#WHY AM I INCAPABLE OF COMING UP WITH GOOD FIC IDEAS ANYMORE

[kanerallels]

There's absolutely nothing worse than when I get a thousand words into a story and decide that I low key hate it

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

 *crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish) 

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

 Something like…

 “Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

 It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

 Villagers?

 They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

 Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

 Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

 “You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

 “The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

 “The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

 “Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

 Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

 “What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

 “Janus,” Logan warns.

 “What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

 “We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

 “I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

 “Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

 Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

 “And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

 Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

 Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

 “Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

 The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

 In. Out. In. Out.

 Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

 The old man said to be quiet.

 Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

 He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

 “Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

 “Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

 “Mm.”

 “Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

 “Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

 This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

 “Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

 “Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

 Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

 The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

 “Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

 “That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

 “Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

 Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

 “And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

 “May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

 “Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

 “—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

 Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

 “Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

 “Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

 Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

 “Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

 “No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

 Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

 Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

 “That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

 Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

 “Yes.”

 “Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

 Remus doesn’t respond.

 “If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

 Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

 “That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

 Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

 He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

 He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

 One, two, three, four.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

 He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

 He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

 “Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

 “Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

 Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

 “You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

 “Perhaps.”

 Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

 I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

 Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

 “Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

 Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

 He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

 Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

 Remus still doesn’t move.

 When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

 “Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

 It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

 “Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

 He barely nods.

 “Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

 He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

 “Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

 Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

 Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

 “Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

 At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

 “It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

 He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

 “Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

 He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

 “Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

 He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

 “Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

 He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

 “Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

 He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

 “Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

 A moment passes.

 “Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

 They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

 “Your turn, Roman.”

 Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

 Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

 Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

 “Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

 A pause.

 “Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

 A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

 “Thank you.”

 He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

 “Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

 Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

 “What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

 Remus swallows. “Monster.”

 “Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

 Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

 “The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

 Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

 “Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

 “But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

 “Would you like to look and see?”

 “No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

 “The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

 “He said—he—he’s not real?”

 “No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

 “You’re real.”

 “I am.”

 “You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

 “It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

 Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

 “There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

 Oh.

 “The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

 “I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

 Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

 “You don’t have one either…may I?”

 When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

 “We’re…not there?”

 “No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

 The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

 “You stole my spot!”

 “I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

 Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

 “Ro, are you real?”

 “Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

 “Safe?”

 “Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

 “Real?”

 “This is real.”

 Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

 After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

 “You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

 Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

 “What are the rules?”

 “When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

 Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

 “Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

 Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

 “Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

 “I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

 “We’re just overprotective.”

 “I’ll say.”

 Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

 Remus nods. “I know.”

 The room feels empty when they leave.

 The night passes.

 During the witching hour, he startles awake.

 The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

 The monster is not here but the shadows are.

 Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

 Step. Step. Step.

 The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

 Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

 The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

 “Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

 Janus steps inside.

 “You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

 “I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

 Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

 “Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

 Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

 “Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

 Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

 “What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

 The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

 “You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

 “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

 “None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

 The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

 “Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

 He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

 “Sweetie…”

 “You’ll be annoyed.”

 “I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

 Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

 “And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

 A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

 Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

 “Never, sweetie.”

 “The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

 “The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

 “I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

 Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

 “I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

 “And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

 “S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

 “Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, “of course I’ll stay.”

 The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

 Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

 “Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

 Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

 “Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

 His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

 “It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it’s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

 The poor thing whines.

 “Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

 He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

 “Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

 “The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

 He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

 “I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

 They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

 After a while, Remus pulls away.

 “…thanks, Jan.”

 “I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

 “I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

 “Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

 “Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

 “They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

 “I know.”

 Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

 “This is real, right?”

 Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

 “Can I sleep now?”

 “Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

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[words-writ-in-starlight]

for the ship headcanon meme: star trek pairing of choice, #16-#20?

Bet you thought I forgot about this ask meme, fuckers!  And you’re right, I did, but the beauty of forgetting is that sometimes you remember.  Anyway, as always, it’s Michael/Saru Hours, lads.

16) When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

This is not a headcanon, but I have this fragment of a fic idea in my head based on this question, and that fragment of a fic idea is like...some kind of case fic where Discovery finds a planet being ravaged by Basically A Zombie Apocalypse and Michael and Saru get stranded there.  Ideally, for my personal enjoyment, I would want to slot it into the plot of s1 as early as possible, because the best/worst dynamic there would be Michael choking with guilt and yet still one of the finest scientific minds in Star Fleet, and Saru unable to keep himself from pressing on the fresh bruise of loss, unable to trust her, and the two of them still working together flawlessly.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?  Even when they can’t stand each other, they argue like a choreographed dance, and when the chips are down and they have to think on their feet, they still move like Georgiou’s trusted right and left hands.

Anyway.  That, but make it zombies.

17) When they find a time machine, where do they go?

If Michael came into possession of a time machine that actually allowed her to reliably control where she went and let her come back, I think she would sit down and try to do the temporal math to figure out how to avert the war.  I do not, however, believe that Michael and Saru, survivors of a fair amount of timeline hopping already, would actually risk going back in time.  I think they would both talk about wanting to go back, specifically because they know the other will talk them out of it, but I don’t think they would do it.

That being said, I would love a lotus eater prison AU where Michael and Saru are trapped in an idyllic dream of a world where the Shenzhou was never destroyed, Michael was being prepared to be promoted off the ship as a captain, and Saru was preparing to take her place, ft a lot of sadness about Georgiou and Michael and Saru working together to find a way to wake up.

18) When they fight, how do they make up?

Michael wears Raised On Vulcan tattooed on her face, sometimes, and especially when she defensive or guilty--if she’s angry with Saru, she’ll tell him exactly what she thinks he’s doing wrong, to his face, and it takes her a long time to learn that she should pull that punch a little more with people she cares about.  On the upside, that means that, when she feels like she’s been out of line and unnecessarily harsh, she’ll walk right up to Saru and tell him, blunt as anything, what she did, why she thinks it was wrong, and that she understands if he’s angry with her.  

This was initially…a weird experience for Saru on several levels, if he’s being honest.  A lot of his experience with people is colored heavily by the fact that very few people know how to deal with Kelpiens, and that means that he’s either handled like glass or he puts in the work to be treated like any of the other crew members. He’s not really sure how to deal with someone who handles him with exactly the same unemotional ruthlessness as everyone else, and it’s disorienting, and it makes him angry that it’s disorienting, because that’s what he wants, but also, Michael is sometimes an asshole.  She’s the first person that he’s ever argued with on the regular—really argued, a push and counterpush, shoving each other away from the science console and pulling out ad hominem attacks in a way that visibly infuriates Michael’s Vulcan training.  But quite frankly, they never felt like they needed to apologize for those early fights, under Georgiou.  It was part of the ship dynamic, to have Burnham and Saru trying to take strips off each other in a very professional and scientific manner.  As long as Saru never took a cheap shot over Michael’s upbringing and Michael resisted the impulse to go full xenoanthropologist on Saru’s species, they were very good at fighting.

(Personally I am of the belief that Michael only tried to pull the I understand where you’re coming from because of what your species makes you after the mutiny, after she was trying to be nice.  Before then, she expected Saru to perform to her standards and fuck the details.  Half the reason he’s so coldly furious with her over it is because he knows she’s trying to manipulate him, because if she wasn’t, she would never play that card, because no matter how nasty their fights were, she always fought with him as a person, not as a Kelpien.)

19) Where do they go on their first date?

There’s a fic that bounces around my brain every time I watch Discovery, and it’s about Michael and Saru having a first date (sort of) very late at night, when they’re both having trouble sleeping.  It’s not an arranged date, they’re not even really friends even though they’ve gotten past the stage of Michael letting Saru flay her alive for her guilt, but Michael is having trouble sleeping and she’s not a prisoner anymore, so she wanders, and Saru, frankly, sleeps like hypervigilant garbage since the Binary Stars, so he has a preferred hiding spot on one of Discovery’s few observation decks.  As Lorca likes to point out, they’re not a goddamn pleasure cruiser, but Star Fleet never built a ship without at least one view panel, not even their top-secret war machine.

Michael is avoiding people—she hates being asked why she’s awake, gets tangled up in her automatic shame over not being able to control her emotions.  It’s the middle of the “night” by ship standards, but Discovery seethes with activity around the clock, especially since Stamets pulls regular all-nighters when he gets really entranced and often has to be peeled away from his work by Local Exasperated Doctor Hugh Culber.  So she ducks into the parts of the ship that she usually doesn’t go, the places that are more for socializing and are empty at this hour, the places that aren’t often used, the places that are quiet.

She finds the observation deck dim and blessedly silent, with the stars spreading infinitely outside.  The room is faintly lit by the nebula off to the starboard bow, the one they’re using to hide their signature while they run some necessary repairs.  It’s a practical use, but it’s also beautiful, every window in the ship glowing with warm reds and golds, and Michael still finds the stars soothing after all this time, and so she drifts up to the glass with the vague plan of sitting down and spending an hour or two there in an attempt at meditation.  She only sees Saru, leaning back against the edge of the viewing window, when she’s close enough to nearly trip over one of his long legs, stretched out in front of him.

Michael, of course, apologizes, and turns to leave.  Saru never really does have a good answer, as to why he stops her.  But he doesn’t ask any questions about why she’s awake and she doesn’t ask any questions about what he’s doing here, and instead they sit in relative quiet for a while before Saru sits up straighter and offers Michael, again, a small bowl of fruit. It’s not familiar to her, this time, but he says it won’t hurt her, that it’s sort of like a lychee, and she believes him.  It leaves a bit of thin red juice on her fingers when she bites into the first one, and he recommends eating them whole to avoid it while she ruefully sucks the juice off her thumb.  It’s good—less sweet than she expected.  Saru settles next to her in the middle of the window and sets the bowl between them, and she asks how he always manages to have fresh fruit, and he admits that he can wring a lot more out of the replicators since he never gets meat. Somehow it turns into—talking.

Michael is startled to realize, around the hour mark of murmured conversation, that she might have literally never just talked to Saru before. It’s—nice.

(Because I’m physiologically incapable of letting things be nice, if I wrote this fic there would be an immediate sequel of Observation Deck Chats Redux, featuring them doing basically the same thing but after Michael gets back from the Mirrorverse.  Michael leans against Saru’s shoulder in a way that she would never, if she hadn’t been awake with nightmares and grief for pushing three days, and she tells him about the Empire like she’s confessing her sins, and they talk quietly about the ghost haunting their ship in the shape of Empress Philippa Georgiou. It’s not nice, but not for lack of kindness.)

20) Where do they go on holiday?

I think Saru and Michael would have two very distinct kinds of “holiday” and they have two destinations accordingly.

The first kind of holiday is Nerd Holiday, in which they find an unexplored planet and appoint themselves to the away team—everyone else on the away team is wryly aware that they are, essentially, third-wheeling a date, but Discovery has watched this whole situation unfold and honestly the popular opinion is that it would actually be easier to deal with a little bit of PDA than the current Very Professional Mutual Adoration Show.  Local Red Shirt Absolutely Agonized By The Very Correct Ten Inches Of Space Between Her Captain And First Officer, Reports As They Come.  Michael and Saru are pleasantly unaware of this and are having a great time arguing over whether they need another sample of that plant if it’s just a different color.

The second kind of holiday is actual fucking shore leave.  They both prefer planets or stations with a large variety of species—Saru is uneasy with being the center of attention among strangers, and since he stands head and shoulders above a decent percentage of the Federation, it’s hard to avoid unless they’re in mixed company; Michael never quite recovered from the perpetual sense of disjoint when it comes to being around all humans or all Vulcans, so being in a place where everyone is different makes her feel less out of place.  Neither of them like big crowds, so they’re the tourists who immediately leave the usual Tourist Area and find somewhere else to be, which has its ups and downs.  The first time they get into trouble on a totally safe colony planet because they decided to go exploring, there’s a beat of them looking at each other and silently agreeing that they won’t be telling the crew about this, because there’s already a running ship joke about what trouble magnets they are and they do NOT need to feed anyone more material.

[slashscowboyboots]

Happy Taco Truck: Ice Cream Dreamboat (Part 1)

(all photo credit goes to owners)

I know it’s only been months, but it feels like years since I’ve shared a fic!  This is a continuation of @no-stone-no-bone​‘s awesome fic Duff’s Doughnuts (link here).  I agree with Skyler, I’d love to see other writers write about the different food trucks and make this a series.  This was supposed to be a one-shot, but as I am physically incapable of writing short fics, this is a two-parter.  Buckle in!

Tag list: @izzysdenimjacket​ @no-stone-no-bone​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll​ @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands​ @smokeandmirrorz​ @sodalitefully​​ @roger-taylors-car​​  @harley-m-rose​ if you’d like to be tagged let me know, we all know how wonderful the tags work though

Warnings: language, sibling promiscuity, lonely cooking, terminal embarrassment, Axl and Tracii are Axl and Tracii

Thunk thunk thunk.

It was another scorcher inside your food truck, the vicious heat wafting off the griddle pummeling your face as you deftly raked your spatula through a pile of crisping beef tips, then piled them into a fluffy shell, handing it off for your sister Skyler to kiss with your award-winning cilantro lime crema and hand out to the customer.

You couldn’t resist moving up to the open side to watch the patron, a long-haired man wearing a nose chain with “Endless Burgers” stitched on his shirt, take a bite of your creation, then bend at the knees from ecstasy and dig a ten dollar bill from his pocket, stuffing it in your tip jar.

It has been gangbusters during the lunch rush in The Circle, the informal name given to the parking lot of ornery hooligans who fed the masses during the day and lingered behind late in the evening for a bit of recreational hell-raising. 

There was a plethora of culinary delights scattered around you, including Duff’s Doughnuts, Tracii and Phil’s Sno-Cones, Stoney & Cready’s Homewrecker Corndogs, and Jon and Richie’s Jersey Essentials (you never really knew what they were selling, apart from Aqua Net and the occasional cheesesteak, but after they began offering rippers-deep fried hot dogs-Skyler made frequent trips over to ask Richie if she could eat his weenie).  And from what you heard, they all knew how to throw down at night.

You never stayed to find out, though.  Your shyness forced you to fire up Helen the Happy Taco truck and drive home, leaving Skyler behind to do God-knows-what to who-knows-what, and you arrived in the mornings to find her either helping Kelly from Nickels’ BBQ feed his pink-painted porcine smoker, both of them covered in hickeys, or nearly trading blows with the loudmouth redhead who ran the ice cream truck.

Today, however, you’d found her with someone new.  When you pulled into the lot, you saw her with her arms wrapped around a guy with long hair wearing a flannel shirt and shorts, gazing raptly into his piercing blue eyes.  “Bye, Ed,” she murmured, pecking a kiss on his mouth.

“Who was that?” you asked, your eyebrows shooting skywards.

“Produce man,” she answered quickly.

“Were you getting us a good deal?’

“You know it.”

You peeled your gloves off and wiped your sweating face with a paper towel, trying to blot off as much grease as possible.  “I’m taking a break.  I need some ice cream.”

“I got you a frozen lemonade on my break.  It’s gonna taste like shit when you drink it with that ice cream.”

“I don’t care.”

“Punch that dick Axl in the face while you’re over there.  He’s on my last fucking nerve.”

You trudged down to “Axl and Izzy’s Frozen Delights,” eager to leave the brutal swelter inside your truck.  Standing in front of their window, you bent backwards and cracked your aching back, then a raspy voice asked, “Can I help you?”

You looked up into the most beautiful doe eyes you’d ever seen, hazel verging on gold in the afternoon sunlight, belonging to a guy with messy brown hair tied back with a bandanna, and suddenly your feet didn’t hurt anymore.  “Hi,” you said faintly.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at you, and you felt your breath leave you.  “I’m Izzy, who might you be?”

“Y/N.”

“What can I get for you?”

Your brain instantly forgot how to make words.  “Cone,” you muttered.

His smile grew even bigger.  “What do you want in your cone?”

“Ice cream.”

He chuckled softly.  “What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

Those gorgeous eyes were full of merriment, crinkling at the corners.  “You don’t know?”

“No.”  Get ahold of yourself, you’re sounding like a moron.  “Uh, chocolate?”

“Sure.  I mean, as long as you’re sure about that.”  He winked at you, then turned to the freezer case behind him, and you got an exquisite view of his perfect ass, your mouth open and your breath coming in gasps, then he turned around and grinned, catching you mid-gawk, and you immediately wanted the earth to swallow you up.

“Thank you,” you blurted when he handed you your cone, then you turned to leave.  

“Uh, Y/N?”

“Uh huh?”  You couldn’t believe he was going to prolong putting up with your awkward ass.  

“Aren’t you going to pay me?”

“Oh,” you said, humiliation bringing a knot to your throat, and you handed him a crumpled pile of bills and scuttled away before you could cry.

“Sis, you mind if I head out a little early?” you asked.  “I’ve got a headache and I want to go home.”

“Sure.  I think we’re done for today.  You sure you’re okay?”

You hadn’t said a word all afternoon, just cooked and sweated and tried not to think about what a failure you were.  This was why you didn’t stick around at night, even though you longed to, to laugh and have fun with all the crazy characters around you.  Because you’d fuck it up if you did.

Why wasn’t I born normal? you thought bitterly.  Why am I the disaster in the family?

“Yeah,” you said quietly.  “I’m fine.”

That’s why your tacos were so delicious.  Because you were such a loser, you stayed home and perfected them instead of going out and having a life.  With no demands on your personal time, you discovered that lime made your chicken taco sing, while a little tomato sauce was the secret to juicier ground beef.

Your loneliness was the key to Happy Taco’s success.  

And you’d give everything you knew away just to be cool for five minutes.

“OPEN UP!!” a male voice hollered.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”

Skyler dropped the hatch.  “Tracii!  Ferfucksakes!  We just got here!”

Tracii grinned under his bandanna.  “I wanna eat your taco.”

“It is an honor and a privilege to serve you a Happy Taco,” she answered, leaning on the counter and linking her fingers.  “However, we haven’t got anything set up and the only kind we can get you is our el pastor.”

“Okay,” he said, “gimme two,” and Skyler nodded to you.

You sliced the meat off the trompo, carefully evening out the sides, all the while reliving the embarrassment of the previous afternoon in your head.  Maybe you could drive Helen down to Baja California and start life anew, under a different name.

“Hey!” Tracii yelped, his eyes on you.  “I know you!  You’re the one Izzy was talking about last night,” and your knife nearly stabbed the metal pole holding up the pork and pineapple mass.

“Yeah,” he smiled lazily, “you are a looker, aren’t you?  How come you don’t party with us?  Izz said you seemed kinda shy.”

With your eyes wide and heart hammering, you handed the tacos to Skyler, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

Before she could say anything, Tracii handed her his money and sauntered off, orgasmically moaning as he chewed, and Axl stepped up to the window.

“The fuck you want?” Skyler snapped.  “”It’s too early in the day for you to pick a fight, asshole.”

“I’m not here to fight,” he growled, slamming down a wad of dollars.  “This is from Izzy.  For her ice cream,” and he jutted his chin towards you.  “He says you eat for free at our truck.  The bo-both of you,”  he gritted, the agony of that idea etching deeply on his face.

“Thank you,” you smiled in surprise.

His eyes met yours, waving off your delight.  “Yeah, he’ll be down later.”

“Yes, thank you, Axl,” Skyler said.  “May we offer you an el pastor taco?”

“No,” he said, already retreating.  “Pork gives me the shits.”

Izzy did come by later, just in time for your sister to run off on her break.  

“Hi, Izzy,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Hey,” he smiled, looking delicious in his sunglasses.  “So what kind of tacos do you have?”

You recited the list.  “El pastor, carnitas, beef tips, seasoned ground beef, chicken, shrimp, and uh, lengua.”

“What’s that?”

“Uh, tongue.”

He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue, and you giggled, your shyness melting away at his goofiness.  “No, no, it’s really good.  Imagine the most tender, flavorful pot roast.  Everyone always orders seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass on the tongue, that one anyways, and have one shrimp and one chicken.  How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.  Uh, you and Axl, you eat for free here too.  Thank you, by the way, that’s very generous.”

He grinned wider, and you noticed he’d hadn’t stopped smiling at you since he showed up.  “Don’t mention it.”

You opened the shrimp and chicken containers, then threw the meat down on the griddle and moved it around, forcing yourself to focus on sauteing and not burning down the fucking truck because Izzy was outside.

He peeked in the window, looking around the interior of the truck.  “So how long have you been cooking?”

“Oh, since I was small.  I was at a stove before I could see over it.  These are all my grandmother's recipes.”  You scooped the fillings into their shells, then grabbed the crema.  

“Hey, I only ordered two,” Izzy protested when you handed him his tacos in a cardboard to-go basket.

“One of the chicken ones is Axl’s.  Consider it a peace offering.”

“Thank you.  Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if-”

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get some fucking service around here,” a mullet-sporting, Confederate flag t-shirt wearing asshole growled, and Izzy waved, then walked away.

He returned the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, working his way through your menu and bringing you a different-flavored milkshake each time.  He loved all of the tacos he tried, even daring to sample the beef tongue, then immediately ordered another one.

