#unfinished but posted is better than the alternative

[jiminrings]

good day miss jimjiminieerings 🫡 i hope i’m not being a bother for asking this but may we 😍 with deepest humility and pleasantries 🥹 have a tiny tiny sneak peek of your brothers bff single dad au 😍👉👈 😍? again if it’s not a bother miss jimjiminieerings!!! feel free to ignore this ask if u are unable to post– im just excited 😍🙏😅🥹

fail-safe (sneak peek)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

sneak peek 01

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

.

.

sneak peek 02

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing it against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

ruh-roh new series alert :O wanna read the entire first chapter of fail-safe now + intermission 01 + chapter two + gain early access to succeeding chapters + read other exclusive content?? subscribe to my patreon :D

also to get ahead of the questions: yes, this is a general fic aka it WILL be posted on tumblr too!!!

[laurashapiro-noreally]

Looking for something to read?

Oh look, it's another recs post! This time I'm featuring two stories per author. These are writers I always make time for, whose work stands out as unusually hot, clever, funny, or smart -- sometimes all of the above.

I'm gonna start you out strong with two by @werpiper: After Hours takes Aziraphale and Crowley to the baths after their oyster supper, and all sorts of interesting pleasures are there for our angel to sample. Piper's Crowley is one of my favorites: always evaluating the situation, not quite aware of what his own heart is doing but feeling it anyway.

Fitting In is a new story, still a WIP, but I am utterly tantalized by Muriel's first taste of love -- and tea. This is already rich in detail, soft and fragrant, and I can hardly wait for the action to get going in earnest. The pairing seems surprising but when you think about it for ten seconds of course it makes sense. Sex workers help the curious, the awkward, and the inexperienced every day, bless them.

If you enjoy these, check out @werpiper's back catalog -- they have done a ton of ineffables-through-the-ages, and their series Miracles and Heresy is worth many delightful hours of your time.

I love what @copperplatebeech has been doing lately:

He's Not My Friend is a T-rated story that explores Aziraphale's constant refusal to acknowledge his relationship with Crowley, and Crowley's mirror of that, and how things glacially shift over time. It is subtle and yet specific, it will make you ache and smile.

All Of The Above, also T-rated, is a warm and fuzzy alternative to that, a hilarious celebration of true friendship that made me laugh out loud and still got me right in the feels.

@copperplatebeech can do everything, from quiet, gentle, and romantic to devastating plotty AUs to extraordinarily horny established relationship to absolutely ridiculous humor. Do dive in if you haven't already.

Next up, @cumaeansibyl, master of kink:

better living through technology manages to shove everything I want in a dirty story into less than three thousand words: uptight Aziraphale reduced to sodden wreck, Crowley gleefully showing him what he's been missing, character-driven erotics, and exceptionally funny dialogue.

indulgentiam peccatorum nostrorum is somehow all that and more, turning the "I was wrong" dance into a kink (something I can't get enough of, recs welcome). This one is post-Bastille so it is extra-juicy. Mind the tags!

@cumaeansibyl has a gift for established relationship one-shots, which readers of mine will know are my entire jam. They also have a mind-meltingly hot inverse!omens AU that features different variations of angelic/demonic Crowleys and Aziraphales for our ineffables to play with.

A new-to-me author, Calico, has me hanging by a thread with their Ineffable Romans series. If you want to remember that your ineffables aren't human, that they are inordinately clever but very stupid, that the feelings they have for each other are truly beyond what anyone alive has ever felt, Calico may be the writer for you. This stuff is deep. Also hot af.

Sub Rosa reads like a nasty shag at Petronius', but there's so much more going on here. It is Extremely Queer, driven by power dynamics, and Crowley is fully demonic here and absolutely in control...or is he?

The Intemperance of Liber Pater continues on this theme, with dialogue-driven smut that reads less like a seduction than an inevitability. There's another story in this series, unfinished, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Last but not least: two short pieces by @ineffabildaddy. I stumbled on their stories just this week and I absolutely love their approach, which I've not seen done quite this way before.

take me as your wife has a tight first-person perspective as Crowley meets Aziraphale for a meal and imagines (or is it his imagination?) that Aziraphale is suggesting Certain Things about how they might occupy themselves later. Indeed, is he suggesting even more? Something about their relationship? Or is it all in Crowley's head?

Only in Dreams is kind of a companion piece, from Aziraphale's point of view -- though hundreds of years later. This one's set after the events of S2 and although just as romantic as take me as your wife, it also offers an ineffable take on the ol' glory hole concept. Just in case you thought I was getting soft. 😏

@ineffabildaddy has a whole series of poems and ficlets like these and I can't wait to explore them all.

[theragethatisdesire]

"l’amore è cieco" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

back to the ti penso universe!!! finally!! did you guys miss it? i know i did; i am utterly obsessed with these two. i've had this sitting in my unfinished wip pile for way too long not to share.

our lovebirds have gotten the wedding all wrapped up with, so we're a solid four years past them reuniting in italy....and surprise! they're expecting!!!!! i could literally scream just writing that; the grip dad!eren has on me will never let up, i fear......anyways, this one's a little rough because i've picked it apart a thousand times and i'm just tired of editing, so you guys enjoy!!! sorry if it's not quite up to par :/

pairing: eren x reader

wc: 4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, reader is pregnant, use of names (baby, mama, pretty, beautiful, etc), swearing, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, lactation kink, creampie, crying, tooth-rotting fluff

title means "love is blind" in italian, per tradition w this verse <3

-

Right on schedule with your new daily, depressing routine, you stand in front of the mirror running your hands over your body, examining the recent changes. On second thought, scrutinizing might be a better word.

You’re grateful your job has allowed you to work from home for your entire pregnancy, editing articles from the journalists who can actually travel while snuggled up on your couch, but the downside of it is that you’ve had far too much time to mull on all of the ways your body has stretched and warped to accommodate the growing little girl in your stomach. You thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes it is, but more often than not, you just feel like a swollen, hormonal mess.

You “popped”, as all the mommy podcasts say, about two weeks ago, and thin stretch marks have begun to appear on your stomach. Eren calls them your “tiger stripes”, having been in full-blown cringe dad mode since the day you took the test. Bizarre cravings control you at all hours of the day, evidenced by the little black crumbs you’re picking out of your sports bra, left behind by your fourteen-Oreo breakfast today. You gaze longingly at the jewelry box on your bathroom counter; you haven’t been able to wear your wedding band in weeks, the tan line already beginning to fade from your finger. Before you can get a hold of yourself, the hormones have you in their grip, and hot, frustrated tears are spilling down your cheeks.

“Babe, have you seen that tie with the red–” Eren materializes in the doorway with absolutely no warning, as he’s prone to do, but cuts himself off at the sight of you, “baby, no, again?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, reluctantly allowing him to take you in his arms.

“Like what?” Eren’s voice is sweet, but hesitant. He’s been living under the constant threat of getting his head bitten off for mundane reasons because of you. It makes you feel worse, makes you shove him away and glare at him accusingly.

“Like I’m always fucking crying.” You are always crying, but you wish he would at least muster up some semblance of surprise at finding you in tears yet again. You turn away from him, wiping your face in the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be packing? Your flight leaves in like, three hours.”

“I’ll cancel,” Eren coos, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, picking your belly up in his hands.

It’s some hack he got off Tik Tok, supposed to take the weight off of your back for a precious moment, and as much as you don’t necessarily want to be touched right now, it actually helps. You’ve been alternating between thinking Eren’s overenthusiastic parenting research is adorable and mind-numbingly annoying, but for the moment, your back has stopped aching for the first time all morning, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“You can’t cancel,” you murmur, momentarily soothed, “‘s a big client. Where is it again? France?”

“I just got back from France, Miss Pregnancy Brain,” Eren chuckles, quieting immediately upon catching your lethal gaze in the mirror. “It’s just over in LA, and honestly, I could have Hitch go if you need me.”

“No, I can take care of myself, it’s just like…” a fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, “fuck, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

Eren nods into your shoulder, letting you sniffle. It’s not a new trait, your outright refusal to ask for help, but it’s been exacerbated by your pregnancy, especially considering exactly how much help you actually need now.

You’ve taken custody of all of his sweatpants, not yet able to bring yourself to buy maternity clothes. You’d walked in sobbing and humiliated the other day because you’d peed yourself on the long elevator ride up to your apartment in front of the neighbors. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore; Eren has to prop himself up just right beside you and sandwich you between himself and a wall of pillows to stop you from turning. You know it hurts him seeing you miserable, and you try to suck it up and enjoy the positives of pregnancy as much as you can, but you can’t muster up that strength every day.

“Hush,” Eren pulls your wet face to his chest, letting you stain the Number 1 Dad! t-shirt he had bought himself. “I’m not going.”

“Eren–”

“I’m not,” he says firmly, rubbing small circles into the bottom of your spine, “you need me here, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You grumble complacently, nuzzling into him. You do need him, as much as you want to think you can tough it out on your own. Eren’s bought book after book, not just for the baby, but for you. Most nights you find him reading titles like You’ve Made the Baby…Now What? or How to Survive Pregnancy: A Guide for Men with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a habit that, despite your efforts, you cannot nag him out of. It’s cute, honestly, how over-the-top he’s gotten with baby prep, especially when you’re often too exhausted to wrap your mind around reading a parenting guide.

“I feel ugly,” you admit quietly, sticky and snotty against his shirt. “I feel disgusting.”

“What?” Eren’s reaction is one of genuine confusion. He pushes you away from him so he can search your face, waiting patiently for you to elaborate.

“I’m gaining an obscene amount of weight, my ankles are the size of my knees, I can’t wear a single one of my rings, what am I supposed to feel like?”

Eren frowns. “Those things are supposed to happen. I read last night–”

“I don’t care!” Your voice cracks under the weight of your frustration, and you press your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to regain control of your temper. “I don’t care that it’s supposed to happen. It still sucks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Eren sounds earnest, but you scoff at him anyway.

“We’re married. You’re supposed to say that.”

“I don’t have to.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “If you want your head to stay on your shoulders you do.”

Eren laughs at that, tugging you over to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. “So, you’re serious? You genuinely don’t think you look good pregnant?”

“No,” you rub at your nose, “I don’t.”

Eren looks up at you, cupping your face gently. “I disagree.”

“Do you really?”

“I think you look better than ever.”

“That’s an insult to non-pregnant me,” you roll your eyes, moving to step away, but Eren holds you tight between his legs.

“It’s not,” he insists, “there’s just some things your pregnant body has that you didn’t necessarily have before. Some things that I like.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Cankles?”

Eren chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “I adore your cankles, but they weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind. Take these, for one thing.”

Eren presses his nose into your sports bra, hands moving up underneath to palm at your swollen tits. You let out a breathy laugh as he explores, already feeling a low heat beginning to simmer in your core. That’s one perk of entering your second trimester; your hormones might turn on a dime, but your sex drive has skyrocketed.

Eren shoves your bra up to free your tits, groaning appreciatively as he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You watch as he feels his way around with his mouth, humming contentedly under your breath, when suddenly, his eyes fly open and he shoots away from you.

“What?”

Eren shushes you, bringing a hand to the breast that had been in his mouth and squeezing lightly. White liquid beads on your nipple, and you cover your face in shame.

“When did that start?”

“A few days ago,” you admit, trying to push his hands off of you, cheeks burning. Eren swats you away, leaning back into your nipple, sucking harder. You can feel a small stream of milk leaving you, relieving some of the pressure in your tits; a moan rumbles deep in Eren’s chest, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Eren releases your nipple with a loud pop and looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide.

“Is it weird that that’s kinda hot?”

“Probably.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you hum, threading your hands through his hair and urging him back to your chest, “feels good.”

That’s all Eren needs to hear, diving back into your chest with renewed vigor. As he continues, you realize it doesn’t just feel good, it actually feels incredible. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, but with the pregnancy, sensation has increased tenfold; you can feel your panties getting wetter as the weight of your full breast decreases. When Eren’s gotten all he can from your left nipple, he moves to your right, replacing his mouth on the now-abandoned nipple with his hand to twist gently at the wet skin.

The combined sensation makes your knees buckle; Eren saves you smoothly by wrapping an arm around your lower back, yanking you to him to straddle his leg. It’s the perfect angle for you to roll your hips against his thigh slowly, feeling the much-needed friction of his sweatpants against your cunt.

“Eren…” you breathe out, voice nothing more than a wisp of air.

“I know baby,” Eren speaks directly into your flesh, not willing to back away for even a moment, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels so good,” you whimper, clutching him to you with fistfuls of his hair.

“Told you this new body’s not so bad, hm?” Eren closes his teeth down on your nipple lightly; you almost keel over from the shockwave it sends through you.

You nod, rubbing yourself against his thigh faster. It’s awkward and cumbersome with your belly in the way, but it’s enough for now, enough to light your nerves on fire in that way that only Eren’s ever been able to.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mutters, grabbing onto your hips to help you get your rhythm right, “you’re so perfect, and you don’t even see it.”

Your fingers dig into his arms as you moan. “But my stomach–”

“But nothing,” Eren kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “love your stomach, love your tits, love all of it. You think it doesn’t make me so fucking hard, watching you walk around with that big belly and knowing what it came from? I did that. We did that, didn’t we baby?”

“Mhm,” you bite into his shoulder, the friction on your clit through your sweatpants is getting to your head, making you dizzy. “Eren, Eren–”

“Sh sh sh,” Eren shushes you, moving so that he can look you in the eyes, “what do you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t– I don’t know, I just…” you can’t find the words, so in need of him that you can’t even decide what sounds best. His mouth? His fingers? All of it?

“Okay, okay,” Eren says quietly, standing you both up only to lay you against the pillows, “I’ve gotcha.”

He nudges his sweatpants down your legs, bringing your panties with them, spreads your legs so he can see the most intimate part of you. Eren brings his hand to your clit, rubbing tentatively, but you’re so desperate for him that it’s enough to make your back arch, a long, throaty moan ripping out of you. He lays beside you, gently playing with your clit and watching in awe at the reaction you give him, already a blubbering mess after only a few minutes.

“So sensitive, aren’t you mama?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, a fresh wave of arousal flooding you at the name, “s-so sensitive. Need to cum, I need, n-need–”

“I’ll make you cum,” Eren promises, sinking a finger into you, “I’ll make you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, Eren, it’s– I can’t–”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you’re basically sobbing at this point, fingers clenched into the muscles of his bicep, clinging to him and humping his hand. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sex over the first trimester (“What if I hit the baby’s head?” Eren had asked nervously whenever you approached him) or the rawness of the sensation against your over-sensitive body, but you’ve never been so close to your orgasm so quickly.

You don’t hold out long; Eren’s skilled with even just one finger, and before long, you’re crying out his name, gushing all over his hand. Eren presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss despite having utterly destroyed you less than thirty seconds ago.

“Ready for me?”

“Sit,” you pant, pointing to the massive stack of pillows against your headboard. Eren raises his eyebrows in surprise, but does as he’s told, only pausing to pull his clothes off. The loss of the stupid dad t-shirt is a relief as much as feeling his bare chest under your hands. Due to your hormones, you’ve thrown Eren out of the house several times, and you’ve demanded to be alone enough to where his only solution is to go to the gym downstairs and work out until you’ve calmed down. It shows: his chest has grown broader and stronger, and the veins on his arms are nearly popping through the skin. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Eren offers a shit-eating grin, flexing his bicep ever so subtly. “You should see yourself.”

“You seriously think I look good like this?” You’re straddling his hips now, rubbing your clit on his bare cock. It’s a lewd sight, his cock drooling on his abs, glistening with your cum; your cunt clenches around nothing, more than ready to be filled.

