#Would it get easier with practice? To work at human speed knowing full well that it's going to fail?

[jessicanjpa]

I wonder how many patients Carlisle has lost knowing he could have saved them, if only nobody had been watching. I wonder how many times he's spoken to grieving families and lied through his teeth when he said he'd "done everything he could."

... and I wonder how each of those losses has burned him.

[nicki0kaye]

Star Wars Sentinel Guide nonsense

To make things easier for everyone, I've decided to just lay out how my Sentinel/Guide au works. Please feel free to rip me off entirely and apply these ideas to any blorbo you choose.

I've done a few pics for Pre-Empire bonded Kalluzeb, and started a fic for Post-Empire, Pre-Fall of Lasan Kalluzeb, but there's a bunch of other AUs that branch off of this main premise, and the fic especially drops the audience into the deep end re: how shit works, so lets just go ahead and spell shit out plainly.

First and foremost, yes, the Force is involved and the Jedi do know about these sub-categories of Force-sensitive ppl. Typically, the cultures they exist inside already have accommodations for 'Sentinels' and 'Guides', and these two sub-sets have very limited access to the Force itself, so it doesn't really benefit anyone for them to be picked up by the Jedi, as they lack the access to the Force required for full-on Jedi training, and the Jedi don't really specialize in their care. Only in very extreme cases would a Jedi want to adopt a 'Sentinel' or 'Guide'; ie when they are utterly alone and lack all outside support.

What even are Sentinels and Guides? In the broadest terms, they are specialized Force-users with complimentary adaptations, meant to work as a unit.

Sentinels have enhanced senses, mental capacity, memory recall, strength and speed, but can struggle to regulate their own nervous systems and risk being locked in vivid flash-backs due to their near-perfect recall.

Guides are empaths capable of influencing the minds and bodies of those around them, typically only within their line of sight, although with practice they can widen their range of influence. They are very sensitive to the pain of others, and can become overwhelmed by second-hand emotions without proper training.

Both Sentinels and Guides can sense the Force to a degree, though it's mostly limited to the 'souls' or 'auras' of other sentients, meaning no tapping into nature or inanimate objects (excluding kyber crystals. that shit they can in fact sense.) Guides can interact directly with other's 'auras', that's kind of their Whole Deal, but Sentinels have an acute awareness of their own 'aura', especially when interfacing with another's. This allows Sentinels and Guides to recognize one another, though a Sentinel may inaccurately contribute their awareness of a Guide to another sense, such as 'seeing' their aura or 'hearing' their soul.

A Guide's aura must interact with a Sentinel's aura to properly regulate a Sentinel's nervous system. This can be a temporary arrangement, after which one or both could disconnect their aura and suffer no ill effects. However, it's possible to form a 'bond' after prolonged interaction, especially if the two are 'compatible'. Compatibility between Sentinels and Guides is not a hard science, it's more a vibe that these two get on really well, and it works on a spectrum. The more compatible the pair, the stronger the bond; the stronger the bond, the more painful it is to sever. While super not recommended, you can sever a bond by force--outside Guide/Force-user interference--or by distance. No matter the method, a severed bond is traumatic for both parties, but at least with other Guides around, some of that trauma can be tended to immediately.

Separately, Sentinels and Guides have a few obvious niches they can gravitate to; Sentinels can excel at most any activity they set their mind to, especially physical ones such a sports or warfare, while Guides make talented healers and diplomats. They of course work best as a unit, something recognized and often revered in every culture they appear in.

Sentinels and Guides are most commonly found in non-human species, including but not limited to the Wookiees, Bothan, Cathar, Chiss and Lasat.

[dragonmuse]

All of your wips sound interesting, but im curious about exile is full?

sadly it's the one most likely to be dead in the water. I started it far before S2 of OFMD aired as a potential space AU where Izzy is an android. Since it'll never see the light of day now, I'll just post all I had of it which wasn't very much.

“Drop it,” Jim growled in his ear, and the cool slide of codestick pressed into his arm port. 

A data dump filled his sensors, sending a cascade of information through him. He dropped his hand off the hilt of the whip-blade. 

The code injection was a burrower, furious and fast. Izzy tracked it, calculations cascading through him. 

“I’ve got a remote,” they went on. “I hit the button and it's a catastrophic failure for every single one of your systems.” 

“What do you want?” He asked without much feeling. It was easier to resort to the flatness of default space in these moments. 

“You’re taking us to the life support pod and you’re piloting us out of the defense systems.” 

“And then?”

Their breath registered as a hair too fast in his ear, their heart rate accelerated. To other humans, Jim would look calm and collected. To Izzy, they were falling apart at the seams. 

“You don't get to know that yet. Move!”

Calculations on calculations until resolution floated up. Picoseconds in suspended silence, the way the world had to slow and shift until all was reconciled, it was a horrible suspension of reality that no one else could perceive. Even Ed didn’t really understand it, the way Izzy’s computations took him out of time. How much longer was his life than the meatsuited people all around him? Not just in the hours that he didn’t waste eating or sleeping, but in how they experienced lived time? 

He thought about that as he walked down the elegantly arched hallways of the commandeered Revenge. These moments that hinged on a breath, on a thought, on a dream, and to him were just a practical succession of logic. 

Frenchie was behind Jim and while he twitched and made tiny comments, his heartbeat was far more regular. Maybe after weeks under the Kraken’s rule, he was too tired to be afraid. 

As they got close, Izzy reached out and thumped the wall twice with the heel of his hand, making it look like he’d stumbled. That never would’ve worked before. 

Before what Ed had. 

Well. It worked now. 

“Watch it,” Jim snarled, not alarmed by the fumble. 

The life support pod was a standard issue, not any fancier than one would find on any ship. It was as if Bonnet’s wild imagination had reached this point then stopped dead, balking at confronting the stark reality of survival. That figured. It worked in Izzy’s favor for now, sliding into the pilot’s seat. The controls of a pod were simplified in case of emergency evacuation, but he overrode them.

They would need to fly carefully to evade the security measures. Izzy wouldn’t leave the Revenge and Ed by extension unprotected. He couldn’t. In theory. 

The pod had room for five, including the pilot. Small enough to maneuver. 

“Go already!” Jim barked. 

Izzy flicked switches and turned dials that didn’t need turning. 

“This better not be another false alarm,” a new voice spoke and Jim’s vibro-blade illuminated the cabin. 

“Lucius!” Frenchie got to his feet. 

“Yeah, mostly.” 

“Strap in,” Izzy barked. 

There was no time for a heartfelt reunion. As soon as the pod disengaged, a notification would chime would be ringing in Ed’s ear.  A belt clicked.  Izzy dropped most of his consciousness straight into the pod. He flew with every ounce of attention he could spare, maneuvering around traps he’d set himself and ones that Ed had seeded in the terrible days after...after.  

He didn’t stop when they were free of the immediate field, he kept the pod pushing at its maximum speed. It wasn’t until they were entirely out of short-range sensors detection area that he risked plugging back into his own sensor arrays, drawing himself into the body partially. 

“I didn’t tell you where to go!” Jim barked. 

“You told me to get away and we did,” he snapped.  “If you have a heading, now’s the time.” 

“The asteroid belt, we can lose them there.” 

“And lose all your lives,” Izzy scoffed. “Are you out of your mind? This isn’t a quick-flick, people die doing that shit.” 

“You could do it,” Jim said, holding out the remote and waving it at him. “You will do it.”

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[astaroth1357]

Long Distance Longing with the Brothers

Want a little angst and sweetness? I love how this turned out and I think it’s a new favorite for me. I honestly should wait to post it... But I have no patience, I love it too much. Weirdly enough, thank Taylor Swift’s new album for giving me this idea. Go figure. 🤷‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, implied starvation

Intro:

The brothers knew it was going to happen eventually. The year can't last forever, and at some point they were going to have to say goodbye to their human for the break… But that didn't make the situation any easier. Nobody likes being so far from the one they love. It was only a matter of time before our boys are reaching a breaking point...

Lucifer

Lucifer has never really had a reason to not to work before… Like, yeah there are those days where things get stressful and he takes a step back, but actually taking an extended period of time to just... not work? A "vacation" if you will? He’s never had the desire. What would he even do with himself?

Well, for the first time in literal God knows how many centuries, he had an answer for that question. He was going to be with MC.

And that's exactly what he told Diavolo when he finally accepted that missing the MC was negatively affecting his work. 

He wanted a… "vacation."

Diavolo had never once thought Lucifer would ever ask, and to be fair the man never thought he would either, but he's more than happy to give his friend a few days off to visit his dear human.

Whatever brief hit that his pride took by having to admit that he needed a break was more than made up for by finally seeing the MC again. He knew he missed them, painfully aware of that fact, but just the sight of them waiting to meet him outside the portal was enough to nearly take his breath away…

His first vacation was sure to be paradise. 

Mammon 

Oh, the distance was killing this poor boy. Any day where he can’t have the MC on his arm feels worse than when he's on a losing streak…

Speaking of a losing streak, he's been stuck in one for a whole month without his beloved partner in crime with him. Did he lose his lucky charm or was he just too down in the dumps to gamble well? Anyone's guess.

Well he got fucking sick of it. He wanted to see the MC, ASAP. But how would he get to the human world…?

It takes a week but he gets an idea. It took another for it to actually trigger.

Like clockwork one of the witches he's regularly in debt to, one that just happens to be a bad gambler herself, summoned him out to give her a little extra luck. Usually, he'd just kick whatever slot machine she’s parked herself at and be done with it but this time he's got to ask… How long does that summon spell last, eh?

He made a new sort of bargain. She gets to take Goldie out for a spin if she gave him some time in exchange… 24 hours to be exact.

He didn't waste a second after striking the deal because he had a lot of flying to do.

The MC probably didn't expect to hear frantic knocking on their door at the break of dawn, nor to find a beat tired and disheveled Mammon leaning outside it….

But he embraced them for all it's worth anyway. If it meant feeling them in his arms again, he'd trade away the whole world if he had to...

Leviathan 

He… didn’t do so well with the distance. Like at all. He'd mope around the house, constantly bemoaning how unfair things were. Not even his favorite games can give him any joy because those were the games he used to play with MC…

Sneaking in the occasional video call was pretty much the only thing that could make him smile anymore. Just seeing their face felt like getting a cold drink in the middle of a scorching desert… But he wanted more.

Thankfully, the MC themselves gave him a really, really good idea…

For two weeks straight, Levi seemed to get out of whatever funk he was in to help out around the House… Like, really help out. Suck-up levels of help out. It creeped everybody out...

After a time he finally approached Lucifer and made a simple request. There was an anime convention going on in the human world soon and he'd like to attend…

The ulterior motive for this little visit is practically written on the wall, but he'd been acting so damn unnerving for the past two weeks Lucifer just gave him permission to make him stop.

When the MC agreed to meet him on the opening day, they said they'd be dressed up as someone he'd recognize. Frankly, he was expecting Henry or maybe Ruri-chan but he was completely floored to see them waiting for him dressed in a familiar black hoodie with coral-like horns on their head and a carefully crafted serpent's tail behind them.

To this day he still can't decide what made him happier: seeing the love of his life so adoringly dressed as him or finally feeling their body collide with his after they came running to each other outside the convention hall...

In the end it probably doesn't matter because for that whole day alone, he finally felt like he had everything he could of ever wanted right there with him.

Satan 

Satan's not one for idle moping so when he felt that yearning in his chest finally hit a tipping point, he didn't whine. He didn't complain. He got up and did something about it.

Teleportation magic is tricky to master and dangerous to perform even with sufficient skill. One wrong move and you could end up smearing yourself across three different continents…

But like that would stop him.

He pulled out every book he could find on the subject, researched for days, then practiced for weeks. First on books and apples, then on some of Lucifer’s belongings.

He had to keep making new excuses to throw Lucifer off the scent (especially after he started sending some of his shirts away to different parts of the house) but after some time, it finally paid off.

Satan was probably the last person the MC would have expected to see show up in their room randomly one night, sitting casually by a lamp and reading a book like he didn't just master time and space just to come say hi.

But who was going to be all that picky when they could finally shower their nerdy cat-lover in all the love and kisses they've both been missing for months now?

Asmodeus 

If you took Asmo at his word, then the sheer depths of longing and despair he was experiencing while the MC was away could far outweigh that of anyone else to ever have existed in the history of all time.

He was the Avatar of Lust, desire was in his nature. Couple that with a burning need to have his lover as close to him as he possibly could and it was safe to say he was losing his mind!

This might have been the reason Solomon finally gave in after his 16th-ish time trying to beg the sorcerer to help him. He really was quite pitiful in this state...

When Solomon told Asmo that he could smuggle him out of the teleportation gate between the Devildom and human world ONLY if he could magically disguised his appearance, he was kind of expecting Asmo to refuse. This was Asmo he was talking about. He honestly thought that he'd rather die than deprive the world of his beauty so selfishly…

The world is full of surprises, ain't it?

No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, the MC was suddenly mowed over by a "stranger" running at them at top speed like an Olympic sprinter. It’d probably have been pretty scary before Solomon lifted the enchantment shortly after to reveal their demon’s gorgeously familiar face.

Solomon wasn't going to let him stay too long, lest he incur the wrath of Lucifer, but Asmo couldn't care less. Be it a thousand hours or a few short seconds, he could always find a way to make his time with the MC last a lifetime...

Beelzebub

Fun fact, Hell freezes over a little every time Beel says "I'm not hungry…" No. Seriously. A freezing wind blasts across the entire Devildom like the realm itself gets a sudden chill...

So imagine the levels of panic that went through pretty much everyone there when his appetite started to fail him.

It's not like the poor baby could help it, food just tasted so much better when the MC was there that eating without them was like trying to digest actual disappointment… He got tired of trying after a while.

A few days of this behavior were worrying, but when he started to get a little thinner the family went into an uproar, starting with Belphie but soon spreading to the rest of the House as well.

Lucifer's soft spot for the twins may have influenced his decision. I mean, it was awfully generous of him to get Diavolo to approve of an fully sanctioned, planned meeting between Beel and the MC. He probably wouldn’t have offered that to anyone else...

Not that Beel cared about all that background favoritism anyway. Hell, on the day that he was finally allowed to see them, he couldn't be bothered by anything other than holding the MC close and hoping they'd never let him go again.

His appetite did return to him eventually, of course, but as long as he had his human with him even the cheapest street taco tasted like a fine five star-meal.

Belphegor 

Frankly, Belphegor was sick and tired of missing people.

Ever since the Celestial War he missed Lilith. When he was stuck in the attic, he missed Beel. And now that the MC was away he was supposed to just sit patiently and miss them too? No way. Not happening. Something about that had to change.

It wasn’t the first time he'd gone to Lucifer in an angry huff, but admittedly he had more ammo than usual...

There was a… discussion between the two. It went on for a couple hours… There may have been some words to the effect of, "Don't you think you owe me?" exchanged… 

Honestly, it was kind of amazing Belphie didn't end up in another attic "timeout" by the end of it. But he got what he wanted, so what's to complain about?

With a little persuasion on his part, Lucifer managed to get Diavolo to approve of a weekly visit for the two, SO LONG as Belphie stayed on his best behavior in the human world.

There wasn’t really much worry about him acting up, though, since he'd have his nap buddy back. It would be pretty hard to be a threat to humanity when he was too busy staying snuggled up to his favorite person until well past noon...

[lasquadrasfuckhouse]

Hello!

Maybe some la sqadra headcanons with s/o, who is super fixed on pets? Like, they want to adopt every animal from the shelter, and cry every time they see a abandoned pet on the street. S/o just loves pets so so much that they would do everything to have more

Ofc it's just a proposition, bye bye!❤

AW I LOVE THIS

la squadra with a partner who loves animals 😻

risotto ✂️

he gets it. he has a soft spot for small cute things

he's very fond of how doting u are to every creature but he'll keep you in check, gently pull you away from a passing animal shelter and the like. pets take commitment and u both have very demanding jobs as is

he will help u set out bowls of water for all the strays and little creatures tho

if u bring home a lost pet he'll want you to bring it to the shelter and let the people there find its owner but you count as small cute things he's soft for (because everyone is small compared to risotto). give him puppy eyes for long enough and he'll give you a few days to find the owner yourself but it can't interfere with work and you're completely responsible for it

you'll probably be able to sway him on taking in ONE (1) stray cat if it has the right temperament, quiet and won't interfere and more on the independent side. there are a lot of strays in the neighbourhood as is, he figures having a cat in the house won't be much more of a stretch than you looking after the cats outside

he reasons that for himself too because he loves cats. he'll let it sleep on his chest and he WILL take it for walks on a lil kitty harness do NOT test him, do NOT fuck with this guy while he's walking his cat

he also thinks tarantulas, scorpions, and reptiles are cool (reptiles would love him he's so warm!!!) but maintaining a terrarium is a lot of work

prosciutto 🚬

no. he will answer firmly, no. you both know how busy you are

he tries to reason with you every time you cry over a stray: you can't adopt them all, you know it would be a disservice to the animal to take on that responsibility only to find you can't balance it, i know it's sad but you're only one person with a very difficult job you can't overhaul the shelter system overnight. he'd try to help you toughen up for your own sake, not that u have to love animals any less but he doesn't want u burning out emotionally and he doesn't like seeing u cry either

if u bring home a lost pet, he will also insist you take it to the shelter. if u have a staredown about it (the shelters are so busy already and what if they can't find its person!!!!), it will be a LONG staredown. but if u promise to take full responsibility and find the owners asap he will relent BUT DONT MAKE IT A HABIT. if he has spare time he May help you with finding the owners, mostly to speed things up but it does also make u happy

might also accept one (1) cat with the right temperament but it's YOUR responsibility. if you're prepared to take on the commitment urself, he can coexist with a chill cat pretty easily. he will give it pets if it curls around his legs. if it wants to curl up in his lap, as long as he's not busy, well..... he would allow it

(the cat definitely grows on him)

he supposes he wouldn't mind fishes or a reptile but again, your responsibility

pesci 🎣

he thinks ur so sweet and he has a very hard time saying no to you

as long as ur managing your time and energy right he doesn't think it's so bad!!!! will defend you if the others try to tease you or get on your case

he will help. he might not mesh well with very rambunctious and outgoing animals tho. he may get nervous about caring for them right (is this food good for them? how do i hold them? what if they get sick?) but if u show him how and reassure him and he gets reassurance and affection from the critter too he'll probably cry

he would, of course, love a fish tank. he gets really into arranging and rearranging the setup and caring for ur fishies. he could watch them for hours and also defends them against people who say they're boring (THEY HAVE PERSONALITY)

he would say no to arachnids or other bugs and no to reptiles and amphibians (cause they eat bugs)

formaggio 🧀

HES RIGHT THERE WITH U

cats are his favorite even if he is not cats' favorite. he looks after the strays with you and will comfort you when you cry about them

if you find a lost pet he'll help you hide it (probably make it smaller) while you team up to secretly care for it and find the owners