“Told you,” you grinned.

He always made conversation with you while you cooked, his eyes locked on yours as he ate, but every time he finished, there was always a line to tend to, and Skyler made herself scarce as soon as she spotted him.  You never returned to his truck for ice cream, and spent your downtime cleaning the flattop, lighting out as soon as you turned over the CLOSED sign.

“You know,” your sister said to you as you turned the key in the ignition, “if you stayed, you’d probably hook up with Izzy.”

“No,” you said sadly, “I’m a hot mess.  I’d say something stupid and he’d run away.”

“Can’t talk with his tongue in your mouth,” she teased, “or some other part.”

“SKYLER!” you shrieked as she cackled, then you sighed and leaned your head against the steering wheel.  “I’m not like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said, leaning over and stroking your hair.  “Just give him a chance.”

“I can’t stay here and have Helen be a-a sin wagon.”

“It’s not like we have orgies!” Skyler laughed.  “At least your man doesn't.  He plays guitar and Axl sings, when he’s not being a dumbass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And then Izzy sings, and Kelly gives me The Look and……”

“Or the produce man shows up.”

“Or Eddie the produce man shows up.”  She gave you a slight smile.  “C’mon, Sis, stay.  He likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me.”

“Then get to know him.  Axl says he’s pining.”

You looked at her in surprise.  “When did you talk to Axl?”

“When he told me that chicken taco you gave him was the best thing he’s ever had.”

You smiled at his praise, drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel.  “Maybe I’ll stay sometime.”

“Pining,” Skyler said, then hopped off the truck.

[officialscaramouche]

Companions

pairing: Chongyun x Xingqiu

summary: Chongyun finally takes on the demon, but how is Xingqiu going back home?

warnings: none

word count: 2,133

also posted on ao3!

notes: Wow! Thank you to those of you that read this from the very beginning! There are a LOT of themes that finalized in the last few chapters (such as character development, thoughts that changed, etc.) and I hope yall can find them all! The story isn't over yet, though! I've started writing two pieces that relate to this story and which ever gets the most votes will get posted!

There's an epilogue where older Chongyun meets with Xingqiu in Qingce and there's also a full translation of Xingqiu's book! Comment which one you want to read next!

Also, I started another future fic where this time, Chongyun meets older Xingqiu! Keep an eye out for it!

Ch. 5 of 5 < prev |

“What do you think clouds feel like?”

Xingqiu looked up at the large fluffy cloud that passed through the sun. He smiled, twiddling his thumbs on his tummy. “Like pillows?”

“Or marshmallows. But wet. Wet marshmallows.”

Xingqiu covered his laugh with a fist, sitting up on his elbows to look at the young boy next to him. Chongyun had snuck out of meditation practice and picked up Xingqiu through his bedroom window. Now, they found themselves a nice hiding spot under a tree by the river next to Yujin Terrace. “Chongyun, I had the weirdest dream just now.”

“You were sleeping?”

“I guess. You were older, much older. And I was older, but I was in the dream the way I am now. Seventeen.”

“What kinda things did we do? Were we hanging out?”

“We went on a crazy adventure! And you were so cold to me!”

Chongyun jumped up and dug claws into Xingqiu’s sides. “It’s the cryo in me! Mwahahaha!”

Xingqiu involuntarily laughed, the tickle bursting out of him. He kicked and kicked, trying to push the other off but Chongyun, having trained in battle more than him, was stronger. “Get-- haha! Get off of me!”

Chongyun pinned the scholar by the wrists and hovered over him. “Make me.”

Xingqiu blushed and rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ew, are you flirting with me?”

Chongyun flushed red and flew off of the boy, sitting straight with his hands shoved into his lap, his eyes looking out at the distance. “No. Why would I be?”

Xingqiu sat up with his mouth hanging open, a little irritated that he got off of him. “Are you dense!”

“I thought you wanted me to get off!”

“Well, yeah! But--”

“But what! You liked it, or what?!”

“W-Well, yeah!!”

Chongyun raised his eyebrows and faced Xingqiu who stared at him with a flushed face. The look in his eyes was daring, but scared. Afraid that Chongyun was going to deny him right there. But after having such a wild dream, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity the way he had before. “What are you saying…?”

Xingqiu shut his eyes tightly and balled his fists into his lap. “I’m saying...I’m saying I like yo--”

Xingqiu gasped, his heart jumping out of his chest. The moon was still in the sky but was ready to set in the next few hours. He gripped the fabric over his heart and panted, sweat rolling down his temple. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked around for Chongyun but he was nowhere to be found.

He sat up and peered over the shrubs to look at the incense and food, but found Chongyun sitting there with a large brown figure. He rubbed his eyes, blurry from sleep, and watched as the exorcist rubbed at the skin of the figure there. He scrambled to his feet, squirming through the shrubs and tentatively walked over, playing with his fingers nervously. The closer he got, the clearer the figure became. It’s ugly, horrifying face contorted in its sleep. Chongyun swiped his hand through the bowl from early, scooping a paste from within, and rubbed it on the demon’s arm. “W-What...is this the...the d-demon?”

Chongyun placed a dirty finger to his lips and shushed the boy, waving him over. He extended a hand. “The drawing, please,” he whispered, continuing to rub the demon as it slept.

“It’s sleeping…so peacefully.”

“Like you were,” Chongyun chuckled. “Now, please. The drawing.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tending to its wounds. It's in so much pain.”

Xingqiu looked at the leaf where the skewers were and at the ash the incense burned off. Their plan had worked. But looking at the demon up close, it didn’t feel like a demon at all. He didn’t feel any evil sense emanating off of it. “Are you gonna try the thing?”

“Yes. Drinking it should be fine. I only freeze them to help keep me cool, but the night is chilly enough.”

Xingqiu filled the bowl with water and Chongyun crushed up the flower into the bowl. He mixed it with his finger before placing the bowl to his lips and gulping down the drink. With a refreshing “ahhh,” Chongyun wiped his hands on his pants and unfolded the drawing. He placed the paper between his forefinger and his middle finger, bringing his hands together. Xingqiu watched as the paper began to twitch, unfurling until it was perfectly straight. The ink of the drawing flickered a bright blue for a moment, but the paper began to fall again. Chongyun furrowed his brows in frustration, concerned that the drink didn’t work. If he can’t get this talisman to work, then all of this would have been for nothing. Xingqiu bit his lip and watched as the demon rolled over, grunting in its sleep. He bounced nervously, the meditation not working.

“Ah, ah, Chongyun hurry up!” Xingqiu eyed the paper and the demon as it continued to toss and turn. “I-It’ll wake up!”

Chongyun pressed his palms together firmer, clenching his teeth uncomfortably as he focused on channeling his energy into the paper. He began to sweat, his yin energy being stirred too much. His arms began to tremble as he loses control of the flow of energy, but Xingqiu presses himself into Chongyun’s back and gathers cool water at either of Chongyun’s ears. The sound of the sloshing and the coolness of the water steadied his mind. Through the muddle of the water, he could hear Xingqiu’s soothing voice. “Please come back when you’ve finished your journey, okay? I have something I want to tell you.”

Xingqiu shut his eyes and muttered quiet please’s under his breath, hoping that Chongyun can muster the strength with his help. The paper fluttered loudly, with the help of no wind. A bright light illuminated behind Xingqiu’s eyelids and he opened to find the ink shining a luminous blue. It floated up, hovering over Chongyun’s aura. The exorcist’s hair stood on ends, and his skin was hot to the touch. Chongyun stood, and Xingqiu pulled away. The demon gasped, startled awake and groaned in fear. But Chongyun formed a hexagonal bagua floor beneath their feet and adjusted it’s rotation to place the demon atop the earth trigram. Now seemingly incapable of moving, Chongyun threw the guidance talisman with two fingers, sending it flying towards the demon. It latched itself to the demon’s forehead and it fell backwards, laying motionless while the talisman worked its magic.

After a few moments, the demon began to dissipate with a hiss, the talisman burning into its skull. Chongyun stood with his arms folded over each other to hold the floor until it completely left for the afterlife. He fell to his knees, catchim himself with a hand, the other clutching his chest. Xingqiu jumped up and down in excitement. “Holy crap! That was so cool! Was that the baguazhang energy map?! I’d seen you play with a small one, but that was huge!!”

Chongyun coughed, his chest heaving.

“The lines were steaming with yin energy!! The yin and yang symbol was moving! Oh goodness, you’re pale! Water! Here drink water!!”

Xingqiu pushed in the drawer and picked up the rag on the counter. He wiped it down once more before tossing it over his shoulder and picking up a box. He trudged up the stairs, box in hand, and turned the corner to the left. He walked down the hall and pushed the door open with his hip, dropping the box to the side. “Where did you want these?”

Chongyun snapped the blanket, dust poofing off and into the air. “Shit!” Chongyun covered his nose with the inside of his elbow and sneezed. “What is it? Are those the old rugs?”

Xingqiu nodded and sneezed, walking over to the window and forced it open. “I haven’t gotten the ones upstairs, though. These are all the downstairs rugs.”

Chongyun picked up the box and walked out of the room. “I’ll put them in the storage closet for now. I gotta wash them later.” Peeking back into the room, Chongyun watched Xingqiu shut the box in front of him.

It was the morning after the exorcise and Chongyun and Xingqiu were cleaning up the estate. Xingqiu worked on the downstairs, dusting and washing and throwing while Chongyun worked on the upstairs. When they got there, they took a nap at the front door, the exorcist collapsing from exhaustion. He had never used that much energy before, but if Xingqiu hadn’t given him the idea of using qingxin flowers to overflow with energy, the demon would’ve gotten away.

“What are you gonna do if you’re stuck here?” Chongyun asked, filling a newly washed glass with water from the tap.

“I’d say I’d stick around with you, but you already have me I guess. I could refound the Guhua Clan, maybe?”

Chongyun laughed into his cup. “There’s nobody to tell you no anymore,” he joked, putting the cup in the sink. “That diary tell you anything?”

Xingqiu put his hands on his hips. “No, I still can’t read a lot of it. We’d have to decode it.”

Chongyun patted the boy’s shoulder and jutted a thumb to the backyard. “Let’s work on the backyard. Afterwards we can take a look at it, hm?”

Xingqiu dusted his hands and set off for the back. This was going to be his first time in their meditation circle, it was pretty exciting. Without any training needing to be done or strict parents to tell him no, Xingqiu would be able to actually stand on the stone bagua floor. “You said once that your backyard is the strongest spiritual point in Teyvat right?”

Chongyun grabbed the screen door and slid it open, letting Xingqiu go first. “Yeah, it’s why my ancestors took residence here. I think this is where the original ley line was. When I first stepped foot in here, it made me dizzy so be careful.”

Xingqiu flicked his hair back and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Ha! I’m stronger than I look, Chongyun. Don’t be fooled.” Xingqiu looked at all the dead leaves and stagnant puddles that ruined the aesthetic of the place. “Maybe we should start with the leaves, huh?”

Xingiu felt dizzy, just like Chongyun said he would. He reached back to hold onto the exorcist, but Chongyun was not there. He staggered back at the lack of support, and found himself face to face with a door. The same red door of their secret hangout spot. He flung himself around and smelled the familiar scent of delicious food, the constant murmuring of chatter, and the birds tweeting above. He looked at his clothing, freshly washed and repaired. The book missing.

“What are you doing?” Chongyun asked.

The privilege to be bored was something I took for granted. I had realized that I had done not a single thing, not been helpful with the exception for entertainment. Which, in hindsight, I believe is what kept us together for so long. I am intolerable and quite loathsome, but my dearest sees through me and the facade and brings me along anyhow. Quiet moments like these will forever warm my heart in memories. We are not sharing a single activity, yet we are bonded by the coexistence. The rays of the sun stunk like poorly washed laundry and our hair clumped together from the bodily oils but it is fun to reminisce and I enjoy being sullied every now and then. I awoke to its presence, horrifying and ugly. But...what a strange man, indeed, that can place a hand atop the you hun ye gui that has tormented his very existence. ‘It sleeps,’ I whisper. I creep forward, trembling down to my toes. ‘Peacefully,’ he says. ‘Like you.’

Like me? He teases me. If I could meditate instead of sleep, I would. The way he shows kindness to such a foul beast makes me swoon. That’s why he puts up with me.

We all have our own inner demons. Only we can conquer them. It helps to have friends to support you, but in turn, you must support them. I was a lost mind, chasing after lofty dreams that I am designed to not overcome, but I can still live them in writing. When I write, or when I read, I am taken elsewhere. I am no longer a hermit, disowned by my own family, but I am a knight. I am a samurai. I am an adventurer. And sometimes, the antagonist is a dragon, a ronin, or a hilichurl. But sometimes, the antagonist is yourself. And only you, the hero, can conquer the villain. But it doesn’t hurt to have a companion along the way.

-- Xingqiu

[cosmicbug379]

A Wolf Comes to Dorne

This is my second fic, but my first seemed to be well liked so I decided I would put this one here too! This is for @rzrcrst​ once again because I love her. It's 1,973 words which is a little over 1,000 words longer than my last fic! 

This is Oberyn x Stark!Reader x Ellaria because my bi ass is incapable of separating them because they love each other and I want them to love me and also because I like the idea of a Stark reader. 

18+ only

There's a little bit of smut near the end, but only a little because I am an awkward virgin who has never written smut before, but everyone has to do something for the first time. 

From the moment you had arrived in Dorne, everyone had treated you kindly. Especially your future husband and his paramour, which seemed strange to you at first. Shouldn’t she be angry with you, you were marrying the man she loved. 

    But she wasn’t angry, quite the opposite actually. She was even more affectionate than Oberyn sometimes, giving you gifts and making sure you were comfortable. She helped you through the recent death of your father and your fears about marrying a man nearly twice your age.

    You had heard stories of The Red Viper of Dorne. His proficiency with poisons and the spear. How fierce he was in battle and how passionate he was with his lovers. How he had eight bastard daughters, and the eldest two were older than you. It had terrified you and made you sick to your stomach the whole trip to your new home. But when you had met Oberyn Martell some of those fears went away. 

    The Red Viper was not as scary as his reputation made him seem, at least not when it came to you. He was kind and gentle with you and seemed nervous to overwhelm you. Dorne was very different from Winterfell and King’s Landing and it was a difficult adjustment at first. But Oberyn and Ellaria made it easier on you. 

    Ellaria sat with you often, talking for hours, answering questions you had about Dorne and about Oberyn and herself. Dorne was different, she explained to you when you had expressed concern about the both of them and their lovers. 

    “Oberyn will not stop you from taking a lover if you wish, princess. We love freely here in Dorne. That’s why there are so many bastards like myself. Status and wealth mean nothing when choosing a lover. All that matters is that you both want to share yourselves with each other.” she smiled at you gently.

    You were nervous and hesitated before asking, “but what about our wedding night. He won’t be angry if I’m not… pure?” you cringed a little using that word. It had always bothered you. No one cared if a man took lovers before he was married but if a woman did everyone was outraged. 

    Ellaria didn’t laugh like you expected her to. She smiled gently (and maybe with a little sadness in her eyes) before answering you. 

    “Oberyn will not care if you take 100 lovers before you marry him. And he won’t care if you don’t take any either. That’s the beauty of love. Oberyn has a lot of love to share and he does so often, and he would never stop you from doing the same. I think the poor man is half in love with you already. As am I.”

    You blush deeply at her confession. She was beautiful, and you cared for her there was no doubt about that. But Winterfell wasn’t like Dorne. You had kissed your handmaiden once when you were still a teenager. Robb and Jon had caught you and told your mother and she had been upset, so you had never done anything like it again. The idea of kissing Ellaria though, was very appealing, and she was sitting close to you. Close enough that you could lean in slowly… and you were kissing her before you even realized it. 

    You liked kissing Ellaria. Her lips were soft and warm and so were her hands as they cradled your face or rested on your waist. You kissed her often after that first time, whenever you could steal her away long enough. You were still too shy to kiss her in the open, but she said she didn’t mind. 

    And when you became more comfortable with Ellaria you started to become more comfortable with Oberyn. He didn’t intimidate you as much when Ellaria would tell you stories of him when he was young and foolish, or when you saw him with his daughters, especially the youngest ones. Oberyn loved his daughters, anyone with eyes could see if, and his daughters loved him. 

    The first time you kissed Oberyn, you were more confident than when you kissed Ellaria. You had been walking with him through the Water Gardens and stopped to dip your feet into one of the many pools. Ellaria had suggested you spend some time alone with him since the wedding was now only a week away and you were glad you had taken her advice. Oberyn’s laugh was infectious and his smile could light up all of Westeros. That was when you had kissed him, when he was laughing about something one of his girls had said to him. 

    He seemed surprised when you kissed him suddenly, but he recovered quickly and pulled you closer to him. His kisses were wonderful too. His lips weren’t quite as soft as Ellaria’s, but he was just as passionate in his affection. You liked how large his hands were and how they felt holding your hips or stroking up and down your thighs or torso. He was strong and held you tightly but carefully, like you were made of porcelain but he didn’t want to let you go.

    “You’ve been practicing with Ellaria, haven’t you, my dove?” he whispered quietly as you pulled away to take a deep breath. 

    “Yes, my prince. I like kissing her, I like kissing you too,” you say with a blush. 

    “Well I’m glad to hear it, my dove because I plan on kissing you as often as you’ll let me. And judging by how often you drag Ellaria away from me to kiss her I don’t think you’ll object too much.” he laughs a little before kissing you again. 

    You don’t object, as he predicted. You start kissing Oberyn every chance you get too. You decide you like kissing, especially if it’s your prince and his paramour.

    And then, the day before your wedding, you ask Ellaria to bed you. 

    “If… If you don’t want to- I know how much you love Oberyn, but I’m nervous for tomorrow, and I want you to… teach me.” you look down at your feet nervously, half expecting her to be offended and send you away. 

    She doesn’t send you away. Instead she tilts your chin up gently and kisses you soundly before pushing your hair behind your ears. 

    “I would be honored, my little wolf. I want this with you too, but only if you’re sure. I don’t want you doing this just because you’re afraid of tomorrow.”

    “I do want this, Ellaria… I would have asked Oberyn too but… But I’m afraid he won’t want me because I’ve never… I don’t want to disappoint either of you.” you look around nervously, but when you look into her deep brown eyes again you feel calm.

    “My love, you could never disappoint either of us, I assure you. And I can also assure you that Oberyn does want you, but he doesn’t want you to feel pressured to be with him before you’re ready. But if you want him with us tonight I’m sure he would be more than happy to join us.” Her words comfort you and you smile and kiss her softly.

    “Perhaps we could go to your room while he’s with Doran tonight, and we can surprise him when he gets back?” you’re excited at the idea you’ve proposed to Ellaria and she seems to be excited about it too as she takes your hand and leads you to the room she shares with Oberyn. 

    That first night with them is the best of your life, you think. Ellaria makes you cum twice before Oberyn even enters the room and when he does he seems very excited about what he finds waiting for him. 

    “What a lovely surprise,” he whispers as he walks closer to the bed.

    You’re already flushed but the way Oberyn is looking at you makes it worse. You’re not nervous anymore, and you wonder why you ever were. You love Oberyn and Ellaria, they would never hurt you or judge you.

    Ellaria pulls away from you to kiss him as he comes closer and you watch them. Ellaria smiles and helps him undress before pulling him down to the bed. It’s a large bed and you barely have to shift to make room as you watch them together. 

    They’re beautiful and you think they’re made for each other. The way they kiss each other is different from the way they kiss you. It’s always more gentle with you, but with each other… You don’t think the gods themselves would be as beautiful as the two of them. 

    Oberyn bites Ellaria’s neck gently, slipping two fingers inside her, and you think the moan she lets out is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. But then you watch as his cock enters her and they moan together, and you decide THAT is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You’re so absorbed in watching them that you don’t really register the fact that you’re rubbing your clit in slow circles until your third orgasm of the night has you moaning both of their names.

    When Ellaria climbs off of Oberyn's lap and kisses you again you smile. 

    "Did you enjoy the show, princess?" she asks quietly and you nod. 

    "You two are beautiful together," you whisper. 

    Oberyn is kneeling between your legs, running his warm hands up and down your thighs slowly, "You're beautiful too, my love. And we're honored that you trust us enough to be with us like this." 

    He smiles at you and then his mouth is between your legs and you're moaning again. And when Oberyn brings you to your fourth orgasm you hold onto Ellaria and kiss her like your life depends on it. 

    When Oberyn finally enters you for the first time you're pleasantly surprised. You were always told it would hurt, a lot, but you're surprised when it feels good to have him inside you. He goes slow, kissing you and whispering to you, making sure you're not in pain. 

    Ellaria is next to you too, kissing you and stroking your side and arms slowly. It calms you having her there, but it excites you too. When Oberyn starts moving again, you hold onto him. After a moment you feel more bold and you move with him, rocking your hips to meet his. 

