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imagine-you · 11 months ago

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closer to where I started [Logan/Reader]

Summary: Sequel to won't somebody come take me home? All you want to do is shake off the memories of the past and move forward with your Logan, but an old friend of Wade's threatens to disrupt everything. It turns out your universe isn't quite through with you and neither is the person who hurt you. You'll not only have to fight a new enemy, but you'll also have to rescue the Logan who broke your heart. Of course, your Logan would never let you go without him, and he's also hellbent on making sure the other Logan knows you've moved on. Word Count: 11.1k Author's Note: This fic may contain: protective Logan, protective Wade, Cable, crazy amounts of pop culture references courtesy of Wade, surprise cameos!, jealous Logan, rescue missions, possessive behavior, and some spice (in that case, minors DNI.)

When I'm With You I'm Home 'verse

won't somebody come take me home? // all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Read On AO3

Life post-Void proved to be in turns exhilarating and challenging. Now, you were in an entirely different universe and with a completely different team. You had a family, dysfunctional and crazy, but still yours. And of course, most important of all, you had Logan.

The two of you were still navigating the first few unsure steps of your relationship. You were falling more and more in love with him with every passing second, and you couldn't help but catalog all the little differences that set him apart from the first Logan in your life. The other Logan, as you had started to think of him.

Before, you were used to an empty bed after sex and feeling like you were having to coerce the other Logan into anything approaching a meaningful conversation. Now, the new Logan in your life, the better Logan, pulled you close after you were both spent and held you all night long. He let you talk about whatever came to mind and offered his own feelings and views without ever once making you feel like he was merely tolerating having a conversation with you.

The other Logan never wanted to go out or spend any quality time together. He never brought you gifts or remembered your favorite foods or any other little thing that might have shown you he cared about you. Your Logan cooked for you and bought your favorite dessert and showed how much he truly cared about you in every tiny little interaction.

You navigated past awkward first dates into other stages of your relationship. You got to know your Logan, really know him, and that was something you never felt with the other Logan. You were always left unsure, wanting, longing with the other Logan, but your Logan made sure you were completely confident and fulfilled with your relationship.

Best of all, your Logan believed in you. In your universe, you had been relegated to the b-team of the X-Men, but now you felt like a valued member of whatever Wade called his team. Be it X-Force or X-Men adjacent, you knew that you could trust them, and they would have your back. You knew they didn't think your powers were useless and actually counted on you to help them. Logan had made sure of that.

"So, this Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and that's actually her name, you're sure?" You checked with Wade, waiting for his nod of agreement, before continuing. "She wants our help because your large metal friend is in trouble."

"Colossus, sure," Wade confirmed, checking over the guns he was bringing with him.

"Who's he even fighting?" You thought a guy who was solid steel would have trouble finding an enemy he couldn't just knock out with a punch.

"Some douchenozzle named Riptide, apparently," Wade informed you with a shrug of his shoulders. "He spins around and throws bones out of his body or something," he continued, sounding unbothered by the sheer absurdity of his words.

"Great," Logan huffed, keeping his eyes on the road. "We've got a human tornado on the loose."

When Logan pulled the car to a stop in the middle of a ruined street, you thought he wasn't too far off in his description. Cars were twisted on their sides and blood was splattered across various surfaces. Windows had shattered and stores were missing walls. You couldn't see anyone at first, but then you realized what you thought was another piece of a car was actually Wade's friend.

"There," you told him, pointing towards Colossus. He was currently lying in a crater, but you could see that he was slowly beginning to move.

"Fret not, my robust metal friend, I'm here to save your day," Wade called as he got out of the car.

You heard Colossus groan, and you couldn't even tell if it was because he was in pain or because of Wade.

"Think I can just drive away?" Logan asked, glancing over at you. "We can just leave him here, right? How long do you think it'll take before he shows up again?"

"Knowing Wade? Not very long," you answered, leaning over to press a kiss to Logan's cheek. "Let's get out there and do some vigilante shit or whatever Wade calls it."

"Trademark T-Swift!" Wade called, nodding approvingly at you.

"For fuck's sake," Logan groaned, before he slipped his cowl over his head and got out of the car. You felt a smirk tug at your lips at the sight before you and opted to stay in the car for just a moment as you watched Logan approach Wade and Colossus. He was starting to unsheathe his claws, and you couldn't help but take him in in all his glory.

That was another thing that your Logan was better at than the other Logan. You mentioned once that you found him sexy in the cowl and now he wore it every time you had to fight a bad guy.

You tried to tamp down on your grin as you got out of the car. When you approached the group, it sounded a lot like Wade was trying to get information out of Colossus.

“What the hell happened here? Did you eat Taco Bell again?” Wade asked, reaching out to pat Colossus’ stomach.

Colossus reached out to halt Wade’s touch. “The Riptide is a formidable opponent,” he answered.

You noticed a man dressed in a suit beginning to approach you and the others.

"Is that our guy?" You asked, pointing towards the man.

"Yes," Colossus confirmed with a solemn nod of his head. "And who are you?" He wondered, frowning at you.

"Y/N," you introduced yourself, holding out your hand for him to shake. You were intimidated by how huge and heavy his hand felt, but the gentle way he shook your hand put you at ease.

"Piotr Rasputin," he offered in return.

"Rasputin? I used to know a girl with that last name," you mused as you watched Riptide approach. You could see him begin to spin, gaining momentum and speed as he got closer.

"Stay back," Piotr warned, shaking his head. "Riptide is very deadly. He's already killed several today."

Piotr tensed his shoulders before running towards Riptide, only to be knocked back again.

"Oh, get up, you're embarrassing me," Wade hissed, reaching out to help Piotr up. "You took on the Juggernaut!" Wade reminded Piotr, grabbing him by the shoulders and attempting to shake some sense into him. "And you're telling me you can't take this walking Beyblade? Get back in there!" Wade commanded before giving Piotr a slap on the ass.

Piotr grumbled something under his breath before starting to approach Riptide again. As Riptide got closer, Piotr planted his feet and attempted to stay in place. You could see flakes of metal begin to chip off as he was pushed backwards and you realized that Riptide would rip Piotr apart if something wasn't done.

"Okay, new plan," Wade decided, pulling free one of his guns. He shot at Riptide, but every bullet was deflected, since he was spinning too fast for them to hit. "Fuck!" He barked before dropping the guns and grabbing his katana that had been strapped to his back. "Maximum effort," he grunted before running into battle.

Logan lowered himself to the ground before charging at Riptide. You saw him try to leap at Riptide, but he was thrown back, taking out a partially crumbled wall with him. Deadpool had managed to get a little closer, but it was only because you realized he was getting pulled in by the vacuum Riptide was creating. Wade was doing his best to slash and stab, but it might have been a little harder for him when his limbs were on the verge of being ripped away.

"Shit, shit, shit," you chanted as you moved forward. You held your hands out, concentrating on Riptide. You had only gotten better with your powers in the time that you had escaped from the Void. You had felt lighter, less burdened, and much more in touch with the push and pull of your forcefields and erasing yourself out of visible existence. Now, you could even make your forcefields invisible, where before they shown a faint blue, shimmering in the air.

Still, you didn't know if you could contain Riptide, but if you didn't do something soon, he would dismember Wade, flay Piotr, and you didn't even want to know what damage he could do to Logan.

You weren't going to let it get that far.

You watched Riptide's movements and began to form a forcefield around him, careful to make sure Wade wasn't ensnared as well. Riptide didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong until Wade dropped to the ground. You could see him begin to heal as he clutched at his arm where it was dangling from his shoulder, barely hanging on.

You were struggling to contain Riptide, but you were determined to keep him in the little bubble you had created for him. He hurled something at the forcefield and you could feel it like a hit to the chest, but you didn't let up. He began to spin faster, taking shots at his new prison, but not able to break it.

"Holy shit, girl," you heard Wade exclaim as he rushed to join you. "I've got to get you to hunt Pokémon with me sometime. I'm gonna get you to nab me a Tornadus."

"Shut up," Logan huffed as he walked over towards Piotr and helped him up.

"Not that I don't appreciate the support, but what the hell are we going to do with him? I can't do this forever."

Riptide was finally slowing down and you realized that he had a hand to his chest. He was panting and fell to his knees.

"He's running out of air," Logan pointed out, carefully approaching Riptide. "He sucked it all up in that vacuum he created."

"Okay, so let the little sucker suffocate," Wade bargained, rotating his newly healed arm.

There was a ripple in the air beside you and you turned to see someone stepping out of a portal.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a man who looked like he was dressed for war. He was wearing combat boots and had various weapons holstered to his thighs, waist, and chest. He had scars on his face and arms as well as a stony expression that would have deterred anyone from fucking with him. You weren't phased by that, but the metal arm and glowing left eye did give you a bit of pause.

The man reached into your forcefield with his metal arm and placed a collar around Riptide's neck. As Riptide slumped to the ground, drained, you brought a hand up to your chest. There was a dull ache that had taken up residence there that didn't go away until the man pulled his arm out of your forcefield. You had never seen anyone get through one of your forcefields before and you didn't like it.

You saw Piotr frown at your forcefield before curiously poking it with a finger. When he couldn't breach it, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The man turned to look at Piotr and gestured towards Riptide. "Do what you will with him. That collar should keep him from being a danger to anyone else."

"Who the hell is this guy?" You asked, defensive and still a little sore from the intrusion of your forcefield.

"An old buddy," Wade informed you, sounding oddly excited.

The guy turned towards you and approached you. "Y/N, you're coming with me," he continued, reaching out to grab your arm.

Logan lunged at him, stopping the stranger from making contact. "Like hell she is, bub. Who the fuck even are you?" Logan put himself between you and the guy, staring him down.

"Alright, alright, since both the big guys are bad at words, I'll speak here. Let's all just be friendly here," Wade instructed, stepping forward to put a hand on Logan's chest and the stranger's and push them just the tiniest bit away from each other. "This is Cable. He's the son of Cyclops and Madelyne Pryor, blah blah, genetic template for Stryfe, blah blah, something about Mr. Sinister and foreshadowing, infected with a techno-organic virus and a whole bunch of other mumbo jumbo Fred Savage told me." Wade took a step back until he was standing next to you and leaned in, lowering his voice. "Yes, that Fred Savage."

You stared at Wade in silence for a moment, trying to process all the information he had just dumped on you. You didn't know Scott had a kid and who the hell was Madelyne Pryor? And you had most definitely never heard of anyone who went by Mr. Sinister. But what you felt most important to ask was: "Who the fuck is Fred Savage?"

Wade gasped and turned to fully face you, ignoring the fact that Cable and Logan were still having a staring contest that would likely end in bloodshed. "You take that back right now or I'm getting that guy," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to point towards Logan, "to spank you."

You felt a sly grin pull at your lips. You had felt off-kilter since Cable showed up and fucked with your forcefield, but bantering with Wade had become normal for you. This, at least, was familiar ground. You leaned towards him until you were close enough to almost feel his breath through his mask.

"Promise?" You whispered, winking at Wade when his eyes went wide.

"Ooh ho ho, I always took Logan for the brat in the bedroom, but you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

You heard Logan let out an irritated growl, letting his claws show again, but he didn't take his eyes off Cable.

"We're versatile," you offered with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Oh, you're naughty, girl," Wade approved with a laugh. "I like you."

"Ditto," you conceded, knowing that it would annoy Logan more. Sometimes, you liked getting him all riled up, because it meant that once it was just the two of you alone, he would take you apart in all the right ways.

"Enough," Cable snapped, moving to sidestep Logan. He finally wrapped a hand around your arm, and you realized you couldn't even protect yourself with a forcefield, since he could just walk right through it. "Your universe isn't quite done with you yet, so you're coming with me."

You felt a spike of panic at the thought of going back to your universe. Your old life with your old team and old Logan and Jean and everyone who had left you devastated and broken. You could think of one or maybe two people you would want to see from your old universe, but not enough to actually go back there.

"No," you blurted, instinctively pushing Cable away from you with a forcefield.

He hadn't been expecting it, so he staggered back a couple steps, but it wasn't nearly as far away from you as you wanted him.

Logan lunged at Cable, sinking his claws into his arm. Cable was quick to throw him off and you saw Logan start towards him again, when Piotr cut in.

"Perhaps it's better if you take this somewhere else," he advised, bringing attention to the small crowd you had attracted.

Cable scowled at Logan before considering his arm. For someone who had just been simultaneously stabbed three times and was now bleeding, he didn't seem all that concerned about the damage.

"Fine," he allowed with a look at Wade. "Let's take this back to your place."

Wade opened his mouth, but Logan shot him a look that dissuaded him from talking, and Wade let out a heavy sigh. "Ugh alright," he groaned, "but you owe me a double entendre. Also, you're driving," Wade told Logan before making his way back to the SUV.

Logan kept an eye on Cable as he nodded towards the vehicle, silently prompting you to follow Wade. Wade tried to take the passenger seat, but you were quick to steal it from him. If Logan was going to be driving, then there was no way in hell you were sitting in the backseat with Cable. You were worried he would find a way to simply reach out and steal you away, stranding you in your worst nightmare.

At least with Logan right by your side, you would feel safe. You always felt safe with him.

The drive back to Wade's apartment was awkward with tension and unspoken concerns. Wade was bouncing nervously in his seat and he kept trying to get Cable to talk about where he had been the past few years. Logan was gripping the steering wheel so tight that you were surprised it hadn't broken off in his grasp. And you were just keeping your breathing steady and trying to quell your racing heart.

You didn't know anything, you reminded yourself. Maybe you misunderstood. Maybe Cable misspoke. Either way, you knew that Logan wouldn't let you go back to your old universe. Not without a fight and certainly not alone.

You reached over to grab one of Logan's hands, grateful when he unclenched it from the steering wheel. He let you hold onto him like a lifeline, keeping his eyes on the road even though you knew his thoughts were on you.

You felt the weight of someone's stare and turned to see Cable watching you from the backseat.

"What," you snapped.

Cable didn't say anything, but you had a feeling he knew more about you than you wanted him to.

By the time you were sitting at Wade's table, Logan to your right, Wade to your left, and Cable opposite you, you were starting to get the creeping sense that something had gone horribly wrong.

"So, I think I can finally speak for all of us when I ask what the hell are you doing here? Not that I'm not thrilled to get a reunion, surprise cameos are my favorite, but I got the impression you weren't ever coming back," Wade pointed out, leaning in towards Cable.

Cable quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, but he still deigned to answer Wade.

"I've been tasked by the TVA to clean up a problem in Y/N's original universe. If she had stayed, it would have been taken care of, but now that universe's Wolverine has been captured by a man known as Omega Red."

"Omega Red? That's this shitstick's name? Wow, he is such a pick-me girl, you know what I'm saying?" Wade asked Logan, shooting him a conspiratorial look.

"I never know what the fuck you're talking about," Logan shot back, looking pissed off, but not necessarily with Wade. You realized Logan was worried for you and the prospect of you having to see the Logan who broke your heart and left you for Jean.

"Didn't know I picked up an Old Man Logan, am I right?" Wade muttered to you, nudging you in the side with his elbow while he held his other hand up in the air, palm facing you in a silent request for a high five.

You shook your head, aware that Logan was watching, but you discreetly held out your hand palm up behind your back, making him settle for a low five out of Logan's view. You were grateful for Wade's distraction, but you had already made up your mind.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest, and shook your head. "It's not my fucking problem."

"We need your abilities," Cable argued, his gaze unerringly on you. "Omega Red releases death spores when injured. He heals himself by draining everyone around him. Someone who can sneak up on him and trap him with a forcefield could save a lot of people. We just need you to incapacitate him."

"Then get Sue Storm," you told him, refusing to budge.

"She's dead," Cable grunted, visibly getting more annoyed by the second.

"You must not be hearing me," you admonished him, your voice edged with steel. "That's not my fucking problem. If they needed me there, then they should have fucking left me there. But they dropped me in the Void, so this is on them. I’m staying here."

Cable let out a chuckle that wasn't anywhere near amused. "The TVA thought you might feel that way and they're prepared to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Logan asked, shooting you a wary glance.

"If Y/N does this, then they'll let her stay here permanently."

You felt a little jolt of fear spike through you at the idea that what you had now was only temporary. The TVA held a terrifying amount of power, and they could rip the life you had built yourself right out of your hands.

"And what if she doesn't?" Wade wondered, his tone finally drifting closer to something serious. It was the voice he used when he knew shit was about to hit the fan and he was wondering who he was going to have to kill first. You knew Logan was protective of you, but hearing it from Wade made the chill that had swept over you with Cable's warning start to abate. You were flanked by two people you could count on to have your back and you couldn’t have been more grateful for them.

"If she doesn't, then the TVA will prune her again. Or they'll strand her in her last universe with no way home. Or they'll hand her over to Alioth. Who knows what they've got on their mind?"

Cable sounded like he was done with the whole thing and you were beginning to wonder if the TVA had something on him to make him work with them.

"All I know," he continued, meeting your eyes, "is that your forcefields are unique. They're not only psionic, but they're damn near invulnerable."

"You could reach through it," you pointed out, absentmindedly bringing a hand up to your chest. It had felt like an invasion, something so inherently wrong that it had affected you physically.

"Eventually, I won't be able to," Cable told you. "You're getting stronger all the time and there will come a day when you'll be able to use them to block out a telepath of even Charles Xavier's strength."

"Damn," Wade muttered, shooting you an appraising look, as if he was seeing something new in you.

"This Omega Red guy can't regenerate in one of your forcefields, so he won't be able to harm anyone trying to save his own skin. He's smart, though. He's a super soldier who's been highly trained in hand-to-hand combat and a skilled military tactician."

"So, what's he want with big and angry over here?" Wade asked, pointing a finger at Wolverine. "What'd he do to piss the guy off?"

"He believes that universe's Logan knows where to find a Carbonadium Synthesizer. He has Carbonadium tentacles--"

"I'm sorry," Wade interrupted, holding up a hand. "This guy is living, breathing tentacle porn and you want us to kill him? Get him in a bare-chested wrestling match with Doc Ock and you'll make millions."

"Wade," you groaned, barely resisting the urge to hit your head on the table. "So, he wants this synthesizer thing and he thinks that the other Logan has it? Is this just a rescue mission or are we doing something else here?"

"I'll escort you to protect you and take him down, but he does know a way around my defenses," Cable admitted with a gruff, resigned voice. "If we can mortally wound him and you trap him in a forcefield before he can regenerate, then the problem is solved. Forever," Cable pointed out.

"If I do this," you started, hating that there was a strong possibility there was no way around seeing the other Logan again. "Then that's it. No more threats or taking me back. Whatever debt they think I have is settled, alright? I get to stay here and be happy here and never see those people again," your voice shook on the last word and Logan reached out to put a hand on your thigh, silently attempting to comfort you.

Cable nodded his head, reaching his hand across the table. "I believe we have a deal."

You reluctantly grabbed his hand, letting him shake yours, before you let go. "Then I'll go with you."

"Hold on," Logan cut in, finally speaking again. "This Omega Red knows how to take you out, so there's no guarantee that you can keep Y/N safe. If she's going back to that place, then I'm going with her."

"But Omega Red knows how to take you down too," Wade reminded Logan. "So, obviously, you're gonna need the merc with a mouth and I know just where to find him."

"No," Cable tried to deny, but Wade was quick to talk over him.

"Road trip!" He exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. "I've got to pack," he said, clapping his hands together in excitement, before skipping over towards his room.

"We need a moment," Logan told Cable before he grabbed your hand and pulled you up out of your chair. You followed Logan, in a bit of a daze, until he got to the door of Wade's apartment. He pulled it open, tugging you out into the hallway, before firmly closing the door behind him. "Are you okay?"

You shrugged your shoulders, twisting your mouth to the side in an attempt to keep yourself from crying. You could still feel that weight in your throat, threatening to make whatever words you decided to speak choked and broken.

Logan seemed to know, though, without you even having to speak a word. He wrapped his arms around you, allowing you to rest your head under his chin. You felt like he was trying to protect you from the world and you had no doubt that he would kill Cable and run off with you if that was what you wanted. But you didn't want the TVA to track you down and throw you back in the Void. Or worse, strand you in your original universe, where your heartache would surely destroy you.

You knew what it was like to be loved now, and you couldn't go back to a place without it.

"What're we going to tell Laura?" You couldn't help but ask, refusing to pick your head up to look at him.

"Someone's got to keep an eye on the place," Logan mused, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "She'll be fine."

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching up to grab fistfuls of Logan's shirt, practically begging him to stay right there with you. "I don't want to see him again. Or her. I just, I think of how it ended and how practically no one cared that I was hurting. They were happy for the new couple and I was left in my room in the mansion, wondering how I had ended up completely alone."

"You're not alone anymore," Logan promised, gathering you closer to him. "And I'm not going to let either one of them make you feel that way again."

"Okay," you agreed, pulling away from Logan when you heard Wade's voice approaching the door. You hastily wiped away the tear that had managed to escape your control.

"I've got everything ready and loaded," he was saying as he opened the door. "So, let's get this universe hop on the road and spear us a kraken."

Cable looked resigned as he joined Wade and you couldn't help the briefest smile at his long-suffering sigh.

"I was only cleared for two," he pointed out, but he still reached out to put a hand on Wade's shoulder.

"Wait," you said, brushing past Cable to get back into Wade's apartment. You scribbled out a note, hoping that if Laura went looking for you or Logan, then she would find it. You stared down at the words, trying to make yourself believe them, and then rejoined the others.

Gone out to save some asshole. Be home soon.

"Let's get this shit over with," you told Cable, reaching out to grab Logan's hand just as the hallway outside Wade's apartment shimmered and disappeared.

There was a brief moment where it felt like everything got flipped upside down and your vision blurred before the picture in front of you finally smoothed out into something recognizable.

