looking at him, for the first time, with a defeated look. “Stuck.”

The pro catches your chin before it falls, forcing it up to meet his gaze. Ugly, lemon-colored eyes. Lips that at least four men and nine women have kissed. You wonder if Hawks is into degradation. He looks like he has a praise kink.

His hand encircles your wrist, he leans in, and then he blows a cherry on your cheek.

“Gross, dude, you’re gross!”

“Tell me everyday.” he replies cheerfully, “not that I’m gross.” You’re going to tell him exactly that everyday. Even when you’re not in a time loop. If you’re ever not in a time loop. “But about what’s happening. I’ll help get you unstuck no matter what.”

Why. You’re not gonna ask that. You’re just gonna accept the help that he owes you for not saving you the first day. And fuck that little butterfly-flutterfly shitstain feeling that’s usually reserved for your pussy that’s creeping up higher and twisting into knots in your stomach.

(The only time you’ve ever felt it with Hawks in the past was that one time he was fucking stuffing his gob with cheap street vendor fried chicken and when he swallowed he. Groaned. Out loud. All disgusting and unghhhh and shit.  And your womanly wiles liked it. The fuck.)

“Fine.” Your palm touches his cheek right as the robber comes to, taking the gun that you cleverly left at his side and blowing a hole in your head. 

—————————————————

You will not be telling Hawks you died while caressing his prickly bird face.

—————————————————

In three days actuallynodaysatallhowSPOOKY, it’s 4 PM, and you and Hawks are at the top of the highest building in the city. 

“You never did ask.” Hawks looks and sounds like a villain, surrounded by so many feathers pointed outward. You feel like a civ too, in the middle of it all, standing helplessly. But you’re not scared of him. If you weren’t sure you could take him? Then maybe. Are you sure? Maybe. Whatever. You can work on that confidence todaymorrow.

“Ask what?” The way your hands are up as though you’re ready to fight invisible demons would you make you fucking cackle if it was anyone else.

“Why my questions are different depending on the way you turn.”

You release a heavy laugh, eyes darting around like a madwoman. What will it be? A comet? A criminal? The building itself crumbling? You’d think a person would know what to expect after…nineteen? twenty? however-many-the-fuck-days. “You shit. That’s why you’ve been telling me to ask you stuff each day. Clever little birdbrain.”

A fly barely gets into the fray before a crimson feather wraps around it and tosses it to the side. Hawks does many things, but taking chances when it comes to doing his job isn’t one of them, apparently. Not that this is his job. Or at least you didn’t ask for it to be if he’s making it his personal mission to ensure you live that’s on him and only him.

“So why?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna tell you.”

“What!? Why not?”

“Because now there’s at least one piece of info that you won’t know and can’t parrot to poor tomorrow me.” He grins, showing you his stupid pearly whites. “Sucks to suck.”

“Fuck you.” You flip him off. “I’ll just manipulate it out of you tomorrow.”

Hawks’ voice comes out in a song—only this bitch would somehow find a way to one-up you when you’re literally immortal. “No, you woooon’t, songbird. Oh, hey!” He holds up his phone. “4:01!”

“4:01?” Your eyes bulge.

“Four o fucking one!”

“4:01!” you shriek happily, throwing yourself into his arms. Hawks squeezes you tight, burying his face in your hair like you two are the parents of some graduating high school student who was also the class president as THOUGH your combined genes would ever create such a genius. 

Hawks is warm.

A plane fucking crashes into you. He’s miraculously spared.

Bitch.

[azriona]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @paula-in-dreamland.

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

178.

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

1.3 million

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Currently the only fandom I’m writing in is MCU. It’s weird, I’ve almost always been a one-fandom-at-a-time person; I rarely, rarely write for more than one at once.

4. top five fics by kudos:

Timing, Those Three Words, Mise en Place, What I Forgot to Tell You, and The Next Level. What’s particularly crazy about that list (to me) is that Timing has five times as many kudos as it does words. (TNL is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and will probably never have as many kudos as it does words.)

5. do you respond to comments?

I used to do this all the time; I dropped off about six years ago. I’m trying to pick it back up again.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh man. I try not to write angsty endings. But probably 3:07 a.m. That’s the one with the most “omg what have you done to me” comments, anyway.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like, absolutely drowning in fluff and happiness and sheer joy? Probably The Next Level. The current sex pollen accidental pregnancy fic is definitely up there, too.

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not generally. I do get some… questionable comments sometimes, but for the most part I ignore them.

9. do you write smut?

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA yes.

10. craziest crossover?

Oh man. The Broadway Musicals were absolutely the craziest of the crazy, back in my HP days. But those were more parodies than crossovers.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, I remember someone on ff.net stole one of my fics once. Bunch of my regular readers spotted it, left tons of reviews along the lines of “This was great when AZRIONA POSTED IT A YEAR AGO. Thief.” We got it taken down in pretty short order.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several times, in multiple languages. Always a thrill. 😊

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

The first fanfic I wrote/posted was co-written with my friend Noel. HP, though, so no longer accessible.

14. all time favorite ship?

…all of them?

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would have loved to finish Fiddle in the Band, but when I knew I couldn’t, I posted a wrap-up with incomplete scenes and where I thought I would have gone. But the other big one is probably the Medieval Omegaverse series (Fornicatio Autem); I can’t even do that much for it because I only had the sketchiest of plans for it.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and writing kids, or so I’m told. 😊

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Starting sentences with “But” and “And”. Also overuse of ellipses and dashes.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I have done this before! I have definite preferences, and I’ve done this scores of times in different ways. Currently, I don’t mind if dialogue is in a different language, but if I’m supposed to know what’s being said, I want to know immediately, I don’t want to have to wait until the end of the chapter for a translation. If the character knows what’s being said, I want to know what’s being said, otherwise I get thrown out of a story very quickly. These days, I don’t really bother with translation for full sentences; I’ll say they’re speaking in French or Italian or whatever, and then write in English as normal. Unless I don’t want the reader to know what’s being said, then it’s in the language and you don’t get a translation. I’m reading a series now where the author did exactly this for Bucky’s early Winter Soldier years – he doesn’t understand the Russian, therefore we’re meant to be just as confused as he is. In that context, no translation makes total sense, and I wasn’t thrown out at all.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Phantom of the Opera back when I was 13. It’s not online because this was before the internet really existed (or when I had access to it).

20. favorite fic you've written?

Whichever one I’m working on at the moment. 😊

Tagging whichever writers want to play along. :)

[fiercefauna]

@tiredsn0w Here are the first 3 pages of a revise of - Do you know where your Doctor is - But I might call it something like - If found, call 6118 - lol. My longest chapters are 3 pages, but can be as short as one page. Then I use a larger text size. You’re probably familiar with the events here cause you’ve seen an earlier draft. Hopefully things have changed enough to be entertaining- I invite any other 6118+049 fans out there to also have a look. Take your time, this is mostly an excuse for me to quit re-reading this for a while. :P

If Found Call, 6118 2nd draft installment 1.

5a82 rolled out his collar, shoved his hands in his pockets and tried his best to ignore the abrasive cold of the brutalist, concrete arcology. Shivering made him look like a fairy, as in, the little floating guys from Terran lore. He was unusually small for his species and the graceful, satyr’s gait aided by corrective braces under his leggings certainly wasn’t helping. If a life of hard combat and an overlong incarceration on a foreign world hadn’t prematurely aged him, then this non-Euclidean mass of putrid politics certainly had. 

How was it possible to have been on the front-lines of a war and to have learned nothing of the convoluted machinations behind it? Oh, right. Twos were stupid, stupid and often suicidal, suicidal, by design. 

Over and over he wondered if leaving Earth with the tall Terran had been selfish. 

But again, the man had been a monster among the humans. At least here, an alien could be forgiven for being just a little weird. 

He strode toward a crowd of high-ranking medical staff gathered outside the Doctor’s apartment. Instead of getting out of his way they surged forward to block the hall. 

Stopping was difficult due to the braces and it being somewhat easier to move faster rather than slower on Keplerian legs. Fortunately he wasn’t big enough to do much damage and would certainly have been forgiven if he had been.  

“Woah there, Five-aye, I’m sure he’ll be very glad to see you, but that - I’m afraid is the problem.”

7cb7 lifted the small Two clear off his feet and carried him backward several steps from the crowd. No one turned to look at them. That was unusual, as 5a82 was currently, not that he wanted to be, the most noticeable thing on the planet. 

“You see, 049 is helping some of our people with some trouble we’ve been having and it turns out he’s got some pretty good ideas, so - let’s not interrupt them. I’ve got some new Terran media for us. Ever hear of Warehouse 13?”

7cb7 continued to sing the praises of Warehouse 13 (an Earth tv show about a secret organization that protected the world from haunted objects) as they rushed 5a82 further and further away.

An ink-dark form was collapsed against the far wall of the closed apartment. Down the side of a long rostral structure, was a thin stream of fresh, red Earth blood. 

Part 2. 

Seedy almost lost their grip on the slick, amphibious eel when an alarm emanating from the stronghold of the neighbors rattled the windows of the processing building. The eel was unfazed. It had already spawned, but hadn’t yet begun to waste away, it was now or never. Seedy reset the blade and sent the Uhmishie lungfish back down the conveyor - SHOOP! a clean cut. They put the head in a box of ice and left it to rest with the others.  

They were reaching for the next eel when the alarm came again. “Could you knock it the Fuck off, already!” They roared into their phone. It had been going off constantly so the big One had put it on silent. Had they no respect? These fine specimens had been raised lovingly from mere larvae and now it was time to dismiss them, with all due respect, to the void. 

“Sir, we are just testing the systems, wouldn’t you want to evacuate if there was going to be a battle next door?” 

“I know the timing is off, what the hell do you want?!”

“3cd6? We want to talk to your sister, Tasha. She seems to not be answering her calls.” Seedy handed the phone to an assistant and stomped an empty battery case flat before kicking it out an open door. There was a brief complaint from outside, but no follow up. The assistant returned the phone. “That’s because she’s removing bladder stones from a hideous Earthen rat who’s owner is more than capable of turning us all into a crater!”

A slightly shorter One in a tightly woven hairnet pounded the floor of the viaduct connecting the great glass mountain outside to the far-smaller processing facility by the tramway. Tasha had heard the alarms too - but it was far more amusing to assume her sibling could really yell that loud. “They’re called Chihuahuas and this one’s been keeping the Aven entertained.” 

“Aven Blaven, just see what the neighbors want!”

She took the phone. “May I help you?” 

“Ma’am, you need to get over here fast there’s a problem.”

“With what?”

“I’m not authorized to say anything else. If you’re so curious, come see for yourself.”

Part 3. 

A pair of squat towers bristling with haphazard weaponry emerged from the region’s persistent mists as Tasha parked the armored vehicle issued as a kind of apology - for the looming threat at the very doorstep of her family’s farm.

