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fictober day 22! 

Bringer of Good Fortune on AO3 

prompt: black cats from this list

Bringer of Good Fortune 

Dragon Boy: (img attached)

Edward Cullen: I have no idea where you got that but you may not keep it.

Dragon Boy: watch me

Edward Cullen: These war wounds are fully your fault.

Edward Cullen: (img attached)

Edward Cullen: Get rid of it.

Dragon Boy: that means he likes u!

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It is a wonderful morning at Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng is a contented sect leader–because the roses in Li Shuai’s garden are blooming, Jin Ling is in Yunmeng for a week’s vacation, his brother has finally pulled his marriage together, and all is right with the world.

At least it was a wonderful day, until Yu Zhenhong came in with a letter and forced him to read it under threat of leaving him alone to deal with Sect Leader Yao when he makes his bi-annual visit next month.

“But I don’t want to read any letters,” Jiang Cheng complains, when A-Hong produces a piece of sticky putty from goodness knows where and plasters the envelope to his forehead. “A-Hong, it’s my day off. You do it this time.”

“You couldn’t run this sect without me and you know it,” Zhenhong says mercilessly. “And you’re a zongzhu, you don’t get days off.”

“You’re heartless, Yu Zhenhong. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m a Yu, it comes with the job description–and that letter isn’t even work, Jiang-zongzhu! It’s from da-shixiong.”

“From Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng wonders, peeling the sticky envelope off his head and slitting it open with the tiny knife he keeps in his belt. The letter is definitely from Wei Wuxian, judging by the untidy handwriting and the inkblots trailing down from one character to the next–but the very first line proves why Wei Wuxian made such a mess of it, and Jiang Cheng finds himself using the poor piece of paper as a handkerchief by the time he reaches the end.

Jiang Cheng, his brother had written, in a hand that had shaken so badly that half of the sentence was almost illegible, I don’t know how to say this, and you’re probably not going to believe me, but you’re going to have a new baby niece in the lotus moon. Xichen-ge is certain that I will have a daughter and not a son, and I thought her jiujiu would like to know as soon as it was safe to say anything.

A niece, Jiang Cheng thinks wildly. An actual living, breathing niece, who will probably grow up to inherit Hanguang-jun’s cold stares and Wei Ying’s wildness, and whom his brother seems to think will call him her jiujiu.

“Jiang-zongzhu?! Are you–is da-shixiong–wait, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not!” he sobs. “Go get A-Shuai, it’s good news–A-Ling! A-Ling, come here! Your dajiu sent a letter, so come over here and read it!”

(It is a wonderful morning at Lotus Pier, and Jiang Cheng is the happiest sect leader in the world.)

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UPDATE of “Waltzing in the Dark”

The fic will be split into chapters, since I had some trouble while writing but I still want to have something posted as soon as possible. I need a rest right now though, so tune in in 15h for the 1st chapter!

eirenare
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Tiny bit more of the Villain!Mic & Foster Kid Izuku fic that I’m still poking away at very slowly.

*  *  *

“His name?” he repeated. “His real name.”

“Izuku Midoriya,” she answered quickly. “Can we please go get him, he’s been outside for a while…”

“We’re not going to be here much longer,” Hizashi said glancing down at the files he’d spread out on the table and grabbed the one labeled with the kid’s name. It was thicker than the others but he didn’t take the time to investigate why. He was much more interested in finishing up and getting the kid as far away from his hell hole as he could. He turned his attention back to the girl. “Does he have any stuff? Clothes…toys…anything like that?”

“His backpack has notebooks in it I think and we all have clothes…” she answered her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“Go get me his stuff and be quick about it.”