“Mhm, you look so fucking good like that,” Eren grunts, hands finding your hips again and lifting you up to sink you down on his cock, both of you letting out loud, satisfied groans, “but you look much better like this.”

You grind your hips against his, not possessing the energy to bounce your now-heavier body, but it makes you see stars. Eren rarely lets you ride him, much preferring to bend you over or pin you to the bed himself, but with your bump, you now have an excuse to hop on top of him whenever you like. It’s been close to a decade of fucking him, but the full stretch of him never fails to shock you, the way he pushes into you until you’re positive he’s in your stomach. With Eren sitting up, his cock stays firmly nestled against your g-spot, pushing little bits of squirt out of you with each movement of your hips.

“Eren–” you whimper, holding your breasts as you rock into him.

“Shit- you’re so tight like this,” Eren says through his clenched jaw, throwing his head back against the headboard, “why don’t you ride me more often?”

“You don’t let me,” you say with a watery giggle.

“Stupid,” Eren gasps, “‘m so fucking stupid.”

You’re too fucked out to voice your agreement, opting for sliding a hand down your body to flick at your clit. You can’t quite reach it around your bump, though, a discontented noise leaving your lips. Eren opens his eyes, takes notice of the way you’re hunching your back, and swats your hand away.

“I got it, I got it,” he pants, tucking his hand underneath your swollen belly to rub your clit just the way he knows you like it.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out, throwing your head back.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hiss, “‘s perfect.”

“Take what you need, mama,” Eren’s watching you intently, a glimmer of admiration in his eye, “take what you need.”

You’re moaning pitifully, loud and wanton as Eren’s cock moves inside of you. Your cunt tightens around him desperately as the bubble building in your stomach threatens to explode.

“Think you get wetter like this, all swollen with my baby,” Eren muses, leaning forward to latch his mouth around one of your nipples where more milk has already started to pool. His words have a visceral reaction on you; you cry, tears welling in your eyes as you spiral towards your release. 

“I think–I think I’m gonna– oh fuck, don’t stop,” you croon, rocking your hips as fast as you can manage. Eren mumbles around your nipple, something about how beautiful you look, and you come undone around him, grinding your hips hard against his and cradling him to your chest. He might have a point- there’s damn near a puddle of your arousal at the base of where you’re connected, slicking up the skin on his hips and the inside of your thighs.

“Better?” Eren pulls you in for a kiss; you can feel him grinning through it.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, laughing light and watery against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Eren hums, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you only to drop you down again and turn your laughter to a quiet whimper, “not good enough. Need you to be much better.”

“Fuck me, then,” you nip at his bottom lip, earn yourself a deep groan.

“Can you— can you hold yourself up like this?” Eren scooches both of you down, albeit, a little awkwardly, so that he can lay flat on the bed. He moves you up until you’ve only got him halfway inside of you, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I–I think so.”

“And you’re sure I’m not going to hurt–”

“Jesus Christ– no Eren, it’s fine, just– fuck,” he cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips up into yours, grinning menacingly when your eyes roll back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that,” you moan, annoyance wiped from you with one clean stroke. Eren takes that for the green light that it is and starts pistoning his hips up into you, swearing under his breath. Even though he’d instructed you to hold yourself up, he makes good use of his new muscles, suspending you at the perfect height to feel every inch of him as he fucks up into you like his life depends on it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” Eren growls, “all swollen with my fuckin’ baby. Gonna keep you like this, give you as many as you want.”

“Eren–” you choke out, suffocating on the way he’s fucking you, his words, him. For the first time in months, you feel amazing, holding your chest and groaning long and loud as Eren thrusts up into you.

“Baby, I’m- fuck, not gonna–” Eren cuts himself off with something that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper, throwing his head back.

“Cum in me,” you pant, nodding urgently at him, “want it so bad.”

“Oh fuck,” Eren groans, hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers are digging into your hips near to the point of pain, and that little frown he makes when he’s about to cum is crumpling his face. You do want it, badly.

“Please Eren, I need it,” you gasp, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

“Fucking love you, love you so much,” Eren slurs, hips stuttering. With a long, throaty moan, he slams you down one final time, cumming deep inside of you. You grind against him as he does, moaning along with him at the familiar warmth in your belly. Exhausted, you momentarily forget about your bump and try to collapse facefirst on him- that’s enough to snap Eren out of his post-orgasm haze.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eren shoves you back upright, lifting you under your shoulders and laying you on your back, “careful.”

You wince. “Shit, sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s still sort of new.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, eyes locked lovingly on your baby bump, “love it, though.”

“Really?”

Eren cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “If that didn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

You giggle at that; he’s always been good at this, cheering you up and diffusing your worries like it’s second nature. After ten years, it probably is at this point.

“I don’t mean to be so down on myself, really,” you sigh, tracing a finger over where his hand’s splayed on your stomach, “it’s just…so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Eren nods thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. But you’re so good at it.”

“I haven’t even– what?” The insecurities that you’ve been successfully masking under good natured teasing and occasional annoyance come slipping from between your lips. You’ve thought it for weeks; how Eren’s so into all the baby stuff, so enthusiastic about learning everything he can, while all you’ve managed is trying not to gag when he cooks eggs in the morning and picking out some onesies. “What about all of your books and your podcasts and crap? You’re the one doing everything.”

“That’s all I can do,” Eren scoffs, “you’re doing all the hard stuff, like carrying the baby around and puking every morning and crying all the time–”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Eren shushes you, “you’re putting in all the legwork. I mean, you’re literally growing our baby. You’re a fucking rockstar mom already. If anyone’s not doing enough here, it’s me.”

That’s one thing about Eren that will never get easier; his deep, unwavering admiration for you, no matter what you’re doing. Sure, it’s endearing when Eren spins you around in his arms for something as simple as finally getting that croissant recipe to come out well, but when he’s praising you for something that’s actually difficult? It’s sweet enough to give you a cavity, warm your heart, and turn your cheeks pink all at once, even after all this time.

“Well, if you’d like to take a shift carrying her around, be my guest. She’s a chunky little thing already,” you roll your eyes, tucking your face into Eren’s ribs to mask the flush rising to your face.

“I’d do it for you if I could,” Eren sighs in faux-thoughtfulness, “but I wouldn’t look half as hot.”

You giggle furiously when he lands a slap to your ass, swatting at his chest. “God, it still doesn’t feel real, does it? A little girl that’s half you, half me.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Eren shrugs, bringing a hand back to your stomach, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about it since Italy.”

You gape at him. “That long?”

“You know I’m always ahead of you on this stuff,” Eren teases, squeezing your cheeks together, “knew I wanted you first, knew I wanted you back first, knew we should get married…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his bragging, “it’s just, like…are we ready? To do this?”

“This?” Eren cocks his head.

“The whole…‘parents’ thing.”

“Putting aside the fact that you're way too late to be having those kinds of thoughts,” Eren says, rubbing your lower back, “of course we’re ready. There’s no perfect parents, but I believe in us– believe in you. Gonna be the best mama any baby’s ever had, I know you will.”

“I don’t even…oh, Eren.” You’re tearing up again–damn hormones. Eren wipes at your tears, planting a big kiss on your forehead.

“I mean it. You’re going to be great, already are,” he says, smiling down at you. He holds you just like that for a few moments, letting you nuzzle into his chest, until his little grin grows wicked. “Although…the only thing I can say I am worried about is which one of us is going to accidentally teach her her first swear word. Should we bet on it?"

Even through your tears, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You and I both know that’s going to be Jean. Especially after what you taught Clara the last time we babysat.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Hey, hearing her call Jean ‘Daddy Jackass’ was funny, and you know it!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” you smirk, “now I know what I’m teaching our little girl first.”

“No way!”

[oliveroctavius]

Let's look briefly at the Coffee Bean in Spider-Man comics!

Contrary to popular memory, Peter's college pals initially met up at a diner called the Silver Spoon (ASM 44, but also 46, 52, possibly 125).

The spread at the top of this post takes a lot from this place's layout. But as newcomer MJ might have pointed out, diners are so fifties. The modern teen needed someplace cooler and edgier to hang out. Somewhere more underground. Literally.

Maps place The Coffee Bean alternately in East Village or Tribeca. The beret and glasses? The lowercase Dante's Inferno quote? The wall-hung guitar? So hipster. Wait, wrong decade. So beatnik.

The OG Bean didn't show up much more frequently than the Silver Spoon (ASM 53, 59, and 82, most notably), but it's the one that stuck in the cultural imagination. I enjoy Tim Sale's take in Spider-Man: Blue with the unfinished basement look and cult film posters.

In early modern flashbacks, the location is plagued by a specific continuity problem: "then [character] leaps through the WINDOW!" from new writers who missed the fact that it's below ground. In ASM Annual '96, JRSr complies by raising the ceiling a level!

The Sensational Spider-Man Annual's approach to the Coffee Bean makes me a bit sad. Dialogue repeatedly emphasizes its unique character and long history and how well MJ knows the place. But it's drawn aboveground and totally generic. (This from an issue with a dozen Silver Age panels directly traced!)

It's not the first time that happens, but here feels like a critical failure of show-don't-tell. The eventual window smash is worth it, but... I'd argue this would work better set at the Silver Spoon (where MJ actually met the gang, old in an uncool way, aboveground) instead.

Brand New Day reestablishes a solid sense of place for the Coffee Bean. Brick and glass entryway, a logo that's less beatnik and more Starbuck, and an interior that reminds me of a Panera Bread.

(If it's supposed to be canon that the new more corporate look is due to renovations by Harry, that's been lost in the shuffle. But it would make sense to me. His effort at impressing Norman with a plan to make the Bean a chain store circa ASM 569 would extend his trend of editorializing his own memories.)

While it still teleports between Astor Place and Tribeca, this version has now had more consistent (and just more) appearances than the original. And, of course, it has a beautiful bank of windows to—

Ah, that's more like it.

The Coffee Bean has become a symbol of innocent nostalgia and a happier past. It was also (as designed by Romita Sr) a virtual bunker: not until 1977 would superheroics be written to take place inside the Coffee Bean. (ASM Annual #11—Romita Jr's first ever penciling job on Spider-Man, interestingly.)

As a silver age icon, the location was physically safe and interruption-free in a way that even Peter's apartments and Aunt May's house couldn't be. The architecture—and how it's changed—has been a large part of that symbolism, underappreciated as it sometimes is.

[frost-queen]

Sickness upon you /A ae (Reader!Sibling x Bridgertons)

Requested by: Anon, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @automaticbakeryfreakshoe, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @luvlyencanto,  @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @idkwhatmyusernam,  @subjecta13-thefangirl  @kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress​

Summary: Alternative/ alternative ending (so a third ending) Letters have been send out but no response comes. Thinking it is only Hyacinth wanting attention. R dies all alone having want nothing more than to hug her siblings. Once funeral invitations have been send out the Bridgerton family is overcome with grief and guilt. < Read beginning & (happy) ending here!, Sad ending in company here! >

Letters had been send out, arriving at the right destination. Benedict stood behind a painting, paint brush in his hand. Sofie reading a novel in the armchair before him. There was a knock on the door. – “My lord, letters have arrived.” – the butler said with a bow. Benedict pointed with his paintbrush at a small table. – “Lay them there, I shall see to them later.” – he spoke turning his attention to the painting once more. The butler placed the letters down taking his immediate leave. Sofie looked up from her novel to the interesting letters. After half an hour she wondered when he might read them. – “Are you not going to read them?” – she asked from behind her book. Benedict sighed soft. – “In a moment, I am trying to perfect your pretty face, Sofie.” – he answered making her smile briefly. 

“You already have a million portraits of me, Benedict.” – she responded. Benedict dapped his brush in white paint, letting the brush stroke against the canvas. Sofie glanced up to the letters, her curiosity getting the better of her. She shut her book, placing it beside her. Benedict moved his hand up as she had gotten up. – “I was nearly there.” – he protested with a soft groan. Sofie had been butchered to stay in place for over an hour now. She walked up to the letters picking them up. – “Do not fond yourself over meaningless letters love.” – Benedict spoke hoping his dear wife would return to pose.

Sofie moved the letters behind one another to go through them. – “Benedict love.” – she said laying the other letter back down, just one in her hand. – “This one is from your sister Hyacinth.” – Sofie turned to him, presenting the letter to him. Benedict placed his brush down as well as his painting pallet. He took the letter from her. – “As I said meaningless letters.” – he spoke laying the letter down with the others. – “It might be important?” – Sofie insisted. – “And it might not.” – Benedict answered cupping her cheeks. – “My dear Sofie, my sister is known to write letters when she feels lonely. Although she isn’t.” – He kissed her forehead as she exhaled long. 

“I still believe you should read it.” – Benedict sighed loud at her words. He turned around returning to his unfinished painting. – “What if it is not? What if something is amiss?” – Sofie called out. – “Sofie, Sofie nothing is amiss at home. I promise you.” – he said to reassure her. Sofie turned to look away, crossing her arms. – “Everything is ever so perfect at home.” – Benedict told her motioning for her to sit down once more. Sofie sat back down, yet not with the pleasing smile she did before.

Violet’s eyes fluttered awake at the morning glow seeking a way through the curtains. She seated herself better in the chair, feeling her back ache. She had fallen asleep in an unfortunate position. Taking a deep breath, she urged herself to get up on her feet. You were shivering as Violet walked up to the bed. Placing the bedsheets better on you, tugging you back in. Then she went with her hand over your face down to your cheek, feeling the clamminess. You were still pretty hot compared to normally. Violet settled down on the matrass with you. A small groan of back pain escaping her lips. She turned her head to stare at the water bowl on your nightstand for a moment. Her expression dull and lifeless. Weary she picked up the cloth urging herself to take care of you. 

Even when she found it hard to do so. Water dripped down from the cloth back into the bowl when Violet gave it a soft squeeze. She placed her hand on your shoulder, turning you onto your back. Placing the wet cloth on your forehead to ease your temperature. Your body was shivering under the sheets, a clear disturbance on your face. Eyes closed but she could see the tension bothering you in your sleep. Violet lifted her chin up to the window, staring at it. A gentle knock on the door made her turn her head. The door opened revealing one of the maids. – “Lady Bridgerton, I brought you, your tea.” – she said with a curtsy.

Violet thanked her, gesturing at her to place it down. – “Are… are my children awake?” – she asked. The maid nodded. – “Good… tell them I will meet with them in a bit.” – The maid nodded once more taking her leave. Violet got up leaving you alone for the first time in many hours. She went down the stairs to share breakfast with her remaining children. Knowing they needed her care too.

The duke and duchess sat at the table. Simon laid his napkin down receiving a great deal of letters. Daphne quirked her eyebrow up, sticking a fork in her mouth. Simon looked through the letters furrowing his brows at a letter from Hyacinth. – “Daphne, you have a letter.” – he said holding the letter out. – “Me?” – Daphne answered placing her fork down. She licked her lips clean, taking the letter from Simon. – “Hyacinth?”- she said quietly. Simon continued to look through his letters questioning which was of more importance to open first. Daphne opened the letter, reading the note. – “Is… is something the matter?” – Simon asked seeing the clear baffled expression with her. 

“I don’t know… Hyacinth is not one to write a great deal of information.” – she answered with a polite smile. – “I shall have to speak with her about proper letter writing when I meet her again.” – Daphne said folding the letter. – “What… what did it say?” – Simon was curious having seen her reaction. – “Nothing out of the ordinary.” – Daphne responded picking up her fork one more. – “Hyacinth misses us dearly that is all.” – She responded haven taken a bite. – “Perhaps you could pay her a visit? It has been awfully long, hasn’t it?” – Simon spoke. – “It has Simon, but we have been awfully busy. I will simply write a letter when I find the time.” – Daphne replied closing the discussion.