Once upon a time a few rouge bureaucrats met secretly in the attic of an unauthorized bar and secretly hoped that the near by heritage sites and eel operations encased as they were in fragile conservatories would cause the powers that be to go easy on the bombs. Now, by the looks of it, bombs were expected, bombs or invasion by the notorious flesh robots that adorned the propaganda posters of the United Federation.

She froze when a spot light snapped on. 

Guards rushed fourth and ushered her through a side entrance then along halls and up stair ways until an unsuspecting door flew off its hinges with a very surprised Two laying on top of it. Very surprised meaning that surprise was clear despite a covered face and generations of genetic engineering meant to remove emotion. The Two nonetheless sprang to the balls of it’s feet, door in hand, and rushed back into the room to pin the offender against the wall with its new found shield.

An eerie, synthetic voice spoke an Earth language with an odd echo it was hard to account for. “Unhand me, by god, and what is this filthy contraption you’ve put on me?” 

“Oxygen equipment for animal, yes, not filthy though, sterile, never reuse!” cajoled an uncertain One in broken English. 

Tasha had started to suspect that her patient might be the Earthen Paramore. Perhaps it had passed out or some other scary thing that could happen to a being with largely unknown biology. 

The Two re-emerged and caught her arm. It was mostly indistinguishable from the other guards, (no visible face) less armor though and a glowing, blue symbol that marked it as a combat medic. That was interesting, it had seemed these things were mostly used as weapons. Still, what was a Federation flesh robot doing working for the Resistance?

It talked over her head, it’s voice reduced to a static buzz by the coms of it’s helmet. The helmet was mostly to prevent infection and people getting too attached to the face beneath. “We have the mammalogist.”

[shwoo]

Doing the final edit of this fanfic did not take me as long as I thought it would. First half is done!

(Filbo's dad isn't the greatest parent, but he's not abusive and Filbo isn't scared of him, just to be clear. Filbo just doesn't like to see people upset, especially loved ones.)

TItle: Just Dropping in (part 1 of 2) Summary: Filbo has lived with his dad almost all his life, but now that he's back from Snaktooth, he's decided to stay with some journalist who wasn't even part of the original expedition. Filbo's dad has some suspicions. He has a lot of suspicions. (Also on AO3)

.

Chapter 1: Keep It Under Wraps! Chapter 2: Don't Spill The Beans!

The door to Theobe's apartment still appeared to be closed and locked. That was a good start, they guessed. They'd half-expected to come home to find it wide open. At two months, the Snaktooth trip wasn't exactly their longest ever, but…

They shifted their grocery bags to one arm and opened the door, to an untouched front hall, and sighed. All right. Back to the real world.

Filbo followed them in. "Wow, Buddy, you live here?" He stopped to admire the hat rack next to the door. "A hat rack? You really thought of everything!"

Theobe smiled. Almost back to normal. They made a detour to the kitchen to drop their groceries on the counter -- they'd put them away in a second -- and headed to the living room to lie on the couch.

The living room was as immaculate as they'd left it, which knowing them, was probably going to last another five minutes. They gave the main couch an experimental push, and it once again failed to sprout cockroaches. Disappointed, they flopped backwards onto the couch cushions.

They were going to order pizza later. The two of them had decided on pepperoni, and Theobe could almost feel the crispness of the crust and the chewiness of the base. And the cheese… Soft and melty, but still semi-solid. And real tomatoes in the sauce, tangy without being covered by overwhelming sweetness…

Filbo entered the room from the kitchen, with the same boundless energy he'd had since they'd left Wiggle's play. "Whoa, that is a lot of books, Buddy," he said, pointing at the bookshelves. "And did I see a coffee machine back there?" He sounded hopeful.

Theobe tried to shrug. "I am a journalist." They'd had some pretty tough deadlines in the past. They did sometimes like to sleep, though, unlike some editors they could mention.

Filbo crossed the room to the hall door. "And what's through here?"

Reluctantly, Theobe rolled off the couch. They probably should show their new guest around. They could rest after that.

They showed Filbo the bathroom, the bedroom, the spare room, and then the office, which Filbo seemed particularly impressed with. He seemed impressed with everything, but Theobe had learned to pick up on the nuance by now.

"I wish I had a whole room just to work in," he said, as they headed back to the living room. "Not that I… have any work to do." He laughed weakly. "Uh… too bad Beffica didn't wanna stay with us, huh?"

"I think she wants to live on her own," said Theobe. She was going to have trouble finding a place on such short notice, but they knew how much she hated having to rely on someone else's goodwill.

Also, all three of them knew that she wouldn't enjoy living with Filbo, and Filbo would enjoy it even less, so it was a little weird that he'd been the one to suggest it. For someone who was always telling Theobe to look out for themself more, he wasn't good at taking his own advice.

"Well, she'll be fine, I guess," said Filbo. He looked at the phone sitting on the corner table. "Oh, and we better make sure Cromdo got in touch with his sister." He cleared his throat a couple of times. "Speaking of which… I kinda gotta call my family. You know, let them know I'm not… dead… Can I borrow your phone? They're a little far away, but I'll pay you back! I'm… good for it… Heh."

"Don't worry about it," said Theobe. They weren't rich, but they owned their apartment outright, and a long-distance phone call wasn't going to break the bank. "Call your family!"

"Hey, thanks, Buddy!" said Filbo. He picked up the phone and hit the keypad, mumbling to himself. After a few seconds, someone picked up. "Aunt Susma! Hi! It's me, Filbo!"

Theobe sat in the armchair closest to the corner table. Filbo had talked a little about his family, but never in much detail. This could be interesting.

"Nope, still alive, haha," Filbo responded. "We had to cut things a little short, but I'm staying in New Gr-- Oh, hi, dad!"

Theobe cocked their head. Filbo had said several things about his dad, Miglo. Positive things, mostly, but Filbo could say very positive things in very concerning ways. His dad was, at the least, a bit overprotective.

Filbo's expression had turned slightly nervous. "I was just telling Aunt Susma I was gonna stay in good ol NGC for-- No, I'm okay, really! Still got.. all my limbs…" He looked at his left arm as he spoke. It was currently part banana and part jerky, but Theobe had to agree, it was still there.

Theobe could faintly hear Filbo's dad over the phone. He sounded agitated, but they could have guessed that from Filbo's half of the conversation. They couldn't really blame this Miglo guy for being upset. Filbo had been gone for a year, and Snaktooth Island did have a reputation.

"Actually, I'm staying with a friend?" Filbo continued, with a glance at Theobe. "They're a journalist, I met them on Snak-- Well, no, but Lizbert invited them after we got there, and…" he chuckled, "they did save my life a couple times--" He winced, and held the phone away from his earhole.

The chattering from the phone had got louder. Theobe could almost make out words, but not quite. And they guessed they shouldn't pry, even though they really wanted to. Filbo looked stressed enough as it was.

"Dad! Dad, please calm down. I'm fine, I swear! We got out there… Huh? Oh, right." Filbo smiled. "Their name…" he said proudly, "is Theoblab."

Theobe had a bad habit of forgetting to introduce themself by name, and when Filbo had started calling them "Buddy", they'd assumed it was a generic nickname he used for everyone. And at first, that had definitely been true. He'd called everyone Buddy, often several times a day. But as Snaxburg had repopulated, Filbo had begun to stop using it as much, until the only person he stilladdressed that way was Theobe. By the boat ride back, they'd had been on the verge of asking him if he thought they really were called Buddy, when Filbo had finally, sheepishly, asked for their name.

"Uh…" Filbo continued. "Hang on, dad." He covered the receiver, and turned to Theobe, squinting. "Buddy? What's your last name, again?"

Theobe couldn't be surprised that he'd forgotten already. Besides, it was an easy one to mix up. "Rumplerun," they said.

Filbo uncovered the receiver. "Rumplerun!" he said into the phone. "They're writing a story about Snaktooth Island-- I'm staying to help them out, like they helped all of us out on--" He paused. "Well, I can't just come home on such short notice… Besides, I promised." He listened again. "I wanna see more of the city. And uh, broaden my horizons…?" Another pause. "Yeah, but I don't really remember much from back then… Uh, I'll ask them." He put his banana-y paw back over the receiver. "My dad wants to talk to you."

"Sure thing," said Theobe. "I'm a little nervous," they added with a laugh. They weren't, but talking to hostile sources wasn't their favourite thing in the world.

"Aw, don't be!" said Filbo, handing them the phone. "He's not… uh…" He scratched his head. "Well, he's all the way back home!"

Theobe took the receiver. "Hello? Theoblab Rumplerun speaking…"

"Miglo Fiddlepie," snapped the voice on the other end. "Now, what are your intentions with my son?!"

"Um…" said Theobe. Maybe that meant something different where Miglo lived. He didn't seem to have an accent, though. At least, his accent wasn't any different from Theobe's. "A roof over his head while he's in town?"

Miglo grunted. "Are you even a real journalist?"

"What?" said Theobe. "Of course! I work for GNN…" They hoped that would be true for longer than it took to write their Snaktooth story.

"Well, Theoblab Rumplerun who works for GNN," began Miglo.

"That's me," Theobe put in.

"Watch yourself," said Miglo. "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this."

There was a click, and a dial tone.

Theobe looked at the receiver. "He didn't say goodbye…"

"Heh, yeah," said Filbo. "Sorry about my dad, Buddy. He can be… a little intense."

"I've talked to worse," said Theobe with a shrug. They hoped Miglo had fun trying to get to the bottom of nothing in particular. They had a couch to go lie on.

.

Theobe sorted through their pile of drafts, which by now was threatening to take over their entire desk. They had plenty of raw material, and it was far past time to start putting it all in order. They were definitely starting the story off at the mysterious door, just before Filbo and Eggabell had finally managed to open it, and then they were going to switch to their arrival on the island. They'd retooled the giant moth made of pizza into gale force winds, and they'd done enough research on balloon accidents that they were sure it could stand up to reasonable scrutiny.

But then what? Then they profiled someone, but who did they start off with? Filbo? And after that, did they go back to their fall into the "lava tubes" under the mountain? Or did they continue with profiles and village life, and save all the Lizbert stuff for the end? Theobe had become sure that the real key to selling stories about mysteries was to emphasise the Grumpus element, so the village life was vital.

But they still needed to spice it up with action, and since they were leaving out the Snak hunts, a lot of that action was right at the start or the end of their trip. They might be able to get away with adding the expeditions they'd conducted with Triffany, but how non-linear could they get, before Clumby started complaining at them again for alienating their audience?

Most of what they'd written was still technically debunkable, but at least this time Theobe knew it. And if someone else got close enough to Snaktooth Island to force a retraction, then everyone had bigger problems than Theobe's job security.

There were muffled sounds coming from down the hall-- voices. Mostly Filbo, but there was someone else, too, and it didn't sound like the radio. And Filbo seemed to be squeaking a lot, and he'd been doing that a lot less lately. Theobe scribbled a quick note about event ordering on some scrap paper, and jumped up to investigate.

