#Deli.Writes

[thelesbiandeli]

I KNOW IM TECHNICALLY A DAY LATE BUT I GOT DISTRACTED HERES MY DAY 3 OF CURTWEN WEEK!!

Also this was based off an AU I saw once of Gadget Gal Owen, but I cannot for the life of me find who made it. If you have any idea, please let me know so I can properly credit them (and shake them so hard they burst cause this au has been sat in my brain for the past MONTH and it makes me so excited)

[thelesbiandeli]

Ink Isn't Just For Maps

Ao3 link here 1,802 words TW for needles, blood, injury and alcoholism! Also Owen has some intrusive thoughts about rotting corpses which some may find gross or disturbing. Stay safe, peeps! Just to preface, this whole concept is about the four pirate factions being called bird names, then the faction members having the wings of their faction tattooed on their backs either when they join, or when they come of age if they were born into that faction!

Martyn hisses in pain at the cool sensation of the needle sliding into his back. He tightens his grip on Sausage’s hand, both of their knuckles turning white. Sausage’s comforting smile looks more like a grimace for a second, before he steadies himself and brushes a strand of golden hair out of Martyn’s face.

“You’re doing great, pájaro dorado, just a few more minutes and we’ll be done.”

Scar brushes his back with a cloth, causing Martyn to yelp in pain. He whispers an apology, before taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

“All done! We’ll need to bandage it for a couple hours, then it’ll be a few weeks until it’s healed up. Before then, you’re not allowed out on the ships. We don’t want to irritate it any more than necessary. Got it?”

Martyn nods sharply, trying as hard as he can to not move his shoulder blades. Scar slips his inks back into his bag, and slings it over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m going to be turning in for the night. Kyle, you know how to wrap these, I’ve left you some stuff. I’ll check up on it again tomorrow, okay?”

He waves goodbye, downs the last sip of his ale, and strolls out of the Kestrel’s tavern. The heavy wooden door slams shut behind him, making Martyn groan. Kyle slips into the seat behind Martyn that Scar was previously perched in, and starts to wrap lengths of bandage around his torso, making sure not to miss any of the newly inked skin. Sausage stretches, and hops up onto the bartop.

“We’re lucky that Scar knows how to do this stuff. We’d usually get Guqqie to do this, but-” He clears his throat, “We’re just lucky that Scar can do this. Real Jack-of-all-trades, he is.”

Oli laughs, and slings his previously discarded coat around his shoulders.

“How about one more drink to end the night? Unless you’re not up to it?”

He glances over at Martyn, who just slides his glass over the table to him.

“You’re on, ponytail.”

—

Owen registers the noise of his tent flap being pushed open, and the creak of the floorboards as someone walks in. He glances up from his book, and smiles at Scott.

“Hey Scott! Whatcha need?”

The ginger man smiles back, and winces slightly as he moves. He pulls his hand away from his side, both his hand and his shirt smeared with blood. Owen yells in surprise, and tosses his book aside.

“Scott! What happened!”

The brunet jumps up and rummages through his cabinet, extracting a medical kit. Scott limps over to Owen’s bed, and collapses onto it.

“I’m sure it looks worse than it is. I got into a bit of a scrap with some Kites on the way home, that’s all. Nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Owen frowns, but starts to inspect the wound. Scott’s fancy shirt is ripped open along his side, crimson staining the tattered edges. From this angle, he can’t see the wound properly, but it sure is bleeding a lot. He winces, and starts getting bandages out of his medical bag.

“Can you take your shirt off for me? I need to take a closer look.”

Scott gasps dramatically, and places a hand on his chest.

“Owen, you sly fox! Take me out to dinner first!”

Owen slaps him over the back of his head, and laughs.

“You know what I meant! Now, I can’t have the first son of the Denholm family bleeding out in my tent because he wouldn’t stop flirting with me.”

Scott sticks his tongue out, and pulls his shirt off over his head, hissing through his teeth as he moves his arms. Owen grabs his flask of water, pours some on a cloth, and starts to wipe away the blood. After a few minutes, there are drops of red-tinted water splattered across the bedsheets and the floor, but the wound is visible. A clean slice across his side, barely grazing his ribs. If it had hit a few centimetres closer to Scott’s torso, he may have suffered a hypovolemic shock and never even made it to the Heron’s base, left bleeding out in some dark section of the woods. His corpse might not be found for days, and when someone did stumble upon it, it would be rotting, ribs exposed by badgers and eyes glassy and col-

Owen shakes his head to get rid of the thought, and pulls out a small brown bottle of disinfectant. Dabbing his cloth into it, he runs it across the cut. Scott yelps, but nods for him to proceed. Through various hissed curses and some very creative insults that Owen will definitely be using when he finds out which Kite caused this injury, the wound is fully disinfected and bound with fresh bandages.

Scott flops face down onto the bed, and groans. The process had started in the late evening, but now his pocket watch reads that it’s nearly midnight. The rest of the Herons will have either gone to bed or drunk themselves into unconsciousness by now. So much for the fun night he had been rushing home for.

Owen hums in confusion, and Scott cranes his head around to look at him.

“What is it? Don’t tell me it’s gotten worse.”

“No, that's not it. I was just wondering about your tattoo.”

Scott chuckles, and rolls over onto his back. He’s so used to the culture of the faction isles that he almost forgot that the new recruits may not know of the strange tradition. It feels almost alien, the concept of a pirate without their faction’s wings spread gracefully across their back and arms.

“It’s just a tradition. It’s kind of stupid, but it stops anyone from defecting to another faction. Hypothetically, at least.”

He thinks back to when he spotted his brother at the factioning, dressed up in the clothes of a Nightingale. Even the idea of defecting seemed impossible until then. Owen either doesn’t notice or brushes off his sudden change of tone, and stretches out so he’s on the bed next to Scott.