'formaggio what the hell is that sound coming from ur room' 'oh i just fell asleep with the tv on' '..... and it's still making the same sounds 3 hours later?' 'ITS A LONG MOVIE'

HE WOULD LOVE TO RAISE A CAT WITH U. two cats would be great too but you do both have busy jobs. cool with rodents too, would be cool with a dog or parrot in theory but in practice they take a lot of work and require a lot of social time and y'all are pretty busy being assassins.

illuso ✨

he will gently tease you for being a softie (the keyword here being gently because he loves u) but he's honestly a little endeared

he's trying to befriend the flock of crows around base so they'll be his little minions so u spend time together leaving them snack offerings

for trying to actually get a pet tho? ur on ur own

if you find a lost pet he may offer to hide it in the mirror world while u search for the owner BUT he will require payment. whether that is a kiss or you do his chores for a week. and he doesn't really do well with animals cause he just doesn't know what to do with them but he will do his best to help care for them in the mirror world if u can't be there because it's for u (and contrary to popular belief he's not completely heartless)

no. no strays in the house. i know it's cute and sad but it's all dirty, you don't know where it's been. but then you start tearing up and he's like ah fuck okay FINE tidy it up and bring it to the shelter but im outtie

he does find cats and snakes very graceful tho and may be open to having one as long as it's a good fit personality and needs wise and it's mostly your responsibility

melone 🍈

he finds it adorable. he loves how sweet u are

he loves hearing about his partner's interests so he will talk about cool biological and developmental animal facts and how u can learn a lot about human behaviour by studying the nature around us

doesn't see the harm in helping out any strays or lost creatures u may find and is totally down to help

he will remind u that pets are a lot of responsibility tho!!! if u want one u have to figure out how to balance other responsibilities with it but he's cool with co-parenting

he thinks reptiles and amphibians are really fucking cool. he'd probably be interested in a bird too cause he has the patience and creativity for them but ur also both busy people. he'd LOVE having sweet rat babies b/c they are so smart!!!

ghiaccio ❄️

he LOVES everything cute and soft and fluffy so he understands but also you can't rescue every stray or adopt the whole shelter we are assassins,

you befriend the neighbourhood cats together and build squirrel feeders. sometimes you'll go to the park just to cry about how cute all the dogs are

if you find a lost pet he may try to be like ugh.... do we have time for this....... but he caves VERY fast. will whisper-yell at anyone who tries to give you grief for it because he doesn't want to startle the poor creature. will help you find its owner if it'll get the others off ur back

he would very much want to raise cute animals with u. you have work to think about but if u had a rather independent cat that would work. he'd also love rats and hamsters

starts dreaming of retiring with u one day so u can have a bunny and a yappy little pomeranian he can wear matching sweaters with

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

they think ur utterly adorable. ur their sweet beloved third and they dote on you and would love to be involved in/support ur passions

they will help u look after the strays and may point out like someone's cute dog that they're walking just to see ur eyes light up and hear u gush

they Will smuggle lost pets inside the base for you and they Will help you find the owner they don't care about getting in trouble with risotto they're in trouble all the time anyway it's their jobs

would very much like to be pet parents with u and it might honestly be easier to manage between the three of you

they'd do very well with rats, they could handle high energy pets like ferrets, parrots, and dogs, but y'know u do all have work and stuff. they are determined to find the right fit for all of u b/c ur so cute they can't NOT indulge u

maybe one day the three of u can retire on a heap of money and adopt an older cockatoo and harness train it so u can all go on adventures together, that's the dream!!!!

[frostfireft]

Can we have more Bickslow headcannons? And maybe Evergreen, Freed, and Lexus too?

Fuck yeah you can! I’m gonna start with a lot of angst and then move into their dynamics as a team. (this got REALLY long but I’m not sorry)

-I gave you all my HC for Freed’s backstory in my last post and mentioned that Freed is the reason that Bickslow and Evergreen joined the guild, so have both their backstories too! 

-Bickslow grew up in a travelling circus with several other child performers. It wasn’t exactly a nice environment. There were lots of issues and safety hazards and abuse going on behind the scenes, but they were forced to keep smiling and performing through it all. 

-Bickslow was especially targeted by the ringmaster because of his magic allowing him to look into people’s souls. The ringmaster is the one who forced him to wear a helmet when he wasn’t using his ability on the crowd for money. 

-Because of that, he only had five friends back then, all children younger than he was, who looked up to him both for his tricks and the fact that no matter how upset he was, he had a smile for them.

-one day the tent caught fire during a practice. Bickslow was the only one to make it out alive. 

-but considering all the traumatic events they went through, most of the children kept there weren’t able to move on, and their spirits lingered in the area... Except for the five kids who were most fond of Bickslow. They stayed near him and talked to him all the time, especially once they realized he could see them. You still have a soul as a spirit after all. 

-the town he was in began to think he was crazy because he was “talking to the air” all the time, and they would continuously call child services to try and take him to an orphanage. The five spirits however, would warn him before they could, and Bickslow used his years of acrobatics skills to stay away from anyone who tried to move him away from where the circus burned down. It may have been a place of trauma, but there were good memories too, and it’s all he had. 

-So the town tried one last gamble. Who better to adopt a child with mysterious magic that Fairy Tail? 

-And Makarov, in an attempt to get Laxus to be more social, decided to send him and Freed. 

-It went about as well as you’d expect. Laxus tried to fight him while Freed did research on the area and what happened to him. 

-Laxus didn’t have as much control over his magic as he thought he did at that age, and Bickslow was kicking his ass before Freed showed up and trapped him so they could talk.

-Freed shared his story with him and offered the same thing Laxus once offered him: a home. 

-Bickslow cracked soon after that, and told them everything after Freed started asking questions about the town thinking he’s crazy while they were on the train back to magnolia. 

-While many members of Fairy Tail were unnerved by him, those around their age did their best to make him feel at home. Natsu listened to all his stories about the circus and about the five ghosts who followed him, and Bickslow listened to his stories about the dragons. 

-Freed used this time to research Seith magic extensively, and he eventually came across the idea of putting the souls into objects. He and Bickslow worked for weeks to figure out how to do it, and the five spirits became his five main “dolls.” 

-He of course, asked them if they were okay with being alongside him before putting them inside the tiki dolls, and if he cried when they said there was nowhere else they’d rather be? Well Freed and Laxus weren’t going to tell anyone about it. 

-Evergreen was both harder and easier to get back to Fairy Tail. 

-Like Freed, She was once a part of the noble class, but under a name she never wants to use again. 

-When she gained her eye magic, she accidentally turned her mother to stone, and it was all downhill from there. Her father tried to keep her locked in a room, and it worked for a long time. 

-Eventually though, she had decided she’d had enough, and snuck out and ran as far away as she could. She kept a ribbon tied around her eyes any time she had to go into town, and learned how to walk while completely blind. This did some damage to her eyesight after several years of doing it. 

-it felt like it was too good to be true. She was free and she did odd little jobs in a town far from her original home to earn money for food. it was all she needed..... Until a child tore the ribbon from her face. 

-the second she made eye contact, the little boy turned to stone. There was nothing she could do about it except cover her face up again and run. 

-her father, however, had notified several guilds about her disappearance and claimed she was dangerous if left alone, so when stories spread about a homeless child turning a boy to stone, it became their first lead in months. 

-there was a lull in fighting missions at the time, and something about her magic intrigued Freed. It was an eye magic like his and Bickslow’s first magics, and they aren’t exactly common. Freed, Laxus, and Bickslow took it upon themselves to take the mission to bring her home.

-She very quickly figured out how to hide herself in the woods and away from people. Freed had to trap the entire area and make it so that eye magics don’t work within his barriers before they could even get close to her. It took almost a month. 

-And much to their surprise, she was nothing like what they were expecting. After all, they were supposed to be hunting down a nobleman’s son, not a daughter.

-Bickslow almost immediately asks her about why she ran away, and Ever looks up at him- then panics as she slams her eyes shut- but he doesn’t turn to stone because of Freed’s runes, and he explains as such. 

-They have a long conversation about why she ran away, and she tells them everything her father did to her, from being locked in her room to being terrified to tell him she’s his daughter and not his son because of his anger issues.

-They realize then and there they can’t give her back to him, and Freed comes up with the plan to tell him that they didn’t find his son, but rather a random girl with a similar magic, and she can join Fairy Tail instead of staying on the run. 

-The only reason she doesn’t agree immediatly is because of her eye magic. She couldn’t control it, and the idea of turning someone to stone again scared her.

-Freed sent Laxus to buy a pair of glasses without a prescription and a nice dress for her to wear, and he etches runes into the glasses to block her eye magic when they’re on.

-She’s sold from that moment on, and the raijinshuu’s friendship is sealed with that secret. 

-Laxus helps her chose her name before they get onto the train, and they solidify the story before then too  

-Makarov Accepts the story without question, even though they have a sneaking suspicion he knows. 

-They become a tight knit group in no time. 

-Then they learn about Ivan and all he did to Laxus, and they start to jokingly refer to themselves as the Laxus protection squad. It’s a lot less of a joke when Ivan’s actually around though, and the guild definitely notices. Makarov even starts to officially call them that in some reports. 

-No one remembers who suggested the name “raijinshuu,” but they all privately agree it’s dumb. Especially since  it insinuates that Laxus is the team leader. Freed’s the captain of their team for a reason.

-Dispite the fact that Bickslow is the tallest of them, both Laxus and Freed are both physically stronger than him. That’s not to say he isn’t strong, but Laxus can carry freakish amounts of weight due to his slayer biology, and Freed does the same due to his demon biology. 

-Freed can carry all of them at once. No one knows how. 

-Freed puts new runes on Ever’s glasses every time she gets new frames or a new prescription. He knows she doesn’t need it anymore, but she’s always grateful for the option. 

-if they share a bed, Freed and Ever cannot sleep next to each other. Their hair tangles together and they’ve only had to make that mistake once. 

-Ever and Bickslow are not under any circumstances allowed to cook, Freed can make fancy meals, and Laxus makes homemade stuff that would make your mouth water. He also stress bakes in secret at four am. 

-That’s how they always know he’s stressed when he doesn’t tell them. It’s kind of hard to miss 6 batches of cookies that spontaneously appeared overnight

-Freed has an unsharpened rapier that feels like getting hit with a slap bracelet at full speed. Naturally, this is the sword he chases Bickslow with when he pisses him off. 

-Laxus likes to pretend he’s one of the smartest members of the guild, but the raijinshuu knows he’s actually kind of a himbo. 

-Bickslow is really close friends with Loke, and when he noticed the man was dying slowly, the others comforted him despite not knowing what was going on.

-Bickslow often helps ghosts pass on from the mortal plane. 

-Evergreen keeps up with all the latest fashion, but she still considers Freed to be more fashionable. Because of this she always double checks her outfits with him. 

-Evergreen’s always the first to sass someone when they’re being rude to her team. It’s earned her her reputation as a “bitch” but she’s far too proud of it to be offended.

-One Laxus was open about his dragon slayer magic, they pushed him to talk to the other slayers to learn about himself and his magic. Freed and Bickslow pushed the hardest though, since they’re friends with Natsu and knew that he would be all too willing to drag Laxus into his little family of dragon slayers.

-Laxus was much happier oncce he accepted that he was more dragon that human anyways, and the more he learned, the happier he was. 

-In case it wasn’t clear: mtf Trans!Ever (she/her exclusively), he/they Freed, and  wtf is gender, is it a food?” Laxus and Bickslow (any pronouns). 

[buckysgoldenheart]

Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Part 1 of 6 (or 7)

SO...I watched 30 Days of Night, and somehow I got to this. The plots are nothing alike and the vampires in the movie are creepy, but I figured Henry would obviously be a hot one, thus this mess was born!

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship. But we kinda just jump right in. 

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too. 

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

-----

Part 1: When Idiots Make Deals

Words: 1330

There was one thing everyone in your town knew: Don’t made deals with Vampires. It was an unspoken rule, a law to some. Werewolves, fine. They keep their word, and a deal with them is an honorable one through and through. Demons, wraiths, witches, The Devil—literally, anything would be better than a Vampire. But some still get entangled with them, though it never ends well. It’s as if they forget the odds of surviving these agreements. Vampires often ask for difficult things, and if you can’t deliver, you die.

Now, there was one other thing you always knew: Your ex was an idiot. An idiot who made idiotic choices and got his idiotic ass in heaps of trouble. So, when he pounded on your door in the middle of the night, sweating and panting, it was clear he’d, once again, fucked up.

“Close the door. Close the door,” Jason bolted into your apartment on shaky steps, fisting his fingers in his ash blond hair as if to tug out the strands.

“It’s one a.m., Jason.” You yawned. “What have you done now?”

He looked at you nervously, and said, “Ah, look, Y/N, I fucked up.” Shocker, you thought. “I, uh, made a deal.”

“And didn’t hold up your end again? Oh, boy, consider me stunned. Who’d you piss of this time? Another wraith?”

Jason swallowed and shook his head.

Your eyebrows scrunched together. Jason didn’t usually venture outside of wraith deals, or the occasional werewolf, but werewolves were not nearly as threatening. “Demon?”

He shook his head again, and your arms rose before they flopped back down to your sides.

“Well, witches are far and few between, and I doubt you met The Devil, so what else—” You paused, your eyes widening as Jason winced. “Have you lost your goddamn mind!”

“It was a good deal, ok? I thought I had it in the bag.”

Your heartbeat doubled in speed. “What did you promise them, Jason?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, and his palm pulled away glistening with sweat. “Just a bit of daytime shit.”

“Bodies?” Your voice rose. Women often had to be on the lookout during the day with extra caution. It was easier to lure prey when the sun was out. Centuries old half-vampires could survive in the sun for some time, so it was they, or a rare dealmaker, who tracked females to hand over to their superiors. As it was, three women on average went missing every week.

“They mentioned something about needing a few extra for some big boss or whatever. It’s some sacrificial shit.”

“They told you their plans?” You asked skeptically. If they told him their secrets, then they probably planned to kill him anyway.

“I overheard.”

“And you ran out of time?”

He dragged a hand down his face. “Deadline was yesterday.”

“God damn it, Jason! So, you came here?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

“You don’t have anywhere to go because you keep trying to hide out in people’s houses after you fuck up! Now, get out!” You snapped, pointing at the door. “You’re going to get me killed. It’s only a matter of time before—”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before your door slammed open and a dark silhouette illuminated by the hallway lighting filled the space. A second later, your head shot to the swooshing sound of a window being shoved up just enough for a figure to easily slip through.

This was exactly how these things--failed deals with vampires--went down. You’d heard the rumors, which you took with a grain of salt considering survivors of this same situation did not exist to confirm or deny them. But this was certainly close enough to the tales you’d heard as a child. You, of course, wouldn’t survive to confirm or deny the rumors and tales either.

The men stepped forward, closing in on you and Jason with each step, effectively trapping you. Though it was not like you would bother trying to run. They were practically twice the size of Jason. Taller, broader, stronger, and as their faces unveiled under the glow of your lamp, you noticed, insanely more attractive. Beautiful even. They were chiseled like gods, but all full-vampires were heard to be. A trick to draw pathetic humans in. After all, average people are drawn to two things in life: sex and beauty. Vampires embodied both more than any human could, even on their best day.

Before you could stare much more, you were gripped harshly by the arm and thrown to the side like a dirty dishtowel. Your body slammed hard enough into the wall to create a small dent and it jostled your brain in its skull, dizzying you enough that you could barely make out the threatening conversation yards away from you.

“Why must they always fail us?” A dark-haired vampire said to a blond. “It’s very disappointing.”

“They just don’t have it in them.”

The dark one tsked as he walked around Jason in a slow circle, sizing him up. “We give them a chance to prove themselves. They ask for whatever we can provide and all we ask in return is a few measly bodies.” He stopped his trail when he was in front of Jason again, then leaned down the five inches necessary for them to be eyelevel. “We could have had respect for you. But now what are you more than a meal, hmm?”

“G-Give me a-another day,” Jason stuttered, his whole body visibly trembling.

“That’s not how this works, blood-bag,” The blond said as he crossed his arms. “One chance, only.”

“W-What about her? You can have her!”

You did your best to lift your head only to be met with three sets of eyes on your face. One pair a glowing gray-blue. One, a dull, dark green. And the last, a cerulean so intensely bright they practically burned through your own. 

Yet, those ones were soft as they scanned your features, stopping at your lips a moment longer before looking back at your ex. “We asked for three.”

“I-I can get you two more by tomorrow, I swear.” Jason’s lip quivered like the pitiful rat he was, and if you had your full strength, you’d have run up and throttled him for trading you like meat. But your body ached, and your brain was still fuzzy from knocking your head into plaster.

The vampire huffed out a deep breath, shaking his head and crossing his toned arms. “I don’t know what it is,” He said. “But I just don’t trust you.” Then he looked past Jason’s head, nodding to his friend. You jolted at the sound of bone snapping, and watched, somehow calm, as Jason’s lifeless body fell at the feet of the blond. But the view was blocked moments later when the dark-haired vampire crouched in front of your exhausted, crumpled body. He was so much more beautiful up close, and you couldn’t seem to pay attention to anything other than how perfect he was. 

He studied every bit of you in silence until his friend interrupted. “So are we taking her, Henry, or is she to be a dead duck like this one,” The friend asked, then lightly kicked at Jason’s limp body.

“No need for her to die. She’s just an innocent bystander,” The vampire, Henry, said. You liked his name, it somehow suit him. You liked his voice more. He reached forward and grabbed a tip of your hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger before letting go, then hummed and ran a knuckle down your cheek. “You want to come home with me, Little Lamb?”

Despite how it should have been, panic alarms did not go off in your head, but you still said, as dignified as you could, “No.”

He sighed and cocked his head. “That was not the answer I was hoping for. Unfortunately, Lamb, what you want makes little difference to me.”

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

Tags: @meganwinchester1999 @dani-si @agniavateira @tumblnewby @forthebrokenheartedthings @summersong69 @starlite13 @mstgsmy @purplelove75 @defffcc @the-soot-sprite @kissthatlifeaway @atomicpaperhairdouniversity @aquariuslavenderhoney @harrysthiccthighss​

[zirkkun]

❤️ULR Speed Date Event Results - Part 5/5!💙

And, very unsurprisingly, Ace is in first place for the amount of submissions he received, that being 82! Due to the fact that there was so many submissions, he has a lot more I debated between (and even though one of these was a joke response... it was still pretty story worthy):

❤️ Ary 💙 dragon anon ❤️ din 💙 Vee ❤️ Yours~ 💙 ya know, nyah :3c ❤️ Chaomingo 💙 Lilianna ❤️ Orly

And last but not least is the winner of Ace’s date will be revealed. You can read the date either under read more or on AO3!

🖤--✨--❤️

Undertale (c) Toby Fox Underlust by @/nsfwshamecave Underlust Reimagine by myself

Thank you for your support, but do remember to support and read Underlust (18+) if you can!

ulr masterpost || ulr main tag || ulr ask box || ulr comic beginning || kofi?