Filbo was in the front hall, talking to someone over the intercom. "I'm not really dressed to go out--" he began, then turned to Theobe with a smile. "Buddy! I was just about to come get you! My dad is, uh… here."

"Your… dad?" repeated Theobe, confused. Their first thought was that he couldn't be. He didn't live here, he lived in some small town near Grumpney. Or according to Filbo, not that near. But obviously, he didn't have to stay there, any more than Filbo did.

"Hey!" said the voice from the intercom, who did sound a lot like the grump Theobe had spoken to on the phone a few weeks ago. "I hear you! Let Filbo down here!"

"I'm not stopping him," said Theobe into the intercom. They tried to think. As usual, Filbo was wearing only his mayoral sash, and it seemed clean, but he did still have a Razzby instead of a right foot, and the Inchwrap he'd eaten the day before the party had migrated to his left arm. So in that sense, he'd been telling the truth. He really wasn't dressed to go out. Maybe in few more days.

"I'd really rather stay up here, dad," said Filbo quickly. "Uh, that's why I didn't get dressed properly today. I'm not feeling too great. I think it's something I ate." He chuckled slightly. "M… maybe you can come up here?" He looked at Theobe as he spoke.

Theobe got the question in his expression. "Sure, why not?" It seemed like Miglo wasn't going to go away unless they gave him at least something. And despite his hostility, Theobe was getting very curious to meet Filbo's dad. He'd had a hard life, Filbo had said.

Filbo looked relieved. "Because if you came up here, you could see that everything's fine. I'm just having a fun vacation!"

Miglo grumbled for a second, then said "Fine. But people know where I am."

"Uh," said Filbo. He gave Theobe a confused look. "That's… good?"

"I'll see you in the lobby," said Theobe, and turned off the intercom. See how he liked not being said goodbye to.

Filbo grabbed his head. "Oh, grump, what are we gonna do? Why did I invite him up here?" He lowered his arms. "No, no, we'll get through it. He's gotta see me, or he's just gonna worry. And maybe… call the police again."

"Again?" said Theobe, intrigued. But now wasn't the time. "How are you gonna hide the Snakifications? We could get out the cloak." Filbo usually wore a cloak when he had to go outside, but it would look really weird to wear one indoors. They were more of a poor weather thing, if anything.

Filbo seemed to have recovered. "That won't be necessary, because I have a secret weapon!" He ran out of the room, and returned with a large bag of gummy grumps. "Ta-da!"

Theobe inspected it, noting the speech bubble above the cheerful Grumpuses on the front, which declared that "We're 100% Sugar-Free!"

"Hey, try not to eat too many of those." One time, Theobe had eaten a whole bag in one sitting, after reading an article in Grumpus Health and getting curious. It had been the second least pleasant post-food experience of their life. Worth it for the fact check, though.

Filbo smirked. "That's the whole point, Buddy! I figure I can get rid of… at least one of these?" He looked at his Inchwrap arm, then his Razzby leg.

"Ah," said Theobe. He was trying to speed up his next detransformation. That would do it, but it only ever seemed to work on one body part at a time. Something about programmed cell death in Snakmatter and digestive capacity? Floofty had started to describe it, but they'd spent just as much time complaining about the loss of their research, and wondering aloud if Eggabell's notes had survived, so they didn't seem to know much more about it than anybody else. And then there was their leg…

Theobe was a little grossed out by Filbo's plan, but they guessed they couldn't talk, with their own experiments. And that favour they'd done for Wambus on Snaktooth.

They grabbed their keys from the side table next to the door, and said "See you in a few."

Filbo ripped open the bag and tossed a couple of gummy grumps into his mouth. "Uh, try not to let my dad get to you, Buddy." He swallowed, and tossed in a few more. "He's just… protective. He can't find out about Bugsnax, or he'll freak out even worse."

Theobe smiled. "Don't worry, Filbo, he won't hear about them from me."

.

Theobe had been half-worried and half-hoping that Miglo would leave before they could get downstairs, but there in the lobby was a Grumpus with a very familiar build. He also had lilac-coloured fur and a slight overbite, but otherwise, he looked a lot like Filbo.

The Grumpus looked up as Theobe approached, and scowled. "So you are who you said you were."

It was definitely him. Unless the city was hosting a soundalike convention in the hotel across the street or something.

"Uh, yeah," said Theobe. "Listen, can you call ahead next time? We, uh, weren't expecting anyone today." Theobe had never been very sociable outside of their job, and this was the first time they and Filbo had had to figure out how to host someone not in on the secret.

Miglo followed them to the elevator. "I shouldn't have to call to see my son."

Theobe was pretty sure that being related didn't exempt him from giving them a heads up, but they didn't say so. Nothing Filbo had said had given the impression that Miglo was a violent grump, but he did seem to be barely restraining himself from… something.

After a few seconds of silence in the elevator, Miglo cleared his throat. "Why would you agree to put up someone you just met, anyway?"

"What?" said Theobe. "Filbo? I didn't just… We met on Snaktooth! Didn't he tell you?" They were pretty sure they remembered him saying that.

"Hmp," said Miglo.

"Really," said Theobe, who was getting the sense that Miglo didn't believe them. "He got the town running again-- If he hadn't been there, we don't know what would've happened."

Filbo usually attributed Snaxburg's revival to Theobe, but Theobe didn't see how. All they'd done was catch Bugsnax and listen to people, which they'd had to do to keep their job. They'd spent so much time exploring the island and catching Bugsnax that they hadn't even been in town half the time. And meanwhile, Filbo had made sure to check on everyone every single day.

Miglo chuckled. "Ah, so you don't know him at all."

They reached Theobe's floor, and Theobe thought better of what they'd been about to say. "I think you're selling Filbo short," they said instead.

They were beginning to have some suspicions about the way Filbo always put himself down.

Theobe unlocked the door to find Filbo waiting for them in the front hall. He'd changed into rain boots to hide his raspberry foot, and was holding his left arm behind his back. "Dad!" he said, with what sounded like genuine enthusiasm. "Great to see you!"

Theobe's rain boots were going to be sticky after this. It was a good thing that their allergies only seemed to respond to living Bugsnax.

"Filbo, you're all right!" said Miglo, sounding relieved. They hugged briefly, Filbo only using his right arm. Then Miglo added "Uh, what are you holding behind your back?"

"Well, I'll bet you're tired from your trip," said Filbo, beckoning him with his right arm. "Buddy has a really good coffee maker."

Miglo narrowed his eyes and looked around. "And who is Buddy?"

"Oh!" Filbo laughed sheepishly. "That's Theobe… It's kind of like an… inside joke…?"

Theobe waved. There was something bizarre about hearing their real name come out of Filbo's mouth.

Filbo walked sideways through the door to the dining room, and Miglo followed.

He frowned, then sniffed. "Seems clean enough."

"I vacuumed just this morning," said Filbo proudly.

Miglo turned on Theobe so fast that Theobe jumped. "You're making him do all the housework? Just because he's unemployed? Hasn't he been through enough already?"

Filbo ran between them. "It's okay, dad, it's okay! We split the chores. We even have a chore wheel." He took a step back to hide his arm, and pointed at the fridge in the kitchen nook.

"Yeah, over here," said Theobe. They hadn't really seen the point in having a chore wheel for just two people, but Filbo had insisted. He'd decorated his side of the wheel with a paw print and a smiley face, so Theobe had put their own, slightly smaller paw print on their side, as well as a doodle of a pencil.

While Miglo was looking at the chore wheel, Filbo put his right hand behind his head, smiled, and tried to make some sort of gesture with his lettuce arm. He glanced at it, and whipped it behind his back again.

"Hmp," said Miglo, and headed back to the dining area.

Theobe bit back a sarcastic comment about whether he'd finished his inspection, and said "So, how would you like your coffee? Would you like some music?" They gestured at the tape deck in the corner of the room.

Miglo glared. "Regular coffee. No music. Quit trying to suck up to me."

"Uh, dad, shouldn't you have soy milk, or creamer…?" said Filbo.

"Oh, yeah," said Miglo quickly. "Soy milk, please."

"Sure thing," said Theobe. Filbo was lactose intolerant as well. They also had oat milk, for Shelda, though she preferred flax milk. "Or we have oat--"

"Soy," said Miglo. "Don't even try to get on my good side. My daughter-- Filbo's little sister-- she had a teacher who tried that once."

"Dad…" said Filbo, sounding a little exasperated. He glanced at Theobe, and shrugged.

"No, they need to hear this," said Miglo. "She's a film-making genius-- so good her tenth grade media teacher tried to enter her final assignment in a contest as his own!" He paused.

Theobe could tell he wanted them to ask what had happened to them. They considered pretending to be completely absorbed in measuring coffee into the filter, but they were a little curious. "Okay, then what?"

"I made some calls," said Miglo happily. "Now he's blacklisted from teaching for life! Filmmaking, too. I have connections."

"Yeah…" said Filbo weakly. "That sure was… a thing that happened." He didn't sound sarcastic. Just like he'd heard this story too many times.

Theobe wasn't sure they believed what Miglo was saying, although Filbo clearly seemed to. "You did all that just because he tried to get on your good side?" they said, as they turned the machine on.

"You have no idea who my stepfather is, do you?" said Miglo. "Of course you don't."

Theobe wanted to say that Filbo had somehow forgotten to give them an itemised list of all of his relatives on the day they met. Instead, they said "Nope."

"Not even a guess?" said Miglo.

Well, at least he was enjoying himself now. "The head of the Grumpinati?" said Theobe.

"Ever heard of Barolb Heavytreat?" Miglo continued.

"The senator?" said Theobe, legitimately surprised. He might as well have been the head of the Grumpinati, for the influence he had. Heavytreat definitely was married, but they couldn't remember what his husband's name was.

"Dad, please don't be so hard on Buddy-- I mean Theobe," said Filbo. "They're just a great Grumpus. They helped everyone on the island!"

Of course they had. Filbo had asked them to. "Even Cromdo." Theobe didn't actually dislike Cromdo, but he'd been hard to deal with before he'd stopped hiding his interests.

The coffee maker was starting to give off a delicious smell. Theobe had spent so much time trying to imagine what Bugsnax must smell like to the others that a lot of normal food smells still set off the memories. But never coffee. Maybe there was a coffee Bugsnak someone on the island, but if there was, they'd never encounter it.

"Filbo, you don't need to cover for them," said Miglo, more gently than Theobe had heard him speak so far. He hesitated. "Wait. Are they the one who made you wear that ridiculous sash? Is that part of their 'help'?"

Filbo picked at his sash. "It's not ridiculous…"

"Or was that Lizbert?" said Miglo. "Good thing you never married her. I had her totally wrong!"

"Still mad, huh?" said Filbo, half to himself.

"You and Lizbert dated?" said Theobe, surprised. Given what they knew about their age difference and when Lizbert had left home, they weren't sure when that could have even happened.

"No!" said Filbo. "Never. Dad's just…" He looked at his dad and laughed nervously.

"Thinking about your future," said Miglo.