You were met with the sight of the X-Mansion and you felt sick to your stomach. The place that used to be your favorite place in all the world, where you felt saved, had turned into the setting for your nightmares.

You felt Logan go stiff at your side and you glanced up to see what had caught his attention. Logan growled and moved to place himself in front of you, shielding you from the man on the path leading up to the front doors.

You saw the satisfied smile on the man's face and pushed past Logan, rushing towards him. Logan tried to reach out for you, but you evaded his grasp, knowing you weren't in any danger.

"Erik," you greeted, practically running into his arms when he held them out to embrace you.

"Where have you been all this time? I've missed you," he murmured, pulling you close for a moment before letting you go. "It hasn't been the same without you here." His gaze flickered to over your shoulder, and he quirked an eyebrow at what he saw there. "I see you've brought another brute with you. You know you can do much better," he pointed out.

"No, I can't," you denied, looking over your shoulder to see Logan and Wade looking completely gobsmacked to see you so friendly with Erik. “And it’s a really long story, but I promise I'm in a much better place now,” you assured him.

Erik narrowed his eyes at you, as if he was trying to figure out if you were telling the truth or not.

"You're friends with Magneto?" Wade wondered, sounding like he was still trying to put the pieces together in his head. “Magneto?!”

"Does Charles know you're here?" Logan snarled at Erik, finally advancing on the pair of you.

You couldn't help but laugh, sharing an amused grin with Erik. "I should hope so," you told Logan. "Since they're married," you finished, watching as Logan's eyes went wide with surprise again.

Wade groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "There's a universe where I could've had a chance with daddy Fassbender here? What the fuck," he moaned before he reached out to smack Cable on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you take me here sooner?”

Cable rolled his eyes, pushing Wade away from him, before he addressed Erik. "We need the X-Jet."

Erik ignored Cable and looked at you. "You're working with them?" From the disdain in his voice, you knew Erik was moments away from insulting the others, so you quickly nodded your head.

"They're my friends. More," you amended with a look at Logan. "And we have to go rescue your Wolverine because apparently I'm the only one who can do it without casualties. And if I do this, then I never have to come back here." You shared a look with Erik, knowing that he would be able to tell that was what you wanted more than anything. You no longer considered this place your home and you desperately wanted to go back to where you knew you really belonged.

Erik watched you in silence for a moment before he finally dipped his head in a nod. He reached out to put a hand on your shoulder, ignoring Logan's snarl, and gifted you with a smile. "If you're truly happier with them, then I'll do what I can to help you."

You leaned forward and pulled Erik into another hug. He had been one of the only people you felt like you could count on and while Charles had always seemed to have a soft spot for Logan, Erik had one for you. When you were heartbroken, refusing to leave your room, he had been the one to offer to strip all the metal from Logan's body and encage him in an adamantium prison he would never escape. You had declined the offer, even if you had certainly appreciated it at the time.

"How did you get to be so chummy with Magneto?" Wade questioned you when you were on the X-Jet and on the way to Berlin to rescue the other Logan and take down Omega Red. "He's only one of the most well-known villains in the Marvel universe and there you were hugging him like you were old pals."

You shrugged your shoulders, not entirely understanding what Wade was talking about, but then that wasn't exactly a novel experience for you where he was concerned. "He's fought Charles and the X-Men on occasion, sure, but I don't know. I guess after years of going back and forth, they realized they were in love and didn't want to keep fighting it anymore. They figured they had both suffered enough at the hands of the other and gave in to what was inevitable." You remembered Erik telling you about chess dates in Paris and heated arguments that turned into something more. "And Erik always understood me. He was really the only one in the mansion I could count on when everyone else saw me as expendable."

"Huh," Wade mused, leaning back in his seat. "So, is it an open marriage or--?"

"We're almost there," Cable called, cutting Wade off. "Five minutes."

Logan cleared his throat, glaring at Wade until he finally got the hint and joined Cable in the cockpit.

"This Omega Red guy," Logan started, squinting his eyes like he thought the name was stupid, but continued, "he sounds like a big deal. If it starts going south, I want you to get the hell out of there."

"If anyone's in danger here, it's you," you pointed out. "He's already taken out one Wolverine and I don't want him thinking he can take you too. If he also manages to fuck with Cable again, then the only thing that's going to keep this plan on track is Wade and me. So, if it looks like he's going after you, then I don't want to risk you. I’d rather you be the one to get the hell out of there."

Logan's brow furrowed in frustration. "I'll regenerate," he reminded you. "This guy's got death spores, whatever the hell those are, and a track record of killing everyone around him to save himself. I feel like I'm finally in a place where I can breathe again and if he takes you away," he abruptly stopped talking, clenching his jaw to quell the despair that had leaked into his tone. "If he takes you away, then I go back to being that guy Wade found passed out in a bar and ready to take a bullet to the skull just to make it all end for a while. Don't make me be that guy again," he begged, reaching out to grab your hand and keeping it tight in his hold.

"So, then we both promise not to die," you tried, not knowing how to navigate forward. Logan had been vulnerable with you before. He wasn't scared to let you know what was on his mind and you knew he trusted you more than anyone, but hearing about how broken he had been before Wade whisked him off to his universe had despair clawing at your heart. You knew you would be a mess without Logan, but you never seemed to realize just how much he needed you. "And then we can go back home and we can forget all about this place."

Logan squeezed your hand before he nodded his head. "Alright," he sighed before moving to stand up, pulling you with him. "Let's fucking get this over with, then."

It only took ten minutes for you to realize that Cable might have been holding back when he was talking about the danger Omega Red posed. Cable warned that Omega Red was smart, but he was such a skilled fighter that he was able to fight Logan, Wade, and Cable without sustaining any significant damage.

You were keeping an eye on the fight, because you had been warned not to get too close until you were needed. You were waiting for any sign that Omega Red might be on the brink of death, but you got distracted when you noticed that the lab where you found Omega Red also had another room hidden at the back. You made your way towards the door, climbing over a desk and evading Cable when he got thrown across the room, landing in front of you.

Cable barely spared you a glance, taking a moment to check his weapon before joining the fight again. You could hear Wade taunting Omega Red and Logan yelling at him to get out of the way and Cable taking shot after shot. Pandemonium had fully engulfed the room, but you tuned it all out, drawn in by the mystery of the room.

You found yourself at the door and there was a feeling in your gut that told you exactly what you were about to find, but you needed to see for yourself.

You took a deep breath, wincing at the sound of someone's bone breaking and a frustrated scream echoing through the lab, and opened the door.

He was lying on a bed, passed out and blissfully unaware of the war waging in the next room and inside your head. You had hoped that you would never have to see him again, but now he looked so harmless when his eyes were closed and he wasn't leaving you for someone else.

"Y/N!" You heard Wade shout in warning, and you turned in time to see one of the tentacles from Omega Red heading right towards you. You were quick to let yourself become invisible before rushing into the room, narrowly avoiding getting pierced through the chest.

The tentacle retreated and you dared a look out of the room, catching sight of Cable on the floor, unmoving. Wade was doing what he did best, never staying still and taking any shot he could, but Omega Red now had his full attention on your Logan.

He was ruthless, going after him again and again, and you could see blood staining Logan's suit. You stepped into the room, circling the fight and waiting for your chance. You knew if it came down to it, then you would throw the whole plan out just to save Logan. But you believed in him, and sure enough, when Wade slashed at Omega Red's ankles, bringing him down to the floor, Logan stuck his claws in his throat. He shot his arm up, slicing Omega Red's lower jaw to ribbons, and quickly stepped back.

You formed the forcefield around Omega Red, pouring all of your concentration into the task. Omega Red let out a laugh, blood spilling from his throat freely. He didn't move, but you could feel something pulling at your forcefield. You remembered what Cable told you about Omega Red draining people to heal himself and you knew he was trying to do that to you.

All you had to do was outlast him.

Omega Red turned his gaze on you, still smiling as if he thought the whole situation was hilarious. You were steadily building up your forcefield, terrified that he would manage to pull it down. Omega Red finally stopped smiling and his hand went up to his neck, studying the blood that coated his fingers. You saw him sway, but that seemed to only steel his resolve, and he pulled on your forcefield again.

Wade was trying to rouse Cable, but Logan was steadily watching you. You thought about him and what was in store for you once you succeeded. Logan and a home and a family and no fear. No longing and pain and insecurity. No more wondering if you would wake up one day, stuck in an empty room, with a team that had betrayed you.

You had everything you wanted with Logan and you would be damned if you lost it all now.

Your forcefield held steady, and even though you could see Omega Red waver, it seemed he still had one last trick up his sleeve. A cloud formed around him and became so thick that you could no longer see him. You had a moment to wonder if those were the death spores Cable had mentioned before you felt like someone had poured fire right down your throat and into your chest.

You gasped, barely catching yourself from stumbling. Logan took a hesitant step towards you but you shook your head. You couldn't afford the distraction and there was no way in hell you were letting your forcefield down now. Omega Red seemed hellbent on mutually assured destruction and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

So, you held on with just the thought of Logan in your mind. You pushed past the pain and the black spots in your vision and concentrated on keeping your end of the bargain that would see you finally getting the happy ending you deserved.

After what felt like hours of Omega Red pumping out poison in an effort to escape, you noticed that the spores began to lighten and disperse. Omega Red was slumped on the floor, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the lab. He wasn't moving and he wasn't breathing and he wasn't alive anymore.

You held on for just a moment longer, sure it was some kind of trick, before you finally let your forcefield drop. You didn't realize you were on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in a daze, until someone was standing over you.

"Y/N," Logan called before he crouched down, cupping your cheek in his hand. "Are you okay?"

You offered him a smile, shaky and uncertain, before you managed to nod your head. "I'm alive," you croaked, feeling your chest tighten for a moment, before the pressure relented. It was then you got a better look at the Logan staring down at you and you realized he was entirely wrong. "Ugh," you groaned before you weakly pushed his hand away. "Get the fuck away from me," you ordered, searching for your Logan.

It turned out he wasn't far, because one moment the wrong Logan was there hovering over you and the next he was on the floor. Logan pulled his claws from the other Logan's sides with a snarl before turning towards you. His expression quickly morphed from rage to concern. He dropped to his knees, his hand trembling as he pulled you up, letting you lean on him.

"That was too close," he muttered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Can you stand?"

You shook your head, looking up at your Logan.

"C'mon," he coaxed, slowly but surely standing with you in his arms. You rested your head on his shoulder, your eyes slipping closed, finally feeling safe again.

“Way to go,” you heard Wade crow as he approached.

You squinted at him, seeing he had Cable’s arm around his shoulders and was doing his best to support him.

“Like, seriously, I thought we were all moments away from becoming extras in The Last Of Us. I was entirely ready for Pedro Pascal to bust in and shoot me in the head for inhaling the spores, but you did it. Hey, you don’t look so good,” Wade observed, tilting his head to the side. “You doing alright?”

“Fine,” you rasped, glancing up at Logan. “I wanna go home.”

Logan nodded his head, turning his attention towards Cable. “Think you can still pilot like that?”

Cable grunted in discomfort as he stood, shaking off Wade’s help. “I’ve had worse. Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” he said before making his way towards the exit.

Logan started walking, doing his best not to jostle you too much in his arms. You could hear the slow shuffle of footsteps trailing after the group and you knew the other Logan was reluctantly following.

Your Logan glanced down at you, frowning at you in concern. “Stay with me, alright?”

You blearily nodded your head, feeling exhaustion creep up on you. You had never fought so hard to keep one of your forcefields up and you knew the only reason you had managed it was because of Logan. He believed in you. He loved you. He cared about you. All of that and more had given you the fire you needed to keep Omega Red contained.

"I can't believe you were ever considered the worst one," you whispered, knowing Logan would still hear you. "Not when he exists," you continued, reaching up to trace your fingers over his lips. You gently tapped your fingers against them, smiling when that only served to get a huff of laughter from him. "You're the best Logan," you assured him before you finally allowed yourself to pass out.

Consciousness returned and fled from you, bringing you little bits of awareness. Logan carrying you back to the X-Jet and the other Logan trailing behind, a scowl on his face. Wade splayed out across multiple seats and singing showtunes to the other Logan. Logan's arm around you and Cable calling out that you had arrived. The hallways of the X-Mansion and Erik's voice ahead of you. A bed and a warm weight around your waist and a kiss to your forehead.

The next time you woke, it was to a sight you had hoped to never see again.

"Is this my room?" You grumbled, turning an accusing look up at Logan.

He was sitting beside you on the bed and you knew without a doubt that he had never left your side. He held a book in one hand and the other had been resting on your back, keeping you held close with your head pillowed on his thigh. He set the book down on the nightstand, being careful not to move you.

"It is," Logan confirmed before reaching for you. You let him pull you further into his side and tucked your head up under his chin.

"What time is it?" You wondered, glancing at the curtains and the glimpse of darkness outside.

"A little after ten," Logan answered, lightly running his fingers up and down your back.

"I don't want to be here," you told him, pushing away from him to sit up. "I hate being in this room and all of the memories and--" You abruptly stopped talking, dropping your head in your hands. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out unwanted memories that threatened to overwhelm you. Curling up on the bed, clutching a pillow to your chest, tears running down your cheeks. Sobs choking you, hearing everyone's whispers, dodging their stares. You had felt so alone despite Erik’s sympathy and now your chest felt heavy with the memory.

"Hey," Logan murmured, reaching out to pull you back towards him. "We can leave as soon as Cable gets back. He dropped us here so he could go talk to the TVA and then he's taking us back. We're not staying," he assured you, his hands going to your shoulders and turning you until you could meet his eyes. "We're going home," he promised once he knew he had your full attention.

You nodded your head, but you could feel that creeping sense of doubt begin to take hold. Somewhere in the mansion, Jean was fussing over Logan and they were in love and didn't give a fuck about what they put you through. It killed you, just the tiniest bit, that they were no doubt happy together.

Suddenly, you were on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Logan caged you in with his arms, lowering his body on top of yours. "I think," he started, brushing his lips against yours. "It's time to make new memories here. Better memories," he amended with a smirk.

You felt a smile tug at your lips as you raised your head enough to kiss him. It felt like coming home in the best way and you knew that you couldn't let the past overwrite the present.

Logan pressed his lips to yours, his hands tightening in the bedsheets at your sides. The kiss grew hungry and consuming, Logan nipping at your lips and begging entrance with his tongue.

You let him in and Logan set about claiming you, groaning into your mouth when you gave back everything he was giving you. You felt his hands settle on your hips before they swept up, beginning to inch your shirt higher.

Logan broke away from the kiss to plant one on your bottom lip, chin, jaw. He bit kisses into the underside of you jaw and the sensitive spot behind your ear that he knew would make you crazy. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled, silently begging for him to take it off. You wanted to feel all of him, everything, all that you could get.

"I couldn't stand it," he growled, refusing to move as he continued to mark your skin. "Seeing his hands on you and the way you reached for him, thinking it was me. I wanted to rip him apart," he snarled before finally pulling back.

He pulled his shirt over his head and helped you do the same. His fingers brushed against your stomach before trailing down to the button of your pants. You nodded your head, giving him permission, eager to feel all of him again. It didn't take long before you were both fully bared to each other, ready to lose yourselves together.

"He's never going to touch you again," Logan promised, his hands drifting over your sides, hips, thighs. "No one but me," he continued before he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. He lightly scraped his teeth along the skin there before pulling it into his mouth, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Logan," you breathed, feeling like you were coming back to life. You couldn't believe you had just felt so unwanted and unloved when you had Logan ready to stake a claim on every inch of you. "No one but you," you agreed as he worked his way lower, slowly kissing a path down from your neck to your chest and then stomach. You could feel the low, pleased rumble in his chest, knowing that he was driving you absolutely crazy. You wanted to move closer to him to try to urge him along, but you couldn’t. He was gripping your hips, making sure you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

He pressed a kiss to one of your hips and then the other. He looked at you, staring at you from between your thighs, before you saw his lips tick up with a devastating smirk. He reached up to grab one of your hands and placed it in his hair. "Hold on," he commanded, barely giving you time to grip the strands in your grasp before he lowered his head and began to take you apart.

Hours later, you were on round four or five, you had honestly lost count, but you knew you were lost in a state of euphoria. Logan's hands were on your hips and he was buried in you, but he was staying still, simply taking in the sight of you beneath him. You knew you must have looked like a complete and total wreck. Your spine felt like it had melted right into the mattress and your mind was a mush of thoughts all focused on pleasure and Logan and love and want.

There were marks littering your chest and stomach and thighs. You felt overly sensitive in all the right places and you knew that you were going to be incredibly sore later on, but you didn’t care. Right now, Logan looked just like you felt and you loved that you had been the one to have that effect on him.

"C'mon," you urged, pulling at his shoulders and bucking your hips up into his in an effort to get him to move. “I’m so close.”

He reached up a hand to cup the side of your face before he shook his head. "Say it," he demanded, a growl in his voice.

"Say what?" You wondered, even though you knew exactly what he wanted. It wasn't the first time he had asked you for it that night and you couldn't help teasing him just the slightest.

"You know," he admonished, pulling out enough so he was just barely inside you. You felt your thighs begin to tremble and you tried to tighten them around his waist, but he stayed firm. "Say it," he repeated, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck. He pressed fully back inside you as his teeth scraped the mark he had left just behind your ear.

"Logan," you whimpered, clutching at his back, your nails claiming temporary marks on his skin.

"Louder," he ordered, pulling out before burying himself inside you again.

A delicious heat was traveling down your spine and settling low, shooting off little zings of pleasure that had you half insane with the need to fall right back over that edge again. Logan had been incredibly attentive all night and now you were rounding the track again, the home stretch just barely within your reach. He began to bite kisses into your neck and down your chest, before he started up a maddening pace with his hips, and you could feel yourself begin to fall again.

"Ah, fuck, Logan," you moaned, not even caring how loud you were being now. You clutched at him, lost and seeking a lifeline, trusting him to see you through to the end.

He worked his kisses back up until he had his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell just from the feel of his lips that he was smirking, pleased with you.

"Good," he murmured before he flipped you both over, letting you be on top. His hands trailed up your sides before settling back on your hips. "You're mine," he grunted, holding on to you as he pressed his hips up, seeking his own release. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine," he chanted as he lost himself inside you again.

After, when he had his arm wrapped around you and your head was resting on his chest, he trailed a hand lightly along your back. You shivered and pressed yourself closer to him, glad when he pulled the sheet tighter around the both of you. You felt sore and sated, the last few hours completely erasing and rewriting the history of the room. Now, you looked at the walls and didn't think of how they had witnessed your desolation, but now knew of the way you were loved. Gone were the memories of tears, replaced with the echoes of your pleasure.

Logan had done exactly what he told you he would. He created new memories for you and you were so dizzyingly in love with him that you couldn't help but squeeze his hip, letting him know you were still there with him.

"I meant what I said, you know," he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're mine now and I'd never let you come back here to him. To any of them. Because I'm yours too," he continued, finally letting his hand rest between your shoulder blades. "We belong to each other."

You managed to look up at him despite the way sleep was trying to drag you down. "Promise?" You couldn't help but check, knowing that he had well and truly ruined you for anyone else.

"With all my heart," he confirmed, his tone sincere.

"Good," you murmured, already beginning to slip off to sleep. "Love you," you managed to get out before sleep rushed up to claim you.

You never heard him say that he loved you back, but you felt it just the same.

In the morning, you woke to an empty bed. Before, if it was you in this bed with the other Logan, you might have worried that he left you because he didn't care about you enough to stick around, but you didn't have to worry about that now. Your Logan was nothing like the one from your original universe and he would never do that to you.

You got out of bed and pulled your clothes back on. There was a rip near the right hip of your pants where Logan had been a little too eager to rid you of them. You didn't care what you looked like as you shuffled out of your old room, rumpled and content. It wasn’t like you planned on sticking around for much longer and there was no way in hell you ever planned on coming back.

You followed the sound of voices to the kitchen. You froze at the entryway when you noticed the other Logan leaning against the counter, glaring down at a cup of coffee. His arm was wrapped around Jean's waist, his hand splayed protectively over the bump under her shirt.

It felt like a punch in the gut to see Jean pregnant. They didn't waste a second, you couldn't help but think, and when Jean turned to look at you, you realized she caught that. You thought about what Cable told you, that your forcefields would eventually shut out telepaths, and you imagined one of them closing around your mind. You didn’t want anything projecting out that she might be able to hear. When Jean flinched and hurriedly looked away, you knew that it had worked, if even for a moment.

You sneered at her back, ready to get the hell out of the room and retreat, when you heard someone call your name. Wade was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of pancakes in front of him, while your Logan watched you with a warm, inviting smile.

Wade began to wave at you, as if he thought you wouldn't be able to see him.

"Over here," he called, reaching out to pat the chair beside him. "Saved you a seat," he offered, turning his attention back to his food. He still had his mask on, but it was rolled up so his mouth was free, and he could shovel forkfuls of pancakes into his mouth at a speed that was starting to make you nauseous.

"Here," Logan murmured, sliding over a cup of coffee once you sat down.

You took a sip, savoring the taste, and offered him a smile. "Just how I like it," you told him, leaning over for a brief kiss.

You heard someone clear their throat and you glanced over to see the other Logan staring at you. He looked as if he was waiting for something, but you had no idea what he might expect from you. If you had your way, you wouldn’t even be in the room, but the buffer of Wade’s rambling mouth and presence of your Logan were the only things keeping you rooted to your spot.

"You look a little tired, there, Wolvie," Wade observed as he let his fork clatter down on the empty plate. He pulled his mask back down and rolled his shoulders, as if he was getting ready for a fight.

"Don't call me that," the other Logan snapped, taking a step away from Jean.

"Well, what else can I call you? Logan Two?" He tried, shaking his head. "No, that's not right. Maybe Loser? That seems to fit you better."