... the anon who submitted under the name Lilianna!

❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙

Sans still didn't want to be a part of this. He didn't want to be doing this at all. But, unfortunately, his brother wouldn't take "hell no" for an answer. So now he was stuck on a date. With a human, no less. Oh joy. Despite the fact that living on the Surface was so saught after, he really wasn't finding it to be appealing.

At least, for the start of this, he was by himself. Maybe a long time ago, he would have been bothered by someone being late to an event like this, but for now, he was indulging in the silence.

She, Sans's date, decided that she wanted to meet at this park outside of the city, late at night, for a chance to watch the stars. Frankly, he didn't really care one way or another. But, he did eventually find himself standing at the ledge of a bridge, watching the stars twinkling in their reflection on a river. That and the dead silence, only bug noises chirping here and there; was shockingly more relaxing than Sans had anticipated it would be.

"There you are! Sorry I'm late!!"

And the relaxation was cut short. Oh well. Not that he didn't expect that.

Sans turned his attention towards the direction of the voice, spotting the human running up to him as fast as she could. Panting as she caught up to him on the bridge, she exclaimed, "I'm so, so sorry, things were backed up getting out of the city and --"

"i don't really care," Sans cut in. He turned his attention back to the river.

The human, a little taken aback, tried to brush over the harsh comment. She took a step towards the edge of bridge, holding on to the railing with a tight grip. The silence echoed in the park once more, but for the human, this was more awkward than anything else. She didn't really know what to say... is there a topic she knew offhand he'd be willing to discuss? Um... no, not really. 

"hey."

Oh! He said something first! "Yeah?" the human responded.

"do you think a fall from this height into the river would kill me?"

A brief moment of silence. It held both shock and interest from each halves of the conversation.

"What -- I don't know?! I don't really want to know!! That sounds painful regardless and I really don't want to find out!!"

But Sans just laughed at her sudden panic. "relax. i was joking."

"Th... that's a bit of a dark joke, don't you think?"

He shrugged. "It happens." He didn't elaborate, leaving the silence to once again consume the conversation into nothing. The human shifted uncomfortably where she stood.

She debated back and forth on another topic to talk about. Anything to ease the tension -- especially since it got worse with his topic of choice.

"Um... so, on that form thing, you asked me about stuff I like to do... but what about stuff you like to do?" she prompted, hoping it wouldn't be another dark joke response.

"hm." Sans pondered the question for a while, not really knowing what to say. When's the last time he did something he liked doing? Probably when he was working with the other Royal Scientists. Which was over ten years ago. "i dunno," he answered instead. "haven't done anything just 'cause in a long time."

"Oh." The human frowned. "Well, maybe we could do something together sometime then, and you can find a new hobby? Only if you'd like, of course."

Sans raised a brow as he flicked his gaze to her. "like what?"

"Oh, um... well, I like to bake, draw, and read... but those are all pretty boring so maybe not those..." she responded sheepishly.

Sans didn't react negatively, but he wasn't exactly enthusiastic either. He's practically read every book from the Underground cover-to-cover with how much time he's had on his hands, and his drawing skills were... not to be admired. And Papyrus has always been on his case to eat more. So... "i dunno, baking?" he blurted.

The human blinked. "As in, you'd want to do some baking together?"

"yeah, sure, whatever."

"You really don't sound all that interested."

"i'm not interested in most things, what's your point?"

The human shuffled back into silence for a brief while as she herself started to stare at the river, her eyes trailing down the reflection until they met the sky, full of crystal-clear stars. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she added. "I know you're already... not super excited about this current date, so please don't feel like you have to force yourself further."

Ah. There it was. The same kind of consideration that made him pick this person over everyone else in the first place. Some people had acknowledged him not wanting to deal with this, but their responses were things like, "Then why be here?" which only irked him enough to toss them aside. Some disacknowledged it, which he prefered, but something about when she said... "You seem like you don't want to do this anyways, which is all good," really hit him in a way he didn't expect.

Sans, however, did not even consider responding out loud, and instead just pulled his scarf up tighter on his face. Sans? Being honest and clear with his emotions? Haha. How funny. Easier to just push them aside. A void of feeling is much easier to deal with.

Well, he did give a sort of grunt of acknowledgment to her comment. But... it was really far after she'd said anything. So she thought he was prompting something new.

"What's that?" she asked.

"nothing."

"Then...?" But the human just shook her head. Maybe talk about something else. "You know..." She'd started a sentence, but didn't actually have anything to say. In a frantic moment to try and finish what she'd started, she said, "Time is a precious thing, isn't it?"

There was a pause.

"what'd'ya mean?" Sans asked.

"We only get so much of it. It's so limited and can be taken from us in a second."

"... yeah, and?"

"I just... I like spending time with people," she finalized. "There's only so much time I have available, and I want to be able to spend as much of it as I can with people I care about and doing things I've wanted to do. Thinking about it all is a bit scary sometimes..."

Sans debated the crass comment of "so what you're saying is i should leave and do something i'd rather be doing," but he figured now was not the time for something like that. He waited a moment to see if the human had more to say about the topic, but when she didn't, he decided to jump in with his own response. "worrying about what you might lose out on is kinda pointless," he said bluntly. "sometimes shit ain't gonna work out, and you'll miss out on something you'd have rather wanted. sometimes people are taken away from you when you least expect it and you're left wondering if you did enough for them or with them. but it's not the end of the world. you've gotta just work with what you're dealt with."

The human didn't expect such a long, nor deep, reply from him, and was a little taken aback by it. While these may have been things said before, or maybe she'd even considered them, it was different to hear them coming from someone who two seconds ago wanted to jump off the bridge. Frankly... does that mean she should take his words with a grain of salt, or...?

"sorry," Sans blurted. "said more than i shoulda."

"Wh -- n-no, don't worry about that!! I just... didn't expect you to have a lot to say on the topic. Or, I guess, to really reply lengthy at all. But it's okay! I'm glad you let me hear your thoughts."

He pulled his scarf tighter as he grunted a response, staring still at the reflection in the river.

[hes-writer]

Trial (4)

Summary: harry and y/n face the truth

Warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

Word Count: 4249 words

A/N: thank you so much for supporting this series !! @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. I will do the taglist later in the day :)

EDIT: idk why the ‘read more’ is not working. I apologize for the scrolling!!

Part 4 of the Tarnish series!

___

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely. 

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy? 

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would. 

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table. 

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!” 

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally. 

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,” 

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath. 

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--” 

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’? 

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago. 

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister. 

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me? 

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,” 

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain. 

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting—-Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting. 

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)—Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily. 

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous. 

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.  

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence. 

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him. 

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone. 

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs. 

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made. 

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,”  Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet. 

Harry began to sob. 

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’. 

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s. 

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot. 

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention. 

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them. 

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?” 

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body. 

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them. 

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,” 

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart. 

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly. 

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo. 

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided. 

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered  bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

___

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’. 

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked. 

___

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all. 

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

_____

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The stars must look on forever || Second Star to the Left

Bell Summers is supposed to be minding three Scouts.

Three months in, Gwendolyn Hartley hasn’t answered a single one of their calls, and all they can think is maybe I already failed. When the comms finally spark to life, they almost fall off of their chair in relief even as they snap accusing protocol down the line because it’s better than saying thank god thank god thank god you’re alive thank god you’re okay to a stranger.

It’s a thought that will repeat.

Read on Ao3

(Spoilers through to end of ep. 10 below)

Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was.

- J.M. Barrie Peter Pan

When they receive the data packet detailing their three assigned scouts, Bell spends the whole night curled up reading through every detail, narrating key details to Gigo. They’ll read it all again in the morning, and again a few weeks later, and again the night before landfall, until they’ve memorised it - the scant personal details, names and pronouns and birthdates, the more detailed medical records (you can’t monitor someone’s physical condition without knowing the baseline, without knowing that Mikail mustn’t eat tomatoes and the schedule for when Hartley has to do regular maintenance on her prosthesis), the dense reports on what’s known of their destination planets. They use up highlighters and scrawl on post it notes.

Strictly, it isn’t Bell’s job to know the first thing about the planets beyond the elevator summary, but they were a scout before they were a minder. The structure of the dossier hasn’t changed a bit, and they absorb it all. They don’t know what they missed, on their failed expedition, but they won’t let it happen again. They can’t.

Priyanka isn’t a surprise; they knew that strings were being pulled specifically to line them up to be the assigned minder for Pri’s mission, because Pri’s uncle knew that if it came down to it Summers would burn every tenuous bridge they’d managed to rebuild to get her off the planet, and damn the consequences. They’re all so, so proud of Pri for getting through training, for being clever enough and strong enough and driven enough to make it, and they’re so worried too. Bell would burn any bridges, of course they would, but not every danger has enough of a time window to drag resources into place.

Mikail on paper seems promising - when his comms unit splutters into life as he’s speeding through the stars, months into the first year of expected isolation, he seems promisingly eccentric. He’s a cheerful rambler to Pri’s quiet snark, chattering about the reading he’s doing and the experiments he ran on the side back in training. They listen, gauge his wellbeing and start the slow work of building up trust, and try to ignore the smile tugging at their lips. This burring curiosity would serve him well, they think in the early days, exploring and studying and mapping out a whole new planet, so long as it didn’t kill him. It was their job to make sure it didn’t, that he remembered to eat and sleep and build proper shelters. That he remembered he couldn’t live off of curiosity and scientific glee alone.

Hartley doesn’t respond at all.

Bell checks all of the reports they can, to see if the signal is disrupted or there’s any suggestion that there’s been a technical issue, but everything shows up as working. They can see readouts of Hartley’s vitals, pulse rate and oxygen levels, so they know she’s alive. Probably. If one thing has gone wrong with the shuttle, who knows what other bizarre glitches may have cropped up.

They tell themselves that everything is fine, that there must just be a wire loose in the radio unit or, much more likely, Hartley has just decided that she doesn’t need a scout-minder and wants to go solo, has decided that Summers is an unnecessary and patronising addition to the mission. They submit false reports on Hartley’s well being, because they have absolutely no issue with lying to their superiors when they know the consequences for revealing that one of their three scouts has gone radio silent before even making landfall.

They talk to Pri and Mikail regularly, review condition reports on all three of them, ping Hartley every day and get no response.

They tell themselves that everything is fine.

  Bell Summers is supposed to be minding three Scouts. 

Three months in Gwendolyn Hartley hasn’t answered a single one of their calls, and all they can think is maybe I already failed. When the comms finally spark to life, they almost fall off of their chair in relief even as they snap accusing protocol down the line because it’s better than saying thank god thank god thank god you’re alive thank god you’re okay to a stranger.

It’s a thought that will repeat.

  Retrieving your scout bot hadn’t been a tradition for Bell’s local program. They wonder if it’s one that other programs have, or if it’s just Hartley’s program, one of the small, unofficial differences that most of the time no-one ever knows about. It’s not like scouts regularly get the chance to compare notes outside of their cohort.

 If they kept to their class promise, Pri and Mikail had been familiar enough with their minder after three months to not inform them of where they were going - neither of them were in the habit of thinking aloud to their bots, either, which would have made it easier to hide that they weren’t strictly following protocol. Gwen was defiantly independent, uncaring of her unexpected monitoring, and Bell wanted to cheer her on and reign her in at the same time.

 They guess most places have a tradition or two, some secret pact amongst scouts who are pointing themselves out to the stars and seeing where they land. Something to tether you, when you set foot on a new planet and know you’re on your own, something that ties you back to the people you left behind. Bell takes a moment to be grateful that their pact hadn’t been quite so risky; instead of venturing out into the unknown before even setting up a shelter, they had sworn to wake up early, ignoring all the schedules and warnings and automated messages prompting them to get their full six hours - find somewhere high and climb up to watch the first sunrise on planet.

 They’d scraped the skin off their palms clambering to their highest point, winced as they cradled the thermos they’d carried up with them and the warmth stung the broken skin. The ground had been damp, seeping through the seat of their trousers, a bite to the air that made their nose run, but they’d done it. They’d pointed Gigo in the right direction to record the sight, this first dawn over a new horizon, the first day of their new life.

 Despite everything that happened, the nightmare things had turned into, the bitter taste on the back of their throat whenever they think back to the way it had gone, it’s a memory that brings a smile to their face even as they scold. It’s a memory that they might not have thought to be precisely worth it, if they’d known at the start what they’d learned by the end, but it’s a memory they cling to all the same.

 They can’t help but be a little glad that there’s some kind of tradition for Gwen, too, even as they worry aloud about structures and protocols and whether Hartley is going to have the shelters up in time.

 The shelters have air filtration built in, have temperature regulation, and are designed to withstand the harshest of conditions. If everything turns to dust, they think the shelters will keep their scouts alive for long enough to find a solution.

  They direct all three of their scouts to build an emergency beacon, the one deviation from the protocols that Bell told themselves at the start that they’d not only permit but encourage - no, insist upon.

 The union had fought so hard for assigned minders, for check ins on alternate days and a reliable source of human contact, citing studies of mental well-being and the importance of support networks, but it all went one way. Bell would call their three charges every other day, talk to them or listen in as they went about their business for the mandated four hours, and review any data packets the scouts copied them into when they were sent out to home office - to monitor for adhesion to proper protocol, for signs of strain, and for their own scientific curiosity. The scouts would answer the call, update them, then be stuck waiting a day and a half for the next call. If there was an emergency, they would have no way to reach out, to ask for help.

 If something happened, Bell wouldn’t know until they tried to call and no-one answered.

 The beacons meant that the scouts could at least ping them, a request for contact that would tell Bell to drop everything and grab their headset. With a few quick instructions, the beacon could be altered - honestly, any of the scouts probably knew enough engineering to figure it out themselves - so that it wasn’t locked to just the one frequency.

 If there was an emergency, if their scouts were let down by all official channels, Bell wanted them to be able to reach out to anyone else who might listen, to have the choice to burn their own bridges for the sake of living. They thought, sometimes, that if it had just been them they wouldn’t have called on the smugglers, but they wouldn’t ask the same of these three scouts; looking through the dossiers, curled into a narrow bunk on a half decrepit station, Bell had already known that they’d beg them to do whatever it took to survive.

 It’s not even that they’re that much younger than Bell - only a few years their junior - but they seem it. They seem so painfully young, practically children for all that they’re in their twenties. Still caught in the excitement of it, lost children pointing themselves at the stars and planning to map it all by hand.

 Bell had been that young, once, before everything - before they spent years alone on a planet, before they were told your lives aren’t worth saving and turned around to save them anyway, before all of the ongoing consequences of that choice drove the knife that much deeper.

  What are you going to do if something goes wrong? snipes scout Hartley, her first day on planet as she’s standing on shaky legs, leaning on Boots because she managed to get bitten by something venomous on her little jaunt into the undergrowth. Listen?

  Bell splutters something back, because they know how useful this can be - someone to talk to, someone to do research when you’re stuck, knowing that someone picked up the phone and heard you out. Knowing that someone out there will notice, if you disappear for good.

 They don’t sleep well, staring at the ceiling over their bunk, thinking. They know it can help - they know they can help, that Hartley would probably be a lot more inclined to listen if she knew that her minder had walked this road themselves - but they can’t hide from the harsh truth.

 If it comes to it, if one of these three scouts finds themselves trapped in an apocalypse, sends up a beacon to say it’s all falling apart and I have no way out - all they can do is listen, and hope it’s enough.

  Priyanka falls ill, and they don’t notice.

 Pri has been important to them for years, but they’ve never been close, exactly. They know each other mostly from stories shared by Pri’s uncle, and there’s a level of familiarty that you don’t get from those kinds of tales, from a few months’ worth of regular check ins. Hartley notices, sees something amiss between the lines of the letters Pri sends her, and she does the only thing she can, flags it to their shared scout-minder - she does the only thing she can and speaks up, hoping that someone will listen.

 Bell wonders, later, once Gwen has been proven terribly right, if maybe this is the first time that Hartley has thought of their presence as anything other than an annoyance. Pri, once she got over the change in expectations, had been glad to have a semi-familiar presence on the line, someone who she could trade family gossip with when she felt like it and had worked out an agreement with for the time when she didn’t want to bother with conversation, and Mikail had been cheerful enough from the start to have someone to talk to about all his ideas and findings, but Hartley had always seemed - resentful, maybe, like having Bell shatter her solitude was unwelcome, for all that she seemed to agree with the union on the practicalities of providing a life line of contact.

 Pri fell ill, and Bell didn’t notice.

 They remind themselves, over and over, that it hadn’t been obvious. Gwen, Mikail and Pri had studied together for years, lived in each other’s pockets as they made the same harsh choice to leave everything they knew behind with no guarantee they’d ever be able to get any of it back. It makes sense that Gwen had seen something Bell didn’t, they know it makes sense, but they can’t keep from going back over every report, replaying every conversation, trying to pick up the hints of a change that they hadn’t seen.

 What else would they miss?

  They lose Mikail to a storm, nothing but static when they try again and again to call. Bell hunches over their monitor in their tiny cubicle, punching buttons with fingers that want to shake, hoping that if they try just once more it will go through. They’d known the risks, all of them, of course they had, but -

 This was what they’d feared most, when they took the job. If a planet collapsed, if it came to it, they had strings they could pull with the smugglers, had learned already where they drew the line. The worst news they’d expected to have to deliver would have been bad news, the settlement office doesn’t care about you at all and won’t cough up any of their copious spare change to save you, but good news I’ve got some friends on their way, so sit tight and keep the line open. But they’d known the statistics for scout missions; they’d known that they’d be stuck on one end of a line through accidents, through unforeseen dangers.

 Bell had wondered, on sleepless nights, what they would do if they called one of their scouts and got nothing in return. They’d thought they would have gotten used to it, what with Hartley turning off all comms for literal months before they finally made contact, but this was different. At least with the shuttles they’d had the readouts, vital signs and tracking, to guess that things were probably okay.

 Mikail was just gone, and they thought about what Gwen had told them, what Mikail had never mentioned directly for all his endless chatter - of all the scouts, of all the planets, they’d sent the one who hated water and despised swimming to a place he couldn’t escape the sea.

 They had never met their scouts, but they had seen them in photos. There hadn’t been pictures included in their briefing information because it wasn’t necessary, but Bell had wanted a mental image of the people they were speaking to, so they’d looked up the relevant records in the system. Pri they’d seen in pictures before, shared by a proud uncle, but Gwen and Mikail had just been names with attached heights and weights until they called up the photos attached to their official IDs.

 It meant they could imagine - Mikail, on his island, frowning at the waves and smiling at his scans. Mikail, caught in the water, washed away in a storm surge - they see it, over and over, whenever they try to sleep.

 The beacon pinging them is so unexpected that they think for a moment they may be dreaming. They’d thought it too late, that everything must have been washed away along with their scout, but here he is reaching out to them. The emergency, against protocol backdoor channel that they’d insisted on was doing its job, and they were so glad. They drop everything, as promised, as planned, and when Mikail’s voice come through their headset they bury their face in their hands, even while they fight to keep their voice even.