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Fictober Day 23

Prompt: “you better leave now”

tagging @today-in-fic @fictober-event @xffictober

for @midwest-cryptid and for the love of angst

———

Tempest

1.9k | msr angst | pre-s9 fix-it fic | pg-13 (L)

———

She is a small, waterlogged boat in the midst of a tempest. Helpless against the pull of the current of her own conflicting emotions. Having willingly discarded her life jacket, the only form of security and support that had remained to her, she struggles to stay afloat as the heaviness in her heart tugs at every fiber of her being. Forces her head under the relentless waves as she is inundated by her tears. Tears, born out of a persisting fear which possesses her mind and her soul- the fear that she has made the wrong decision.


“I don’t have a choice, Mulder.”


She shudders at her own words as they play back in her mind. Squeezes her eyes shut as her tears flow freely, in treacherous synchronicity with the stream of water that travels from the shower head, over the body of her lover, and onto the cold tile floor. The ground on which he stands, threatening to crumble beneath his feet.


“Well I do have a choice. And you know what? My choice is you, Scully. I’m always going to choose you.”

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“FORD!”

The scientist in question snatched his hand back, just before the carnivorous plant he had been studying snapped at him with a second slime-coated mouth. A second mouth! It was located under the bulbous head’s primary maw, smaller but sharing the larger one’s distinctive jutting spines that seemed to function like teeth – hooked back to prevent prey from getting away. The infant plant was only as long as his forearm but when it was fully-grown the secondary mouth could easily be large enough to pick up small mammals from the forest floor, maybe even large raccoons or the occasional gnome.

Hmm. They might make for good pest control. Ford studied where the plant’s stem met the forest floor, trying to ascertain how deep the roots ran. If he could get his hands on a pair of good, sturdy gloves for protection he might be able to replant it in a pot and take it back to his lab for further testing. That would certainly be easier than trying to run tests on the fully-grown specimens dotting the forest. How old was this one, anyway? Ford pulled out his tape measure to record its size.

Stan slapped his hand away when it neared the hissing plant. “Don’t touch it! Didn’t you just say this thing was poisonous?”

“Venomous, not poisonous.” Ford corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

Ford waved away his brother’s concerns. “Don’t worry, it’s only a juvenile. Its venom hasn’t developed enough to do any damage. The worst it’ll do is itch.”

“I still wouldn’t be touching it if I were you.” Stan said doubtfully, hunkering down next to Ford to get a good look at the creature. The plant hissed and spat at them and generally made a nuisance of itself.

Ford smirked. “Look Stanley, it’s just as friendly as you are.”

“Hey!” Stan brandished a finger in Ford’s face. “I’m a friendly guy! Just not to weird-ass plants that try to bite my brother’s hand off.”

“It’s not like you didn’t try to bite my hand off when I reached for the ice cream yesterday.”

“Fuck you Ford, I called dibs and you know it.”

Ford rolled his eyes, reaching for the spade in his pack. He’d missed the easy banter between them. It had been missing during the whole Rebus fiasco, obviously; there was only so much sarcasm a wolf could convey through its eyes alone, and only so much a scientist could babble to his canine friend without it being… just sad. Even once the brothers had reconciled, Stan’s mind restored, Ford had worried that after nearly ten years apart the differences between them were far to great to bridge.

But in seemingly no time, Ford had fallen back quickly into the habit of trading quips and joking insults, laughs and rolled eyes and body language that sometimes spoke more than words. It felt far more natural than the forced conversations he’d attempted to make during his time in college. Ford had forgotten the comfort of having his brother nearby.

Of course, an adjustment period was necessary – perhaps made longer by the added factor of Stan readjusting to having a human shape. It was rather concerning, the number of times the man would forget to cook his food and instead tear into it raw and bloody. The first time that had happened Ford had been in the kitchen as well, and he’d stared with popping eyes as Stan nonchalantly sank his teeth into a raw steak.

Stan had hesitated, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking in his gravelly voice, not bothering to wipe away a trail of blood rolling down his chin.

“…okay, yeah, I see what I did there.”