"Shut the hell up," the other Logan spat and you saw Jean roll her eyes before leaving the room.

You couldn't help but feel lighter without her there. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but you felt insecure with her anywhere around your Logan. It only helped that your Logan had spent the last few minutes with his hand on your thigh and his attention focused on you. He reached out to gently press his thumb to the underside of your jaw, briefly caressing the mark he had left there the night before.

“Can’t wait to get you home,” your Logan murmured, a wicked smirk on his face that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

You heard something shatter and glanced over to see the other Logan clutching a broken cup and coffee splattered on the floor beneath him.

"What's wrong there, Wolvie? Didn't get enough sleep last night?" Wade asked, adopting a faux concerned tone.

"No," the other Logan growled, shooting a scowl at your Logan. "I didn't."

Your Logan gave the other Logan a pleased, smug grin before taking a sip of your coffee. "Funny," he started, before setting the cup down and staring him down across the kitchen. "Can't say I slept much last night, either," he claimed, bringing his arm up to rest along the back of your chair.

Your only warning was a snarl of rage before you felt your chair tip back and you were on the floor. The other Logan had rushed at your Logan and threw him into the table. The table buckled and collapsed and you used a forcefield to push back the other Logan. He looked betrayed for a moment and you couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of that before your Logan lunged at him.

You lost track of the fight, both of them frenzied and enraged. There was blood sprayed across the tiles and a crack in the counter where the other Logan had been thrown. The fight ended with your Logan's claws stuck in the other Logan's chest and Wade standing behind the other Logan, his katanas crossed over his throat, ready to decapitate him if needed.

"I can't leave you anywhere, can I?" Cable interrupted, sounding resigned. You didn’t even notice him appear, you had been so invested in the fight and making sure your Logan or Wade didn’t get seriously hurt. "Come on," he continued, "it's time to get you three back home."

Hearing Cable call Wade's universe your home gave you all the motivation you needed to walk forward and put your hand on your Logan's shoulder. "Hey," you whispered, knowing he was listening to you even though he was still glaring at the other Logan. You also had the other Logan's attention, which made what you said next even sweeter. "I'm happier with you," you reminded your Logan. "And I don't want him anymore," you said, meeting the other Logan's eyes.

You saw the shock in his expression fade into fury, but he knew he was trapped. Still, he snarled and jerked in your Logan's hold, blood beginning to drip from where Wade's blades had sliced into his skin.

"Goodbye," you told him, even if you didn't think he deserved that much from you.

The other Logan didn't respond, but from the look on his face, you knew he got the real message. You were completely done with him.

You let your hand drift down from your Logan’s shoulder to his arm, prompting him to finally pull his claws out of the other Logan's chest. He took a step back, staring the other Logan down, before he turned to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

"Let's go home," he told you, beginning to usher you over towards Cable.

You didn't spare a glance at the other Logan, not wanting to look back. You knew that it was much better to keep your focus on your future ahead with your Logan and not on what or who you were leaving behind.

When you finally got back to Wade's universe, Cable turned to face you.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Here," he said, waiting for you take it from him. "There's no going back now," he warned you. "I made sure to get it in writing for you."

You skimmed the piece of paper, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"What's it say?" Wade wondered, reaching out to pluck the paper out of your hands. After a moment, he chuckled before looking at Cable. "You big 'ol softie," he said before slapping the paper to Logan's chest, barely waiting for him to grab it before he threw his arms wide. "Group hug," he said before sweeping you into an embrace with Cable. "C'mon, Logan, get in on this."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of your throat. Wade was ridiculous, but you appreciated his sentiment. Cable released a heavy sigh before extracting himself from Wade's hold.

"Good luck," he told you, before beginning to turn a dial on the device strapped to his forearm. "I think you're going to need it."

And then he was gone, leaving you to pat Wade on the back and step into Logan's arms. You felt lighter, freer, after reading the paper that confirmed that the TVA wouldn't be sending you back to your old universe. You truly were free to forget all about your old life and focus on your new one.

You pulled away just enough to frame Logan's face in your hands before you pulled him in for a kiss. It had taken you heartbreak and pain and a whole host of other terrible things to get you where you belonged with the right Logan, but you wouldn't have traded the experience for anything.

Now, all you had to do was make sure you held on tight and refused to let go. From the way Logan kept you in his arms, a relieved smile on his face, you knew he felt the same.

Neither one of you was willing to lose what you had gained without one hell of a fight.

Later, you would remember that moment when you were in Logan’s arms while he tried and failed to keep Wade from joining the embrace. You would remember your helpless laughter at the sight of Logan’s perplexed scowl while Wade managed to hop on his back. It was that moment, when you felt unburdened and free and happy, that would get you through the tragic events ahead.

Author's Note: I'm so fucking nervous about this one. I rarely write anything with spice, so I'm literally fucking terrified right now y'all will hate this. If you liked this, letting me know would make my day. And I have an idea/plot for a third chapter, so if y'all want to read that, please let me know. And if you want to be tagged in the next part, please let me know! I figure as long as y'all let me know you want to keep reading this fic, I'll keep on adding more to it. And if there are characters/scenarios/other Marvel stuff you might want to see, let me know! I might be able to work it into the fic. (also, we're just going to pretend reader never met negasonic teenage warhead or colossus yet for the purpose of this fic.)

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lilianade-comics · 22 days ago

Note

So I've been following your stuff for like a week or so, but scrolling through your art, posts, and ao3 fanfic, and you really sold me on this how Cheese Melt AU (and Danny Phantom in general). The Dynamic is just too precious/chaotic to not love! So I want to ask the following: If you could've traveled back in time (ba-dum-tss!) and somehow be lucky enough to be a part of the Danny Phantom development since like, Season 1...how would you have handled Danielle & Vlad's family bond? Would it have been more in line with your Season 3 rewrite AU? Or would you take a gamble and plant seeds, convince execs not to cut off it's lifeline for Spongebob or something, and try to get "Girl out of Time" as a Sequel/Spin-off show? (I also image due to copyright, Jem would become something like: Gem and the Projections. I'd figure it would be somewhat fun to come up with parody names for those characters) Either way, super excited to see any and all future posts! Have a wonderful day!

Hi and thanks for enjoying my silly AUs! That's a very interesting question and the answer to which fix it AU would I prefer to be canon ultimately comes down to my actual opinion of Danielle's introduction episode, Kindred Spirits. I don't necessarily hate the episode, but my issues with it amount to it 1) being extremely rushed and 2) it treating the characters, particularly Vlad and Danielle, very shallowly.

My opinion of Vlad's canon Kindred Spirits characterization is very mixed. I do largely consider him to be out of character in that episode, based solely on the grounds that there's no way that Vlad wouldn't crumple like wet tissue paper in Danielle's presence. He's too cringefail to not get emotionally outsmarted by his own creation. He'd been a largely comedic villain up to that point, he regularly was defeated by children less than half his age. It would have totally been within the realm of possibility for him to become so attached to Dani that he abandons the "perfect clone" plot, and it would have opened doors for characterization and a narrative role that would be more consistent with the softer side of the character that was seen in Maternal Instinct and The Ultimate Enemy. The problem is that Danny Phantom's writers wanted to do a clone story without it having any long-term consequences, so Dani had to go and Vlad's familial motivations went with her.

HOWEVER. Even though my general stance is that Vlad is out of character in Kindred Spirits, there's another part of me that's comfortable saying he was very in character. This is where I recognize that the writers were attempting to take Vlad's character in a darker, more serious direction, and that's something I honestly don't have a problem with. He's selfish and egotistical, and it's fine to focus on those destructive traits and take the angsty route with his relationship with Dani. The issue is that the writers weren't consistent with what sort of villain they were trying to write. His only significant appearances after KS were Eye For an Eye, Infinite Realms, Torrent of Terror, D-Stabilized, and Phantom Planet. Torrent of Terror in particular felt almost like a true return to Vlad's sillier early-season characterization, and then in his following appearance D-Stabilized tried to convince everyone it was in character and tonally consistent for him to attempt to gleefully murder his own daughter.

I would be much more accepting of Vlad's canon KS characterization if D-S wasn't its sequel. There's a lot that could have been done in a follow up episode to explore Vlad & Dani's broken relationship; instead they opted to drain Vlad of every last remaining drop of nuance and likability so they could make Dani his hapless victim again. Truly a wonderful, satisfying continuation of both characters that definitely isn't shallow or boring or mean-spirited. (They obviously should have had Dani time travel to the 1980s and dadify Vlad in the past; that way we could have had a better KS sequel and a Masters of All Time palate cleanser all in one ;P)

Anyway, if I could make either Girl Out of Time or the season 3 rewrite AU canon, it would most likely be the latter. The rewrite provides a wider opportunity to explore what their father-daughter dynamic might have been like within the confines of canon, and it has the added plus of having the rest of the cast present and available for comment. Thanks for the ask and for letting me ramble! <3

#danny phantom #vlad plasmius #dani phantom #danielle phantom #cheese melt #asks #text

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dinsbeskar · 8 months ago

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The Number of the Beast (Sauron/F!Reader)

After his frankly embarrassing defeat at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Sauron seeks you out;

You discover his werewolf form and press him for the whole truth and nothing but

Sequel to Wicked Game // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Animals by Maroon 5, Closer by Nine Inch Nails (obviously Sauron's jam), Teeth by Lady Gaga

Special Mention to Home by Snow Ghosts, as recommended by @sansaorgana, immaculate vibes for this fic!!

Warnings: 18+! Werewolf!Sauron, smut (smh we cannot keep it clean for 5 minutes!!) werewolf sex (I'm sorry!! It's not a lot!! Idk!!!), P in V sex, oral sex (female receiving), dubcon (he is not in control of himself and even though you are up for it, you're still terrified of him and his uhhh size), size kink/size difference, hurt/comfort, manipulation (it's Sauron, he sucks guys idk), angst towards the end

A/N: y'know what, I warned you all this was going to happen. Sauron is a werewolf, and things get interesting weird. Idk I don't feel like it's overwhelmingly filthy, maybe y'all won't mind 😂🙈 there is actual plot to this one, and it will be fairly pertinent to the rest of the story, but you can skip the smut if it's not your cup of tea, I get it!! (Skip the section marked by ***)

Word Count: 4.9k!

Writing playlist here if so inclined 😅

Translation note: Amarië means 'goodness', Uthaessel means "tempting girl' as far as I can tell!

A nameless terror has been stalking your kin in these woods for years, and you are eager for your husband's embrace as you delve further into the woods, heart racing at every tiny rustle in the trees. He would never let anything happen to you, but he was not here, at least not as far as you could tell.

Usually when he drew close, you could feel a warmth deep in your soul, like embers stoked in a neglected fire, made to dance and blaze again with renewed vigour whenever he returned to you. But for the moment all you feel is an icy cold fear in the pit of your stomach; you should not be out here alone.

You think to turn back, to run back to the safety of your fledgling city, but you press on. He promised he would be here, and you cannot disappoint him, not after the long months he has spent in the north craving your touch.

The forest is so quiet as you make your way to the glade that has become so sacred to you and your husband. You keep as silent as you can, footsteps making no rustle in the leaves underfoot; the air is too still, the silence deafening where there should be sounds of birds and insects conducting their nightly business.

You are not far from your meeting place now as even the wind falls still. You breathe a sigh of relief as you catch sight of the rushing water that will lead you to safety. He will be there to assuage all your silly fears, the thought giving you the strength to keep moving.

A sharp howl, long and guttural, pierces the air, and you freeze. It sounded far off, or maybe closer than you think; your head is in a spin as you try to judge what could have possibly made such an unearthly sound. It didn't sound like any wolf you've ever heard; it had an almost sorrowful lilt that drew you to it. Shaking it off, you creep into the glade, expecting to see him there.

Disappointment washes through you; you are alone, and now you hear another howl, closer than before.

He will understand, you think, let's go home.

You start to take the winding path back to the thick treeline, but hear cracking branches, heavy footfall, ragged breath, from the dark undergrowth.

You back up, starting to shake and sweat. You are not made for this, never have you had to protect yourself from such a beast. You look around for anything with which to defend yourself, landing on a large broken branch that looks like it might be lethal in the right hands. Shame then, that your hands have never seen combat.

Dragging your makeshift weapon, you look for somewhere to hide, terrified that the beast might have already caught your scent.

He doesn't know why he's here, why he would put you through the horror of seeing him in his bestial glory; all he knows is that defeat has pushed him into your radiant embrace, to soothe the heavy losses he had suffered and prepare the fortitude of his mind to face his master's wrath.

His defeat at the hands of some Elf-Maia and her dog had shamed him; he could not go back to Angband now, not now Tol-in-Gaurhoth was lost, and all he craved was your touch, for you to wash away all his ills.

He pads through the forest, trailing a silent darkness in his wake, all birds and beasts fleeing before him. His black blood drips and pools in the undergrowth, scorching the earth.

His mind is clouded with pain and shame, something with which he is not familiar, and would not suffer again given the option, how it turns his stomach, and makes him crave nothing but your sweet embrace. Where are you? He can think of nothing else, having travelled so far in search of salvation.

The breeze betrays you, carrying the sweet scent of the berries you love to eat, the oils you use on your skin, and he groans, a deep visceral sound that would usually shake the foundations of Middle Earth, if only he were not so deeply tired.

He follows your scent, instinctively, unthinking as to how you might receive him. As he gets closer, his soul sings for you, his heart swells, and he can think of nothing else.

Exhausted, he reaches out to you, tendrils of his mind softly caressing yours. He hears your soft sigh and follows the sweet sound to your doom.

The forest around you turns deathly silent, the very air robbed of its oxygen in a split second. You hear only the crack of fallen branches and the heavy movement of something massive in the dark.

You should be terrified, why do you not run?

Quaking in your hiding spot, you find yourself rooted to the spot, crouching and unable to move, doomed to listen to the beast in the dark.

You feel it then; a darkness in your mind, touching your thoughts, and the terror grows. The scent of sweat dripping down your back only helps him find you sooner, and as you hear him approach, the tremor in your fingers grows.

If you can only stay quiet, perhaps it will ignore you, perhaps you will be blessed tonight. You screw your eyes shut and pray.

Alas, a hot huff of breath sweeps the side of your face, and you scream, you can't help but keep screaming, even after you've picked up your weapon and blindly struck the great beast, before you roll out from under it and run as fast as your legs can carry you.

He shakes his head, blind rage now overtaking him, even as he sees you, scents you, wants nothing more than to cover and embrace you.

The pair of you race through the forest; you know it as well as any of your people, all the shortcuts and secret places. But your quick light tread is vastly outmatched by his sheer ferocity, and in your panic, you take a wrong turn, meeting a sharp cliff face where you were sure there was a waterfall you might have lost the beast in. You curse your folly and spin around, awaiting your fate.

Two great paws come to rest either side of you, as its wolven face bears its teeth and snarls, black blood dripping from the gash you inflicted on its temple.

You can do nothing but shut your eyes, shaking in terror as the beast takes you in, sniffing at you and panting. Any moment now, this will all be over...

Amarië... love... need you...

The unspoken voice you hear is somehow familiar, deeper and more guttural, and yet...

You reach out your hand, offering your soothing touch freely. Baleful golden eyes watch you carefully as he closes the gap and leans in to your trembling touch. You should run.

"Mairon..." The beast's eyes soften as you look up at him, and you realise a terrible sorcery is at play here.

You feel his mind caress yours and you relax, easing into the unfamiliar feeling of fur beneath your fingers. You trace the sinewy muscle of his neck a while, assuring him in hushed tones that you've got him, that everything will be alright, that you're here, his horrors are over.

"Oh, my love..." You run your fingers over him, suddenly mindful of the wound you'd inflicted yourself only moments ago.

In your inspection, you find many more, deep gouges and bitemarks that have festered, and your heart aches for him. How could this have happened? Who did this to him?

"Come, love, I have you now," you grasp his fur on his neck and lead him back to the river, careful not to touch the open sores in his sides yet.

He staggers into the rushing current, clear water turning black as he submerges, washing off his defeat and returning little by little to you.

You wade in after him, ripping a strip off your hem; how times had changed since last you did this for him, having now ruined two dresses to tend his wounds.

You soak the fabric and begin to dab away the grime and viscera, so that you can start to heal him with every spell your people know for such injuries.

It doesn't take long before his whines of pain become pleasurable, enjoying your touch and the cool water on his skin. His mind is less fraught now, more present, and before long he begins to panic. His sweet wife, his innocent wife, had seen him for what he truly is, a Lord of Beasts, monstrous and terrifying to behold, and here she was, running her gentle fingers over him as if he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

You notice his panic and immediately go to soothe him, rubbing circles over his muzzle, trying not to overthink just how strange the situation had become.

"It's okay, love, I'm here, you're okay," you whisper softly, "who did this to you, love?"

Trying to soothe him was proving difficult as anger begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach; who was responsible for this sorcery? You would rip them limb from limb, your gentle nature be damned.

That blasted Elf-Maia hybrid and her brute of a dog, he thinks bitterly, reliving his utter defeat once more.

"My darling, you can tell me, who did this to you? Transformed you this way?" Surely it was a curse that could be broken, that you could face together.

Oh. Oh, no. His blood runs cold. Yes, of course, that's what you mean; how were you to know he could transform himself at will, that this was a form he liked to take in battle. Used to like. It might be a while before he chose a wolfish form again, given everything that had happened with Lúthien.

He goes to stand, to leave the river and avoid your questioning, but his legs give out from under him. Your heart wrenches at the sight of your beloved suffering so, how it pained you.

"I have you, don't move yet," you say softly with an encouraging smile. "I've got you."

More murmuring in Quenya, pressing your hands to his wounds, feeling your energy flow into him, all of your efforts were enough to finally restore him, and you both emerge from the river into the cool night air, sodden and freezing.

He collapses on the river bank, with you quick to follow; your healing had taken a lot out of you. Shivering, you lean into him for his furnace-like warmth, blessedly finding him already nearly dry.

You're so tired, your questions can wait until after you've rested, and so you do.

It is still hours before dawn when you wake to the unfamiliar sensation of warm silky fur on your cheek, lining your body, encompassing you in a blissful heat.

Fear jolts any sleepiness from your mind, and you try to stand. But his great limbs keep you from moving, and he rumbles his disapproval deep in his chest.

Suddenly you remember.

"Mairon?" You whisper, "darling, how do you feel?"

I was fine. His words are still unspoken, heard directly in your mind.

"Was? Can I help, love?" You worry that your work is not done, that perhaps there are ills that you have not yet healed.

Go back to sleep, your presence is soothing, my sweet.

"I can soothe you while awake!" Your tone is indignant and his chest quakes with what sounds like laughter, if you're not mistaken.

I didn't say you could not, but now you're awake, there are other urges I'd rather have you satisfy, Uthaessel.

Other urges... you blush as you realise what he means. He only calls you by that epithet when he craves you so particularly, that nothing else might sate him but hours between your thighs. 'Temptation', indeed.

"Well, you've recovered quickly." You laugh, brushing his side and finding his gaping wounds already healed over.

"And while you're like this, my darling, I'm not quite sure how that would work." You do have an idea, but it might be... uncomfortable.

He groans, deep in his chest, making your whole body vibrate with it; maybe a little discomfort wouldn't be so bad?

I have many ideas, precious one, all you need to do is lie there and relax for me...

He rolls you over, encircling you wholly with his powerful frame. He is so massive that he dwarfs you twice, thrice over. You look down and your eyes widen, blood rushing to your cheeks; how is that going to fit?

In an effort to slow him down, you ask him again, "how did this happen, love? You couldn't tell me before, would you tell me now?"

He sighs, a massive huff of breath that seems to scold you for disrupting his conquest of you.

It is no curse, that much you do not have to fear.

"If it is no curse, then what happened? Love, this is hardly natural, unless I am missing something important?" You laugh a little, nervously, wishing for him to assuage your anxiety.

He simply stares down at you with those bottomless golden eyes, concocting some explanation that will appease you.

How would you react, he wonders, if he told you he told you he is in fact Lord of Beasts and Werewolves, able to take on any form he wishes? Or would you prefer a simple lie, or the wiping of it from your mind altogether?

You are his wife, you are bound together in a way no force can sunder, you could not reject him if you tried. But he fears your disgust, would do anything to avoid it.

But the truth would set him free. No more lies, no more deception, he could truly be himself with you. The freedom that would afford, the burdens he would no longer have to carry alone.

So for once, he settles on the truth, mostly.

This is simply one of the forms I can take. You know I am no Elf, I can do things your kind could only dream of.

He nuzzles your neck, licking a long stripe up the sensitive flesh between your ear and your collarbone.

"I know that," you whimper, his rough tongue laving your throat, making your toes curl into the dirt. "But this is new, this is-" a whine escapes your lips as he nips at your neck- "unnatural."

You feel his song in the depths of your soul, how sweetly he pines for you. Your soul cannot help but answer, harmonising with his every touch, until you are squirming under his iron embrace, pupils blown, arousal overtaking you quicker than it ever has before.

*******

His massive limbs cage you in, and panic begins to set in again; surely your husband would never hurt you, but in this state you weren't sure he had the control to keep his nature at bay.

"I need to know-" You brace against him, trying with all your might to release yourself from his roaming tongue, rasping over your skin; sharp teeth snared in your dress pull in one fluid motion and you're left bare under his gaze.

Need to know what, my pet? His tone is adoring as ever, but impatient; he knows what plagues your thoughts and he still isn't sure he wants you to know.

"Need to know... need to know who you are." You force out the words as he seeks out where to lick, where to bite, trying to swallow your pleas; he cocks his head, as if your question is a mystery.

You know who I am, love. His length begins to prod at you insistently, and you clench your thighs together, nervous at the thought of him claiming you like this, stalling for time even as the melody of his fëa seduces you.