 What else had they missed? Pri, poisoned by something in the air that crept into her system and twisted her brain in circles. Mikail had been quietly studying an alien species without mentioning it, had learned enough to make a call that they wish he didn’t feel he had to make.

 They lose Mikail to the sea, after all.

 That he was choosing to dive and keep swimming helped, but they lose him all the same.

  Gwen’s planet lights itself on fire, and all they can do is listen.

 They wonder, somewhere in the midst of the panic they’re fighting not to allow to bleed through into their voice, if this is some kind of punishment. If this is another penalty, some kind of justice, you let your settlers down and now you have to be stuck watching, always watching and never able to do anything useful.

 They’d been stuck listening as Pri struggled to diagnose the changes to her own brain, to the silence on the end of the line when Mikail was swept away, to the quiet certainty of his decisions after that. They’re stuck listening once more as Gwen runs back into the oncoming fire to get their maintenance kit, because if she leaves it behind there’s little enough point surviving anyway.

 They don’t know who they think it’s a punishment from, and they don’t voice the thought because they know it isn’t, really. They do. Bell knows, as well as anyone, that knowing someone is listening even if there’s nothing to be done can mean everything.

 But it seems like so little, one hand clutching the edge of their wobbly desk in their narrow cubicle to ground themselves, pressing their headset closer to their ear like that will somehow help, like being a millimetre closer to the ear-piece can make a difference to Gwen as she tries to outrun a wildfire. It seems like so little, to be able to only promise to pass on any messages that Gwen wants, to swear they won’t stop until they’re delivered, if they’re the last words Gwen ever gets to say.

 It seems like so little, and that’s before they learn the truth, learn that Peter will never read any of the letters.

 Peter has been dead the whole time, and later Bell will think they should have guessed - neither Mikail or Pri had mentioned him much at all, even when Mikail had been listing off who he wished he could talk to about his decision, the limited handful of people who he wanted to be told the truth if it was safe to. Gwen had never shared a single snippet of a letter from Peter, for all she repeated gossip about her sister and stories from her other friends on their own missions, and Bell thinks they should have guessed from that alone rather than assuming it was just too private.

 They hadn’t - they hadn’t thought they knew everything about Hartley, of course they hadn’t, but Gwen narrated her day to Boots and, by extension, Bell whenever they called. They’d thought that Gwen was the one they weren’t missing anything from - no unrecognized illness, no secret alien encounters.

 Just a grief they hadn’t known she was carrying, a loss she was still learning to live with.

 They think maybe they know, now, why Gwen had been so reluctant to have a voice in her ear, that first day, setting out to rescue a scout bot she’d sworn to retrieve. Why it had mattered so much that this was her first achievement, once her boots touched the ground of that alien planet for the first time.

 Gwen’s planet is burning and neither of them know what she’ll have left in the world when it dies down, so Bell does the only thing they can and tries to fill the uncertain silence with a story to hold on to.

  When Amelia lays out gleeful threats, promises of justice, it’s Gwen that Bell calls.

 Their head has been spinning since they hacked into the archives - they’d bought into the conspiracy theory, somehow, half convinced themselves there was a big reason for what had happened, something that would answer all the questions they’d lived with for years. Something that could ease the burden of guilt on their shoulders and caught at the back of their throat.

 Well, they had their answer: a skipped scan. A check they forgot, let slide because they were busy, a protocol they set aside to juggle other things - yet another warning sign they’d missed.

 Gwen insists otherwise, points out the ways they can’t be blamed, the way they wouldn’t blame any of their scouts if positions were changed. Points out that maybe it wasn’t a conspiracy, but there’s still something dodgy going on. There’s still something here - in the way these records are hidden, restricted, when they should be public record.

 If there was nothing here more damning than the record of what Bell missed and the price their settlers paid - it would be a cautionary tale, something held up in class for the overconfident new scouts: here’s why you should stick to protocol, kids, even when it seems pointless. This is why you can’t get complacent, get comfortable, can’t trust that after five years you know everything about your planet and you can relax.

 But it’s hidden, and they refuse to let that stand. They’ve wondered, so often over the years, if being made to do nothing but listen helplessly is the punishment for whatever mistakes they made. They know that’s what their employers think, those in the know about their history, shaking their heads and murmuring about how at least this once-promising scout can put their training to use. Those that can do, do, and those that can’t, teach. Or, as the case may be, listen.

 They listened, and they know that mattered.

 They listened when Hartley raised concerns, pushed for scans and tests to uncover what was ailing Pri, what could be done to save her. They listened to Mikail when he begged to be declared dead, gone, pleaded for them to be the one to break his family’s hearts because he couldn’t stand to be the reason his planet and its people were destroyed. They listened to Gwen while her home burned, talked to her through the panicked flight and the post-adrenaline slump.

 Sometimes all you can do is speak, and hope someone is listening.

  Twenty years for the murder of someone still alive. There’s an irony there, but they’re not sure they appreciate the joke. Less for good behaviour, so they try to curb their tongue, suppress the urge to fix things and instead try to maintain a stoic silence when they want to stand up to anyone who thinks to shove them around.

 After the first time they throw a punch in prison, because someone crosses a line and it’s all too much, because they can’t let it slide and still be them - it occurs to them, bandaging up bruised knuckles and wondering if they tell Gwen about this or try (and probably fail) to hide it, that it doesn’t matter.

 They aren’t here because the people in charge really think they committed murder – no unbiased court could look at assembled an emergency beacon out of spare parts and scout who hated swimming drowned after his entire camp was destroyed in a massive storm and conclude that it was remotely related, let alone intentional: they’re here because when they were told the price of freedom was lying to – lying about - their settlers, denying their dead justice, they said not a chance in hell.

 This isn’t a flawed attempt at justice, this is a punishment.

 They won’t be allowed out early, even if they’re the perfect prisoner. They have to live with this, and if that means getting a few bruises and scraped knuckles - well. They’ve never been afraid of a fight, and they weren’t the best at following the rules even before they realised just how little anyone in power cared.

 Gwen writes to them, and they can’t help checking in - are the crops growing, is her leg holding up, has she done her monthly environment scans (yes, yes, and of course, Bell) - all of the questions they had written out years ago to cover in regular check ins.

 They wonder who has taken over as scout-minder, who’s talking Pri through her newfound challenges as best they can without stepping too much on her fiercely independent toes and trying to figure out the change in cadence that signifies Hartley has switched to talking to Boots rather than whoever is on the line. They wonder if anyone is trying periodically to ping Mikail, hoping against hope that this time he’ll answer, that by some miracle he survived (they wonder if he’s figured out how to get his own messages to Gwen, once he realised that conference calls had always been an option except for bureaucratic limitations)

 They’re checking in, lists of questions and signs to watch out for briefed to them in advance, but they’d ask anyway, even if they’d never been told to ask.

 This stopped being about making sure that the scouts who’d had so much money and time invested into them remained at optimum performance sometime around the first time the call connected and they were taken on a completely out of protocol wander through Gwen’s new home in search of a defunct scout bot and a new horizon.

  They’ve come a long way, since the first long weeks of trying and failing to reach the third of their assigned scouts over the comms, since the first time Gwen picked up the call to discover that instead of an automated message she had a live - and somewhat irate - scout-minder waiting on the other end of the line.

 Bell knows that there’s no point trying to call until the ship is in sight of the planet, that they won’t have the signal or the range to reach Gwen until it’s a matter of hours before they meet face to face. They try anyway, thinking with retrospective fondness of the first three months, calling a number that never picked up no matter how often they tried.

 They wonder what’s going on, on planet.

 This is the first time they’ve been out of contact from Gwen since the first relieved moment when a call went through, when Scout Hartley made landfall and resigned herself to turning the computer and all its notifications back on. Bell thought at the time that being stuck just listening was bad, but they never thought they’d have months with no contact at all, no way of knowing. Everything had seemed fine, and the settlement ship was en route, but they knew how quickly things could deteriorate.

 Then again, Hartley had managed to coordinate a prison break remotely and apparently undetected despite using official comms channels to do it under the settlement offices’ collective noses. She was probably fine and managing to do a lot of impressive and yet wildly off protocol things that would delight and exasperate Bell in equal quantity.

 Honestly, Bell would like to say they’re surprised that this is the kind of woman they fall in love with, but they’re not; they’re years past lying to themselves like that.

 The planet comes into view, and they reach for their headset again. In a matter of hours, it won’t matter - neither of them will be stuck just listening, offering up ideas and research and stories to carry each other through, calling for help and hoping someone pays attention.

 But for now, the comms unit splutters, Gwen’s voice filling the storage bay they’re illicitly camped out in, and Bell presses the headset closer to her ear like that will help them hear more clearly, will make it easier to know for sure that Gwen is really okay, unsuspected and untouched by the fallout.

 I’ll see you on the ground, they promise, a distant star falling to the earth at last, and watch the horizon come into view.

[softykooky]

Sanctuary: Four

summary: your favorite color is yellow. taehyung’s favorite color is red. your favorite flowers are peonies. you still haven’t asked taehyung what his are. 6.8k words.

genre: mafia au, angst, ot7 x reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, verbal/physical abuse (not from members), blood

author’s note: i love seeing all your messages so much!! even if i don’t post a reply, please know that it does not go unseen or unappreciated. it makes me smile every time :) i hope you guys enjoy! 

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       It had become a lonely routine for you to wait until everyone in the house was asleep to roam the vast halls and pretend that it was only you. It was relieving. To not be in constant fear of your father lurking around the corner or the pretense you had to keep with Soyeon, as much as you loved your sister. It was nice to pretend for a while. Until the sun inevitably came up and you retreated back into your room. 

       You padded to the kitchen quickly, keeping an eye out for any spare family members or butlers that hadn’t gone to bed yet. It was moments like these that needed to be romanticized. So every night, you pretended it would be the last night you get to feel cool marble tile under your feet. The last night you could dance in the quiet of the kitchen with no one watching. The last night you could make a grilled cheese while everyone was asleep and eat it all by yourself. The last night you could just be, with no regard to space and time. No thoughts, and no pain. No mom and dad and Soyeon. That was how you found your happiness in this home. 

       You flipped the spatula gingerly, bursting into a rare smile at the sight of a perfectly golden brown slice of bread. Nothing calms a soul quite like grilled cheeses do. Your mind drifts to Jin’s face when he came to retrieve your plate one day, only to find that the grilled cheese he had made was devoured and the plate was licked clean. Your’s wasn’t even half as good as his was. Maybe it was the type of cheese or the butter. Or maybe the smile that came with it every time he appeared outside your door. 

       You snapped out of your reverie at the sound of uneven footsteps thudded from outside the kitchen. Your blood ran cold as your father, clutching a bottle of vodka to his chest, stumbled into the room and locked eyes on your figure. He smirked smugly and took another swig. 

       “Well if it isn’t my pet. What are you doing out of your cage so late?” His words slurred together and you almost wouldn’t have understood if it hadn’t been for the years of practice you’ve gone through in deciphering your father’s intoxicated words. 

       “I’m...nothing. I’m not doing anything.” It had been a feat for you to even speak up in his presence.

       You’re weak, Y/N. Weak and scared.

       He chuckled darkly. “Yes, that’s right. You always do nothing. You are nothing.” Something inside of you stretched thinly, so close to snapping but not quite as it fought to hold on. Your body shook with the anger and frustration you were not allowed to feel all those times before. All those times he belittled you and made you feel like you were not worth the air that you breathe. 

       “You know sometimes I wonder about just shipping you off somewhere and giving Soyeon the company instead.” He drawls, still nursing the bottle as if it were his baby.

       “But god knows that nitwit would spend the entire fortune on new shoes.” Your hands still clutched the spatula as they shook with anger, yet you stayed silent. 

       “You never did tell me what you did to land in the hands of Bangtan, dearest daughter. Enlighten me. Why would they take you, worthless as you are, in?” He leaned against the table on two elbows, face coming to rest on his hands as he glared at you coldly, smiling even wider at the sight of your teary eyes and quivering stature. 

       “You must’ve made a good whore for them then.” 

       Snap.

       “Do you enjoy looking in the mirror when you see the despicable monster staring back at you?” Your words almost rolled off your tongue uncontrollably. You hadn’t the heart to feel regret for them yet, just staring at your father as his eyes sharpened and he sat up straighter. He wasn’t used to your defiance. 

       “No wonder Mom fucking despises your presence and leaves whenever she gets the chance. You’re repulsive.” In the back of your head, something was screaming at you to stop talking. To shut up and take the brunt of it like you always do, until he fell asleep and you could retreat to your room. But you had been holding in anger for far too long to feel sorry.

       Your father stood up slowly, hands still glued to the glass bottle as his smirk widened in realization of what you had just done. Rarely had you ever talked back to him, much less insult him like you did. Your heart dropped as his chuckles morphed into a full sadistic laugh that bounced off the walls of the kitchen. He looked at you with an intensity you had never seen before and spoke. Deathly calm.

       “Oh, Y/N”, he stalked closer to you, still separated by the marble kitchen island but you still instinctively took a step back. 

       “I’m going to enjoy beating that attitude out of you.” 

       It was a game of moves and countermoves. Each step he took towards you, you took one back. And in the vast kitchen of your family home, it was easy to put distance between you. Easier when he was completely off his rocker after drinking an unholy amount of vodka. 

       “I-I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to do this.” Your voice shook as you tried to placate your father, who had rage swirling in his eyes at the sight of you. He said nothing. Only laughing in response. 

       “You’re drunk. Please.” God, Y/N. You and your big mouth. You knew this would happen. 

       With alcohol impairing his senses, it was easier for you to predict his moves and get out of the way more quickly. As he lunged at you with a shout, you dodged out of the way and ran to the other side of the kitchen, heart thundering in your chest. You hadn’t expected him to chuck the heavy vodka bottle at you, clocking you in the temple with a painful thud as you crumpled to the floor. The glass shattered in half at your feet. The familiar warmth of blood trickled down your forehead. Slow footsteps made their way towards your weak form.

      Your father knelt down and gripped the collar of your sweater, pulling your head up from the floor. Your vision was blurred from the pain. 

       “You. I do so much for you.” He slaps you across the face, one hand still clutching your collar. You almost hadn’t noticed the hit in your dazed state. 

       “I give you a roof to live under. Food, clothes, money.” He emphasizes each word as he says it, correspondingly slamming your frail body to the hard floor. You couldn’t breathe as he knocked the air out of your lungs, only helplessly staring up at him through teary eyes. 

       “And this is how you thank me? You ungrateful brat.” 

       Your face contorted to an expression of fury. Damn the consequences, you wanted to fight back. And if he hits you twice as hard for it, then you would pay that price. You reached up and swiped your nails across the plane of his face, relishing in the thin strips of blood that immediately appeared afterwards. His shock gave you time to get out from underneath him. 

       Your father touched his cheek and pulled back to find the palm of his hand smeared in red. It seemed as if that sobered him up completely, expression turning calm and dark. You watched him in half-satisfaction and horror, anticipating his next move.

       He slowly bent down and picked up the half broken vodka bottle that laid haphazardly at his feet, clutching the neck with a white-knuckled fist, face completely devoid of any human emotion. The shattered bottle was jagged at the end he was currently pointing at you, its edges spliced dangerously and glinting under the harsh light overhead. You had two hands raised in front of you, like a zookeeper attempting to pacify an overzealous animal. 

       It only took a slight distraction of his roaring laughter and the shock of his approaching speed towards you for you to let your guard down. You reacted just a millisecond to slow, and the sharp end of the broken battle was swiped across your abdomen, so quickly you almost hadn’t felt the searing pain that made you want to faint right there and then. Like flames licking on your skin. Your hands came up to clutch the bleeding wound that had already drenched through your clothes. Your knees buckled as you collapsed once again on the floor, leaning on the wall for support. Just keep pressure. Keep pressure and you won’t bleed out. Your breaths came out in pained gasps.

       The bottle met the floor with a shattering sound that was far too delicate after what it had done to you in the hands of your father. Like a predator to its already injured prey, your father approached you to come in for the kill. To finish the hunt. His shaking hands gripped onto your neck, so small and thin in his grasp that you were scared it would just break with the slightest pressure. If this was to be the way you left this world, you would make sure he remembered every second. You spat out the blood in your mouth onto his face, grinning in delight as droplets stung his eyes and splattered over his face. He squeezed your neck tighter.

      “You know, I could always make it look like an accident if I killed you here.” His eyes maniacally stared into your’s as the air was suddenly stolen from your lungs, both from his hands and his words. You clawed at the arms that held you to the wall, desperate for some relief.

      “Could leak to the press that your car crashed somewhere. No one would even question it.” 

       Stay awake, Y/N. Fight back. You wanted to. You wanted to fight tooth and nail but all you could focus on was the blood that was seeping out of your stomach and the burn in your lungs as you worked to keep your consciousness. But his grip was so tight and so painful. His bark as stinging as his bite.

       Your father’s hands left your throat abruptly and you gulped in air. Who knew oxygen could taste sweet? You keeled over on the floor, coughing out the pain in your throat and trying to ground yourself. There’s a warm hand on the small of your back, though. Impossibly warm and spanning the entire length of your midsection. It caresses you so softly you almost hadn’t noticed it was there. It pulls you closer across the cold floor into a wide chest and you wonder if you had really died and this was an angel to take you away from such a cruel world. An angel to take you to sanctuary. 

       The angel has such a familiar face when you turn around to meet his eyes though. He looks eerily identical to a certain boy named Taehyung, and his face is creased in worry as your words are stolen from your tongue. The pain reverberating through your body makes it hard to speak, and even harder to stay awake. 

       “Y/N? Don’t go to sleep, just stay for a second longer.” Taehyung didn’t know what to do. Jin was the one who had medical training, not him. He could only stare flabbergasted as your face went impossibly pale and your whole body shook. He looked down at where you still held your midsection, where your hand was completely drenched in red and blood began to pool around where you lay.

       “Hyung! S-She’s bleeding out!” Tears welled in his eyes in sheer panic and desperation, enveloping his own hand over yours to apply more pressure, sorry’s tumbling from his lips when you winced at the pain. 

      Namjoon looked over to the two of you as the rest of the boys dealt with restraining your father. With more force than necessary. Jungkook made sure bruises would be left behind, his anger communicated in the way he held your father down. 

       “Taehyung”, you whispered so lightly as your body objected to the pain of talking. His eyes snapped to your’s, a hand coming up to cradle your face gently. Namjoon appeared at your other side, examining your wounds and frantically yelling at someone over the phone that he shakily held to his ear. 

       “Don’t kill him. Don’t kill my father.” Your voice cracked and you cried both in relief and worry about what was to happen next. Even after this, you didn’t want your father to die. At least not yet. Not before you got the chance to talk to him. 