Deep inside your throat you felt it brewing up. A thickness wanting to come out. You sat up head bend over coughing loudly into your hand. The intensity made your body shudder. Limbs shaking as you continued to cough. It barely gave you any room to breathe. Nearly choking on your own cough. The muscles in your neck contracted trying to keep up with the flow of coughs. Then your eyes widened feeling a sudden wetness on your palm. You moved your hand back with a tremble. Red dots splattered across your palm. You touched your under lip with the tip of your middle finger. It felt wet as well. Looking at your finger it was stained red as well. 

To be entirely sure you licked your lips. There was no denying it now. The taste of blood very strong in your mouth. This was not a sign of improvement. Rather the opposite. Your head turned to the door, hearing loud voices come in the hallway closer. You reached for the cloth quickly wiping your hand and lips clean. Just as the door opened, you were able to hide the blooded cloth under your pillow. – “Good morning, Y/n!” – Gregory and Hyacinth said entering your room. Gregory shut the door as you made room for them in your bed. Hyacinth jumped in as Gregory joined a bit later. – “How are you feeling Y/n?” – Hyacinth asked curious, sitting on her knees in front of you. – “Much better.” – you lied with a faint smile.

Gregory furrowed his brows. – “You look a bit pale Y/n. Are… are you sure you are feeling better?” – he said. You nodded. – “I do.” – you reassured him, sticking to your little lie. In truth you weren’t sure if you would ever become better. But you could not get it over your heart to tell your brother that or even your twin sister. – “I hope so!” – Hyacinth said taking your hand. You smiled fainty at her. Gregory placed his hand over Hyacinths. Three hands united in one. – “I have written letters to the others, if you don’t mind Y/n.” – your sister said. You shook your head. – “Soon they will be here, so mama doesn’t have to carry the burden alone.” – she added. – “You will get better will you not Y/n?” – Gregory said with saddened eyes. 

You placed your free hand over your entangled hands, giving it a gentle shake. – “We will always be together.” – you said softly. – “Promise me.” – Gregory insisted. You blinked confused, taken back by his firm words. – “Promise me Y/n! I need you to promise me!” – he repeated wanting to hear those exact words. You looked over to Hyacinth feeling a thickness settle down your throat. – “I promise.” – you answered. Gregory eased up, taking a deep breath. He let go of your hand, throwing his arms around you. – “Do not leave us yet…” – he whispered into your ear. You laughed with tears in your eyes. Finding beauty through the pain. Hyacinth joined the warm embrace between siblings.

Eloise laughed loud holding up a letter. Philip quirked his eyebrow up in confusion. – “What is the matter, Loise?” – he asked seeing her approach. Eloise let herself fall into the sofa with him. Her feet plopping up from the ground. She took a loud and deep breath. – “A letter from my sister.” – she moved it over to Philip, holding it in front of his nose. Philip swallowed nervously taking he letter from her. He read it quietly when Eloise took a loud breath, her hands on her stomach. – “It sounds rather serious…I…I’m afraid I cannot find the laugh in this?” – Philip answered unsure to what Eloise might be laughing at. 

Eloise took the letter from him once more. She turned towards him, waving with the letter. – “This is a clear sign of desperation of my sister. One of her tricks to have us all return home just for the sake of nothing.” – Eloise said. – “Is… is that so?” – Philip answered nervously. – “It is my dear Philip.” – Eloise gave him a playful nudge. – “I do have to praise her for her attempt.” – Eloise sighed turning back to look up to the ceiling. – “And you are certain it might not be an actual call for help?” – Philip asked hovering over her. Eloise shook her head. – “I know my sister. It is not.”

You exhaled long and tiring. Eyes closed you wiped your lips clean once more. The blood hadn’t stopped. Pulling the covers from over you, you slipped your feet over the bed. Getting up, you walked slowly over to the window. Outside the sun was shining bright. Gregory and Hyacinth sitting down in the grass. You smiled faintly touching the glass. From underneath came Francesca in sight, joining them. She sat down with them. They seemed to share a heartly conversation. Your knees shuddered, hand shooting up to your mouth as you coughed loudly. Blood staining your palm once again. Taking a deep breath you straightened your posture. – “I am alright Anthony.” – you said, pressing your blooded hand against the glass for support. 

Your hand slid down leaving blood stripes on the window as you turned around. – “Nothing new Benedict.” – you added smiling at your empty bed. You returned to your bed, crawling in. You sat on your knees admiring your pillows. One of them had slid down a bit. You took it, seating it better. – “Oh Daphne ladies do not slouch.” – you said to the pillow. You plucked at the pillow beside the one that you referred to as Daphne. – “Colin don’t give me that weak smile.” – you said. You crawled under your covers, snuggling against the pillows that surrounded you at each sides. – “Come home.” – you whispered. Closing your eyes a single tear escape, rolling down the side of your face. You took a long and deep shuddered breath. All you ever wanted was in your final moments to hug your siblings. To hold them once more.

You felt it. Death was close and you had to face it all alone. Alone with an imaginary family of pillows because your siblings never came. They never responded to Hyacinth’s letter. One should be angry at them. Hate them for it, but you didn’t. You forgave them despite it all. Despite laying here all alone with the warmth of pillows as you slipped into the final stage of death. A wave of coughs overtook you. You clamped onto the pillows, holding onto five or six as you kept coughing. Coughing as blood spewed out. 

Even a thin line of blood running out of your ear. You couldn’t stop as there was little room to breathe. In the end you choked. Laying still in your bed, pillows under your arms, a tear stained on your cheek as the light had left your eyes. In the end you were alone. Your eyes opened once more adjusting to the light. You stood in a meadow, a figure not far from you. – “It’s you.” – you spoke recognizing him. – “And it’s me.” – you added with a crackling voice as he extended his hand out to you. – “It’s us.” – Edward said warmly.

A maid found you, calling upon the lady of the house. Violet gasped loud, slamming against the door in shock. Shaking her head she couldn’t believe it. Gregory, Hyacinth, and Francesca had slipped in as well. Hyacinth dropped to her knees taking in a deep breath before screaming her lungs out. Screams of agony that ended up in floods of tears. Gregory ran up to the bed, gripping onto the sheets. – “No! no!” – he called out, tears running down his cheeks. – “I hate you for leaving me!” – he screamed as Francesca had to pull him away. – “You promised… you promised…” – he said breaking down against Francesca. Francesca sobbed loud barely containing herself. The maid covered you up with a sheet as another maid guided them back downstairs. They all sat in the parlor in silence. 

“What am I to do now?” – Hyacinth said as her voice broke down. Violet rushed over to her, burying her own sadness to give comfort to her daughter. She cherished her in her embrace, rocking her like she once did when she was but a baby. Francesca stared in front of her, hands on her lap. – “I don’t know what to do with it?” – she said with tears in her eyes. – “With what?” – Violet asked quietly. – “All the love I have for her.” – Francesca answered softy sniffing loudly. – “I don’t know where to put it.” – Gregory approached her as she let him sit on her lap. – “You put it in your heart.” – Violet said. – “You bundle your love for her and let it warm a nest inside your heart where it can never leave.” – She stroked Hyacinth’s hair while saying this.

New letters have been send out. Black one’s this time. – “Anthony…” – Kate said holding the black letter in her hand. She turned slowly to Anthony who widened his eyes at the letter. He shook his head with a trembling notion. Kate swallowed opening the letter. She read it out loud that young miss Y/n Bridgerton had passed away. Anthony fell to his knees, mouth open as no sounds came out. His screams bundled up in his throat as he couldn’t find the strength to out them. Breathlessly grasping for his chest. Kate ran over to him, kneeling beside him. She moved her arms around him while Anthony rocked himself like a little child. A loud sob escape his mouth allowing him to finally scream his terror out. Kate pressed his head against her chest while he cried out his heart.

“Eloise.” – Philip said with a saddened smile. Eloise dropped her luggage, eyes staring grand at the black letter. – “Hyacinth?” – she whispered. Philip shook his head. – “Your sister Y/n.” – he answered. Eloise teared up in seconds moving her hand over her mouth to deafen out her cries. Philip ushered towards her, holding her. – “I…I should’ve gone… I laughed it away…” – she cried out in guilt. Philip shushed her, stroking her back. – “What kind of a monster am I?” – Eloise panicked. Philip could only hold her as he could not cure her guilt. The guilt of not believing a word Hyacinth wrote that requested for them to come home. It was urgent and now she understood why… too late.

Benedict received the black letter as he stumbled against the door. – “Everything alright my dear?” – Sofie asked having heard the loud noises. She gasped seeing the black letter in his hand. – “Oh poor Hyacinth.” – she said. Benedict’s eyes widened as it had not occurred to him, yet it could be her. He opened the letter reading it. His hands trembling. – “It is not Hyacinth.” – he said blinking the upcoming tears away. – “Is it not?” – Sofie asked confused. – “It is Y/n.” – he answered with a crackle in his voice looking up to her. Sofie ran up to him, throwing her arms around him. Benedict embraced her, crying loudly over her shoulder. – “I loved her so… so much… and now she’s gone… I never got to see her again.” – Benedict cried with guilt. 

He let go of Sofie storming into the parlor where his unfinished barely finished painting was. He grabbed it smashing it against the ground. – “Benedict!” – Sofie said frightened. Benedict screamed it out, slamming the painting again and again against the ground. Breaking it as it reminded him off his lack of care. If it was not for the painting, he might have read the note and went home to be there by your side. Perhaps things could’ve ended differently. The canvas was ripped, the edges broken off as Benedict projected his anger to his paint. He swayed his arm over the table yelling in grief. The paint fell onto the ground leaving smudges as he could care less. Sinking to his knees he let his head fall into the palms of his hand.

Colin sobbed loud finding comfort in Penelope’s arms. – “Why… why has someone as innocent as her been taken?” – he asked with a loud sob. – “Tell me!” – he screamed out, body trembling at the intensity of his raw emotion. – “I do not know…” – Penelope said hugging him. – “I do know that the one’s we love will never leave us. They will be with us for as long as we are here.” – she answered kissing his neck. – “They never leave us Colin… She will always be with you in here.” – Penelope pressed her hand onto his chest. – “Why does it hurt so much?” – he asked sucking in a sharp breath. – “Because she was a part of you.” – she responded quietly whilst soothing him.

Simon pushed the door open finding a screaming Daphne. Screaming loud as she did everything in her power to out it. Her entire body shuddering, fists beside her body. She stomped and kicked around. Jumping in a fury to get the grief out of her. She threw books against the wall, screamed in pillows. Finally she pressed her hand against the glass, worn out from outing her emotions. Simon walked in hugging her from behind. He kissed her neck as Daphne let her hands slide over his arms. She sobbed loud, Simon holding her firm, or she would crash down.

Grief can take us in many forms. A memory, anger, guilt, silence. No matter how one may show their grief they all share the same in common. The loss of one dear to them. Plucked from their life as their existence is wiped out from this earth. The one’s who stay behind can only learn to live with it, knowing they would meet again in another lifetime. Beyond the veil where lost one’s wait to be reunited once more.

------------------------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[sabbsnation]

has anyone ever asked my opinion? obviously not, but here it is anyway💋🥰😘❗

*.•¬ batjokes fanfics that need full recognition °•.*

Rising Earth

a continuation of Theet in the Grass by messageredacted only written by another author and HELP this story should get more recognition than it has. it encompasses a sub/dom relationship where joker is the dom (tdk joker is totally dom we all know that), post apocalyptic world and something about ghosts. super worth it, fantastic writing and even better development. unfortunately unfinished.

Beneath the Surface

joker wears a disguise and stays with bruce in a relationship for some time (and bruce didn't know he was the joker). and this damn thing needs a goddamn Oscar because he disguises it so well that as I read it, I really didn't know if it was his acting or not certain things. UNFORTUNATELY UNFINISHED (since 2014, read now knowing it will never be updated again, but totally worth the risk)

Why We Fall

if you know anything about batjokes in ao3, you definitely know messageredacted and you definitely know that this author doesn't play around. and this story is just another proof of that AND WHAT MAKES ME SAD IS THAT THIS FIC DOES NOT GET ENOUGH RECOGNITION!!! so please read this. alternate worlds coming together is simply the best storyline possible. the jokester comes to bruce's world and owlman comes to wreak havoc. it is well crafted and developed and you will love their relationship. (everyone is afraid of owlman, including me)

Ghosts of a Future Lost

messageredacted one more time. this is madness, just madness, ghosts and insanity. you will love it (what if bruce and joker had sex possessed by ghosts and woke up out of nowhere looking at each other like WTF) lol that's exactly what happens

To be edgeless again

what if bruce has multiple personalities where part of him is batman justice incarnate and the other part of him is a serialkiller??? hmm??

Burn it down till the embers

I found this very psychologically heavy precisely because of the air of veracity that passes. strongly recommended. it's quite interesting to see the joker go through a psychiatric appointment and see how he does (the story isn't just about that)

[tleeaves]

Wasting Beats In This Heart Of Mine - how it would have ended

Hello, folks! As some of you already know or have heard me mention previously, my TLH fanfic WBITHOM is coming to an end. I am no longer comfortable with it being in the public eye since it involves a lot of personal stuff for me, and so I have decided to delete the fic entirely on every platform it's been published on (that's Quotev, AO3, and Wattpad) rather than rewrite the entire thing. This will also finally give me the chance to focus on other written works. Maybe I'll return to fandom with a rewrite one day for anyone interested, but for now, the future is dedicated to other things. The fic will be deleted in 48 hours, so readers on Quotev and AO3 have a chance to download the unfinished fic if they so desire before then or just have one last read. I ask that no one rewrites or adds an ending to my fic and publishes it anywhere without my knowledge and permission. Never put an author's work through AI either. I still have several copies of my fanfic and its outline, so I will always have evidence of where the story comes from.

WBITHOM is a monster, with the master document coming to well over 150,000 words and the fic so far being ~146,000 words (the entire outline and all my notes makes up over 4,000 words, yes). I predict that, had I finished the fic, it would come close to 188,000 words (so, there was a decent ways to go still). It's the biggest thing I've attempted, but because of that, it is also the most time-consuming (it's been almost a year and a half of writing, and each chapter either takes two full days to write or weeks) and it takes up the most space in my head, not really leaving room for the other ideas I want to explore.

So, as someone suggested, I thought I'd give readers who were hoping to see the fic to its proper end some closure. That's what this post is for: how it would have ended. Along the way, I'll explain some things too about recurring themes and motifs and all manner of behind the scenes and thoughts behind my ideas.

Character Arc Summaries

As readers know, this story follows the characters of Lila Raftis, James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs, and Matthew Fairchild. They're all the most significant figures, though we do see other perspectives and side characters too. Essentially, Lila Raftis struggles with loneliness due to a myriad of other issues she has to work through, and James Herondale's arc starts with his depression and turns into a journey to authenticity where he feels like his own person and not just what he has been written or expected to be. Cordelia Carstairs' physical state of being lost extends to how lost she is within, and she ends realising that she has been continuously defining herself through other people. I see her as leaving London and the love triangle with James and (unconfessed) Matthew (and Lila) to deconstruct a lot of the ideals she was trying to live up to and why. As for Matthew Fairchild, I made the deliberate decision for him to turn into a werewolf and have that separation from Shadowhunter society so that he could pursue the arts and build a better life that he would find more satisfaction with, also eventually becoming sober. I took inspiration from his time at the academy, particularly when he turns to Lila in one of the earlier acts and asks if it's so bad to not be a Shadowhunter. At first, he regrets turning, but I planned for him to wind up relieved.