"No... no, I don't think I do," You pant, fingers clutching at his neck, drawing him in and pulling him away, your body betraying your mind as you become more and more unsure of what you want from him.

"How? How can you change your face like that? Your entire being? I don't understand..." You trail off with a whine as he begins to worship your body with his tongue, covering your breasts with a swipe, dragging slowly lower until he finds your mound, gods you smell divine.

The bestial part of his mind begins to take over, ignoring your questioning, wrapped in the scent of you, the soft flesh under his tongue that he could so easily ruin with a drag of his teeth if he desired, your panting lips forming words that fall on deaf ears; the only sounds he now listens for are your moans and pleas.

"Mairon... I need to know..." You realise far too late that this is no longer your husband, and that the beast before you is going to rut you into the earth without pity.

Terror grips you, hand in hand with arousal, and the fresh wetness between your legs spurs him on, groaning at the scent of you, all he can think of as you writhe beneath him. You try to get a better look at the flesh that is about to ravage you, but it is hidden in his fur. Perhaps that is for the best, you muse, far-off in your thoughts now, waiting for him to ruin you.

He sniffs at the dampness between your thighs, a groan rumbling through him as he bears his sharp canines, dangerous and gleaming even in the dark of the night; perhaps especially so. Even with the forest at your fingertips, all you can smell is him, musk and smoke and iron, he smells like himself but stronger, every inch of him reeking of the man you love but more pungent, inescapable; a heady mix that does nothing to dispel the coil in your abdomen that he will delight to spring.

"My love, darling, please, Mairon..." you try every which way to get his attention, to bring him back to you.

You shiver as he laps at you, tasting you every which way, your nipples peaking as he runs his tongue over them before letting them chill in the night's cool breeze. He lowers himself slightly to wrap himself around you more completely, your soft skin now pressed against his thick fur, the perfect companion to stave off the chill.

You feel him pant against your neck, his thick length weeping against your legs, firmly pressed shut as you rock slightly to relieve the terrible pressure he has built in your clit.

You bury your face in the green foliage under your head, still pressing your thighs together as if he will yet be denied. He noses at your jaw, demanding your attention; pressing his long teeth against your throat, demanding your obedience.

The inhuman face gazing down on you does nothing to dispel the visceral fear that grips you. This is your husband, the man you love, whose soul you share; but none of this seems to matter now, as empty golden eyes stare you down, awaiting the inevitable.

Tears of fear begin to fall unbidden as your heart hammers in your chest, as you realise that despite every instinct in you telling you to run, you still want him, and he knows it.

The second you loosen your thigh muscles, he is there with his tongue, licking and sucking and making your toes curl. He is too rough, too fast, and before long a tiny nip at your clit sends stars behind your eyes, warmth exploding and cascading through you.

With you distracted at your peak, he takes his opportunity.

Hot breath on your face, soft fur under your fingers, giving you purchase, grounding you, a white hot pain at your mound-

Your scream echoes through the forest as he buries himself within you, no gentleness, just brutal force.

He allows you a moment to accommodate him, but it would take many more to truly adjust to his monstrous size. He pulls back, your tiny sigh of relief cut short as he thrusts back in, deeper, longer, stroking every inch of you.

You feel a tendril of his mind caress yours, and you reach for it, cling to it, make his power your own as you channel every intelligible thought into not being spilt apart.

As his power and your healing magic do their work, the blazing pain lessens, relieved to a dull ache, that only invites him to do his worst.

He would tear you apart, put you back together, over and over if he could. As he reaches the height of his pleasure, he is merciless, rutting you like a mindless animal, emptying and filling you quicker than you can draw breath, gasping around the sheer inhuman size of him.

And you enjoy it.

As the pain recedes, all you can think is of his cock filling you over and over, tongue rasping everywhere he can reach, guttural groans punctuating every thrust, as you drag your nails down his forearms, desperate to ground yourself in any sensation not emanating from your heated core.

With an unearthly growl, his thick hot seed paints your insides, filling you to bursting, and the coil in your abdomen does indeed spring again; as he comes down from his own high, his mind returns to him piece by piece, and he realises what he has put you through. You quake around him, whimpering and clinging to him, nails deep in his heavily muscled back.

He licks the tears from your face gently, still engulfed in your wet heat, unwilling to be parted just yet. He rears up to get a look at how well you take him, to see how you stretch and mould for him.

That is all he wants after all, for you to be moulded by him, for him.

He nuzzles your neck as you lie exhausted underneath him.

Love... precious girl... my Uthaessel... did so well for me...

You give him a sleepy smile, idly running your fingers through the fur on his chest, suddenly overcome with the urge to sleep for a week.

When he can, he slips out of you, curling you into his side, as his seed drips between your thighs. He'll clean you up later, he thinks, but perhaps for now he'll just watch you sleep.

*******

When you wake, he has already transformed himself, smooth skin and golden hair that you love so much, but your sticky thighs remind you uncomfortably of what happened last night.

You crane your neck to look at him, to assure yourself it is really him. He gives you that same gentle adoring smile he always does; your heart melts as you can't help but return it, but your questions still plague you. He had never told you he could take the guise of a beast, and you worry that something wicked lies under that glorious visage.

"Mairon..." You try to keep your tone neutral, but he knows your heart too well.

"I know, love," he gathers you to him, resting his chin on your head. "Can we not? At least for now."

You do wonder whether to indulge him, but the suspicions gnawing at your gut will not cease.

"I want to know... I need to know what happened."

You expect him to fight you on it tooth and nail, but he vowed to himself last night, the truth would out. Mostly.

And so he tells you. His humiliation at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, his command over beasts and vampires, even where he really comes from. Your eyes widen and your breath shallows with each detail, reaching a crescendo as he tells you of Morgoth, his voice low as if his master could hear him even here.

"A servant of Morgoth?" You can't catch your breath, you've long stood up, pacing and wringing your hands more urgently the longer you let him speak.

"Why are you telling me this?" You stop still and ask sharply, making him wince at the tone you've never used on him before.

"You asked, my love," he looks confused, as if the truth weren't more horrifying than your husband simply liking to spend time in wolf's clothing.

"But why are you telling me now? You could have continued your vile deception? Kept me in the dark?" Your stomach drops as you wonder aloud his intentions.

"You've had everything you wanted from me, that must be it. And now you tell me you are a servant of the Enemy-" your thoughts are interrupted as he now stands and moves to take your hands in his.

A churning fear overtakes your anger as you realise he is the one your people only speak of in hushed whispers, his very name accursed to the tongue: Sauron.

"You... you are the terror my people fear in these woods. You have plagued them, stolen them, and then you come to me and ply me with your sweetness and lies?"

"You misjudge me, my love. I will never stop wanting you," he implores, as he takes your face in his hand, willing you to be silent and listen.

"My appetite for you will never be sated, such is my devotion. I could never cast you aside, could never let you leave me." He sounds so damn sincere, your heart pleads with you to listen while your head tells you to run.

"You wanted the truth, so I gave it to you. If I did not think you could handle it, I would not have troubled you with such evils." His eyes search yours for any sign you understand his plight. "I told you my name, I never lied to you. But I could not tell you about Melkor in the beginning, how could I, when you would have scorned me?"

"You don't know that," you mutter, still shell-shocked, world in pieces, but offended by the accusation all the same.

"If this is your reaction, then I am sure you would."

"Are you blaming me? Lies by omission are still lies!" Your indignation stirs you a little, your mind screaming at you to fight back.

He does you the courtesy to look mollified slightly, before grasping your hands once more, tracing circles in your palm with his thumb.

"Amarië, my sweet, even your name is too good for me, how could I have won you if you had known the company I am forced to keep?"

It's that imploring look, the gentle tone, and-

"Forced? What do you mean, forced?" Even in your shell-shocked anger, the notion of your husband forced to do anything hurts you deeply.

"I hardly serve Him willingly, my love, no one does. His will is..." he searches for the right word, the word that will convince you, "insurmountable."

You take a deep breath through your nose, finding nothing in your mind but the sweet scent of smoke and musk and iron, the scent of your husband that softens your heart once more.

Your deep exhale releases much of the tension within you; of course, he is but an unwilling participant in Morgoth's designs, of course.

"This is your one chance, Mairon, you have one chance to tell me everything, no lies, no deceit." You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to argue, but he simply sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I have done, love, you know everything."

"No. Details, and lots of them, now."

It takes from sunrise to sunset, but he tells you everything. How Morgoth seduced him to his will; how He alone has the power to change Middle Earth in the way your lover has planned; how Sauron realised far too late that His destruction was not the balance he craved.

"And you cannot leave Him?" Your voice is hoarse after so much time spent listening, but you have to ask.

Sauron grimaces, an expression that twists his pretty face, makes it almost unrecognisable.

"One does not simply leave Melkor's service." His tongue picks over the words carefully, watching for your reaction.

"Morgoth." You interject, "his name is Morgoth." After all the heartbreak and destruction He has wrought on your kind, you cannot stand to hear his divine name spoken once more.

"Forgive me, love, it is... difficult to break the habit when He himself would flay me for even thinking the name your people have given him." He cannot help but smirk a moment when your face drops, and you reach for him as if to comfort him.

He takes you in his golden embrace, holding you tightly as if you'd leave him the moment you were free.

"I was so afeared that you would reject my affections, I could not possibly tell you, and as time passed, I could not bear to ruin what we share." He nuzzles your neck affectionately, as if he has already won you over.

You are so torn, your heart and head fighting a losing battle. If he truly is an unwilling accomplice, then he needs you now more than ever to face the darkness. But the darkness was a terror you never planned on witnessing in all its treachery.

It is a long time before you can forgive his lies, but the truth will indeed set you both free.

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #i still imagine first age sauron as like charlie's annatar when he's still in his beige robes #like sorry jack but he has me in a chokehold #also i have mad overthought this one #i started writing it on halloween and it has taken this long for me to be even remotely happy with it #so uhh im sorry 😅🙈 there's quite a bit of plot if you squint #my fic

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fuckyesfeysand · 6 months ago

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Creator #21 - @littedidyouknow

Welcome back to Feysand Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their freetime and creative energy to share their work with us!

Today's creator highlight is for the prolific @littedidyouknow! Coming to the fandom just this year, they've already gifted us 17 works and hundreds of thousands of lovely words. Not to mention being incredibly kind and supportive friend of other fandom writers and creators!

@littedidyouknow started off with the wonderful single-parent AU We Can Learn to Love Again and has been making us cry (good) tears ever since, keeping the story going with a sequel and several spin offs. Working primarily with modern AUs, they'll take you through the heartbreak and joys of healing journeys. We're especially in love with their baby Nyx and the stories of Feyre and Rhys as parents.

There's so much to read and fall in love with - find everything on their Masterlist HERE and their AO3 page (as littledidyouknow). We've highlighted some of their works below!

Fanfic:

We Can Learn to Love Again -

Feyre has healed. It was a long journey, but she has finally healed, and she is happy. More than she thought she might be.

She went through hell and back, but she is finally fine: a single parent, teaching children how to express themselves through art, and she is fine.

But she has yet to love again. And that's maybe the most terrifying part.

I'm On My Way To You -

When she dreams, it’s always as if she’s waking up somewhere else.

Waking up as someone else.

Piece written for Feysandweek 2024 Inspired by the movie Your name.

Play Me A Memory -

Every Thursday night, Feyre goes to a bar. And every Thursday night, she finds herself enthralled and absolutely captivated by the music they play here.

It makes her feel alive, it makes her feel complete. It makes her feel seen.

Piece written for Feysandweek 2024

Fic inspired by the song ‘Piano man’ by Billy Joel.

Thank you for sharing your work with us and making the fandom a better place!

Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form HERE

#feysand #creator highlight #feysand fanfic #fanfic #acotar #fuckyesfeysand

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 1 year ago

Text

𝒔𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚

sequel to eyes of the ranger

pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader

genres: western!au, angst, domestic fluff, bits of hurt/comfort

word count: 8.6k

warnings: spoilers for boothill's backstory, death, heavy angst, explorations of grief, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms

notes: I've only seen the bare minimum of his story leaks, and they've been spinning around my head ever since. Some details of the timeline might be tweaked, or imagined/added, but that's just for the au. Still, please enjoy this sequel, and what more I've added to this world! Here's some flowers again :) 💐