       “We won’t,Y/N.” Taehyung smiled down at you in his arms to distract your sadness. “Once you’re all better, you can do that yourself, yeah?” You tried your best to return his smile, managing a slight curve of your lips as a shaky breath left your lungs. Taehyung’s eyes widened as your’s began to droop and your breathing had become shallow.

      “Y/N, please stay awake. What’s….What’s your favorite color?” He stammered, slightly nudging you so you wouldn’t drift off. You wanted to laugh at the question, but couldn’t bear to. 

       “Yellow.” 

       “Good, good. Mine is red. What’s your favorite flower?” Taehyung would look back on this later and want to slap himself for asking you such mundane questions while you were oozing blood on your kitchen floor. But it was all he could think of to make sure you stayed awake for as long as you could. 

       You groaned in pain, deepening the furrow in Taehyung’s brow. “Peonies”, you whispered lightly, your voice slowly fading away. You couldn’t find the energy to talk anymore. Or breathe without feeling sharp pain. 

       For once, you felt safe to leave behind your consciousness and fall into the sleep you tried to fight. Safe and warm. Was it his arms that had made you feel that way? Or knowing that they were all there and that your father couldn’t hurt you anymore at that moment. You closed your eyes, the last thought on your mind being regret. You hadn’t stayed long enough to find out what his favorite flower was as well. 

       With the pained sounds of your father in the background as the others threw hit after hit, the two boys at your side could only stare at each other with your limp body in between them, praying to whatever power was up there that they could get you back to the manor quickly enough. That their mistake wouldn’t have cost you your life. 

      “Where’s Y/N-ie? Where is she? There she is!” You erupted into contagious giggles as your father pried the peekaboo hands off your chubby face. 

       “I almost lost you! Where did you go?” An airplane in the form of a spoon piled high with mashed peas made its way to your mouth, your father making whooshing sounds as he expertly slotted it between your lips. You never liked peas, even as a toddler, face twisting sourly and spitting up the majority of the food you just had been fed. 

       He smiled at you fondly, caressing your palm-sized head in his hand. You smeared the spit up food over your bib and table, somehow managing to get it in your hair as well. A warm chuckle bubbled from his chest.

       “Come on, love. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

       You woke up on a cold bed with a sharp inhale, wanting to scream but somehow not able to make a sound. There were so many people. So many voices talking at once that it sounded like no one was talking at all. You tried your best to enhance your wavering focus. 

“Jungkook, grab the bandages.”

“She’s opening her eyes. Grab me another morphine syringe.”

“Y/N? You need to calm down. Everything is going to be alright.” 

       You couldn’t make out the other voices but the last one was familiar. It belonged to Jungkook, and you blindly reached a hand out for anyone that would be willing to hold it. He gripped back with a fervent intensity, squeezing your fingers as if to let you know:

       I’m right here. You’re safe with me. 

       You groaned at the searing pain in your stomach, and the thundering ache that throbbed in your head. It was as if you could feel every cut on your skin, every drop of blood that spilled, and every nerve cell that screamed in agitation. God, you hoped that the morphine someone was talking about would kick in soon. You opened your eyes wider at Jungkook’s face that had appeared above you, like an angel shrouded in white light, and exhaled at the sight. He looked so beautiful, you couldn’t imagine how beat up you looked right then. You were always damaged goods. Bruised and imperfect. You let yourself fade away once again. 

       “I don’t have time for you right now, Y/N. I’m busy.” Your younger self deflated at your father’s rejection, hanging your head in disappointment and trodding to the door of his office. You never objected or cried anymore in front of him. He always said how he hated it, and you wanted to do your best to not upset your father. 

       “Actually, Y/N?” You turned around as the smile grew on your cheeks, ready to excitedly tell him about your day and the test that you aced.

       “Make sure you rehearse your piano piece for tonight, it’s going to be televised. And tell the maid to set out your dress early. We don’t want to be late.” 

       Your father had spared you a tight-lipped smile and eye contact before he resumed his incessant typing on his computer, stressed-out expression permanently etched on his face. The hope that had sprouted in your chest withered away as soon as it came, and you could only nod back to him, not trusting your voice to respond without cracking. You couldn’t pinpoint when he had gotten so cold, but his old self would come back soon, you were sure of it. He would love you again like he did before and you all could be one big happy family. 

       You realized later that night, that perhaps the version of your father you were desperately hanging on had ceased to exist. You practiced your solo like he had said, perfecting each glissando and enunciating each arpeggio until your fingers ached. But there had been so many people and so many cameras. It was your father’s critical stare from across the concert hall that had caused your misstep, and the discordant notes as your hands tripped over themselves. 

      You were punished for it by the wrath of a folded up belt in the palm of his hand. He made you change from your concert gown into a thinner camisole, so that your skin could feel each thwack of leather. So that you could feel how angry he was at you through each strike. You wanted to tell him that you were sorry. That you loved him. You wanted to ask him why he was doing this when you already knew you messed up. But you wouldn’t cry and you wouldn’t object or scream. He always said how much he hated it. 

      “Hyung, she’s awake.” 

      Your eyes shot open, shaking in panic as you tried to adjust to the harsh fluorescent overhead and looked around the room. It hurt to breathe and to move. In fact, you couldn’t even do the latter. 

       “It’s okay. You’re safe.” Jin looked into your scared eyes and slipped his hand into yours, squeezing as tightly as he could to ground you from your oncoming panic attack. Your heartbeats slowed down as he continued to hush you and held onto your hand as if it was a lifeline. Or maybe that was you that was holding on so tightly, you couldn’t tell. 

       You were in a white room. Not the same one that they had thrown you in when you arrived the first time. Not as cold and bleak….and that of course had nothing to do with the boy that was besides you gripping your hand as if he was afraid you would disappear otherwise. There was a strong scent of antiseptic permeating through the air, so heavy you wanted to choke on it. You always hated it. It brought up too many memories you wished to forget. Your eyes darted across the space. 

      Hoseok had been sitting on the chair in the far corner, running a hand through his messy hair and looking like he hadn’t slept in a couple days. You were surprised he was even here to begin with. Last time you talked, he called you many not so nice things before they shipped you back to your father. Jin sighed sadly and your gaze met his again, clearly distressed and welling with unshed tears. 

      “Your windpipe was almost crushed. That’s probably why you have some trouble trying to talk, too.” The scene flashed through your eyes again. You were on the floor and he had been choking the life out of you. Before they came to save you. You passed out and now you were here. 

       “I expect you to make a full recovery, Y/N”, Jin smiled gently. He flipped through a patient clipboard, scribbling down notes you couldn’t see from where you were laying. You pushed through the pain to speak. 

       “Where’s my father?” You recoiled in shock at the sound of your own voice, reminiscent of someone who had been smoking since they came out of the womb. Hoseok eagerly stood up from his seat and handed you a glass of water, which you thankfully took and drained the entire thing. The boys seemed downtrodden after your question, glancing at each other and looking far too uncomfortable. 

       “I’ll let Namjoon explain later, love. You should rest now.” You tried to look away to hide your blush at the pet name he had unconsciously used. It was odd. They had been so cold when you came here the first time, and now he was calling you love and looking after you.

       Don’t get your hopes up Y/N, it’s just guilt. 

       Jin left the room after checking on the white bandages wrapped around your stomach, which you had completely forgotten was even injured among the chaos. You could already see the ugly scar that the bottle was going to leave behind, internally groaning at a new mark you could use to remember your father by. You shut your eyes to attempt to get some more sleep, but felt a presence in the room. You hadn’t noticed that Hoseok never left, and was still sitting there on a chair that did not look comfortable. He caught your gaze and blushed.

       “I’m uh….I’m staying here. Just to make sure you need anything.” If it weren’t for your messed up throat, you would have giggled at his stammering cuteness. The way he nervously played with his fingers and avoided eye contact with you. It was hard to believe this was the same man that wanted to kick you out of the house the second they brought you back. 

       It felt safe, though. To have him there, watching over you so that nothing bad would happen. Hoseok didn’t make any noise or attempt to start any conversation, even if you couldn’t say anything back to him. He just sat there with you, albeit too far away for your liking, watching over you like a guardian angel. It didn’t feel awkward. Just warm. But surely all of this was only temporary, because warm and comforting things never lasted for a person like you. Perhaps they had done nothing to your father. Perhaps he would come after you and Bangtan would be forced to let you go. 

       However, as you sat in the peaceful silence of each other’s presence, admiring Hoseok in the sunlight coming through the window, you would feel alright if this was only temporary. 

      It had felt like you were their prisoner again. Except the door wasn’t locked, it’s always wide open. Jin would periodically come and go to give you food and water and fresh clothes, and you were just there. Sitting passively and staring into space most of the time. The other boys hadn’t made any active attempt to talk to you, and you wondered if it was because of the overwhelming guilt or if it was just because they didn’t care. Even though there was a familiar poetry book on your meal tray yesterday, you couldn’t bring yourself to open and read. You wouldn’t allow yourself to indulge in such things, because the boys were not your friends. They would kick you out once you’ve healed. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached again. 

       Jin tried to hide his wince as he unraveled the bandages around your middle, eyeing the nasty wound and mutilated skin with guilt swimming in his eyes. Times like these, you just stayed quiet and looked away at the window, refusing to see the marks that your father has left on you. You didn’t notice the tears that made their way down your cheeks until you felt Jin’s soft hands wiping them away. 

       It was easy. Too easy to fall into his chest and sob a part of the pain out. As for the rest of it, you reckon it’ll stay with you for the rest of your life. It felt good, though. To have someone hold you with no questions asked and no hollow statements of sympathy. Jin had wrapped you in his arms so tightly and tucked your head under his chin, like a shield from the rest of the world that has tried to hurt you so many times. 

       “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

       You couldn’t count how many times he had repeated it to you. Nor had you noticed the quivering in each word as he whispered them in your ear. But you could feel their sincerity, through each breath and pause and the way his hands pressed you against the wide expanse of his chest. You couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him that it was okay, or that everything was forgiven, because that wouldn’t be true. Nothing was okay and the sky seemed to be falling. You didn’t know what your father would do now or what had happened after you passed out at the house. You didn’t know if Soyeon knew where you were or if she even noticed. You didn’t know where you would go after the dust settles down. But right then, at that moment, Jin had held you. And even if everything you were facing felt uncertain...

He hadn’t. 

       “Aren’t you gonna go in, Y/N?” Jungkook and Yoongi stood next to you, switching glances between your figure and the door of your assigned bedroom/ex-holding cell. You could only stare at the wood, tracing your eyes over and and the padlock that remained drilled on to the oak pane. Jungkook exhaled in realization, turning you gently by the shoulders to face him. 

       “You’re not our hostage anymore. I promise.” 

       You hesitantly looked up at him, nodding and turning back to the entrance. You weren’t their prisoner anymore. There was no need to worry. You took a deep breath in and turned the doorknob, swinging the door open and revealing the room exactly as you had remembered it. The bed was neatly made. There was a stack of clothes neatly piled on top of the mattress. And on the nightstand, a tall glass vase filled with pink and white peonies. Your favorite. 

       Yoongi noticed your gaze stuck on the flowers, and gingerly walked to your side. “Taehyung uhh...said they were your favorite. We thought you would like them.” 

       You remained quiet, only staring at the bouquet and running your fingers through a soft petal, so delicate you were scared it would fall into pieces at the slightest touch. 

       “I mean they’re stupid anyway. It was a stupid idea, I should have-” 

       “I love them. Thank you so much.” You cut off Yoongi’s rambling, looking back at both of the boys with a warm smile on your cheeks, skin gaining color again after the incident. You turned around to admire the flowers some more. 

       Jungkook fixed his gaze on Yoongi, noting the pink tint on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He would have teased him for it had it not been for the same blush that was painted on his own. The boys looked at each other as you held a peony up to your nose, oblivious of the turmoil you had caused behind you with just a smile and a few words. If words could be communicated through a look shared between two smitten people, Jungkook and Yoongi’s conversation would have sounded something like:

       Oh fuck. We’re in trouble.

       “We’re needed in the meeting room, Y/N. Are you ready?” Jungkook coughed awkwardly as the comfortable silence was broken between the three of you. You looked at him confusedly.

       “Namjoon wants to update you. On everything.” Your eyes widened in realization. You set the single bloomed peony down on the nightstand, glancing back to the two boys who could sense your tension from across the room. 

       “What do you mean you left him there?” You practically yelled, your throat objecting to every strain and voice coming out raspy even after the days of recovery, which felt like years with the way all seven of the boys avoided answering any of your questions as if it was the plague. A plague called: Seokjin would have skinned them alive if they caused you more distress when you hadn’t mostly healed yet. 

      Namjoon sighed, disappointment at himself reflected in his gaze towards you from across the wide briefing table. Since you had been cleared to get out of bed, Bangtan had thought it proper to give you a seat at their meeting room, with your very own spinning chair. 

       “We couldn’t do anything after we beat him up. We put a tail on him, though, to track his every move. As much as we wanted to bring him back, your father is a powerful man, Y/N. We are too, but he’s a high government official.” You slumped in defeat, not as confident as you were before. You thought he was in custody somewhere, not still free to do whatever he wanted. He was still in a position to get you back, which would mean imminent death. Yoongi seemed to read your expression perfectly. 

       “Don’t worry, Y/N. We won’t let him have you again.” Again. That had been an awkward sore spot with you and the boys. You all had unspokenly decided to completely ignore it. How easily they had betrayed you and handed you over the first time, writing you off as an ignorant brat. Even after all your assurances that you were not angry at them, they were still convinced they needed to do more to redeem themselves. You smiled at Yoongi warmly, and he tried to quell the thudding heartbeat that annoyingly pounds at the mere sight of you. 

       “So what do we do now?” The boys made eye contact with each other at your question, seemingly as clueless as you were.

       “I strategize that we just wait. Our headquarters are stationed here, this is where we are safest and strongest. Let’s wait for his move and prepare ourselves as best we can.” Hoseok speaks up from two seats away from you.

       “But it’s your call Y/N. Whatever you think is best.” You nodded, staying quiet and looking at the mahogany table in front of you, analyzing your own reflection in the shiny and polished wood. 

       “I think”, you started, catching the attention of the crew as they awaited your executive decision. “We all need a very good night’s sleep. Don’t you?” You stood up from your chair slowly, body still sore and rickety. You reached out for Jimin to help you waddle to your room, which he gladly obliged. 

       “Come on, boys, I can practically see you dozing off in your chairs.” 

      Maybe it was the way you laughed when you said it, looking back at them with expectant eyes and a kind smile on your lips. The way they had someone to care for them in such a mundane way as wanting to make sure they got enough sleep. The sound of your voice fluttering around the cold house that felt cozier with just the power of your presence. The feeling of having someone to protect. As they stared at you, damaged and hurt as you were, something collectively bloomed in their chests. With just a glance towards one another, the seven of them knew. They would keep you safe. For as long as you would let them. 

       “Are you sure you don’t need anything else, Y/N?” Jimin fussed over you smotheringly, tucking and retucking the thick blanket around your frail figure as if one loose thread in the fabric would put you at risk. You rolled your eyes affectionately. 

       “Jimin. You’re going to give yourself a hernia if you keep this up. I’m fine. See?”

       Yes, he had seen. You were still bandaged across your waist, the wounds from the glass bottle taking exceptionally long to heal, even after the stitches. You hadn’t needed stitches on your temple, just an obnoxious bandage. The neck cast had come off, but Jimin could still see the rings of purple and black bruises that lined your skin, stoking the fire of his anger each time he caught sight of it and remembered the scene of your father’s hands squeezing the life out of you. 

       “Don’t look at me like that, Jimin. It’s just a little injury. I’ll be back to shape in no time.” You grinned cheekily, shooing his hands away from trying to fluff up your pillow that in no way needed any more fluffing. 

       He was confused at that. How you pretended to be fine even after everything. They could all see the pain in your eyes and hear it in your words each time you talked about your family. 

       “Okay, fine. Just yell if you need anything.” You nodded.

       “Wait don’t yell, your vocal chords are still healing, just knock on the wall very obnoxiously.” You nodded again.

       “Wait don’t knock you could hurt yourself, just-”

       “Jimin.”

       “Yeah, okay, goodnight Y/N.” He let himself out the door, glancing back at you one last time with something fond in his eyes. He left the door ajar by a centimeter, so that a little light could flood in through the crack. You had expected the familiar clicking sound of a lock to keep you from escaping. But there was none. No lock and no keys assigned to each boy to open your bedroom. You drifted off to sleep with the help of Jin’s prescribed pain medicine. You thought of Soyeon. Your mother. Your father. And the face of seven boys who you had grown unreasonably close to in the short amount of time. 

       Namjoon had been treading sleepily to his bedroom when he had heard you. At first, he shrugged it off, thinking it was just the house settling or a distant breeze. But as he approached closer to your door, he could hear it more clearly. Your distressed whimpers and slurred mumbles. Namjoon quietly opened the door and peeked inside.

       You were tossing and turning on the bed, hands fisting the sheets so tightly your knuckles turned white. Your expression was pained, eyebrows scrunching in discomfort as you dreamed. Namjoon’s heart twisted in his chest. He hadn’t even thought of the fact that you would get bad nightmares, and how they must be even heightened after this. You had seemed strangely fine after they brought you back to their home, never showing more weakness than you had to. You hadn’t even mentioned the injuries. Now you were probably reliving everything while you were supposed to be peacefully sleeping.

       Namjoon leaned down over you, careful not to invade your space. “Y/N, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” You hadn’t budged, still drifting off in your unpleasant dream. 

       “Y/N?” You had stilled, expression still creased in a frown but no longer rustling. He hadn’t noticed that your hand was gripping tightly onto his until he moved to walk away. For a moment, he thought you had woken up, but the even rise and fall of your chest and light snores that escaped your lips indicated you were still deep in sleep. He sighed, opting to sit down on the rug besides your bed, still keeping your hand encased in his own. 

       It was comforting. To feel the warmth of your skin. To run his thumb over your pulsepoint and feel the rhythmic beating. To hear each breath as it made its way through your chest. Namjoon felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier by the second. He hadn’t even noticed himself falling asleep, only focused on the weight of your hand in his.

       You woke up feeling still as tired as you were when you went to bed. Your skin was sticky with sweat, uncomfortably rubbing against you and making you far too hot. You flicked the thick blanket Jimin had insisted on trapping you under and relished in the cold air that rushed in to lick at your skin. A snoring sound reverberated impossibly loud in the once quiet room. You froze with fear, snapping your head so quickly to the source of the sound you were surprised you didn’t get whiplash.

       It was Namjoon. Curled up in the fetal position on your rug with a decorative couch pillow under his head, snoring away without a care in the world. The sight made you coo, heart melting at the sight of a grown man sleeping so innocently. He was always so focused on his work. So caught up in the stress of running his gang. You wondered how often he actually got good sleep. It was as if he could feel your stare, and opened his eyes to meet your’s.

       “What are you doing down there, Namjoon?” 