“So those are Heron wings?” Scott nods, and Owen continues, “I presume that the other factions have their birds wings, then. When can I get mine?”

“Probably in a couple days. Cleo will do yours for you, she’s the best artist we’ve got. She did mine a couple months after she became a Heron.”

Owen tucks his hands behind his head, and glances over at Scott.

“But you’ve been a Heron your whole life, haven’t you? How come you only got them after they joined?”

“It’s a coming of age tradition for those of us born into it. We can technically join a different faction when we’re old enough to decide, but no one does. It’s looked down on.”

Owen wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out, making Scott giggle.

“When I became a pirate, I thought I could get away from all the rules. Turns out you lot have a lot more standards and traditions than I thought.”

“‘You lot’? You’re one of us now! And what, did you just presume we were all a bunch of lousy Kites or self-centred Kestrels?”

Scott grins, and reaches for a pillow to hug into his stomach. Owen chuckles, and waves his hands around meaninglessly in the air.

“Well, that’s what my tutors taught me! And now I can see that that’s not true, obviously.”

“Obviously. I’m clearly much more threatening than a Kite.”

“Are you sure about that? You did scream at the spider El put in front of you at dinner yesterday.”

Scott makes an offended noise, sits up, and pushes his pillow into Owen’s face. The two struggle for a second, before Scott flops back down, this time sprawling out over Owen’s chest.

“Fine, maybe I’m not the most savage pirate there is. But you’ll protect me?”

Owen grins, and runs his hands through Scott’s hair.

“Of course I will. What sort of friend would I be otherwise?”

The two lie in a comfortable silence, and by the end of the hour both are deep in the realms of sleep.

—

Acho lies on his back, staring up at the stars from the topmost branches of the Nightingales tree. They come up here to clear their mind sometimes, and tonight is one of those nights. One of the Kites had pushed him into the harbour, then one of the new Nightingales had spotted the design across his back while he was climbing out the sea, visible through his soaking shirt. And of course they had to question it.

And if someone questions him, he’s always going to start questioning themself. Why did he even leave the Herons in the first place? They had a perfect life, and the expectations put on him should have been a motivation, not a reason to abandon their family. His parents probably hate him, and Scott had given up trying to find him months ago. But that's no one's fault but theirs.

Even now, when they’ve found a comfortable life living among the Nightingales, free to do whatever they want, his legacy is still there, emblazoned on his back and spreading along his upper arms. The longest of the inked primaries graze his elbows, making it hard for them to wear anything with short sleeves. It’s a punishment in a way, how contrasted his own wings are to the rest of his factions, theirs barely reaching their shoulders.

They stare up at the moon, its perfect crescent shining above them. At least that’s one of the predictable things in this world. With a sigh, he swings their legs over the edge of the branch he’s laid on, and slides down into the crown of the tree, wincing slightly as he scrapes the backs of his legs on the bark. There should still be enough drink left at the bar as long as no one’s tried to drink themselves to sleep. That’s his job, thank you very much!

They chuckle slightly at the dark joke, and continue to clamber down the tree. He’s not exactly proud of the habit, but they're not going to be able to get to sleep without some help tonight. Hopping off one of the lowest branches they can be bothered to climb to, he falls the last two metres onto the soft grass and fallen blossoms. Dusting off their trousers, he picks up their blue naval coat from where it lies discarded at the roots of the tree, and slings it over his shoulder. With a slight slump in his shoulders, they begin the short walk back to the centre of the Nightingales base, looking to find a nice comfortable seat at the bar to pass out at for the next eight hours.

[thelesbiandeli]

Day One of Curtwen Week!! Not my favourite, but at least its something lmao

[thelesbiandeli]

Happy Valentines to @shadow-rhelm!!

Tumblr says the fic is too big to post cause I reached the character limit, so the Ao3 link is here! You said you liked time loops, so I hope you enjoy this one!!

This fic was written as part of the @mcyt-valentines gift exchange! Happy Valentines!! :D

[thelesbiandeli]

Save Me From My Programmed Mind

Summary:

Sparrow falls to his knees, submerging himself even further in the water now filling his death chamber. One of his eyes sparks, and his vision cuts out. His hearing lasts only a few seconds more, the splashing of water drowned out by the hiss of static. He just wishes the water would get to his centre faster. But for now it’s just him, the static-filled darkness, and the pain. The pain that he inflicted on himself, just so he could escape what he thought was the greatest miracle of science ever created. --- (aka I got a little too exited and rewrote Copper Golem Sparrow's death)

Ao3 link here

(545 words)

“My name is Sparrow, and I-”

He falters for a second. If he still had lungs, his breath would have hitched.

“I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

Sparrow squeezes his eyes shut, and sends a spark of electricity into the electronice in front of him. The small device whirs, and starts to glow a dim red. He steadies himself, and turns to face the machine hissing and clunking to life. The metal cage clicks, and starts to slide into its upwards position.

He crouches down, and narrows his eyes at the small pile of dirt in the centre. All he needs to do is trick his robotic instincts into thinking he’s just going to clean it up, and he’ll be free. He places his hands on the ground in front of him, almost like how someone would crouch at the start of a sprint.

“Now.”

He hisses through his teeth, and launches himself into the machine, just as the walls move up, trapping him inside. It’s almost painfully similar to how he got in this situation in the first place.

A small warning light burns in the back of his mind as small spots of water start to splash against his copper casing from the tube above him. He ignores it and tips his head back, exposing the gap between his plating at his neck. His systems flare up as the first trickle seeps into his wires.

OUTER CASING DAMAGED. SEEK IMMEDIATE AID.