And of course, they were wildly different people who were bound to have disagreements. It had taken Ford quite some time to convince Stan that while they may argue, he was in no danger of losing his family again. He wouldn’t be sent away, punished or abandoned again. Not while Ford was still breathing.

The plant’s hiss brought him back to the moment. Ford frowned, considering his plan of action, before settling on the plain approach. They could simply carry the thing home.

“Can you get out one of the sample bags? I want to bring this specimen to my lab and they should be large enough to hold its roots.”

Stan rifled through the pack while Ford sized up the agitated plant. He would be able to dig up the roots if the darn thing would stay still! He would have to design some kind of muzzle appropriate for two mouths when they got it back to the house.

Ford made a lunge for the creature, trapping its stalk against the ground with one hand so it couldn’t bite him as he dug up its roots. The plant snapped at him fruitlessly. Ford quickly loosened up the soil enough to lift the whole thing and settle it roots-first in the awaiting sample bag.

Stan groused at having to carry the plant all the way home (one hand gripping behind its head, obviously, to stop it from biting). The whining was pretty unfair considering Stan had demanded to carry it so he could keep an eye on the snappish thing, but Ford supposed he could appreciate the intent.

(…on the other hand, that left Ford to carry the heavy pack. He was beginning to think that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on Stan’s part.)

“When I took the job I didn’t realize ‘research assistant’ meant ‘gardener’.”

“I don’t pay you to whine, Stanley.”

“You don’t pay me.” Stan countered.

“Oh – don’t I?” Ford could have sworn he had been. Stan tended to handle the money so Ford had just… assumed that Stan was receiving some of it. He frowned. “Why don’t I pay you?”

“’Cause I live in your house? That’s kinda payment enough.”

“No it’s not!”

“It was when you thought I was a wolf.”

Ford spluttered. “That – that’s because you were a wolf. Wolves don’t need to be paid to act as research assistants-”

“Oh, are you saying wolves don’t deserve to be paid equal wages?” Stan shook his head in mock disappointment. “Gosh, Ford. My own brother-”

“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!”

Stan snickered. He only laughed harder when Ford punched him lightly in the shoulder, careful not to jostle the creature in his grasp.

Ford glanced at his watch, taking note of the time. At this pace they would reach home well before dark. Maybe they should take a detour to check on the size-altering crystals? Ford had covered the Warped crystal with a tarp to prevent the light reaching it, but he really should check that the covering was still in place after the blustering winds that had recently swept through. He didn’t want any unsuspecting forest life to wander into its beam.

Then again, that could wait for another day, and they had a carnivorous plant to re-house.

“…I really do need to pay you, though.” Ford muttered as they walked.

“You really don’t.” Stan shrugged. “I’m not doing anything useful anyway.”

The nonchalance with which he spoke made Ford want to sigh. Stan never acknowledged his own value or input! Ford wanted to shove it down his throat and force his brother to acknowledge that he was important, goddammit!

For the moment, he settled on arguing his point.

“Shopping for food is useful; plus, the people in town know you better than me and I’ve been living here for years, so you’re basically handling public appearance. And collecting data from my monitors is useful.”

“That’s just walking and taking readings.” Stan argued right back. “A monkey could do that data-collection stuff.”

“Babysitting Tate while Fiddleford and I are busy is useful.”

“The kid’s easy, he just wants to spend time with a dog all day.”

“Defending the house from griffins is useful.” Especially since they seemed to have it out for the Pines twins and would come by every so often with claws and beaks bared.

“You woulda just found a better way to keep ‘em away.”

Ford gritted his teeth. “You handle the money and pay the bills.”

“It’s your grant money, I just budget it.”

“Exactly! That is exactly what I should pay you for!” Ford flung up his arms in exasperation. Stan merely shrugged, and – smirked? He was enjoying Ford’s misery! “Ugh, whatever.”