Read it on ao3!

~~~

Candles cast their glow brightly across wood panels as you hummed a lilting melody. Hands played with your hair, tugging on the strands to draw your attention away from the swirling pot of stew.

“Papa?"

"He'll be back soon, sweetie."

Your daughter shifted on your arm as you placed the spoon back in its resting spot. Her head fell against your shoulder, no doubt growing bored as crackles of fire echoed across the cabin.

You resumed the tune, bouncing slightly from side to side. She perked up once more as you took her hand over your first two fingers, thumb covering its small size. Her eyes began to crinkle as her first few teeth were revealed by a smile. She always loved dancing and music, likely because of her "silly papa".

When he left for town in the afternoon, he tripped over the porch's last step – on purpose, you suspected. She quickly laughed from where she sat with you in the rocking chair, calling him the nickname as he straightened up again. In just a couple strides he was back in front of you, fingertip meeting her nose before she swatted at him. He chuckled, leaving another kiss on both of your foreheads and embarking again.

As you gently spun, her gaze drifted to the window. She lit up, brighter than any heavenly body, and pointed to the door.

"Papa! Papa!"

The sound of approaching hooves met your ears softly, leading you to peer through the glass panes. Unfortunately, your vision was greeted by the furthest people from Boothill.

The National Hunter's Agency had grown to infamy everywhere you went. They had been given many pardons, and bought off plenty of sheriffs and their higher-ups to be able to operate as they pleased in numerous states. It seems now, after two years, they had caught wind of your bounty and wanted to cash in.

You carefully set her down on the floor, hands staying at her sides in case she lost balance. With some support, you walked her to your shared bedroom, guiding her to hide in your shaker wardrobe.

An anxious hand rotated the knob on the front door, leaving you face to face with a row of five men. Two in suits at the center, and three dressed more rugged at their side.

"Good evening." one greeted, smoke flowing from his mouth. "I assume you know why we're here."

The reverberations of your boots ceased before the steps as you stared at the lineup. "Naturally."

He hummed, throwing the remains of his cigarette to the dirt.

The agent at his right spoke up, "Why don't you walk down here, then."

“Isn’t it your job to capture me?”

“Continue resisting and you don’t have to be the only one we take.”

Your resolution faltered, and the hunters closed in. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Are you sure?”

Glass shattered behind you, followed by heavy thumping. Tendrils of dread inched in, their freeze creeping over your bones.

“Step down.”

Despite every instinct screaming for you to move, to follow their commands, denial and fear kept you in place.

“You’ve got about one minute before we force you to.”

A glaze fell over your surroundings, the situation tumbling to the wayside as your thoughts and blood rushed in unison. It was five against one, and each of them were armed – you were not. They had more information than they were letting on. Someone was searching the cabin for your daughter, likely their sixth. She would be weaponized if she was caught, stuck in the crossfire of your bounty.

Was there a way out of this? To prevent what seemed increasingly inevitable?

Well, yes. You could give yourself up.

But there was no guarantee of her safety afterward, or that you would remain alive.

Still, you and Boothill had made a promise when you first took her in, just one year ago. If danger ever presented itself, you would lay down your lives to protect her.

One of the hunters drew his pistol as your boot hit the first step.

Another dismounted, his dirtied white shirt twisting, then straightening once more as he approached you. A rough grip captured your arms, dragging them behind your back. Something hard hit the ground at your right, a rope thrown by one of his partners. It was wrapped and tied around your wrists, the friction beginning to cast a light burning sensation over the skin.

A foot met the back of your knees as he tightened the restraints, dust rising at the impact. One of the agents joined you, the scent of smoke lingering on his fingers as he brought your head up to meet his eyes. They returned to his side a moment later as his gaze turned to the cabin.

A hunter had your little girl in his grasp, her steps short, frightened, and struggling as she was led down the stairs. She looked at you, searching for answers or what to do.

The saddled agent’s voice sounded from behind, “The NHA seeks to rid these ranges of their impurities. When you wish to uproot an evil such as yourself, no trace must remain.”

He gestured toward the four hunters, and his fellow agent disappeared from your view.

Then the brutality they were known for reared its unforgettable head.

The low flat heel of a dress shoe met your back, staying there as you writhed on the ground, watching up at your daughter.

A metallic barrel crept to the rear of her head.

The tendrils of dread became horrible claws, sinking into every organ and twisting.

Warm ruby droplets cascaded over pale brown and flesh, as the shot’s echo dulled your senses and her body crumbled to the ground.

The claws dug open a void as a defeated cry exit your lips. You were released from under the agent’s foot, flipped over to stare at the cloud-stricken dusk. Voices yelled around you, the words fading into one persistent cacophony. A hand pressed itself down onto your shoulder, before a pain blossomed in the other. A rugged face peered down at you, contempt rising in their features. A new flower of sharp ache grew in your left thigh, tears finally stinging at your eyes.

A fresh splattering of blood flowed over your face, shocking you out of despair. Their body went limp over yours, and you quickly brushed them to the side. Now free from the hunter’s reach, you sunk your hands into the dirt beside you, slowly turning yourself back to your stomach. The hilt of a knife hit the ground as you did so, veins coming alight with panic from its twist in your wound.

Despite every injury, you only had one focus – to see your daughter one last time.

Sharp gravel digged uncomfortably underneath your legs as your restrained hands inched forward. Blood thrummed in your ears, yet the unmistakable sound of gunshots broke through. Within a matter of seconds someone rushed to your crawling form. They called for you, voice breaking at the scene as a hand brushed through your hair.

“Darlin’?”

Your head rose at every emotion kept within that one word, asked by a husky voice you could find in any darkness. Anguish cast itself over his face when he finally saw what you were headed toward. He sank to his knees next to you, a wrecked sob reaching into the evening only to be greeted by no comfort.

Reluctantly, you gazed at your daughter’s corpse, journeying silently past Boothill to finally touch her.

A sticky scarlet liquid mocked you, revealing your sorrow-stricken features coated in its kind within the pool. Your fingers rose to her, a warmth lingering below as she was turned. You summoned any last inkling of strength you had, smiling down to her and speaking softly.

“You were my pride and joy, sweetheart. I’ve had no greater honor than being your parent.”

You leaned down, a soft kiss landing on her forehead before you cried a chant of apologies. When any words you could conjure finally entered oblivion, your eyes looked back to Boothill. He hadn’t moved an inch, rendered paralyzed by the gravity of what he arrived home to. It seemed as though he had been ripped apart, every wire inside of him fraying.

This was your fault, and you were sure he knew that too.

Regret became a well in your heart, rising from the depths and overflowing onto its dying grass. Your head ached, thoughts swirling until each one sinked in grief’s whirlpool. In resignation, you lie beside her, holding her chilled hands between your fingers. If you closed your eyes, you could still see her smile as you danced making dinner.

It would feel best if you never opened them again, but you couldn’t leave Boothill to carry this weight alone. He didn’t deserve such a fate.

A hand swiped over your stained cheek, drawing you back to miserable reality. Tears descended from silver, embers kindling beneath their despair. You lifted your hands from hers, closing her lifeless eyes. Boothill’s hat rested at his chest, head downturned from where he knelt.

Together, you mourned.

—

PART I - Fatherhood And Other Dreams

"Papa! The moo-moos!"

"I see them!" Boothill chuckled, watching a finger point at their pasture.

Rena wriggled against his side, wanting to move closer to them. He complied, jogging to the wooden fence as she smiled.

Her small hands reached past the log fence, petting along one of the cow's heads as it grazed. She had such an affinity for the animals here, something you always joked she got from him.

Every morning like clockwork, she would point them out, longing to go and sit with them for a while. He would join her, occasionally teaching her things about their diets or hair as she would get close and stare into their big brown eyes.

Today she angled back against his leg and smiled at her altered reflection in them, before you tousled her growing hair. He hadn’t heard you approach, too absorbed in the scene to hear your boots kick up dust. His hand rose to rub against the back of your neck as you leaned into him, sipping on your mug of black coffee.

He had noticed your odd positioning on the pillow, no doubt leaving you with some pains when you woke. Quiet snores filled the room; something he would laugh with Rena about, her high-pitched giggles overtaking the silence of the night as her hands pat against your cheeks. Your light snoring would cease, and your face would scrunch up at the unexpected disturbance before you recognized the poking of your daughter. He watched as you tickled the side of her neck, placing a hand on her back when she fell on your chest and wiggled around in joy.

He’s never felt more love than in those little moments, witnessing his entire world as two shining stars amidst the murky midnight.

“In!”

“Brush first?”

“Yeah!”

He was brought back to you after a quick shake of his head, two gazes of the same color waiting for him. One enthusiastic, the other fond and patient as he bent down to pick up Rena. She played with his low braided hair, pulling a few small strands free. You ventured to the stables, likely fetching a brush that she had dropped on one of the chairs yesterday.

The grass was fresh with dew, shining under the morning rays. He opened the gate with ease, feeling a breeze run over his cheeks as he shut it behind him. The pasture was wide, yet filled with only ten cows. Each one would be brushed daily by Rena, starting with one patterned in brown and white. It was an activity she had adored since the first time you had brought her out to help just a couple months ago. Seeing how much she enjoyed it, he joined the two of you only a week later.

You came to his side, handing the brush over to her as you sipped on your coffee. He gestured at you with his chin as bristles met little hairs. With a smile, you turned the mug in his direction, a warm and bitter liquid flowing over his tongue.

A gentle laugh left your lips when the cow’s head moved, rising up into the brush and slightly twisting into it. Rena turned to you, beaming as she moved the brush to another spot. The cow reacted in turn, and you laughed again.

The wood ceiling of the barn came into view as Boothill’s head was tugged backward. A light chuckle echoed through the space, falling in time with the noon bird's chirp. His hat tumbled to the hay and dust riddled floor, yet it didn’t remain for long. Little hands left the ends of his hair, snatching the hat instead. He watched, bale in hand, as you scooped up Rena. In a swift motion, you placed his hat on her head, one arm wrapped around your neck and the other reaching for the large brim.

The bale crashed onto the floor, beginning a new stack by one of the stables. The sound brought Rena's attention to him, her head tilting backward to spot him from underneath the hat.

“Like papa!”

“You wanna be like him?"

"Yeah!"

"Then we're gonna have a lot to teach you."

He grinned, the brightness of the sun’s rays and his daughter’s admiration seeping into his smile. With her now distracted by one of the horses, he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaving a kiss on your lips before continuing his work.

The orange and golden rays of sunset beckoned your gaze to the large window overlooking the front porch. Rena slept peacefully on your chest, a combination of a full stomach and boredom likely the cause. You brought the book in your right hand to the other supporting her, flipping the page carefully.

The slow thumping of boots echoed through the door, prompting Rena to stir. She had always been a light sleeper, though she didn't always fully awaken. It seemed that this evening she would, leaning backward into your hand as the door opened. Boothill's figure emerged, lit by the bright horizon. She shuffled as her eyes opened to meet his, slowly laying further backward against your hand. Letting the leather-bound book fall from your lap, you wrapped both hands around her. She whined, leading one of your brows to raise.

Boothill inched closer, stopping at the edge of the rug in your little living area. You set Rena down, your hands staying at her sides. She watched the floor intently, gaze shifting between it and her papa. Quickly you picked up on her intentions, standing behind her and holding her hands just above her head.

Her foot moved forward slightly, and excitement blossomed on both your and Boothill's faces. He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. Feeling encouraged, she moved faster, taking her first few steps with your support. When she finally reached her papa, he lifted her up, cheering at her along with you. She beamed, her feet kicking back and forth in the air as she giggled.

The stars twinkled in the growing twilight, contrasting with the auburn and violet hues on the horizon. Cool grass stood between your fingers, the tranquility of the coming night bleeding into your spirit. The hill provided a lovely view of the valley below as crickets began to chirp. A thin herd of deer moved like whispers just a few feet before you.

One startled in your direction, the sound of Rena picking at strings increasing its paranoia. She was transfixed by the instrument, plucking as she sat in Boothill’s lap. His affectionate gaze watched down at her, adjusting the blanket over her legs.

There were many nights over the past few days you would wake to find Boothill absent from your bed. Rena would stir at your side, face scrunching further into the pillow as she murmured. After returning her stuffed bear from the other side of the bed, you would walk to find him at the kitchen table. The fire lit various scenes; some filled with brushes and varnish, others with whittling tools and etched knobs. Sometimes he would be passed out against the table, shavings coating his cheek. He wanted to complete the gift as soon as possible, his wish of sharing and passing on melodies and lyrics from his life fueling his craft.

Feeling fingers brush through his hair, Boothill would awaken to your soft gaze. Wordlessly you wiped his cheek, taking his hand in yours and bringing him to bed.

Gentle singing met your ears, skilled strumming of a guitar accompanying it. One large hand shifted up and down the strings, holding, shaking, and lifting to change the tune. The other encased one of Rena’s guiding her through the song.

The sun completed its descent underneath the horizon, and the herd of deer found their way back into the forest. Hints of light hung in the sky, now joined by colors of dandelions and the deep sea. The high-pitched babbling of your daughter chimed in during certain sections, forming a heart-warming duet. With your head on Boothill’s shoulder, you hummed along.

—

The town of Iris Creek was blissful, wilted blossoms gathering on the path's edges from the growing heat. The watery flow of its namesake echoed through the grand trees, calming your mind as you approached with Boothill at your side. After your most recent hunt, a week of rest was well-deserved.

Leaning down, you let the velvety liquid rush between your fingers. Its chill permeated your flesh, a content smile on your face as Boothill toyed with your hair.

“I enjoy seeing you this way.” he whispered, staring at you lovingly.

You turned, removing your hand from the water and laying back on the grass.

“At ease?” you questioned.

He nodded, resting down beside you, hat on his chest. You brushed aside his lengthening bangs, turning the strands together before running a thumb over his cheek.

He leaned into your touch as you asked, “Do you watch me sleep then?”

Embarrassed, his face angled toward the ground.

“Gettin’ shy on me, cowboy?”

He gave no response, simply meeting your eyes with a tender silver. Your lips met his cheek, feeling the bashful warmth gracing his features.

“I like it.” you spoke softly in his ear, leaving a little bite along the lobe.

One hand came up to your waist, holding tightly as your focus shifted to his neck. The other fell into your hair, gripping after a bold lick to the revealed skin.

“Can’t help but be at your mercy, sugar.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Around someone like you, it’s only natural.”

A nibble at the edge of his jaw led his fingers to rub underneath your shirt.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, look at you. One conversation and I was hooked.”

“All it took was one challenge for you to love me?” you chuckled.

“Sugar, all it took was one glance.”

A cry reverberated down the creek as you finally kissed Boothill’s lips. It was panicked and small, drawing you almost entirely from the moment.

Pushing off of his chest, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Boothill rubbed your thigh, looking at you curiously. Just a minute later the two of you stood, spotting a tarnished cloth amongst the bank’s brush.

“Do you see that?”

He followed your gaze, walking ahead of you only to kneel down and lift the sullied fabric. His eyes widened as he beckoned you over. The crying intensified, a tiny head turning from side to side.

A baby.

Boothill was the first to move, cradling them gently in his arms. You brought a finger to their grabbing hands, brushing another one over their forehead.

“What should we do?” you wondered aloud.

“Take them in?” he uttered.

“Are we ready for that, though? We’re wanted criminals, Boothill. That’s no life for a child.”

“Then we settle down.”

“There’s still no guarantee we won’t be hunted or ambushed.”

Your hands fell back to your side, unsure eyes watching the gears turn in his mind.

“We would be their parents, together we can take anybody. Lay down our lives if necessary. We could find somewhere more isolated, maybe even further out of this state. Teach them some of our methods as they get older.”

A heavy sigh left your lungs, the weight of dozens of questions slowly dissipating. There were many details to discuss and new plans to craft. Nonetheless, your head landed on Boothill’s shoulder, two adoring gazes on your child.

Butter-colored rays bore through the train car’s windows, wide mountains of tan rock and green bushes waiting outside. A bundle of blankets lay in your arms, encasing your daughter in comfort and warmth.

Boothill had left for them not long after you brought her back to the hotel, returning worriedly with them in hand. They were soft and luscious, leading you to wonder who he had stolen them from. “Only the best for our little girl” – it wasn’t just a statement but a promise.

Another was sworn that evening, your daughter finally clean and sleeping in your arms. Boothill rest behind you in the bed, shielding your small family from any danger while wrapping you in care.

“What should we name her?” he asked quietly, warm breath fanning over your neck.

You pondered silently, letting your head lay on his shoulder. “How about Rena?”

He hummed, a thick finger running over her forehead. “From that play of Effie's, right?”

“I think her story was admirable. Live freely, out on your own road, never waste your time with what you can’t change.”

“Now I like the ring of that.”

“See?” you smiled, a teasing slant to it. “When I wrote to her a few days ago she added in a thought or two about the characters. She said Rena also meant melody, at least according to what she could find in Thatcher's library.”

“Then it's settled.”

His chin landed in the crook of your neck as he simply watched her be, absorbed in thoughts of the future. It wasn’t until she stirred, eyes opening and hands seeking, that you witnessed him take on a gentleness formerly reserved for only you.

His eyes began to water as she held his finger close, staring up in his direction yet unable to pin him down. When she finally did, he sat like a spooked deer, only releasing a low, happy chuckle after your own.

A cough down the car broke you from idle reminiscence. Boothill read a crinkled paper, the letter sent from the ranch you were seeking out. He had come back one evening with the result after days of asking around. Down near Iron Springs, there was someone with plenty of land – could provide decent wages and a cabin to stay in. A suitable place to settle down, with much for Rena to learn and experience.

Taking his cheek between your empty fingers, you pinched and watched him grumble. Despite your lifestyle, you could only hope that this would be a lovely and safe life for her.

—

PART II - A Luminous Star, Ephemeral

Murky skies cried chilling droplets, harshly soaking your bloodstained shirt. The evening had to be setting in, but any hope of seeing the sun finally fade had long since dissipated with the storm’s onslaught. A frayed splinter dug into your palm, the weight of the shovel increasing as the hole in the ground deepened. The dirt was malleable, easy to unearth and pile up.

Many graves were dug by your hand, and you prayed this would be the last.

Boothill wept only a few feet away, Rena’s corpse in his arms underneath a sturdy tree. Ashamed, your gaze fell back to the emptying plot.

Heavy throbbing found its home along your left side, yet still, you had to dig. The pain was deserved – a punishment that fit your crime. Crusting edges tug and bent at the surrounding skin, the quickly cauterized wounds only growing more irritated by the rainwater.

Trickles of pink traversed down your cheeks, blood washing away slowly with your tears. Leaning on the shovel, your eyes rose from the ground. A strong and steady breeze cast the rain in sheets, carving figures in the mist. Discerning who they were was useless, you could remember them anywhere.

Your father, the Weston family, and your daughter.

The mud and soil coating your fingers shifted to a deep scarlet, beads falling from their tips and hitting your boots. Trees morphed into tombstones, and you found yourself paralyzed. Mr. Whitfield’s gravelly voice rang in your ears, drowning out any natural melodies.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn a pure soul, lost too soon. Rena Blackwell was an adored child, and she will continue to be so in our thoughts, and all the way to the depths of our hearts. Her smile could dispel any darkness, and her curiosity persisted to the ends of the earth. Her fascinations lie with animals and music, her greatest friends a pony and her papa’s guitar. May she find eternal peace amidst these mountains and plains, their windy song carrying her gently to the hereafter.”

Lightning crackled across the sky, an omen of your judgment day. Boothill’s shadowed figure stand illuminated by the last ounce of daylight breaking from the clouds. Rena lay delicately in the grave, eyes closed and hands folded, his hat just beneath their union. Wordlessly he took the shovel, leaving you to kneel at her side as dirt cascaded over her corpse.

Stars found their stages in the wisp-struck night sky, their beaming light mocking. If they were tangible to Earth, you would have left plenty of rounds in them. Mourning was an act displayed to you since childhood, but it never came easily. Perhaps that was part of the point. Loss would never be simple, and humanity is far too complex to handle it so. Death was an odd thing, and despite working so intimately with the inevitable specter, it had yet to reveal every one of its forms.

Every body you would prepare never revealed its secrets. No amount of soap and water could cleanse it's invasiveness. No number of incisions and blood drained could release the agony. The fluids injected could not provide life, and clothes would only emulate. Death was permanent, and excruciating to all.

You could shoot a man without hesitation, but being along the receiving end of that cruelty, you could only resign yourself to regret. You killed bad men, yet they still had lives. Friends and family they found or created.

The grating sound of a knife on wood reached your ears, breaking into your thoughts. Boothill sat opposite to you, a neat piece of bark in his hands. Raging thunder rolled, sending a chill down your spine. Paranoia created the shattering sense that you would be reunited with Rena by dawn. Either by your own hands or someone else’s; perhaps the heavens would shoot back, sanctioned by some higher force that heard your monologue.

You watched him work, one tainted hand of yours rubbing back and forth over the dirt housing your daughter. His actions soon faded to oblivion as the song of the storm played on.

When a new bolt of lightning crashed, you became privy to her tombstone.

Rena Blackwell

Beloved star

1892 - 1892

Boothill stood, utterly dejected and tear-stained, before extending a hand down to you. His head met your shoulder once you rose, and one of your hands reached his hair. Strength was needed of you, not misery. The only comfort you received was a fact – no harm would befall you in Boothill’s arms, unless he pointed the gun at you instead.

—

Cheers ascended from under the floorboards, filling your pitch-black room with taunting joy. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, hands at your sides as you lay still – attempting to sink into the hard mattress while the hurricane to your left continued. It was the sixth night ending like this. Boothill had yet to find slumber, his journey to it only filled with suffering. He never reached out, always keeping his back to you and his face toward the pillow.

Despite the stinging urge to run your fingers through his hair, not once could you ever. Conflicting instincts wanting nothing more than to soothe him, but craving an escape.

You rubbed your eyes, throwing the sheet off of your body. The night chill creeped in, the sensation a welcome dissipation for your tenseness. A sniff echoed before a heavy sigh, and not even a moment later the bed resumed its light shaking. Stomps came in unison from the bar below, startling you to jump. With a worn exhale you sat up, feet touching the rough floor. In just a couple quick movements, you were dressed well and ready to face the ruckus below.

A saddened silver gaze finally revealed itself in the sliver of light from the doorway, but yours focused only on the ground, afraid to face him.

Instead, you would find solace in a bartender’s hands, the liquor he poured leaving a delightful blaze in your throat – easing the pain one sip at a time. It was only now you could understand why Isaiah Weston made the choices he did. Too cowardly to navigate his emotions, much less his son’s. The vulnerability intimidating, and any words gone with the wind. A weight too heavy to hold, but various fears preventing you from ever sharing it.

Getting lost in the bottle was a romantic escape, then, even if you would come to regret it. That blossomed the vicious cycle, when your method of coping only added more guilt – defeating the purpose of this night to begin with.

A hand placed itself on your shoulder, bringing your gaze from empty shot glasses to a familiarly styled head of black hair. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes, spirit feeling despondent when their hand returned to the counter.

“Jasper?” you whispered, feeble hope fueling your delusion.

They shook their head at you, “I’m afraid that’s not my name.”

“My apologies.” you nodded, downing another round as they began talking to the bartender.

He was dead, the first to meet the end of your revolver. There was no place to find him besides six feet under, at the very cemetery you first met.

Perhaps a visit to Fort Talia was what you needed. It had been four or five years since you left that fateful night with Boothill, never to look back. Although now, after everything, maybe looking back is the right thing to do. Return to, and learn from the past in order to glance forward. Walk the deck of the funeral parlor, stop by your old house. Finally speak to your mother again.

It was decided. Talk to Boothill come morning and see if he would join you.

—

Bright noon rays lit up the dusty buildings of Fort Talia, its peaceful people walking past Boothill with nods and greetings. Under any other circumstance he would respond, however words failed him now. The brim of his new hat hung low, obscuring his features and providing a bit of comfort. The less others saw of him the better.

He was fractured, too many pieces scattered across the range for him to find. Conversation would not come easy when he could hardly even handle a talk with himself. Your hotel rooms had become suffocating as of late. Silence reigning and gazes only ever in opposing directions. It was cold – a sensation Boothill had become unfamiliar with after all these years. That only served to make your icy temperament feel like a burning hell. No words exit your lips, eyes focused out of windows, on the ceiling or the floor. It was unbearable, the shunning that leaked from your figure.