       Wow, he could get used to the sight of you after he woke up every morning, bedhead and all. Even if his view was from an uncomfortable floor. Namjoon coughed in embarrassment, promptly standing up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

       “You, uh...You had a nightmare last night. I came to check on you and then you wouldn’t let go of my hand.” You blushed meekly at his words, a smile growing on your lips as you looked at him fondly. 

       “So, you stayed with me?” You gazed up at Namjoon in wonder, heart threatening to burst at his unexpected act of care towards you. He nodded shyly, scratching the back of his neck as he always does when he’s nervous and awkward. You could feel your eyes tearing up again, wanting to laugh at yourself for being so pathetic and crying over the smallest things. But he had been so ready to stay by your side, even when you were asleep and out of it. You couldn’t remember a time when someone cared enough to do that for you. 

       You stood up out of bed and stood in front of Namjoon. His mouth slightly dropped in shock as he felt your arms weakly wrap around his shoulders, his arms still hanging by his side. 

       “Thank you.” 

       He felt your breath fan over his ear, so soft and delicate. You sniffled, trying to hide your tears from him. Namjoon held you closer to him, pressing you against his chest with the least amount of pressure so as to not aggravate your injury any more. You had felt so small and snug in his arms, he wanted you to stay there forever. He felt a single tear drop drip onto his clothed shoulder, seeping through the fabric of his shirt, and he held you even closer. 

       The door to your room opened with a smack, revealing a huffing Hoseok, and the two of you jumped away from each other, respectively blushes dusting your cheeks and putting on an inconspicuous facade. Hoseok graciously decided to ignore what he had seen. He would tease Namjoon for it later, there was  something more pressing at hand. 

       “What’s wrong?” Namjoon waited for Hoseok to catch his breath, but noted the ways his eyes flickered worriedly to you and the sounds of his men clambering downstairs. Your heart thudded in anticipation at the solemn look Hoseok had on his face, suddenly wanting to empty the contents of your stomach and faint all in one go. You had a feeling you knew what his next words were going to be about.

       “It’s your father Y/N. He’s on his way here.” 

Taglist: @pinkyhim​, @deolly​ , @drunkzseok​, @hope122598​, @uwunamjoon​, @nomimits7​, @bubblebunnylia​, @aquaalanah, @juliie-ocha, @daydreambrliever​, @btsbabby​, @blank-et-noir, @myheartstaysinkorea, @rosiethefairy​, @tiredjedi, @lovemyself-persona​, @jeoncookie-bts​, @annoyingpessimist​, @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​, @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @btstxtgenre​, @taesugaar​, @hxsxxk-180294​, @bubbletae7​, @uglyratlmao​, @hopetookmysoul​, @supertweetycherry​, @loveyoongles​

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 8/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

"Looks like we're gonna have to bring the plastic detective," Gavin said sourly, removing his phone from his ear.

Connor had been looking through hours and hours of security camera footage all morning. Somehow, he still managed to hear Gavin insult him from across the room.

Seeing as he didn't need to sleep, Connor was one of the first detectives to arrive in the morning, almost every morning. Detective Reed rarely failed to come in shortly after him. Judging by the dark lines in the skin beneath his eyes and redness in his sclera, Connor assumed he suffered from insomnia.

"Just sittin' there, doin' nothing?" Gavin asked, suddenly standing by Connor's desk. He crossed his arms, looking down at the android with contempt.

Connor had been staring at a blank computer screen, finding it much faster and easier to just use his internal interface than the computer. He also operated at much faster speeds than desktops.

He was aware of how comical it appeared, sitting there and looking at nothing; but, most were aware of his internal processes and didn't bother him about the strangeness of his behavior.

Connor had found footage of Robert pulling himself out of the harbor, the time stamp suggesting it was a few hours after their encounter. He had not managed to catch any more footage of him since. He also was on the lookout for the assailants that had attacked androids at the protests yesterday. Unsurprisingly, they were also laying low.

It was a massive city and there was a lot of ground to cover.

"I am going through security camera footage," Connor answered plainly, looking up at Gavin from his seat.

"Ahuh," Gavin replied, clearly not giving a damn. "Got a crime scene with a dead android. Heading over now. Don't fucking keep me waiting."

Connor didn't bother asking for any info, knowing full well he wouldn't get any. As Gavin walked away, Connor checked the case logs in the police database. Luckily, it was already there. The first responding officers had documented it fairly well.

Twenty-one minutes ago, officers responded to a 911 call that an armed assailant had broken into a small manufacturing plant on the north side of the city. The facility created specialized computer chips. They were most commonly used for android motherboards; however, they were also used in some security monitoring systems.

At a quick glance, Connor could see all the victims were androids. They were employees for the morning shift. When he searched the company's records, he could see they had hired the androids as proper employees a few months ago.

One android was dead and three others had been injured. There was one human involved, another employee and a witness, unharmed.

An important report was missing. Despite the fact that three androids had been attacked, no emergency medical services had been called to the scene. Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely surprising. There weren't clear medical services for androids. Not yet.

The clinic you worked at was outsourced from one of the big contributors to Cyberlife's stocks. It was, essentially, the company's way of carefully moving their funds from Cyberlife production to healthcare for androids. Eventually, it was going to start paying for itself, and it served as a great way to protect their public image.

The police needed medical services to document the case, sure; but, Connor was also bothered by the injustice here. Fowler wasn't in yet to approve of his idea. So, the android decided to make the call himself.

...

...

...

Connor was already gone by the time you woke up.

Funny enough, he still managed to wake you up.

You hummed groggily into the phone, not bothering to check who it was before answering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you would still be asleep," Connor's voice said politely on the other end.

You yawned into the phone. "Hm? Oh, Connor... You beat my alarm by, like, five minutes. Don't worry about it," you replied hoarsely, rolling onto your other side.

"There's been an incident," Connor began, suddenly sounding quite serious. His tone was enough to wake you up.

"Some androids were injured; but, no paramedics were called for... obvious reasons." Connor didn't sound mad, bless his heart. But, you could sense some frustration. "Would you mind accompanying me on this? I must warn you, it will lead to involvement in this case: paperwork, and likely testimonies."

"Yeah, of course, Connor," you said into the phone, rolling back over to swing your legs over the edge of the bed. "Text me the address?"

"Will do. I haven't arrived yet. I'll meet you there. I'm sorry, there's no food. I haven't had the time to go to the store for-..."

Connor trailed off when he heard you laughing quietly in the background.

"I'm sorry. I was just imagining you at the grocery store," you chuckled. While you didn't mean to laugh, it was hard not to. The image you conjured in your mind was Connor looking very out of place in a grocery store. He probably would only bring home raw vegetables and bottled water.

"I know what dietary needs humans have," Connor replied, almost defensive.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," you laughed softly. "Don't worry about it. I can just pick something up along the way."

"I hadn't considered, before I asked, if this unexpected time off would be approved by your employer?" Connor asked.

"Oh, they'll have a field day with this one. No IMS called to an assault. I should be asking you if YOU are gonna get in trouble."

"We need medical reports for the case; so, it isn't entirely in my own self-interest," Connor answered in his usual, calm tone. He sounded robotic at times; but, you had grown to recognize that as his own nature. He was a dedicated detective after all. In your privacy, he wore his heart on his sleeve. But, right now, he was on the force. It was all business.

"Alright. Meet ya' there-" You stole a glance at your messages and noticed the address. "Geez, north side of town? Oh - that's a factory, isn't it?"

"AlphaBio," Connor answered simply.

Naturally, you recognized that name, having a small stash of their chips at the clinic.

"You don't think it's related to the protests?" you asked. It was less of a question and more of a suggestion.

"It is... likely," Connor replied, sounding a little hesitant to answer you.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised... I'm'a let you go so I can get changed."

"I will see you soon - oh - and, good morning," Connor said warmly. You could practically hear the smile on his face.

You giggled, "good morning, Connor. See you soon," before hanging up.

...

...

...

Connor had failed to mention it was the crime scene for a homicide. Although, he was, specifically, a homicide detective; so, it really shouldn't have surprised you.

The first responders had separated the three damaged androids from the body and sanctioned off that part of the crime scene to everyone but the detectives.

You had been there for almost an hour and had yet to see Connor.

Two of the androids were AP700 models. They were almost exact twins, except one had blue eyes and the other had brown eyes. The third android was a BL100 model. She had her factory issued hair swapped with something short, boyish, and ebony black.

All of them had suffered defensive wounds. The detectives made it very clear you weren't to be given any insight to their testimonies. It was understandable. They wanted to verify that your findings matched their statements without preconceived notions.

Luckily, most of their wounds were superficial. The worse injury of the batch was one of the AP700's had severe nerve damage on his inner, right elbow, cutting off movement to his forearm and fingers. It was an easy fix, and he seemed grateful.

The BL100 was hesitant to let you touch her, not that you were the least bit offended or surprised. You knew what she was designed for, and she knew that you knew. It was only after she saw you handle the other two androids with respect that she felt comfortable enough to let you help her.

As you treated their damages, you documented them with a tablet one of the officers had given you. It was a little difficult, considering their documentation was designed for humans. Somehow, you managed to make it work.

You had been there for a little over two hours before you finally saw Connor. He had actually caught you off guard. You were seated at a small, fold out desk, tapping away on the DPD tablet when you saw someone suddenly approach in the corner of your eye. They set a water bottle at the edge of the desk.

Your eyes shifted to his torso first. Oh. He was wearing his nice coat today, and a matching, black tie.

"Thank you," you uttered, a small smile forming on your lips. You didn't maneuver too far from the tablet, going over your work carefully to make sure everything was properly notated. Considering it was documentation for human wounds, you had to put extra care into it.

"Hey, Robocop!" Detective Reed called out suddenly, before the android could say anything to you.

Connor knew he was talking about him, and wanted to ignore him; but, they were at a crime scene and this was important. He couldn't ignore him right now.

He shifted his eyes from you and over to the other detective. You froze up at the word 'Robocop', somehow doubting it was intended to be a word of endearment.

When Gavin saw that Connor was looking, he continued. "This computer is having issues. I figured it was your cousin or something. So, you should be able to fix it, yeah?"

All at once, blood rushed to your face and rage started to rise in you like smoke in a chimney.

Everyone in the room heard Gavin's remark: Hank, on the other side of the room, going over the case details with the first responding officers, another detective who had been dusting for prints along every entryway, a total of four police officers, and the CSI operator sitting at the desk next to Gavin.

If Connor was annoyed, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

The android approached the detective. "Androids are far more complicated than desktop computers," he said calmly, keeping his eyes focused on Gavin. He wasn't just calm: he was polite. "I won't be of much help, I'm afraid."

The person seated in front of the computer, a member of their computer division, looked uncomfortable enough to commit seppuku right then and there.

"Do the hand thing," Gavin suggested, lifting his hand for a moment and waving it like he was talking to a child. "You know - probe it."

"I can only probe androids," Connor answered, plainly, as if unbothered by the ridiculousness of it all.

"It's fine. I can recover the data-" the crime scene investigator tried to mediate. It was clear that Gavin wasn't listening to him.

"Ohhh - right - right," Gavin replied, drawing out his words in mock understanding. "Poor girlfriend," he added on with a chuckle.

Did he just suggest-...?

Something in you snapped. You carefully set down the tablet, pushed your chair back, and marched over to the detective.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you called out to the detective, not caring if everyone in this god-damned room was watching.

The smug bastard turned around, eyeing you. You stepped right up to him, fearless, fire in your eyes. You could tell Connor was looking at you; but, most of your vision was being taken in by this asshole, leaving you unable to make out Connor's expression.

"Ugh - shit," Hank muttered to himself. He approached, deciding to intervene before things got ugly.

"A real cop," Gavin sneered at you. "-and you are here as a formality. Don't push your luck."

"Connor is a real cop," you practically snarled at the guy. "He deserves just as much respect as anyone else."

"That's enough," Hank said lowly, directed at both you and the detective.

The lieutenant looked around, eyes briefly scanning everyone in the room. "This isn't a high school locker room. Get back to work," he hollered. He was loud and commanding. His words didn't fall on deaf ears.

Except, you and Detective Reed were still locked in a death glare.

You wanted to punch him. You hadn't felt the desire to do that since college, when you had to share crowded hallways with smug assholes who thought they owned the world.

Somehow, you had a feeling, the detective could sense that.

"Unless you wanna get arrested for assaulting a police officer, honey, I suggest you back down," he threatened, craning his neck a little to get closer to you.

The android felt his internal temperature rise at the word 'honey'. He didn't care if Gavin called him 'plastic detective', 'robocop', or whatever else came to mind. But, that, directed at you, specifically, bothered him.

Connor could see how tense you were, staring Gavin down with the kind of burning rage he had seen in you once before, directed at himself when he attempted to prevent you from salvaging supplies from a truck in the middle of a firefighter.

He wasn't sure if you would actually hit Detective Reed; but, he couldn't take that chance. There was a high probability that Detective Reed would go through with his threat. You didn't have a criminal record, and Connor didn't want you to end up with one, especially because of him.

The android moved in and slid his arm around your waist. He pulled you into him and away from Gavin, turning his back to the detective. With his legs moving, you had no choice but to shuffle your own feet to keep up with him, practically being dragged away. You flailed awkwardly, but Connor kept you up.

"Don't," Connor requested. You glared at the detective over Connor's shoulder.

Gavin seemed pleased with that. "I would listen to your vibrator, sweetheart," he called out to you smugly, starting to step away. "Might do ya' some good!"

"You don't fucking know when to quit," Hank snarled, his hand roughly falling onto Gavin's shoulder, giving him a push away from you.

"Take your own advice, fuckhead!" you almost shouted over Connor's shoulder. "Maybe if you got laid every once in a while, you wouldn't be such a piece of s-"

"Please don't," Connor interrupted you, stepping in the way so that he took up most of your field of view.

"Connor, don't you fucking-" you hissed at him.

"He's not worth it," Connor warned, eyes narrowing slightly at you. Well, that was new. He actually looked a little angry with you.

"Like fuck he isn't. That bastard deserves to be punched in his stupid bitch-ass fa-"

"I don't want you to get in trouble," he insisted, shaking you a little.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the android's stupid, handsome face. That bastard disrespected him. You had no doubt that it wasn't the first time, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

"I like when you get angry," Connor commented with a small grin. He didn't say it, but you couldn't hear it being followed with, 'cute'. He seemed enamored in that moment, and he was, captivated by how passionate you were in his defense, even if it didn't exactly make sense to him.

"...maybe I should punch you instead," you grumbled, trying not to be completely smitten with him.

Connor removed his arm from your waist and stepped back a little, giving you space. You let go of his shoulders and fixed your scrub top, which had been bunched up a little after he grabbed you.

"Well-" you stammered, feeling a little flustered. You couldn't help it. You liked it when he was like this. Connor wanted to be protective, but he also wanted to give you freedom, and it clashed so beautifully in him.

"Y-yeah, well, he fucking had it coming and - and you should'a just let me-..." You sighed heavily. Of course he shouldn't have just let you do whatever.

But, still-

-you were frustrated.

"-you're in the doghouse, mister," you proclaimed quietly, sounding barely serious at all, and poked a finger into Connor's shoulder.

The android stared at you, perplexed.

The dog... house?

As you stepped away and returned to the desk, Connor searched the internet for the meaning of that. From his findings: it seemed to be a word primarily used between couples and meant that someone was in trouble for angering the other, and held the connotation that the one in said 'doghouse' would not be bedding with the one they had angered.

Connor fixed his tie in place of his pride.

He couldn't say he didn't understand why you would be upset with him. What he had done to you was degrading, wasn't it? He had manhandled you, in front of everyone.

He despised Detective Reed, if he was being perfectly honest. It was something he had struggled with; but, it was inevitable that he would meet people whom he simply could never get along with.

He could make sense of being disliked for being an android; he had heard many, many reasons ranging from past traumas to selfish insecurities. But, Detective Reed sought out ways to degrade him whenever the moment convenienced him.

It didn't exactly help that Connor had left him passed out in the evidence room some odd months ago. That likely left a huge dent in his ego. Of course, Connor didn't bring it up because he didn't care.

Connor had yet to hear the detective actually call him by his name. If he was being perfectly honest, 'robocop' was somehow the most flattering of the bunch.

Detective Reed seemed to enjoy relating him to every piece of computer equipment in the office. Connor knew this was to remind him that he wasn't human: he was a machine, a computer wrapped in plastic.

-and, he enjoyed emasculating Connor.

The android didn't care of the extent of Detective Reed's knowledge of his genitalia or whether or not he was capable of pleasing you sexually; but, you cared?

Maybe, while he was in the 'doghouse', he could try to make sense of it.

...

...

...

"It's almost midnight. What the hell are you still doing here, Connor?" Hank barked at him.

Connor looked up at his desk, uttering, "I could ask you the same thing, detective..."

Hank was holding his coffee mug in one hand, a folder in the other. He laughed, mumbling, "smartass", as he sat back down at his desk.

The android sighed out your name, "-said I'm in the 'doghouse'. I assumed that meant she wanted space."

Hank let out a bellowing laugh that almost startled the android. He nearly split his coffee, too. After Hank calmed his laughter and looked at him again, and caught that childish frown on Connor's face, he started laughing again.

"Trust me, son-" Hank coughed, still trying to calm his laughter. "She doesn't want space. She wants you to go home and apologize."

Connor looked at Hank like he was analyzing. He hadn't looked at Hank like that in a long time.

"I see..." he uttered, sounding quite embarrassed.

"It's about the thing Gavin said, huh?" Hank added on. "You not having a huge ego is good for you and all, but - of course she was gonna defend you because well - you know."

Hank waved his hand at Connor, not explicitly wanting to say what he was thinking.

"But," Hank continued, "you did the right thing: stopping her before she did something stupid. She knows that, which is why ya' need'ta go home and apologize anyway. Women are... like that."

Hank paused and took a sip of his coffee, hissing in response to how hot it was; however, that didn't stop him from immediately going in for another drink.

The android pondered over the lieutenant's words quickly.

"Thanks, Hank," Connor said, hastily removing himself from his desk. It was the first time he left the office without tucking his chair back in.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Duplicity

An AU where Kaidan joins Cerberus for the events of ME2.

Chapter Nine: Of Explosions, Traps, and Thresher Maws

"Who did you blow to get access back?"

Mary looked up from the safety of the relatively stationary floor of the shuttle. This wasn't a day where the nausea meds worked to full effect, but she could suffer through a grin, "Illusive Man didn't appreciate Leng's interference with our mission."

"What a bosh'tet."

"You should still avoid him, if possible."

"Come on, Shep! Give me a reason to smear him against the cargo bay walls," Jack retorted with a smug grin.

Tali huffed, "I can take care of myself!"

Mary rubbed at her temples, focusing again on the grooves in the flooring, "we might be pushing it already."

"As I said," Jack sighed, "it's an empty facility. Since when did you give a fuck about what Cerberus thinks? Did you drink Cheerleader's kool-aid?"

"I jumped at the idea of blowing up this facility if my urgency was not noted," she retorted, "and only if it was cherry flavored. Unfortunately, it tastes like watered down orange."