Honestly, while this work is very self-insert (and that's not a bad thing generally, but I've been finding it uncomfortable as time goes on, so that's why I prefer to take it down and keep it to myself), it was also my way of going How It Should Have Ended for the TLH series as a whole. I started it before ChoT, yes, but that book only led to minor changes and alternate paths taken -- I was already using ChoI as a base to steer these characters in the directions I thought they should go.

The Rest Of Act Three

The rest of Act Three of the fanfic is summarised below (...at length. It's a lengthy summary).

We ended the fanfic on the chapter where James and Lila returned to London, 1903 of his dimension. He was gravely wounded in his left arm, which ends up being amputated despite the efforts of Lila and Lucie (and Gus' help too). This is, of course, a reference to the recent fan art of James where a headcanon went around that the reason we couldn't see his other arm was because it just didn't exist. I took it and ran, which was not planned. I knew I wanted James injured so that Lila could return the care he once had shown her when she was wounded badly, but it wasn't going to be as severe as it ended up being. This is how we ended up at the Institute instead of 48 Curzon Street as I had previously planned for the chapter. James was going to be fine, but Cordelia had decided to confront Lila about several things, and they'd end the night having kissed -- which in turn leads Lila to going for a walk to clear her head and her subsequently getting kidnapped by Jonathan Bell (the Other James from another dimension). Anyway, the change did make some of these plot points awkward (😭) hence why I spent ages editing the make out between Lila and Cordelia because I could not decide how it should start and end. It was a nightmare. As Silver pointed out, it didn't make a whole lot of sense in the order of events (Cordelia should have gone to see James first), but I was in a mad rush to finally release the update since I knew people were waiting. The kidnapping also was not quite as dramatic as I envisioned it, but oh well. I'm actually quite happy with the rest of the chapter though.

From there comes the rest of the fic that readers probably will not get to experience, so that's why I'm writing this out, so you at least know the mysteries that I won't get to reveal and how we get to the end.

Jonathan Bell kidnaps Lila and, through the use of shadow, they end up in Paris, France. This is where Matthew also fled after his mother released him from the Silent City cells after he persuaded her into it. Lila ending up there and being away from both James and Cordelia, and spending more one-on-one time with our antagonist and Matthew since the earlier parts of the book was always intended.

Jonathan is revealed to have possession of another silver pen, which is a reference to a previous fanfic I wrote (also deleted) called Chain of Lies, where the pen could literally rewrite reality if you used your own blood for ink. In Jonathan's dimension, Lila ended up staying in his world and marrying him, but she also dies of a mysterious sickness during their honeymoon, so he uses the pen to go back in time and cancel their honeymoon, under the impression she would not get sick. Instead, she was hit by a car several days earlier, and died in the accident. Jonathan goes back again to stop that from happening, but Lila ends up dying again anyway, over and over again in different ways, every time Jonathan reverses time to prevent each event from occurring. Eventually, he goes so far back in their timeline together that he's reliving the December when they met, and that's how he knows how to divert the accidents in WBITHOM that threaten harm to this other dimension's Lila (are you still with me?). But before that, he created a time loop in that December of his dimension just trying to keep Lila alive for two years of his life whereas everyone else remained the same, but stuck in time. It's supposed to be very angsty and tragic, and it's a demonstration of one of James Herondale's core traits eventually twisting horribly wrong: how he would do anything for those he loves, whether that be family, friends, or lovers.

This character flaw/strength is something I reference lightly a few times throughout the fanfic, mostly in the ways he is concerned about the safety of his family and friends which he tries to find out from Lila, who has read Chain of Iron and knows what the future is supposed to be, and then how he reflects on how he does not know what he would do when someone he loves dies. Honestly, the issue is that he cares too much about people, which is both a good thing and a bad thing, depending on how far it goes. Jonathan is the literal embodiment of what would happen if James' care went too far, if it bordered on obsession, if he wanted to keep someone from dying so bad that he would sacrifice everything else, even the universe.

So, Jonathan finally confesses to the time-loop and explains that as a drastic measure, he tried finding Lila in another dimension to see if he could save her there, but this tearing of the time-loop to escape it worsened a tear that Cordelia had already created in her fight with Belial and the Mandikhor to such a point that it started growing and expanding and destroying the fabric of time and space between dimensions and the universe as a whole. You know, wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff (Doctor Who reference for those who get it). The thing he did not realise though is that in this timeline, Lila is not meant to die, so long as she goes back home instead of staying in 1903 (he still doesn't know this, it's just a fact I would have explained to the readers when we meet Circe, the employer of Poppy Morad (P.M.) and Saint Nicholas). This is supposed to leave Lila conflicted, because as much as she wants to hate his guts for being the reason for her family disappearing and the worlds ending, even this Other James is a reflection of her own nature, which is another thing that's been lingering beneath the surface for the duration as the fic: while James has a doppelganger that demonstrates who he might become if he cannot accept loss, he and Lila have similarities boiling beneath the surface that go unnoticed until an outburst we saw Lila have where she basically accuses James of being just like her (not complimentary at the time).

Lila as a character is someone who cares deeply, but is willing to sacrifice herself and others to protect what or who she cares deeply about (yet we also see her choose self-preservation over self-sacrifice a few times before she truly starts acting in service of others). Her circle of people she cares about is more limited than James', but the shared sentiments still stand. Plus, the way Jonathan has acted this entire time has always bordered on unnerving or odd -- I did that on purpose. He's been driven to obsession, where he's basically an extreme of what James and Lila believe in. And he is both James and not James in this way, if that makes sense. We see in one of Lila's nightmares earlier in the book Jonathan saying it does not matter which version of him he is or which version of her she is -- they belong together. Fully delusional at this point, but it's meant to be scary. I'm kind of obsessed that Jonathan is also a mirror for Lila to see how she might look to her James: someone who knows you way too well, but you've also never met nor know much about at all (she might know James but she does not know this one), who's inexplicably fixated on you (granted, James did not even begin to guess Lila's feelings, and hers were rather superficial in a way until they spent more time together).

Anyway, basically, the start of this rewrite of Chain of Lies pretty much began with these dynamics between the two Jameses and Lila. It was a whole thing with diagrams and late night ranting to my poor sister and everything.

So, of course, Lila is conflicted and she also does not know how she's supposed to get Jonathan to reverse the problem he has created -- whether he's also supposed to go back to his dimension and whether that will be enough to repair the tear. Most of this happens in the Notre Dame cathedral because I said so (I like cathedrals as settings, sue me if you dare).

Meanwhile, Matthew has been in Paris and totally avoiding Charles, so he also hears nothing of Will and Tessa being notified about James' injury in London and leaving by portal. But he does hear some French Shadowhunter gossip about the Consul's werewolf son's disappearance when he discovers Lila being taken to the cathedral by a masked man. Then ensues a solo rescue operation. Honestly, I always have a lot of fun writing Matthew, it's hard not to include him more. Anyway, the rescue is successful, and he takes Lila back to his hotel room to lay low for the night before he gets her back to London with the others (since he recognises that they must have no idea where she is, what happened, and she's an integral part of solving this whole mess, as people are still disappearing in this world).

I had a really nice scene planned that I'd been waiting the entire book to write, but basically Lila and Matthew spend a sober night together (as opposed to their time in the Silent City together) where they talk about all their woes, including their love lives, and eventually they get on to the topic of how they could have smoothed over both their dilemmas if they just had each other as lovers, if only their similarities were not such that would probably be self-destructive at this point in their lives. Because we've seen often in the book other characters compare these two, but it's these two themselves who recognise that, yes, they are alike in some ways, but not the ways it counts in order to have a healthy romantic relationship. They settle on being good friends. Matthew also takes her measurements so they can pick up some quick changes of clothes since Lila's still wearing her grimy outfit she wore during the explosion. And she also brings up that she knows he's an artist, but asks that she have the chance to sketch him, and he offers to do so in return, so they spend the rest of the night drawing, which I just find so sweet. There's not much significance in that at face value, it's just cute, but I also see Matthew embracing an old hobby as one of the first steps he takes in moving on from all his pain and finding better outlets for it.

Also, the platonic nature between Lila and Matthew, the complicated romance with James and Cordelia, and then all the familial themes and side-plots going on are all part of an idea I had going into this that I wanted to demonstrate many facets of love and the importance of each in their individual right. If anything, given the extreme slowburn I've come at James/Lila/Cordelia with particularly, I want to end this book purposefully with none of them winding up together because so many other things mattered more than their romance, and even the kind of loves they have for each other are a reason they don't end up staying because they would all rather see each other safe and not see each other at all than know they might cause other problems by being in the wrong dimensions.

Anyway, because I do multiple perspectives for everything, while Matthew and Lila and Jonathan have their bit going on in Paris, back in London we see James coming to terms with his disability and in all his rumination over what's happened and Lila being missing but him being unable to go out and find her, James finally (FINALLY!) realises his romantic feelings for Lila. This also leads to a scene between him and Cordelia where they both discuss Lila and their feelings for her. Cordelia also confesses how she has felt for James for a long time, but she also explains that she wants nothing to come of it anymore because she does not see herself settling down with him like she previously thought. James is a bit stung by this (I mean, my guy had no idea about Cordelia's true feelings until now and then she also springs a rejection on him at the same time when he's just begun to realise some of his own feelings around her) but is ultimately relieved since he feels he needs more time to figure out who he is and the life he wants without the bracelet numbing him.

We also would have seen Poppy Morad and Saint Nicholas again and their increasing distress and alarm with how difficult Jonathan Bell has been to track and control since he's hared of to Paris with Lila.

When Jonathan finds out Lila's gone, he feels betrayed and frustrated by his failure. Because while he feels he has saved her, she's refusing to be his as she once was in his dimension (also why he was confused and then against her leaving and going home earlier in the story). The world is breaking down around him (we start to see parts of Paris going up in flames, not unlike London 2021 of Lila's dimension) and he's about to go track Lila down again (but now he's going a bit more heavily into Villain Mode).

We also see Poppy Morad closing in on Jonathan as he returns to London when she's defecting orders from Circe, her higher up, to take him down instead of corralling Lila's effects on the timeline.

Lila and Matthew return to London on Christmas Eve just hours before the end of the world properly starts in 1903. This is also when she and James interact for the first time since he passed out on the bridge several days ago. I was a bit undecided on how I wanted this scene to look, other than I needed them to finally confess their feelings for each other in the rain like a cliche after they have an argument where Lila says that James has everything she wants (and this is where we realise the root of her problem in this whole book is not simply loneliness, but a dissatisfaction with herself and her life, which has lent itself to the more superficial issues she's been having) but that ultimately she also just wanted him though she knows she cannot be with him without risking everything. So, when James confesses his side, they decide to spend what little time they have left with each other as best as they can. (And this where I as an author push them together like Barbie dolls and go "now kiss").

Have I mentioned this story has too many layers and plot points and it's been driving me mad this entire time I've been writing it? Anyway.

They quickly determine with The Gang™️ that "Belial" and "Lilith" are not who they seem to be anymore, because while Alastair just got arrested for the murder of Lilian Highsmith (oh yeah, that happens while Lila and Matthew are in Paris, because I wanted a reversal where it's Thomas who stands up for Alastair when he's accused of murder, just for funsies) everything else that has happened seems to be related to whoever this P.M. (remember when Cordelia was also accused of murder because Filomena thought she saw Cordelia when she was attacked?) and Matthew body double is (spoiler: Poppy Morad and Saint Nicholas are codenames for other versions of Cordelia Carstairs and Matthew Fairchild in another timeline, I'll explain more about this later, but what you can probably surmise already is that this alternate Cordelia has taken the place of Belial within this dimension and is the one murdering all the victims (including her father. That was a difficult point, because we see in a PM and Saint Nick scene that he's concerned about whether she can go through with it) and Matthew has taken Lilith's place in some minor ways (like hiding and then handing back Cortana at the right moments)).

Anyway, because Lila's kind of behind on some events, she goes to confess to Cordelia (but explain how she also feels about James), when Cordelia says there's a lot more she wants out of life before she pursues romance again. That she's been so consumed by it, by finding love, by getting married, she's lost who she is beneath it all. (Have you noticed the theme for every character in this fic is basically authenticity and finding oneself despite whatever circumstances they find themselves in?)

Then, we also would have seen Lila dedicate herself to taking down Jonathan herself since he's the main problem that's tearing things apart and perhaps if he's killed then he can no longer influence time and reality.

Vaguely, I had planned that James and Lila would have what my outline says is "an emotional night together" because it could mean literally anything and I wasn't totally sure where I wanted it to go. So. Interpret that one how you will with whatever you prefer, honestly. Anyway, while that's happening, we see Matthew go home to his mother who is, understandably, worried sick and mad because he never wrote to her like he was supposed to and Charles return without him. We see Matthew collapse into her arms and just sob. That was the plan. It's important to me that he's actually vulnerable with her for once and that he, a young man too big to be in his mother's arms, lets himself be held anyway. There was also supposed to be a wholesome Thomastair moment that I hadn't really planned, though I knew Alastair would go home with Cordelia afterwards and she would start her journey to forgiving him. We also would have seen her kneel in front of Sona to confess A Whole Lot Of Things about what's been happening in her life, from as early as the marriage blanc and the Blackthorn Manor incident. Basically, everything is supposed to be hopeful even if it hurts just a bit and feels a little bittersweet. Because then in the chapter this all would have taken place in, we'd end with Saint Nicholas and Poppy Morad collecting the pithos from Christopher who picked it up in the background of everything (basically, all the Belial storyline has still been operating as it should, except it's being orchestrated by PM instead of Belial), when Jonathan sneaks up on them and fatally wounds (he had the intent to kill) Saint Nicholas, who he is shocked to find out in that moment is an alternate Matthew.

AND THEN, next chapter we would have had at the tolling of midnight, signaling Christmas day, PM the alternate Cordelia (whose character is the way it is because she's been hardened by some long and traumatic years -- she and alternate Matthew have a tragic backstory that I've been keeping in my back pocket that wasn't really necessary to be explained in the story, but if you want to know more, just ask) drags a dying alternate Matthew back to their tent where Circe, their mysterious employer, is torn away from her work elsewhere to start enacting emergency world-fixing in this timeline. This is also when we find out Circe's identity: she is Cassandra Clare, once again (if you read Chain of Lies) who's codename was derived from the common shortened CC she's referred to in fandom, who has universal powers and basically controls (to an extent) a good portion of the universe. Like a god. But also not. It's a whole mysterious thing that I never intended to explain because I think some things are better unexplained.

THEN, Jonathan shows up to 48 Curzon Street, covered in blood and calling for Lila. A fight between him and James (and sort of Lila who's attacking Jonathan though he refuses to attack her) ensues before he ends it all by taking out a silver pen (The Silver Pen) where we see 'Nikoletta' engraved on it, and writes a time-loop which snaps the final threads keeping all the timelines and dimensions in order.

Act Four Explained Slightly More Briefly

This is the final act of the book and also the shortest. It was planned to only be about six chapters long. Now, I was most excited about this part of the book because I had ✨visions✨. No, literally, the entire inspiration of this entire fanfic came from a dream I had about James Herondale as Spider-Man, me impersonating Cordelia Carstairs and not knowing how to do Shadowhunter things, Santa Claus as Father Time, and the end of the universe, and this is where we would have finally get to see it all come together.