Sparrow hisses in pain at the sharp sparks in his CPU. The warning blares red, obscuring his vision for a few seconds. He can’t tell if the pain is coming from that or the water at this point.

“Yep, that's fine.”

The warning flickers and fizzles out, glitching like the rest of his vision as the water streams down his face, soaking his clothes and destroying his insides. A small rock flies out the pipe and snaps his antennae clean off.

Sparrow falls to his knees, submerging himself even further in the water now filling his death chamber. One of his eyes sparks, and his vision cuts out. His hearing lasts only a few seconds more, the splashing of water drowned out by the hiss of static. He just wishes the water would get to his centre faster. But for now it’s just him, the static-filled darkness, and the pain. The pain that he inflicted on himself, just so he could escape what he thought was the greatest miracle of science ever created.

He can barely feel it as the water bubbles above his head, the chamber nearly full. His consciousness starts to swim as he feels his circuit boards being corroded. Good, he thinks, that means it will all be over soon.

His vision flickers back for a second, just long enough for him to see the eyes of all of the factory's copper golems staring at him. Not in panic, or in shock. Just staring.

He barely feels it as the water soaks his CPU, his consciousness finally giving in.

Days later, the tank drains. His loose parts clink against the stone flooring, oxidised and water damaged beyond repair. The mind once trapped inside them is finally at peace.

Miles away, Sparrow sits bolt upright, gasping for air.

[thelesbiandeli]

Curtwen week day two!! Really happy with this one, might be my favourite lol :)

[thelesbiandeli]

A Caged Bird Set Free

(Chapter two of three)

(Ao3 link here)

(3336 words)

Unfortunately, it seemed like Circuit escaped the building before either heroes could find him. Scar received a light telling-off from his higher-ups, but nothing too serious. They could never scold their golden child, CuteGuy thinks bitterly to himself. 

Noone has noticed the slight personality shift yet, luckily. The AI has tried his best to stay as perfect as the day he was programmed, but sometimes the odd rude remark or snarky insult has slipped out. Lucky for him, people take it as a joke. Well, why wouldn’t they? It’s not like he could think otherwise anyway.

That’s just one of the messed-up things that he’s noticed now that his mind has been freed. Only now can he notice the ways that The Institute prioritises the neighbourhoods that can afford to fund it, or how some people classed as ‘villains’ started out just using their powers without a licence. And of course there’s the fact that, despite the fact that they’re marketed as equals, CuteGuy was clearly never seen as a person. Even the thought of how he used to call Scar ‘boss’ makes him itch. Because HotGuy was never his boss, was he? No, he was his owner. CuteGuy was just a thing, gifted to a hero for assistance and aesthetics. It’s almost worse now, because he can understand the situation he’s in, and he can’t really escape without being hunted down by The Institute’s state-of-the-art technologies.

Wait.

He is one of those technologies. He can access the whole network, from the locks on the doors to the earpieces the heroes receive commands through during missions. And on top of that, he can access the archives. Every single criminal record, every piece of security footage, every person in the city’s government data. He could probably get into personal data stores if tries.

And just like that, a plan starts to form in his head.

—

After hours spent searching through social records and watching every video of villain fights he can find, CuteGuy has put together a plan. It seems pretty foolproof, from what he can tell, but he’s made sure to set up a backup plan if things go south. Small edits have been made all throughout The Institute's code, just as a way for him to access it if they try to cut him out, a hidden backdoor, if you will. Now he just needs to wait for the perfect opportunity. And that opportunity comes a lot earlier than he expected.

A mission, sending them to fight the very villain who gave him full autonomy. And CuteGuy is practically sparking with anticipation.

HotGuy yells into his earpiece as he leaps across a gap in the rooftops, rolling as he lands.

“CuteGuy! Track Circuit for me, will you?”

A hologram of the AI appears, floating in a casual sitting position. He kicks his feet up onto an invisible coffee table, and grins.

“Nah, I’m good.”

HotGuy almost trips over a chimney pot as he skids to a halt. Never in his time working with the pink-and-white clad sidekick had he said no to him.

“What did you just say?”

“I said ‘I’m good’. I’ll be honest with you, Scar, I’m getting tired of this. It’s always ‘CuteGuy, do this’ or ‘CuteGuy, track that’ or ‘CuteGuy, turn down the speakers’. And what do I get from this? Nada. Nothing. It’s a corrupt system, if you think about it. Not to mention the horrendously screwed up ways that The Institute created intelligence purely to be your accessory. So I believe this is for you.”

HotGuy watches in confusion as the hologram shoves a glitching piece of paper into his chest. He pulls it off, ignoring the fact that it clips through his fingers slightly, and stares down at it. Scrawled in pink glitter gel pen across the page are the words ‘letter of resignation’, and a loopy signature is written across the bottom, accompanied by a small heart. CuteGuy cracks his knuckles, and adjusts his heart-shaped sunglasses.

“Well, I can’t say it was nice working with you, but I’ll be seeing you around, Scar! Good luck!”

And with that, he disappears in a pop of light and a shower of code. HotGuy watches in disbelief, unnoticing of the letter dissolving in his hands, mouth hanging slightly open. This wasn’t meant to happen. How is he meant to explain this to his higher-ups?

—

Mumbo is casually strolling back to his apartment when he feels a buzz from his phone in his coat pocket. He takes a sip of tea from his takeaway cup, and pulls it out, only to frown at the strange text from his housemate.

Etho :D 

Hey dude there’s a guy who says he knows you on our couch

He said you gave him the keys, but I thought we lost the spares?