"You're fucking weird."

"I'm sure someone likes orange flavoring."

"And they would be wrong, and besides, have you ever tasted orange?"

"That's beside the point, Shepard."

"Why is the bastard even here?" Jack interjected, becoming the voice of reason.

Mary puffed out her cheeks, "he was elusive about it. Leng mentioned something about a confidentiality breach. Tali, did you try and hack their systems?"

Tali shook her head, "if I did, they wouldn't have caught me."

Shepard grinned.

"Cerberus has the entire Normandy bugged, and not to mention that AI. I wouldn't do something like that without you knowing about it."

Mary nodded, "I thought so. If I wanted to get rid of those bugs, what would I need to do?"

Tali went silent.

"Way to ruin your plan," the biotic gently mocked.

"Who is Kai Leng to you?"

Jack leaned back in her seat with a growing scowl, "him and some Cerberus bitch tried to capture me. It didn't happen, but some mercs got me instead."

"That explains how you got to Purgatory," Mary murmured in response.

Jack shrugged, not interested in further explaining that particular defeat.

"Please be careful with him; even Miranda seemed spooked," she cautioned gently.

"Cerberus has really got you by the balls."

The blond flinched, "I'll have you know I ignored an urgent message from the Illusive Man to bring you here." It was a poor attempt at a deflection; everyone aboard the Normandy knew about her history with a certain crewmate. Worse was the presence of nearly every friend she had left in the galaxy. Most brought in by her. She had no doubts that the Collecter threat was overly sensationalized, but for the time being, it what her only option in stopping the threat. Anderson had seen the threat for himself, but whether or not he could help remained unknown partially because she was afraid of a formal admonishing.

"I forgot how much I hate this place."

~~~

"Shepard-- we caught a break."

Predictably, the break was a trap. Mary wasn't liking the new habit of trampling through her ship in armour fresh from a fight. Or how annoyingly composed the Illusive Man always was, even in her impromptu meeting, he was waiting with a cigarette and drink in hand. The bastard knew what he had done. Worse, he was ready for her to explode.

"In the meantime... I suggest you tell your crew I didn't risk their lives unnecessarily," whether or not the microscopic curl of his lip was imagined in the end, "it would make things easier going forward."

"I'll tell them the truth, screw this half-truth bullshit," Mary leaned back on her heel, folding her arms.

"Our reports missed the petulant child side of you," he took a long drag, flicking away the butt, "can't you see this was necessary."

"Not in the way you handled it."

His pupils narrowed as he stared at her, mouth kept in a thin line. Boldened by this slip, Mary pushed it, "you'll be lucky to have my crew after this."

"Who, exactly, is going to help you? The council already dismissed you once. The Alliance doesn't care about the humans in the Terminus Systems," his posture and blank expression returned, "unless you don't care about the abducted colonies and the Reaper threat anymore."

"Fuck you!"

He issued a long and drawn-out chuckle, "I expected better behavior from you, Shepard. Be an adult, and put aside your petty grievances. You need me to stop this threat."

The coldness pierced her heart first, spreading through her veins with incredible speed until it froze the tip of her fingers. The frigidity of her body forcing her face in a neutral expression, "Akuze was no petty grievance, you conniving prick."

She couldn't lose much more face, so stomping off without a pause was well within her wheelhouse.

"Mary?"

Kaidan knew that look, not that he had to be blocking her way to read it. The emotionless mask was there for only a select few emotions, and all urged him to reach out. Whatever it was, at least meant he wouldn't have to explain why he hovered around the briefing room. He stood his ground, allowing her the time to breathe before he attempted to pry it out of her. Eventually, her shoulders dropped for the briefest moment before squaring back up.

"Talk to me," Kaidan murmured gently, "what happened out there?"

Shepard's posture had corrected, but the mask had yet to fall. Moving him into unfamiliar territory, so he waited for her to speak. Timidly, slowly, placing his hand on her pauldron once the time elapsed into the space of no response.

"Shepard," he called.

First, her body lurched forward, he instinctively moved to pull her in, but the arm that reached around him corrected course and shoved him aside. Perhaps a little harshly, as his back met the metal wall of the hallway. Finally, the mask slipped, catching the moment her eyes filled with regret that morphed with the half-assed raising of her arms, "it was a trap."

Mary spun away to the right, sputtering another few choice words as Mordin collided with her across the opening doorway.

"Go get Grunt ready; we're headed to Tuchanka."

~~~

"You've had a lot more poker practice, Alenko," the turian mused in defeat.

"Back then, I was never invited," the biotic returned snidely.

"Only because Shepard took you everywhere," Tali added wistfully, "you were both so moony-eyed."

"Is that your excuse for always losing, Vakarian?" Kaidan grinned, fighting a bittersweet blush, "careful Tali, you'll start slipping."

"You were all formally crewmates?" Thane finally decided to speak from his corner of the mess hall table. His gaze lingered longer on the human. The other two were obviously connected to Shepard. His short time aboard the Normandy, he hardly saw the Commander and this man in the same room.

The human's next smile a little less forced, "yeah. With Joker at the helm. Those were crazy days."

"Much simpler times, just chasing a rogue spectre across the galaxy."

Tali hummed, "it felt more heroic back then."

"To hell with Cerberus," the man muttered.

Thane stood from his seat, this talk of the past making him feel further like a stranger in this group. Why Officer Alenko had invited him in the first place was a mystery, he hadn't attempted to speak with anyone. Not out of malice but out of desire. Shepard's words about him socializing with the crew to find meaning the sole reason he attempted this game.

The three looked up at him in unison.

"We can change the game."

"You can just stay and talk if you want."

"Look at you guys scaring away the new blood."

Thane glanced between the group; they were a good sort. He shrugged in an effort not to disappoint them, returning to his seat; he had little else of import to do.

"How about a game of go fish?"

The turian turned to the man, "isn't that a children's game?"

"I thought keeping your credits would be an enticing offer," Kaidan returned smugly.

"I already owe you a small fortune when you do decide to collect," the turian drawled, "might not be wise to encourage you to do so."

"I'm banking on interest too, Garrus."

"You would," Garrus chuckled, his eyes sweeping to the quarian, "but Tali, I've always wondered why your faceplate is tinted. Doesn't that distort your vision?"

"Garrus my e-"

Grunt barrelled by the table, taking the L2's attention with him. Adding biotics to the already large Krogan only increased his appetite, especially after a fight. The youngster looked pleased, settling down at the table with whatever was easiest to sweep into his arms—tearing into the still bagged loaf of bread sideways, the group watching with mixed reactions.

"Grunt," Tali was the first to scold, "you should be a little more careful."

"He's just a growing boy, Tali," Garrus replied.

The krogan looked up and around the table with a sheepish grin, "I am a boy no longer. I have passed the rite, and with my battle master, have defeated a thresher maw! You should be in awe!"

"That's no small feat-" Thane finding himself suddenly the chatty one.

"It was glorious! A worthy opponent. So big and in your face," Grunt continued to gloat through mouthfuls of bread and plastic.

"And Shepard?" the man dared to ask.

"The best battle master. Our enemies should be afraid!"

"Was she upset?" Tali pressed.

"No- she fought bravely."

Garrus was next to speak, "nothing odd?"

The krogan groaned, "she fought well. So well, she was too tired to speak."

Kaidan shuffled from his chair, hesitating as the turian and quarian took turns locking eyes with him, "am I supposed to sit here and do nothing?"

"I wouldn't test her patience."

Tali folded her arms, "what could you even do? Guilt trip her again?"

"Ouch," Kaidan flinched, running a hand through his hair, "I deserved that one."

Grunt looked around the table, cocking his head to the side. Thane went still, achieving a far better understanding of the situation than the confused krogan. Until Miranda, followed by Kai Leng burst from the second officer's office, both beelined for the elevator. Garrus, Tali, and Kaidan moved to intercept the pair.

"Out of our way," the Cerberus assassin seethed.

"Do you have a death wish?" Garrus tried to defuse him with humor and a well-intentioned claw on his shoulder. It did not work; the man's eyes only narrowed the anger held in his posture, doubling.

"Keep your dirty talons off of me, bird!"

Tali pulled Garrus back, allowing Kaidan to get in the way.

"That wasn't necessary," the biotic stated bluntly.

Leng rolled his eyes, "and neither is whatever fit Shepard is having in the elevator."

"So you're going to make it worse by demanding she stop?"

"Kaidan, we can't let her damage the ship," Miranda added gently.

"Yeah, I know," Kaidan sighed, rubbing at his temples, "but she won't. I don't think she will, anyway. It's her way of coping."

"By letting off biotic charges?"

"Yeah, I know, but has she damaged anything?"

EDI piqued up, "damage remains cosmetic."

Miranda placed her hands on her hips, "well, this is why we hired you, Alenko. Make her stop, or we'll be forced to act."

