She's got impeccable hair and impeccable make up, and way more appreciation for tweed than the world at large. She's even got leather elbow patches, which seems a bit clichéd for a librarian, really. The second thing she says is:
"In every generation, there is a chosen one—"
"Oh, I've already heard that, thank you," Charles says with the most conciliatory smile he can muster right now.
It doesn't work very well: Ms. Nurse's impressively red lips turn even further down, and Charles has the distinct impression even her bow tie disapproves of him when she barrels past his interruption to hiss:
"She alone will stand against the forces of darkness! She! The Slayer is supposed to be a girl!"
"If it helps," Charles says without losing his smile, "I did start out as one."
Judging by Ms. Nurse's reaction, it doesn't help very much.
I wrote this very drunk the other night and just found it on my computer today. I don’t think I’ve really talked about my substance abuse problem, but it’s been an issue since I was a teenager. I was sober for some years, but that all changed this past winter when things were going not so well for me. But, recovery isn’t linear and all that. Anyway, thought I’d share that and this bit of writing (under the cut) that I’m sure will become part of a fic at some point.
There’s this hum in the back of Gerard’s head, where he’s not sure if it’s real or if it’s just his imagination at this point. Whatever is left of it.
Sometimes, he thinks that reality and his imagination bleed together like one of those tissue paper butterfly art projects you do in elementary school. Where the water paint blends into a murky swirl and there’s no distinguishing purple from green any longer. Where the paper is so fragile from all the paint and water, it looks like it’s just going to disintegrate.
Gerard thinks he’s going to disintegrate.
He feels that fragile. Like the years of all this weight has turned him into a weak piece of tissue paper, frail enough to see through.
Though he wonders if he’s always been this transparent. The kind where everyone can see what a fake he is. Where they look past all the grand schemes and costume designs, when they look past the gratuitous lyrics and see that he’s just a scared little kid living in a world that’s too big for him to handle sometimes.
Those are the nights he misses being in his early twenties, drunk off cheap beer in the back of some shit club that smells like stale cigarettes and sticky soda. Where his shoes stick to the floor and he’s content to stay there the rest of his life, just so he can keep seeing the hopeful look of kids who are too young to understand that these are the best days of their lives. That this regular Wednesday evening is going to be burned into their memory and they’ll look back when they’re old and jaded, wishing they had paid more attention.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Authors: Me and @tansyfandom
While Barry goes off to find Magnus, Noelle directs Lup through Lucas’s lab and towards the garage. Further horrors of Lucas’s crimes against fae kind lie within for them to face.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
THE HIATUS IS OVER!! WE’RE BACK! Authors: Me and @tansyfandom Tags: Blupjeans, Fairy/fae au, fae and hunter au, long fic, extensive au worldbuilding, fairy courts Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, mind control (fairy charm. portrayed as a bad thing)
This assaulted me as I woke up, and I'm carefully keeping it to make sure I'll be able to use it for I'm down on my knees someday ^^
"Could we," Edwin starts, but cuts himself off.
It feels so fragile, this moment. He and Charles in the same bed, side by side, Charles' head tucked against in shoulder... And between them, the promise that Charles will still be there when Edwin wakes in the morning. It feels so fragile. Like a dream, in those brief moments where the mind is both dreaming and aware that it dreams. Edwin never could hang onto his dreams half as long as he wanted, and the prospect of this one slipping between his fingers terrifies him.
"Could we what?" Charles asks eventually, his voice quiet in the dark.
He sounds... Tender, yet nervous, and when he hooks one of his fingers around Edwin's the gesture feels tentative, like he's still not sure he's allowed. Oh, how Edwin loves him.
"Could we... Spoon?"
Charles chuckles, soft against Edwin's shoulder. He pushes himself on his elbow as Edwin does, and Edwin sees the darker outline his arm reach for his waist.
"Oh," he say, catching Charles' wrist as delicately as he can, "no, I meant—"
He doesn't dare say the rest, half afraid to wake himself up if he speaks too much. Instead, he gives Charles' chest a gentle push, first met with resistance and then the sort of tension born of incertitude. Gently, so gently, Edwin coaxes Charles to lay on his left side, head resting on his arm as Edwin slowly slides down to mold himself to Charles' back, curling his legs up until he can tangle them with Charles' own.
Charles has always been on the leaner side, elegant and gangly in turns, but solid also. Strong in ways even Edwin's wider, stockier frame doesn't manage. Tonight, as Edwin settles behind him, he feels delicate in a way he's never felt before. Edwin loops an arm around his chest and feels it move under his hand, oddly bird-like and so, so regular.
"Is this alright?" Edwin whispers, barely daring to rest the full weight of his arm over Charles.
"Mhm."
Charles' breathing continues in the same slow, one-two-three-four rhythm. He still feels so fragile, here in Edwin's arms, like a figure of spun sugar. Edwin, unsure what to make of that, makes himself ask:
"Charles, are you—"
"I'm fine," Charles cuts in even as the up and down of his ribs speeds up. Deepens.
"Charles..."
"It's fine," Charles says, strangled with the urgency of someone trying to speak before emotion overtakes them. "Just don't. Don't make me talk."
"Oh, Charles," Edwin sighs, finally bringing his arm down to pull Charles to his chest and hold him closer. "I love you."
A harsh sob erupts from Charles' throat, deep enough to shake his entire frame, fast enough that he can't prevent the sound from echoing around his bedroom. Edwin presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and Charles sobs again, right arm coming up to lay on Edwin's, his hand gripping Edwin's hand so tight it feels like it'll bruise.
Edwin kisses the back of Charles' neck again, kisses the top of his shoulder, kisses the joint where the delicate lines of Charles' new tattoo are still fresh enough for Edwin to feel them with his lips.
Charles Rowland once jumped into a pool to save a teenager he didn't know, even though he knew it could cost him his life. He laughed in the face of bullies, and he built a life for himself after his father destroyed the one he should have had at home. He faced years of prejudice beaten into him, just for the sake of not hurting Edwin more than he had to.
The least Edwin can do, now that he is finally allowed to, is tighten his arm around Charles and guard his heart as best as he can. Guard the knowledge that, when Charles finally lets himself fall apart, it is because he is undone by love.
In a universe where I write like. A quarter of what I want to to writes, I'd be writing a mortician!Deathmask/toxicology expert! Aphrodite fic rn
But since we don't live in that universe, some bullet points:
Deathmask's name is Anchise because I've decided it's his real name now and it's not gonna change
They meet when Aphrodite's adoptive dad (his Master) dies and Anchise is in charge of arranging the funeral
DM is the guy in charge of people who didn't like the deceased because he can match their energy, and Aphrodite doesn't mind the fact that he's sullen and monosyllabic
After Aphrodite mentions he studies poisons and has a poison garden, they end up in a long conversation about which poisons to use for murder vs suicide and the weirdest things people want to be buried with
Aphrodite asks DM out before the funeral is even over, and the entire funeral house personnel freaks out about it
Aphrodite has floral tattoos all over his arms and the back of his hands to hide the scars he got from his father's abuse. Later, he and DM bond over their common experience even if the ways they were abused turn out fairly different
They end their first date by drunkenly sneaking into the cemetery and going to spit on Aphrodite's dad's tomb
Deathmask has a pet rat called Hades who immediately loves Aphrodite
Maybe a murder mystery also happens somewhere in there idk
That's all I have, but honestly I wish I could write it xD