    The sound of him moaning in your ear pushes you closer to the edge. This is even better than before, and when he and Ellaria tell you how proud of you they are, that you're a good girl, that they love you, that's what finally brings you over the edge once again. 

    Later, you're lying between them, the warm Dornish breeze gliding across your skin from the open windows. You're calm and happy, happier than you thought you would be in Dorne. 

    "Thank you," it's almost a whisper, you don't want to disrupt the calm. 

    "No, princess. Thank YOU," Oberyn replies, stroking your arm gently. "You shared your trust and your love with us tonight, and that is a beautiful thing. Thank you for sharing that with us." 

    You feel Ellaria kissing your shoulder and it makes you smile. You truly love these two, more than you can put into words. You hold her hand and wrap it around you tightly before snuggling into Oberyn's side. 

    "I'm glad I was sent here to you," you say right before you fall asleep. "I love you. I'm lucky I get to spend my days here with both of you." 

    "Believe me, little wolf," Ellaria mumbles into your shoulder. "We're the lucky ones." 

    You smile to yourself as you fall asleep to the soft sound of Oberyn snoring lightly next to you. Yes, you're very lucky that you have these two beautiful people in your life. 

[sol-korolevas]

—𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: rk900 x gn!reader 

words: 8.2k+

summary: “there you are, the wound. the warning. what am i, then? the breach?” 

warning: super mild violence (for now)

note: gosh writing dbh brings me back to the days where i habitually upload at least one fic to the tag. it’s been several months since my last fic so i’m gonna need to rectify that :3c this work is inspired by a previous fic, but i added more meat into this one. rk900 is such a bastard in my book and i hope i do his bastardness some justice so enjoy!

Never show weakness. 

Weakness can be controlled and manipulated. It leaves you vulnerable to the mercy of the enemy; it’ll kill you. But weakness is also a human facet that’s ingrained into the mind. And it’s a remembrance to humanity’s mistakes and proof of the existence of humanity. 

Someone told you weakness cannot be shed, but you can tether it and guard it with your ferocity. 

And, they said, ferocity is precious. 

Wear it like a crown of fangs. 

Hold it as a gun, heavy and warm on the flesh of your hand.

“What did you do?” 

All of a sudden, you feel the oppressive stare of RK900 pushing down on you. When once you can easily respond in kind, you now feel at a loss. 

Control everything, even your weakest emotions. 

And yet, you still lost control. You pulled the trigger too early, believing that you had won. After the explosion comes reality, the world shatters, bending forward until it's weight pushes you down onto your knees. The gun in your hand slips out and clatters onto the ground beside you - now just a deadweight. The ringing is loud and you’re not sure if it's from the aftermath of the shooting or from your own mind. You cannot block out the noise no matter how close you press your palm to your ears. Suddenly, you have no idea where everything is anymore. All you can think about is the ‘why’s ‘and the ‘how’s’. 

“[Name]!” a familiar voice calls to you and you turn your gaze towards it, eyes watching with a pathetic plea for help. RK900’s icy stare run chills down your spine, even more so when he’s standing tall and looking down upon you like the wraith he is. 

He crouches then, setting his gun beside him, his body blocking away the sight behind him as he takes your chin and tilts it up. The gesture is tender, if not for the blankness of his stare. 

You sometimes forget he’s incapable of the fundamental kindness humans have. Within his barren heart is just the life force that keeps him moving. 

The void in his eyes stare back and you panic, reaching towards his wrist with both of your hands so you can wrap them around it. 

He doesn’t let go. 

“Why did you shoot the hostage, [Name]?” he murmurs, but the venom in his words is clear. “You were supposed to save it and you failed.” When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin and, out of instinct, you attempt to stand, almost falling to the ground before RK900 grabs your shoulders and pushes you down.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just answer my question.”

The flicker of emotion in his words terrifies you and it further reminds you of the catastrophe laid out in front. 

“I-I lost control of myself—” you choke out, eyes following RK900’s movement as he stands and walks toward the fallen android. 

Time becomes still. The ocean doesn’t smell like an ocean anymore as the scent of red and blue blood bloats the air. Even the gull birds’ cries have been swept away by the chill of the aftermath. Shadow drapes over the cargos; the area you are in is illuminated by dim lights - the strongest of which is cast over the pile of bodies. 

The only sound left is the click of his pristine shoes and your heart beating through your ear. 

Your body falls forward, elbows keeping you from fully meeting the ground, as you watch him crouch down and take out the thirium pump. There are black wires still connecting it to the android before RK900 rips the pump away. You see the red LED light on the fallen android’s temple blink rapidly until it goes blank. 

“What are you doing?” you ask in horror. 

“Cleaning up the mess you made, [Name],” Rk900 says, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder. His words quickly silence you, the brevity of it all coming back after the initial shock of seeing RK900 doing this. 

He then takes the kidnapper’s gun and shoots the android in the forehead, before replacing the gun back into the kidnapper’s hand and once more into its chest. The skin on his arm is dissolved - a safety precaution. 

The light of his LED circulates yellow and orange as his skin eventually returns. You watch as RK900 begins to search for something, before finding it - a bullet - and picks it up. 

He’s feeling the weight of it, moving it around in his hold as if studying the shape. “I’ve wiped the cameras and cleared the android’s memory cache, now no one will know what happened.” 

“No, this is wrong,” you quickly say, scrambling up. But before you can move properly, your body tips forward from the fatigue. And RK900 is there to catch you, gripping your waist with one arm. Immediately you rip your gaze away, not wanting him to see you at your most vulnerable anymore. 

But in the end, RK900 wins - he always wins - as you turn your gaze to him. You notice the corner of his mouth twitch as if he’s going to smile. Instead, he says,“ ‘This is wrong’? Would it be better if I tell the command what you did then?” 

The numbness in your mind stops. 

Some sense finally floods in as you disassemble his words. There’s nothing but a grim reality for you if word gets out. If he speaks - if any of you speaks - then the years behind you will truly be lost, forever. And you’ll be marked by the sin you just committed. 

But this is no less criminal than what you just did. 

And despite it all, the naively moral person in you still wouldn’t relent. “Unfix all of this, RK900.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do, [Name],” he says, pressing the hand containing the bullet against yours., “Not when I am saving both of us.” 

There’s no ‘but’s’ and ‘if’s’; no hesitations either. It’s either a shaky road ahead or punishment. 

You must accept this and with acceptance, you slump your shoulders. But the grip on your waist tightens and you squeak, feeling soreness everywhere on your body. 

“So now it’s a secret, and we lie,” you manage to say, forcing yourself to look into RK900’s eyes. But it’s not easy with RK900, despite having a hand in this. The look of superiority so natural to him diminishes all hope of sympathy for your plight. Although you’re not looking for that; you’re now looking for a semblance of peace, more than ever. “Unless—” 

Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer, his pale lips brushing too close to the shell of your ear. 

“Unless you are not doing what we all agreed to,” he tells you, voice calm and collected. This is now personal to RK900, you can hear it by the hush of his words. He sees some kind of chance, some kind of reason to do what he did.

Except, he has no sense of monetary or material value. You know because he always plays by the book - he’s a military and police assistance designed to assist human officers. 

He wants one thing and one thing only. 

“You want me to continue to work as a police detective.” 

You watch as he chuckles, eyes creasing with a hint of pleasure glimmering underneath his stormy gaze. But the brief look of human emotion feels foreign; it’s a mask he wears. Underneath the light, he looks far more like a fiend. 

The thick blocky letters of his name fizzle in and out as you mindlessly cling onto the fabric of his shoulder. 

“Absolutely, but you’ll listen to me without question. No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing manages to come out. In the past, he had always made it hard for you. You came in late, he scolds you; you forget a deadline, he scolds you; you talk too much with a coworker, he tells Fowler and then returns to mock you. To RK900, you’re too careless and naive - vastly different from the perfection that he is. 

To anyone else, RK900’s condition can be easy - normal even. But you know, underneath his request, is another demand. 

Absolute obedience. 

But now, everything is better than being fired. 

“Think of this as a punishment for you, [Name],” comes RK900’s voice. He still doesn’t release you, knowing that you hate unnecessary contact between himself and you more than anything in this world. You sense a certain kind of twisted pleasure forming in him, from the smugness in his tone to the way he looks at you. “And think of this as a lesson too, on why you should think before you act,” he adds. 

If you have a clearance of mind and of a stronger character, you would’ve argued back and taken control of the situation. Especially since you are his superior in both name and title. And under normal circumstances, you will absolutely rebel against him.  

He’s supposed to be underneath you, not the other way around. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Okay, I’ll work harder and accept your input.” 

It’s hard to keep sarcasm away usually, but this time you’re serious. 

A part of you still doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re closer to corruption - the opposite of what you want to be. Your cheeks are heating up and there’s a tremble to your limbs. The ringing in your ears is still present. 

“Very good, I know we can somehow come to a mutual agreement one day.” RK900 finally lets you go before passing a thumb across your cheek. You flinch and move away as far as you can. He knows you hate the agreement as much as he enjoys it. 

When you see him turn his back on you in the distance, you open your hand. The bullet is deformed. There’s a chance that no one will even know this bullet is shot by a different gun. You still have your gun with you. 

RK900 could’ve easily mentioned this and gave you peace of mind. 

And he must’ve transferred the memory cache into himself before wiping it away from the android. 

You’ve always thought he’s trying to work his way above you. 

Now you think he succeeded

“Detroit’s first android ambassador.” Fowler’s words are heavy and thick as he paces around his office. You and RK900 both watch in silence, standing side-by-side in front. The screen behind him flashes the news of what happened two days before. Every once in a while you see the frozen features of the android you shot, looking back at you. There’s no life in those empty-looking eyes. 

Nothing that gives a hint of it being once alive. 

Immediately, you look away. 

In one corner, you notice a small video screen with the leftover remnants of Markus’s rebellion speaking at a podium. It cuts off to Fowler speaking at a press conference, but the words are muted. 

You fucked up, you fucked up so bad and they don’t even know the other half of it. 

“Do you know the name of this android you’re saving, [Last]?” Fowler asks, nodding towards the screen where the android’s face appears. You want to look away, but you know it’ll only force you to dig a deeper grave. Fowler isn’t stupid; he knows all the tics in you from the moment you joined. There’s a reason why he’s here in this position. But Fowler doesn’t wait for an answer, because he says, “RK900, tell [Name] the name of the hostage that was supposed to be saved.” 

“Victor, sir,” RK900 says without hesitation. He doesn’t look at Fowler, instead, he keeps his gaze to the floor with an emotionless look on his face. He seems so passive and subservient; you couldn’t even hear the coldness in his voice. You’re not sure whether you like him like this or if you’re envious of Fowler because of RK900’s difference in demeanor. 

“Victor—” Fowler sits down on his office chair and brings his fingers together, his elbows resting on the desk— “Android-kind’s hope to rectify a long, long period of scorn and hate from the society that built them.” 

He sighs, huffing out a breath. “At least there are still other ambassadors willing to meet us.” 

You look up from your gaze on the floor, noticing the way Fowler’s shoulders sag as he picks up a picture frame. There’s a brief flash of tenderness in his eyes before he sets down the frame and looks back at you. 

“I’ve asked Hank to make sure the other android ambassadors are all safe - put them in witness protection if need be.” 

“That’s a very good plan, sir,” RK900 replies. 

Fowler is still looking pointedly at you, his face unwavering in the seriousness of the situation. You know your face is cracked, splitting between guilt and remorse. To the unknowledgeable outsider, they would think it’s from the failed hostage extraction. 

Silence slowly brews and Fowler is awaiting a response from you. RK900’s knuckles brush against yours in an effort to make you talk without verbalizing his intentions. 

You know you need to speak - you want to speak - but all the words catch in your throat. Even your mind is in chaos; it wants to justify what you did while putting in caution to not let slip of what really happened; it wants to come up with ways to make some kind of amendment, some kind of solution to all this. 

But, none of this can rewind time and bring Victor back. 

“Why did you allow the kidnapper to shoot the hostage?” 

You tense, suddenly hearing the gunshot ring inside your ear again and the painful feeling of your knees hitting the ground. But amidst the chaos, RK900’s footsteps going towards the pile of bodies echoes with clarity. You still remember all the words he said, the promise he made to you, and the promise you made to him. And then, when you finally find yourself coming up with an explanation, you realize you couldn’t. 

Years before you promised yourself not to fall into the depths of corruption - as both a civilian and as police. 

But, oh, how the tables turned. 

“I-I won’t lie, we did fail, and—” you pause just as you feel RK900’s hand bump into the back of yours. It’s a deliberate act; it’s him warning you not to tell. And you look at him - at his face - and see the faint furrow of his dark brows and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look back, but you can already feel his voice playing against your mind. 

Keep quiet.  

RK900’s hands are now folded behind his back as he takes one step forward. “We tried initiating contact with the kidnapper as diplomatically as possible, but when he saw us, he struck. I believe he meant to kill the hostage anyway; it was merely a game for him.” He spoke with such calmness that Fowler must believe it. 

And Fowler does - you watch him shake his head, his eyes looking to a spot beside your leg. “So it seems as if he’s playing with you - only to end up killing Victor and then himself.” He inhales sharply, before breathing out as he gazes back at you. “And I suppose you were the one who shot the kidnapper?” 

“Yessir,” you say, words slurring a little - a lack of eloquence and professionalism as RK900 would put it. You briefly look away, fingers picking at the fabric of your dress shirt. 

“Captain,  [Name]’s safety was also important - especially when they’re still new to all of this.” 

The words sting more than they should. Most because you know in some way RK900 is hiding his own opinion of you underneath a fake tone of sympathy and concern for you. In the end, he’s still the dominant voice and the dominant mind. 

You can tell Fowler right now about the degree to which RK900 made you obey him and work until he is satisfied. You once thought about lying to Fowler that you suspect RK900’s a deviant - despite being assured he cannot deviate. But you’re neck-deep in a lie right now and you don’t suppose RK900 will let you off this easily. 

And Fowler may not trust androids completely yet but he seems to have full faith in RK900’s responsibilities to assist you as both partner and mentor. Regardless of how many boundaries crossed, Fowler will not be able to regulate that because RK900 isn’t human. 

“For now I can look past your rookie mistake, but if the higher-ups question it, I’ll be forced to bring you back into this office for a thorough investigation. Mark my words, [Name], count your blessings now because I damn hope nothing comes out of it.”

This is the kindest Fowler has ever said to you in your work environment. 

“Thank you for your words, Captain,” you say, straightening your back. 

He nods his head, saying, “I expect a report from you by the end of your shift tonight, [Name].” He then reaches for something, a picture frame, before pausing. “You know, I sense a change in you. You’re not like who you were when you were younger.”

You understand Fowler is expecting an answer from you, but you feel trapped by what he said. A part of you feels confused, wanting him to explain. 

You then take a look at RK900, briefly wondering if he’ll say something. He’s looking at you instead, icy eyes watching you back, that telltale sign of condescension glimmering in his gaze. You immediately look back, staring at the group of picture frames on Fowler’s desk. 

“Yes, I understand,” is your only response, but you know it’s not the answer you nor Fowler wanted. 

You thank Fowler again and leave his office, the burdening feeling of something amiss follows you.

“I work better without someone hovering over me.”

You don’t feel the movement behind you or the heavyweight of RK900’s gaze sliding away. The intensity of his presence continues focusing on you, eventually forcing you to stop typing and push your chair away from your desk. 

“I believe right now would be a perfect time for you to work,” comes his smooth response. He’s standing beside you, stiff and straight. He’s a thoughtless being who’s realistically programmed to act and do a certain way. But now he looks as if he’s hiding away his thoughts as you look at him. You try not to glare at RK900; it’s unprofessional. But your annoyance isn’t well-hidden either as you return your focus back onto the screen. 

The DPD is empty except for you, Fowler, and RK900. Everyone else has their usual schedule of nine-to-five. It’s been such a common occurrence for you personally to be here earlier that you’re now used to it. 

“And within ten minutes the others will arrive,” you say, picking up a pen, “You can’t expect me to finish this report by then, won’t you?” Your attempt to sound less biting fails; if it is any other person speaking you would’ve been kinder. 

At least, you want to believe it so. 

“Do you even know how to write a status report?” His words are sharp and blunt as ever. Much to your abject horror, he’s reading the document. He doesn’t need to physically control it to do so; he can hack. You watch him narrow his gaze, eyes scrutinizing every word you typed. 

Silence folds over you as you pick at your thumb, now childishly put into a corner and unable to speak. You know you hold yourself accountable for your lack of attention to the finer aspects of reporting, but as RK900 begins deleting and re-editing your current progress, you know he’s trying to get underneath your skin. 

“Use what I wrote as a guide,” he finally says, stepping back for you to read, “I assume the police academy never taught you how to write.” There’s a teasing lilt in the last of his words, but it means so much more than that to you. 

Leaning in, you begin to type, using what he wrote as guidance, just as he directed. You’ve written reports before, for your high school classes and some of college. And it’s not that which is hard; it’s him, all him. 

“I understand you loathe my being here, but we agreed to it, [Name].”

You stop typing once more, feeling the familiar ring pulsing in your ear. “I don’t need to be reminded.” 

He never said you have to be formal to him. And in some way, you still want to show him his true place. 

RK900 raises his chin, his arms clasped behind him. He’s really looking down on you in the most literal sense. “I’m also doing what I’m programmed to do.” RK900’s tone is surprisingly soft this time as if his response is intimately between you and him. “And if you can’t write something simple as a report, then I would suggest you take remedial classes somewhere so you can.” 

“I thought you’re going to assist me, RK900.”

“With police work, not writing,” comes his terse response. 

“No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

He takes his duty of being your partner and guide to a much higher level than you had anticipated. And you fully understand that RK900 was built like this. 

Except—

The need to hide and destroy evidence wasn’t - no, shouldn’t be - programmed into him. 

Many times you’re not even sure you know what RK900 is. Time and time again something tells you he’s a deviant, but the high collar of his uniform and the promise by Cyberlife attests to something else entirely. And his strict adherence to serving humans far exceeded his capabilities of free-thinking. 

Just the simple thought of his role in that makes you shiver. 

But as you start typing again, you feel the tip of RK900’s fingers settle on the back of your hand and you turn your face towards him, silently asking for a reason. 

“Except for that little bit of rebellion back there, you’re doing wonderful,” he tells you, voice soft. The smugness returns as a vague smirk plays on his lips. You furrow your brows and ignore him, steadily keeping your eyes on the monitor as your fingers resume the typing. 

“Would you like me to tell the rest not to bother you?” 

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps coming into the precinct. 

Swiveling your chair around, you see Gavin first, his hands slipped inside his jeans, followed by Chris in his uniform, and Hank walking behind. And Connor, much to your disappointment, must have finally made his decision to leave the DPD. 

“Why you gotta upstage us again, Rookie?” Gavin says, holding his hands out. 

You are then greeted by Chris and Hank as they take their seats. Except for Gavin, who is still waiting for you to respond. A side of you is relieved he’s here; as annoying as he is, he brightens the place. But, on the other hand, RK900’s still here too. 

And before you can react, RK900 is standing firm beside you. A look of displeasure is on his face, lips thin and eyes pointedly looking at Gavin. “Detective Reed, my partner has a name you should use.” 

You reach for the cuff of RK900’s sleeve and grip it, pulling it against his wrist. “Don’t meddle, please.” 

Despite your attempt to keep your words between you and him, Gavin hears and reacts with a smirk. 

“Yeah, ‘don’t meddle’ you stone-faced robot,” he says, sneering. The look of ill-disguised contempt washes over his face as he crosses his arm. “This conversation is between me and Rookie, yeah?” His last words are directed at you, brown eyes flickering over to you, silently asking for input. 

“It’s—” you look back up to RK900, figuring that in the end, it’s better to placate him than Gavin— “I shouldn’t talk while at work.” Your words suddenly feel foreign and you want to sink into your chair. 

Meanwhile, Gavin stares at you, one eyebrow raising as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Huh, you sound odd today.” He then waves his hand out and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, whatever, you do what you gotta, I guess.” 

You and RK900 both watch as Gavin takes his seat near the entrance. 

Then, RK900 moves until he’s blocking Gavin’s entire desk and figure, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by your eyes. 

“Unrefined wretch - his immaturity will cost him his reputation as the face of Detroit.” 

“You have no business judging him,” is your response. You lean back into your chair and cross your legs, partially relieved that the tension has subsided for now between Gavin and RK900. Yet still, another remains, hovering in-between RK900 and you now. Your lips press together, heel rubbing against the tile floors, attempting to strike down the budding irritation in you. 

“RK900—” you turn your chair until you can fully face him— “Why do you hate everyone so much? You respect Captain Fowler but only because of his status, right?” 

Strategically, it’s uncouth of you to ask such a question, especially during work-hours. You aren’t privy to the notion that anyone can hear you discuss this, or that RK900 himself might be displeased with the question. And true to your thought, he is, as his mouth curls into a frown. 