"Next time, a little warning after she's faced a Maw would help."

~~~

Riding through the elevator of the Normandy was an old pastime. Something about being crammed into a small space with blank walls let her think. About the good, about the bad, about anything that needed her consideration, really. She had spent hours in the old elevator; they moved much too quickly in the new ship. With more floors and staff came more distractions.

Usually, it involved much less biotic discharge, but this time that display kept the peace. The strain to keep it contained and from flaring too brightly occupied her mind pushed out the thing... the creature... that kept trying to wedge back in her mental space. Pulling it all back in, only characterized by a faint aura around her form, was another challenge. She kept her back to the person.

Ignoring it until the crinkling of a bag pulled her attention.

The opened bag revealing the light reddish-brown contents within, "I thought you might be hungry."

She looked Kaidan up and down, resting on his gentle gaze. Why was she so stubborn? Was he really so different? Did who he worked for matter? She couldn't pretend that all she saw of Cerberus was bad. She trusted Jacob- he had many of the same qualms she did about the organization but continued under their banner without compromising his morals. Her work was good fighting to protect the galaxy from the Reaper threat. Sure at the moment, it felt solely based on saving humans from the Collector threat, but they were only a tiny piece of the problem. She saw no shift in Kaidan, despite the things he had done after she passed. The same integrity, the same aggravating calm, the same compassion.

Perhaps she was unfair. What would she do to bring back the man she loved?

Huh, love was a funny feeling—a light but at the same time heavy notion.

Fuck this.

Fuck the forced distance.

If they were going to die, why waste what could be their last moments together?

"Kaidan."

Pushing the chips aside, she wriggled her way into his arms. A hand threaded through her still damp hair, his nose pressing into the top of her skull. The other arm supported the small of her back, cradling her in gently. Mary breathed in his familiar scent, no different than the man she knew two years ago. It was this easy. Some, but not all, of her worries faded into the background. She had missed physical comfort.

"Wrex was there," it was all she could offer.

Kaidan's chest rumbled, the patch pressed against her forehead an unwelcomed annoyance. A reminder. Hot and blinding, the logo was all she could focus on as it rubbed against her.

Maybe she was weak, but she could not separate the horror from the uniform.

He let her escape without a fuss, leaving him empty-handed.

[omoi-no-hoka]

Hello! I'm sorry if this has been asked before, but how do you become proficient at handling conversations in Japanese/handling grammar very well? I read your post on the JLPT, and it addressed issues I have been tip toe-ing around--indeed, passive actions such as listening or reading are easier than the active ones. How did you go about that? Did you write a bunch of sentences daily? Did you have a conversation partner? What would you rec. to someone who lives outside Japan? Thank you!

This is an excellent question, and one that I get asked a lot irl by Japanese people in particular. Let’s talk about gaining fluency and the ways we can go about it!

How to Gain Fluency in Japanese (and Other Languages)

Speaking Fluency versus Accuracy

Language proficiency is divided into two separate categories:

Fluency: Although there are no widely agreed-upon definitions or measures of language fluency, someone is typically said to be fluent if their use of the language appears fluid, or natural, coherent, and easy as opposed to slow, halting use. In other words, fluency is often described as the ability to produce language on demand and be understood.

Accuracy: Correctness of language use, especially grammatical correctness and word choice.

By the above definitions, a “fluent” speaker may make grammatical mistakes, but they can speak without having to stop and think too much about conjugations, word choice, etc.

An “accurate” speaker can speak with nearly zero grammatical/word choice mistakes. However, the speed of their utterances isn’t generally taken into account, so it could take an “accurate” person twice as long to articulate the same idea as a “fluent” person. 

Ideally, you need to strike a good balance between these two qualities when speaking. I have a boss, God bless him, who is 100% fluency and 0% accuracy and…man is it hard to understand what he’s saying sometimes, but he can generally get his point across just barely. I have another coworker who is 100% accuracy and takes about 3 minutes to form a sentence because he wants it to be perfect. 

How to Increase Speaking/Writing Accuracy

First, let’s talk about the easiest thing to improve, which is accuracy. It’s also (in my opinion) the least fun thing to improve, because it means grammar books and vocabulary memorization. 

You can only use a language accurately if you know what is correct and what is incorrect, and you can only learn that by studying grammar and vocabulary (or if you’re a native speaker and picked it up innately, you lucky bastard).

So here’s some things you can do to increase your accuracy:

For example, if you’re having a hard time using the passive, you need to review that part of your textbook and find some exercises to drill it into your head. 

Say the correct thing aloud. Lots. Sometimes I just walk around my apartment and narrate everything I see/do like a crazy person, but that’s good practice. 

Write example sentences using the grammar you’re struggling with and say them aloud too. 

There’s a bunch of cool apps that connect you with native speakers that can help correct you too! I used to use HelloTalk, I think. 

If you’re a creative soul, when I was studying for the JLPT, I took 1 grammar point and 5 vocabulary words from my JLPT study books and used them to write a 2-page short story about the adventures of ネギ, a stray black cat that smelled like green onions because she napped in an onion field. Then I had a Japanese friend check it over for me and mark mistakes. I hand-wrote them to improve my abysmal handwriting at the same time. It was really fun! I sometimes think about doing it again just for funsies.

When someone corrects you, don’t feel like your entire life is over and you’re a failure and you’ll never get it right haha. I’ve seen people fall into that hopeless mindset, and that’s just nonsense. It’s a good opportunity for learning and nothing more! Say the correct thing you’ve just been taught out loud, then write it down if you can. And, if possible, find a chance to use it in conversation asap.

How to Increase Speaking/Writing Fluency

Now this is the hard one. Especially for those learners who do not have native speakers nearby. 

I’m going to be dead honest with you. I started formally studying Japanese at uni, and I had a Japanese roommate/best friend since year one. I had a 4.0 GPA in my Japanese classes (and only my Japanese classes lol) because I was and still am a MEGA NERD about it. 

...But it wasn’t until I studied abroad in Japan my 4th year of uni that I gained fluency. 

There are a lot of things that can hold us back from fluency. An interesting thing I’ve noted is that Foreign Language is perhaps the only subject in which a student’s personality can directly affect their progress. To gain fluency, you have to go forth and speak, but if you are naturally a shy person, that is going to hinder you. If you are the kind of person who takes mistakes/failures poorly, you will be less likely to take risks and try to say harder sentences. In contrast, you can get full marks in math regardless of the above personality traits. 

I’m not saying that you have to be an outgoing explosion of a human being in order to gain fluency. But what I am saying is that you have to be willing to seek out conversations, and you have to be willing to take chances. Get out of your comfort zone. Use that new word you picked up the other day. Try to explain something that is difficult for you. 

My problem was that, while I lived with a native speaker who would have happily taught me anything I asked, her English proficiency was much higher than my Japanese proficiency. And when I struggled to say something in Japanese, I’d fall back onto English. And when she told me something I didn’t understand in Japanese, she’d repeat it in English instead of Japanese, because that was easier for us both. The same thing happened when I was in Japanese class as well. I always had the assurance that I could fall back on English.

But when I elected to study abroad in Japan for 3 months, I knew that this was my big chance. So on the host family form in the “other requests” area, I wrote that I specifically wanted a host family that could not speak English. I was setting fire to my crutches, and I was scared but excited to see them burn. 

By the end of my three months in Japan, I had gone from “Chotto matte kudasai” and needing a minute to form my reply, to “Okay, yeah I see that movie too and I liked the action scenes, but I didn’t care for the story little.” (I’ve underlined mistakes that I would have made in Japanese, to show you that I sacrificed some accuracy to obtain higher fluency.)

So, in short, the easiest and quickest way to increase your spoken fluency is to throw away all the crutches you can and use the language as much as possible. Every single day. Even if you’re just having an imaginary conversation with yourself! And like I said, there are a bunch of cool apps that connect you with Japanese people who want to learn English and you can do language exchanges with them. I had a lot of fun with those in the past. 

As for increasing writing fluency...well. That’s a tough question with Japanese, because I can type Japanese at like 100 wpm, but my Japanese handwriting fluency is at a 10/100. I can read and type at the level of a native Japanese high school student, but I can only write the kanji that 7 year old can write. That’s no exaggeration.

The big reason for that dichotomy is that my work is paper-free. 100% of my work is done on screen, so about the only time I have to write out something is when I’m filling out a form, which includes my name (katakana), address, and maybe occupation. 

If you want to increase your Japanese handwriting speed, just keep on writing. Write those little short stories about ネギ like I did, or find some writing prompts (I just started a side-blog with writing prompts yesterday btw) or keep a little diary. Make opportunities to write. 

How to Have Nice Handwriting in Japanese

Okay, full disclaimer: I am the absolute LAST person qualified to talk about this, because I have awful handwriting in Japanese. 

Unless you have prior experience with a different language that uses kanji, or you lack the keen eye of an artist, you will likely struggle to develop neat handwriting. 

Personally, I really like using this app called Japanese Kanji Sensei. It’s on Android (not sure about iOS), and if you pay just a few bucks you can make your own kanji sets and stuff. Anyways, it will show you how to write the characters prettily. It gives you a good frame of reference for what nice, pencil/pen-written characters (versus calligraphy characters). It has hiragana and katakana on it too!

I get a stylus and write out the characters on this app for the muscle memory, so my hands remember the sensation of writing a certain character. (The muscle memory is different if you only use your fingertip.) This muscle memory and repetition is how Japanese people learn how to internalize kanji as well. I really enjoy and recommend this app. I’m sure that there are others out there like it too.

Summary

TL;DR: Review your textbooks, take risks, use every resource available or make your own, and just have fun with it! 💗

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 15 and/or 21 for ot4?

Here you go! I went with 15: I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct. There's no sex scene, but quite a bit of talk about sex.

Duck’s taken a few hits in his life. He’s not expecting one when he steps from the bathroom of Tarkensian’s General Store and Lunch Counter, but that’s what he gets, sharp and hard in the eye.

“Fuck” He yelps, swinging his fist out to keep whoever the fuck is pissed at him from doing it again. He misses, catching sight of a tall government suit as his momentum spins him into the wall.

At the gunshots, he drops to the floor.

“Goddamn it.” His attacker sprints towards the front of the store. Another shot, squealing tires, banging doors. By the time he’s made a cautious journey to the cash register to make sure Leo is okay, the man who punched him is arguing with another suit in front of a Dusenberg with bullet holes in the right front tire.

“I told you to never discharge your weapon unless absolutely necessary.” All six feet of mr quick fists is staring down at his partner.

“They were getting away!”

“Necessary means life or death, Agent Roberts; if we tracked them once, we can track them again, and stopping them today is not worth the life of the civilians in that store. Or anywhere else.”

“Who gives a damn if some hill-billys take a hit, this is government business-”

“That’s enough.” The taller man’s voice sharpens, “Protecting the people down here is why we’re doing this in the first place. If you can’t get that through your skull, you’re asking for a one way ticket back to the tiny police force they pulled you from.”

The shorter man rips his badge from his pocket, bouncing it off the other’s chest, “Save yourself the fucking trouble, I fucking quit.” With that he stomps down the dusty road towards the only hotel in town.

Duck and Leo, who’ve been watching the exchange like it’s a picture show, pivot to setting knocked cans and scattered boxes right as the remaining agent steps through the door. He stands, waiting for them to look his way and clearing his throat to speed them along.

“I, um, I apologize, Mr. Tarkesian. I only meant to question those two men in a friendly way, but the moment they saw my badge one threw a haymaker. Which leads me to assume they are bootleggers, a conclusion I was deferring until I could speak to them. That’s neither here nor there. Are you alright? Are your customers?”

“All in one piece, sir. Your partner ended a sack of flour, but nothin’ else.” Leo tilts his head at the pile of white dust, “though you gave Duck here a hell of a shiner.”

“Oh my lord.” The man puts a hand over his mouth when he sees Duck’s face, “I’m sorry. You stepped out of the washroom right when I tried to stop the younger brother.”

“S’okay. Not, uh, not the worst thing to ever happen to me at dinner time.” Duck would rather not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here.

“No, it’s not.” The man runs a hand over his slick-backed black hair, “will you let me buy you dinner as an apology? Or at least some ice for your eye?” The chagrin is unusual from a government man in this part of the country, and Duck can think of worse evenings than letting a handsome face pay for his meal.

“You buy me dinner” he tilts his head at the lunch counter, “I won’t be sore about bein’ sore.”

The man smiles, “That seems fair. Mr. Tarkesian, if you’re able to write up a bill for the damaged goods I’ll...well, I’ll do my best to get you paid back for it. Have someone drop it off at Amnesty Lodge for Agent Stern.”

“Will do.” Leo nods, then adds, “Duck, ask Pigeon for some ice on the house for that eye.”

Once their orders are in and Duck’s eye is chilling, the agent sets a thoughtful hand on his hat where it’s resting on the counter.

“I really am sorry.”

“Not the first time someone’s slugged me. Definitely the hardest, though. So, uh, guess that’s somethin.”

“If it’s any consolation, my hand sympathizes with your eye.” He holds up his right hand, bruises blooming on the knuckles. Duck holds out the ice but the agent shakes his head, “it’s my own fault for not opting for a more efficient way of apprehending those men.”

“Take it you’re here tryin to bust some moonshiners?”

“Yes. As you might imagine, it hasn’t led to the best reception.” He tilts his head towards the quartet of men scowling at them from down the counter.

“Doubt your partner helped with that any.”

“You don’t know the half of it. One of those men who wants the respect for his badge but doesn’t give a damn about earning it.” He sighs as Pigeon sets their sandwiches in front of them, “Nevermind. I shouldn’t complain about a fellow agent. Um. What do you do here in Kepler?”

“Arborist for every town in the county. The bigwigs at city hall realized any money they saved lettin me go when things got bad wouldn’t make up for what would happen if trees took out houses or the brush got too high and made it easy for the whole damn town square to burn to the ground.”

“Sounds like they’re lucky to have you.”

“Yep.”

They eat in silence, evening sun searing their backs through the windows.

“I’m, um, well I was going to say I’m usually better at conversation than this. But it’s been so long since I did any talking that wasn’t part of an investigation or government business I’ve forgotten how to be charming. Or even interesting.”

“Buyin a fella dinner is pretty charming.”

“No, it’s just the decent thing to do.”

“Take the compliment city boy.”

The agent raises an eyebrow and Duck prepares to be hit again for disrespect. Then Stern laughs, soft and tired, before sending a Clark Gable caliber smile his way, “It’s nice to be talked to like a person instead of a suit.”

Duck shifts on the stool to more easily enjoy the way blue eyes glint when he says, “Even easier if you told me your name.”

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

“Well, Joe, this is me.” Duck gestures to the house that’s been in the Newton family since it was built. He’s the last one left in town, so the faded paint and sturdy foundation are all his.

The agent regards the house with the same cool curiosity he’s applied to everything else they’ve encountered tonight. It’s only when his gaze lands on Duck that it takes on a new dimension, friendly and almost innocent in it’s hope.

“You, uh, feel like joinin’ me for some coffee? Wouldn’t wanna interfere with government business by keepin you.” He teases.

Joe is already joining him on the porch, “Roberts probably reported on our earlier altercation. I’ll have better luck keeping Agent Hayes from shouting my ear off if I give him until tomorrow to cool off.”

Duck gets the lights on as Joe hangs his hat and jacket by the door. He opens the cabinet, searching for clean glasses and mugs, spotting the bottle of bourbon that was there long before prohibition started right when the taller man steps behind him.

“Uh, any chance I can convince you that’s a bottle of vinegar or somethin’?”

“No. It doesn’t matter, though.” Since Duck’s hands are full, Joe closes the cabinet, “I don’t give a damn if people drink. I don’t care if someone wants to brew up moonshine in their yard or run a bar. What I care about is how this whole mess has made it easier for mobs to flourish, for normal people to get caught in the crossfire of a corrupt police force and ruthless criminals.” The sofa creaks as he sits down, “I’m not in Kepler because I think it’s some cesspool; I’m here because I know a major bootlegging ring has a leg here, and that the people who benefit from it won’t be the people who get arrested in my investigation casts to small a net.”

Duck keeps his mouth shut; he could tell Joe just how much Kepler’s changed since a certain family got their hands on it. But he’s not sure what else he’d reveal without even meaning to.

Even exhausted, Joe manages to look handsome when he adds, “All that’s to say, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that bottle in my coffee.”

The longer he sits on the couch with his coffee cup, the more relaxed Joe turns. He also doesn’t move when Duck scoots closer, and soon their legs and hands keep bumping each other.

“Do you know Amnesty Lodge?”

“Yep. Few of my friends work there, it’s full of good folks.”

“I agree. I, um, the only other person in town who’ll talk to me like I’m a human works there. Barclay’s one of the few people who doesn’t seem scared of me. Or, he did at the beginning. Now, well, some days I’m almost convinced he’s happy to see me.” A secretive blush dusts his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I get rambly after ten p.m. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about him.”

Duck happens to be privy to what a man in love with Barclay Cobb looks like. So he keeps some gentleness in his tone when he teases, “City boy likes his men a little country?”

“Barclay is from San Francisco.” Joe looks up from his nails, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Maybe this will.” Joe drops backwards onto the cushions, taking Duck with him courtesy of a kiss and not letting him up until dawn.

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

Practically everyone in Kepler has a job on the side, some legal and others not. Duck considers himself lucky that his is all pleasure with a chaser of business.

He let’s himself into what could generously be called a shack, the ragged exterior giving way to walls of beautiful drawings and a floor that’s more paper than wood. Seated in the far corner at a three-legged desk is a tall, skinny man with pale hair and red spectacles. Kepler’s Van Gogh of Vice, Indrid Cold.

At Duck’s footsteps he turns, angular cheeks and sharp nose a bit sunburnt but smile putting that star (and any other) to shame.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite model.” He stands, undershirt and denim pants hanging off him as he gathers Duck into a kiss. Then he pulls back, concerned, “goodness, what happened to your eye?”

“Hey, sugar.” Duck kisses his chin, “Got caught up in some trouble at Leo’s. Nothin to worry about. What am I today?”

“A brush salesman. Go put on that jacket, the rest of your clothing will do just fine.”

It’s the same routine every time; Indrid sketches Duck in some poor replica of a costume (a policeman, a boxer, a salesman), then instructs him to strip down to some level of undress. If it’s a weekend, Indrid will ask if he can sketch Duck for more complex drawings, some nude and some not, rather than the Tijuana Bibles that help line his threadbare pockets.

He always pays Duck for his time, even though Duck points out that, as his boyfriend, he can see him naked and hard any time for free.

They talk about birds and work, about going to the city sometime soon for a real night out, until Indrid instructs him to remove his shirt.

“My, my, what did you get up to last night?” Indrid traces a finger around the hickey on Duck’s lower belly.

Duck tells him, letting Indrid scoldingly nibble his collarbone as punishment for not inviting him to join.

“I’ve given Agent Stern a wide berth, so it is reassuring to know he’s a decent sort. Though someone really ought to inform him that Barclay shares his feelings.”

“Yeah. Barclay.” Duck chuckles, “they’re two grown men, if they can’t figure out they wanna fuck, I ain’t gonna hold their hands and drag ‘em into bed. Uh, wait, fuck-”

“I got both your intended meaning and the double one. Now kindly remove your trousers and lay on the bed.”

“Any specific pose?”

“Whichever one allows me to be in you the quickest.”

“You’re the boss, sugar.”

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

“He did what?” Barclay thunks the last crate into the back of Indrid’s car.

“Dearest, I know you’re attached to Joseph, but Duck did nothing wrong by sleeping with him-”

“That’s not what I meant.” The cook sets the bags atop the clinking crates, “Duck can’t lie. Him fucking around with Joseph could end really badly.”

“Duck doesn’t know about this” Indrid closes the car, fidgets with the key.

“Yeah, which means he doesn’t know what things to hide. Joseph is smart, Duck could say something totally innocent and give him a clue.”

Indrid rubs his forehead, “We can discuss it further when I get back from this run.”

Barclay mumbles, “okay.” Then Indrid is being lovingly crushed in a hug as his boyfriend speaks into his shoulder, “Sorry I snapped. I get so fucking nervous when you do this.”

“That makes two of us. But I didn’t come by my nickname for nothing. I slip by as quietly as a moth in the dark.”

“But what if the cops lay a trap? Or some other family wants in on Leeshon’s territory and decides to hijack you? Or-”

“Leave the what-ifs to me, dearest. I’ll be back in two days. I promise.”

When Indrid is no more than a shadow on the backroad, Barclay trudges back to the Lodge. He hates this, hates the men who put him in this position, hates the feds who sniff around like dogs waiting to bite, hates how one of the two men who can stop his heart with his smile is also one who could throw him in jail.

The instant he sees Joseph in his usual corner seat, that all evaporates. He knows the agent originally used the Lodge restaurant as a place to eavesdrop. When he’s here these days, it’s solely for Barclay’s cooking and attention. Barclay will give him as much of both as he desires, feed him full of it in hopes of delaying the inevitable. So when the chairs are up and it’s only Joseph leaning on the counter asking if Barclay will join him for a slice of pie, the cook sits on the stool beside him, leaning in as close as he dares, and tries not to think of the future.

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

“Mr. Cold?”

“I’m on the back porch.” Indrid calls, cleaning up his paints as Joseph rounds the house, his pristine shirt, shoes, and hair making Indrid feel a rare bust of self-consciousness at his dishevelment. He stands, brushing off his pants, “how can I assist you?”

“By letting me take a look inside your home. I’ve heard rumors that you deal in items that are only bought in back rooms and I need to see if they’re true. I don’t have a warrant, and I’ll get one if I have to, but then I’ll have to bring other kinds of law enforcement with me who might, um, might....look, you’re important to Duck; I don’t want this to escalate any more than it has to.”

Indrid grins, waving him inside, “Say no more. I do believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Your mind, on account of your profession, went straight to bootlegging. I deal in something a bit different” He flips open a briefcase and gets the pleasure of watching Joseph Sten blush.

“It’s not the kind of art I’d sell if I had my choice, but I have a talent for rendering all manner of lewd acts on paper. Owners of bowling alleys and hunting clubs pay decently enough for them.”

“I, um, I see.” Joseph picks up one booklet, flipping through it, “I must admit these are more realistic than the ones I've encountered in the past.”

“I use models whenever possible in both these and my other work” he gestures to the non-explicit paintings on the wall, “in fact, you know two of my preferred muses.”

“Duck” Joseph’s thumb runs tenderly over the illustration.

“Indeed. And this one…” he holds up a second book, “is based on Barclay.”

“Good lord.”

“That’s the general consensus on that part of his body.” Indrid places both booklets safely in their spots, “does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes.” Joseph runs a hand over his hair, “very much. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Cold.”

“Of course. And by all means, call me Indrid. Should you ever be interested in modeling...” he let's Stern feel the full force of his appreciative gaze, "do let me know."

The agent leaves in more of a hurry than he arrived. Indrid closes the door, slumps against and says to the dust specks, “that was too close.”

He reiterates this point to Barclay in the evening, who agrees with him that, as much as Joseph means to him and Duck, when Indrid returns from this run they’ll talk with Mama about how to get the agent out of the Lodge and, ideally, the town. They finish their conversation right as three members of the Leeshon family arrive, electing to travel north along with their goods for some “official business.” Apparently, word of the The Moth as a skilled driver is spreading, the implications of which are keeping Indrid up at night.

He stoops and smiles for the men with menacing shapes under their coats, blows a final kiss to Barclay, and speeds off into the night.

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

“Is everything alright?” Joseph hovers over Duck’s shoulder, his eyes locked onto Barclay.

“‘Drid does these trips to sell his stuff, and he ain’t back yet. Ain’t called either of us, which is mighty strange. Usually he lets us know when he’s headin home.”

“And I tried the motel where he usually stays on his last night back down. They haven’t seen him.” Barclay wipes the same spot of table for the fiftieth time, “Duck’s truck is busted and Mama’s got the one we use for Lodge business, so we can’t go look for him ourselves.”

“We could take my car.” Joseph offers without hesitation, “if you know his usual route, we can at least rule out a wreck.”

Barclay shudders; he doesn’t want to think about Indrid, caged and lifeless in twisted metal. He wants to think about it so little that he does the most foolish thing possible; he decides to give a federal agent a guided tour of their bootlegging route.

Soon, they’re creeping along the winding backroad, Barclay navigating from the front seat while Duck bounces his leg in the back. The longer they drive, the more somber the expression from the man beside him.

“Indrid’s the Moth, isn’t he?” Joseph murmurs.

“Hate to say it Joe, but you’re so outta bounds you ain’t even in...the...game” he catches Barclay’s eyes in the mirror, “oh you gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“Wish I was” Barclay locks his hands in his lap, “Started about six months ago. Leeshon and his mob decided Kepler was a good spot to stage some of their smuggling. They went to the lodge first; Mama told ‘em hell no, told ‘em to get gone, and they threatened to shoot her then and there to burn the whole place and everyone in it. I stepped in, offered to do it. I was so fucking bad at the driving I almost got caught. Indrid offered to help to keep me safe and keep them from going after the Lodge.” He glances at Joseph, “we’re just trying to protect our family.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you haven’t exactly put me in an easy position. I had a hunch after I was in Indrid’s house; the faint smell of alcohol on certain bags, the regular trips along the exact same route. I just...I was hoping I was wrong.”

“You know damn well ‘Drid ain’t a threat to anyone.”

“He’s aiding the mob”

“To protect us--ohfuck” Barclay’s door is open before Joseph even stops the car. At the crossroads before them are two cars, each riddled with bullet holes. The one on the right, back half full of shattered bottles, is Indrid’s.

“No!” Barclay dodges the other bodies, Duck right behind him, and wrenches the driver-side door open. There’s bullets in the seat, but no body.

“Rival family, I can tell by the rings. They must have ambushed them.” Joseph stares down at one of the bodies by the second car.

“We gotta find him, he might still be, there-” Duck grabs Barclay’s arm, pointing towards the brush, “someone dragged themself that way.”

Duck leads the scramble through the foliage, following signs Barclay can’t see until they reach scuffed shoes on long legs.

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, c’mon sugar talk to me.” Duck is on his knees, guiding the unconscious man into his arms.

“He’s breathing.” Barclay runs his hands over Indrid’s body, looking for broken bones. Finds one on his left leg, making his boyfriend groan in pain.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you home.” There’s a clanking noise from the direction they came, “I like Joe an awful lot, but if we gotta steal his car I will.”

Indrid manages to smile with dry lips, “I tried so hard to get back. Hard to crawl on a broken leg after playing dead for as long as it took everyone who’d been shot to finish dying. I just...can we...I want to go home.”

“You clear a path, I’ll carry him.” Barclay scoops Indrid up, follows Duck back towards the car as he snaps and pushes at brush.

“Thank the lord.” Joseph opens the back door of the car, “here, he can lay down. We’ll take him to the doctor right away.”

Duck stays in the back, Indrid’s head in his lap, petting his hair and whispering to him as Joseph turns the car towards town.

“You realize I have to report the shoot out.”

Barclay never takes his eyes off Indrid, “Do what you have to. Just don’t expect a warm welcome back.”

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

“....no, Agent Hayes, there were no survivors of the shoot-out.”

“Any records on the cars?”

“Only one. The other didn’t have plates.” Joseph keeps his breathing even as his boss mulls over his report.

“Alright. I won’t send a second man down, but if this escalates I expect you to alert me at once.”

“Understood, sir.” He hangs up, relieved, and steps into the hall of the Lodge. There’s not much spring in his step, since he doesn’t dare show his face in the restaurant.

Then there’s a lot of spring as he’s yanked through a door. Before he can raise a fist, calloused hands cup his cheeks and a beard prickles his skin as Barclay pins him to the wall in a kiss.

“Did, did you hear the callmmpph” He holds tight to Barclays shoulders as the cook manhandles him towards bed.

“Yep, had Aubrey eavesdrop on you.” Duck grins from his spot on Indrid’s comfy sickbed, “you gonna tell us why you covered our asses?”

“Barclay may have to release him for that.” Indrid pats the space next to Duck and the cook let’s Joseph drop into it.

“Arresting Indrid would have put the whole Lodge in danger and done nothing to stop the mobs vying for power on this bootlegging route. It’s the better call to let people think you’re dead for a time and see if I can catch Leeshon as he’s sniffing around for a new driver. And, um, I, I couldn’t hurt you. Any of you. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in years and I, I just want to help you protect the town.”

“Aww, knew you were soft deep-down, city boy.” Duck kisses his cheek.

“I never did get to thank you for your role in saving my life. Come here.” Indrid crooks his finger and Joseph leans in, expecting a kiss on the cheek. He gets one full on the lips, Indrid humming when he brushes their tongues together. He purrs when they part, “after all, if you’re staying in town, I intend to join my boyfriends in their admiration of you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Wonderful. Iin that case, perhaps you’ll model for me.”

“Only if you buy me dinner.”

“Hey, I had to get punched to get dinner.” Duck teases.

“Let me go get it started.” Barclay winks, “don’t get into too much trouble until I get back.”