Stan continued to look smug. Ford silently resolved to start paying him, even if he had to sneak the money into his brother’s bank account. Or just leave some around the house. Apparently Stan was too proud to accept payment but the guy never passed up an opportunity to take it if it was there.

“…anyway, about the whole money thing, I was thinking.” Stan mumbled, a little more subdued. Ford glanced across.

“Yes?”

“Eh – well, y’know how there are so many cool things around here? If Pa’d let us come, we woulda loved it here when we were kids.”

Ford imagined himself as a child – bright-eyed and eager to learn, marveling at everything around him – and was inclined to agree.

“And just yesterday you were sayin’ about how no one appreciates this stuff. Really, I’m kinda surprised no one’s made something of this place before, snatched it up for a tourist attraction. I was thinking that it would be pretty cool to give… tours or something?”

Ford opened his mouth but his brother was already rushing ahead, a nervous scowl affixed to his face.

“It’s all good if you don’t want me to – probably something about the scientific integrity of the place or whatever – but, it’s kinda something I’m good at. Tours, selling stuff, talking to people, that stuff. A-And I know you love teaching people about things, so if you wanted to help? Like, write up information sheets or – or do classes or whatever. Obviously I’d be spinning some yarns, that’s the fun of these places, but I know people would love to see some of the weird stuff here and actually learn about it too, so I dunno, I think it would be cool?”

All of this was said rather quickly, with few breaths taken in between, so when Stan finally ran out of things to say he took a few heavy breaths. Ford blinked and took a few moments to process this.

“Stan, are you asking my permission to open a tourist trap?”

The werewolf cringed, grip tightening fractionally around the uselessly-wriggling plant creature. “No, ‘course not. I’m just… seein’ if you’d be open to the idea.”

“Well…” Ford adjusted the straps of his pack. “So long as it doesn’t interfere with my research, I think it’s quite an interesting prospect. It would be nice to be able to share some of the things I’ve learned. If you think you can pull it off I believe you. You don’t need my permission, of course, but you certainly have my support.”

“Wait, really?”

Ford laughed as his brother perked up. That was another thing he’d had to adjust to since their reunion – canines tended to express themselves heavily through body language and Stan had apparently picked up that trait. He had no tail at the moment but from the straight posture and slight vibrating, Ford imagined it would be wagging.

“’Cause I’ve got so many ideas.” Stanley gushed. “I was thinking I could get a place set up, probably in the woods closer to town – maybe contract that lumberjack guy you talked about to built it? Anyways, I’d fill it with attractions, some of the cool shit that lives around here. Like, you know that weird-ass bird we saw the other day, the one you said we shouldn’t bother to look into?”

“Having a second head is a fairly common mutation. I’ve studied several animals with that phenotype in my time here.”

“People eat that stuff up, Ford! And I could do tours around some of the harmless places – and charge a pretty penny for it too. You know how many shmucks are happy to get ripped off by dodgy fake tourist attractions? And this one would be real! I’d have a source of income, and you’d have somewhere to put the stuff you’ve finished researching, and people to teach if you want to. Plus this crummy town could use some tourists to give business a boost.”

Wow. Stan had evidently thought this whole thing out – and the excitement was contagious. Ford wondered if this was how his brother felt, when he himself became giddy about a new finding or breakthrough. Stan was grinning like a kid.

Ford laughed and elbowed him playfully. “It’s a sound plan. And it’s nice to see you’re putting aside your history with Dan. You growled at him last time we came across him – you weren’t yourself then, of course.”

Stan shot him a weird look. “Who?”

“Dan. The lumberjack.” Stan continued to look confused. “Matilda’s boyfriend?”

All at once the werewolf’s eyes widened. “The shovel guy.”

“Er – shovel?”

“He hit me with a shovel.”                                                    

“Oh.” Ford had almost forgotten the circumstances of their meeting, with himself rescuing Stan from being beaten to death. Ah – with what he knew now, the situation seemed a lot more dire. He strongly resisted the urge to grab up a shovel and see how Boyish Dan like being smacked into the ground.