“They are all nobodies to me,” he says, words cool and even. But his eyes are an unbridled storm of hard edges. He lowers himself, bending at one knee as he looks you straight in your eyes. “You may have a good standing with them, but not me - I’m only programmed to work with them.” He presses three fingers on your knee and stands up. 

“Do with it as you will, [Name], but I am your partner.” 

You blink, but silently you acknowledge his response.

RK900 is right, however. He cannot develop relations with others aside from a strict work code. And there is a contrasting clash between him and people like Gavin, whose casual and carefree manner doesn’t adhere to the serious business professionalism of Rk900. Thus, easy enmity flourishes and that in itself surrounds every other individual RK900 meets. 

Hank and Chris now only ever talk to you outside of work. 

You feel just a bit more out of touch with everyone, but it’s not your place to argue when you should be putting those extra time to do your duties. 

RK900 left for maintenance after you finished your report. 

With his absence comes a peace that feels surreal, almost fake. His access to your phone and personal computer means he can send you case files and even message you if he finds it necessary. But knowing he’s going for maintenance means he won’t be able to do any of that for a few hours. 

And hopefully, nothing changes during that time. 

The last thing you need is someone finding the stored memory cache of that night. 

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as you slip on your messenger bag. 

Before you can leave, Chris stops you. “Hey [Name].” 

He looks around, then says, “I was going to tell you this, but RK900 was there and I don’t want to end up like Gavin.” You see a nervous look on his face when he mentions RK900, which you wouldn’t fault him at all for. 

“Don’t worry, RK900’s in CyberLife headquarter now,” you tell him, adjusting the strap of your bag. 

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Chris answers, sighing. “Connor wants to meet you, Hank’s supposed to be the messenger but he got work to do. You can find Conner at the old playground - you’ll know which one.” 

There’s a beat in-between, before he adds, “Best not to mention it to RK900.”

“—and I cannot believe the process of finding an apartment,” Connor says, leaning against the black railing with a smile on his face. “But it’s liberating, there’s so much detail that I can decide for myself. Hank helped too; he argued with the agent and he must’ve worked something out because the next thing I know, he’s handing me the key.” 

He smiles and rubs his hands together. 

“It sounds like you really liked the experience,” you tell him. You watch as his shoulders shake, but he’s not laughing. Smile pulling into a frown, you touch his shoulder and say, “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah, my internal system sometimes gets sensitive during cold weather - I’ve replaced it with older parts.” He doesn’t look at you, instead, he keeps his focus onto the view ahead, where the ocean stretches until it hits the coast. Dark clouds curl from the factory chimneys in the distance, reminding you of the days spent bicycling through the empty streets, wanting to go inside one of those factories where your parents worked. 

And you don’t miss the way Connor’s tone changes when he utters those last words. It’s been a year since he left CyberLife and ever since then, both good and bad changes have come for him. Freedom for the exchange of degradation and a life of half-scorn and half-hope. 

You gleaned some of Connor’s experience from Hank. But you never had the chance to fully understand. 

A part of you doesn’t want to; comforting words isn’t something you can effortlessly gift to someone. 

“You think I can make it through this year?” Connor asks, clasping his hands tightly. He’s looking down, face full of solemnity and a vague sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak much about this kind of worry to anyone, so you are left struck with the realization that he trusts you enough to say this to you. 

You suddenly feel burdened and undeserving of that trust. 

You shake your head, silently gazing at the space between the two chimneys in the distance. The material of your scarf’s able to hide your mouth, but it cannot hide the frown from your face. “Of course you will,” you tell him, placing your hands on the railing, “You won’t break - I promise.” 

The phone in your pocket vibrates and you place a hand over the pocket and hesitates. 

Connor turns to face you and tilts his head. “[Name], is something wrong?” 

The voice in you wants to answer him that yes, something’s wrong. It’s RK900 calling, because it’s always him that cares too much to call you when you’re off work. No matter how much the deafening voice is telling you now to answer and yell at him, you can’t. Connor is here and this moment is for him. 

“Yes, but it’s there’s always a little wrong if you’re me,” you say, chuckling. 

His gaze softens and you don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you. And despite the problems he’s facing, it’s always easy to see him do that. You’re not certain if he’s just like that or if there’s something you don’t know about it. But this is the Connor you’re most familiar with and you terribly miss having him in the DPD. 

And since he’s here—

“Would you ever think of coming back to the DPD?” 

Surprise appears on his face, taken aback by your abrupt question. He doesn’t respond but the LED blinks rapidly in orange. You don’t want to make it too serious of a question to worry him so you look away and pretend he said no. Connor deserves a break - a long one anyway - and it’s not like there are no androids like him out there who can fill in his space. 

Once upon a time, you thought he would be a good replacement. 

“If you don’t want to, I understand, but—” you stop yourself, taking in a shuddering breath as you attempt to collect your nerves. It’s unsavory - perhaps even pathetic - of you to want Connor back. But it’s the wishful knowledge that you can see his warm smile in the DPD rather than just the cold gray eyes of RK900 is a thought of comfort. 

You feel uneasy and you begin to adjust the strap on your messenger bag. The weight beside you is a welcoming right now. 

“No, I would like that,” Connor says, smiling. And you can see it, the flicker of hope in his honey-brown eyes. “I would love to work with Hank again, and I would love to work with you on a case together,” he adds, placing his arm behind his back. Then the grin on his face settles back as he looks to the ground. 

“But—” 

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Both you and Connor know this, that it’s an unspoken rule in DPD that Connor cannot work anymore. He’s ineffective, old, and useless according to his makers and the numerous flaws on his body has rendered him incapable to be on most cases anyway. 

But there’s another truth that overshadows everything else. 

“My presence isn’t particularly well-liked there.” He laughs, but it’s forced and absent of his usual light humor. You know he’s upset about this - it pains him to not be able to do something he truly loves to do. 

“It’s RK900, isn’t it?”

Connor looks back up at you and he frowns. He’s still for a moment, the wind brushing through his dark brown hair. Stray strands linger across his forehead, hiding the LED behind them. “My successor will be the first to have objections. I don’t think Detective Reed would like me back either, considering our last meeting involved my fist to his face.” 

“Fuck RK900,” you say, voice louder. You feel the sole of your boots digging into the thin trace of snow as you step forward. “He doesn’t own you and even I have more jurisdiction than him. Gavin’s long forgotten about that incident and I’m damn sure even he would rather it’s you in there than him.”

The fierceness in your words doesn’t betray the way your hands shake. You know it’s wrong to force Connor to come back. But your own selfishness far outcries the sensibility within you at this moment. 

Connor blinks, taken aback by your sudden response. You feel the creep of warmth through your cheeks the more time passes, especially when you realize he’s assessing you. That is something Connor will never part with, that instinct-like need to observe first.

But before you can talk more, a pair of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, breaks the silence between you. 

Immediately, you feel the warmth that had risen a moment before ebb back into a cold void. In the same moment you attempt to step forth, you decide to step back instead. Cold eyes stare at you, but you couldn’t find the previous energy you had to even look properly. 

“RK900.” And it’s Connor who said the first word, calling to his successor in the same clinical manner Rk900 would speak in towards everyone around him. All of a sudden, the [person] who spoke with tenderness is gone, his entire facade now hardwired into that of a near-emotionless being. 

And RK900, who up until now has been looking at you, turns his gaze toward him. He’s not in the Cyberlife issued white and black uniform but in a black turtleneck sweater and dark fitted jeans and polished black oxfords. Even so, the entirety of his form recalls the usual coldness of his existence. 

You’re aware that the same situation as this morning will happen again. But that was different; the one in front of him had been Gavin. 

This time, it’s Connor and he’s—

“A deviated failure, how quaint,” comes RK900’s venomous words, but it’s only concealing the darker intentions underneath. You’re not sure who to push back or who to tell to stand down. 

But you know who is more likely to act first. 

“RK900, that’s enough; we’re leaving.” In your attempt to break the dangerous tension, you wedge yourself between him and Connor, before pushing yourself against RK900. The uncomfortable closeness only makes you nervous, but the need to separate them far outweighs your own distress. “This is an order!” you add, realizing that RK900’s not moving. 

Neither Connor nor RK900 has said anything about your involvement, although they may be too focused on each other to care. This is dangerous, you know, because if they clash then no one - not even a military-trained soldier - can break them apart. 

The last time someone tried, it broke their arm. 

And that someone was you. 

You’re not certain you want to mentally live another day if something like this happens again. 

Suddenly, you feel a palm on the back of your shoulder. RK900’s glancing down at you and you look up, desperately trying to plead to him to go. 

Don’t make the same mistake, don’t harm him. 

“Is this why [Name] wants me back? Because of you?” 

You freeze, realizing this will never end unless one of them relents. You can still remember the first time, but now is not the time to relish in the past. And now that Connor has spoken, you know RK900 will make sure he gives him an answer. 

Turning your gaze, you see his jaws tense and the glimmer of hunger in RK900’s eyes. A tightness forms in your chest as you change your position and attempt to pull him by his arm. It’s useless; RK900 is as much a stone as he is a war machine. 

“Oh, worry not, we don’t miss you—” he breaks, eyes flitting back to you with a look of heavy disapproval on his face— “And certainly not [Name].” The last of his words are also for you, but well-hidden enough that only you know. 

Connor’s hand curls into a tight fist and no doubt is he thinking of using it like he did with Gavin. You can see it in the tenseness of his jaws, the wrinkle of flesh between his brows, and the narrowing of his eyes. The potent hostility between them only builds and builds despite the time in-between their previous meeting. 

And RK900 sees this, it makes him sneer in a show of dominance. 

“Are you really sure you want to fight me here? In a discarded playground?” The mocking tone in his voice is strong enough that you know it’s meant to enrage Connor. 

It’s working too. The red on Connor’s LED is flashing dangerously underneath the strands of hair covering it. 

As much as you want to see RK900 defeated, you know you cannot let Connor pull the punch first. 

“We’re leaving now, RK900, or I promise you I’ll tell Fowler about this,” you whisper, uncaring now of what happens in the future between you and him. 

“And what then? Don’t make me remind you of your position right now,” is his response. 

You see Connor looking at you, concern written across his face. “What does he mean by that?” 

For a moment, all eyes are on you as you attempt to come up with an answer. Once again you feel like a prey underneath the oppressive eyes of RK900. Still, you stand your ground and keep your hands on his arms. “Nothing, there’s nothing really.” A fake calmness is in your voice, one that you know Connor must’ve seen through. You tug once more at RK900’s arm, uncaring whether or not it’s too harsh of a gesture. 

“[Name]—” But before he can finish his sentence, RK900 has turned, finally allowing you to pull him away. “[Name] wait!” You hear Connor walking forward, attempting to stop you. But you throw him a look, a silent plea for him to not come. 

Not long after, the playground’s out of your line of sight. 

You’re going home, the waning frustration having worn away any semblance of peace in you. But the budding anger feels like fangs gnawing at the back of your mind. You don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight and be able to wake up tomorrow either. 

But you also cannot go home, because RK900 is following you even though you’ve walked and walked. The feeling of his cold stare is like a knife stabbing at your back. So you stop, having walked into an alleyway that’s a detour to your apartment, and you turn to face him. 

He also stops, standing just a few feet away, eyes settling upon your own. The longer the seconds tick by, the more irate you become and the more nervous you feel. So many times you feel like you’ve been cornered by him. Now that you’re physically cornered, the hair on the back of your neck is slowly standing stiff and a sharp coldness runs down your back. 

“I’m off work.” The calmness in your tone surprises you, but you know that calmness will quickly subside the moment something snaps. The glance you give him is only a warning; hell, it’s a learned reaction from him. But, you’re not finished and the flame within you is blazing stronger and stronger still.“And don’t you think it’s unprofessional of you to try to antagonize an ex-coworker?” 

“I never regretted my decision,” RK900 says, clasping his arms together behind his back. 

“And the first time it happened?” 

“That was a mistake.” 

You almost laugh, knowing all too well the pain that coursed through your arm when it got broken. Everything was so muddled back then, your memory, that is. So you’re not sure who was the one that broke your arm. You want to blame RK900, but you don’t want to bend that low. 

“We all make mistakes, [Name],” RK900 says, sharp gaze stubbornly holding yours, neve letting you go. 

We all make mistakes. 

Right. 

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” you say, words harsh but, in your mind, appropriate. And it’s not like it has a singular meaning. Your own bitterness towards yourself is still there, etched into the very words. Whether or not RK900 notices this is his problem. 

And you’ve run out of patience to wait for him to respond.

You turn and continue making your way out of the alley and into the street, where fluorescent lights decorate each shop. There are only a few civilians out, the distinction between whether or not any of them is an android or not now blurred by their lack of uniforms and LEDs. 

This time, you remain en route to your apartment, wanting nothing but the comfort of your bed. And when the familiar off-white color of the building appears in your line of vision, you walk faster. 

But before you can fish out your keys and unlock the double doors, a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Why are you following me?” It’s easy now for you to tell apart his hand from others - there’s always a strength to it. You also don’t miss the intrusive warmth behind your back. 

This time, you turn out of your own will. The sun hasn’t set yet and you can see RK900 staring back at you, face blank - almost serene. 

“I have a question for you, and I hope you may answer it,” he says, voice low. 

“A question for me,” you say, sounding out each word slowly. Again, the nagging feeling of wanting to laugh, to scream at him, gnaws at the edge of your brain. You just want to go home and he’s not even giving you that luxury. 

RK900 seems to sense it too because for a moment you notice the way he frowns before he reigns his expression back. “If you had answered my call, I wouldn’t have to chase you down like this.” 

“Thought you were in maintenance.”

“I can still access the phone application installed in me - you should already know that.” 

You press a hand to your face and slide it down hard. You do, you do know he can call you whenever he pleases. It’s not like that was the first time he attempted to do so. 

But sometimes it’s easier to lie. 

“Okay,” you say, fully giving up now. “I’m all ears.” 

You think he’s going to talk about Connor, again. But, no, he doesn’t because you notice there’s no trace of displeasure on his face, yet. Instead, he says, “No matter what, I want to remind you all that I did and am doing is for you, [Name].” He closes in, his body now just inches before you. Thankfully no one’s walking the street right now except for a few passing cars. 

Your hands are up, ready to push him away, but you stop, letting them linger in the air. “You could change, you know. Be nicer, be better.” It’s hesitant, the way you say those words, and perhaps naive in the way you told it. 

“And why should I?” he asks, leaning closer. “Would kindness protect you from the world? Wasn’t it your own kindness that left you injured?” He’s glaring down at you, attempting to trap you in a corner again. You cannot take a step back, the door is right behind you. 

“I know you wanted Connor to replace me, I’ve known since you first met him,” he adds, sensing that you wouldn’t be responding any time sooner. 

He’s right. And although you question how he knew, you realize it’s too late to find out. But do you even care if he knows? It may be better for him to know he’s not all that superior if he’s second at best. 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t honor our agreement,” is your response. “And I only wanted Connor back in the DPD and not as my partner.” You take in a deep breath, mind now burning with the need to stray away from this, all of this. 

Your attempt to sound confident in front of his presence only makes you seem like a trapped animal even more. Yet still, you place your hands on his chest, holding him at a distance. RK900 reacts with a chuckle, much to your relief, as he stays. 

“Even if the broken one comes back, he will never make you a better version of yourself. Remember [Name], your dream? You told me about it when we first met; you said you wanted to become a police lieutenant at least. You want to earn it through hard and honest work. You have a powerful dream, [Name], and I fully intend to see it happen.” 

The conviction in his words shatters you. You know RK900 is incapable of lying, maybe hide facts and manipulate it, but never outright lie. At least, not to you. And you do remember what you told him before. That wide-eyed new member of the DPD, staring at their future android partner and telling it their wish. That was all you. 

But to know he knows of your dream baffles you. He’s efficient, merciless, and stoic - a well-built machine. And to think he remembers something as insignificant as your dream makes you want to believe he’s something more. 

RK900’s hand suddenly drapes over your own, causing your shoulder to stiffen. 

“Kindness is a choice [Name]. ” 

He’s slowly pushing your arms down. 

RK900 then steps back, his focus still lingering on you. “I see it, from time-to-time, but it should be directed elsewhere. If you can use something more efficient, I believe you’ll make it.” 

And he puts his hand up and waves briefly at you. Wordlessly, you wave back. 

“And [Name]–” he stops himself, eyes searching for something on you— “I forgot to mention this, but if you don’t need me anymore, I will be forced to deactivate and taken apart. They will see into my memory cache if it happens; remember that.” 

RK900 doesn’t wait for your response. 

Seconds pass and you feel yourself slumping against the door. 

This is all a ploy, one could even admit to saying it was a selfish act of benevolence. 

But it’s still not right. You want to believe RK900 is still an android, too crude and unrefined to be anything more than what he already is.

He’s only doing this because that’s what he’s programmed to believe in. 

Unconsciously, your fingers touched the back of your hand. 

You can feel the phantom warmth of his hand, urging you to comply. 

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Saturday and you’re off, but the chance to be called on-duty is enough for you to rouse yourself. Sluggishly, you lean over and grab your phone. Several empty cups of ramen fall down before you find it. 

Looking at the screen, you notice that it’s not a number in your contacts. 

Surely it belongs to a telemarketer. 

But right after you slide it close, the same number calls you again. 

This time, you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, [Name].”

You feel your heart drop. “Markus?” 

note: YIKES i hope you guys like this. i’ve never experimented with long chaptered fics before and as a writer in general i’ve been rusty. i don’t fully intend to make this story any longer than 2-part unless i get some neat ideas going. plus, if you haven’t known, i suck at updating multi-chapters ^^; 

[accioromione]

Could u do a fic about Ginny and Harry teasing romione infront of molly pls🥺✨ this was inspired by a comment under the fic where Harry hears romione btw! X

It was a beautiful Easter Sunday. The sun gleamed against the Burrow’s kitchen window, and Mrs. Weasley had made a huge feast. Dinners at the Burrow was something Harry rather looked forward to. They used to do it every other week, but because of everyone’s busy schedules, it was hard to arrange them. So now, dinners at the Burrow were usually reserved for holidays or special occasions, Easter being one of them. Harry saw that Bill and Fleur were there, Fleur was five months pregnant and seemed to be glowing more than ever. Percy was there, with his girlfriend, Audrey, and George was also seated, alone. Harry knew about George and Angelina, but because they had just started dating, he figured that George was not ready to introduce her just yet. Across the table he saw Teddy and Andromeda, and immediately went to hug and hold his godson, who started giggling. 

Mrs. Weasley was still slaving away in the kitchen. Despite there being more than enough food on the table. She turned around at Teddy’s giggles. 

‘Harry! Ginny!’ She said before going over to kiss Harry on the cheek. Harry held Teddy in one hand and hugged Molly with the other. 

Mrs. Weasley went over to Ginny to give her a big squeeze. 

‘Ginny dear you look beautiful, the dress is a bit too low cut, here help me with the plates’ Ginny rolled her eyes, listened to her mother and helped her. 

Andromeda indicated to Teddy, who’s giggles had subsided, he was now resting his head against Harry’s chest, his eyes closing, 

 ‘he’s due for a nap, he’s just eaten, couldn't wait for the whole lot, reckon he was waiting for you’ 

‘Oh Harry dear, let him sleep in Ginny’s room,’ Molly said, as she waved her wand so more dishes made their way onto the table. 

‘Transfigure my bed into a crib’ Ginny added, and Harry went upstairs and did exactly that. Teddy was far gone the moment he went on the stairs, he settled Teddy down and placed a kiss on his forehead, tucking him in. He took one last look at his godson, who was now peacefully asleep, before going back down the kitchen to hear Fleur and Molly arguing.

‘Really, it eez not like I am incapable, I would be pleezed to ‘elp’ Fleur said

‘It’s okay dear, everything’s all done now, where is everyone...’ 

‘No manners I tell you mum, at least we know who’s punctual’ George joked 

‘Who else are we waiting for?’ Percy interjected 

‘Well, your fathers outside in the shed, Harry’s here now, Bill you’re here, Percy..George ...We’re waiting on Charlie, Ron, and Hermione then’ 

‘Ron late, surprise surprise’ George joked again 

‘He’s not late, the dinner starts at seven, which is in two minutes, oh Ginny go call your father for me’ 

‘Hopefully they didn’t get side-tracked’ Ginny joked before going to get her father. 

Molly looked confused at this and then with a ‘pop’ they saw Ron and Hermione appear. Hermione looked pink and Ron’s hair was slightly disheveled. 

‘I’m so sorry Molly!’ Hermione said right away as soon as she saw everyone’s eyes on them, ‘we didn’t keep good track of the time!’ 

Ron gave a shy smile at everyone, 

‘nonsense you’re right on time- take a seat, take a seat, you look beautiful darling, Ginny’s went to get Arthur, and we can all tuck in, now where is Charlie!?’ Molly added

And as if her mentioning has summoned him, Charlie Weasley appeared, he appeared to have 3 more burns since the last time Harry had seen him. 