"Well," said Filbo, "The sash was, uh, my idea. People kinda kept forgetting I was mayor, so I… But I wasn't really mayor, nobody elected me, so I was kind of like… honorary mayor? Nobody else wanted to do it, so…" He laughed again.

"You did a great job, Filbo," said Theobe.

"Aw, thanks, Buddy," said Filbo, sounding as touched as he did every time Theobe told him that. "Dad, I hope you'll forgive Lizbert one day. She didn't even really…" He frowned suddenly. "Oh, gru-- uh, gosh. I gotta go. Excuse me!" He rushed through the living room door.

Miglo jumped to his feet.

"He's just going to the bathroom!" said Theobe. Obviously the gummy grumps had kicked in. Right when the coffee was ready, too. Oh well.

(Important author's note: I know about Joey Quickbeans. But apparently, in this story Theobe does not)

(Next Chapter)

[gothamxwattpad]

Sitting at the break table waiting.

Every time i pull my notebook out to copy what I have on my writing app(it’s part of my soft editing process) I have to deal with a customer looking for the restroom or a coworker asking me questions.

So, I’ve decided to jump into chapter five. This chapter is the last chapter in part one: the first night, which will probably be the longest one because there is a a lot going on. This chapter is loaded.

I’ve been sitting a 400 word one shot that I wrote before chapter one was finished and I want to use it because it’s really good and kinda vague- it’s perfect to suck in a reader. But I have to do it just right so it can transition into where I left off at chapter two.

The one shot takes place right after the incident in chapter one when Zachary Martin gets punched by an old classmate of his. I think if I do it in italics, kinda flashback-y, it’ll work out but I don’t know until I try.

I usually try to write an introduction that sorta gives a little background on the character that the chapter belongs to, something to set the mood and get things rolling and I have nothing for this particular character. I think this one shot is perfect.

Anyway….I’ll check in eventually and update y’all.

[grumpygreenwitch]

Fanfiction 6-7-8-9-10

AS A WARNING, there is the implication of violence and abuse in this part.

Please don't forget that reblogs give me life. Though if you wanna throw a coupla bucks in the teacup I'm not gonna say no.

This is probably the longest chunk of chapters you're gonna get. I didn't want to leave a cliffhanger for a whole week. This is also where you can see where my problem is with the Guild Hunter universe.

Buy me a Ko-fi?

1-2-3 + 4-5 + 6-7-8-9-10 + 11-12 + 13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21 + 22-23 + 24-25 + 26-27

6

Alyss found New Hampshire nearly impeccably run, barring a few stray peccadilloes he suspected came from Gracie's staff, not the vampire overseer herself, but he ran into an immediate problem when he started looking into the Vermont books. He went looking for Gevaun and found the man in a large, sunny gym, overseeing the combat training of most of the house staff. Kliman's Second still made the time to move over to a corner to attend to the accountant at once.

Alyss closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and scrunched his wings close to his back as rigidly as possible. Jean was on the far corner of the gym, working on a machine that allowed him to look out of the ceiling-to-floor windows; he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that fit him like a second skin and his arms were doing things that made the angel's neurons squeal like teenagers. It took a tremendous amount of effort to focus on Gevaun. "The Vermont books I have are copies. And I suspect they're fakes."

Gevaun's eyes went wide. "All of them?"

"They look good, all of them. And I probably wouldn't be able to confirm until I got the hard copies. But you hired me to dig, so I went digging. I think I found the originals. They're in an entirely different part of your cloud directories, locked up tight."

The Second scowled. "Show me. Jean, take over, would you?"

"Alright," the other vampire looked briefly startled to be called on, but he obeyed readily enough as Alyss led Gevaun out of the gym and to his office.

Gevaun talked to Kliman, who talked to someone called Evie, who acquired the services of someone else. Within an hour Alyss had access to the original books and someone called Alistaire was in deep trouble, which kept getting deeper the more Alyss dug. He begged leave to skip dinner as he worked, printing out copies of the information he'd already saved in a separate drive. When the knock came to the door he didn't even look up. "Come in."

"Holy crap." Jean's voice was low and surprised. "Isn't accounting supposed to be organized?"

Alyss looked up, startled. He was sitting on the floor once again, surrounded by a sea of printouts, a red pen in his mouth, a blue one tucked behind one ear, and a yellow one stuck to the collar of his shirt. He spat out the pen to speak. "Oh, this, I mean, it is. I am! Organized. It's just a very particular sort of organized." He stared at the office. "It makes sense to me," he finished weakly.

"That's what matters," the vampire replied evenly, and the angel felt a little better. "But I brought dinner and I don't think you got anywhere to put it down in here. It's quick food," he assured Alyss when the accountant looked at all his work. "And Chere’ll be mad if I have to take it back. The last person you want angry at you is the one cooking your food."

"I know, I know." Alyss stretched. His spine and his wings both felt kinked and cramped. "I guess I can break for a bit." He followed the vampire into his room, and Jean set the tray he was carrying on top of a small, decorative desk. Before Alyss could protest, Jean sat on the bed, which left the accountant to take a seat before the tray.

"Can I ask what you're doing, or is it hush-hush?"

"Some of it is, but yes, you can ask. I'm running five-year audits on everyone who works for Kliman. This just got a little more, erm, complicated because I keep finding things wrong."

"Alistaire stealing from Kliman?"

"I don't know what he's doing, exactly, but it's not nice," Alyss declared primly, making Jean smile faintly. The angel found two sandwiches and a tremendous wedge of egg custard pie on the tray and started making short work of them. "And there's so much of it that he couldn't just hide it, he had to make a whole other set of books to try and pretend it doesn't exist."

Jean tried to focus on what Alyss was telling him but it was hard. Was it ever hard. The angel, so guarded and shy, burst into life like a sunflower when he started speaking of his work, his gestures and his voice full of animation. The delicate features, usually so pale and still, glowed with life, and the dark brown eyes filled with light. He did this thing, the vampire realized, where one of his wings twitched when he made a particularly energetic point, where someone else might have gestured sharply with one hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you."

"You're not. Just not sure I'm following all of it. You make it sound like you can't hide anything when it comes to business."

"Oh, you can hide so many things, so many. You just have to work at it, and it's twice as hard, but -" Alyss drew himself up sharply, and went so profoundly red that Jean could see the color creeping over his face by gradients. "Which I would never ever do, of course, not ever." He stuffed a giant bite of pie in his mouth.

Jean couldn't help a low, rusty little chuckle, and Alyss stared. Gaunt and exhausted as the vampire looked, when he smiled, which was so rare, and when he laughed, which he'd only heard twice, his eyes came to life like spring coming to the world, green and vibrant. "Don't need to worry about me, Alyss. Not gonna sell out your trade secrets. I'm just... It's weird. Never heard of an angel wanting to be an accountant."

"I'm the only one I know of," Alyss agreed. "My parents are very disappointed." When Jean's brows shot up he shrugged a little. "I guess they wanted me to follow in their footsteps."

"What do they do?"

"As far as I've ever been able to tell? Nothing. Be adored. They go from lover to lover, have them pay for everything and then flit away to the next person when they get bored. I'm sure it's a very fun life for them, it's just not the life I wanted."

"They had you, though. There must be something there."

"I was an accident. They weren't nearly as interested in the baby as they are in the, er, baby-making," Alyss declared primly, sipping at his tea and flushing faintly. "They're complicated people."

'Complicated', Jean had long ago learned, was what one called the people you desperately wanted to care for you, even if they never would. "I think their disappointment is their loss," he said simply.

Alyss nearly choked on his drink. "Ahm. Well, what about you? Where are you from? Wait, is that alright to ask? You don't have to answer."

"It's fine."Jean figured the questions would come, eventually, and he'd rather they come from someone like Alyss, someone who seemed truly, honestly nice. "Mississippi, a long time ago. If you mean the angel, you wouldn't have heard of him. It was in Africa, very small little place." He rolled to his feet before Alyss could think of any more questions to ask. "I'll take the tray if you're done -"

"Oh, you don't have to, I can -!" Alyss scrambled to his feet and grabbed hastily for the tray. He moved so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that the end result was to have the vampire nearly crash into his back, between his wings, so close that the warmth of him rolled like a summer breeze over the feathery down peeking out of the angel's shirt.

Both men froze. The wings twitched once and then went rigidly still. Jean was close enough to see a deep blush against the pale skin of the angel's neck; he could also see the quick beat of his pulse there. He could smell the old book and ancient library scent of him. There was not even an inch between his fingers and those amber-colored feathers, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to sink his hands into them and find out if they were as fine, as silky, as soft as they looked. The vampire suddenly realized, in a blaze of enlightenment, that Alyss would likely not stop him.

Alyss closed his eyes. He hadn't had anyone this intimately close to him in well over a decade, and even then it had been more awkward than enticing. But the spicy scent of Jean, mingled with the faint smell of the woods and a passing hint of soap and aftershave, felt cataclysmically erotic in ways he couldn't even begin to understand. His hands were shaking and he took them from the tray before the clatter could give him away, but he didn't dare move in any direction. He could barely breathe as it was.

"Alyss." His name spoken by that low, calm voice felt newly minted to the world and loaded with decadent, unspoken suggestions.

"Um," was all the angel could croak out and he could have kicked himself for it, eyes closing and head lolling down minutely in embarrassment. He heard that low, rusty chuckle, brief and ephemeral, as if Jean were only just learning how to make the sound, and his head whipped around, only to find himself dangerously close to the face of the much taller vampire. His breath caught.

Jean blew out a slow breath, saw it touch the angel’s lips, saw Alyss lick them automatically, and knew he’d been right.

Alyss saw the vampire step back. And then he felt a touch, as delicate as a kiss, along the leading edge of one of his wings.

"I'll take the tray. You've got work."

"Okay," the angel managed to strangle out, knees gone wobbly at such a tiny, tiny gesture. He stepped aside somehow, watched the vampire pick up the tray and head out without another word, and crashed down to sit on the bed not knowing what to even think of the new shape of the world.

How was he supposed to get back to work after that?!

7

After a week, Alyss realized Alistaire's crimes were infinitely worse than falsifying his accounts. Things had escalated so that he was giving Kliman a nightly report, usually with Gevaun and Lilah in attendance, if the latter wasn't traveling.

"Call in Rook," Kliman told Lilah after one particularly convoluted and vicious bit of business. "This only gets worse the more I hear of it." As the liaison nodded and left the room, the older angel turned to her accountant. "Alyss, you have new directions."

"Yes, ma'am?" The young angel drew himself up straight.

"Do what you can so Alistaire's successor can get past all of this," she waved her hands over the documentation the accountant had brought her, "and anything else you discover, and get things back on the proper course."

"Yes, ma'am."

She waved him away and Alyss picked up his papers and fled the room. He was just past the door when he heard Gevaun's voice rumble.

"He's going to run."

"He will try," Kliman said icily. "Rook will make sure he does not get far."