What had he done to make you feel so? Was he even to blame?

Silver watched the clouds drift over the sky, a horrible longing to join them occupying his mind. A nearly impossible fate for him, now feared more than ever.

“Papa!”

A small, light voice shouted excitedly, followed by the pattering of boots on the deck.

Boothill turned expectantly, arms shifting and ready to pick up his daughter.

Instead he was made a fool.

He quickly returned to a regular stance, leaving down the nearby alleyway to lean himself against the wood. That was somebody else’s child, not his. The title he came to love most would never be used again, abandoned amidst the Iron Springs forest. “Papa” was her first word, and possibly even her last.

He recalled the tears you shared when she spoke, listening to her babble about him. Her voice was that of angels, as if he was finally worthy of speaking to the heavens.

Now he lost that angel, the most vivid star in the sky.

Three moss-coated tombstones lay before you, names that you first came to know at fifteen.

Isaiah, Callie, and Jasper.

Ellis must rest in Warren, then. Forever separated from his family.

A couple desert marigolds grew along the path to the cemetery, and you left one at each of their graves. Six in total gathered in your hand – one for each person you were to visit, as well as two extras for whoever you saw fit.

Boots trudged through the dry ground, avoiding stones that shaped plots or decorated the base of a tombstone. Rocks of grey and tan sat below your father’s and the one now beside it.

Upon reading the inscription, the marigolds fell to the dust.

Your mother was buried at his right, her death only one year ago.

With your forehead to the fine wood of said tombstone, your resolve finally crumbled. Any strength you wished to hold forsaken for the misery you denied. Tears flowed and fell frenzied, patiently creating a mud where your fingertips dug into the ground.

All of this loss, but why?

Why cherish anything if it would only be ripped away?

Holding your precious little girl one moment, only for her blood to splash over your face the next. Befriend a lonely boy, one who you found a kinship with, just for him to be shot by your hand.

Your mother, who despite her own mourning, still silently reached out to you, giving you what support she could muster. Your father, who robbed and killed unbeknownst to you, still provided and taught you things he knew about the world that would never be shared at the old schoolhouse.

They all had one common thread – loving you.

Burden, plague, curse. All words that could describe what a detriment you were. If they never loved you, never met or created you, perhaps their fates would be different.

What of Boothill, then?

—

Droplet-stained windows displayed a wagon of bottles stopping outside of the saloon. One of the drivers lept from its front, unlocking the back panel and pulling out two jugs. He lifted them in each hand, a big smile on his face as he cheered through the doors.

The crude and familiar scent of cigarette smoke curled through the window as you cracked it open, the stale quietude of your hotel room grating your nerves. Boothill observed you idly from the bed as you inhaled deeply, palms on the framing. The smell was lovely now, soothing almost. His gaze bore into you, seemingly trying to decipher your inner world.

"What is it?" you spoke softly, head turning toward him.

He sighed, eyes shifting to the ceiling. "I… You've just been so… cold I guess. I try not to take it personally, but I can't help it sometimes."

"Our daughter died, Boothill."

He sat up, "You think I don't know that?"

With a heavy exhale, you faced him. "Of course you do, but I just…"

"Every day begins and ends with her. Not a second goes by where that scene ain't fillin' my head."

"You assume it isn't the same for me? I watched them shoot her – her blood was on my face for hours! Do you think I can forget that?"

"I'm not askin' you to!"

"It sure sounds like it!"

"I just want some answers and for you to recognize that you're not the only one hurtin' here. Shutting me out hasn't been doing any good."

"Shutting you out? I recall you doing that to me. Any time I reach out, you leave or move away from me, and I get no words, nothing! You've got no love or respect for me anymore!"

"Don't you go there." He stood, inching closer to you with every word. "How dare you say that I feel nothing for you. If anything, you've been giving that treatment to me. Do you know how it feels to lay there cryin', wishing that your partner would just run their fingers through your hair and share that pain with you? No. Instead they go out for the night doin' who the heaven knows what, and then return at dawn like nothing happened. Like they didn't just abandon you to return reeking of alcohol or bruised and bloodied. Do you know how powerless that makes somebody?"

"I'm handlin' my own pain my way. I'm tryin' to be strong for you!"

"I don't want you to be strong for me! I want to know that my partner is here, and never leavin'! You remember what I said? I take care of you and you take care of me. That was the promise!"

"Well how are you takin' care of me exactly?"

"How am I supposed to begin if you never let me in!"

"Rich comin' from the likes of you."

"Why're you talkin' down to me? Do you think that helps?"

He paused before you, staring down into your eyes with a mixture of fire and love – an undertone of concern and fear. His hands came to hold your shoulders, and you hesitantly accepted the touch. One drifted up to the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw and the edge of your cheek. The way he'd always comfort you. A guilt began setting in, tearing and biting at your throat, preventing any words from leaving you – likely for the better after your childish retorts.

"I don't wanna fight with you, darlin'. Please, just talk to me."

Wordlessly, you placed your arms around his neck, hugging him cheek to cheek. His own came to encase you when you finally whispered everything in his ear.

"I miss you… so much it hurts. I'm so sorry for all of the turmoil I've given you. That was never my intention. I just… I felt like you hated me. Blamed me for her… death."

"I never could."

"And I know that now. I didn't mean to be so cold, and I understand how you need me. I must admit I'd like to be selfish and have you do the same."

"That's not selfish."

You sniffed, "My… my mama died a year ago."

"Darlin'..."

"I didn't know." Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "She had no way to write to me. I have no idea what could have happened to her. She was all alone, lost to the world in our little house."

His hands descended to your hips, carefully stepping backward as you clung to him reluctant to move. He turned, setting you down on the bed before walking to get a blanket off of one of the chairs. The soft wool came into your hands before a weight settled behind you.

“Lay down.”

You shifted up the bed, throwing the blanket over your legs and resting your head. Boothill shuffled up next to you, his cheek to your chest. He stared up at you, eyes closing when your fingers finally ran through his hair. A sigh filled the room, mingling with gentle neighing from the street below. Silver was revealed to you once more, a low and husky whisper reaching your ears.

"We had this huge tree, back on the farm down in Redhawk. Its branches were wide and overflowing with leaves, but on a windy night you could see the stars through them. My fathers, they were always dreaming -- planning for our future. We'd sit out there and they'd talk for a while, answer any of my questions and teach me some life lessons. Eventually, one would get to strummin' on the guitar and we'd sing and cheer along – it was the most fun when some of their friends would come to visit or we'd host some guests from the road.

One was more pragmatic than the other, though they both had sharp minds. He could talk to anybody, find out anything he wanted to know. More caring and gentle, but still very strong. My other was a great gunslinger, and charismatic to a fault. He was a little rough around the edges, but I loved him anyway. They were my idols; taught me nearly everything I knew before I started goin' on the round-ups. Wasn't until I went back to our farm just a couple years later that I found it tore apart, two letters on the dining table for me. They were gone -- one captured and killed by the NHA and the other off to get revenge. He left me one of his revolvers, the same one I still use today."

Your fingers ran over his exposed cheek, noting the brimming water in his eyes matching your own.

“They raised a brilliant son.”

Your voice cracked as you finished speaking, watching him cry into you as you released your own burdens. The euphoria of budding forgiveness and the grief previously set aside catching up to you. It seemed that nearly every pain of yours was one he shared at some point or another, and it only emphasized the resolution of your argument.

You needed each other now more than ever.

—

“Are my eyes playin’ tricks on me?”

“Well I don’t believe it either.”

A man shook hands strongly with Boothill, hitting his other down on his shoulder. He had a confident glint in his hazel gaze, a boisterous air around him.

“How’ve you been, you beautiful piece of scrap?” he chuckled.

“Times have certainly been better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, friend.” was his somber reply.

You extended your hand, feeling a calloused one against your palm.

“I see you’re his partner in crime, undertaker.”

“You got one of your own yet?” you asked, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“Of course! You’re more than welcome to come by tonight and meet her, our kids as well! We’ve got two of them raisin’ hell all over the place.”

“Thank you, but-”

“We’ll be there.” Boothill interrupted, a sharp smile contrasting with his sullen eyes.

“I’m happy to hear that!” Lee beamed, “Some supper'll be ready for you.”

His hand hit your elbow playfully before he focused on Boothill.

“What liquor do you like now, ‘Hill?”

Lee’s porch was well-lit, a small garden out front with bright flowers and a structure of twigs resting alongside the stairs. It was likely built by his children, or whoever got distracted while watering and left puddles on the steps. A light knock reverberated through the door, summoning a figure that stood as tall as the knob to open it.

“Hello!”

Quick steps came from behind them, before the door was tugged open further.

“Come in, please!”

You were the first to cross the threshold, a large fireplace and a set table coming into view. Chairs were gathered immediately to your left, some books and a half-built pyramid of empty cans decorating the scene. Blankets were gathered against the wall, dark brown eyes meeting yours as a shaggy dog rose from its bed.

Lee carried a pot to the table, a white cloth protecting his hands from the hot handles. He uttered warnings of the heat to his kids, the same ones who greeted you at the door. Another figure, just slightly taller than him, followed behind with a pitcher of water in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

While they continued preparing the food and adjusting the ambience, one child tugged on the ends of Boothill’s coat. The other peppered him with questions, looking excitedly at his gun and even more so at the chamber kept in his arm. A small smile grew on his face at their attention before they returned to Lee, wanting to know stories about his “heroic” friend. He followed them to the table, pouring two cups of water from the pitcher and handing it to them. Joyfully, they thanked him and resumed their conversation with Lee.

Seeing what he had raised mixed feelings. You were happy that he had found somebody of his own, that they seemed to love each other and work well together. That joy still couldn’t bury the tinge of envy sinking in, created from how it hurt to be reminded of what your family could have been had Rena simply been allowed to grow.

Scratching behind one of the dog’s ears, a tap landed on your shoulder and grey fingers came into view. They held a glass out to you, filled with clear liquid.

“For you, darlin’.”

The undertone of his words were not lost on you – avoid drinking tonight. Let me take care of you.

“Would you like some stew?”

The welcoming voice of Evelyn sounded from the dining table, a bowl and ladle in her hands. You accepted her offer, watching her gold wedding band glint in the light as you approached her. Their dog followed just behind, its nose occasionally bumping into the back of your leg.

The stew was warm in your hands, making a soft thud against the counter as you sat beside Boothill. A savory broth coated your tongue, the heat of a home-cooked meal comforting amidst the chilly desert night. Conversation flowed easily between all of you, as if you were playing back at the saloon years ago. It wasn’t until there were scraps in bowls and empty glasses covering the table that it took a more serious turn.

Evelyn dismissed their children, Emmett and Mable, from the table. Begrudgingly they went to the living area, playing with the dog and continuing to build their pyramid.

"What happened, 'Hill?" Lee questioned lowly.

You placed your hand along the back of Boothill's neck, meeting his somber gaze. “Let’s talk about it.”

He sighed, his eyes leaving yours and looking at the couple on the opposite side of the table. "Just eight or nine months ago we found a baby up in Iris Creek. We took her in as our own, raising her at that ranch I was tellin’ you about in Iron Springs.” He paused a moment, and you brushed your thumb against his nape, your focus remaining on the wood floor. “About… About three weeks ago the NHA came knockin'. They killed her right in front of them." His gaze turned to you momentarily. "I arrived shortly after."

"I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that." Evelyn spoke gently, placing her hands over one of yours and Boothill's. "I won't pretend to know that pain, but we're here if you need anything."

Lee reciprocated her action, a grit in his voice that was vastly different from hers. "Those cruel bastards will get their judgment day." He exhaled after a glance from his wife, solemnly looking at you, then at Boothill. "She's right, though. A room, food, company, whatever you need. There'll always be a warm fire ready here for you."

—

Bidding farewell to the McHale’s was difficult. They wanted nothing more than to continue catching up, but the night was passing and grogginess collectively set in. Emmett and Mable shouted their goodbyes from the porch, accompanied by the waves of Evelyn and Lee. You returned their gestures, slowly riding off from their home. Boothill’s gaze turned to the stars after saying his own goodbyes, watching the sky as he shifted back and forth. There was much to ponder after that visit, especially for him. The two of you hadn’t talked much in the past few hours, occupied by your own worlds and memories of the past.

Life had been fulfilling thus far, though one world-altering regret weighed heavily on that idea. A certain finality came with it, a need for eventual acceptance lest you meet that finality yourself. In time you would arrive there, but for now it was best to let the pain run its course – feel it and share in it. Boothill had no expectation of you than to simply be there for him as he is for you. Rena had two parents, and lived the best, most beautiful life you could provide for her.

There was one thing you had learned about death -- all that it claimed were eternally benevolent, either in life or the hereafter. If your parents, or Boothill's fathers were here right now, made of flesh and blood, they would want the best for you. For you to live another day and find your place in this wide and bittersweet world. They strived the same as you, to give their child the life they deserved. Perhaps Jasper's notions in the face of death's door were correct. Family would reunite, free of burdens and earthly matters. Spirits would live on in bliss, their memory preserved by each generation.

When you picture all that you've lost, you see a beautiful ranch -- just like the one you worked in Iron Springs. There would be a grand tree, housing Boothill's fathers and little Rena giggling and tugging on one's hair just like she would with you. Your parents would exit a cabin with various drinks and a bowl of apples, stopping to share one with a horse on their way to the meeting spot. Maybe even the Weston's were there, Isaiah smiling from a rocking chair on the porch. Callie would be happy, free of sickly features and whistling a tune. Ellis, cleaning his guns right beside his father. And Jasper would walk from the door, giving each of them a hug before running over to your parents and helping them carry their goods.

If the day ever came, when you would face that reaper with your boots on, that was the life you craved to return to. One where you could drink, laugh, and settle things with your large family -- everyone you ever held dear gathered 'round to celebrate the day. You would wait for Boothill, the inevitable fact being that he would outlive you. It was an idea accepted long ago. Confronting reality was necessary for the life you lead.

Yet that was the other thing about death -- love surpasses it. No matter what kind that love was, it would dance across the edge into the realm of departure. While it may alter itself, those living would still hold its fondness.

If the day ever came that Boothill joined you, either as he is now or as Jesse Blackwell, you would greet him with arms wide open. That very same love remaining with the dead, living in their own peaceful way at your little ranch.

"What's on your mind, darlin'?" he whispered, gazing at you now, instead of the night sky.

"You, and our dreams." you replied with a small smile.

“How romantic of you.” he chuckled, a contrasting and heavy look in his eyes.

Silence rode along between you for a moment until you spoke up, “Where do we go from here?”

He exhaled, a defeated yet promising sound. “Let’s just start with our hotel room. Take it one day at a time from there.”

#coff writes for hsr 🍾#i've only seen like four of the things that have been shared and talked about the most from his leaks #mostly since i don't want to seek them out #since i think it'll be even more impactful when it's officially shared in the story #but still #i'm looking forward to it :)#and with the little bit i've seen so far #i wanted to continue his and the reader's story in this au #and the challenges that come with what they face #especially with the reader being a former undertaker #also the title is from seed of memory by terry reid if you're curious :)#and if you know where the title for part 1 is from here's some extra love 🫶 one of my favorite games of all time and an inspo for this au #anyway tag time!#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr boothill #hsr x reader #hsr boothill x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail boothill #honkai star rail boothill x reader #hsr fanfic #hsr au

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dansenbb · 10 months ago

Text

Dansen (mini) Big Bang 2024

Publishing Date: November 24, 2024 - December 24, 2024

Rules:

Fic must be at least 1.5k words.

Must be posted in its entirety on AO3.

A Summary and/or outline must be provided by October 8th at the latest, for artist's selection.

Any rating. Following AO3 posting guidelines.

No AI, of any kind.

No plagiarism.

Can be AU, Canon Divergent, Canon Adjacent, Post Canon. (However; cheating, death of main characters is discouraged, but not prohibited.)

Can include any other pairings in the fic, but Dansen must be the protagonists.

It must be a new fic, nothing that has been posted before.

Can be a prequel, a sequel or spin off to another fic.

For art: It can be any type of visual art: Drawings, Gifsets, Manips, videos, etc.

Art can be posted on any social media, or directly on AO3, however the fic and the art must be linked bilaterally.

There will be check-ins through the event until the last day of the posting schedule, but if for whatever reason participant needs to drop out, please communicate it as soon as possible to mod, and partners.

#dansen #alex danvers #kelly olsen #azie tesfai #chyler leigh #dansenBB

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tswaney17 · 6 months ago

Note

Happy New Year Tay! You are one of my favorite writers in this fandom. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your writing process:

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

How do you find new fic to read?

Who do you read?

How do you decide what to write?

Are there any tropes you dislike?

What's your favorite AU that you've written?

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

f you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Do you visualize what you read/write?

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that."

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic?

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Aww, nonnie. 🥲 Thank you so much! And Happy New Year to you too!! 🥂 I hope I answered these okay. LOL.

What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?) Oh man, that's hard. I'd say Secret Sessions for canon-related, and IDBTWY or Accidental Chemistry for modern.

What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics? Probably slow burn. And pregnancy AU. I know it's not everyone's favorite, but I always end up writing Elriel pregnant. LMAO.

How do you find new fic to read? Frankly, since I've stopped writing, I've been devouring fanfic. I hit up AO3 nearly every day to see if there's anything new. And I have this logic that if I subscribe to a crap ton of fics, I'll hopefully get an update to at least one of them weekly. It's not a flawless system but I get the most out of it.

Who do you read? I honestly read everybody as long as I am confident that Elriel is endgame. I will side-eye anything that as El*cien or Gw*nriel as a potential pairing and will skim first to ensure I'll be able to make it through the story. But I have my go-to's like @nikethestatue and @dottielovegood (amongst many others), and I've found some newbies (or new to me) on AO3 and have been devouring their fics. A few that come to mind are @jasmineandcedar and @merakimoonglade but there are many more.

How do you decide what to write? Through utter chaos that is my brain. Sometimes I'll see little things on Insta or Pinterest that'll spark ideas while others will just kind of hit me out of nowhere. Kind of like this feral Az/Elriel miscarriage that's been floating around in my brain for weeks.

Are there any tropes you dislike? I am over the girlboss warrior trope. There's so much of that written that it's just boring to me. I also hate the cheating trope. I just can't read those.

What's your favorite AU that you've written? Honestly, that's hard. IDBTWY has a very special place in my heart, but Secret Sessions might be the best writing I've ever done. I'm also a sucker for Accidental Chemistry too.

What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it? Probably that feral Az/Elriel miscarriage I mentioned above. It'd be very angsty and heartbreaking but so delicious. Oh! I also have this Archeron-witch AU that's been wracking my brain forever that's based on The Originals. I have a few scenes of it written but just couldn't get into the right headspace to bust it out completely.

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Hmm. Secret Sessions deserves an epilogue and I did start to write one a long time ago. But the idea sputtered out and I never got more than a page written. Also, my fic Queen of Monsters would definitely benefit from a sequel but I'm just going to leave that one alone.

If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve? I could see writing a spin-off for IDBTWY for each of the other siblings tbh. I have no idea what those stories would include, but I think it's the best setup for any sort of spin-off. Or maybe a next-gen for IDBTWY. I have thought of things for the kids if that ever came to pass.

If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve? Frenemies would probably benefit from a prequel. You very much jump right into the mess but elaborating on how Elain and Az worked together before they fucked would've been interesting.

If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be? Lucien realizing the bond is broken in Secret Sessions. I had so many people ask about what he felt and if the bond was gone and I just left it up to interpretation.

What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write? I honestly don't use a lot of resources when I write. I Google things when I need to do some research and I have Grammarly to assist with the grammar side of things (which is far from perfect), but other than that, I really don't have much else. Big fics get inspo boards on Pinterest though.

Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue? No dialogue. There are some really amazing writers in this fandom that can invoke such an intense emotional response from readers simply by describing the scene without having the characters speak at all. I feel like both @dottielovegood and @violetasteracademic are exceptional at this. I would love to be able to do this as well as them.

How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process. IDBTWY took four years and it was chaos. I didn't really have an outline that went further than chapter 7 until I was well into the 20s and finally outlined the remaining 15 chapters. Do not recommend at all. I'm honestly surprised how much I was able to loop back in later on in the fic despite my unorganization of it. @nikethestatue can tell you I often went to her and asked if something occurred in my fic because I couldn't even remember. LOL.

Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who? No, I don't have a beta reader and I probably should. I do give out snippets to friends though, but mostly to be a tease.

Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter? LMAO. Unholy (my Azriel priest fic) was so far outside my comfort zone. Not just because I'm not religious and likely wrote phrases and scenes that didn't make sense to the setting, but just the idea of having Azriel as a priest fuck Elain on the goddamn altar of the church. Good lord, I blushed writing it and I blushed reading it even to this day. I honestly haven't written anything since this, but I think it helped me to push through my mental barriers of writing something so outrageous.

What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life? I know I've said this a few times, but Accidental Chemistry is loosely based on my best friend. Some of the things Elain experienced happened with her and the fic honestly hit home because of the close, personal ties. Also, Elain's obsession with creamer in every fic is my self-insert and you can't take that away from me. LOL.

Do you visualize what you read/write? Always. I often think of scenes when I'm laying in bed trying to sleep at night. I don't know if it helps put me to sleep or keeps me up because I'm constantly turning things over in my mind.

Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it? Who's Afraid of Little Old Me, my Tangled Retelling fic. I absolutely loved writing this one and doing the role reversal swap on Elain and Az was such an interesting story to write. It barely got any traction in comparison to others and I was honestly surprised by it.

Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful? IDBTWY became fairly popular tbh, likely because the fandom was wildly engaged at the time when I first started writing it. But A Surprise Bun got more popularity than I thought it would. Enough so that I wrote two extra parts for it (technically three since it was originally intended to be a one-shot). I loved writing the dynamic between Elriel and Cassian.

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person? I'm a heavy rereader. I will go back and reread specific scenes, entire series, etc. Don't threaten me with a good time.

Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that." There are so many creative writers out there and I know that I'm missing a lot, but @impossiblescissorspeachpaper, @merakimoonglade, and @violetasteracademic have incredible prose and dialect in their writing. I am envious of their talent. Truly.

Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason? I've received such amazing comments from readers and I treasure every single one. But there's been a handful of times where somebody has said that my fic was the first they read in the acotar fandom, or that it's their favorite ever, or that they were so invested in it even though they don't ship Elain and Azriel...and just reading those comments makes me feel so valued. To say that about my writing is such an honor.

What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic? I think my style of writing has definitely improved since I started. If you compare the first part of Across the Hallway (my very first fic) to my most recent ones, especially ones like Wildest Dreams or even my A Hundred Lifetimes, A Hundred Worlds, I'd Choose You series, you can definitely see the difference in my writing.

Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write? I'm a laptop writer. If I write on my phone, I'll note it because it will likely have more errors. I've only written two fics on my phone tbh. My "fast phone fics."

What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it? I read Wonderstruck by @mirrorballpages and it is phenomenal. Highly, highly recommend it.

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it! Oh man. I've got wips for Accidental Chemistry, this Italy-based heartbreaker that will likely never be published. I've got pieces of a post-acosf fic that will never see the light of day. Random scenes for that witch AU. I haven't been writing fic since Elriel Month, tbh. I've been more focused on my IDBTWY rewrite for publishing. But... I suppose if I do end up writing fic again, it'll be Accidental Chemistry. So here's an unedited snippet of it.