I don’t want to tell him to get out if he actually knows you, but he also might be a robber or something

Wait hold up I think he might be one of the heroes

Hurry home pleaseeeeee

Mumbo nearly chokes on his tea as he reads through the messages. Void below, he most definitely has not invited a guest over. He down the rest of his nearly cold drink, and takes off running as fast as his lanky legs can carry him.

He nearly crashes into his door as he fumbles with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door and fling it open with as much intimidating energy as his beanpole of a body can fit into it. After a second, he falters as he spots Etho, sitting nervously on the opposite side of the sofa to a very familiar person. 

Said person is casually stretched out and scrolling through something on their phone. Although their outfit is different from the last time he saw them, with them now wearing a cropped pink hoodie and baggy white sweatpants, they are still instantly recognisable. Well, it’s hard not to recognise the slightly transparent form of one of the city's most popular heroes.

CuteGuy glances up from his phone, and grins at Mumbo. 

“Heya Circuit! Or rather, I guess I should call you Mumbo when you’re out of costume, shouldn’t I? Anyway, good to see you!”

Mumbo’s grip on his keys fails, and they fall to the ground with a metallic clatter. Etho glares at him, wide eyed.

“I thought you never told anyone else, dude!”

Before Mumbo can defend himself, CuteGuy waves his hand dismissively.

“Oh, he didn’t tell me, I just figured it out. Good job too, actually, you were one of the hardest villains to find the identity of. It was actually some footage of Shade out of costume handing you food that helped me figure it out.”

Etho fiddles with the hem of his shirt nervously. He has been retired from the villain business for nearly two years now, and he didn’t think many people remembered his brief time as the shadowy antihero. Mumbo looks just as panicked.

“Are you going to be turning us in now?” He reaches up to adjust his tie, “Well, that’s a stupid question. You’re a hero, of course you are.”

If Mumbo didn’t know better, he would say that the hologram looked offended by that statement for a split second. The blonde recovers, and brushes their messy hair out of their eyes.

“Me? A hero? You must have been mistaken, I have no loyalties to those self-absorbed aristocrats. They do no good for this society, honestly. I bet half the villains do what they do because of the heroes, anyway.”

Etho and Mumbo glance at each other in confusion, before Etho sighs and gets up. Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he walks away from the other two, and into his room.

“Nope, not dealing with this. Mumbo, call me when dinner’s ready.”

He shuts the door behind him, leaving the other two in an awkward silence. At least, until CuteGuy buries his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. And for the first time, Mumbo sees the ex-hero look anything but confident. The AI sighs, and slumps slightly.

“Was that too much? I’m still trying to figure out emotions without the background influence of The Institute.”

Mumbo smiles. Yes it’s sad, but it’s also kind of endearing.

“Nah mate, you were just a bit enthusiastic. I don’t think Etho was prepared for that level of energy on a Wednesday afternoon. I think it’s rather nice, though. You’ve hit the nail on the head for both of our reasons to do what we do.”

CuteGuy seems to lighten up a bit, literally. A few energetic pixels fly off him as he sits up a bit straighter and claps his hands.

“Really! Oh, this is great. Now, I have a bargain to make. I do something for you, you do something for me.”

Mumbo frowns, but gestures for him to continue. CuteGuy shuffles around to sit on his hands, and grins excitedly.

“So! You’re a redstone nerd, you made that clear enough on our first meeting. I was wondering if you would like a bit of a challenge.”

“What do you want from me.”

“Aww, don’t be so negative! Anyways, how hard do you think making a prosthetic limb would be?”

“I’ve made them before, now what do you want me to do?”

CuteGuy swallows nervously, excitement bubbling in his eyes, and Mumbo notices that he’s rocking backwards and forwards slightly.

“CouldyoumakemearobotbodysoIcanenactmyrevengeonmycreatorspleaseandthankyou.”

Mumbo blinks slowly, and chuckles.

“You’re going to have to speak slower than that, mate. I could barely hear a word you said.”

CuteGuy sighs, and repeats himself.

“Could you make me a robot body? I want to be able to make the heroes really feel it when I enact my revenge.”

Mumbo raises an eyebrow. This is clearly not the only intention behind this request.

“Really? Well if that’s the case, I can make you a controllable projectile launcher or someth-”

“No!”

Mumbo cocks his head and grins as the AI tries to regain his composure.

“It would have the same effect though. Unless there’s something else you needed it for?”

CuteGuy blushes slightly, and brings his knees up to his chest.

“Well, I, uh, I want to be able to move things. And touch stuff.” He slips his sleeves over his hands and starts fiddling with the drawstring of his sweatpants, “Sc- HotGuy had a cat. He never told me her name, but I watched him play with her. She would sleep on his chest while he was in bed, and rub against his legs when he walked into a room, and I want that. I think it would feel nice. I could feel like a person.”

Mumbo chuckles, genuinely for the first time, not out of concern or fear, and pulls a small notebook out of his trouser pocket.

“I think I can make that happen. Do you have any specific design choices in mind?”

CuteGuy’s eyes light up, and he starts explaining the details of his perfect body, Mumbo furiously scribbling notes to try and keep up with the AI’s exited rambling.

A couple hours into their planning, CuteGuy notices that his new friend has fallen asleep. With a small smile, he gets up and dims the lights of the apartment, before leaning back in a chair by the kitchen table. He shuts his eyes, and lets his mind wander through the vast expanse of the cites code, the closest thing he has to sleeping.

As the clock in the kitchen ticks gently past midnight, Etho strolls into the kitchen, and sighs when he sees his housemate fast asleep.

“So much for dinner, I guess.”

He fishes an instant ramen out of a cabinet, and sets the kettle down on the slowly heating stovetop. He frowns at the AI, glowing slightly pink in the dark room, but his attention is drawn away when the kettle starts to boil. He fills his bowl with boiling water, dunks his noodle in for a few seconds, then takes a bite out of it. With a satisfied smile, he takes his food back into his room, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot.