Alyss rushed down the hallway and up half a flight of stairs, and that was as far as he got. He leaned against the wall, shaking, holding onto his paperwork as if it were a life raft. He didn't know anything, not the warmth of the house around him, not the rainy view outside the round window off to one side of him, only the hammering of his heart.

"Alyss?"

The angel nearly jumped out of his skin at that familiar voice. When he spoke, his words were shaky with relief. "Oh, Jean."

The vampire moved closer, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, well, um. I think I just killed someone." Alyss tried to shrug, it came out a shiver. Tried to smile and it came out terribly wobbly.

Jean's brows shot up, and he moved closer still. He'd have expected any number of reactions from an angel who admitted to such a thing; Alyss' was not on that list. Instead of saying anything he touched, very lightly, the back of one of those white-knuckled hands. "Alyss -"

"I've been working on the Vermont data, I mean, you know I have, everyone knows I have, of course you'd know, and I keep finding things wrong, and more and more wrong, and of course I report everything to Gevaun and Lilah and Kliman, so they have to do something about it, but I got so used to everyone being happy here, everyone's happy here, and I didn't think -"

"Alyss," Jean said a third time, and put a calloused thumb over the angel's lips.

Alyss cut himself off with a squeak.

Jean had to very sternly talk himself into pulling his hand away. "Did you put a gun to Alistaire's head? Did you force him to do whatever it is he did?" When the angel shook his head meekly, Jean shrugged. "He's a grown man, Alyss. He's nearly two hundred years old, and he's worked for Kliman all of his free life. He knows the rules. He's the one who chose to break them. And when he could've come clean he chose to go in even deeper." Very carefully, very pointedly he added, "his crimes aren't for you to carry."

When the angel drew in a stuttering, uncertain breath, his brown gaze skittering away, Jean had to accept a realization he'd been shying away from. "You're not used to places like this, are you. Kliman's house. Where everyone's... happy." God, more and more the vampire was being forced to accept that the accountant might actually be a decent creature.

Alyss shook his head. "I've seen such things, Jean," he whispered. "They aren't fair and they aren't right and no one does anything about them because they're vampires." He huffed. "’Oh, they're just vampires’," he mocked a snooty tone, then scowled. "We made them that. We made you that. And then everyone just, just -"

"Hey." Jean caught the accountant by the shoulders and shook him lightly. "Can you change Alistaire?"

"No. I mean... No, I don't even know him."

"How far back do your records go?"

"Oh, I'm anywhere between five and twenty years in for some of them and I'm still -"

"I know it’s different for angels, Alyss, but for normal people twenty years is an eternity. People can change so much in twenty years, if they want to. He just got worse. Was he going to stop if you didn't catch him?"

Jean watched that sweet brown gaze dart this way and that, running from reality, trying to find an answer other than the truth. In the end the angel sagged down, beaten. "No."

"God." The vampire looked at nothing in particular for a long moment before giving Alyss his attention again. "You're nicer than anyone deserves, you do know that?"

"I'd like to think I'm the normal level of nice," the angel replied in a mutinous murmur.

Jean had to grin at that. "I'll help you to your room." When he saw the amber wings twitch, the vampire reconsidered. "Have you been to the sunroom yet?"

"I don't think so."

"Come on. We'll drop off your stuff and I'll give you the tour I guess no one gave you when you got here."

8

The weather shifted to crisp, chilly and sunny autumn days; the change, as much as the shift in the direction of his work, helped Alyss shake off his glum.

Much of it, he had to admit, had to do with his conversation with Jean. The vampire hadn't been cruel but he'd been blunt, and honest, and calm. Alyss might not like it but he knew Jean was right, and to a certain degree so were Gevaun and Kliman. He couldn't, wouldn't ever approve of the casual, gleeful cruelty he'd witnessed against other vampires, but Alistaire was not the sort of vampire that would respond to kindness. To him it was simply a weakness to be exploited.

It made Alyss mad, though. Alistaire's attitude was precisely why no one cared when other vampires suffered at the hands of their angels. One horrible rotten apple, ruining life for everyone else in the barrel.

The Connecticut angel arrived early next morning. He was very much what everyone expected of an angel, tall and powerfully built, young, with sharply defined features and piercing eyes, short brown hair and red and brown wings serrated with white. He suffered a hug from Kliman which he stiffly tried to return, shared a strong, friendly handshake with Gevaun and ignored the fact that the entirety of the house staff was peeking out of every window. When they were introduced he examined Alyss for all of three seconds and immediately dismissed him. The accountant gratefully scurried back to his office, where he stayed until dinner time rolled around and he was told Kliman's enforcer would not be joining them, having already gone on his way. He still spent dinner listening to the staff swoon and gush over the Connecticut angel, fleeing as quickly as the excellent chicken pot pie allowed it. Listening to other people list the many ways in which he himself was not a noteworthy angel wasn't his idea of a good time.

If it weren't utterly unthinkable, he would have put something terrible in the Connecticut books just to be horrible and petty and mean. But it would have been... well, horrible and petty and mean. And dishonest, which was something Alyss tried never to be unless he were specifically hired for it. And even then he was always very dubious about taking on that kind of job, because it unfailingly got complicated and sticky and unpleasant.

Besides, as he paced restlessly through his office and room, staring at his tablet, he was already wondering if he hadn't ended up embroiled in precisely that kind of situation.

Maine wasn't adding up.

Maine was run directly from Kliman's home, directly by the angel. Chere ruled over the kitchen, yes, but part of the reason Kliman had a liaison was so she could oversee her house and her state personally. Every decision that might have caused the books to be wrong would have to go through her. Could it be a test? To see if Alyss really was as good as he claimed? Could it be a trap? The discrepancies weren't terribly big but they were there, needling him.

Alyss snatched a cloak and threw himself out of the balcony, circling once and gliding down to the short, lighted path that followed the perimeter of the pond. He had to get away, had to clear his head. He needed the silence of the woods; he regretted his choice almost immediately, when the cold of the season, compounded by the proximity of the water, slammed into him and left him shivering. He wrapped his wings around himself as best he could and clung to the cloak, muttering very unkind things about his inability to ignore the cold.

In the dark and the silence, the distant sound of an unfamiliar engine came to him on the breeze and for a moment he fancied he heard Jean's voice. It shot a pang through him and he realized he missed the vampire; he hadn't caught a single glimpse of him through the entire day. Shivering, he hurried in the direction of the sounds. He found himself going through the dark woods, on a road he didn't recognize and could barely be called one, and pulled his wings even closer to himself, wary. The road brought him to another side of the marshlands that dominated a good third of Kliman's estate and to an entirely unexpected sight.

Across perhaps fifty or sixty feet of still water he could see the wooden walkway that ran along the other side of the marsh. There was a boat there, the shallow-keeled type, engine humming very quietly in the still, cold air. Three people were already on it, two of them huddled down as close to one another as they could, the third minding the engine and holding a violet-tinted, very small light. There were six more people on the walkway, and even as he looked Alyss recognized one as Gevaun. Kliman's Second was wearing dark, comfortable clothing, and even as Alyss looked he saw the vampire pick up one of the other figures and set them down gently on the boat, holding on until the new passenger had found their footing. By his side, someone else in a dark, heavy lined jacket handed over a small bag.

Alyss knew that jacket. That was Jean. What was going on? The whole thing had the feel of something clandestine and dangerous, but Gevaun and Jean were... well, maybe not friends but they were good people. Gevaun was the sort of person that came to mind when the angel thought of the word 'stalwart'. And Jean, well, Jean was Jean.

Skirting the edges of the marsh and hoping that he wouldn't run himself into any more horrible spiky briers, Alyss inched closer to the strange little gathering. He paused at the very edge of the woods without setting foot on the walkway, knowing that if he did he'd be far too visible, even if the vampires didn't scent or hear him. He was honestly surprised they hadn't heard him already; to the accountant his passage through the woods had sounded only a little quieter than an avalanche.

He was close enough to hear Jean speak in that low, calm, steady tone he knew so well to one of the other people, a smaller figure than most of them there, though the angel was still too far away to make out the words. The vampire then picked them up, careful and slow.

There was still a muffled cry of pain ringing clear over the marsh.

Alyss gasped out loud and surged a step forward before he knew what he'd done, driven by an instinct older than the world. He froze almost immediately, but the heads of both the vampires had whipped around as if they were starving predators who'd scented blood. The angel groped blindly behind him for support that most obviously wasn't there, backing away from the scene. He turned to run.

A painfully strong grip caught his shoulder, spun him around and slammed him wings-first into the nearest tree. He cried out in surprise more than pain, reaching out to try and grab onto his attacker... and froze.

A knife, a long hunter's blade keenly sharp on a weathered wooden handle, was pressed against the skin of his throat, just under his chin. Alyss froze, disbelieving and terrified, a tiny chirping sound of panic escaping him.

Gevaun's eyes went very wide when he realized who he'd caught. His expression, which had sharpened to nearly wolf-like lines, crashed into chagrin, and he very succinctly summed up both the situation and everyone's feelings about it. "Well, crap."

9

"Walk, Alyss," Gevaun commanded, turning the accountant around to face the walkway, his tone brooking no argument.

"I'd rather just go -"

"Matt has a rifle, Jean has a shotgun, I have a lot of knives and you're just getting to your third century. Walk."

Huddled miserably in his cloak, his wings dragging behind him and his whole body shaking in incomprehending fear, Alyss dutifully walked up to the little scene he'd spied on the walkway, his feet occasionally catching on the uneven planks.

"Alyss." Jean's tone and expression were both stricken. Behind him, three figures huddled closer at the sight of the angel. Alyss could all but smell the fear in the air, thicker even than the unmistakable scent of the vampires. He could also smell blood, and it made his feathers shift restlessly. "What," Jean demanded, "are you doing here?" He was having trouble accepting that he might have misjudged the angel so badly, or believing that Alyss could indeed be a spy. He didn't make that kind of mistake, he never had.

"My head was full," Alyss muttered, and there, before the vampire, the person that he'd come to trust above all others in Kliman's house, it was as if a dam had broken. "It was all numbers and chaos rattling around and I couldn't get it to stop because it's all a mess that I can't, I can't fix because it's these books, for here, for Maine and those shouldn't be wrong but they are and -"

"Alyss." Jean lifted a hand to quiet the angel, to soothe him as he had before, and Alyss jerked away, fear in the rich brown of his eyes. The vampire froze. It was a gesture he was far too familiar with, that flinch. His life had been full of it for the past few centuries. But he'd never been the one to provoke it on someone he knew, someone he cared for. He stepped back, his features graven in stone. "Gevaun -"

"I have no bloody clue what to do," the other vampire admitted in Berber.

"He's not a spy," Jean matched the language.

"Jean, I know you like the sunflower but he was there. Hiding in the woods, looking at us. That's normally called spying."

"He's not a spy!"

"Even if he's not, now what? We cut him loose and hope he doesn't tell anyone? His mouth runs, you'll have noticed!"