Obviously Dan didn’t know it was a person he had assaulted, not a wolf, but still. It would make Ford feel better.

When no words came to him, Ford said the first thing on his mind. “Didn’t you try to eat his mother’s dog?”

“Dog? Fuckin’ thing was more of a bug than a dog. I was starving anyway, gimme a break!”

“I’m not judging. Anyway, I’ve seen you try to eat so many things-”

“Can it, Poindexter.”

Ford began to count on his fingers. “Squirrels, gnomes, the mayor’s hairpiece, our father, my kitchen cupboard, a whole watermelon for some reason-”

“I was outta my mind for half of those!”

“My phone, the multibear somehow, several lemons – why you kept coming back to them after knowing you hated them remains a mystery to me–”

They arrived back at the house before Ford could continue his list.

“We should get this thing planted before it dies or somethin’.” Stan shuffled the plant around in his arms to hold it more comfortably, ignoring its hiss of displeasure. “Where do you want it?”

“The porch should be fine. I don’t know how much energy it gets from its prey as opposed to the sun ­– it might need sunlight to live.”

“Right. You got a pot around? I can get Chompy here planted while you find something to stop it biting anyone who gets close.”

“’Chompy’? You named the plant?”

“You were too slow.”

Well, Ford couldn’t argue with that logic. He’d just have to be faster with the next creature they came across. They had a lifetime, after all, to squabble about names – among other things.

(For example, whether Ford was terrible for pretending to toss Stan the car keys but hiding them behind his back instead. It took Stan an embarrassingly long time to realize and once he did, Ford could barely see the withering glare he received through his snickering.)

(That evening, in revenge, Stan fell asleep on the couch lying across several of Ford’s books. Upon attempts to remove him Stan simply shifted into a wolf and thus became heavier and harder to move.)

(But these are stories for another time.)

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Last Line Tag

Rules: post the last line you wrote (from any WIP or finished piece) and tag the same number of people as there are words.

Tagged by the always lovely @brilliantbanshee (thank you Jillian!! 💗)

I kind of underestimated how hard school being online this year would wear me down, so I’ve only written little pieces here and there as I get inspired. But, here is a small sliver of the prompt fill I’ve been writing for the number Jillian sent me a couple days ago!!

Like the most beautiful of flowers, a small smile slowly blooms as the corner of TK’s mouth curls upward; he reaches across the table and takes Carlos’ free hand and squeezes it, once, before just letting their fingers stay tangled together.

I feel like most people have been tagged already, but I’ll tag @bellakitse @howtosingit @sunshinestrand (if you want to of course!!) and anyone else who’s working on something and wants to do this!!

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Prompt number:And neither should you

Rating:G

Tags:AU-reincarnation

Fandom:Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal

“I don’t recognize you."  Astral said, and the teenage boy sipped at his coffee, acting with an alien confidence-teenagers weren’t like that, awkward and growing into their body.

This guy acted like an adult, and the effect was unsettling.

"My name is Kite."  He said.  "We’ve met, but it was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry, I think I should go-"  He said, gathering up the medical textbooks scattered across the cafe’s table before Kite’s hand caught his wrist.

"You will remember me,” Kite said.  “It will take time, but you will.  And when you do,” Kite swallowed, “remember that no matter how hard it is to believe that it is real.”

With that he released Astral’s wrist, and Astral hurried out as quickly as possible.  He gave only one last glance back.

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(Read on ao3)

In the many years and months that she’d known him, Yeo-jin never expected things to end up this way. They stood staring at each other, orange, yellow, and red leaves falling around them. The crisp October air was colder than she’d expected and even in the bright sunshine, she shivered slightly now that they’d stopped walking. 