We kick it off with an entire chapter dedicated to a lot of scenes similar to what I've written earlier in the book with Lila and James' nightmares, where nothing makes complete sense and yet the reader is meant to feel on the cusp of understanding something alongside the characters before the dreams usually end. Only they don't here. The dreams are reality, but reality is broken, and there is no waking up because there is also no sleeping and there is no normal but faint memories of what came before. So not only is the environment ever-shifting (think of it almost like a kaleidoscope and you have maybe a quarter of my vision here), but the people also keep "glitching" between different versions of themselves at different points in time and in different realities even (sometimes the doubles join and then they split apart, it's a weird nightmareish sort of thing in my mind), and so they also have different memories and levels of knowledge about things that have happened and what's going on. We see it mostly through Lila and James' perspectives. There's supposed to be a lot of angst and a feel like everything is a fever dream.

In the next chapter, things only start to get slightly ordered when Jonathan Bell finds Lila and says he'll rewrite the universe she wants so that it's perfect for her, and can have it be anything she wants, so long as they are together (major creep vibes though, honestly, as sweet as this might sound to some). This is also me addressing a problem from my original fanfic before this one, Chain of Lies, where I basically gave that silver pen waaay too much power, and now I'm demonstrating what it can do and so, like the one ring to rule them all, it must be destroyed (once Lila or someone else gets a hold of it to rewrite and fix the fabric of everything). Alastair saves Lila from Jonathan this time (he's still a bit prickly, but we see he still cares about Lila anyway), and demands she go find Cordelia to end Jonathan (Cordelia has Cortana which can cut through anything, which is important). Then we also would have seen that James is stranded somewhere with a fluctuating Matthew (the vision is that he keeps changing states from a werewolf to a living corpse to himself at various ages) and they are attempting to find PM, the alternate Cordelia, who knows Circe who should be able to fix everything as PM explains (she got separated from Circe and Saint Nicholas when the world went crazy). She leads them partway before she's taken by the collapsing world (she disappears basically, because that can still happen to people). When Lila finds her Cordelia, she's in the Paladin state (imagine glowing eyes and a vague aura of scariness with a glowing sword and you've got it) and it takes a bit to get through to her so they can make a plan to take down Jonathan.

Chapter after that, we have Cordelia distracting Jonathan so Lila can steal the pen, but she realises she does not know how to write an ending that does not kill all the Jameses since, as Jonathan once put it in her nightmares, "it does not matter which version of him I am... we are the same". This hesitance gets Cordelia fatally wounded, though she's not quite dead yet, but it's the final push Lila needs to kill Jonathan with Cortana (as also seen in a dream she had ages ago without realising it), and Circe finally manages to pull enough worldly strings in this chaos to pause time long enough for James and Lila to reunite to do the re-writing with her.

From there, we have two alternate paths. I called these basically "the happy ending that could have been" and "the bittersweet ending that was", which I was inspired to write by The Umbrella Academy (if you know, you know, I won't spoil it for anyone else who doesn't).

In the happy ending that could have been, we see the characters a couple years down the line. We also find out that Lila would not have died like she did in the other universe. She and James are together and they end up planning to propose to each other on the same day, which is the day after Lila successfully ascends. Then we see Cordelia and Matthew travelling together across the world as friends. After that, we would have seen Thomas and Alastair having dinner at the Lightwoods'. Finally, the Raftis family believe Lila is missing, presumed dead, but after a couple years they are finally moving on.

The bittersweet ending that was though is where Lila goes home. The friends she's made in London 1903 see her off before James takes her back to her dimension where they'd have one final goodbye on Blackfriars Bridge. That night, Cordelia gets on a train to set off and travel on her own. We also see Matthew, who has already picked up Oscar a couple days earlier, going to Gus' flat to complain that Oscar misses Gus and would not stop whining until they came by. We see Matthew finally tentatively suggest a first date, and Gus would accept. We close this part of the ending much like we started the book, with James walking alone in the night, just as he was when he left the Devil Tavern and his story took a different direction to canon when he found himself outside Cornwall Gardens where he met with Alastair. This time, James is alone, and he's feeling a little hopeful about the future ahead.

We get one final chapter before the epilogue where it's mostly Lila's perspective as she finally gets to experience Christmas with her family in 2021 and I planned for the beginning of some family healing and bonding to occur. Then we would have seen future James once more, who it turns out is now tasked by Circe (CC) with maintaining the space between dimensions, but this means he can't be in any one for very long since it's a lot of work that takes up time.

And now we get to the epilogue. Every time I imagine this, I get a little emotional. The epilogue would have began several years in the future with Lila dropping a bi-annual letter into the Thames, which I liken to the River Styx, in that it's where all lost things end up. We see, rather comedically, that she has moved out with the money she gained from some things she "stole" from Curzon Street, as well as her mysterious finding of the adamas, which scientists in her world are still amazed by. We are surprised to see though that when she goes home, she's living with the version of Matthew who nearly died in his previous role as Saint Nicholas, because CC gave him a chance to live out a new life elsewhere, in a dimension where there was not another version of himself. He and Lila seem to be doing well.

We cut to James of around December 1905 who has gone to visit his family at the Institute, where Lucie and Jesse are pouring over Cordelia's latest letter from abroad. James says he was just at Matthew's flat, and Gus was telling him about theories of time travel that the mundanes at the university Gus attends were discussing. We also find out that James himself has written a book, a science fiction piece with a ridiculously long title, about different worlds and the doubles of people that exist. After the dinner, he goes to Blackfriars Bridge and produces several of Lila's letters out of a pocket before stowing them away and shadow travelling to her dimension to leave a letter for her.

The fanfic would have ended on James' letter, which mentions briefly that he is having nightmares again of Belial's return since they have heard nothing have what happened with CC. Aside from that, the letter is rather sweet. But we see that Lila never gets a chance to read it, because CC collects it first and burns it with a lighter while humming "it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas".

Concluding Words

And that, ladies, gents, and fair folk, was how Wasting Beats In This Heart Of Mine would have ended. It has potential for a sequel. One I never want to write except in my head because, man, I am so exhausted by this fanfic alone after I already did it as a rewrite of Chain of Lies. If anything, this is the sequel to Chain of Lies and the next potential story would be the third book. It's been a long few years, I'll tell you that.

Some final things:

If you're wondering about that green coat I was always mentioning: it was supposed to be my tell, along with the gold-ringed eyes, for Saint Nicholas being an alternate Matthew, who is also the leader of the SoHo wolf pack in his origin universe. For Poppy Morad as the alternate Cordelia, who worked as Matthew's partner in time shenanigans, it was the fact that people forgot her face once they saw it because of a facial rune she applies (one that does not exist but she has courtesy of working for The CC). That's why people often knew they saw Cordelia, but could not remember the details of that meeting, if they managed to remember her at all.

The reason Lila has essentially what I call "a death aura" is because of her alternate selves, many of whom die, and it's something that leaks between worlds as the walls steadily break down.

At some point in Le Grand Reveal Of The Time-loop, Lila realises that the detailing on Jonathan's mask matches the floral detail on the back of The Joker card she's been carrying around with her sister's initials this whole time, which hints at just how significant some of the objects in this story are and the meanings they can give (The Fool and The Master being other common names for the card, related to its unpredictability and capability of being anything).

Jonathan wears, obviously, his crimson cape, but his clothes are a deep navy blue and this is part of my reference to Spider-Man and the original dream that inspired all of this.

Future James does indeed have diamond stud earrings. I said so.

At the end of the book, CC would have reinstated Lilith and Belial (whom she removed for previously causing problems in other dimensions where they became too aware of alternate timelines) with altered memories, so the stories can generally continue where they left off (some a couple years later, which has some interesting effects if I wrote the next book, in theory).

And I think that's all I have. But if anyone has any questions at all, feel free to reply to the post to ask, message me, or put it straight into the ask box, I'm more than happy to answer since I'm already depriving you of a properly written-out neat ending to everything. Reminder that I am deleting the fanfic WBITHOM in roughly 48 hours from the time of this post, so after that it will not be available on any public platforms for reading. I am not taking down any of my other fanfics (except for the few that I already have some weeks ago).

Thank you to the readers who have supported me on this longass journey. You were often the reason I kept going when I wanted to give up on writing fanfic, especially writing this one, which has been a very trying process (I mean, it took me half a day just to explain the last approximate third of the damn book, for crying out loud). I appreciate the kudos, the comments, and all the enthusiasm. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Take care now, and I'll see you in the updates of other works in the future.

-- streettealee

P.S. special thank you to @thevagabondexpress who endured many hours of me blabbering way too much about this fic and these characters, who I pestered to give me feedback as I fretted over whether I was doing everything right (spoiler: there's no right way, just better ways), and who cared about this when I struggled to. You suggested I might find a way to give readers some closure. And so I also give thanks to @faithfromanewperspective, who went nuts for an Australian OC (understandably, as I would too) and blazed through my entire fic and encouraged me inadvertently to start updating again after a long dry spell. You still absolutely get to see my drafts and outline next time we catch up in person, but I hope for now that this is a good description of the rest of what the book would have been and it gives you some closure, as well as for the other readers. Thank you also to @quantummeep for reading and commenting! I can never get out of my head how even early on in your reading you recognised all the plot threads that I had been weaving together, and it meant so much to me that you appreciated the level of detail I tried to work with.

Thank you all and to the other readers who also supported me 💛

[blorbortion]

happy pride month!

i figured its as good a time as any for me to finally post my gay book recs 😌

theyre overwhelmingly YA as im a young adult and thats what ive been reading, but im widening my horizons, so stay tuned for more mature entries! ill be updating this list as i read more gay lit.

WLW 4 or 5 out of 5 stars

- She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen (les/bi, enemies to lovers, sports, set in high school, YA)

- The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth (great writing, appealing characters and authentic chemistry, i think les/les, YA)

- Not My Problem by Ciara Smyth (also amazing, also les/les, has heavier themes, YA)

- Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo (historical - 1950s, asian american sanfran culture, butch/femme, YA, deserves its popularity. do Not read the spin off its not worth it)

- Cinderella is Dead by Kalynn Bayron (fairytale retelling, feminist focus, les/les, YA)

- This Poison Heart + This Wicked Fate by Kalynn Bayron (urban fantasy, bi/les? i think, poisonous plants, greek mythology, two books, YA)

- How to Excavate a Heart by Jake Maia Arlow (les/les, YA, lots of "reclaimed" slurs, lots of secondhand embarrassment, but if you wanted something seasonal for winter here you go - its not bad!)

- A Spindle Splintered + A Mirror Mended by Alix E. Harrow (fairy tales, lesbian mc, other wlw side characters, fun and short, written for tumblr and its obvious, sometimes depressingly real)

- This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amar El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone (time traveling, enemies to lovers, short chapters, tries to be poetic and sometimes it succeeds sometimes it doesnt)

- Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield (horrors of the ocean, it doesnt get better - no happy ending, still beatiful though)

- Salt Slow by Julia Armfield (women-focused horror short stories antology, i would call it bisexual moreso than lesbian, definitely worth a read)

- Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flag (a story that takes decades and focuses on many characters, two of the most prominent are in a same-sex relationship, lovely and bittersweet at times)

MLM 4 or 5 out of 5 stars

- If This Gets Out by Sophie Gonzalez and Kale Dietrich (gay/bi?, YA, secret dating, two boysband members, alternating perspectives)

- Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall (fake dating, cringe but somehow fun when you get into it, very organic writing)

- Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (gay/bi, YA, enemies to lovers, actually fun!, better than the movie^tm, a bit cringe with the ~progressive~ lines and fanficky moments)

- Time to Shine by Rachel Reid (gay/bi, sports romance, there were so many beds and still they chose to sleep in one together, very fun + funny)

- Icebreaker by A. L. Graziadei (bi/gay, rivals to lovers, YA, sports romance, a little internet-y at times, theres a side poly relationship)

- More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera (NOT a romance, super depressing, a lot of deep homophobia, but also beautiful. i gave it 5/5 on goodreads, YA)

honorable mentions that arent very gay focused but are very good:

- If We Were Villains by M.L.Rio (campus novel/dark academia, the m/m is mostly subtext, heavy style of writing but so worth it, shakespeare abound, please read it)

- The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater (YA, fantasy, literally so good, not much of the m/m romance but when it happens it HAPPENS, 5/5 im obsessed with this series)

- The Tusks of Extinction by Ray Nayler (a short sci-fi novel about bringing back mammoths, multiple povs, one of those is focused on a gay couple - which is irrelevant in the story but i loved the book so im using this opportunity to promote it)

less than 4 out of 5 stars but i read them so ill state my opinion anyways

- A Scatter of Light by Malinda Lo (YA, wlw - bi/les, great writing boring story, gnc lesbian compared to a boy later revealed to identify as nonbinary, homophobic slurs "reclaimed", cheating, unfinished sideplots)

- Ash by Malinda Lo (YA, wlw, bi/les i think, fairytales, fantasy, uncomfortable het age gap, moral of the story - love triumphs all)

- The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun (YA, mlm, gay/gay?, lots of awkward internet popculture references, slurs, writing mostly fun and engaging but at times felt like an educational PSA)

- The Coldest Touch by Isabel Sterling (YA, wlw, les/bi, marketed as lesbian Twilight - do not be fooled, the author is weird abt race too though, the romance isnt really fleshed out)

- These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever (mlm, an attempt at dark academia, the start was interesting but then it turned into disgusting fetishization of violence in a gay relationship, written by a tif and you can tell)

- Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney (the mc is bi and her best friend is a lesbian, the characters are all awful, it kinda felt lesbophobic at times but i dont have proof)

- Hani and Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating by Adiba Jaigirdar (wlw, YA, as you can guess fake dating, also rivals to lovers iirc?, its nice but just didnt catch my attention much)

- Honeymoon for One by Rachel Bowdler (winter holiday romance, les/bi ("pan"), lots of grief and conflict and not enough of the romance developing, so many awful mothers??)

- Running With Lions by Julian Winters (ya, mlm bi/gay, the writing isnt that good, a bit of misogyny)

sekcja polska 🇵🇱

- Córki tamtych wiedźm autorstwa Weroniki Łodygi (wlw, les/les?, mało romansu w pierwszej części, Hogwart ale polski i tylko dla dziewczyn, główny wątek rozwija się dość późno)

- Noce za nocami i Noce aż po wieczność autorstwa Małgorzaty Wilk (wampiry w Warszawie, pierwsza książka homo m/m druga bi w/m - ale oryginalna parka nadal na pierwszym planie, dużo drugoplanowych postaci lgb i innych par jednopłciowych, nie ma żadnych slurów ani praktycznie nic o trans, lekki i bardzo zabawny styl, bardzo przyjemna dylogia)

- Zanim dojrzeją granaty autorstwa Rene Karabasz (bułgarska powieść o specyficznym stylu, główna bohaterka jest lesbijką i albańską burneszą - zaprzysiężoną dziewicą)

[jolaunay]

A Farewell to Unicorns...

If you have been following me long enough, you probably know that about a year ago I have started a crazy cross-stitch project, see post here . I have posted updates here n there throughout 2023 with the tag #ladyandtheunicornproject . As every crafter & artist would know, when you embark on such a journey, it keeps lingering in the back of your mind every damn day that you don't work on it. I didn't touch it in months, then I finally found the energy to get back to it. This is the progress I made in a year, a little shy of 1.5 pages out of a 60-page pattern:

It just felt hopeless, the amount of confetti in this pattern is insane. And most of the time, it didn't even look like it made much difference. Then it kinda dawned on me; is this pattern the product of a pattern mill?

What it is a "pattern mill" you might ask... Some cross-stitch pattern shops on etsy simply use photos of artwork and convert them to cross-stitch patterns using free websites. They don't credit the artist, they don't pay a dime for the software, yet they profit from their work. The end result usually does not translate well to cross-stitch; lots of confetti, the project is unmanageable, kills the joy of crafting and when you're finished, it looks like a pixelated photo taken with an early 2000s phone camera.