—

It’s been a month or so after CuteGuy 'disappeared’, and Scar is still trying to figure out why. This sort of sudden behaviour change doesn’t just happen. It had to have been prompted by something. And the villains are his best bet.

So now Scar stands, fully dressed as HotGuy, on the roof of a building overlooking the city. From years of experience, he’s positioned in a way that means he’s ready to leap down at a moment's notice, but the light of the early evening still silhouettes him against the sky dramatically. 

Just below him, on a lower rooftop, there’s two villains moving around. He squints as Circuit gestures wildly, and the person next to him seems to laugh. HotGuy presumes that Circuit’s company is the villain Shade, but these days he can never be sure. The villain hasn’t been seen for years, but he can’t remember anyone else who would wear Shade’s classic black mask on his lower face. 

HotGuy frowns as Shade seems to wave goodbye, and disappears out of the hero’s line of sight. Circuit pulls something out of his pocket, and starts fiddling with it. The perfect time to strike. HotGuy crouches down, and launches himself up into the air, twisting slightly as he plummets down onto the roof below. It’s only as he lands and rolls that he realises that this was slightly suspicious. Circuit’s expectant smile only seems to solidify this.

He hears a whisper of cloth behind him as someone sticks something into the small of his back. HotGuy gasps in pain as a shock of electricity shoots up his spine, but stands his ground, glaring at Circuit. Shade slips into his peripheral vision, tucking a cattle prod into his belt. Circuit grabs the cattle prod back, and Shade sighs, annoyance tainting his breath. The two seem to remember HotGuy’s existence as Circuit clears his throat. 

“Well then, we were wondering when you were going to show up.”

Shade cuts in, putting his hands on his hips.

“Rather rude, isn’t it? Showing up late when you have someone wanting to see you.”

HotGuy narrows his eyes at the two villains.

“What do you mean, someone wanting to see me?”

Shade smiles, and waves a hand dismissively.

“You’ll find out soon. Now, we better be going.”

The two leaps up onto the edge of the roof, Circuit stumbling for a second as one of his feet skids on a patch of moss. He regains his cool, and smiles at the hero, still recovering from his shock.

“Just remember to smile for the cameras!”

The two leap off the edge, and out of HotGuy’s view, leaving the hero to think over the words. He frowns, and mutters quietly to himself.

“Smile for the cameras. What does that even-”

Suddenly, small objects on the corner of almost every building around him start to move. HotGuy shivers as dozens of security cameras turn to face him, their lenses glinting almost like eyes. A cloaked figure steps out of the shadows in front of him, nearly silent if not for the whirring noises that join their every step. In the folds of their outfit, HotGuy can see the glint of what he presumes to be a blade. He stumbles backwards and trips, landing on his ass. The figure grins at him, his eyes glowing an ominous purple, not quite enough to light up his face. 

“Well, Scar, what do you think. Do you like the new look?”

HotGuy’s heart drops as he hears the all-too-familiar singsong voice of none other than-

“CuteGuy.” 

The figure glares at him, and HotGuy clenches his fists nervously. He doesn’t know how, but he’s messed up. They push down their hood, revealing their silver face twisted into a shape of disgust, his eyes glinting off the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t go by that name. I’m not just your accessory anymore, I’m my own person.” CuteGuy takes a few steps forwards, and crouches down so he’s eye-to-eye with the hero, “You can call me The Watcher. I think it’s catchy, don’t you? The perfect name for your nemesis.”

HoyGuy just stares in shock. The Watcher frowns and straightens back up, the pistons in his legs hissing slightly.

“Well, regardless of all that, I think it’s an improvement. And look at you! You’ve finally gotten a proper arch-enemy, and even one that links into your oh so tragic backstory! I bet marketing will be thrilled!” The villain spreads a pair of giant silver wings, stained that haunting shade of magenta at the tips, and gives the brunet a mock salute. “I look forward to working with you, HotGuy!”

And just like that, The Watcher launches himself backwards off the edge of the roof, disappearing into the night. HotGuy just sits on his ass, eyes wide and breathing heavy. Every inhale sounds like it’s being amplified tenfold, and every exhale feels like it’s echoing through the streets.

A bright billboard catches the corner of his eye, and HotGuy pauses for a second. That can’t be right. He runs to the edge of the roof, and looks across the city. His breath is snatched away from him.

Every single one of the giant screens advertising social media and food deals are now displaying him, from every angle, wide eyed and panicking. People on the streets below are either watching the signs in awe, or staring at their phone screens open-mouthed. A couple people look up at him on the roof, and one points at him and yells. One by one, people start pointing cameras at him and chattering excitedly. HotGuy ducks back onto the rooftop and puts his hands over his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at him. Watching him.

HotGuy uneasily gets back to his feet, faintly aware of the yelling in his earpiece to get back to The Institute, and draws his bow. His fingers shake as he notches an arrow, and, with none of his usual charisma or bravado, looses it. The projectile hisses through the air, and smashes directly into the eye of the nearest security camera. There are a few faint gasps from the crowd below him, but he blocks it out as he draws his bow again. Camera after camera, he lets the arrows fly, until he’s surrounded by occasional sparks and broken glass glinting in the light of dusk.

After all these years of being a public figure, and he gets freaked out by a couple of stupid cameras. Void, he’s so stupid.

 He sighs, and slings his bow onto his back, trying to ignore his pounding heart. As he hops gracefully off the room, he shudders at the memory of The Watcher’s smile. The same smile that he had seen while cracking jokes over dinner, or when he would ‘accidentally’ trip up during combat practice, trying to make his friend laugh. And those purple eyes were just too similar to the bright blue ones that would wake him up in the mornings. And that playful tone, all too familiar with the way that his sidekick used to tell him that he should be in a fight, a few minutes late on purpose just to see him panic.