Ginny came back Arthur by his side and everyone sat down to enjoy the meal. 

The whole table was caught in different conversations ‘Charlie, look at all these burns!’ Molly was saying to Charlie

‘Really I teenk people overplay zee difficulties of pregnancy, I quite eenjoy it’ Fleur was saying to Audrey. 

Bill was asked about Gringotts, Charlie, the dragons, George, the shop, Ginny, quidditch, and then the Ministry became a topic of conversation. ‘So how are you three enjoying it’ Arthur asked Ron, Hermione and Harry. 

‘I found it hard to navigate at first, but you get used to it don’t you?’ Percy interjected 

‘Yeah no it’s fine, plus I don’t really have to be running all about the ministry, I have my office when Ron and I aren’t on missions so we just have to go there,’ 

Ron agreed, and Hermione chimed in ‘same for me as well, minus the missions- but yeah it’s quite nice, a lot of work but I enjoy it, just stay in the office really’ 

‘I mean, for the most part’ Ginny joked

Molly looked at Ginny confused.

‘What do you mean dear?’ Molly asked

‘She stays in her office for the most part’ Ginny said, smirking.

Now Arthur looked confused, but George was sniggering in the background, and Harry too, knew where this was going, as he had recently told her about how he had overheard Ron and Hermione, in Ron’s office, the other day. 

‘Just you know, when she’s not paying Ron a visit..’ 

George sniggered even more and Ron’s ears turned red. Hermione looked mortified. 

Molly looked at Hermione, and then at Ron, and then back at Ginny. 

‘W-well I mean...you know she’s his girlfriend, it’s not out of the question for them to have lunch’ 

‘Think they had a bit more than lunch’ Ginny cheeked, ‘right Harry?’ 

Hermione looked at Harry furiously, but he couldn’t help but snigger a bit with George. ‘Er...’ 

‘Ginny enough!’ Molly said, ‘Ron and Hermione...I know you two are finally boyfriend and girlfriend but the ministry?’ 

Arthur seemed to be laughing as well. George interjected, ‘psh like you and dad wouldn't do the same’ 

Molly turned pink ‘I ...I’ 

‘Can’t really blame them- it’s the years of built up sexual tension’ Ginny added, and Harry’s eyes watered as someone kicked him under the table. Harry, who was sitting beside Ginny, knew that kick was from Hermione and targeted towards her. 

Hermione, who was regaining her composure looked at Molly and said, ‘anyways..we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore’ 

The whole table burst in outrage, ‘that’s even worse!’ Molly said, ‘to do that and not even be together, but why!’ 

Harry was shocked at this bit of information, but Hermione only sighed. 

‘Ron, are you going to say anything or am I doing all of the talking’ she said looking at Ron. Once their eyes met, the look of embarrassment on their faces appeared to vanish, and Harry saw that they were lost in their little world. How could they not be boyfriend and girlfriend when they clearly loved each other so much? 

‘Earth to Granger and icke Ronniekins’ George interjected, ‘must say- you guys are on really friendly terms for exes, you know I dont tend to look my exes in the face with lovey dovey eyes but that’s just me’ 

Ron put his arm around Hermione, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and finally took his eyes off of Hermione’s to look at the table in front of him..Hermione blushed. 

‘We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, Hermione’s now my fiancee’ Ron announced, smiling at the table at first and then smiling at Hermione, who looked lovingly back at Ron and beamed at the table, she stretched her arm to reveal her hand, and there in fact was a nice diamond ring placed on his finger. 

This was followed by another outburst on the table. ‘Oh thees eez lovely’ Fleur sighed, 

‘git you didn’t even tell me’ Ginny said 

‘didn’t know you had it in you Ron’ George said 

‘Congratulations Ron,’ Bill said

‘That is quite a responsibility’ Percy added 

‘Oh this is lovely!’ Molly said, ‘Hermione you’re officially apart of the family!’ 

Hermione beamed at the table.

‘Sorry I didn’t tell anyone before I did it...’ Ron added, ‘it’s just that anything I say to Harry, he’ll tell Ginny,’ he added before giving Harry a glare, as Harry had shown how he does exactly that ‘and Ginny will tell George...and then I was just scared it would come back to Hermione’ 

‘Oh it’s no worries!’ Molly said, ‘another wedding how lovely!’ 

And the whole table went into conversation about the wedding plans. And Harry was excited too...another wedding! With his two best friends, he had thought about it with Ginny, and he figured they weren’t too far off either. Harry figured that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t rush into one, but the idea of his two best friends being engaged after everything they’ve been through made Harry very happy. 

[therainroguefanfiction]

💤 Trying Too Hard (Hiryuu Rin)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life

Word Count: 1,562

Pairing: Reader x Rin

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Prompt: [….] is concerned because Y/N isn’t sleeping.

Author’s Note: This was written for the BNHA Sanctuary SFW Collab! Make sure you check out the original post to find a list of everyone’s fics. Happy reading~ Also, xīngān is a chinese term of endearment. According to this site:

“…literally means ‘heart and liver.’ While that might sound a bit too bloody for Westerners, the term is used to recognize the most important person, without whom you cannot live without.”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Being in the hero course could be pretty stressful at times, even more so in class A because everyone had their eyes on them. Even more stressful, however, was getting partnered up with the foul-mouthed, hot-headed Bakugo Katsuki. As if one assignment wasn’t bad enough, you had been paired up with him on two different assignments. Your friends made sure to offer their condolences for your bad luck, but you really wanted to try and make this work.

The first assignment was to write a short play in English and, being half-American and spending your childhood in America, this came easy to you. Bakugo himself wasn’t fluent in English, but knew enough to properly understand. There was a small argument about what the subject would be, but you conceded in order to placate his growing temper.

The play was going to be about the number one hero, LordXplosionMurder, and how he overthrew all of his enemies in order to reach the top.

The second assignment was a bit more complicated for you. Because heroes often have to work together, the assignment was to find a way where your quirks complimented one another, combining them to form a super move. The problem was that Bakugo was far superior in both physical combat and quirk control and he didn’t work well with others. He forced you into following his training regimen, threatening to beat your ass if you fell too far behind.

You had gone through a lot of training in order to successfully enter the hero course, but his regimen was just ridiculous and you were seriously struggling. Determined to keep up with the ash-blonde, thus proving yourself worthy and not getting your ass kicked by him, you decided it would be a good idea to forfeit sleep so you could dedicate more time to the training program he had given you. At first, your muscles just felt super sore and your body tired, but as the days slowly passed by, you really started to feel the effects.

The biggest change was how forgetful you were becoming, not remembering to do simple tasks that you were used to doing. You became moody, snapping at the smallest of provocations only to immediately apologize with teary eyes. You even fell down a couple of times, your tired brain unable to react in time to keep your balance.

To say that your friends were worried would be a massive understatement, but they knew how stubborn you could be and how badly you wanted to prove yourself to the ash-blonde, so they did they only thing they could think of that would help.

They told your boyfriend.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You sat at the desk in your dorm room, staring down at the Hero Law textbook as you read the first paragraph again for the hundredth time, but your brain was simply incapable of processing a single word. You felt so sluggish, body in a state where you were so tired, you would be far too tired to actually sleep even if you tried. So, you could only sit and stare at the paragraph, hoping that the words would magically register in your brain.

You wanted nothing more than to stop looking at that damn paragraph, but your grades had begun to slip and Aizawa was not happy about it, so you had to force yourself to study, even if it wasn’t actually doing anything for you. At least you’re trying.

“Xīngān?” A concerned voice reached your ears and you felt a cool hand rest on your shoulder.

Your eyes widened in surprise, snapping up to meet his. You hadn’t even heard the door being opened. Did he knock? Why was he in class A’s dorm? They were off limits to anyone outside of the class and if Aizawa found out, he’d be pretty angry. “H-Hiryuu…?” The throbbing in your temple was getting worse, making your face tense up as you tried to suppress a wince of pain.

Rin huffed, hands moving to his hips as his dark eyes shimmered with concern. “What are you doing to yourself, xīngān? Why haven’t you been sleeping? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Your shoulders sagged at his scolding tone, tears pricking at your eyes. Because the two of you were in different classes and had different schedules, you didn’t get to see each other nearly as much as you’d like to and yet… he still found out about your poor life choices. He was upset with you, rightfully so, and that filled you with guilt because you hated it when he was upset. “I’m so-sorry,” you cried, desperately trying to wipe away the tears but they kept falling.

Rin’s expression softened and he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, fingers combing through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings to you in Chinese, something he had learned early on to be a comfort to you. You clutched onto his shirt for dear life, stuffing your face into his chest. His heartbeat against your forehead was a major comfort to you, even if it was beating a bit faster than normal.

He shifted so he could bring his arms under your body, lifting you against his chest before bringing you over to the bed. It felt exceptionally soft beneath your exhausted body. After settling down beside you, keeping you protectively caged within his arms, he softly questioned you. “Will you tell me why you have stopped sleeping?”

Taking a shaky breath, you began to express how you were feeling and, once the words started to tumble from your lips, they refused to stop, falling quickly and without pause. Mixing this with your hiccups made it difficult for him to process, but he got the gist of it – Bakugo was the cause, pushing you way too far past your limits. Anger coursed throughout his body, but it wasn’t just aimed toward the ash-blonde. Part of the blame, he decided, fell on himself.

You were his partner, the person he loved more than life itself, but he hadn’t noticed how much you had been struggling the past week. Granted, he had only been able to see you once and that was only in passing during lunch, but he should have made more of an effort to check in on you. He wouldn’t make that mistake anymore.

His arms tightened around your body, feeling you slowly start to relax against him. His thumb gently brushed away the leftover tears beneath your eye, his skin cool against your own heated skin.

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled, eyes heavy as you struggled against the sleep that was rapidly claiming you.

“Rest now, xīngān. We can talk more in the morning, okay?” His lips were soft against the top of your head and, for the first time in a week, the smile that came to your lips was genuine.

“I love you,” you whispered before sleep finally claimed you, your breathing evening out as the tension left your body.

Rin’s heart soared at the declaration, unable to stop the wide grin spreading across his face. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, hoping that his words would reach you within your dreams. “Wǒ ài nǐ, forever and always, Y/N.”

━━━━━━༻B O N U S༺━━━━━━

Bakugo’s vermilion eyes shifted over when Rin approached him before class, standing beside the ash-blonde’s desk with a determined expression upon his face. The other students exchanged worried looks, their bodies tensed as they prepared to intervene if necessary.

“The fuck do you -”

“Stop being so damn hard on Y/N.” Rin ordered, not missing the anger that flashed through his eyes. While he was prepared to defend himself if necessary, he didn’t come here to fight with Bakugo. “They are doing their absolute best to please you because they’re scared of you!”

Something indistinguishable flashed through his eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came. “It’s not my damn fault they’re so weak!”

“Weak?” Rin echoed in disbelief. “Just because someone isn’t as strong as you does not make them weak! Y/N is very strong and they work their ass off with both their training and studies! Not only that, but they are kind and humble. Maybe you should takes notes from them.”

“What did you just say, you damned extra?!” Bakugo jumped to his feet, small explosions going off in his palm – an intimidation tactic that was lost on Rin.

“I said -”

“Hiryuu?” You appeared in the doorway, glancing between the two tense males with a frown. “What’s going on?”

Rin shot the ash-blonde a warning look before turning on his heel and closing the distance with a soft smile. “I was just thanking your classmates for looking after you when I’m not around.” His cool hands rested on your upper arms. “Are you sure you’re up to class? If you need more rest, I am sure Aizawa-sensei will understand.”

His concern made your heart flutter and you smiled happily. “I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

“You better,” he mumbled teasingly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips just as the warning bell chimed throughout the school. “I’ll come pick you up at lunch, xīngān.”

“Okay~” You chirped happily, leaning closer to take one more soft kiss from his lips before he headed to his own class down the hall.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

[jyndor]

I swear, WHY are these people harassing MINORS. The atla fandom is mostly adults at this point, that they're SEARCHING KIDS OUT is just so absolutely disgusting. Those kids got to miss the initial ship wars, let them go through 2020 in peace.

Anon I feel you. Full disclosure, I have had a bottle of wine and spent four hours talking to my family on zoom so I’m heated. Okay, here we go. Let me say this. I am 29 and neurodivergent/ADHD so I prefer explicitly-stated social rules of engagement. Like I don’t always pick up on social cues and that has gotten me into interpersonal conflicts in the past with my peers.

BUT. I am 29 so I also understand that I am in a different place than I was when I was 15 or 12 or 17. I have different needs, different expectations, from those who interact with me than I did when I was a kid. Fuck, I know how it might have felt back 15 years ago to hear adults say “she’s a kid, she doesn’t know what she needs, her brain isn’t fully developed and she can’t legally consent” yeah that pissed me off and in some ways it wasn’t true but with regard to consent it was. Of course it was. But what I’m hearing from these minors, these teenagers who I don’t know if they’re 12 or 17, but they’re not asking to be treated like adults - they’re asking to be treated with respect.

Now all of what I am about to say is not me excusing this behavior, but analyzing why it happens. And yes, I am about to say that all of these anons are white I can smell the entitlement in the air.

I know why these fools are targeting minors and poc zutara shippers. I know why. You know why. We all know. They are EASY fucking targets. It’s sick, picking on kids. Absolutely sick. Harassment, predatory. And they are also acting in bad faith - if they were working in good faith, they would come off anon and say, “hey x I truly believe that zutara is harmful and I am confused as to why a poc would be cool with something that other poc say is harmful to them, can we have a discourse?” now granted, this is fucked up and essentialist garbage, and no one is entitled to discourse~ with random people on social media.

Now I want to make something clear before I get to my next bit: the zutara fandom is not the r*ylo fandom. First off, the zutara fandom has experienced hateful shit from TPTB since early on in fandom; we don’t have a lot of support from the creators. In fact, the creators have been outwardly misogynistic and hostile to us. Okay, Dante Basco and some of the writers MIGHT ship zutara but that’s like, not institutional support. And also there is a history of SOME fan creations being really fucking racist. That shit, the “dark enemies hate sex” shit that zutara is stereotyped as being about, is almost completely purged from fandom. Not that it doesn’t exist still. And not that it shouldn’t be corrected and that we shouldn’t try to grow as a fandom. Have I seen shitty politics from zutara shippers? Yes. And I cringe every time, but like I don’t expect every person to agree with my politics. We have grown so much as a fandom - and you can tell by the fan creations. Fanworks are not about non-consensual domination anymore (like they often were in the early days of atla), they are about respect and reconciliation. And they have been for YEARS, like I’m talking s2 onward, when zutara took off. *sips wine*

‘cause here’s the thing. Fandoms are groups of people. People, as a result of centuries-old imperialist/racist constructs, are racist. We have to actively unlearn so fucking much. And any fandom is going to have its shitty elements. This is not something non-zutara shippers are exempt from. Actually, the zutara fandom has done a lot of work to make the fandom safe for poc and minors over the years and I am so proud of it. I have never seen that in a fandom. Ever. It’s not to say it’s perfect, of course not.

We did that on our own. Not because kataangers or sokka/zuko shippers were like WTF RACIST lol no because poc in the fandom were like, HEYYY before you write capture fic please learn about x, y and z, and the white parts of fandom were like, oh shit let’s get educated, this ship is about reconciliation and growth, let’s live up to that. I mean honestly from what I’ve seen from the larger atla fandom, which has a hard time dealing with the criticisms about why atla is racist (lol shocking that bryke appropriating cultures for their financial benefit would be considered racist but /s) could learn from the zutara fandom. js.

Honestly I assume most of these anons are just fuckin white asshole anti-zutara trolls who have never actually interacted with the zutara fandom. As a white person I do think that we white people have a certain level of entitlement to spaces that are not ours. Like, I don’t see poc who have had to be in more collectivist or communal settings as a result of colonialism and white supremacy invading spaces they don’t belong to in the same way that white people do. This is a LEARNED behavior, not an essence or in our DNA. Like, many white people get pissy about not being allowed by social contract to say certain slurs, but like... A) it’s not a legally enforced LAW lmfao and B) those white people only get annoyed when they realize they aren’t allowed to say it. That’s an extreme example, but I think it’s emblematic of a larger problem - because of colonialist ideology, white people feel entitled to ALL spaces and ALL things. We get annoyed when things don’t work how we feel they should. I grew up expecting things to change when my social class put pressure on those things, so it is always going to be somewhat jarring for me to know that that isn’t the case for marginalized communities.

I know some of my friends who are black have said things like, “lol cait why are you so shocked and appalled that x is the way it is, that’s how it always has been.” Not always, and not all of my friends, but like it happens. In those instances it’s like, I see something happen that is racist or fucked up, and they’re like... yeah. Obviously. But for someone who is not exposed to something, they might find it hard to swallow. When it comes to fascists and capitalists, I don’t have any sympathy left to offer - just get fucking educated or have a fist to the nose. But ships are not at that level. And like people work with political bubbles, where they often get isolated to what discourse is happening in other bubbles, fandoms and subfandoms (like ship fandoms) also exist in bubbles. (I am not saying that fascists/capitalists are soul searching in their bubbles, but they do exist in clear bubbles on and offline and that is terrifying to me; their discourse cannot be GOOD and I hate not knowing what they are plotting).

Example. I don’t interact with r*ylo unless it interacts with ME, and what I see, I don’t like. (let me be clear, I am not comparing zutara with r*ylo because they are NOT equivalent; I would not be a zutara shipper if I thought they were similar). But I don’t go into shipper tags and harass children who support r*ylo. I hate it, I really do it fucking sends me up a wall, but I only ever interact with anti-r*ylo content. and in that way, I don’t know what discourse the r*ylo fandom is doing to correct its horseshit. I only know what I see, and I see r*ylo shippers being toxic and racist.

So I hate fucking r*ylo but you don’t see me going out of my way to interact with r*ylos about their ship. I can’t begin to tell you how much I am ANTI-r*ylo. It is antithetical to everything I believe. But again, I am not going into the tags, searching for r*ylos to harass. Maybe the r*ylo fandom is working on its toxic shit, maybe it isn’t. I have no idea, and I am not going to harass r*ylos about it in their inboxes unless they come into my inbox and harass me. And by the way, even then I am not going to have private conversations with shitty people - that’s all gonna be public, bitch.

Wow... IDK if this is coherent because like I said, wine. At best, these anons are racist white people who think that they are helping the anti-racist cause by attacking people who they think are pushing racist narratives... but are not challenging their implicit biases and so are picking on the most vulnerable people, who because of essentialist garbage, they feel like are traitors of the Cause or whatever, and also are minors so they assume are incapable of fighting back.

It’s racism, my friend. I’m drunk, but it’s racism. Hopefully I don’t have much to edit in this tomorrow morning lmfao. Please tell me if anything doesn’t make sense.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 23 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: We know our posting schedule has gotten slower, but we hope you’re still enjoying the story. XOXO! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The Galactica afterparty brought people together in many different ways.  

This Chapter: NYFW comes to an end, and the team leaves for London, some more enthusiastically than others.

***

Ivy strolled through the courtyard at Bryant Park, on her way to deliver a charged battery pack to Raja before the Ralph Lauren show began, since Raja was as incapable of keeping her own alive as she was caring for the plants she continually adopted, all of that falling on Ivy - who fortunately didn’t mind, enjoying the relaxing tasks of caring for them as a break from the craziness of corporate life.

Most assistants as experienced as Ivy would be annoyed at doing this kind of menial delivery task, some probably even seeing it as demeaning, but Ivy was happy for the excuse to get out of the office and observe the colorful chaos of New York Fashion Week in person. Especially today, on the last day, when people from every walk of life seemed to converge in Bryant Park in a strange and glorious blend of humanity.

If Ivy was being honest with herself, she was quite the people watcher. She loved sitting back and collecting knowledge about others, not because she wanted to do anything with the information, but just to satisfy her own relentless curiosity, which was as much a part of her as the gap in her teeth.

She’d seen so much over the course of this week, so many things that she knew people probably had no idea she knew. She had watched her own boss quietly panic a few hours before the Galactica show, a look in her eyes that everyone else missed--people always assumed that Raja was 100% confident all the time, but Ivy knew better. She’d seen the way Pearl showed up every day looking more and more hungover, the young executive clearly going through something that she was desperately trying to party away. She’d noticed Violet at the party last night, slipping away with Sutan, one of her first glimpses ever into Violet’s personal life.

After dropping off the battery pack, Ivy took her time returning to the line of waiting taxis, taking in the eclectic group of people swarming around and she stopped to buy herself an iced coffee. She was leaning against the wall when she noticed someone staring at her. Ivy definitely recognized the other woman, a redhead with even brighter hair than her own, but she couldn’t place her, which made her feel slightly uncomfortable as the other didn’t look away, their eyes meeting across the courtyard. A fellow observer, she supposed.

Ivy smiled a little, deciding to take a chance on fate, and raised her hand to wave, and the other woman returning it with the brightest smile Ivy had ever seen.

***

“Remember to check with the hotel if they have washed the sheets correctly. You know I can’t tolerate perfume.”