Jean had no response to that, the very concept seeming so utterly outlandish to him, so he switched tacks. "What do you want to do, kill him? Somehow? He's not old, but he's old enough to make it hard. And how do we explain that when the Refuge comes asking after him?"

"There's no one who'd come asking for him," Gevaun replied ruthlessly.

Jean saw the flinch a second before Alyss joined the conversation in the same language. "I speak Berber, you know." He sounded tired and defeated.

Everyone went quiet once again. Behind Jean, one of the huddled figures started shivering so hard their teeth were clacking. Alyss automatically threw his wings back and undid the clasps on his cloak.

"What are you doing?" Gevaun demanded.

"They're cold," Alyss murmured, slipping the cloak off and stepping forward.

"What," Gevaun tried to step forward between the angel and the three figures, but found his way momentarily barred by one of those amber wings, "are you doing, get -"

"They're cold!" Alyss nearly shouted at the vampire before moving forward.

The shivering figure was a young man, absolutely beautiful, with very pale skin and refined features, eyes gone wide with terror at the sight of the angel. He was so cold in the bleak New England night his lips were turning purple, but he didn't move. His fear went to confusion, and then embarrassed gratitude, when Alyss threw the cloak over his shoulders, to cover the flimsy embroidered tunic and blousy black pants that were all he wore. "Gracias."

"De nada," Alyss replied automatically, stepping back and whirling to face the two vampires. "You're both wearing jackets. You're both old! He's a baby, and you didn't think to give him one? To bring a blanket or something for him? For the rest of them?"

The silence lingered before Jean admitted, "We don't speak Spanish, neither of us. We didn't know who was coming, only that -"

"Jean!"

"- only that they were coming," the vampire finished stubbornly, and he and Gevaun glared wordlessly at one another.

"Oh, for the love of prime numbers!" Alyss cried out, turning once again, his voice gentle and his question pointed. One of the other three, a woman, spoke to him in a different language, and he switched seamlessly to match her.

"Oi," the vampire at the boat's rudder suddenly called out. "I'm sure this is a problem for you lot, but I need to get them out of here quick." He threw in an extra incentive. "Van's heated."

Jean turned around. "Alyss," he called out, and gestured to the third woman, who was wrapped up in a fine woolen blanket stitched with ribbons and exquisite embroidered edges. "Tell her I will help her into the boat, but it's gonna hurt."

"Why is it -" The question withered in Alyss' mouth as the truth, finally, bloomed to life in his mind.

Runaways. They were all runaways.

He turned to the woman, who was staring sightlessly at the marsh, and began gently asking questions, rolling through every language he knew. She twitched at one point, and finally turned to not quite face him when he translated for Jean.

"It's only pain," she murmured emotionlessly, her Finnish without accent. "I will try not to cry out this time."

"She understands," Alyss told Jean, his mouth dry with the new, growing horror of it. He turned to the other woman waiting on the dock. "You're all... This is... You could die, you know, you could die if they catch you," he told her in Polish.

She scoffed. There were bruises like shadows all over her face, and scars all along her neck; as a vampire she was young enough that she wasn't healing quickly, and her healing was not clean. Either that, or someone had made an effort to make sure she got no benefit of either. "Better to die than to go back to that life," she replied, and her conviction was ironclad.

"Is that... why you're here? All of you?"

"No." Her gaze darted to where Jean was carrying the Finnish vampire onto the boat. "No. Some of us are here because they would have never let us die."

That thought, Alyss found out, was even more horrifying than the possibility of a cruel death.

He shook his head when the young man offered him the cloak back and stood there, watching while they all boarded, and then as Jean and Gevaun shoved the boat away with long poles until it was clear of the cattails bordering the walkway. Someone lifted an arm and waved before the boatman turned off his light and the darkness swallowed them all.

Alyss automatically waved back and heard Gevaun sigh, saw the Second rub at his face. Well, as far as the angel was concerned there was really only one thing he could say, and so he said it. "Your accountant is absolutely terrible and hasn't bothered to hide all of the money you're stealing for this at all."

Gevaun turned very slowly to stare at the angel, his expression full of disbelief. "You audited us?"

"Of course I did!" Jean saw Alyss' wings twitch with the angel's exasperation. "You hired me to audit you!"

"To audit them!"

"To audit New England! Which you're part of! What, were you expecting I'd do a terrible job?! Or, or, or not do my job at all?!" When Gevaun, caught off-guard by the very obvious counter, sputtered, Alyss barreled on. "And it's lucky it was me and not someone from New York because your books are the worst mess, no one's made so much as an effort to hide the fact money's going missing everywhere, I can't imagine what something like this costs, except obviously not enough to buy blankets or, I don't know, have something warm to drink when they -" Alyss trailed off, another piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

Hot cocoa and warm croissants, always ready in the kitchen.

Gevaun looked sheepish. "Chere was asleep when we got the call."

Alyss covered his face and made a wordless, high-pitched sound of impatience.

"We weren't expecting this many of them!"

"Then you make plans for when it happens, because it's going to happen! Things always go wrong. Always! That's one of the first things you learn running a business, that's why you make plans, and contingencies for the plans, and contingencies for the contingencies, and you don't very well leave them lying around on your documents for when the Guild comes calling, which honestly I'm astonished they haven't -"

"Kliman happens," Jean pitched in, voice quiet, arms crossed.

"What?" Alyss lost track of the conversation, turning to face the other vampire.

"If the Guild comes by, Kliman happens to them," Jean repeated. "She shuts down their skills. Part of her power."

"How's that going to help if someone in Manhattan decides to go over your books electronically? Or if they send in angels or, or, or the Consort? Couldn't you at least, I don't know, pretend like you aren't getting runaway vampires to safety? Did you go to the cheap bin for your accounting? Do you even have one?!"

"We do, b-"

"Well, then I want to talk to them," the angel demanded, drawing himself up, an effort to look commanding that was entirely ruined by the fact he was shivering in the cold. "I want to talk to your accountant," he declared primly, and it almost sounded like a threat. Almost. Except for the part where he tripped on the walkway once again when he tried to stalk off into the dark.

"Let him go," Jean's voice was very low when he spoke to stop Gevaun, who'd whipped around to follow after the angel.

"But -"

"But his mouth runs?" The vampire's brows went up. "He's an accountant, Gevaun. He's been an accountant to hundreds of angels and vampires, most of them the kind no one else wants to touch. And nobody's heard a peep of the crap he probably found and fixed on their books, have they?" He clicked his tongue, walking sedately away. "His mouth runs," he mocked. "We better go wake up the, uh, the cheap bin accountant."

10

Alyss went to his room and paced, and flailed, and argued with himself a great deal.

On the one hand, he couldn't disagree with what Gevaun and Jean had done. Yes, vampires were dangerous, predatory, horrible. Yes, many of them were no better than Alistaire. At the middle ground, they were no better than Andrew, content to coast through life doing the bare minimum. Or Gracie, clueless and happy to remain so. And the threat of losing control to their hunger for blood was always there, always.

But at some point the burden of Alistaires meant that everyone had stopped looking closely at the matter. The angels, the Guild, they had given up the entire vampiric population as a loss, blood-thirsty fiends without will or thought, bent merely on greed and destruction. The Guild had even made a concerted effort to render the VPA toothless, unable to protect those like the Finnish woman. They'd been so busy wanting free reign to hunt the monsters that they'd set up the victims to be trampled in their wake. Bloodlust was treated as a noose around their neck, a sword forever dangling over them. Alyss had long ago given up trying to understand the sheer stupidity of that way of thinking, because it didn’t affect him. It didn’t touch him.

That night, it most certainly had touched him.

On the other hand, every mortal who wished to become a vampire chose to do so. They chose to accept a hundred years of servitude. They were given the contract to read, to consider, to sign or reject as they saw fit.

But a contract did not excuse the abuse he'd seen on the Polish woman. Or the horror he hadn't seen on the Finnish woman.

He was, Alyss realized, losing the argument to a part of himself that was heavily implying that rules and laws were more like guidelines, really, arr. And he didn't know what to make of it. He was an accountant. He lived his life to bring numbers to order by following a very specific set of rules. Certainly he could twist them, bend them, but he had always done his best to abide by the rules and to do what was right. Never before in his life had the two principles been so diametrically opposed.

There was a delicate knock on the door he'd locked, and he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Please, Chere, I really don't feel like eating!"

"It's not Chere," a cheerful woman's voice replied. "I'm the accountant."

Oh, this was a fight Alyss was more than ready for. He stalked to the door, unlocked it and flung it open. "Do you realize -"

His voice strangled to a delicate whine. There was a sword tip brushing his throat, just above his Adam's apple. It was a fine burnished length of steel, both edges sharpened, without guard; it was done in the old Etruscan style. The pommel was wrapped in leather, utilitarian rather than decorative.

Kliman, wearing a pair of very comfortable hiking pants and a soft pink knit sweater, smiled thinly at the younger angel. "Hello, Alyss. You wanted to talk to me?"

Alyss had automatically thrown his hands up. He looked at the older angel in stunned disbelief and swallowed against the lump of terror in his throat. It refused to budge.

"Back." The smile vanished, Kliman all business. "My house doesn't need to deal with this potential ruckus." She herded him back into the room, the sword never wavering, and closed and locked the door behind her. "Now, there's always the balcony," she admitted. "But if you run I'm going to chase you. And I'm the one who taught Rook everything he knows."

"I won't," Alyss breathed.

"Eh?"

"I won't run, ma'am, I promise."

"Mm. Unlike Gevaun, I'm willing to believe you." She dropped the sword and sheathed it on a half-sheath resting across her back. "Now, you had a speech all ready to go, didn't you."

Alyss opened his mouth. Closed it. "I forgot it," he admitted hoarsely.

She had to chuckle at that. "Well, how about I give you some facts and you can give me the salient points of it. Yes, I know what Gevaun is doing. I am, in fact, the one that started him doing it. I'm not ashamed of it. No, Jean was not supposed to be involved and I'm very cross at them for it. Yes, there was supposed to be a departure tonight. No, half those vampires weren't supposed to be there but one of the safehouses along the pipeline has been compromised. Yes, all of my staff knows; most of them come from the pipeline. No, I'm not actually an accountant but I had no one I trusted to do the book-keeping, considering..." She waved he hand at the balcony.

Alyss pressed his hands close, trying to decide which of his inner halves ought to speak to this new, terrifying version of his hostess. All things considered, he wasn't terribly surprised when Guidelines, Arr-Alyss won out. "You can't do that, ma'am. Respectfully. Everyone forgets to write down things, and in a big household like this money's bound to get lost, but you're financing an entire, uh... pipeline. And it shows. Does it ever, ever show."

One of Kliman's golden brows went up, though she wasn't about to admit to Alyss why it had done so. Instead, very mildly, she replied, "It's that bad, huh?"

"It's... It's... It's somewhat blatant," Alyss explained as diplomatically as possible, unaware that his struggles had left Kliman trying not to laugh. "I'm just saying, it's not hard to hide what you're doing. It's not easy but it's not... If you're trained it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"Hm. Well, that's delightful to know. When can you get started?"