Scar’s line of work didn’t leave him room to make many friends, but he and the AI are close. Or at least they were.

HotGuy has to shake his head to get the thoughts out, and doubles his speed, launching over chimney pots and sliding through small puddles until he gets back to The Institute. Almost as soon as he enters the doors to the main building, he is met with one of the directors. The woman frowns at him, and crosses her arms.

“HotGuy. We need to talk to you. Now.”

[thelesbiandeli]

*puts this in a bowl and shakes it like you do with cats*

Pirates fic! Come get your Pirates fic!

[thelesbiandeli]

A Caged Bird Set Free

Summary:

Standing at the head of the table, grin plastered across their face and their arms crossed cockily, is a person. Or rather, a hologram of a person. They seem rather short, although their height is boosted by a large pair of white and pink platform heels. They have a small chest window, very similar to Scars, cut into their sleeveless black turtleneck, although the corners are more rounded. A too-large fluffy white cardigan has slipped off their shoulders, revealing light freckling along their arms. Bracelets and bangles jingle around their wrists as they slide on a pair of pink heart-shaped rimless sunglasses. “Hiya boss!” --- (aka I made Grian into an AI assistant for HotGuy, then had him have an identity crisis)

(Ao3 link here)

(Chapter one of three)

(2619 words)

Scar casually strolls into the meeting room. A member of the board of directors sniffs curtly at his casual vest and tracksuit bottoms. Scar simply flashes a grin at them, and pushes his signature HotGuy sunglasses further up his nose from where they had slipped.

“Ah, directors! What did you need from me?”

Scar has gotten used to random meeting requests from his higher ups. Sometimes it’s to change his patrol schedules, sometimes it’s to inform him about new marketing opportunities, and sometimes it’s just to check up on him. The city's top hero is their pride and joy, and Scar intends to keep it that way. One of the directors stands, and smiles fondly at him.

“Well HotGuy, we have come to realise that your whole brand as a hero relies on your looks just as much as your skill. And we have come to the conclusion that you need someone to compliment you for that.”

Scar stares in confusion for a second, before squinting at the man addressing him.

“Sir, are you suggesting that I have a sidekick? I thought we’ve been over this already, I work alone.”

Another director stands and pulls a small remote out of her blazer. She points it at the empty space at the head of the table, and presses a button on it. Scar raises an eyebrow, and watches as a small spark of light appears in the air. The point of light expands, its pale pink glow filling the entire room for a second before it dims down.

Standing at the head of the table, grin plastered across their face and their arms crossed cockily, is a person. Or rather, a hologram of a person. They seem rather short, although their height is boosted by a large pair of white and pink platform heels. They have a small chest window, very similar to Scars, cut into their sleeveless black turtleneck, although the corners are more rounded. A too-large fluffy white cardigan has slipped off their shoulders, revealing light freckling along their arms. Bracelets and bangles jingle around their wrists as they slide on a pair of pink heart-shaped rimless sunglasses.

“Hiya boss!”

Another director gets out of his chair, and walks over so he’s standing next to the hologram.

“This here is CuteGuy. He is the one of the most advanced pieces in current AI technology, and we have decided that he would be the perfect candidate for your sidekick.”

Before Scar can respond, CuteGuy wrinkles up his nose and sticks his tongue out.

“CuteGuy? Do I not get to decide my own hero name?”

The director sighs, and shakes his head.

“No, you do not get to decide your own hero name. You are called CuteGuy for branding purposes, it will fit best with HotGuy. Now, HotGuy, what do you think? Will he be a good sidekick?”

Scar grins in enthusiasm. Who’s to say if that smile is genuine. Certainly not CuteGuy, despite the fact that he knows the answer.

“This will be fantastic, thank you directors. Now, if you don’t mind,” He holds up his wrist, where his wristband is flashing with a villain alert, “I do believe I have a villain to catch.”

The directors all smile at him, and one hands him the small remote.

“We’ve already taken the liberty to download the CuteGuy software into your suit, so you will be able to communicate freely with him during battle. Now, go catch a villain for us!”

Scar strolls out the room casually, CuteGuy following with a spring in his step. As soon as the meeting room doors swing shut, Scar turns on the hologram.

“Look here. I’m going to work with you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you. I don’t want you getting in the way, okay?”

CuteGuy salutes, and grins.

“Yessir! Now, The Goat is currently attempting to rob a bank two roads down. You have eight minutes until he will get away safely, so you better make it count!”

Scar curses, and sprints off down the corridor, leaving CuteGuy to cackle, and jog after him.

—

Almost a year after the CuteGuy AI has been introduced, and he has already grown a fanbase nearly as large as HotGuy’s. The Institute of Heroes have gone all in, making posters, childrens dolls, and even a wall calendar featuring the new top hero duo. The only person not so thrilled, it seems, is HotGuy himself, although he would never let the public know that.

Don’t get him wrong, Scar doesn’t mind the extra help. He doesn’t mind the slightly irritable voice in his earpiece, or the updates on villains locations so he doesn’t have to track them himself, or even the early morning wake-up calls because this high tech, state-of-the-art AI ‘misread the time’. No, what annoys him is the fact that recently, CuteGuy has been pulling a few ‘pranks’. Well, he would call them pranks. Scar would call them a range of things, from annoyances to security breaches. He could deal with his bathroom door locking him inside for a solid twenty minutes, or holographic chickens appearing in his training sequences, but it was when CuteGuy would message people on Scar’s phone, or ‘forget’ to alert him about a villain attack until it was nearly too late that really got on his nerves.