After further research, I was convinced that my pattern is also from a pattern mill - considering the amount of money I spent on this project, it felt like a punch in the gut. My family will never have generational wealth & afford a vacation home on Rhode Island coast because of this fucking project! But hey, c'est la vie! You live and you learn... See related posts here & here

Sometimes, you just gotta know when to say "enough of this bullshit", cut your losses and walk away from a situation. For that reason, there's no point in working on this project anymore and making it my "Sagrada de Familia". So, I came up with an idea to finish it in an alternative way:

"Unfinished paintings are more admired than the finished because the artist's actual thoughts are left visible." This is a quote from Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, some important guy who lived during the Ancient Roman times. I think it is a fitting quote because it represents my vision of saying "fuck this" and not having the fallacy of the sunk costs. Finished it, framed it and now displaying it in my library room in front of another tapestry from the Unicorn series.

It gives me closure rather than disappointment for a project that I started with such high hopes & excitement. If I just put it in a bag and threw it to the bottom of a closet, it'd make me feel guilty. But this still makes me feel accomplished, because it honors the hours of effort I put into it. It turned into a nice little conversation piece with a story. I still love cross-stitching and will work on better patterns in the future. There's already enough to dread about in life. Unfortunate experiences shouldn't take the joy out of pleasant activities!

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Ok first id like to share some good news: finished all my tests for the semester, and i think i only failed like 2 or 3!! More good news, more fics that ill get around to writing!! Or ill just post my unfinished drafts. I mean there's a yandere Jake (platonic dad yandere) fic and a "spider w permanant brain damage from the scanner fic" and even more just absolutely collecting dust in my drafts

New idea that I'll def finish this time tho: Humans but there unrealistically better than they are. There's no RDA, no big mining operation, no deforestation or driving natives out or dying earth, just humans being natural born explorers who are mind blown at an entire different planet with life.

And that's wild! They thought they were alone, the universe looking back on itself, explorers of a vast and endless yet lonely expanse. Then boom! Life! Life on a different planet, life so different yet similar. A life that has their own culture and languages, that's so intertwined with nature, they're capable of forming a deep connection at a moments notice! That's amazing! (Forgive me for my amazement, watching Rio and i just love the movie)

Anyway, in this au with no evil corporation only interested in money heading this operation, humans are way nicer! And weirder.

I imagine the Na'vis early experiences w humans are like what some of us think that aliens are doing (crop circles, abducting cows, just standing around naked) (and i say naked because most photos of aliens have em in no clothes. Or they're wearing a full body grey suit). I imagine that at first they don't believe humans are real because they don't show themselves often, only spotted by like a handful. Like "i saw this small pink creature by the river today! It had hair and eyes and hands and feet, and walked on it's legs!" "What the Eywa are you talking abt"

I imagine the first human they meet is a weirdo who's exceptionally brave. They walk up to a Na'vi and just start speaking in the most nonsensical Na'vi ever, that they managed to learn from observing them. They just follow them atound all day, keeps saying Na'vi phrases until whoever they're following just walks to camp and presents them and they're like "hey what is this."

Or, alternatively

Humans try staying away from them cause they're like twice their size and capable of making weapons, except for one person. This one spends their time following around a specific Na'vi and annoying them. They hum little tunes, they're spotted once and disapear behind the trees, they're daring enough to get ahold of their tools and try to study them. Then they start trying to communicate with them, little phrases yadda yadda. All while the Na'vi is going back home like "no mom, i promise i didn't loose my knife, this small pink creature stole it!"

They're like so fed up with the human and everyone around them cause they're like "what are you talking abt" so they're trying to get evidence of their existance. Eventually they do get them and present them to the tribe like "see!! I told you they were real!!!" And they're like "huh. Ok. What is this thing."

Dont have any idea how im gonna further w this but ye! Humans are way nicer and not run by a greedy corporation au

VERY EXCITING! I'm very sure you didn't fail anything. I want bOTH of those collecting dust drafts please and thank you.

No Rio and Avatar have been going hand and fucking hand lately lol. This idea is so fucking funny dude. I'm CACKLING. I absolutely adore the idea of humans being perceived as the aliens in any context and just how weird that would be, and it's not touched upon ENOUGH in Avatar because we come into the world when they have known each other. Hit us with that Grace and Mo'at developing friendship dude. I've always loved that and wanted it explored more.

[masterjacobofficialblog]

Good day, my dear friends!

Today is very important day for me, because today is

Jacob's Birthday!

According to the original idea, his date of birth was later, somewhere on the tenth or twentieth (but he remained Capricorn according to the zodiac sign), I will not remember for sure, but the changes were only beneficial, because I subsequently corrected the events of my unfinished Santa Frown fanfiction, and from now on his official Birthday is January 8.

In addition to Jacob's date of birth, the moment when he was born also changed. It was a difficult process, as I wanted to get into the spirit of the show and do more magic elements.

I know none of my members even knew about the birthdays of my characters. The fact is that not everyone, as such, has "Wiki pages" ready, and I'm reluctant to throw them into a blog, so I'm trying to come up with an alternative solution to the problem and create a clean post with Navigation about my blog and AU.

Well, we'll get back to the topic! I wanted to show you a grown-up version of Jacob even earlier (about 18-21 years old), but I had a lot of other things to do, and first it's better to develop the rest, and then, when the time comes, touch his future and the future of other characters.

That's why I'm showing it to you now.

There are not many differences with the Jacob's current version Jacob (if compared with the reference below), since the age difference between them is insignificant and the availability of accessories is actually made for his simple image as a rock artist, and he does not need any cool costumes for performances.

But the most important feature of the Jacob's grown-up version will be that he will be TALLER, not just taller, but taller than BOTH of his dads!

In general, I now plan to publish a little more different stuff on my AU and start putting my blog in order when I get rid of work or other personal matters. And now my blog has got this banner where you see Jacob's guitar for the FIRST time.

My blog will be waiting for changes, but once again we congratulate the hero of the occasion on his Birthday! And on this occasion, I am ready to answer ALL your questions in WRITING (I will draw in a drawn form later, since the old questions will not go away).

Ta-ta for now, my dear friends!

And I will be glad if you reblog this post!

[lola-andheruniverse]

Sunday FanFiction recommendation. An oldie but a goodie. Black Moon Blues by Haitus 80 on FanFiction .net. A time travel fix it and Deep Down in the Hollow Ground by Ravenesque 2 also on FanFiction.net finished and the unfinished version on nine lives. It’s a different twist on Carol’s banishment. Wonderful works by wonderful authors. I bet they would love a review.Caryl on

Hi, @southerncountrygirl! It took me a few days but here I am with your recs! Thanks for sending them my way. I hope you don't mind but both fics gave me that feeling 'oh my imagine if THAT really happened' so I decided to put them on our 'fix it wednesday' tag. 😁 Okay, let's go!

Black Moon Blues, written by Haitus 80 is posted on FF.net.

Summary: What if there was a way to prevent the events that brought the group to the prison? What if there was a way to save every single person they have lost along the way? What if second chances at the end of the world actually existed? Will they be strong enough to save the others? This story has given me many sleepless nights but I think it has been worth it. Rating: M / Mature Word count: 251.626 (66 chapters) Aug 25, 2013 - COMPLETE

Time travel! It doesn't get better than time travel for me unless we get a baby at some point, love me a caryl baby because there's no other way to guarantee a cleaner slate than this. One of TWD biggest problems is disposing characters for shock value so time travel fics are great because they can course correct these errors. Our author here makes them pop around effortlessly and it's great to see them all alive again, wonder how they'll survive their canon deaths and celebrate when a different thing happens that ensure their survival. This fic also does a great job in putting S3/S4 Carol on pre-S1 Carol's shoes. This entire work is a celebration of her strength and growth. Do read it, dear fellow caryler, this fic is a intriguing, surprising and very satisfying ride. Oh, and the caryl moments? Adorable!

Deep Down in The Hollow Ground, by Ravenesque2, it's also posted on FF.net. (the version on 9Lives is only updated up to chapter 10).

Summary: No one is quite sure how much time has passed since the fall of the prison. All they know is the reality of always moving on, always surviving, whatever cost it might bring. At least they mostly found each other, but for those they've lost along the way, there is a chasm that can barely be filled. Caryl story.

Rating: M / Mature Word count: 67.142 (22 chapters) Published: Dec 18, 2013 - COMPLETE Carol's banishment on S4 is one of our favorite moments to explore on fandom, right? This fic works on it by taking a very interesting route. It has suspense and drama fueled by a lot of miscommunications, and incredible twists that change everything constructed by canon. This is definitely a caryl story (so much romance, so much tenderness, so much beauty), but our author dedicated time to develop all TF characters, giving them substancial emotional arcs, so it really feels like an alternate version of TWD from the fall of the prison. It's a great read, please give it a try! Thank you again, southerncountrygirl, for your recs. I really appreciated them! As you said, bet these authors would love to get a review notification. So, if you decide to read any of these fics, dear fellow caryler, don't forget to give them a little bit of appreciation. Feedback is LOVE. And we really need more love in this fandom. Caryling on, caryling on!

[streets-in-paradise]

The Road So Far - Andy Barclay x (Fem) Winchester!Reader

Warnings: Slight crossover with Supernatural, part of my unfinished crossover series starting in Childs Play 3 where the reader is a Winchester sibling and has a personality resemblance with Gabriel. This oneshot includes a discussion on Chucky's bizzare journey through the lenses of the supernatural lore.

Summary: Andy revisits with you how far Chucky has come and your perspective introduces plenty of new concerns for him. From the exponential escalation in the vision of the doll's plans you inspire him a question he had never asked to himself before.

Is a Chucky that keeps coming back to life no matter what actually worse or better than one accepting his place in hell ?

Tags: @losersclubisms ( i'm posting this for you. I wouldn't have dared to do it if it wasn't for your excitement when i told you about it)

It was often believed that hunter’s first case could remain with them forever, referring to the role of personal revenge and obsession possibly marking the path of their careers. Andy Barclay could be a poster boy for that slogan, but he could also be the joke of the community. Even among insane people chasing monsters he would be an outcast, underestimated as heavily as his nemesis was. It was unbelievable that the killer doll could keep coming back, what in the philosophy of hunting had to be a failure of the man in charge of keeping him down. At the eyes of the others Andy would be assumed to be terrible at hunting because a possessed toy kept escaping him no matter how many times he would get to kill him. For obvious reasons he avoided all sorts of networking for the job. Isolated and obsessed is how he preferred to do his thing, 

At least in that, he was a bit like your father and you hated letting Freud win. The sweet boy you once met in the military school, your first infatuation, had at least some sense of normality he wanted to reclaim for himself. The man he had become was a complete mess lost to the lifestyle: he lived in a cabin armed to the teeth, and had mastered several methods of torture. He was a freak, too threatening for the normals but not enough for the hunters, and you were insanely attracted to him. Even since you reconnected the realization kept hitting harder the more time you spent with him. 

The little redhead bastard did his magic creating a situation so chaotic and unsustainable that Andy had to finally accept help. 

“ So,what’s the fucker’s game now? If you ask me, this erratic shit seems to point in so many directions.” You were theorizing out loud with him. “ Multiple dolls and now human possession happening simultaneously ? He is expanding and we have no idea of how many branches he has opened already. Did you get any public statements from the Chucky.Inc headquarters? “ 

The way in which you referred to the Chucky head showed you haven’t lost your touch over the years. 

“ Nothing, apart from some loud, nice screaming.” 

The sinister comment got him an approbation smirk from you. 

“ I’m gonna have to make you an indecent proposal.” Was your playful reply. “ You, me. A weekend in New Orleans to learn some new tricks and get back in the game. What do you say? I know of your no magic assistance policy, but you can’t continue like this. How many times are you going to fight spellwork with knives and bullets? Even the most close minded hunters go alternative from time to time. I’m not the witch of the family, that’s Sam, but the little I know I have learned from him.” 

He got lost at some point of your rambling because he couldn’t believe what he sensed in your tone. Not because he couldn't expect it from you, but due to the context in which it emerged.

“ Are you hitting on me right here and now? In the middle of this? ” 

The response he obtained was even more provocative. 

“ That depends … Are you up for it? 

He groaned with frustration, wondering why he bothered to call you. 

“ Andy, my dear. It’s so cute when I can still sense the naive boy deep inside of you.“ You mocked him sweetly. “ Hunters can do both, doing the research is a code for you know what …” 

“ I may be a bit behind in your cultural slang, but I’m definitely not naive. “ He rapidly replicated. “ I need you focused, Winchester, so stop the tease.” 

The subtle evocation to the old times made you chuckle. 

“ Sure, general! We are going to war. The problem is … With what kind of weaponry?  I can’t just get holy water, buy a pack of flour and hope for the best while the little menace keeps upgrading the mojo. We are completely unprepared, so we also need to update the methods.” 

“ We can’t, there is no time. “ He insisted. “ Each moment we spend preparing means more bodies he would be dumping.” 

There was no easy way to explain what you just had to tell him. He had a very micro approach of the problem, struggling to see the bigger picture, and over the course of your life the pile of crap following your last name had already forced you to adopt a macro view. 

“ I hate to say this because I know I sound like a senseless bitch,  but there is so much more at risk if the cult keeps growing. I’m talking of an invasion of clones. Your little overlooked problem can become a worldwide threat if it begins to spread like a disease. Chucky could become the Alpha for a new brand of monsters, so I really need a plan more sustainable than bullets and an industrial fan this time.” 

At least then he could tell you were completely focused, but it was enough to alarm him even more than he already was. 

“ You mean Chucky as the father of an entire race?” Andy summarized in an ask. “ There would be vampires, werewolves and Chuckies? Is that what you mean? Why don’t we start with the bassics before you make me freak out? What do you know about soul splitting?” 

A delicate topic you unfortunately know very much about. 

“ I know what happens when you lose your soul, I have seen the full process from very close and I can tell you it’s no game. What truly makes you be yourself is not there anymore, or at least part of it seems gone. Chucky is a heartless prick, so I guess the most shocking aspect of soulessness wouldn’t do much on him, but it could still affect his personality. We can imagine that the more he splits, the more of himself he loses and there will be a point where there would be nothing left. The vessels would not be clones anymore reflecting this lack of original substance and this is when a herd could start becoming a race.” 

“ You have to be fucking kidding me! ” He cursed out loud. “ How screwed could we be by now? “ 

Your attempt to comfort him with some hipotetical positivity wasn't as good as you judged it.

“ It could be worse, he could have faced his fate and embraced hell like he embraced the doll body. He would eventually become a demon and he would not need any chants to make the posessions. "

The comment was delivered so cassually, but the effect those words had in him were a groundbreaking discovery. So simple, yet never considered.

If Chucky would die once and for all, he would go to hell but even from down there he could still keep causing damage to the living.

" So, one way or another he still gets to possesss people.Even if the doll would be gone forever."

It was a door you never should have opened.

" Well, demons can be killed but you have to count with the ríght weapons. The bright side is that the demonification process can take a long while in hell and currently most low rank demons are bureaucrats answering to a central power. Chucky would hate it, he can't follow orders. He wants to be obbeyed …."

You stopped yourself at the edge of your conclussion for an even darker realization.

" He would destabilize hell untill getting crowned king. " Andy finished it for you. " If he wouldn't be wasting time up here, as a demon he could have made it to the top of their hierarchy. "

" He is persistent, insane, power hungry and patient enough for me to see it happening " You confessed ríght away. " It took centuries for Crowley, but i don't know how long it would take him. Chucky has proven to evolve at a considerably high speed. It only took him a few decades to become a latent massive threat."