It was something he noticed the other night when he cradled the boy to his chest, promptly getting him to finally settle enough to fall asleep. He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of his heartbeat or the warmth of his skin or the deep sound of his voice as he softly sang a lullaby his mother used to hum to him or a combination thereof, but Oliver always seemed content in his arms.

#ask #anon #anonymous #tswaney17 responds #fic writing #elriel

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brabblesban · 1 year ago

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 2: 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

The gift arrives, and Astarion continues spinning himself into his little web of mistruths. Ban does some sleuthing.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

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Ban and Astarion by @primopinku

Astarion stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching Roderich’s workers carry the mirror inside the palace. It was huge, and he absently wondered what he would do if it didn't fit through the doorway to the bedroom. He supposed having it in the ballroom wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it might prove to be an issue when hosting parties; people would inevitably notice his consort’s lack of reflection.

Roderich approached him and gave a small bow. “My lord,” he said. “Which room would you like the mirror to be brought to?”

Astarion regarded the man before him; Roderich was frightened, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Perhaps rumors of the activities that had occurred in this palace during Cazador’s reign had reached Roderich’s ears. He deliberated between further terrifying the man for his amusement or placating him, and begrudgingly settled on the latter, as delectable an idea as the former was.

He draped an arm over Roderich’s shoulder. “Our bedroom, on the far wall,” he replied. “Take two left turns and you’ll find it.” He leaned in. “Would you like to join me for some refreshments, Master Glasscraft?”

Up close, Astarion thought, he could see the family resemblance. The shape of his face and nose were reminiscent of Ban’s - Ban, who had gone to Rivington today to see Shadowheart.

Ban, who had been rather quiet since the day she saw him hiding the contract.

The silence had been unnerving him, bringing out his insecurities at a frankly terrifying speed. While he normally would have sought to explain his feelings to her, he hadn’t this time; the sheer fear of her anger and the thought of losing her winning out over his better judgment.

Roderich flinched, but as the arm over his back was a normal temperature, felt himself relax slightly. Perhaps Cazador Szarr could have been the monster he had been suspecting Lord Ancunín to be, but presently there were fewer and fewer reasons to suspect the man beside him.

“Some tea would be nice, I suppose. But I can’t stay too long. My wife, Arlette… she’s waiting for me.” He doubted vampires ever stocked human food and drink, so that was a good sign, but he still felt the need to clearly state that someone would notice if he disappeared. His throat was a bit dry and scratchy, regardless.

“Tea it is, then.” As Astarion called a servant over and rattled off a request for tea and some biscuits, Roderich quickly instructed his men as to which room to bring the mirror and where to place it. Turning his attention back to Roderich, Astarion shot him his most winsome smile, taking care not to show his fangs this time.

“I’ve asked for the tea to be delivered to my study,” he said, arm still around Roderich, steering him in that direction. “So. Do tell me about dear Arlette. Children? I’d assume a son, considering…”

The shop’s name, yes. Astarion fought back the wave of indignation at the fact that Ban didn’t even seem to merit a mention there. Of course, they likely assumed her dead, and he had no idea why she had left them in the first place, but still.

Roderich, finding the small talk a bit peculiar but not impolite, nodded, clearing his throat. “Arlette and I ha-have a son. Adrien.” He entered the study, following his host, and took a seat on one of the plush armchairs in the room; Astarion took the one next to his, crossing his legs.

As the tea and biscuits arrived on a metal tray, Astarion noted the hesitation in Roderich’s tone. Fear, perhaps? He gingerly picked up his own cup, making a show of finding the tea hot, blowing across its surface, to further disarm the man.

“Arlette and Adrien.” He paused a moment, then offered some information in return, keeping the conversation flowing. “I myself am newly wedded, only about a year or so ago. Alas, the gods haven’t seen fit to bless us with offspring as yet. Grandchildren?”

Roderich shook his head, a heaviness settling over his features. “No,” he said. “It’s… Adrien-”

His voice was rough; Astarion noticed it, but did not comment. Instead he took a long sip from his cup, allowing the man a moment to recover.

“Adrien hasn’t taken a wife.” Roderich settled on saying.

Astarion let the silence stretch, picking up a biscuit with slender fingers. Taking a bite or two; he regarded Ban’s father. A brother, then, with something seemingly causing Roderich distress at the mere mention of his name. Interesting.

Astarion’s chamberlain entered the room, and made a small bow. “My lord,” he said, “they have finished.” At the man’s words Roderich stood, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Lord Ancunín.” He gave a small bow, “I really do need to take my leave. Arlette needs me to weed the garden today, and…”

Astarion waved his hand in a gesture of nonchalance, as if it did not trouble him at all. “Take some pastries with you, Master Glasscraft. I’m sure your wife and son will appreciate them. The kitchen will have a box prepared for you - just let him lead the way.” He nodded towards his chamberlain.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you. I shall be off.” Roderich followed the chamberlain and was soon on his way home, grateful to be away from Lord Ancunín, his questions, and his oddly piercing gaze.

Still in his seat, Astarion mulled over Roderich’s words. How much of this was old information, and how much did Ban know?

And whatever could have happened to Adrien that so disconcerted his father?

Ban stared at the mirror as she slipped her bathrobe off, draping it over the couch. She did so merely as a matter of habit - of course she no longer saw herself or the bathrobe, only the empty room staring back at her. The mirror was large and ornate with gold inlaid into the frame. Leaning against the wall of their bedroom, it gave the impression of a great beast looming over their bed.

She hated it. Not that mirrors have ever been something she liked - they reminded her too much of her past - but this one in particular felt ominous, a little too big and a little too oppressive a presence in their place of refuge. She knew Astarion would have it moved the moment she asked, but for now at least she was willing to let it stay. After all, he’d done a marvelous job introducing her to it earlier today; the memory of him fucking her in front of it so they could see what his cock did inside her - him spreading her apart, coming apart inside her, just for her - was one she thought she’d remember for a while.

Ban spied Astarion’s reflection in the mirror as he walked in from the bathroom, towel still wrapped around his waist. His expression looked conflicted, until he schooled it into something more neutral.

“I see you’re admiring our newest acquisition,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her shoulder, then slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the base of her neck. He closed his eyes, hands resting on her waist. The fear of her leaving, now ever-present, fluttered in his breast; his brows furrowed briefly, but he managed to smooth them down.

All this, Ban could easily see reflected in the mirror. A small sigh escaped her, and she turned to face him. He fell still, eyes still closed, afraid to see or hear what she’d say next. She cupped his cheek, smiling a little when he leaned into her touch.

“I still stand by what I said. This feels a bit much.”

Her words were met by quiet, soft laughter, and he kissed her palm.

“You did mention that.” His hands shifted forward, fingers knitting together against her back, pulling her in close. Astarion debated between playing up his usual snark or letting his walls down, but there really wasn’t any contest. There hadn’t been any for a while now, in moments like this. “Do you dislike it?”

“Not dislike, I think, it’s just…” She frowned. “It’ll take some getting used to. I won’t mind as much if we do what we did today more often?” A small conciliatory offer, one Astarion grasped without hesitation.

“Of course,” he huffed, amused. Astarion leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “To bed then, love?” He finally opened his eyes, offering her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Astarion’s fingers deftly removed the towel from his waist, throwing it onto the couch nearby; despite her nearness, there wasn’t any stirring of desire in him, the worry overruling every other thought. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to bed. Crawling in after her, he curled his body around hers, holding her close. He tucked his face against the back of her neck, hiding.

Astarion had been waiting. Since she’d come home and seen the mirror, he’d been waiting. For what, he didn’t know - a word, a quick anecdote of her life before, anything. Even a snide comment would have been something.

He hadn’t meant to blatantly state the mirror wasn’t from her family, of course. It had slipped out in a moment of nervousness as he’d tried to reassure her about the new addition to the bedroom.

“Even for you, this is a bit much,” Ban had said as he’d walked in.

Astarion remembered dragging a chair with him, planting it directly in front of the mirror and sitting down. He’d placed it close to the glass; his knees had almost touched his reflection’s. There had been apprehension, a worry that she’d somehow immediately know the origins of his purchase and confront him right there and then. Her pithy comment and the fact that she’d almost caught him with the contract had simply exacerbated his unease. He’d defaulted into his usual defense then, the old act slipping on effortlessly.

“I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about. And…” He had kept his expression neutral, cooly leaning forward to tilt his face, making a show of admiring his own visage on the mirror. He’d sensed her watching him, likely entranced by his little display, as intended. His eyes had flicked towards hers and in one smooth, practiced move, he’d leaned back to spread his legs.

“Sit.” He’d tapped his right thigh.

Why he needed to do this, to dig at the truth of her past, he didn’t exactly know; after all, the issue of her family was something they’d never spoken of, and which had seemingly no immediate relevance to their life. However, he did see her occasional sadness, saw her pull away when whatever he said or did reminded her of something, and he wanted to understand. He had tried asking her - had done so gently, at times with a little more force, but it always ended the same way.

I don’t want to talk about it, Astarion.

That, usually combined with an angry huff and silence for the rest of the day, even when he acquiesced and let the matter go.

The anger had been a recent thing, an ugly creature borne out of her need to avoid anything even approaching the topic of her past. As their relationship had slowly improved, Astarion had taken it upon himself to learn more about her, figuring that her past would have shaped her; thinking that knowing her more fully would help him predict her better.

That was the logical reason, of course. At the core, all he wanted was to be entrusted with her heart, the whole of her self, in a way that was greater than before, in a way that indicated he’d been fully accepted back, forgiven - permitted to know and love her completely. He sighed, thinking about her most recent eruption.

“Ban, I just-” He’d backtracked, trying to salvage the situation before it escalated into yet another anxiety-filled day of barely being spoken to as punishment.

She’d rounded on him, eyes wild and full of fury and fear - although not of him, if her words had been any indication. “Stop, Astarion. There’s no point in asking, no point in prodding, do you understand?”

“I know...” He had tried to take her wrist and been rebuffed with a quick withdrawal of her hand; his fingers had closed around air. “I merely want to see you.” Like you see me.

“What else is there to see?” Ban had raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I love you. I am happy with you. I am not afraid of you. What more do you need to know?”

Everything else, he’d thought, but that fear in her eyes had stopped him. Small steps. He knew trust to be a delicate thing; earning it would take time.

Perhaps direct questions might help.

“What was it that… caused this?” Cautious, careful words; he’d tried his best to keep his voice neutral.

After all, he still hadn’t even understood why the argument had started. They had been at Wyrm’s Crossing when a merchant had accused Ban of stealing a necklace.

The culprit had been Astarion, of course. The necklace had a pendant in the shape of a rose, and he had thought it would look wonderful on her. His fingers had moved before he could think, the necklace gone before anyone had been the wiser.

The vendor had eventually noticed the missing necklace. A cursory scan had shown it likely to have been the couple who had just passed by: a silver-haired elf, adorned in a beaded, gold-trimmed jacket, and his companion, a human dressed in nice enough, but rather simpler clothes.

Ban had vehemently denied the accusation, her voice rising in time to match the vendor’s, though still reining herself in.

“Rich,” the man had hissed, eyeing her, “and yet with scruples no better than a common thief. Your companion here picked you up from the streets, no doubt.”

Astarion had seen red then, the temptation to simply end the man’s miserable life almost overwhelming. Instead he had taken a step, encroaching on the man’s space.

“You do not speak to my wife in that manner, cretin,” he had growled, his fangs threatening to make an appearance.

Then he had said the thing that he was almost sure had caused her to recoil. “We could buy your wares, your sorry little shop, and even your sorry little self. ”

He had seen her blanch then, her hand disengaging from where it had been linked around his arm. She hadn’t looked scared of him so much as it had seemed like she’d remembered something, and whatever it was had upset her. Unsure, Astarion had dragged her away from the bristling vendor before the argument could escalate even further.

It had gone downhill from there until, hours later, he’d found himself once more trying to find his way through the mire of her anger and her secrets. What was it that… caused this?

Ban frowned at Astarion’s question, the words ringing in her head.

I could buy you!

Her father had loved saying those words, bandying them about whenever some unfortunate soul crossed him. The moment similar words had left Astarion’s lips, all those memories had come flooding back.

Of course, she would never tell him. It was the past, and as much as Astarion had inadvertently reminded her of her father, she knew he hadn’t meant to. She knew he wanted to know; the way those eyes pleaded and his voice trembled told her in no uncertain terms how badly. She worried, though, that if he knew of her past, knew what she’d suffered, his vision of her would forever be altered.

Ban knew Astarion had always seen her as strong. Resolute. Someone capable of protecting others. She wanted to be that for him, to be his rock - forever, if possible.

There was also the fact that she’d always loathed being weak, even for him.

The mirror was, he supposed, his last, desperate effort. He’d hoped seeing the mirror would bring the conversation to the fore… but then what would have happened?

He would have told her that he did indeed purchase it from her family. He’d have begged for forgiveness, explained he only did it to get her to open up, that she needn’t do anything with the information he’d gleaned about her family. That he wanted to understand her like she understood him, and why was that so wrong?

He’d have told her that he’d tried everything else: he’d spoken, he’d pleaded, he’d begged and tried to explain how important this was to him, and it had all fallen on deaf, if not angry ears, until subterfuge was the only option left unexplored. He’d have told her that it ate him up inside to know she still didn’t love him enough - trust him enough - to share all of herself with him, the imbalance a constant reminder of all the things he could never take back, of sins remaining unforgotten and of wounds unhealed.

Astarion shifted against Ban as frustration seeped in anew, a small grunt escaping his lips.

She knew everything about him, from his worst memories to his greatest fears. She’d seen him at his best, and at his absolute worst. What had he seen of her?

A carefully curated facade, which did sometimes crumble to reveal her soft, loving core - but what about all the parts of her that aren’t her love for him? What about her life before? What made her this?

He wanted to know those pieces of her, to pick them like roses amongst thorns; to love them, to help, to soothe where needed. To do what she’d done for him.

It tore him apart to not be allowed that. To not be trusted with it.

How long would she hide herself from him? He’d given her every ounce of himself; every single day he rested his heart upon her palms, ready to be crushed at a moment’s notice, and yet he was given so little in return. Was he to expect an eternity of this, of her holding back, never giving what matters most of herself? Had he been seen and deemed unworthy of her trust, of her?

And if so, how long until she decided this wasn’t worth it? That she could find someone worthy of sharing all of herself? That he wasn’t worth it, after all?

And just like that day in Wyrm’s Crossing and the countless other days before it, Astarion’s plan for the mirror to trigger a conversation had fallen flat on its face.

When she’d come home earlier today and seen the mirror leaning against their bedroom wall, it had stirred something. She’d definitely reacted to it; he’d seen her staring. But there had been no words, nothing to indicate any willingness to open up to him about her thoughts.

Panic had flooded his mind then. He’d slipped into seduction, hoping that would disarm her enough to say something in the glow of post-coital bliss. Instead she’d merely kissed him and stood up, leaving him to clean himself off and scramble for words that wouldn’t come.

He hadn’t been able to say it, the cold grip of fear squeezing his heart until all he could do was watch his own reflection in the mirror.

The man staring back at him had looked terrified.

Ban noticed Astarion’s frustrated noise as he snuggled more firmly against her back.

“You alright?” she asked, feeling the hand resting on her stomach tighten in response. He sighed, his warm breath tickling her nape. She knew he was troubled, knew that it had to do with whatever he was hiding, and also now suspected that the mirror was related to it.

Astarion cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, if in need of rest,” he said stiffly, but there was no hiding that tone, nor the tension in his body. The fear had fully set in and he didn’t want to risk their forever by admitting his misdeed.

Besides, he reasoned, it’s such a small, irrelevant thing. Maybe she isn’t bothered by the mirror. Maybe those memories are just that - recollections not worthy of further thought. Perhaps there isn’t a need to even bring this up.

“Astarion. Talk to me.” Ban turned to face him; he closed his eyes as she did, refusing to look. “What’s with the mirror, and whatever you were hiding in your desk a tenday ago?”

No. No. His mind scurried for a response, looking for an excuse and finding absolutely none. He forced his eyelids open to meet her gaze. There was nothing for it; he had to at least say something.

“I thought it would jog your memory, and perhaps pry open your mouth.”

“Mem-” Ban swore. “ Gods. How many - I keep telling you. I don’t want to talk about it!”

Of course it had to do with her past. She tried to bite down the vitriol threatening to make its way out of her and entirely failed.

“Why are you so keen on knowing, anyway? Can you not keep your nose out of my business for once?”

Astarion gasped at her poisonous jab. For so long he’d been backing off whenever she snapped at him over this, but his patience had run out. “Because you won’t tell me anything! How can I make things right if you won’t trust me?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them; his jaw snapped shut. She wouldn’t like that; any mention of anything regarding her opening up was met with anger or stony silence. Astarion quickly changed tactics, doing what he usually did at this point: placating her while panicking quietly.

“Ban,” he sighed. “That… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” came her clipped response. She moved away, out from his arms, curling up at the far side of the bed.

Astarion watched her, the last embers of that defensive anger slipping away under the endless tide of his fear. He didn’t reach for her; simply drew the blankets over her body, tucking her in.

He pressed one small kiss to her shoulder, sighing as she made no move to indicate she’d even noticed him.

“Goodnight, Ban,” he murmured, as he allowed himself to slowly slip into trance. I love you. He didn’t say it, frightened of what her response would be - or worse, wouldn’t be. He didn’t hear a reply.

Ban waited until he was fully in trance, his breaths slow and deep, before she moved.

The hallways were bathed in moonlight, a beautiful sight that she had always loved. Tonight, however, they barely merited a glance.

A quick left down the hallway, and she was in the study. It didn’t take long to find the parchment Astarion had tried to keep hidden. To find the truth.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygamer-blog

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serendertothesquad · 7 months ago

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Favorite OS fanfics? If you read them

Oooooh well do I got some for you, anon! Shame a lot of my favorites are restricted to Google Docs and aren't publicly published anywhere, but I'll give some a shoutout anyway.

Ships Ahoy!: An absolute classic. Lilac's entire slate OS-wise, really, but Ships Ahoy will always be a favorite. Beautifully crafted with great character dynamics, big old lore, and lots of gut punches that make me go "oof" and then sob eternally. There is also...

Full Circle: An unofficial sequel to Ships Ahoy that focuses on Olive and Oscar's relationship, with Otto, Otis, Oona, Oprah and Olympia all playing matchmaker to try and get them back together. Holy shit is it one of the funniest Odd Squad fics I've read, especially as far as Otis not knowing what shipping is and Olympia and Oona's shipping war is concerned. The A/N at the end is also something that resonates with me a lot, and as someone who writes OS fanfic, I like to look back on it every once in a while because it's very true.

Forever and a Mile: This one is a bittersweet and adorable one-shot that focuses on Octavia in the time she was tube-blocked by O'Brian and was confined to Precinct 13579's HQ, as well as Opie, the mysterious ballpit agent. I love this one because it gives a lot of depth to the ballpit and shows off some of the levels within it, while also making me feel sympathy for Octavia for all that she's going through.

OSMU: Fanfiction Friction: I'm putting this one here mainly because it's one of the few OSMU fics I've seen. It follows the Mobile Unit as they realize that, well, there are no fics written about them, and they do all this wild and crazy stuff in an effort to get a story out of it. There are an absolute fuckton of jabs to various things -- Elon Musk, ABBA, the comic book industry, and even the author himself, among others. There's even a bit where the author makes a jab at someone who was a bit of a pervert who liked to make up stories about agents naked and/or in bathing suits (key word is "was"; they got banned from Deviantart twice and AFAIK they are not around anymore), but you might not know that without context. If you're uncomfortable with that, though, the rest of the story is just as enjoyable if you skip it.

Viva La Vida: Villain Olive is a popular concept in the fandom. This is one of the earlier instances of it! The winner of a trivia contest held by Lilac, the idea for this one was conceived by Joshua Kilimnik and the story was written by Lilac. It features Olive slowly turning to the odd side due to a rapidly declining sanity with Odd Todd giving her all the pushes she needs. I like Olive's internal struggle throughout the story, as well as the (bad) ending which caps things off perfectly. (There's also a good ending, added for those who don't like to see Olly-child suffer. Just as beautiful!)

Icing: Fuck your two-sentence horror stories. All my homies hate two-sentence horror stories. Have a 91-word horror story that's one hell of a flashfic and puts a terrifying spin on what was already a pretty terrifying line in-series.

Through Frostbitten Stone: There is another fic I read a long time ago where Olympia manages to get hypothermia while trying to save Otis. (That's the gist of it. The full context would derail this bit.) This fic takes a bit of a different turn from that, with Otis getting hypothermia instead of Olympia, and is also one of the longest Odd Squad fics I've ever seen (and that is barring my own, thank you). It's a hefty read at nearly 30k words, but it's a beautiful read that showcases the Otis-Olympia partner dynamic perfectly.

...Okay fine. FINE. Two more and then that's it. God there are way too many good ones.

Star Agents: This was one that was Google-Docs-exclusive and has now been published onto AO3. And thank God, because it is incredibly good for an AU story where Otto and Todd are partners while Olive is on the villains' side. There are more chapters that are buried in Google Docs currently, but I recommend keeping an eye on this one for updates.

From The Desk of Doctor O: I like the format of this one. Dr. O trying to reform Odd Todd through court-mandated therapy sessions is also a really neat concept. Mainly because, if Odd Squad's judicial system were more realistic, I can 100% see court-mandated therapy being a thing. Definitely looking forward to seeing where this goes.

---------------------

This isn't an exhaustive list by any means, but there ya go, my list of favorites. I do like how the fic scene is still going strong with this fandom 10 years later lol.

Of course, I'm also nominating my own stories: my FiMFic catalog of crossover stories, and my AO3 collection of stories. Enjoy!

#did i delay answering this ask until the 10th anniversary day???#mmmm well maybe #i am very sorry anon but this is a good way to celebrate #enjoy blessing your eyeballs with finely-crafted words!!#odd squad 10th anniversary #odd squad #odd squad pbs kids

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hearts-hunger · 1 year ago

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Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Back at the haunted house in the off-season, Danny and the boys are working on repairs to the set. You're still a scaredy-cat, and Danny's still your biggest fan. || Sequel to Kitkat

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 6k | Warnings: anxiety, general Halloween spookiness

A/N: Danny and Kitkat are back!! When I first introduced them, I was so humbled and delighted by how much you guys loved them. I hope this sequel does justice to how much love you've lavished on them, and I hope you love it too! ♡

Can you make it through the woods of horror? Enter if you dare!

You smiled to yourself as you passed the signs along the winding country road, watching each slogan become more and more threatening the closer you came to the most highly rated haunted house in your state. They didn’t seem very ominous in the golden light of late afternoon; despite their menacing promises of terror and danger, you found yourself looking forward to reaching the place they advertised.

Of course, that hadn't been true the first time you came down this road nearly two months ago; that night, you’d already worked yourself into an anxious spin just reading the signs before you’d even stepped foot on the property. Still, it had worked out alright in the end; so well, in fact, that you had willingly made many trips back despite being the biggest scaredy-cat in the world.

Finding a parking spot in the near vacant, grassy lot was easy enough, and you carefully juggled the drink carrier out of the passenger seat and started the walk into the woods. The trees were a wash of vibrant color, fiery reds and oranges and yellows; the sunshine came dappled through the leaves, rays of honey-golden warmth on the path. You took a deep breath of the crisp air as you held the armful of coffees close, thankful for their cosy warmth against your chest as you walked.

After a few minutes of leisurely walking, using the shortcuts that Danny and the guys had shown you, you reached the gate that led to the set and couldn’t manage to open it just by pushing your hip against it. You knew the boys couldn’t be far; you heard strains of their conversation mixed in with the sounds of repair work being done. You got a better grip on the drink carrier, careful of the precarious ones on top, and called to them.

“Honey, I’m home!” you said, making your voice carry. “I have your presents!”