Alyss choked. "Excuse me?"

"You were terribly angry at me before that door opened. You are still angry, you're just more scared than angry. But you know what I haven't heard from you, not once?" Kliman's voice softened. "Disapproval. It's not even a consideration for you." Some of her amusement shone through. "You're upset that I bungled the books, which is fair. But you don't disapprove of what we're doing here, do you."

Alyss felt the argument within him grow to a crescendo, and finally crown a winner. "No. It needs doing, and no one else seems to care."

"We care." Kliman moved closer to set a warm, gentle hand on Alyss' shoulder. "I care. Please, help me, help us, keep on doing this."

Alyss sighed shakily. "Well, I didn't really have anything lined up after this job. I guess I can stay a little longer."

"Wonderful." Kliman beamed at him, whirled around and headed out of the room. "Now come with me."

"Come where?"

"To make sure Jean hasn't killed someone."

"He... what? Excuse -" Alyss hastily trotted after the older angel. "Excuse, excuse me, he, why would he -"

"Child, you can't be so blind not to see he does more than endure your company. Have you seen him suffer any other angels?" Kliman wasn't slowing down. She led the way to her office and threw the doors open to the vast space, full of rosewood furnishings and ancient Etruscan and Hittite art that would have made a museum curator weep. The room was warm, airy and during the daytime it would likely be brightly lit, even without lamps. At the moment, only one half of it was lit. There, Gevaun and Lilah were struggling to keep a snarling Jean pinned down against a desk surrounded by debris. "There! Here he is, safe and sound, now you can stop being so dramatic," Kliman said tartly. "Let him go."

Gevaun and Lilah stepped back and Jean sprang up and away from them, fangs momentarily bared in an entirely feral reaction. Alyss had stopped at the double doors, a hand stretched out, his face frozen in a stricken expression as, again, too many bits and bobs of information came together in his mind.

The fact it took both Gevaun and Lilah to hold Jean down meant the one vampire he'd thought to be the youngest of the three was actually the oldest. And very, very old.

Jean's not staff. He's a guest and he's currently recovering.

A runaway. Memories flickered through Alyss' mind, the way the young Spanish-speaking vampire had frozen in terror at his proximity, the way the Finnish vampire had not even been able to look at him.

Have you seen him suffer any other angels?

No. He wouldn't even join Kliman's dinner table.

"Jean, are you -" Alyss tripped over the wrong words for the right question. "Are you hurt? Are you going to be alright?"

The entire room came to a stop. Jean's mouth had opened but whatever he'd meant to say, the younger angel's question had trumped it. He swallowed hard. "I'm fine," he gritted out and slowly, very slowly, he reached out for that outstretched hand. Alyss clung to the warm, calloused touch of it. "Are you hurt?" The vampire laced his fingers through Alyss', moving closer with a slow calm he was not feeling but refusing to do anything that might make the angel flinch again.

"Well, my pride, my dignity and my belief I'm halfway-clever are all quite dead," Alyss replied meekly, "but no, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."

"Alyss has agreed to replace our cheap bin accountant," Kliman informed the room dryly, and the other angel went red to his ears. "Thank goodness, because I hate the job. Now, exciting as this all has been, I think everyone should get some rest tonight and tomorrow. Time enough on Friday to face the world once again." She stalked out of the room, and when no one followed her she snapped, "Gevaun, you're already on my shit list, you might want to do something about that." The vampire hurried after his mistress.

Lilah paused at the door. "Alyss?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you." She was gone without waiting for a reply.

Whatever well of righteous indignation had carried the accountant that far chose that moment to run dry. He threatened to go down with with a startled, puzzled little sound, and he'd have crashed face down on the rich knotted rug if the vampire's powerful arms had not caught him and steadied him against his body. "You're fine, you're fine, I got you."

"I can't feel my knees," Alyss declared dazedly, too dizzy to worry that he was clinging to Jean.

"That's fine." Jean shifted, and Alyss was suddenly up, cradled and carried in the vampire's arms. "Not a fighter, are you?"

"Numbers don't threaten people with knives and swords and things," Alyss protested. "And I think I've done quite well, all things considered."

"You did," the vampire assured him, carrying him away from the office and heading for the accountant's rooms. "The adrenaline wore off, that's all."

"Could I have some from the kitchen, please? This is very undignified. And you shouldn't have to carry anyone if you don't want to."

Once again, Jean couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at him. "Chere's fresh out, I think." The door to Alyss' room had been left open; Jean expertly shoved it closed with a foot once they were inside. "I don't mind carrying you," he admitted at last.

"Why? You're like them. You're -" Alyss looked up, and there was so much worry in the sweet brown of his eyes that the vampire felt it like a physical blow. "It had to be worse for you, so much worse, you're old. You're very old." He went limp against Jean's shoulder. "It's not fair. You're so nice. Only nice things should happen to you."

"And that would be the triple-f crash talking," Jean said, his voice gone rough with emotion at that sentiment, so vast and so simply, so easily offered to him.

"I don't swear," Alyss protested primly.

Jean blew out an amused breath as he set the angel on his bed. "Not that kind of 'f', Alyss. Fight, flight, freeze."

"Oh." Alyss suddenly clung to Jean's shirt. "Stay? Please? I just - Tell me they're gonna be alright. Tell me they'll be safe. I keep seeing them and, and -"

Jean touched a thumb to that runaway mouth, frowned, and fought with the entirely too gleeful part of himself that pointed out that those words totally counted as an invitation to the angel's bed, and from there it was a short hop, skip and jump to doing things the vampire had become unacquainted with over the past few decades. The touch of that wing, like silk and sunshine, lingered in his memory, made his fingers tingle.

He slipped onto the bed, kicking off his boots, but he kept a safe distance between them that threatened to kill him out of sheer inadequacy. "We're just a waystation, a safehouse. Boston sends them to us when they come from overseas, and we find them a life elsewhere. Kliman makes sure they have a way to start over. Evie and her people make up new doc -" Alyss pressed close against the vampire's side. "- uments."

"Everyone has a job. You must have done this so many times."

"No. Twice a year on a good year. Once is the norm. Getting a vampire away from this sort of situation isn't easy, sunflower." The nickname slipped out before he knew what he'd done and Jean could only be glad that the angel was too close to sleep to notice it. "Not if you want them to get away clean. Not if you want to make sure they really need to get away; that they're not rogues looking for an easy way out of their contract. I guarantee at least two angels are going to come sniffing by after tonight. Or they'll send the Guild after us again."

He felt Alyss shiver, mostly asleep. "No. I'll erase everything, they'll never find anything they can use, not a thing, not a number, not a single decimal."

"You do that." Jean was silent, waiting. He was rewarded after a few minutes with the steady breathing that announced Alyss had fallen asleep, exhausted by having to do things very much not in an accountant's repertoire.

And yet he'd been fierce and determined, staunch to a fault even in his terror, and it had been very much been terror - the vampire had smelled it on him like fire licking the walls of Alexandria. Jean knew then that he'd been right: Alyss was a truly good person.

He sighed, wanting very much to stay where he was, knowing he should leave. He shifted to try and slip away -

An arm slid over his chest, followed a moment later by one of those amber-colored wings. Jean froze. "Alyss."

"Mm."

"Alyss, I can't stay here."

"Why?"

A plaintive voice inside Jean was indignantly asking the same question. "They'll think I've slept with you."

"But you are sleeping with me," came the drowsy reply.

Jean realized there was absolutely no way he could explain the semantic differences between what each of them was saying to a bird that wasn't really awake anymore. He tipped his head back and chuckled soundlessly. "I suppose I am," he drawled, admitting defeat, and settling down under the angel's embrace.

[soil-just-needs-water-to-be]

Menswear

Chapter 3

Mention of dysphoria and dysfunctional families

The next morning

I woke up to my alarm 7 on the dot, more startled awake then by choice. George was wrapped up in my duvet next to me, like most mornings. His hair strewn across the pillow just like a halo , like the angel he is. From as young as I can remember he’s always had the most angelic face , one I’ve wanted to kiss for the longest time, the feeling only grew stronger the older I got but I just never knew how to talk about it. Like most mornings when I woke first I just watched him sleep, so peacefully. I watched his eyes flicker, the brown in them starting to make an appearance. “You know you can just take a picture right??, it’ll last longer”, he’s a dipshit but he’s my dipshit. He scrubbed his eyes harshly to wake himself up a little then rose slowly to rest against the headboard placing one hand on my forehead probably to check my temperature. “How you feeling today lad?”.

“I feel a little better, I feel a bit stuffy and my throat feels like razors but really everything else is fine, think I just have a cold”, I was a complete mess yesterday and I know it, I feel bad that the lads had to look after me but I just seriously wasn’t feeling it and something about having someone give you all there attention feels nice even when you don’t want it. “Thanks for yesterday by the way” , I’ve always relied on the boys to help me, I depend on them as sad as that may be.

“Don’t mention it , you’d have done the same for any of us”, I would have yes!, anything for them. “Are you sure your feeling alright though , well enough for school, I know what your like”. He’s not wrong I can be a right idiot at school sometimes if I ain’t feeling right. It’s fine though.

“I’m alright yeh, get your arse up we have to get ready, my mum left your stuff in the dryer , you can go get it and I’ll get dressed yeh?” , I hopped out off bed and began to get my uniform out of my wardrobe, I heard George groan and fall back onto the bed. “Bro you gotta get up”, I picked up a hat from the computer chair next to me and flung it in his direction just missing his head and hitting the headboard. “Come on”

“Ughhh….dude five more minutes”, George is quite the challenge to wake up in the morning, once he’s out of bed he’s raring to go and always full of energy but until that point, nope. Where as I can get up but until I’ve had a coffee I’m basically a zombie. “It’s to late I’ve bonded to mattress, I have become one with the bed, there’s no saving me”

“Come on you fuckin flamingo get up”, I took a minute to look through my wardrobe for my blazer upon not finding it I swiftly ran over to George’s side of the bed and jumped on him immediately tickling his chest and any piece of skin available to me “Get up, get up , get up”, his ever present stupid high-pitched laugh soon enveloped my room and hearing it myself made me giggle with him. His laugh is always contagious. He begins thrashing around begging me to stop but I continue my attack. “I’ll stop if you get up ditwit”

“Fine, fine , okay….stop…I can’t breath…I’ll get up”, I rolled off of him in fits of giggles, struggling to breath for myself. “Your actually a fuckin nightmare you know that right, in the best way possible your a dick”, he flung the duvet off of himself which inturn made it drape over me, and as he stood up he pushed me causing me to roll off of the bed. “ hah stuuuuupid”

“Fuck you , you hobgoblin ”, again we were both laughing, the amount of random names I’ve called George over the years is insane and they still get more and more ridiculous.