“Yes Miss.” Violet nodded as she jotted down the last of what Fame had asked her. They were leaving the last show of the week, the sun going down as Fame walked towards her car.

“And what about Monday?”

“Your travel itinerary is printed, packed and ready to go. I even emailed it to Mr. Bertschy.”

“Good.” Fame looked at Violet, her sunglasses perched in her blonde hair, and for a moment, just a moment, it almost seemed like Fame was smiling.

“That’s all.”

***

Courtney swayed a bit to the music in the crowded club. It was Saturday: New York Fashion Week was officially over, and on Monday, her boss was flying to Europe for three weeks. Three amazing weeks where she wouldn’t have to run around like a maniac fetching coffee or jumping up in fear every time she heard footsteps or trying to read her mind while on the receiving end of a withering glare.

“Uh oh…”

“What?” Courtney asked, seeing Willam’s furrowed brow.

“Four o’clock. Someone better call the wedgie police, because...yikes.”

Courtney giggled, turning her gaze in the direction Willam gestured and then immediately covering her face.

“Oh god, that looks painful!”

“I bet she’s bleeding.”

Courtney laughed harder. She’d been having a surprisingly good time with Willam; in spite of her apprehension about him, it wasn’t awkward at all. She felt comfortable, almost like she was with one of her girlfriends. He was funny and charming and when she said she was thinking about going vegan, didn’t make an annoyed face. He simply took out his phone and searched for the best vegan restaurants in the neighborhood.

He’d treated her to a pretty good dinner, where he’d again listened kindly while she vented about work, and then they’d made the short walk to the club, where Sólseturstríðsmenn was about to perform.

The best thing about Willam so far, though, was that he was such a perfect gentleman. He wasn’t trying to get her drunk, or getting handsy like most guys. He was treating her like a person, which Courtney supposed shouldn’t have been such a brand new experience on a date, but here she was.

“So, I know you said that you’re a lightweight, but I’m gonna grab another drink. You want one?”

“Um...yeah, okay,” Courtney said with a smile. “Why not?”

As he headed towards the bar, Courtney watched him closely, trying to gauge her attraction. As different as he was from the boys she’d dated in the past, there was something oddly compelling about him. She found her eyes drifting down to his ass--which wasn’t flat like most guys, but rounded, almost peachy, and Courtney wondered what it would feel like to just grab ahold of it. She looked away quickly, her cheeks growing hot.

She wondered if he would try to kiss her tonight. She didn’t love the idea of a beard against her face, but he did have full, soft lips, and maybe it would be nice. Maybe she did like Willam. Wouldn’t it be crazy to date a boy who didn’t make her sigh with irritation when his name came up on the caller ID?  

When he returned with the drinks, she accepted hers gratefully and beamed up at him.

“What?” he asked, those pretty blue eyes looking at her with amused curiosity.

“I was just thinking about what a good time I’m having,” said Courtney.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he laughed. “I’m a very fucking good time.”

Courtney gave a cute shrug, then giggled, taking his arm and leaning a head on his shoulder. Maybe she should have tried dating a guy who wasn’t an absolute dickhead much sooner.

***

“You’re such a brat,” Pearl laughed, sipping a beer as she watched Trixie stuff clothes into his suitcase, pouting the whole time.

He had really hoped to avoid Europe this year, or at least be able to cut his trip short. But instead, Fame had decided that it was important for the whole senior creative team to be there the entire time, to absorb the inspiration. As if he couldn't get all the inspiration he needed right here in New York.

Trixie looked up at Pearl with a scowl.

“Don’t you have your own packing to do?” he asked.

“It takes me exactly 4 minutes to pack,” Pearl told him, a smirk on her face. “When you’re this perfect, everything looks good together.”

“All black everything helps too.”

“I have whites.”

“Whatever.” Trixie rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re pouting, man. It’s three weeks in Europe, paid for by the company. Partying on someone else’s dime.” Pearl flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s the dream.”

“I don’t like partying.”

“You used to like partying,” Pearl said, adding, “You used to be cool.”

“Well, I guess I’m just not cool anymore!” Trixie snapped, just as Katya appeared in the doorway.

“Of course you’re cool, baby,” she cooed. “The coolest cat in the joint.”

Pearl burst out laughing, and Trixie crossed his arms.

“Are you mocking me now, too?”

“Nooo, never!” Katya dropped down to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “And just to show you how great I think you are, I’m making a special lunch just for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Trixie asked, suddenly interested.

“Uh huh…” Katya rubbed his back. “Now, I’ve never tasted this regional delicacy myself, but I have it on good authority that it’s one of your very favorites. It’s called ‘Tater Tot Hotdish.’”

“What? Tater Tot Hotdish? Seriously?” Trixie clapped his hands excitedly.

“Yes, baby, and I made enough for you to take a big old portion with you on the place tomorrow.”

“God, you’re the absolute best,” Trixie said, taking Katya’s face in his hands and laying a kiss on her. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“Aww, I’ll miss you too, along with the goods.” Katya squeezed his ass, giggling.

Trixie pulled back to study her face. She seemed normal, but he’d noticed her getting up early lately, meeting one of her friends from rehab in the mornings before work. They’d been together long enough for him to know that these things came in cycles, and getting some extra support was nothing to panic over, but with both him and Pearl leaving town at the same time, he couldn’t help but worry.

“Are you gonna be okay while we’re gone? Really?”

“Of course I am, sugarbutt.” Katya gave him one of her signature 1000-watt smiles. “Now, excuse me, I need to go check on your tots.”

He watched her go, still not entirely convinced. Maybe it would be a good idea for someone to check on her while he was away. Someone responsible and trustworthy...

***

Violet saw her work phone vibrate out of the corner of her eye, her screen lighting up. She tried to read it, tried to make out who had contacted her, when she was pulled out of her thoughts.

“Am I not entertaining enough?”

Violet turned to look, Sutan’s warm voice loud and clear, a smirk on his lips. They were eating breakfast at a cafe near his apartment, a plate of half eaten avocado on rye in front of her, while Sutan had opted for waffles and scrambled eggs.

“Of course.”

It had been Violet’s idea to meet up for breakfast before Sutan had to leave. She had meant to come over, had meant to spend more time with him, but the week had flown by, and suddenly it had passed without the two of them actually seeing each other.

“I just need-” Violet bit her lip and titled her phone, surprise hitting her when she saw that Trixie was the one who had texted. “Oh. I have to-”

“Lovely eyes-” Violet looked at him again, Sutan’s elbow leaning on the table, his fingers around a steaming hot cup of coffee. “What could possibly be more important than me?”

“Work.”

“Ow.” Sutan laughed, holding a hand to his heart, and Violet felt a surge of embarrassment crash over her.

“Sorry,” Violet hadn’t meant to be so blunt, hadn’t meant to dismiss him so harshly, “I didn’t-”

Her phone vibrated again, and Violet saw that she had gotten a second message from Trixie.

“I have to-”

“Ignore me if you must,” Sutan was clearly entertained by it, his tone teasing, “but know that I’m not usually treated like this Miss Chachki.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Violet opened the texts, quickly scanning them.

TRIXIE: Hi Violet. I was wondering if you could do me a favor? While I’m in Europe, do you mind checking in on Katya?

TRIXIE: Just once or twice if you have time.

Violet bit her lip. She considered Katya someone she liked, maybe even a friend if the blonde agreed, but she wasn’t sure and that she was close enough to check in on her, whatever that meant.

TRIXIE: You could bring her dinner? She likes chinese.

“So,” Sutan titled his head, his foot on tapping against her shin.  “Is it important?”

Sutan’s voice was still warm, his tone still light, but Violet didn’t want to push him any further, didn’t want to risk him getting annoyed or tired. Violet flipped her phone, turning the screen to the table. “It’s not an emergency.”

“Good,” Sutan chuckled, and Violet felt her stomach do a flip, the man stupidly attractive when he was laughing, his dark eyes ones she swore she could drown in. “I was worried for a minute that Fame had remembered she was flying tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Violet hid a smile behind her teacup.

“I’m just happy that I’m on an entirely different flight.”

She had never seen Fame on a plane, but she had heard first hand experiences from senior staff who had been with her, and had even helped her prepare more than once.

“Speaking about phones though-” Sutan smirked.

“We weren’t-“

“I looked for you on Instagram.”

Violet raised an eyebrow, her food still forgotten on her plate. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy your company?” Sutan chuckled, and Violet realized that she was being unnecessarily harsh once again, but she didn’t like that Sutan had gone looking for information about her, her chest tightening. “I couldn’t find you, do you have a nickname or somethi-”

“I don’t have an account.”

“Violet,” Sutan leaned back in his chair, “Just because I wasn’t upset about the assistant thing doesn’t mean I’m okay with you lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Please.” Sutan rolled his eyes, actually sounding annoyed now. “Why wouldn’t you-“

“I don’t use social media.” Violet ran her fingers through her hair, looking directly at Sutan. “I don’t have time.”

She wasn’t lying. When everyone else had jumped on the social media train, Violet had been busy, so she had never gotten on Myspace or Twitter or Instagram or whatever else people had profiles on. When Violet applied to Parsons, she had even deactivated the Facebook her mom had made her make when she moved to New York, the decision almost making itself.

Her lack of social media was one of the reasons she became friends with Pearl, the blonde absolutely fascinated by the fact that the only way she could reach Violet was by email or text.

She wasn’t unaware of the online world, Pearl keeping her in the loop of trends, and she sometimes used the office computer to look at pugs on Youtube, but all in all, Violet simply wasn’t interested in creating her own content.

“Do you promise?”

Violet was happy with being anonymous, was very happy that she didn’t exist online, and she intended to keep it that way for as long as she possibly could.

“I promise,” Violet nodded, leaning over the table to give Sutan a quick, closed mouthed kiss.

***

“Darling,” Fame tightened her grip, the fabric of Patrick’s jacket between her fingers. The hustle and bustle of the airport was all around them, and Fame wished she could disappear.  “Look at me.”

Fame huffed, turning her head and nuzzling further into Patrick’s neck.

“I know you’re upset-” Patrick ran a hand up her back.

To say that she was upset was an understatement. In fact, she was livid, anxiety and anger like a storm inside of her. She knew it wasn’t fair, knew she was being a child, but she didn’t want to fly without Patrick, didn’t want to risk her life without her husband at her side.

She had asked him to come along, had been ready to beg, but Patrick had work, had his own company to run, and it wasn’t fair of Fame to expect him to get on a transAtlantic flight with her, just so she didn’t have to do it alone.

“You’ll be fine.”

Fame sighed, the scent of Patrick filling her nose. They were waiting for Raja and Raven, Raja ready to take her hand and not let go until they touched down in London.

Fame knew that Raven hated it, but she could live with the stink eyes and Raven’s pouting if it meant that she had one of the few people she trusted by her side the entire time she was off the ground.

***

Courtney typed at lightning speed, adding the last three messages into Miss Fame’s phonesheet, then clicked back over to continue checking her emails.

Since most of the senior executives were on a plane to London, she had been expecting a chill morning, but it was the exact opposite: the phone was ringing off the hook: press requests for interviews and to borrow pieces of the collection, invitations, buyers, influencers. Not to mention the flurry of activity within the company to get the ready to wear versions of the Spring line into stores. Courtney could barely read one email before three more came in, she and Violet in constant communication as they made sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

The one saving grace was that apparently, it was tradition for things around the office to get much more casual while Fame and the others were away, and so she was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a cute Lululemon top.

The clothes were such a huge bonus that Courtney didn’t even mind that Violet had sent her to marketing three times: running up and down the stairs in sneakers was a hell of a lot nicer than doing it in heels.

Courtney was almost finished catching up on her emails when Violet stood up.

“I’m getting a cup of tea, do you want anything?”

Courtney looked up with a smile, thrilled that she and Violet were getting along so well today. Although the frenzied activity was a bit overwhelming for her, Violet seemed to thrive in it, and thus her patience had increased about two thousand percent.

“Um, I’ll take coconut water, if we have any. Thanks,” Courtney said, and Violet nodded, ducking into the kitchen.

The phone rang once again, and Courtney answered it, picking up her notepad and a pen. “Miss Fame’s office…”

“Hi, Bianca Del Rio for Fame.”

“I’m sorry, she’s unavailable right now, may I take a message?” Courtney asked sweetly. She couldn’t help wondering if Bianca might possibly recognize her voice, and found her cheeks coloring slightly at the thought.

“Oh shit. She’s on the plane to London now, huh?”

“Umm…” Courtney knew that she wasn’t supposed to reveal exactly where Fame was, but it was one of her closest friends, so maybe it would be okay. She settled on a slightly evasive, “...Possibly.”

Bianca laughed. “Very good work, Courtney. Protecting your boss’s privacy. I love it.”

“I do my best,” Courtney said, trying to suppress the grin she couldn’t seem to help whenever Bianca paid her a compliment. She wasn’t sure why, though, since Bianca obviously couldn’t see her, but even so… “Did you want to leave a message?”

“Nah...I’ll just text her,” Bianca said. “Bye, Courtney. Have a good day.”

“Bye, Bianca. You too.” Courtney hung up, just as Violet’s head appeared in the doorway, irritation all over her face.

“That better not have been Bianca Del Rio,” Violet said, a hand on her hip.

“Umm…”

“Courtney! We’ve been over this. You need to show people more respect. She’s the editor-in-chief of Marie-Claire, for god’s sake!”

“I know, but I…” Courtney trailed off, biting her lip. She wasn’t sure how to explain to Violet how wrong it would’ve felt to address Bianca as ‘Ms. Del Rio’ like she was supposed to. It was so stiff and formal, and their relationship felt much more casual than that. Courtney blushed, realizing that even the word ‘relationship’ was an overstatement. She was probably just being stupid, should probably just listen to Violet and shut up. “I’m sorry, I’ll remember next time.”

“You better,” Violet said. “Because if Miss Fame had heard that, she would’ve been livid.”

Courtney nodded, and Violet seemed satisfied with that, handing over the bottle of coconut water.

***

In the nearly four years that Ivy had worked for Raja, she’d lost count of the number of times people expressed amazement that the infamous “Dragon Lady” had managed to hold onto an assistant for so long.

In spite of Raja’s deserved reputation for being tough, Ivy felt immensely lucky to be working for her. For one thing, she was smart and insanely talented. And while she was by no means soft or low maintenance, Ivy always found her to be fair--even generous, when the situation warranted it. And the fact that she respected Ivy so much, often asking her for her opinions and consulting with her about important decisions, meant a lot--as did the trust she put in her to handle many things on her own. They had a system, and it worked for both of them.

But all that said, Ivy still enjoyed the few times a year when her boss was out of town. For one thing, it was nice to be more in control of her own schedule, and for another, it gave her the opportunity to work on one of her absolute favorite tasks: organizing the deep storage in one of their downstairs warehouses.

The styling closet next to Raja’s office was relatively easy to keep up with. Sure, it got a little messy at times, but if she stayed late or came in early every few weeks, she could manage. But the warehouse was another animal entirely. It often became the dumping ground for everything from design, referred to with nicknames like the Bermuda Triangle and the Couture Graveyard.

It was Ivy’s job to keep everything neat and labeled, and with how rare it was for her to get large amounts of time to handle it, this was no small feat. Right now, her task was to meticulously label and store every piece from the runway show, and to update her system to track the loans. She always felt a little bad about the cast-offs. In the past, they saved every garment, even the ones that were not approved, usually all smushed together in one extra-large garment bag--but this collection had about 10 times the amount of these little orphaned pieces as usual.

The three weeks of European Fashion Week were truly the greatest; all of senior management was  gone, which meant that the support staff could wear whatever they wanted to the office. Ivy was personally dressed in something she would never get caught dead in with Raja in the office, but sneakers and jeans were perfect for dancing along to Taylor Swift and moving heavy boxes as she got down to the nitty gritty of cleaning the warehouse.

[princessselene126]

Game Night

I was inspired to write this after finishing Supernova yesterday. I had this random thought that Nova does a weekly game night with Simon, Hugh, and Max where they talk about Adrian and he has no idea that they do this. It does contain spoilers for Supernova, so don’t read it if you haven’t read Supernova. I REPEAT: THIS FIC CONTAINS SUPERNOVA SPOILERS. Anyway. 2124 words of fluff and family bonding. Maximum fluff nodrian at the end.

This is part of a larger series that can be read as individual fics or one big one. If you’d like to read them in order, please go to the second masterlist linked below.

masterlist We Rise with the Sun masterlist

Nova didn’t bother knocking on the door of the old mayor’s mansion anymore.  SHe had no reason to now that she lived there. 

It’d been almost six months since the battle at the cathedral. Six months since Ace died. Six months since she’d told Hugh Everhart--Captain Chromium, one her boyfriend’s dads--that she, a villain, was in love with his son. Six months since he told her he didn’t believe there were villians anymore.

It’d also been about six months since game night began.

Game night started off simple enough. One night a few weeks after the supernova, Nova got a message from Max asking her to come over. This was nothing out of the ordinary now that he was actually able to interact with people without stealing their powers, so she went to the mansion without a second thought.

When she got there, however, she’d been surprised that Simon Westwood--her boyfriend’s and Max’s other dad--opened the door. “Nova, good to see you. Come on in. Max and Hugh are in the living room,” he said with a smile.

She found her lips mimicking his out of habit. “No Adrian?” She asked as she stepped into the threshold. The few times she’d been to the mansion Adrian was always with her, it was strange that he wasn’t there now. And as nice as Simon and Hugh had been to her since the battle, she knew she had a lot to do to earn their trust. 

Simon shook his head. “No he’s with Oscar planning some one month anniversary thing for Ruby, I think.”

“Right. He mentioned that a couple days ago.” She pulled her hat and heavy winter coat off, hanging them on the wooden pegs by the door. “I bet he’s going to jump out of a cake or something in the middle of HQ.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” Together they walked down the hallway to the refurbished living room. 

Max smiled at her from where he sat on the floor. “Hi Nova! You ready for game night?”

Nova blinked a few times. “Game night?”

And that had been that. Every Wednesday night Nova, Max, Simon, and Hugh had game night without Adrian. It was a good way for them to get to know her better, for them to trust her. It didn’t hurt that she also got to hear a lot of ridiculous stories about Adrian as a child. A lot of very cute stories.

Tonight they were playing Uno, which was admittedly the most dangerous game they played so they didn’t do it often. Even though they were heroes, whenever a draw 4 card was set down threats were thrown around--very violent threats. Nova said she’d put someone to sleep and make them wake with the worst headache anyone could experience. Hugh would make a chromium knife and twirl it in is hand while biting his lip. Simon’s left eye would twitch and his fists would clench the table so hard his knuckles turned white. And Max? Max would curse the person out so much it would make any sailor blush. Uno was the only time that Simon and Hugh wouldn’t scold him for it.

Hugh shuffled the cards with his large hands, then started dealing them out. “Everyone remember the rules?”

“No putting anyone to sleep,” Nova said.

“No lying that I have to go to the bathroom then turning invisible to come look at your cards,” Simon added with a sigh. 

Hugh looked at his husband with his eyebrows raised. “Or?”

“Or anywhere else.”

The first couple times they played Uno that was a problem. There was no such thing as honor when it came to Uno, Simon had said after Nova felt his body near her and elbowed him in the ribs.

Hugh nodded. “Good. Max?”

Max was grinning at his cards. Nova couldn’t help thinking the kid had a terrible poker face. Well, he didn’t even have a poker face.

“What?” Max asked.

“What’s another rule?”

“Hey, I don’t have any rules that apply to me except the normal ones. You’re the ones that cheat, not me.”

Nova couldn’t help rolling her eyes at that. Just because the kid didn’t have powers anymore didn’t mean he was incapable of cheating, in fact he’d done it many times. True to his former hero name, the Bandit was excellent at stealing things, but also hiding them.

“Alright, fine,” Max said with a scowl. “No hiding cards.”

“Right. And what happens when someone breaks one of the rules?” Hugh asked. He set the remaining stack of cards in the middle of the coffee table and flipped the top one over as their starter card.

“They have to drink a glass of pickle juice,” Nova said. “Now let’s get on with it. I need to redeem myself after Clue last week. I still can’t believe I lost to you of all people.”

Hugh grinned as he took his turn. The winner of the week before always went first. “It was a very embarrassing defeat for you.”

They started off in a clockwise direction, and Max was next. The first few times around were uneventful, each wanting to hold onto the special cards until they got some numbers out of the way.

“So,” Simon said. “Who wants to share their most interesting Adrian story first?” He put a reverse card down, making Nova grumble.

She started to draw cards until she had one she could use, then set it on the pile. “He was pretty much his usual self around me. Didn’t do anything embarrassing.” Well, there was one thing that happened, but that was while they were making out and it was important for context that they were making out, so she wasn’t going to tell his dads and little brother about it.

“Liar,” Max said.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Hugh interrupted the back and forth bickering he knew was about to happen. “Max has a point. You always have an Adrian story for us.”