He didn't know how to feel. Was his eternal struggle a protective sacrifice? Was he doomed to a lifetime of keeping Chucky distracted so he wouldn't find out there were bigger, cosmic scale evil goals he could achieve by accepting death?

" Should we comfort ourselves with that? Does he need to keep coming back to life as a doll so he wouldn't realize he has the potentiality to destroy the universe or something?"

" It's more complex than that, he would fuck up cosmic balance with his self centered revenge based rulling style and make life miserable for many many living and dead beings. " You carefully explained. " For example: the base of my family's survival for a long time has been sick pacts to keep each other alive because we are hipocrites. If Chucky rules, he owns our asses. He could also coronate his victory taking you as vessel, although at least I gotta say your body would look very nice in one of those kingpin suits. "

You exceeded the límits, accidentally forgetting that he had never gone through that and still reasonably feared it.

" I'll never let that happen to you, ok? " You reassured him, subtly moving to hold his hand. " Not by demon Chucky or regular Chucky. I'm actually proud you have made it so far intact and we are going to keep it that way. You know what? Since Kyle is on this too, I can call my brothers for backup and make it a full family thing."

It was kind of sweet, but the idea intimidated him.

" Your celebrity status, expert brothers? No thanks. It would be embarrasing. "

" Don't worry, I feel insecure arround your normal sister so I think we are on the same page. "

The confession surprised him and you found yourselves giving reassuring advice to each other. It felt nice, specially when you trapped him in a tender hug showing genuine affection.

[solipsistful]

director’s cut on automatisms? 👀👀

this took a while to figure out what to even say, but i think i'll go chapter by chapter and say something interesting about each of them

but i'll first say that the very first unfinished draft of Automatisms was actually a NaNo project by Serpent, which i (ace) then took over and rewrote into its current form. so i'll be making this post and seeing if he wants to chime in (not that anyone except me has been particularly talkative lately rip)

XX01: Re-entry

i love that the fic starts (after the pretentious epigraph, im sorry) with a canon line. not only does it temporally set Automatisms as essentially an alternate Acceptance, but i think highlights how it really does follow from Control's canon experiences. like, i could absolutely see an argument that Control canonically just has a dissociative disorder (Authority begins with a dissociative episode, his guides…).

funnily, it wasn't actually any of our idea to go "what if him plural". that was a friend lol.

XX02: Breaching

Finally, a conclusion. Denouement. Control let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold.

my desire to copy canon's style means hooray narrative (and ghost) metaphors.

XX03: Returning

this chapter has the big freaking problem of being extremely important in canon but not at all changed by Control getting some Lowry commentary. i know one answer would be to just… not follow canon so closely, but shh.

what this means is that it's basically best to read this fic with a very good memory for what happens in Acceptance, which probably isn't great. (i fall into the exact same problem with Doubled)

XX04: Waking

ive mentioned this before, but isn't it fun that Lowry's first time fronting alone occurs off-screen and is never really discussed explicitly? something with Narrative there. (it's also fun how canonically that's just Control having a freeze reaction to the biologist anyway, "playing dead to keep his head")

XX05: The lighthouse

god we had the HARDEST TIME deciding what person and tense Lowry's sections should be in. there's several version of this chapter trying to figure out first vs second vs maybe just third? and present vs past. first person present eventually won out as Special enough, even if i struggle to write it (even more than second person). it also leaves second person for the voice of Area X-as-narrator later, which is probably better.

and then Absolution is just gonna be plain old third person past, boo.

XX06: Somewhere else

just some Control reckoning with wtf is Lowry even doing in his head. i mean, it's an important question, like the most important thing in the world for Control right now, but it's sorta hard coming up with scenes where he can both think/talk about that without just going in circles about how unanswerable it is.

XX07: The tower

i hope this chapter feels as Significant as i intend it to be. this is, after all, the real moment of divergence from canon: Control never goes down the tower!

there are, like chapter 5, versions of this chapter where the "beckoning" is in the first person vs second person, italicized or different fonts or right-aligned or not set apart from the rest of the text at all, etccc. i Care about this formatting stuff okay. (had to go digging into how AO3 work skins work at all in order to get the chapter numbers right, for instance, lol)

XX08: The border

it really strikes me, given what we've seen of Absolution, that Lowry should be way more over-the-top in his reactions here lol. he's not a quiet shut down type like Control; he's over the top and angry and should have, i dunno, punched a tree or something. oh well. maybe he's just relying on not being in the body to give him some distance from basically the worst thing imaginable that could happen to him in this moment.

XX09: The teeth

ok i told myself i wouldn't say this about all the chapters, but i think this chapter in particular should've been longer lol. i mean, it's a Good Chapter, but that's why it should've been longer! there's a lot of implications of things that probably should've been explored more. i'm thinking in particular of Lowry wanting to go retrieve the videos. this is the guy who retrieved the videos from the first expedition, as awful as that must have been. he's abandoning all that and the first expedition overall by leaving the SR building.

ah well.

XX10: The throat

i think im so clever for the "are you real" repeat

XX11: Humanity

after all that kerfuffle over whether Lowry would be in the first/second/third person, we actually hadn't considered what that would look like when Lowry and Control were blurring, whoops. so, good thing that we decided on the first person, because that makes blurring into "we" instead of like. "yall" lmao.

XX12: Exorcism

how do you write hypnosis (especially from the point of view of the hypnotized)

i mean the real point of this chapter is just "look at my theory/interpretation that Lowry's hypnosis is linked to Area X's narrative control and isn't that fun"

XX13: Memory

i don't know what to say about this one. character discussions!

XX14: Disposition

this is simultaneously a filler chapter and also i should've spent longer dealing with things like Lowry having food issues (which is something i had sorta drawn from Acceptance but here is influenced by all the Absolution tidbits in which he's obsessing over eating animals in Area X lol).

but mostly it's a filler chapter because by this point, i knew that the second half of the fic would use all the same chapter titles in reverse, and i have Disposition2 already written so Disposition1 has to exist.

Bonus Sneak Preview: XX15: Escape

obviously a lot of my fic-writing efforts have been spent towards WOE.BEGONE lately, but i think another reason why Automatisms has been going slowly is that this next chapter includes a large change in time and context. so, i'm sorta wanting to think through whether there's anything in the old context that I still want to do before i decide on A Change. but really i should probably just go ahead and do the Change. as hinted above, i have a lot of post-Change stuff written. :>

- ace and no Serpent as it turns out whoops

[ruiniel]

Schemes

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!Reader

Count: 3.7K

Rating: M

Summary:

This is a chapter from my first Castlevania series fanfiction 'Prickly thorns, tender roses' l, a post-season III Alucard x F!OC AU. For practice I've converted it to x reader. If anyone's interested in the longer backstory/what happens next, the full fic is here. Falls under angst with a happy ending (just not this part). There's some references to previous events which I hope aren't too confusing.

Tags/Warnings: oneshot, downer ending, alcohol consumption, heavy angst, alternating POV, Post-Castlevania Season 3, References to blood-drinking, Blood-drinking aftermath, Bloodlust, Guilt, AU interpretation of dhampir abilities, slight OOC behavior, Paranoia, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Mental anguish.

He reached inside the stove and retrieved the cooked dish, deeming it ready. He placed it onto the wide stovetop, eyeing it critically. Hare would do, but it had been a while since he prepared anything for one other than himself. And even then, Alucard had put much less care into it all. It would have been the same now, but you looked weak and needed something other than brambles and nuts.

He felt your weakness through the beating of your heart, the sluggish trudging of your blood. Even now, chambers away, if he gave in to it, Alucard could sense where you were by those regular life-giving tremors alone. 

He sighed at the irksome thought. If he were being honest, guilt played a hefty part in all of this as well, for your precarious state was owed to his actions. It was hard enough now to smother all thoughts of you as it was. He had not told you everything, could not. He told you drinking your essence would change him, and it had. But then there was the aftermath, the lingering need for more, and Alucard thanked his human side for aiding with the niggling bloodlust that followed.

His jaw hurt and his throat dried when thinking of your pulse striking against him, on and on, raw and bursting as he had stalked back to the castle through the night with you in his arms. He'd been afraid of his very self, of what he could so easily become — more beast than man. Struggling to keep those recurring and frightfully tempting bouts of rage in check Alucard had grasped at your own sense of relief, almost palpable by the way it blanketed you both, craving a shred of stability, as if your humanity could quench the cursed fever engulfing him. He'd clutched you tighter despite himself for the semblance of sanity you offered, and you seemed to become smaller against him. Though you were also dazed from the blood sharing and your bleeding wrist, you clung to him like he was some savior. Like he was yours.

The mere thought was a travesty, like a cruel unfinished jest played by a careless trickster god. The logical part of him knew there had been little choice. But now here he was, still thinking of you days after the fact, still hearing every whisper of your ruby lifestream, attempting to shield himself from the scent of your apprehension and confusion, your fascination, your desire.

Who could desire someone like him? Who would want him around once they knew his shame, the pathetic attempts at closeness that ended in abandonment at best, treachery and death at worst?

Patricide, hunted, cursed. He had done nothing with his life other than react to what others have done, trying to right wrongs, becoming the one to strike the blow.

It was partly the reason Alucard had given you the manuscript. The sooner you had what you needed and left, the better. He would find another way to restore the engine room, he did not need you for it. He did not need you at all. 

His heart denounced the lie.

Though the thought of you stepping out of his life now did strange things to his mind and placed a shroud of loss over his spirit, Alucard attributed it to the yet active connection you shared. He nearly laughed at the irony of it... one unwilling, the other unaware. When he had helped with your wrist after, he barely kept himself from pinning you down, piercing your neck and having more. The knowledge that you would probably let him made it harder to ignore, though his control never slipped so far. He had felt nothing like it before, the memory of his strength and heightened state while spiked on your blood still so fresh, so tempting. He had no need of blood in the genuine sense for the duality of his nature, but his father had warned him of its intoxicating and addictive effects. And oh, that did not even begin to describe it.

Alucard ran a hand over his face in exasperation. It was better now, easier to cope with. He no longer felt the pull of you, but something else shook him out of his usually resigned and morose state of mind. The way you looked at him. The way neither of you could ever say what lurked beyond your minds, and what he'd discovered dwelling within you. It was better this way; you had another purpose here.

He had nothing else to offer you.

A rustling sound of material cut his thoughts, and his face shuttered when you entered the kitchen. One of your wrists was still bandaged, and you wore a flowing dark dress with long sleeves that flared at the hips. He did not remember this one. There was that quirk of your eyebrow which, Alucard had come to know, heralded a biting remark or another.

"I never took you for a cook," you chimed as you eyed the cast iron dish.

Alucard huffed, placing the cooked hare onto the table. "Need is the greatest of tutors, but I think you know this." You smiled, and he bit the inside of his cheek. "But you forget there was a human living here."

"Of course..." You sat down at a motion of his hand, "Your mother. That is endearing, Adrian — that she taught you, that is!" you said, and there was honesty in your voice.

"I did enjoy indulging in it at times," Alucard caught himself saying as he went to the counter and returned, placing a bottle on the table which caught your attention.

"So you no longer do?" you asked.

Alucard made a sound that might have been a hum. Your prying questions on such irrelevant aspects of himself were always amusing. "You tell me, after dinner." Was he actually engaging in small talk? 

"What is this?" you jerked your chin at the bottle.

He uncorked the bottle and took two tall glasses from a cupboard, glancing at you briefly.

You had rarely seen glass items before, having not been in any noble houses to speak of. "No, I..." you lifted a hand when Alucard poured the second glass, "...I am not accustomed to it."

Alucard looked aghast. "Try things before you denounce them, will you?" he handed you the wine.

You narrowed your eyes but took the proffered item, your attention on the swirling of the scarlet liquid. You took a wary sip; it was rich and somewhat dry to the taste, with a fruity aroma. "It is good."

His smile was haughty, but you did not take the bait.

"No retort? Is there something the matter with you?" Alucard prodded with the barest hint of teasing. 

You took a piece of game. "I am simply too happy and grateful to regale you with my stings," your eyes bore into his, "Does my cheer bother you?"

He snorted and shook his head, valiantly ignoring the rushing flow from your center, hastening through your veins. It was much more potent. Perhaps giving you red wine had not been the best endeavor.

The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, interrupted by bouts of chatter here or there. Mundane nothings, moments he would certainly not miss when you left, for their peculiar effect that shattered his guard and left him wanting, though he had not the faintest idea what it was. When you were done Alucard stood, giving you a brief questioning glance before he took the plates away. 

You had come to quite like the soft torpor from the wine. "I will admit. That was one of the best meals I've ever had," you lounged back in the chair, pointing a slight finger at him. "Don't let it get to your head." Your smile was careless, your reserved facade turned lighter; bolder.

Alucard had taken his seat back at the table opposite you and lightly leaned over with his forearms onto the dark surface. There was a thickness in his throat as he sensed your body leaning into the table, towards him. "Forgive me, but much already has." He was smiling, his stance more carefree than before; he rested his face in his palm, watching you without the trace of a glare.

You slowly leaned back against your chair, staring at him with a raised eyebrow and an uncertain smile. "You can come back from it, if you want to."

He grinned. "Yes, they are called night creatures."

"Don't be crude."

"Listen, scholar," Alucard rose from the table.

"Whenever you say that, you turn glum and sometimes insulting," you sang.

He shrugged, heading over to the washing counter. "I thought your order valued different perspectives. I envy your resolve, I do. But it is not how I feel."

His words had been soft but stressed with belief, and again a heavy weariness, that you pushed no more.

Alucard turned from you to busy himself at the counter.

Sighing, you rose from the chair. "Do you need any help there?"

~~

The sun had yet to set when you retreated to the usual place where your evenings ended: the study. You had wanted to join him, and Alucard did nothing to deter you. You told him how brilliant the gifted tome was, how you had already delved into its knowledge, how it would be a significant step forward; how beholden you were for it.

Some time and two bottles of wine later, you were sprawled on your side onto the divan, your chin resting in your palm as you listened to him speak. You had asked of his family, and in a rare show of openness, he'd told you of his brief childhood, of the meaningful moments he remembered. You spoke of Styria and its workings, the hardships its people faced, of your own rather sheltered life as an apprentice.

Presently he was regarding the portrait of his mother that he'd retrieved and now held in his hands. "My father tried, but I owe her most of what I am," Alucard said, and it was liberating to speak of her to someone. Ever since she died, he'd not spoken of it, truly spoken of it, to anyone but his father. And he was no longer here. "I was raised to believe I represented both kindreds, and to strive in becoming the best of either," his smile faded.

"The way you speak... is it your belief that you failed?" you wondered, saddened by his change of mood. He did not deserve this misery, the loneliness, any of it. He deserved...

He turned his head, propped against the backrest of his armchair. There was a glimmer in his eyes which you attributed to the wine. You did feel strange, your arms become slack, your head spinning slightly; you were pleasantly numb all over.

"I do not know. I used to think I knew what I wanted. Not so now." Alucard stared at you and suddenly looked uneasy, lost, the cool determination fading before a despondency so deep it crept upon your heart.

Maybe it was the drink, but you hurt for him. You nodded once, looking in your lap where you fingered the soft weave of a light blanket you'd pulled over your feet. You looked back at him. "We've only known each other for a little while, but..." you licked your lips, uneasy beneath his questioning stare. "But I think, there is no need to strive, not for you. You've been through so much, but never forgot mercy. You saved my life," you shook your head, "more than once, and showed me kindness I've rarely seen from my own people."