Finally though he did leave and I began to get myself ready for the day, binder, shirt, trousers and shoes, still not a fuckin clue where any of my blazers are. Or my tie for that matter. Just as I was tying my shoes there was a tiny little knock on my door “Maffew, are you awake”, Shit we probably woke him up we were being kinda loud.

“Yeh I’m awake kiddo come in”, Louis pushed the door open and stuck his little head through the gap in door and slid in, bounding over the the bed. “What’s wrong kiddo?”

“I have a question”

“Ask away young padawan”, he’ll have no idea what padawan means but I jump at every chance to use that sentence .

“Well , you know how Georgie stays here a lot, does he just live wif us now and does that mean he’s like my big brother now too ?” , I sat myself down next to him after I tied my shoes and ruffled his hair as he giggled.

“No no baby, George is just Matty’s best friend and George and his daddy aren’t friends right now so he’s just taking a little break, but if you see him like a big brother that’s okay”

“Why is he not friends wif his daddy , he’s friends wif our daddy and we are friends wif our daddy, people are supposed to love their daddies” , I carefully pulled him into my lap as I chuckled, loving how his brain works and can’t see the bad side of anything.

“Just George’s daddy is a little bit grumpy and gets grumpy at George a lot and it makes George sad so he just wanted a little break for a little while, like you know when you get a little sad and you get big feelings and you don’t know how to handle them, sometimes grown-ups like Matty and George we have even bigger feelings and it’s even harder to handle so sometimes we need a break”, Louis was nodding along with me as I was chatting looking up at me with his big brown eyes, he always seemed like he knew what I was saying and taking in what I said. He then brung his hand up to his chin and scrunched his face up like he was thinking.

“Well if he needs a big hug and someone to make the big feelings better, I can help right?”

“Of course you can kiddo, well done you for using your big brain, now I think it’s breakfast time don’t you?”, he quickly nodded his head and smiled up at me as he slid off of my lap and made his way back outside, I heard him give George a high five down the hallway, Moments after George came back in tying his tie.

“Is that yours or mine, I can’t find mine”, he finished tying it then began brushing his hair while thinking about it.

“Isn’t yours in you bag with your blazer you took em off on the way home on Friday, why you don’t have more than one blazer I’ll never know but I’m pretty sure there both in your bag, also glasses on your face before we leave please”, George is literally a saviour at this point, always keeping an eye on me, keeping me in line, as does Adam, but if I wanna get up to mischief Rosso is the man to call.

“Alright dad” , I looked at him through the mirror and gave him the cheekiest smile I could muster as he rolled his eyes at me, I did however put my glasses on. “Hey George, do you think it would be weird if I wore my packer at school, I wear it sometimes but I’ve got PE today and I don’t know if that’s a smart idea??”

“Dude if it’ll make you feel good, and comfortable, go for it, Ross is in your Gym class right, so that way if anyone says anything gentle giant is there to help”

“Uh-huh. Em alright, I’ll be back in a minute then”, I picked up my small bag the has my STP (a device that helps trans men use the toilet standing up, it can sit in your boxers and it can also help you feel less dysphoria because it creates the illusion that you have a slight bulge where it’s supposed to be, it’s very helpful), and scurry to the bathroom , in the bathroom I fix up my STP , brush my teeth, apply deodorant, I haven’t had a shower in a while my heads just not been in a good place and having to shower , see myself naked really isn’t something I’ve wanted to be faced with right now. Once I’ve checked that everything looks right and I’m happy with it I head back through to my bedroom, George is now laying back on the bed fully dressed and phone in hand.

“All set”, I mumble a quick “yes” and slide back onto the bed next to him.

“Can I ask you something”

“Go ahead man”

“Well uh…. I know you’ve probably noticed ….so I don’t really know why I’m telling you…but I ain’t showered since like Wednesday night and I know that’s rank…..” I watched George place his phone down on the bed as I started talking and he turned his full attention to me

“Cuz you haven’t been feeling all that great right now, right, dysphoria beating your ass??” He interrupted before I could even finish. Not that I minded.

“Yeh , how did you know?”

George paused for a moment to think about what to say, looking at me deeply. “You’ve just got these little tells I guess, like it’s always pretty obvious , well to me at least , when your feeling like that, I’ve been around you often enough to notice them”

“Really??, like what!?”

“It depends where you are” , he slightly shrugged his shoulders and scrubbed a hand over his face then began talking again,” when you’re at school and it comes on you get really irritable but very quiet you know like , everyone irritates you and you get all hopped up and want to fight everyone”, hearing that causes me to giggle a little bit because he’s really not wrong. “But your like also dead quiet when your around us at school or you just don’t go , but when your at home and feel shitty, you tend to kind of just go off the rails a little and not look after yourself, not sleeping a wink , you don’t eat, and just constantly try to keep yourself distracted but stay in bed all day being really clingy with me”

“Oh , I…uh….I didn’t know I was clingy….I’m sorry”, hearing that I get clingy with George without even realising it makes me feel bad because as I’ve said I hate relying on others to feel good.

“Hey lad ….don’t apologise, I’m just glad I can help, come on, your mum made porridge for breakfast, we can have breakfast and get going, where running late”, George got off the bed, the grace of a gazelle and helped me off. “Anyway where were you going with the conversation, I kind of interpreted you?”

I ruffled my hair again as we left my room , closing my door behind me. “Oh uh , nevermind it’s okay it doesn’t matter, it’s not important”, I pray to every god that he doesn’t continue asking but I know he will he always does.

“Come on , it must have been important if you mentioned it , please come on you can tell me” , we both trundled done the stairs heavy footed , like a heard of elephants.

“ um I was , uh , just going to ask if you could like maybe help me , like shower tonight , I’ll close the curtain obviously but just sit in with me and talk to me, keep me distracted”

“If that’s what you need then that’s what I’ll do, that is important Matty , don’t just shrug off your feelings okay , especially if they’re important enough that they’ll affect your mood okay , please don’t.” , I just nodded as we got to the kitchen and sat down next to each other

[whitherwanderyouspirit]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @pinkytoothlesso11! Thank you! This looks fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently only 11.

2. What's your total A03 word count?

61,178...feels like it would be a lot more! I do have several un-posted WIPs and unfinished chapters, so I'm guessing that's why my brain is doing a double-take.

3. What fandom's do you write for?

Currently, only Trollhunters/Tales of Arcadia. I have an unfinished WIP for Hocus Pocus that I've been chipping away at since last Halloween, but it's far from done. I tend to kind of zero in on a single fandom at a time, for the most part. I've been part of a lot of fandoms in the past though, so there's every chance I could jump over to another and drop a fic at any given time.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Locked Rooms

Media Consumption

Snippets, Snails, and Trollish Tales

A Measure of Intellect

Sketchy Antiques

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Many times yes, sometimes no. If I'm not responding to a comment you left on my work, I'm either struggling with social burnout or I've waited so long to respond that I feel like it would be...awkward. I am thankful for and genuinely appreciate all comments though! Sometimes, I just don't have the spoons left over at the end of the day.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Blood and Frost, which is located within Snippets, Snails, and Trollish Tales. If only because it's left intentionally unclear within the narrative whether or not the monster is the protagonist's deceased and reanimated wife or just a doppelganger. I'm not a big fan of raw angst or whump. A dash, just enough to pull the heartstrings is good, but I've dealt with enough trauma in my life that I don't read to intentionally induce negative emotions.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Locked Rooms. It's not an end all to solve to Barbara and Walter's notable relationship drama, but it's enough of a milestone that at least one of them probably felt major relief from the outcome. Underneath the pain from the blunt-force trauma to his skull.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. I'm very relieved that this fandom seems to honor the concept of "don't like, don't read."

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Generally, no. I'll get suggestive and imply or tease certain inevitabilities or outcomes of what the characters intend to do, but I just can't stay engaged enough with smut to write it. I don't have a problem with smut at all, and will read it if it involves characters I ship, but I don't really get anything from it. I'm asexual, and I tend to just zone out during those scenes. I think it's a part of a healthy relationship when both parties clearly want it, so I think I'm generally clear that, yes, these two are fucking. I just...get too bored with it to write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I would with the right motivation and time, but not yet. I do read them though, if I like both fandoms.

Having come into the ToA fandom from Danny Phantom (I kept seeing that meme about good series that have "wtf did I just watch" endings and figured it was worth watching), I have brainstormed out scenarios where Vlad gets his ass chewed out by Barbara on the importance of reciprocated feelings and for being a stalker. Not motivated to write it at the moment, but it's fun to visit.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of, but I've considered translating my own for language practice. I'm fluent (albeit out of practice) in Japanese in addition to English.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd be interested in collaborating if the story premise peaked my interest!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

All-time? Oh man, I tend not to rank things like that, to be honest. My current fixation is Stricklake. Longest ship...probably Touya/Yukito from Card Captor Sakura? I was really hoping the CLAMP would explore more of their relationship in the current follow-up series but, alas, Nakayoshi has the final say I guess (because you can't convince me that CLAMP, the queens of smut doujin and shipping crack that they are, didn't want to pimp out their power couple as much as possible).

I'm admittedly not big into shipping in the grander scheme. It's less common for me to get into a ship than, say, some other aspect of a story or character. It happens, but it's not the norm.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I am entirely too much of a perfectionist to never finish my WIPs, even if they seem to be taking forever for me to update. If I've posted it, I plan on finishing it eventually.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good about keeping characters in-character, from both an action and a dialogue perspective. Also grammar. Generally, I think my pacing's usually okay, though sometimes I think I draw things out too much.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have the hardest time figuring out what idle background actions are going on during dialogue-heavy scenes. This is responsible for 75% of my writing delays, lol. You would think that as someone who got their writing start in text-based role play, I would be a master of fluffing up the spaces between to up my wordcount, but not anymore! Gone are the days when I could churn out multiple 500+ RP posts. To be fair, though, I think I've finally eliminated all my more damning writing tells from those days, lol.

Figuring out how to do this better though is something I'm actively working to improve.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I try to stick to what I know, or get at least a little familiar with the language so that the characters sound natural enough. I will fall back on the protagonist not speaking enough of the foreign language to understand, and thus not translate it directly.

I generally won't create languages or conlang for fantasy races. I don't have a problem with them, but it's an effort that I often just don't have the energy to undertake. When writing starts to feel like work for me, the writer's block tends to set in quickly. I try to avoid that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Published or no? Published: Tales of Arcadia/Trollhunters. Unpublished...Probably Animorphs. And by "unpublished," I mean it's probably handwritten in pencil in a leftover marble notebook from middle school.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Currently, A Measure of Intellect. I enjoy exploring the modern fantasy aspects of ToA that would theoretically occur post-reveal in Arcadia Oaks. It's an aspect of modern fantasy that I think often gets overlooked because the reveal is often designed to be set as the ending of a series. It's always been my favorite part to fantasize about though--how the mundane world and fantasy can intermesh and interact.

If I can ever finish In Betweens and move on to post-Trollhunters works set in that series, I think some of the things I'd like to write would be my favorites. I just need to figure out the details of this plot and get it done...