She could make something up that sounded Adrian like, but she’d promised herself and Adrian and his family that she wouldn’t lie to them anymore. “It’s hilarious, but if I tell you, you’re going to be grossed out,” she warned.

“Oh?” Simon seemed intrigued now. “Is it PG?”

Max set another card down. “I’m eleven, I think I can handle PG-13 after all the crazy things I’ve done.”

“That depends, on how PG-13 it is,” Hugh said as he eyed Nova. It was one of those looks that made her feel like she was undercover as a renegade again. It made her feel like she’d be sent to prison if they found out her secrets. Not that they would.

“It’s on the low end of PG-13,” Nova said.

Simon glared at his husband when Hugh set down a draw four. He drew the cards and seemed even more frustrated my what they were. “I want a divorce.”

Hugh grinned. “No you don’t. And go ahead and tell us Nova.”

She very pointedly didn’t make eye contact as she laid her card down. “Adrian wasn’t paying attention when he went to kiss me and accidentally stuck his tongue up my nose a little bit. It was weird. His cheeks were so bright it looked like he was wearing face paint.”

Simon snorted, Hugh covered his mouth with his hand to hold in his laughter, and Max made a disgusted face. 

“I told you it was gross.”

“I can’t believe he…” Simon started laughing so hard he had to set is cards down. 

Now that he was laughing, Nova looked them in the eyes with a small smile on her face. “Honestly, neither can I.”

“How would that even happen?” Hugh wheezed. “Please… please don’t tell me he kisses you with his tongue out all the time, because if he does we’re going to have to talk about that.”

“No, he definitely doesn’t,” Nova assured him. “I have no idea what he was trying to do that day and he knows better than to do… whatever that was again.”

Max gave her a look “Up your nose?”

“Only a little, but it was enough to be weird. I think he was going to lick the tip of my nose because I was annoying him.”

“And he misjudged the distance,” Simon mused now that he was calmed down a little bit. He picked his cards back up and took his turn, but he was still smiling at his ridiculous son. “We know his vision is terrible without his glasses, but he’s always been a bad shot with a gun too. Maybe his depth perception is off.”

Hugh set another card down. “But it hasn’t been much of a problem before. Drawing takes depth perception and he’s great at that.”

“It actually doesn’t take that much,” Nova said.

Simon and Hugh looked at her curiously.

She flushed slightly, still not exactly used to the two of them looking at her like she had more answers than them. “Well, think about it. Drawing happens on a two dimensional surface, he only needs to look at the piece of paper, or glass, or wall, or whatever he’s drawing on. But shooting, or aiming at anything really, requires you to be more spatially aware.”

There were a few beats of silence, as if Simon and Hugh were thinking over what Nova said, wondering if maybe their son needed to go to the optometrist again sooner than his yearly appointment.

Max set a skip card down. “It’s still gross that he stuck his tongue up your nose.”

“It really is,” Nova agreed. “What’s your Adrian story for the week?”

“He charmed an ice cream lady into giving me free ice cream,” Max said with a grin. “He forgot his wallet when we went yesterday and offered to take a picture with her in exchange.”

“Why wouldn’t you guys just come back and get it?” Hugh asked.

Just as Max opened his mouth, they could hear the front door open. Footsteps resounded down the hall toward them. “I’m home!” Adrian called to no one in particular.

“We’re in the living room!” Hugh called back as he tossed another card down.

Adrian stepped into the room and his brow furrowed the second he saw his dads, brother, and girlfriend sitting on the floor around the coffee table. “Uh… what’s going on in here?”

“Game night,” they chorused without looking away from their hands. 

“Oooookay that was creepy.” He walked across the room and sat on the couch behind Nova. Leaning over he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She gently swatted him away. “Don’t look at my cards, you’d just go tell Max what I have.”

“What?” He laughed. “No I wouldn’t.”

“Yes you would,” Nova, Simon, and Hugh said together.

Adrian made a face. “You guys gotta stop doing that.”

“And you need to stop sticking your tongue up Nova’s nose,” Max said.

His cheeks heated, eyes darting back down to Nova. “You told them?”

She at least looked sympathetic when she turned toward him and rested her cheek on the side of his thigh. “Sorry. They pried it out of me. But in my defense, you didn’t give me any other good stories to tell them for this week.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked, more more confused than he’d been when he walked in. “Stories? You do--” Adrian paused mid sentence, eyes widening with realization. “You guys have been talking about me. That’s how you knew about the incident at the parade when I was thirteen.” He looked at his fathers. “You promised you’d never tell anyone about that.”

Simon grinned widely. “Actually we promised we’d never tell any of your friends about that, and we haven’t. Nova’s your girlfriend, therefore we haven’t broken any promises.”

“Friend is in the word!”

Nova reached her hand up to cup Adrian’s cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

He sighed and leaned into her, trusting her. “No more swapping stories about me.”

“Now that I can’t do. This is our destressing time.”

“You can destress with me.” 

She shook her head. “No can do. Your dads and Max need this too. You’re more than welcome to join us if you want to listen to stories about yourself though.”

“I’ll pass.”

“In that case…” Nova let her power surge through her, putting him into a peaceful nap. Adrian slumped back against the couch.  He’d wake up in an hour or two feeling refreshed. By then they’d be done with game night and she could spend some quality time with him.

She turned back to the table where it was still her turn. 

“Go drink the pickle juice,” Max said. “You cheated.”

“He wasn’t even playing!”

part 2 (kinda?)

[jjkmagic]

Happy Days - Dramatical Murder Fic

Title: Happy Days

Pairing: Mink/Clear Rating: G

Word Count: 2475 Summary: When the Oval Tower collapsed Clear felt uneasy. He didn’t exactly understand why, and he didn’t expect it would be Mink who stayed behind and helped him figure it out. Clear also didn’t expect that this day would mark the beginning of the happiest time of his life. Tags: Fluff, Family Feels, Mink has a little son and Clear absolutely adores him. A/N: It’s been ages, but I promised one lucky person who supported me by filling out my bachelor thesis survey a little request fic. The moment I first read that request I knew this was going to be a challenge. I have never written a family fic before. I have never written Mink/Clear before! It’s honestly a pairing I never even considered lol I’m sorry, it’s so short despite the eternity it took me to write it! This is for @qinsei! I hope you enjoy, even if it isn’t exactly as you described xD

Happy Days

They had accomplished what they had set out to do.

Everyone was eager to return to their homes in Midorijima, but they couldn’t help one last look upon the remains of the Oval Tower, as if needing to convince themselves of the fact that it was really over, that the people were free of Toue’s reign.

There was no trace of Toue himself, or the people who had worked for him. Even if some had survived the fall, it was unlikely they would ever return.

Satisfied with what they saw Aoba and most of the group left, only Clear’s gaze remained transfixed on the tower’s ruins. There was a… feeling within him that he could not place. He had worked with the others towards a common goal, and yet the view presented to him left him feeling unsatisfied, unsettled even, and he remained frozen to the spot.

Clear thought he was alone until a shadow fell over him as Mink stepped up to stand next to him. In any other situation Clear would use the moment to voice his amazement at how tall the man was, blocking the sun like that, but for some reason his throat constricted and no words were forthcoming.

Silence reigned and Clear expected Mink to leave at any moment, but he didn’t. After an undetermined amount of time Mink spoke up: “You helped free these people.”

There was no hint of emotion in his words that would make it easier for Clear to understand why he chose to say that. Confused he could only look up at the other man instead.

He could see Mink watching him out of the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t turn to look at Clear directly.

There was a pause in which silence settled over them once more. Clear watched the minute changes of Mink’s expression, realizing that the other man was thinking about something, though Clear had no idea what it might be.

After a while Mink straightened, not looking at Clear at all as he voiced his next words, words so sudden and unexpected they froze Clear to his core: “Don’t you think it’s time for you to be free as well?”

The words processed in his mind, but they made no sense to him, or rather there was so much they could possibly mean that Clear had no idea what the most fitting response here was supposed to be.

‘I don’t understand. I am free.’

But the words vanished before they could ever leave his mouth.

He shook his head inwardly. There was no way Mink could know what was going on inside Clear’s mind right now, what unsettled him so that he found himself incapable of leaving the Oval Tower behind him for good. Clear had held steadfast onto his grandfather’s words. No one knew because no one was allowed to know.

Realizing he would get no response Mink continued: “There is no one left to stop you, no one left to judge.”

There was no response in his mind, and yet his mouth opened, unprompted.

“I…” His voice quavered on that single syllable. “I was told I should never…”

“Who’s telling you that now?”

Clear paused, his eyes wide, though his mask hid his surprise from the world.

Mink wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t judging his reaction, his weakness. Instead he continued speaking calmly: “The evil haunting this island has vanished. The people are rejoicing. You should join them.”

“I…” Again, he did not get past that word without his voice abandoning him. “Is that really okay?”

Mink shrugged noncommittally.

“It’s up to you.”

Clear hesitated. Being offered a choice was new to him. He had always been free in a sense, free to go and do as he pleased. And yet, even without the “power” forcing him, he had always chosen to follow instructions rather than to deviate from them. When it came to his grandfather and Aoba he had known that they always meant well, so following them came naturally to him. He liked listening to them, to help them or even to make them happy.

But Mink was right. Clear’s grandfather had fled to escape Toue and passing away he had told Clear to stay hidden because he was different, recognizable.

But that didn’t hold true anymore, did it?

On the other hand it had never felt much like a restriction before, not until this very moment, when he was suddenly offered a choice.

“And if I wanted to…?”

Mink only offered another shrug, not commenting on the way Clear’s voice trembled.

“As I said: no one’s here to judge.”

Clear wavered. Could it really be that easy?

“O-okay…” he managed to say and somehow Mink’s nonchalance about the whole matter actually did make it okay, enough so that Clear slowly reached up to the clasp holding his mask in place.

Mink turned slightly toward him, but that remained the only indication that he was curious. His face remained carefully blank.

Clear’s fingers shook, about to falter in his decision. Clear took one deep breath and pulled the clasp open. He felt the mask come loose and reached up to lower it slowly, its weight multiplying in his hands the more of his face was revealed.

He clutched onto the mask until his fingers hurt, too afraid to open his eyes for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds. When he did open them the world suddenly seemed too bright and too much to bear, so he averted his eyes, turning to Mink instead.

Mink looked at him for only a moment with an expression of surprise on his face before quickly looking away, mumbling something incomprehensible. At least it would have been if Clear’s enhanced hearing didn’t allow him to understand every single word as it was muttered in exasperation: “Of course he wears a mask to hide his stupid face…”

Pain registered in Clear’s mind, though he was certain that he had not suffered any physical damage.

“It is… stupid…?”

His grandfather had said that it was different. Was that what he had meant?

Mink visibly tensed at having been heard and sighed exasperatedly, suddenly looking like this was the most unpleasant conversation he had ever been a part of. Doing his hardest to look anywhere but at Clear he added quietly: “Stupidly beautiful.”

Clear looked up startled, not sure if he had heard right. Mink wasn’t looking at him, but the faintest hint of red on his cheeks - possibly invisible to the human eye - told Clear more than thousand words might.

Clear returned to gaze at the ruins, a wide smile spreading on his lips, one he could not have refrained from even if he had wanted, and for the first time it was there for the whole world to see. It was only fitting, he thought, for this was probably the happiest day of his life.

- - -

Happy days continued to grace Clear’s life from that day on.

How else would it be possible that just a short twelve months later he was sitting in a lovely home with a little boy in his lap chattering happily about his daily adventures while Mink was in the kitchen working on dinner.

Naga was the light of his life: a beautiful boy of six years, always curious but well-behaved. The latter was definitely more Mink’s influence than Clear’s who didn’t even need convincing to talk and play all day long. It was so easy when every moment Naga was smiling Clear was hopelessly delighted as well.

Life was beautiful, life was perfect, in Clear’s eyes anyway.

“I saw a puppy on the way home! It was so cute! Hey, can I have a puppy, too, daddy?”

Even though the boy was still excitedly talking to Clear, he was clever enough to direct that question towards the kitchen from where Mink had just emerged.

Mink’s face remained carefully neutral, even though Clear was sure the question came as a surprise. This definitely was the first time Clear heard of the little boy wanting a pet.

“If you prove that you can take care of it, we can talk about it.”

“Really?” Naga’s eyes were as wide as saucers, still Mink remained earnest.

“Now go wash your hands, dinner is ready.”

“Yes, daddy!” Naga said quickly, dashing off Clear’s lap and down the hall, clearly motivated to prove that he could behave himself.

Mink sighed quietly once he was out of sight.

“We can have a puppy?” Clear asked, eyes probably just as wide as the little boy’s.

Mink looked at him, clearly exasperated.

“A pet isn’t a toy, it’s a lesson in taking responsibility,” he explained.

“And they are fluffy!” Clear added happily.

He still clearly remembered just how wonderfully fluffy Ren had been, though he also remembered that one evil dog that kept barking at him in Midorijima. He tried to forget about that in favor of being excited at the prospect of an own little puppy.

Mink sighed.

“Remind me that I will have to take care of it if Naga turns out to be too young for a pet.”

“But you don’t think that,” Clear said.

Mink was never one for empty words. If he said he would consider it then he already had good enough reason to think it would work.

“He’s a good boy, despite your influence.”

Clear’s eyes widened.

“That’s just mean, Mink-san!” he said pouting.

There was the faintest upturn to Mink’s lips, the man’s version of a soft smile.

“You also take good care of him, so I’m willing to overlook that,” he said, and had that been a joke…?

Clear’s surprise quickly melted into a smile of his own. Obviously Mink was in a good mood, and that simple fact was enough to make Clear happy, too.

- - -

Dinner was never a quiet affair in their little family. Naga was well-behaved, but he was also incredibly energetic and loved to talk, often much to Mink’s chagrin.

Once, just once, Mink had confided that he wished he knew how to handle the boy better. He didn’t want to seem cold, least of all to his son, but he was simply a quiet person by nature. Back with his gang “Scratch” his calm, commanding presence had been the only thing keeping everyone in line. Authority was important in a family, too, but so was trust and the ability to talk freely with each other. Mink wanted to provide that, but he wasn’t sure if he could.

Clear on the other hand, listening to Mink’s worries, couldn’t think of anything but Naga’s wide, excited eyes, about how much the boy loved and admired his father. So Clear had only laughed softly, and told him that there was nothing to worry about. Naga understood what his father was like, and that Mink seeming reserved at times didn’t mean that loved his son any less.

“Daddy?” Naga asked.

Mink looked up from his almost empty plate.

Clear and Naga had been keeping the conversation going when Mink had eventually withdrawn from it after a while. It seemed like a miracle that they both still managed to empty their plates before Mink did.

“What is it?”

The little boy’s gaze was fixed on the table, clearly hesitant to voice whatever was on his mind.

“Our teacher said there’s going to be a festival soon… can we go see it?” he asked, looking up with hopeful eyes.

Naga knew exactly that his father wasn’t a fan of any boisterous events that involved lots of people, and was thus visibly hesitant to even ask.

Mink threw a glance at Clear, looking as calm as ever, but Clear had learned to read the other man, and recognized the glance as a request for help.

“I’m sure Clear would love to go with you,” he said.

Naga clearly contemplated those words, shyly looking at the table once more.

“I know that,” he said, “I just… wanted all of us to go, together.”

Clear loved the little boy more than anything, there was no way he would be able to refuse a request like that, and even Mink seemed to deflate at those words, even if he still didn’t like the idea of visiting a festival.

He sighed.

“I’m sure we’ll find a day where we can go together then.”

“Really? Thank you, daddy!”

With that Naga got up and walked around the table to hug his father. Mink smiled, his hand coming to rest on his son’s back. It seemed almost massive compared to the little boy.

Naga pulled away after a moment, grinning broadly.

“I’ll go wash and go to bed now. Don’t stay up too late!” he declared before dashing off.

The boy really was too good for this world, and even Clear had to admit that there was no way that Naga had his manners from him.

“You said I was spoiling him yesterday,” Clear said cheekily, grinning at Mink.

There was the faintest hint of red on Mink’s cheeks that he hid behind his usual serious facade.

“I see no reason to deny him such an earnest request. It’s not like we go out together often,” Mink said, always the voice of reason.

He watched Clear’s continued grin in exasperation before he sighed. Clear looked at him curiously as Mink got up to approach Clear’s side of table.

Clear blinked at him as Mink leaned down, his tall form all but looming over him, and pressed a quick little kiss to his lips. Clear’s eyes widened, casual affection was such a rare thing coming from his partner, but when he finally found his voice again, Mink had already returned to his seat.

Mink smirked at him.

“You would better hurry. Don’t tell me you’ll let him go to bed without a lullaby.”

Clear just stared at him. Of course he wanted to put his little boy to bed, but he also wanted to figure out the reason for Mink’s rare, affectionate mood, if there even was one, but Naga-

Clear pushed back his chair and got up.

“I’ll be right back. Wait for me, Mink-san,” he said, hoping he would get the chance to do both as he hurried down the hall to the boy’s room.

As he did so he heard Mink chuckling, another, oh so rare thing, and Clear couldn’t help smiling.

In the end it probably didn’t matter. Clear was in no rush.

Mink and Naga would still be here tomorrow, and the day after, and hopefully far into the future.

With them at his side many more happy days were waiting for Clear. That alone brought a bright smile to his face as he sat down to sing for his little boy: a lullaby about a tower and how its fall had brightened the world. - - - - - - - - - - - The request actually had them visiting the festival as well but… that would have turned into a massive fic xD It’s already much longer than expected, oops. If you enjoyed it regardless, reblog and/or leave a like^^ I’ll also “kind of” open commissions soon, so if you want a fic like this and challenge me with pairings I have never written before (xD) follow or message me for updates on that^^

[doppelgangerjoelle]

Of Gods and Men

I got an idea last night and ended up writing 2K words but then I didn’t want to write a whole long fanfic leading up to it (this is basically the end) so I’m just gonna give you a quick synopsis and what I wrote. The summary spoils the writing so read it before or after, I don’t care. I don’t have time to make this a whole fic at the moment. it’s soukoku and get’s slightly naughty at the end but not too much

Context: Chuuya is contacted by the gods asking him to return to their realm as a calamity deity required to complete the cycle of life. They offer to return the power to it’s full glory. Chuuya learns the god that humans named Arahabaki was sent to Earth to bring destruction as part of a ‘divine plan’ until it was captured and sealed by humans. Dazai gets wrapped up in it because he has a ‘divine gift’, being the only one in this generation who can control the power of a god when sealed in a vessel, something humans took advantage of when capturing Arahabaki the first time. Essentially Dazai’s ancestor is the one who sealed it in the first place and the gods recognize the soul having reincarnated into him. The gods summon them to the celestial plane where Chuuya points at the void and yells at the gods. Dazai, who is still very much mortal, suffers under the power of the celestial plane and can barely stand the whole time. In the end it turns out Arahabaki willingly submitted to the ancestor and was sealed away so they didn’t have to hurt anyone anymore until the seal was broken. Arahabaki chose it’s vessel because he was a scared and lonely child. The Chuuya we know is really just Arahabaki without his memories (because Rimbaud had stolen then when he stole part of his power) and raised as a human, he was never separate from him. Making them realize gods and humans weren’t so different after all.

“What will happen if I accept your offer? I become a god again?” Chuuya shouted into the void. The ‘land’ beneath his feet did not move even as he stomped with his ability. The bluish white glow around them only shined a little brighter as his power.

“You will regain your true form, leaving your mortal vessel behind.” The voice responded, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Right here? On Earth?! Where billions of people are living?! There’s a giant hole in the city where Arahabaki stood for mere minutes! And it was weakened from being sealed. Just how much fucking damage would happen if that came back at full power?!”

“The entire land where you stand would be destroyed, but it is necessary.”

“How much land?! The city? The whole prefecture?!”

“The resurrection of the calamity deity would likely return your island to the depths from whence it came.”

The color drained from the man’s face as his eyes widened as far as they could, jaw going slack. The man on the ground behind him shook, just as shocked as he.

“That’s almost two hundred million people.” He barely heard himself say, only speaking just above a whisper.

“On a cosmic scale, humans are nothing but specks of dust. Insignificant.”

“You’re comparing humans to dust?! Living, breathing people?!”

“Do you miss every rock you kick on the road? Do you mourn every insect you step upon? Do you feel guilt for each blade of grass cut?”

“If I were once one of them, yes, I would. And even if I didn’t, I know they exist so they are important.”

“You do not comprehend the scale in which we exist in. We are gods, humans’ lives are but a blink compared to ours.”

“Do you, too, not look small compared to something greater than you?”

The voice did not answer.

“Even the smallest insect has it’s own life. It knows the world is so much greater than it will ever know but it does not stop it from living. Just because we are bigger we do not deserve to live any more than it does.”

“You are one who has slain his own kind out of a lust for power and greed, and yet you speak of respecting the life of something less than you?”