She was visiting him in Wonju for the weekend as she had every few weekends for the past year and a half. He’d tried insisting that he visit her in Seoul more often but she found that she preferred making the trip to see him. The hour and a half drive drive cleared her mind and she enjoyed being away from the craziness of the capital. At first their visits centered around work, discussing theories and motives, or analysing evidence together to get a different perspective. But gradually they began to take day trips to explore the countryside and one time even ventured to Sogeumsan Mountain Suspension Bridge and played tourist for the day. They’d always been friends but now they finally did things together that didn’t revolve around their work. To anyone watching from the outside, the word ‘couple’ wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to describe them. 

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Hahahaha, okay, hmmm….

How about a fic where Michael and Alex agree to just be friends (implied “for now”) while Michael does some work on himself and Alex proves he’s sticking around. 

Michael, to everyone’s surprise, institutes a strict no touching rule because that feels like tempting fate and they both know they’re not gonna be able to stop themselves from going for it if they blur the lines like that.

Cut to ~some drama~ happening. Maybe Michael gets hurt or Alex has a nightmare or opens up about some emotional shit he’s been carrying for a while and Michael pulls Alex into his arms to hold him without a second thought.

“No touching, remember?” Alex argues weakly where he’s got his face buried into Michael’s neck. 

“Stupid rule,” Michael says, threading his fingers through Alex’s hair to keep him there. He’d almost forgotten how soft it is. “Who came up with it anyway?”

“You did.”

“Well, I’m an idiot then.”

“You’re really not,” Alex says. “We shouldn’t be—”

“Fuck that,” Michael cuts Alex off, wrapping his arms more tightly around him. 

“Michael,” Alex says, his voice rough with emotion.

“Please, just—let me be here for you,” Michael begs. He takes a deep breath before he adds, “I just want to give you what you need.”

Alex makes a small, pitiful noise in the back of his throat, his fingers clenching tighter around the front of Michael’s jacket.

“Fine,” Alex sighs, sinking deeper into Michael’s embrace, almost boneless against him as he soaks up all the comfort Michael has to give. “Only for a moment though.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, his lips brushing the top of Alex’s head, “only for a moment.”

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So sorry!  Apparently Tumblr just doesn’t tell you when you have asks now.  

SO, the “Historical A/B/O”…sorry but this one is Sterek.  I’ve never written a/b/o but I had this vague idea of arranged marriage and Stiles as a foreigner (and a Spark) who thinks these preconceptions about a/b/o are ridiculous.  He marries Derek to save him from being claimed as a ward of the Argent family, and they decide they can annul the marriage when Peter makes a slow recovery from his injuries and can take over guardianship of the unchaperoned omega!Derek.  So, Stiles and Derek cohabitate in their prickly fashion and then – you’ll never believe this – they FALL IN LOVE!

_____________

The crashing noise grew closer, and the man stumbled into the small clearing.  He was about Derek’s height and slender but with broad shoulders.  His mole-dotted cheeks were flushed pink with exertion, his dark brown hair disordered.  The man stopped abruptly, wide amber eyes startled, as he saw Derek.

Derek pushed back his shoulders, trying to look imposing.

“This is private property,” he said gruffly.

The man moved cautiously closer, not appearing to be particularly discouraged by Derek’s scowl.

“My apologies,” he said, with a bow so deep that Derek wondered for a moment if the man was mocking him.  “I was looking for my…puppy.”  His heart stuttered a bit on the word.  “I must have strayed off of my own grounds.”  

The man’s voice was low and pleasant, a bit choppy with just a trace of a foreign accent that Derek could not place.

“Your puppy?” Derek repeated, his hand warm on the back of the kit, who from the vibration against Derek’s fingertips appeared to be snoring gently.

“Yes,” the man lied again.  “You haven’t perhaps seen…it?”

“It’s possible,” Derek said.  “What does it look like?”