Alucard looked down at his hands, and when his gaze met yours again, it raked over you in a way that riled, bringing forth the same need as before.

You wanted him close, wanted something of him and he would not look away, not even when you rose unsteadily from the divan, slowly stepping towards him. You felt trapped, in a trance, guided by his stare.

Emboldened and rather dazed, you neared him even as the light in his eyes changed from questioning to cold.

But he deserved...

For the first time since his feeding of you, you wanted more. For the first time, you felt a calling, vague and smothered, but you knew it was him.

Alucard watched you, warily, doing nothing when you leaned in, closer.

Your eyes were on his ageless face, trailing to his mouth — that sweet, dangerous mouth you both feared and craved to feel. But there came the vehement opposition of a wall, built of seeping resent and barely contained fury, and only late did you sense it was coming from him. His hands now shook imperceptibly and his fingers jerked, clasping the sides of his seat, his eyes lit with near bestial ferocity. He was frightening; he was beautiful.

Alucard swallowed. Yes, wine had been a terrible idea. What were you doing?

You felt no fear, but knew this was uncharted territory. You saw it in the way he watched you, heard it in that wordless calling surging through you.

"Adrian..." you reached and ran a hand through his hair, saw his eyes closing. There brimmed the need to show him there was more to life than pain, more to humanity than the ghosts of his past; you wanted to prove it to him. You allowed all the honesty you felt to surface into your words. "I know what I want," you told him, your voice gaining a throaty quality.

Gradually his eyes softened under your stare, the death grip on his seat relinquished. "And what is that?" came the barely audible question.

"More of... more of you," you said even as he went rigid, "...and I want to know what it feels like... to..." you reached for one of his wrists, running the sleeve of his shirt up to touch the scarred skin. When you leaned in, his eyes narrowed, and for the first time you saw a trace of fear in them.

"Don't."

His warning came faint, his voice strangled, laced with so much burdened craving it failed to discourage you. And he knew it — he also felt drunk on the scent of your blood, and as free as he was of the compulsion to drink you dry, it called to him incessantly, ever since you’d foolishly offered it to him. The torturous pumping of violent red through your chest, into your womb, pulsing lower—

His eyes widened when your lips ghosted the corner of his mouth; the portrait slid from his lap, falling to the floor.

Alucard gripped the edge of his seat, and in hateful submission his other arm came strongly around your waist, forcing you rather clumsily down to him.

He grasped your hair and buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in for a long moment. "Why..." he asked, the word muffled into you. A strange question, even to him. In a sudden move, he sought your mouth and pressed his lips to yours.

Everything stilled. Your breath tickled, warm and sweet. The tip of his tongue grazed your lips, and he tensed when you whimpered against his mouth. He took the lead, fingers trembling in your hair as he languidly sucked on your lower lip, lingering on the feel of it; feeding on your hunger. You tasted of hot wine and berries.

This is wrong, it is wrong, his sanity fumed, but the truth was he had missed this... this ache, the warmth of another. It filled the void, and you felt so good against him... he was close to drowning. With a strangled groan he forced you into him, and deepened the kiss.

The wood splintered where his long fingers clutched the armrest, but he could not help it. Something would break, and it was either this, or you. And the most disconcerting was how weak this was making him. It was a dangerous sort of power, and one that nearly cost him his life once.

But your scent...

"Adrian, please," you cooed, a hand trailing down his neck, gingerly following the line of his ragged, winding scar. Your fingers reached lower on burning skin, your palm splayed over warm, hardened muscle. His quickened heartbeat thundered under your touch as you nipped at his lips, smiling when he broke away to lead a burning trail from your mouth to your cheek, along your jaw, losing more of himself with every moment. The moan you had been striving to keep at bay rose in your chest, up your throat, smothered by his kiss; he sucked on your lower lip with a velvet release before pressing his cheek to yours. It was a feat to regain his shallow breathing.

You could feel something hardening against your hip as you lay draped over him on your side, and without thought pressed yourself into it. You heard a harsh intake of breath, his fingers tightening around the nape of your neck.

Alucard let his head fall back and held your lower body down, kneading you against him in possessive, repetitive friction; his hand dug into your hip. "You…" he whispered mindlessly, mirroring the pulsing rhythm of your blood in his movements. "Are you certain?..." 

You only nodded, swaying with his lead. It had been so long since he melted into someone else, and shared—

Ruthless, the memory of a similar event where dream turned nightmare resurfaced, turning pleasure to ash, and his mind began to seethe. This felt so sadly, awfully, familiar. But you would not... there had always been a type of honesty about you which Alucard tried his best to rebuke, and there was honesty in the way you touched and tasted—

… but it had been the same with them. He had sensed their lust well enough. And it had not deterred them from their plan of ending him, not in the least. He had been no less blind to their game, and what was there to keep history from repeating itself?

Even bearing these thoughts he still responded, crushing you to him to the point of painfulness, kissing you deeper. For one split shard of time he allowed himself the freedom to bask in the visions of your blood and need; of you lying on your back, your hands around your head; bared skin seeking him—

No.

And from beyond silent hedges of thought the past burst to the surface, carrying all the brunt of scalding pain and irrational fear, burning away all hopes and desires.

Who could desire someone like you?

You were utterly lost in the haze of his taste when with a hiss Alucard sharply pulled your head away, severing your breathless kiss, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Is this your game, then?" he tilted his head to the side, his expression morphing into one of calculating feline curiosity. Your pulse stumbled so fast, fuel to his desperation. "Well? Will you tell me I am lonely?" he asked, gazing at your astonished face, your lips swollen and wet, parted in surprise at the vicious interruption.

"What do you mean—" you gasped.

"Will you tell me it was time for my reward? What did you reckon? Well, pretty little fool, I am not so removed from your ways as you think. But I never expected you to attempt the same scheme," he followed, and his voice was ice. "How... disappointing."

"Adrian," you swallowed, "what is it you speak of?"

"You humans never do think too far ahead," he spoke, still breathless because of you, and all the angrier for it. "You think you know me so well, do you? You think you understand what my existence entails after what I've done?" he tilted his head to the other side. "Maybe I should turn you..." his gaze raked over you with contempt.

"No—," you croaked desperately, wondering where Adrian had gone. This was not him. "Please, I—"

"Why not? Don't you want to know what it feels like?" Alucard threw, his hand still harshly grasping your hair back so your slender neck was exposed. He watched you with a cruel smile, his darkened eyes following the rise and fall of your yet peaked breasts through your dress, the life thrum of your neck, the lips he had tasted.

"There is no scheme!" you cried. "How can you say these things!?" you tried, deeply unsettled by the hateful manner of his words. "Think! Would I attempt to retrieve you from peril if I wanted you gone, if I wanted to hurt you?"

He huffed, a cold, manic light brimming in his eyes like icy daggers to strike. "You did not have what you needed yet." His fingers tightened in your hair. "You did not know where to find it, but I'm sure you knew it had to be here."

You could barely believe your ears. Where had his usually unfeeling and pragmatic logic gone? "Damn this to hell I feel for you, I only wanted to show you that I do. Adrian—"

You gasped when you fell into the armchair holding nothing. Your gaze shot upward to see him on his feet.

"Get out," he demanded lowly, turning his back on you.

"Will you at least tell me what I've done? Please, forgive me." You rose to stand, one hand reaching for him. "Believe me, I would never harm you—"

You froze when he lashed at you, his vampiric side rushing to the fore, flaring menacingly.

"Get.OUT! " his harsh command echoed off the walls as Alucard rounded on you, eyes blazing red.

Shaking and truly frightened, you took one step back, then another. Your lower lip quivered; his touch still burned into your skin.

But then his stance mellowed, as though he were suddenly very fatigued, propping his hand against the fireside for support. His shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath. He was looking anywhere but at you. "I want you out of my home before the night is over," he ordered, making you flinch.

"And where would I go?" you asked with a newfound, raking sort of hurt pride, a wayward look of disbelief in your eyes.

"That is your concern, not mine," Alucard retorted tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Adrian—" you tried again, only to be cut off by a scalding look.

"You will regret ever setting foot here otherwise," he snapped at you, his words chopped and shaking.

Trembling like a leaf, you bit down the crippling misery that piled up your throat. "I already do," you spewed before turning on your heel and dashing out of his sight, sparing no glance back.

Told you, downer ending.

[raidergamerspice]

It feels like forever ago, but I once made a tumblr post about what I thought Melanie Martinez's Cry Baby album plus the EP tracks would look like if all the songs were lowercase, to contrast the PORTALS songs all being uppercase. I still think it would've been a neat idea 🤷‍♀️

But anyway, I bring that up because I got struck with another idea: trying to figure out new names for some of the Cry Baby era songs (most of them outtakes) to better fit the theme of childhood. Like, one of the most important parts Melanie's albums is that the songs for each album fit the theme for said album, from Cry Baby being about birth and childhood to K-12 being about school and growing up, and PORTALS being about spirituality and rebirth. But when looking at all the songs from the Cry Baby era, especially the outtakes, I can't help but notice many of them having names that just...don't strike me as childhood-themed. I'm not criticizing Melanie in her talent, obviously she named each song whatever she felt fit them best, and I still respect that. But I also can't help but think that some songs stick out like sore thumbs when you take the overall theme into consideration.

So, here are my ideas for what to rename certain Cry Baby era songs to better fit the theme:

Bittersweet Tragedy: Melted Ice Cream. The lyrics mention melting a couple times, as well as ice cream near the beginning. I feel like a good metaphor for a relationship falling out could be the feeling of ice cream melting in your hands; it was gone before you could really enjoy it. And of course, kids would be devastated if ice cream melted before they could eat it. Plus, there was a missed opportunity for Melanie to not have a song called Ice Cream - yes, there is I Scream, technically, but no reason to not have both. Two outtakes are literally called Eraser and Erase Her.

Bombs on Monday Morning: Pinky Promise. This was really what kickstarted my idea because even though it's a great song for an outtake, a title like that is not very kid like. Kids should not be exposed to bombs. Period. So, I figured that Pinky Promise is a more childhood-themed title, especially since that's what opens the whole song in the lyrics. Alternatively, it could even be shortened to simply Monday Morning, though perhaps a title like that would fit the theming for K-12 more than Cry Baby since it could also be school-related (although bombs and school going together is not something we like to think about, ever).

Dead To Me: Rainy Days. It's mentioned once in the lyrics to go along with the main premise of the song being present at a funeral in the rain. Personally, I hope that children aren't going around and telling people "you're dead to me" in any context, so try Rainy Days instead. Some kids like rainy days because they can jump in puddles and whatnot, or they don't like rainy days because it means they can't play outside. Either way, kids have some kind of connection to rainy days.

Drowning: Clock in the Kitchen. This was a weird one because to quote the Melanie Martinez wiki, "This song is an unfinished concept with no concrete theme, tune, or even confirmed lyrics. It contains some gibberish as Melanie was trying out different melodies for the song and did not have many lyrics figured out, and its already existing lyrics seem to tell a vague story that doesn't make much sense." Because of this, the only lyric available that I figured could be somewhat childhood-themed is Clock in the Kitchen. I don't know, maybe some kids grew up with cuckoo clocks in their parents' kitchen? Besides, a Cry Baby outtake called Drowning has me thinking of Ben Drowned 💀

Gold Diggin' Love: Shelved. Kids really shouldn't be exposed to gold diggers at a young age. But like Drowning, this was a pretty hard one to rename. I settled with Shelved since it is a word in the lyrics, and it made me think of Toy Story 2, with Mr. Potato Head telling Rex that "Woody's been shelved". Kids definitely would have their favorite toys or other items be "shelved" for one reason or another. Plus, within the context of the song, the titular Gold Digger basically "shelves" her lovers as she goes through them.

Half Hearted: Half and Half. In this case, I'm mostly projecting a part of my own childhood - one time when I was a kid, I ate cereal with half and half instead of milk because we were out of milk and I thought there wasn't a difference. My mom found it funny, but I haven't done that since. Maybe there were kids that made that same mistake, or there could be other instances where "half and half" describes a certain situation? I don't know, maybe this song didn't need a rename.

Haunted: Ghost Stories. I suppose you can argue that this didn't need a rename either since kids might love the scare of a certain place being "haunted", like haunted houses. But in case it was too scary to childhood-themed for the album, Ghost Stories might be a better alternative, since kids also love telling/hearing ghost stories.

Mistakes: Break Rules. I'm kinda reaching at this point, mainly because the first thing I thought of when I saw the title of this song was the fact that some kids were told by their parents that they were "mistakes", and that's heartbreaking. Since the song is about childhood rebellion, I thought that Break Rules or something similar was a slightly nicer name.

Psycho Lovers: Down the Rabbit Hole. I mean, explain to me how a title like Psycho Lovers can be childhood-themed. I don't think you can. Since the lyrics involve asking someone to go down a rabbit hole with them, I thought that'd be a great alternative, especially since it can go hand in hand with Mad Hatter.

Schizo: Favorite Toy. Schizophrenia is definitely a difficult subject for children to comprehend in any context, so I personally find it hard to imagine a kid referring to someone with it as a "schizo" (I could be wrong, of course, maybe it's happening somewhere in the world right now). But with the lyrics presenting Melanie as someone else's "favorite toy" for someone else really made a case for Favorite Toy to be a good alternative title. I mean, kids always have favorite toys.

Trophy Wife: Miss Pageant Queen. Much like Gold Diggin' Love, a trophy wife is something I don't like the idea of children knowing about at a young age, since it could potentially lead them to growing up believing that that's an acceptable term to describe someone as. And since there are kids that compete in pageants, I feel like Miss Pageant Queen was a more fitting name for the theme. Of course, child pageants in general are a bit of a rough subject anyway, in my opinion, but I digress.

You Love I: Puppet Show. I don't know if kids would ever say "you love I" in any context, 'cause I wouldn't as an adult. But I can assume that some kids enjoy puppet shows, so Puppet Show might be a better alternative.

What do you think? Are these good alternative names? I don't completely want to replace their names in my head or anything, I just think that, if Melanie committed to the theme of childhood for all the songs she wrote for the Cry Baby era, these might have been what she'd use, too.

As for her other era songs, I only came up with alternative names for a small handful of After School songs (all but one being outtakes, of course). I just felt like they didn't exactly fit the school them like the others:

Absorb: Project Piece. I'm honestly not sure why Melanie settled on naming it Absorb when something like Project Piece was right there, especially since it fits the song's theme of two people trying to make their relationship work. Working on a project is a perfect metaphor for a couple working on their relationship.

Brain & Heart: Calculated. I actually love the original title, but again, it just doesn't really fit the school theme that much, in my opinion. I feel like Calculated would fit better, since everyone used calculators in school lmao.

Maze: Blame Game. I've personally never been to a school that had a maze, if we're being literal. I know that they exist, but I've never physically seen one. I feel like Blame Game is slightly better since school is full of so much drama, blame games are played all the time.

Paper Cut: Stitches. This one is different from the others because it's not that I don't think the original title is school-themed, 'cause it is. It's just that...there's also a K-12 outtake called Papercut. As you can imagine, fans are annoyed that two different outtakes have far too similar names (they're literally the same name, with one having a space breaking it up), so many of them have opted to refer to it as Stitches instead to reduce confusion.

Phew, that was a lot lmao. What do you think of these? Are they good ideas, or was there no reason for me to even bother? I mainly did this as a fun project, as it were, and I just wanted to share with the class (heh, these school puns).

Also, I left the PORTALS era songs alone because they honestly seem fine on their own, for the most part (though WALKIE TALKIE is an interesting one 🤔)