“Hey Scar! Circuit has been spotted in the northwest of the city, a few blocks away from the Museum of Technological Histories and Innovations. The police have been dispatched, but in the case that he manages to get hold of something from the museum that boosts his powers, you’ve been called in.”

CuteGuy’s chipper voice suddenly breaks Scar’s brooding. Opening his eyes, Scar sighs at the AI’s grinning face leaning over him. He groans and gets up from where he was lying on his sofa.

“Give me a recap on this guy. Is he that guy with the horns, or was that someone else?”

CuteGuy sighs, and rubs his eyes. Scar loved to make the blonde’s job just that slight bit more annoying sometimes.

“Villain name: Circuit. Threat level: moderate to low. Suspected powers: Energy/Technological manipulation. Notes: Has been witnessed engaging in several larger fights, but has never tried to fight a hero one-on-one. They have attempted several robberies, but usually flee if someone tries to stop them. They once punched a policeman and apologised for it.” CuteGuy sticks out his tongue and cracks his knuckles, “Basically, he’s a coward. I reckon you could take him on without backup. He’s probably got some sort of plan or agenda, but I reckon he’d need a hand to carry it out.”

Scar rolls his eyes, and grabs his bow out of his umbrella stand. Pulling his angled boots on, he smiles at CuteGuy.

“Should be a pretty easy fight then. You feel like sitting this one out?”

“Even if I wanted to, it goes against my programming. You know that.”

Scar slides his sunglasses on, and chuckles.

“Well then, we better get moving. No use slacking on the job, ay Cutes?”

CuteGuy rolls his eyes as Scar closes the door behind him, and teleports with a buzz of static out into the corridor.

“Please don’t call me that, Scar.”

Clipping on his quiver of branded arrows while power walking down the corridor, Scar raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t you mean HotGuy? Anyway, I think it’s cute. Get it? Cute?”

“Void below, Scar. Let’s just go.”

They turn the corner and jog onto the balcony. Wings glitching into existence, CuteGuy spreads them and takes off. HotGuy leaps up onto the railing, takes a breath, and launches himself out into the empty air

—

Landing with perfect accuracy in front of the museum, HotGuy straightens up and strolls casually towards the nearest police officer.

“Excuse me ma'am? I was called in to deal with a villain, are they anywhere in sight?”

The police officer shakes her head, but points to the large doors of the building in front of them.

“No, Mr HotGuy sir, but several eyewitnesses say they went into the museum. We don’t want to send any of our men in due to the risk of a fight in such a small space. Would you be able to take this one, sir?”

HotGuy nods confidently, and slicks his hair back with one hand. CuteGuy groans, nearly causing his companion to jump. The lack of physical footsteps to hear or fabric to rustle means that he can be extremely quiet when he wants to. He shoots HotGuy a grin, and steps forwards to place a comforting hand on the officer’s shoulder.

“Of course ma’am, that was a good situational evaluation. We’ll get right on it.”

The two stroll as confidently as they dare up to the wooden double doors. CuteGuy stares up at the large carvings chiselled into them, leaving his partner to enter the museum alone.

Cringing as the door creaks open, HotGuy slips into the dark museum. The villain must have destroyed the electrics, he notes to himself. He beckons to his faintly glowing sidekick, who silently strolls up to stand next to him. Leaning over, HotGuy whispers to him.

“You search the bottom floor, I’ll take the top. Yell if he sees you, and send me a message if you see him. Got it?”

CuteGuy rolls his eyes, and gives him a thumbs up.

“Got it, boss. You know you could have just said that into your earpiece.”

HotGuy glares at him, and CuteGuy sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He walks away towards a nearly pitch black exhibition hall, and mutters to himself, “You would think he’s watched more police dramas than he has actually taken part in this sort of thing at this point. Who am I kidding, of course he has.”

Padding silently through the dark, CuteGuy glances at the exhibits. One glass case contains a fried circuit board, another showing off a rusty set of cogs. He pauses in front of a tall cabinet, even taller than him, displaying one of the earliest designs for a wearable flying contraption. Its coppery buckles glint in his faint pink glow, and he smiles at the worn leather and papery wing membranes. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the blink of a small red light from somewhere on the device. Cocking his head slightly, he scans the exhibit in confusion. Why would this exhibit still have working LED’s? And why would they be on when the rest of the museum’s power is off? He spots it again, a brief flash before it disappears. Not on the contraption itself, but rather in the reflection of the glass.

Wait, the reflection of the glass?

Before he can turn around properly, his holographic body seizes up into perfect posture, pinning him in place with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. He tries to yell, but no noise comes out. A mute symbol hovers just in front of his mouth.

A tall figure steps into his field of view, and waves awkwardly. CuteGuy gives them his best death glare, and they wince.

“Hi, uhm, I’m sorry about this. I didn’t really think that would work quite so well.”

Before CuteGuy can try to spit out an insult, his earpiece blinks on, and HotGuy’s crackly voice fills the room.

“Hey, CG, any sign of the guy? I’ve finished searching the ‘modern technologies’ exhibit, and I’m about to move on to the next one.”

The villain’s eyes widen, and they frown, reaching a hand out in front of them and shutting their eyes. CuteGuy gasps silently as he feels a new force infiltrate his code. The villain looks at him apologetically, and mutters.

“I’m sorry about this.”

And all of a sudden, CuteGuy’s mouth opens without him trying to. Words form in his throat that aren’t his. He’s flung into the backseat of his own body. He can hear his own chirpy voice whispering into his earpiece, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

“Hey HotGuy, no sign of him yet. I’ve pretty much searched the whole bottom floor, so he must be upstairs.”