“Oh.  Well.”  The man’s cheeks flushed a brighter pink.  He moved even closer, his bright eyes seeming to take in every aspect of Derek’s appearance, lingering on where his hand rested over the lump inside his pocket.  “It’s rather unusual-looking.  For a puppy, I mean.  In that it is sort of, er, reddish.”

“Reddish,” Derek repeated.  “Like an Irish setter?”

The man was ranging closer, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as if realizing that Derek was baiting him.  

“Sort of like an Irish setter.  But with…pointy ears.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, and the man rolled his eyes, but continued doggedly.  “And, er, a bushy tail.”

Derek found himself reluctantly intrigued.  The man was absurd.  “That is unusual,” he said flatly.  “For a puppy.  Of course, for a fox, it would be quite typical.”

“Oh, just give him here,” the man said, dropping the charade in exasperation.

Derek pulled the dozy kit out of his pocket.  It snuffled for a moment but then fell back into sleep, puddled in his broad hands.  The man reached out for it, but Derek pulled his hands back, holding the kit closer to his chest.

“Why would you not just say it was a fox you were looking for?” It seemed unlikely that this man would wish the kit harm after so carefully splinting its foreleg, but Derek was reluctant to let the little thing go without confirmation.

The man huffed and folded his arms impatiently as Derek kept the kit from him, but at this question he bit his lip, looking somewhat chagrined.

“I was warned by my father that in order to make a good impression on my neighbors I should try to contain my eccentricities,” he said.

Derek felt a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “And how is that working out for you?”  

“Oh, I am failing spectacularly, evidently,” the man said with a flail of his arms.  He suddenly grinned, bright and wide and easy.  “But, I could have told him it would be a bad job.  Even in my own country I am odd, and among your people I am sure to be considered even odder.”

He did not seem too bothered, and Derek envied that lack of concern.  As someone who had long been considered an oddity among male omegas, Derek wished he had the same ability to laugh off his differences.

Along with the thought came an instinctive scenting, and Derek froze where he was transferring the sleeping kit to the man’s outstretched hands.

“You’re an alpha,” Derek said in surprise.  

“As you are omega,” the man agreed.  Derek flinched back in surprise.  As a werewolf he could scent orientation easily, but this man was human.  And no one ever suspected Derek to be omega at first.  He was too broad, too hairy, too gruff and unsociable and everything an omega was not supposed to be.

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hnnnnnggg SO

UNLIKE the film this has, at minimum, at least a bittersweet ending, bc I can’t not. And these are mostly random disconnected scraps lol

In the role of whumpbucket mysterious corpse, we have Jonathan Sims. We get a fun “John Doe” “O his name actually is Jo(h)n reveal” later on out of this. Tim, Martin, and Georgie are performing the autopsy

The JonMartin development is actually very Laura (1944), where a detective falls in love with the portrait of the woman whose murder he’s trying to solve, but then she turns up alive and iirc they live noir-ily ever after. Martin has a really hard time dealing with the successive horrors it’s clear their poor John Doe was subjected to, and really struggles to keep up professional detachment

Tim and Georgie both have gfs who work at the Magnus Institute, so they go see if there’s anything to help over there. (if i write this it might end up with a side story about the friendship dynamic of Tim/Sasha and wtgirlfriends double dating and such, it feels v galaxy brain but also i mostly think abt this story at 3 am)

Jonah’s been using Jon reliving his various torments similarly to the nyctophobe Manuela Dominguez takes into space to create the Dark Sun, until he has enough personal terror of every entity to be used to single-handedly power a Ritual (with various archivists acting as both Jonah’s backup and insurance against anyone else managing a ritual or realizing only a collective one works)

Happy Ending: Jonah is defeated and Jon is brought back to life/consciousness and he and Martin helps him adjust to the 21st century and they live happily ever after

Bittersweet Ending 1: Jonah is defeated and Jon is released from his eternal torment, but dies as well

Bittersweet Ending 2: Jonah wins, the Ritual works, but Jon lives and he and Martin are apocalypse boyfriends

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