“Yea, I know how it sounds. And I know what I’ve done is terrible, and nothing I do will ever make up for it. But there’s stuff I can do now to make people’s lives better and I want to do it. I don’t want to leave them behind when I know I can help them. I don’t want to leave people that need me.”

“Even when you will be helping the greater good of all existence?”

“You want me to be a harbinger of destruction of a cosmic scale, that’s not exactly the kind of job I’m looking for.”

“Creation needs destruction. As life needs death. The cycle must continue.”

“You want me to murder innocent people, including all other living beings, just to join your almighty party.”

“We are only asking you to do as you always have. Just because you are trapped within a vessel of flesh does not absolve you of the actions of the god within. Of the memories you have lost.”

“Will I get all those memories back? Who fucking knows how long of destroying everything so you all can rearrange it again however you damn well please? And what about my life as a human?”

“You will likely forget such useless memories. As we will forget this whole discussion. In the grand scheme of things, it is pointless.”

Chuuya scoffed, giving a half crazed, half defeated laugh.

“Do gods even have feelings? Do they know love? Do they feel pain?”

“We have no such need for them. We only feel pain through vessels when we walk the Earth, but we do not usually feel their emotions.”

“Then you could never understand. You could never comprehend humans, and hell, I’m sure bugs have more fucking compassion and empathy than you’re capable of! You say you created created us then why did you give us such “useless” things, huh?! Why let us have feelings at all?”

“We did not give them to you. You developed them on your own.”

“Then why didn’t you? In all your infinite years why did you never learn to care about anything? Is it because if you cared then you know you couldn’t just keep resetting all of creation? You couldn’t keep killing everything you ever made when it started to fall apart? Because you knew it was your fault.”

Once again, the voice was silent.

“Did you ever consider the ones that made you took all those feelings away so you wouldn’t make the same mistake they did? That even when you became corrupt and flawed they couldn’t destroy you.”

When no response came Chuuya inhaled a deep breath, air burning in his chest. When he exhaled smoke followed. When he continued he sounded surprisingly calm.

“You never told me why Arahabaki was on Earth in the first place. How does a god get captured and sealed by humans? Why, of all things, did he choose me as a vessel? I was just a child.”

Chuuya growled when the voice remained silent, but before he could speak again it finally answered.

“Pity. Perhaps even... mercy.”

“Are you telling me the god responsible for destroying things felt bad for the things it had to destroy? One of the beings with supposedly no feelings.”

“We were not given feelings. But neither were you humans. It is... anomalous.”

This time his laugh really did sound unhinged.

“Yea, most people get second thoughts when they have to stare into the eyes of something begging for its life. Especially when that something doesn’t understand that there’s a ‘big picture.’ I’m not even so heartless to feel nothing. There’s no joy to be had in murder, a fight, I understand. But death, no. There’s no meaning in death. You say life can’t exist without death but why should it be rushed? Why should someone decide when it comes? Why can’t it just happen? Just like how learned to feel, why can’t we just let death come when it does?”

Chuuya could feel a long explanation coming, so with a sigh he continued before the voice could answer.

“Look, say I agree and give up my mortal body. What happens if Arahabaki comes back, looks what has happened after sitting pretty in my body for 15 years and decides it wants nothing to do with you gods anymore?”

“The being you call Arahabaki is not something separate from you. The flesh may be your vessel but you are one in the same. You assimilated with the human child whose body you chose, losing all memory in the process. Shedding the vessel will simply return your previous power and memories.”

“Wait...” Chuuya looked down at his bare palms. “Are you telling me I’m what happens if one of you is stripped of all your power and stuck in mortal flesh?”

“A crude way of putting it, but that is correct.”

“But I’m human. Don’t you understand that? I’m human!”

“We explained before that you-”

“No you don’t get it. You said you don’t have emotions, you weren’t given them. But I am one of you and I have them. We’re the same. We’re exactly the same but that almighty power or whatever just goes to your head!”

Watching Chuuya point to the nothingness, Dazai couldn’t help but smile. What did it even mean to be human, he wondered. What separated us from insects or gods? The strength of our bodies? The scope of our understanding? If gods could love as humans, then what really made us so different?

If a god raised as a human could feel anger and fear and jealous and love, then why would all the beings in all the cosmos be incapable?

Maybe they just didn’t want to. Because with all those feelings came pain. Pain and suffering, and on a scale unimaginable. In a life so long they would hurt so much they would become numb. And perhaps they would forget what it felt like to feel anything different. Perhaps they would make themselves feel nothing.

But then, perhaps, one day they would feel again, sparked by something so small, so seemingly insignificant, than they would remember it all again. They would look into their heart and soul and it would all come flooding back. And they would try to stop the cycle they once helped continue only to remember why they let it in the first place.

They would feel anger and fear again. And there would come the pain. And then one day everything stopped.

Nothingness. No emotion, no pain, no thoughts. A void. Only to be thrust again amidst panic and fear. The small things hurting one another. Their screams. And the pain, the pain came again. It roared inside and it roared outside and everything was covered in a black flame. But just as soon as it started it stopped.

Bright blue eyes opened as the sun shined above. The dust had settled, the damage done. Alone and empty, he woke at the bottom of a pit. Such a small thing, so fragile. Driven by nothing but instinct he stood on his feet, wobbling. Not knowing the vastness of the universe, the creature who he was, nor the person who he would be become.

All he knew was that the sky was such an utterly captivating blue.

And he smiled.

“I can’t believe you just yelled at a god.” Dazai said, stretching his arms above his head.

“Well, I’m a god, too.” Chuuya huffed. “It’s only fair.”

“Ah yes, what a wonderfully powerful being you are. So utterly ethereal.”

Chuuya scoffed. “Yea! I’m a god so you should start respecting me! I should be worshiped!”

“Oh yes, my almighty Lord Chuuya.” Dazai grasped Chuuya’s hand as he bowed. He kissed up the back of his hand. “I will worship you how you deserve to be worshiped.”

He only made it halfway up Chuuya’s arm before his head was pushed away, grip still firm on his wrist.

“I will worship you ever day and every night.” He brought Chuuya’s palm to his lips. “I will devote myself to you.”

The ginger simply rolled his eyes.

“Will it please you if I give my body to you?”  His tongue slipped between his lips to the slender fingers. “Will you accept me as your devote servant?”

Heat rose in Chuuya’s cheeks as well as his belly. He blocked his face with his free hand as the other was taken into Dazai’s mouth. He licked and sucked on each one.

“These hands are capable of so much destruction.” His tongue ran along one of his fingers. “I’ve seen you kill a man with your bare hands.” He took one finger into his mouth and slowly dragged it back out. “You could easily kill me. But you won’t.”

“I s-should...” Chuuya stuttered from behind his hand. His knees were shaking and he couldn’t help but notice the growing problem below.

“I would let you.” He kissed the palm once more. “I would be your willing sacrifice. Take my life as your own.”

“Can’t I just... do that while you’re alive?” He avoided Dazai’s eyes, unable to stand the heat in them. He felt the gasp against his palm.

“Chuuya!” He grasped Chuuya’s hand with both hands. “Is Chuuya proposing to me?!”

The red on Chuuya’s face spread as he gaped at the other, mouth hanging wide open.

“M-Maybe!” He desperately tried to pull his hand away. “If you get life insurance!”  

“Chuuuuuyaaaaaaaa!!!!!!”

paypal me $30 and I will finish this replicajoelle@yahoo.com (it will probably be a 15K fanfic)

[clay-air]

IT Reddie/Stanlon/Benverly In the Flesh AU

Losers are in their early/mid-thirties.

Living: Bill, Ben, Mike

PDS sufferers: Georgie, Beverly, Stan, Richie, Eddie

Five years ago, the dead rose all around the world, and the small town of Derry, Maine, was no exception. Halfway into the zombie apocalypse, a breakthrough drug called neurotriptaline allows the risen dead to regain their senses—rebranded as Partially-Deceased Syndrome sufferers, they receive treatment and begin to be integrated back into the communities they nearly destroyed. Derry was never the most tolerant of towns, and to no one’s surprise the surviving townsfolk are incredibly hostile to the returning PDS sufferers. It is in this setting that seven Losers—each damaged in their own way by the events of (and prior to) the Rising—find each other and start to heal.

Disjointed outline and notes below the cut: I will definitely never actually write a fic for this bc I am pathologically incapable of turning my ramblings into a cohesive story with a plot and all that, so everything is up for grabs!!  If you do get inspired by my musings and write or draw something, please lmk!!!  Also feel free to comment with your own thoughts/ideas/headcanons!!!!

Warning for references to: suicide, homophobia, spousal/parental abuse, hate crimes, self-harm scars, violence

Bill Denbrough gets his baby brother Georgie (their age gap is a lot bigger in this AU) back but has to deal with the residual guilt he still feels about his death (an accident Bill maybe could have prevented). He saw Georgie after he’d risen, missing an arm and eating a dude (alternatively, Zombie!Georgie actually kills Bill’s wife Audra bc Bill hesitated over shooting him, and Bill has to deal with that while also trying to make sure Georgie doesn’t find out/remember what he did) and was the one to restrain him so he could be sent to the treatment center.

Ben Hanscom loved Beverly Marsh from afar until she went missing (killed by her abusive husband who later died during the Rising) and when she comes back to Derry from the treatment center with no one waiting for her, he decides this time he’ll actually step up and be there for her. Of course he has to actually get her to trust him first. She vaguely remembers him as a guy who was always nice to her, but it’s dangerous to assume that anyone in Derry has less-than-homicidal feelings regarding those with PDS.  Beverly is starts off nervous and flighty, but eventually adopts a very “middle finger to the whole damn town” attitude, and, despite her initial reservations, finds that the words of a certain Undead Prophet are starting to resonate with her....

Stanley Uris committed suicide before rising from the grave, and he’s trying to find a reason to stick around for his “second chance at life” that he never wanted in the first place. Can he finally move past the cloying, suffocating fear he felt every second he was alive now that he no longer has any need to “fear the Reaper”? He finds companionship in Mike Hanlon, a quiet man who defended his farm on the outskirts of town all by himself during the Rising, luring the Risen who wandered on to the property into a barn and keeping them inside once he heard about the successful neurotriptaline trials. Mike’s refusal to join the Human Volunteer Force during the Rising (he didn’t want to kill anyone, zombie or not) earned him the scorn of the already-pretty-racist townsfolk.

Richie Tozier was the victim of a homophobic hate crime, and now because of bureaucratic bullshit (reintegrated PDS sufferers need to be incident-free for a minimum of three years before they can change their address) he has to come back to the very same town that loathed him enough to kill him. Also they have another reason to hate him now! He’s trying to take it in stride (or at least outwardly appear like he’s taking it in stride) but his murderer, Henry Bowers, is basically a town hero for helping form the HVF, and he’s using his status in the town to make Richie’s already pretty miserable half-life hell. Things start turning around for him when he finds a reason to stop playing hooky and actually show up for the Give Back program: another PDS sufferer who is wound up tighter than anyone he’s ever met, is absolutely CAKED in flesh-tone makeup, and whose snapped insults in response to Richie’s trashmouth antics don’t carry the now-familiar hatred behind them that he’s become accustomed to. Also he’s cute as fuck. But damn, gay thoughts come with a lot of baggage after being gay literally got you killed.

Eddie Kaspbrak succumbed to slow poisoning by his mother, who’s Munchausen by proxy escalated with deadly effects. Unfortunately, once he’s released from the treatment center Eddie has nowhere to go but back into her open arms. She refuses to acknowledge what she did to him, and starts using his daily neurotriptaline doses as a new way of controlling him (Eddie is absolutely PETRIFIED at the thought of going rabid). Ironically, his only moments of freedom happen when he’s at work for the Give Back program (his mother’s protests that he’s too frail to do manual labor don’t really hold up under the fact that he’s kind of unkillable now?) where he meets a fellow PDS sufferer who’s an irredeemable trashmouth but who treats him more like a human being than anyone ever has, even counting before he was a literal zombie. And no, Eddie does not think he’s fucking funny. He doesn’t.

Featuring:

- Beverly supplying Eddie with DIY neurotriptaline she learned how to make from the ULA website so he can get out from under his mother’s thumb, which he accepts after an hour-long tirade about how she doesn’t know if it’s safe or even STERILE (“Eddie, honey, I don’t think we can get infections anymore” “it’s the PRINCIPLE of it, Bev!”)

- Mike showing Stan that all the bird species he saw in the woods when he was alive are still there, and that the Rising didn’t destroy everything good in the world, also introducing him to his secret library

- Bill bringing Georgie to Mike’s farm so he can see and work with the animals (and also so he isn’t in town where someone might mention Audra). Mike is somewhat disapproving of Bill’s not telling Georgie what happened, but he sympathizes, and tries to help both brothers work through their trauma. (Stan eventually convinces Mike that he should be taking care of himself too)

- Ben struggling to convey to Beverly that he genuinely wants to be her friend (and more) and help her (Bev: “Oh wait are you one of those guys who finds the whole ‘undead’ thing hot? Why don’t you go to the PDS brothel then and leave me alone?” Ben: *internal screaming*)

- Richie and Eddie building fences at 1/6th the pace of all the other pairs of Give Back program “volunteers” bc they can’t stop ribbing each other and arguing and also Richie might’ve made it his new-life’s purpose to get Eddie to smile and laugh as much as possible. “Do you even still need glasses, asshat?” “The better to see you with, my Spaghetti” “Don’t fucking call me that”

- turns out Richie and Beverly sort of hunted as a group during the Rising (a la Kieren and Amy) and now they like to get together in the Barrens, get high off sheep brains, and try not to have panic attacks about what they did while unmedicated. Bev confesses that while she hates the slow-drip of returning memories of the Rising, she hopes that one day she’ll remember being the one who killed her husband because that would mean she got her revenge in the end. Richie offers to help her jog her memory by reenacting it with him starring as her husband, but she just laughs and punches him in the arm. “Be glad I can’t feel pain anymore, Marsh, that seemed like it might’ve done some serious damage” “Beep beep, Richie”

- insert that ep 1 scene with Rick’s dad dragging the neighbor’s PDS wife into the street and shooting her, but replace with Bowers killing Adrian Mellon as Bill  watches from through the curtains across the street with Georgie’s head tucked into his chest so he can’t see

- Stan slowly coming into his own through what starts off as relatively harmless acts of rebellion against Derry but escalates to all the Losers having a blast vandalizing their own graves. “Honestly Richie, I’m surprised your epitaph wasn’t ‘blessedly silent at last’” “Woah! Stanley gets off a good one!”

- Richie visiting the Kissing Bridge where he was caught halfway carving his name + ??? by Bowers’ crew and was brutally beaten before being thrown into the river. Looking back, it was hardly a crush worth getting killed over, but this time he feels like he’s drowning in his feelings (of fucking course it would feel like drowning) and he’s terrified. Carving a shaky “E” where he never got to finish his declaration last time takes some of the weight off his heart.

- Ben finally getting Beverly to realize that he’s been in love with her since long before the Rising by telling her that he was the one who wrote the anonymous postcard she received a few months before she died, and showing her all the other poems he’d written over the years. “January embers”...

- Bill and Mike helping Eddie gather proof that this mother was responsible for his death by combing through Derry police records and autopsy reports (also hey, turns out you can still detect all those poisonous chemicals in his partially deceased body!) and using it to get him essentially emancipated and his mother arrested. Eddie moves in with Richie afterwards and being in close proximity all the time brings both their feelings to a boil.

- Georgie does eventually remember encountering Bill and Audra during the Rising. “I died, and you lied”. He runs away into the Barrens where he meets a strange PDS sufferer who wears clown makeup instead of the usual flesh-mimicking stuff...

- the creeping emergence of a ULA splinter group led by Pennywise that starts haunting at the edges of Derry and stoking the fires of the townspeople’s fear against the Risen. Eventually they kidnap Georgie to their weird sewer cult dungeon under Neibolt bc they think he’s the First Risen (lol sorry dudes, wrong side of the pond), and the Losers have to gear up and go get him back before a fucking clown EATS HIM to bring about the Second Rising.

Physical appearances:

Eddie: wears his contacts and makeup religiously until he is able to escape his mother, at which point he starts to let loose a bit (it helps that Richie says he’s still adorable, even tho Eddie would never admit to that). He has a gash in his cheek and a huge puncture wound straight through his chest, both of which he sustained during the Rising.

Richie: wears glasses even tho he doesn’t technically need to anymore. Gave up on the whole makeup thing pretty early bc it was a pain to apply, but he does sometimes wear the colored contacts when he’s out and about for the Giveback Program. He’s covered in cuts and blue/purple bruises that he sustained in Bowers’ attack, and has a big nasty stitched-up gash just above his hairline from hitting his head on a river rock.

Beverly: makeup and contacts whom? She has a pretty conspicuously hand-shaped bruise around her neck that she tends to cover with scarves tho

Stan: wears the makeup and contacts, but is much better at making them look natural than Eddie is. Matching scars on each wrist that he keeps covered all the time. A bullet hole in his side from the Rising.

Georgie: wears the makeup and contacts. Missing an arm (injury sustained during the Rising)

[dothewrite]

announcement.

Hello everyone, it's Haru here.

It's certainly been a while, and for all those who're still here to read this small letter, I'm truly grateful from the bottom of my heart. I'm sorry for the long absence and the silence in general on both this and my personal blog.

As you guys know, tumblr has changed a lot, very suddenly, after the banning of explicit material a few months ago, and since then the site hasn't been quite the same. I found myself on social media less, and tumblr even more so, with half the content vanished and several controversies regarding fic authors and such. It was kind of a mess. But of course, I can't simply set that up as an excuse for the fact that since the beginning of this year, things have changed for me too. I usually don't put my personal baggage onto this blog unless it's someone asking for my opinion or advice, but I thought after all this time and silence I owe the remainder of you guys some explanation.

Although the whole of 2018 was an absolute shit-show for me, things really began to change starting last Christmas, and only recently (relatively) finalized about three days ago. Mostly, it was family issues. As an East Asian, where from I think I've mentioned in some post or another, we're mostly expected to live at home until we get married (just for clarification for those from the West who're wondering what sort of bum I am for still living with my parents), so I've more or less had to live with those issues every day, every night. Divorces, weddings, financial disputes, you name it. And with all those things, came incredible financial instability in one of the top five most expensive cities to live in worldwide. So, along with that, my lovely friend called depression I'm sure you're all familiar with, I could no longer afford to sit around and pick up freelance to sustain myself whilst writing fic. Honestly, the biggest issues was that I was more or less completely dead inside, which surprisingly doesn't do much for one's creativity.

And now, having reached this time of year and this stage of supreme resignation, I don't think that I will be continuing this blog anymore.

Perhaps some of you might actually think that it's been a long time coming, and I'd agree with you, but I do want to say that it's not a spur of the moment thing--I've been mulling over it very seriously for about half a year. This blog, and all you guys, ALL of you, have been one of the very few things that kept me going in my worst years. I began this in 2016, the worst year of my life to date, and received so much support from you all that I have actually been reduced to tears. I've disappointed quite a few of you, I know, but you never gave me any shit over it and for that I'm eternally grateful. Sometimes I look back at the things I used to write, and although I can easily point out the mistakes now, I miss the person I used to be, even at my worst. I miss how all I lacked were the ideas, and had you all to help me with that. I'm sorry to have to repay all your kindness with me like this, right now. But I think that leaving you hanging in eternal hiatus is in some way worse.

I'm trying to get myself together now. To admit where I can't continue, but not to run away from its conclusion. I won't stop writing because I'm emotionally incapable of losing my final coping mechanism, and I want to return to social media again to at least find some lost joy in seeing art and fic and other people being happy about things. I'll be moving almost completely to AO3 as haruun, where I'll be able to stop worrying about exposure or followers or reblogs. Also, I'll be shifting to instagram as ‘@haruunhere’. If you don't mind some personal posts along with sparse writing, please follow me there. Although I'm more quiet there I already check instagram frequently, and I welcome all DMs.

This blog will be officially closed in two days time, on the 22nd of March 2019. I'll keep it up, nothing here will be deleted, but I will no longer be checking asks or messages here.

Finally, I just want to thank you all one last time for how much you've all given me. Thank you for talking to me, thank you for reading my things, and thank you for all the messages you've left and the comments that have honestly kept me going when I loathed every word I came out with. You are the only reason why I dared to pick up freelance, to pick up real life part time jobs as I told others that I could write. Thank you for giving me the confidence I never had in something I thought I was never good at. It changed my life.

I won't stop writing, ever. I won't disappear from fandom either, especially with Haikyuu's season 4 announced, and maybe then I'll be returning to my personal blog to fangirl with you all. But for now, this is goodbye here, and hopefully, I'll see you all around.

Thank you, and I'm sorry.

(P.S. Around two months ago, after a convo with one of you, I was motivated to tackle Ringleaders once again. So, I’ve re-plotted it completely, and have the framework basically all ready to go. It’s the project that interests me the most right now so if you’re interested in how it’ll be redone, it’ll be updated and continued on my AO3.)