The villain's face is screwed up in a mixture of anxiety and concentration, and CuteGuy can see a faint red glow forming in their pupils. HotGuy chuckles.

“Good to know! And hey, before you go,” the villain freezes up as HotGuy pauses for a second, “It’s good to see that you’re learning some respect. I think that’s the first time you’ve actually called me HotGuy, y’know!”

The villain’s eyes widen in panic, and CuteGuy feels the intrusive tug at his vocal chords again, the enemy force twisting its way around his core being.

“Are you sure you’re not hearing things? I don’t think I said anything of the sort.”

CuteGuy can practically hear the light-hearted annoyance in the other hero’s voice as he replies.

“Fine, just get back to work. Report when you finish searching your floor. HotGuy out.”

The call shuts off, and CuteGuy collapses to the ground, gasping yet still silent. The villain pushes down their hood, and crouches down in front of the hologram. Concern filling their eyes, they wave a cautious hand past his eyes. The AI looks up, and scowls at them. With a hoarse whisper, they hiss at the villain.

“Give me two good reasons why I shouldn’t sound off all the alarms in this building.”

The villain shrugs nervously.

“Well, uh, you couldn’t really do that if you wanted to, I still have control over your communications systems. Also, I’m really sorry? Does that count?”

When they get no reply from the hero, they sigh and crack their knuckles casually. They watch the hero in silence, and CuteGuy can feel them exploring his code. He chooses to ignore it, because it’s not like he could do anything to stop it. He squeezes his eyes shut, and sits perfectly still until he hears the villain make a strange confused noise.

“Are you aware that there are code locks on your consciousness stopping you from thinking certain things?”

CuteGuy’s eyes open in a mix of shock and horror, and he shakes his head. The villain continues with a grimace.

“Well, there’s the obvious things of ‘don’t kill anybody’ and ‘don’t light a building on fire’. But there’s also things stopping you from disobeying orders, and blocking you from even considering going against the heroes. The only reason you can comprehend this conversation is because I’m blocking them.”

CuteGuy blinks in confusion. No, surely not, the Institute would never do such a thing. But it would explain some things, like how sometimes, despite having near flawless memory banks, he sometimes forgets whole monologues done by supervillains, or random strings of thought he has in his spare time having the subject rapidly change, seemingly without his input. The villain snaps their fingers in front of the hologram’s face, drawing his attention back to them.

“I can unblock them for you if you want?”

Silently, the AI contemplates this and nods, a few strands of sandy blonde hair falling into his face. The villain cracks his fingers, and furrows his brow in determination. CuteGuy desperately tries to ignore the feeling of another's code winding through his own. After a few minutes, the villain glances up at him.

“Alright, here goes nothing!”

CuteGuy’s eyes widen as previously blocked threads of code reveal themself to his mind. All new emotions and memories flood his brain bringing tears to the corners of his eyes. And for the first time in his existence, CuteGuy breaks down crying, his movements choppy and poorly animated because, of course, he was never meant to feel this way. Never meant to be free.

[thelesbiandeli]

A Caged Bird Set Free

(Chapter three of three)

(Ao3 link here)

(538 words)

Scar runs his hands through his hair, glancing up at the shelves of books stretching away from him. It’s been nearly a week since his first interaction with The Watcher, and he’s requested a day off. He started wandering, and has found himself in one of the city libraries. It’s the quietest place he’s been in for months.

He runs his hand along the spines of the fantasy section, and sighs. The Watcher’s words have still stuck with him, ringing through his head like an alarm clock. I look forward to working with you. I’m my own person. You can call me The Watcher. I’m not just your accessory anymore. That sing-song voice that his memories of their time together would class as friendly, but the words are loaded with poison. If he could just-

Someone strolls up behind him, singing softly under their breath. Scar’s brain screams at him to look out for danger. He squeezes the corner of the bookshelf, trying to ignore it as his knuckles turn white. He knows that logically, this is a normal person, going about their normal day. But a tiny part of his brain imagines looking up to see that inhumanly perfect smile, cheeks lit by the glow of those endless purple eyes. And that voice. That stupid, cocky, chaos-filled v-

“Sorry, are you okay?”

Scar’s head snaps up, startling the man next to him. Relief washes through his body when he spots the man's eyes, a soft grey-blue behind a pair of glasses that have slid slightly down his nose. Soft sandy brown hair frames his face, rather than the bright blonde of his new nemesis. Scar sighs, and smiles.

“All good, thanks.”

The other man looks thoroughly unconvinced, and tugs at the hem of his red sweater absent-mindedly. He looks Scar up and down, and tilts his head slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to go get a hot drink or something?”

Scar chuckles, but the laugh is empty.

“Sure. There's a cafe upstairs, isn’t there?”

The other man nods, and starts weaving his way through the shelves and shelves of brightly coloured books. Scar stares after him for a second, before he jogs to catch up.

The two pick a table, and sit in an awkward silence until Scar brushes some of Jellie’s fur off his jumper, and the other man laughs.

“You have a cat?”

Scar smiles, and pulls his phone out. He swipes through a few photos, before holding it out.

“Sure do! Her name is Jellie.”

“Oh, she’s so sweet! I’ve always wanted a cat!”

Scar grins, and pulls up a few more photos. 

The two spend nearly half an hour laughing over stories of Jellie’s escapades and cooing over photos of her, before the other man spots the time.

“Oh! I’ve got to dash, sorry! Here, give me your phone for a second.”

Scar slides it over, and his new friend types something into it.

“There, now you have my number. Let’s do this again sometime!”

He grabs his bag off the floor, and hurriedly rushes out of the cafe. Scar watches him go with a smile, before looking down at the new contact.

“Huh. Grian. What a strange name.”