You heard jogging footsteps come up the path, and a second later, Sam rounded the corner. He opened the gate for you and gave you a sweet smile.

“Hey, kitkat,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

You smiled. “Thanks,” you said. You nodded to the topmost coffee. “Yours is the one on top. Oatmilk, right?” You had the sudden thought that you might have gotten it wrong and felt terrible. “Unless it’s almond milk you usually get and I totally messed it up.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said quickly, taking it from you. “Oatmilk’s perfect, thank you. It’s really nice of you to bring us coffee, kitkat.”

“I figured you could use a little treat after working so hard all day,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. Jake and Josh have spent more time writing music than repairing the set, but yeah, we’re working hard all right.”

You laughed as you started to walk with him towards the set the guys were working on. “You don’t think they can multitask?”

Sam grinned. “Have you met them?” He shook his head. “I mean, they’re writing some good stuff, so I guess I can't complain. But we’re also trying to get these sets repaired before Christmas.”

“What does Danny think?”

“Oh, you know Dan. He’s totally in the zone. He’ll have the whole place looking like Buckingham Palace by the end of the day.”

You smiled. “If Buckingham Palace was haunted.”

He laughed. “You’re getting the idea.”

The set was only a short walk from the gate, and when you reached it, you took a moment to look over the swampy pirate shack that looked much less threatening in the daylight than it had every other time you’d seen it. The boys had asked for overtime after the season was officially finished, getting a list of sets and props from the owners that needed repairs or new paint or just a little bit of cleaning. They'd been working their way through the woods for a few days, and when they were finished with the outdoor sets, they’d tackle the crown jewel of the haunted house up on the hill.

You noticed with amusement that Sam had been right about his brothers; they were working, putting a new coat of paint on the “beware of alligators” sign and the accompanying reptilian skull, but they were rather passionately working on the lyrics for a new song while they did. It was probably a good thing that the paint job could be passed off as “artistically sloppy” to fit with the ramshackle aesthetic.

“Here, glimmer twins,” you said, handing them each a cup of coffee. They gave you a pair of matching smiles.

“Aw, thanks, kitkat,” Jake said. He touched up a drip of red paint to make it a little more grisly. “How’s it looking?”

“Scary,” you said cheerfully. “How’s the songwriting?”

Jake laughed. “Good, actually. Too bad Josh isn’t as good at painting as he is at coming up with lyrics.”

Josh pointed an accusing paintbrush at his twin. “I’m terrific at painting, Jacob.”

Jake gave him a dry smile. “Start doing some, and then we can talk.”

“I’ve been painting all morning!” Josh said, gesticulating with the paintbrush again and sending drops of paint flying.

“Hey!” Sam protested. “You’re getting paint everywhere.”

“You could use a little paint on you, Sammy,” Josh teased. “The only reason you’re all pristine is because you’ve been too busy not painting to actually get anything on you.”

“Now, Josh, them’s fightin’ words,” Sam said in an exaggerated Texas twang. He took another paintbrush from the bucket and twirled it like a cowboy would spin his pistol. “This shack ain’t big enough fer the two of us.”

Smiling to yourself, you left the brothers to their playing and painting and bickering, walking around to the other side of the pirate shack to find your boyfriend. You followed the sound of a hammer and found Danny working on the porch, straddling the railing as he reached to put nails in a beam along the underside of the tin roof.

“Hey, Dan,” you called up to him. He didn’t answer, and you noticed he had earbuds in. You came closer and put your hand on his thigh.

He stopped hammering and looked down at you, his face breaking into a handsome smile when he saw you.

“Hi, honey,” he said, surprised and happy. He paused his music and put his earbuds in his pocket. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”

You felt yourself blush a little under the affection in his gaze, the warmth of his smile as he looked at you. Nearly a month after you’d made it official, you still got butterflies from how clearly he loved you and enjoyed your company.

“Here I am,” you said, almost shy. “What were you listening to?”

“Palomino,” he said. “First Aid Kit.” He kept one hand on the railing as he leaned close to kiss your nose. “I’m glad you’re here, kitkat.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, endeared to how sweet he always was to you. You presented him with your gift. “I brought you some coffee.”

“Aw, thanks honey,” he said. “Can you hold onto it for me until I’m done? I just have a couple more things to hang, and then I can take a break.”

“Can I stay with you while you do?” you asked, not wanting to be a bother while he worked. “I promise I won’t get in your way.”

He chuckled. “Of course you can stay.” He left his work for a moment to brush off the porch’s top step for you. “I’ll only be a few more minutes.”

You sat on the step and sipped your coffee, thankful for the warmth of your sweater as a chilly breeze fanned through the woods. Danny wore a long sleeved black shirt and jeans; you allowed yourself a long, pleasant moment of admiring how he looked in them, big and strong and limber, particularly enjoying the way the hem of his shirt rode up as he reached to hang decorations on the nails. His backwards baseball cap was the finishing touch on his mop of curls, and you liked to watch him focus on his work and look very handsome doing it.

“How’s it been going so far?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away, and you thought maybe you should save conversation for when he was done.

“Is it distracting if I talk?”

“No,” he said, making sure the bear trap prop he was hanging was secure before looking over at you. “Sorry, I'm listening. We’ve made good progress today. I think we’ll be able to start on the house when we’re finished here.”

“Really?” you said, a little surprised. “I thought you still had the spider tunnel thing to work on.”

“That’s actually being completely torn down,” he said. He drove a nail in with a few hard whacks of the hammer and looked around for the decoration he was supposed to hang. “Can you hand me that shrunken head?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You grimaced a little as you picked it out of the prop box. “If they’re tearing it down, what are they putting there instead?”

He took the head from you. “Thanks.” He tied a piece of fishing line to it, pulling it tight with his teeth. “I don't think they know what they’re changing it to yet, so there’s no work to do on it right now. They’re keeping the spider web tunnel, just making it shorter, and putting it between the house and the woods. So I guess we’ll have to do it when we do the house.”

You leaned against his thigh. “What do you think they should put in the spot it used to be? Or are you going to miss it being there?”

He smiled, and there was a little wryness to it that intrigued you.

“No, I don’t think I’ll miss it,” he said.

“You don’t like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s not my favorite scene. I think they should do an alien abduction thing in that spot.”

“Ooh, like a crop circle or something?” you asked. Though you didn’t like haunted houses, this one was a big part of your life since your boyfriend and three best friends spent a lot of their time there, and you'd kind of gotten into the idea side of things. “It could be like a corn maze with aliens in it.”

“Yeah, and when they snatch you, they take you to their ship to do experiments on you.” Danny wiggled his fingers at you. “Spooky.”

You laughed and took his hands in yours. “That’d probably get you lots and lots of kitkats, what do you think?” If any guest used the safeword, “kitkat”, the actors would stop scaring them and escort them out safely. That was how you’d met Danny, and the nickname had stuck.

He chuckled and gave you a kiss. “You’re the only kitkat I want. You know that.”

You gave a pleased hum and kissed him back. “Yeah, I do.”

After one more kiss, you let him get back to work, and when he was finished hanging the decorations he came to sit on the porch steps with you. You drank your coffee and talked for a while as the sun sank lower behind the trees; the air grew colder, and you snuggled close to Danny when he put an arm around you and tucked you close to his side.

“We should get dinner later,” he said. “I feel like I haven't seen you a lot this week.”

“Me too,” you said, playing absently with the macrame bracelet on his wrist. “What about pizza and a movie?”

“Sure.” He nuzzled against your cheek. “In my bedroom, not in the living room. I'm not in a sharing mood tonight.”

You smiled. “And what might you be asked to share, exactly?” Danny and the Kiszkas split rent on a big, beautiful old house, and you’d spent a lot of time over there since you all became friends.

“The pizza,” he said, matter-of-fact. “They’re not getting any.”

You laughed and turned your head to let him kiss you properly, and it took about two seconds of that for you to decide you weren’t in a sharing mood either. Jake, Josh, and Sam could fend for themselves as far as dinner was concerned.

Danny reluctantly pulled away after a few more deep kisses, and you protested by closing the distance again.

“Don’t go back to work,” you said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He gave you a wry smile. “Got to, honey. I want to at least get started on the house before it gets too dark.”

“How much longer?”

He gave you a goofy smooch. “Not long. You’re so sweet to be so patient, kitkat.”

“Fine,” you agreed, mollified by his affectionate tone and touch. “But all these kisses you could be giving me instead of working — I want double when we get back home.”

He smiled, showing crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. ��Yes ma'am.”

You put your hands against his cheeks. “Wait one more second, okay?”

He did as you said. You cradled his beloved face, studying the gold the sunshine brought out in his hazel irises.

“You want to know something?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Tell me.”

You smiled. “You give me the honeyglow something awful, Danny.”

He gave a sweet laugh, and you loved the sound of it.

“What does that mean?” he asked. “I make you feel all melty and sweet and golden?”

“Something like that,” you agreed.

He kissed you tenderly. “Well, kitkat, you give me to the honeyglow too. I love you.”

Your sigh was dreamy and happy. “I love you too.”

Content with the promise of many more kisses later, you let him get back to work and helped the guys carry their tools up to the house. They wanted to get in as much work as they could before the sun set, and you didn’t mind, not really; you enjoyed keeping them company, despite the eerie atmosphere of the inside of the haunted house as it got darker outside.

“It’s missing something,” Danny said, standing back to survey the grisly surgery scene he’d just cleaned top to bottom. “What do you think, kitkat?”

Your expression scrunched in distaste, remembering the times you'd been jumpscared from a creepy doctor from behind the table. “It looks plenty scary to me.”

He gave you a fond smile. “Look at it from an artist's perspective,” he said. He pointed to a bare spot on the rack of rusty surgical instruments. “That space needs to be filled in.”

You tried to look at it as he'd said, ignoring the impulse to look away, and you had to admit he was right. “What are you going to put there?”

He shook his head. “I dunno. You want to come to the storage shed with me?”

“It’s my one and only dream,” you said dryly.

He grinned. “Attagirl. Let’s go find a bloody saw or something.”

You told the boys you were leaving for a minute, but you weren't sure they heard you as they tried to get a huge skeleton to stand up without toppling over every two seconds. Danny led you out of the house and towards the big storage shed full of props, pushing his shoulder against the door to get it to open.

He coughed a little as sawdust rained down from the ceiling. “Add this door to the list of ones that need fixing,” he said. “Good night!”

You followed him inside, feeling a little better when he pulled the chain on the overhead lightbulb. The props stacked high on shelves and hung on the walls were cast in a shadowed light, and you skirted them expertly as you helped Danny look for what he wanted.

“What about this?” he said, holding up a fake blood bag.

“Too small,” you said. “It's a pretty big spot to fill in.”

He tossed the bag back with the rest. “You’re right.”

You ventured towards the far end of the shed, looking with a critical eye through the props, and found that there was another doorway in the back wall.

“What’s in here?” you asked.

“More stuff,” he said, sifting through a box of sawed-off arms and ice picks. “This shed is actually two units stuck end to end.”

You looked through the doorway and saw something catching the light, shining faintly in the gloom — a gigantic pair of pliers painted to look recently used on some unfortunate soul.

“Hey, I think I might have found something,” you said. “In the other shed.”

He looked up from his searching. “You want me to go get it?”

“Nope,” you said stoutly. “I’m brave enough.”

He smiled. “Okay, honey. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable. If you get two steps in and ask for me, I won't even make fun of you.”

You snorted a laugh. “My hero.” You knew Danny would be nothing but kind, but surely you could handle a little walk into a dark shed full of creepy props. Right?

Getting inside the other shed turned out to be the least of your problems, since the pliers you wanted were sitting in a box on the top shelf of a very tall storage rack. You thought about asking Danny for help, since he would be able to reach them with ease, but you also wanted to get them yourself and have the bragging rights of retrieving the perfect prop. You stepped up on the bottom shelf and reached up, your fingers just grazing the handle.

“Come on,” you muttered. You stood on tiptoes and stretched out your hand — there! You grabbed the handle and pulled.

Your sense of triumph lasted half a second, because as you pulled the pliers down, the whole box came with it. You stumbled backwards to avoid the falling box, forgetting you were on the shelf and not on the floor, and careened backwards into something solid.

You whirled to see that you’d knocked into a giant Dracula, which was propped against the door you hadn’t noticed coming in. Like the world’s worst domino effect, the Dracula dummy listed to the side and swung against the door as it fell to the ground, bending the doorknob until it hung off-kilter. The door slammed closed with the momentum; the light from the other room was cut off, leaving you in complete darkness.

The effect was immediate. The prop room that had seemed harmlessly unsettling now became truly frightening, and you raced to the door to try and open it.

“Danny!” you called, starting to feel frantic. You tripped over something — Dracula, you guessed, or maybe the box — and searched feverishly for the doorknob.

It turned under your grip, and even though you knew it was Danny, the feeling of something moving without the ability to see it was nauseating.

“Kitkat?” came his voice, muffled through the door. “I’m right here, honey. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Your eyes welled with tears. “No, but I — I’m scared, Danny. Please get me out.”

“I’m trying, baby. Hold on.”

You heard him turn the doorknob this way and that, but the door still didn't open. Rationally, you knew that the doorknob was probably so bent that it was unusable, but the rational part of your brain wasn’t exactly in charge at the moment. You put your hand on the door and pleaded with him as if he wasn’t doing everything he could to get you out.

“Please hurry, Danny,” you all but sobbed. “Please get me out.”

“I’m trying, but I can’t — ” He swore. “I gotta get this doorknob off, honey. I’m going to get a screwdriver.”

“No! Don’t go.”

“I have to, sweetheart.” You heard his palm thump against the door. “Hey. You’re okay, kitkat. Take a few deep breaths for me, okay?”

You tried to do as he said, but they were choppy and uneven. “Danny,” you said pitifully.

“I know,” he said, and you knew his voice well enough to know he was upset. “Listen to me. I’m going to get you out just as quick as I can. Do you trust me?”

You nodded miserably, then remembered he couldn't see you. “Y-yes, Danny, I trust you.”

“There’s my brave girl. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” you managed. “Please hurry.”

He didn't answer, and you hoped it was because he’d gone to get the screwdriver and not because he was questioning if he could leave you without sacrificing your sanity. It seemed a near thing at the moment — you wanted to stay put, but something brushed your face in the darkness, and you gave a shrill yelp and fell back against some other prop behind you.

The prop must have been set up with a motion sensor, and a gruesome clown face lit up and cackled at you. Your breath caught on a sob as you pulled back from it, stumbling over the box and the props on the floor. When you finally got your balance, you stood stock still and pressed your hands to your ears to try and block out the shrieking laugh of the clown face that seemed like it would never turn off.

“Kitkat!”

You heaved a sigh of intense relief when you heard his voice. “Danny!”

“Two seconds,” he said, already working on getting the doorknob off. It hit the floor with a metallic clang, but when he tried to open the door, the stupid Dracula mannequin blocked his way.

“There’s something in front of the door,” you said weakly. “Dracula.”

“What is it?” he asked. “Nevermind. Step back from the door, honey.”

You did, careful of the things on the floor you couldn’t see, and listened as Danny put his weight into muscling open the door. Finally, it opened with a wrenching sound that made you jump; you blinked in the light, dazed, still rooted to the spot as tears tracked down your face.

“Kitkat,” Danny said, stepping over Dracula and turning the clown head off, bringing its cackling to an abrupt end. He hovered near you, his hands extended cautiously as if he was afraid to touch you and make it worse. “Are you okay, honey? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m not hurt,” you said in a small voice. Your expression crumpled. “Th-thank you for coming to get me, Danny.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He gathered you in his arms then, holding you close as you grabbed a fistful of his shirt like a lifeline and gave into another round of crying. He ran his hands over your back, slow and gentle.

“I’m sorry you got stuck, baby,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “That scared you pretty bad, huh?”

You nodded and pressed closer to him. He hugged you tight.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t completely dark,” you said, your voice muffled against him. You shuddered at the memory of being locked in total darkness.

“Why didn't you turn on your flashlight?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “What?”

His smile was sympathetic and a little bemused. “The flashlight on your phone. You didn’t turn it on?”

“N-no,” you said, realizing you’d never even thought of it. You’d been so panicky that you hadn’t even used the light you carried with you all the time, and it made you feel stupid on top of everything else.

You hid behind your hands. “Great. I'm an idiot and a total wimp.”

Danny chuckled, and the sound was warm and colored with sympathy.

“My poor baby,” he said. “You just got scared, kitkat. It’s okay.”

“You wouldn't have gotten scared,” you said.

“Aw, well, I don't know. Getting locked in anywhere is kinda scary.” He gently tugged your hands away from your face and kissed the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sorry you got scared, honey.”

You put your arms around his neck. “Thanks for getting me. I’m sorry I’m such a scaredy-cat.”

“You don’t have to apologize, kitkat,” he said, gentle and amused. “I knew you were a scaredy-cat when I met you, and I still liked you just fine. I just wish I could have hulk-smashed the door open for you and rescued you like that.”

You gave a watery laugh, and he smiled and gave you a bear hug.

“There’s that smile I love so much,” he said. “Can I take you out of this creepy shed now?”

“Into the creepy house?” you asked. The sun had almost set, casting long shadows into the shed, and it wouldn’t be long before the house and the woods were completely dark too.

“No,” he said. “I figure you’ve been traumatized enough for one day. I’ll take you home.”

“To your home, right?”

He smiled. “Yeah, to my home. If that’s what you want.”

After another big squeeze, you unwound yourself from him so you could put the props to rights. He found the light, and in the amber glow of the bare bulb, you put the scattered props back in the box as he hefted Dracula into an upright position.

“No wonder this guy is in the very back,” he said, panting a little. “He weighs a freakin’ ton.”

You found the pair of pliers you'd been after and held them behind your back.

“You want to see what all this fuss was about anyway?” you asked.

He raised a brow. “Sure.”

You showed him the pliers, and his mouth tipped up in a crooked smile.

“Those are perfect, kitkat. Too bad you had to go through all that just to get them, though.”

You have a theatrical sigh. “The sacrifices I make for art.”

He laughed and took your hand as he closed up the shed, leading you back out to the dusky woods alive with birdsong and the drifting sound of your friends’ laughter. You followed their voices up to the house, thankful Danny was still holding your hand.

“Hey Dan?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He held the gate open for you. “Sure. Shoot.”

“If you’re not afraid of the dark or clowns or axe murderers or any of this stuff... what are you afraid of?”

He gave you a wry smile. “Not telling.”

You laughed. “But there is something, right? Not something fancy like the inevitability of failure or existential dread, but something normal, right?”

“There is something,” he admitted. “Something you’d probably never think of, because it's kind of stupid.”

“Oh, Danny, no,” you said kindly. “I wouldn't think it’s stupid. I'm scared of everything, so I’m probably scared of whatever it is too.”

He smiled. “Maybe. Tell you what — if you guess it correctly, I’ll tell you.”

“You promise?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Yes, kitkat, I promise.”

You found Sam and the twins working just outside the house, putting up the structure of the spider-web tunnel. They waved you over, telling Danny to get a move on to help them.

“We’re actually gonna head home,” Danny said. He held up the pliers. “I just have to put these in the surgery scene, and then we’re out of here.”

You reluctantly withdrew your hand from his. “I don't think I'll go with you to put those up.”

He smiled and kissed your cheek. “Okay, honey. I’ll be right back.”

You ventured over to where Jake, Josh, and Sam were working, watching as they fit PVC pipes together to make a few feet of tunnel. The trash bags nearby held swaths of cotton webs that went with the dozens of boxes of fake spiders.

You pulled one of the spiders out, studying the painted red eyes and big fangs.

“These aren’t so bad,” you said, kind of proud that you could hold it without flinching.

Josh grinned. “Hey, good for you, kitkat. You’re getting the hang of this haunted house thing.”

“I don't know,” you said with a laugh. You told them what had happened at the shed, and all three of them winced.

“Well, that’s not even the fun kind of scary,” Jake said. “I’m sorry, kitkat.”

“But you found ten-ton Dracula?” Sam asked, skating over the “locked in a dark storage shed” part of the story. “I’ve been wondering where he went.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a fond smile. “Glad I could help.”

The first half of the tunnel’s structure was already finished, and you volunteered to string webbing over it until it looked like a gigantic spider’s nest. When Danny came back from his errand, you told him you wanted to stay for a little while and set it up.

“You sure?” he asked. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you assured him. “Besides, you said you wanted to get a little more work done, and I think we found something I can do without losing my ever-loving mind.”

He smiled. “Okay. If you’re sure.” He glanced at the sinking sun. “I think we have maybe half an hour of light left.”

You all agreed to work for thirty more minutes, and there was a festive and companionable atmosphere as you put up the webs and made it look as spooky as you could. You quizzed Danny on what he was afraid of, guessing everything you were afraid of; the boys joined in the game with silly guesses like “tomato soup” and “a waterslide but instead of water it’s maple syrup”. Danny just laughed and said he wasn’t afraid of any of those things, though a few of them sounded downright unpleasant.

“I give up,” you said dramatically, sitting on an empty plastic tub. “You’re just not afraid of anything.”

“There’s something,” he assured you. “But I’m telling you, you’ll never guess. Especially considering what I do for a living.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve got it. You’re afraid of drumsticks, aren’t you?”

He laughed, big and bright and joyful. “No, it’s not that. It doesn’t have to do with music.”

You kept thinking of things to guess as you worked, but you were distracted from your game when Jake started pulling out the spiders to put on the webs. He unearthed a huge fake spider from the box and made it sing “Boris the Spider” in his British accent, earning a round of laughter and cheers for such a good impression of The Who.

You looked over at Danny, intending to ask him what he thought of a slightly drunk-sounding British spider, but you were surprised to see a little uneasiness in his expression. You followed his gaze, trying to see what was making him nervous; the only thing in your vicinity was the spider in Jake’s hand.

“Danny?”

He looked from the spider to you. “Yeah, honey.”

“Are you... afraid of the fake spiders?”

He didn’t answer right away, and you knew you had him. He hadn’t hesitated answering any of the other guesses.

You gave a triumphant laugh. “Ha! I guessed it, didn’t I?”

You could have sworn you saw him blush. You pulled another spider out of the box and carried it over to him, watching his expression become more and more apprehensive the closer it got.

“You promised you would tell me if I got it right,” you said, a teasing lilt to your voice. You held the spider up, just inches from him. “Does this little guy freak you out, Daniel?”

He endured it for a few seconds before he batted it away. “Yes, fine, it freaks me out. You win.”

You laughed, not unkindly, and tossed the spider back in the box before you draped your arms over his shoulders.

“My poor baby,” you said, mimicking with affection the way he’d soothed you earlier. “I’m sorry I teased you with it. It’s okay if you’re scared of it.”

“I’m not scared, exactly,” he said, looking with distaste at the box overflowing with the plastic critters. “They’re just... creepy. They give me the heebie-jeebies.”

You smiled and gave him a consoling kiss. “My big guy’s one weakness,” you said, entirely amused. “Fake spiders. What about real spiders?”

He shrugged. “They’re fine.”

You laughed. “Of course they are.”

He watched your face, studying the lines and colors of joy he always brought out in it without even trying. His expression warmed, and you loved when you coaxed out a grudging smile.

“It’s dumb, right?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m just surprised we found something you’re afraid of that I’m not afraid of.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty remarkable.” He kissed your cheek. “Now that you’ve uncovered my deepest, darkest secret, can we go home and order the deepest, dishiest pizza?”

You laughed. “Sure thing, honey.”

At home, you and Danny didn’t actually have the heart not to share your pizza with the boys; you got enough for everyone and watched a true crime documentary that had you hiding behind your hands during the more grisly parts.

“Okay, now I have to have a cleanse,” you said afterwards, rinsing off the plates to put them in the dishwasher. “I’m watching New Girl or something.”

Danny came up behind you and snuck a kiss under your jaw. “In my room,” he said, his voice low and meant only for you.

You gave a fluttery little laugh and pulled way when his kisses started to tickle. “Can I watch whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” he agreed. He bracketed you in with his arms, kissing along the column of your neck.

You considered that. “Can it be an old movie?”

“You could pick the most awful black and white silent film ever made and I absolutely would not care,” he promised. His hands snuck under the hem of your sweater and skated over your tummy, and despite how quickly you were warming to his touch, you couldn’t give up teasing him just yet.

“Okay, I know what I want to watch,” you said primly.

“Finally,” he said with a contented sigh, pulling you close to him. “What is it?”

You grinned. “The Giant Spider Invasion.”

He hummed in agreement. “Sure, honey, that sounds — ” He pulled back. “Wait, what?”

You couldn’t help but dissolve in giggles, and when his warm laugh joined in with yours, you felt the honeyglow something awful.

“Alright, trouble,” he said, kissing your cheek. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“But I’m your handful.”

“Yes, kitkat. You’re my handful. You know what else?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

You smiled, feeling all melty and sweet and golden inside. “I love you too.”

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