#as the text grows longer i decided to cut it down in smaller parts both to make it easier to read and to focus on individual matters

[cienie-isengardu]

[MK1] Bi-Han & Kuai Liang. Good brother? Evil brother? Nah, just different reactions to trauma, part 2

With the first part, I hopefully established that within presented worldbuilding, 

A) characters being allied with the Good Side aren’t “perfectly pure” and may be involved in questionable actions,

B) the same as wishing to change prevailing traditions isn’t a sign of evilness, as tradition itself is not determinant of good and evil

C) there are little to no sources showing us that Lin Kuei benefits in any special way from its “honorable servitude” to Liu Kang and Earthrealm.

Before I will dwell more into details about Bi-Han, Kuai Liang and how Lin Kuei training affected who they are, let me established two more things:

First and foremost, we need to remember that during story mode Sub-Zero and Scorpion are affected by things outside of their control - frustration and grief respectively. So none of them are at their best (normal) mentally state.

Secondly, from on I’m gonna use words like “abuse” conventionally for Lin Kuei upbringing, not as I think their parents or teachers were abusive people on purpose but because installing in young children a traditional values is one thing and making them cold-blooded killers totally different matter and there is plenty to say - and condemn - about turning children into perfect soldiers (tools) to uphold someone’s authority or idea of a “greater good”.

The most vital question about the Sub-Zero and Scorpion is: how two brothers raised by the same parents, taught the same values and growing together in an isolated and hidden Lin Kuei clan could get such an opposite approach to tradition and authority?

As stated in the title, I do sincerely believe the conflict between Sub-Zero and Scorpion is not rooted in how morally or immorally characters they are at core, but how they deal with hardship (abuse) of being trained since childhood to be a secret weapon ensuring safety of Liu Kang’s Earthrealm and how this limited their life to one, dictated by someone’s else, purpose.

The game makes it clear the main theme of conflict between brothers is about tradition (father’s teaching), more precisely, whether Lin Kuei should follow the centuries old servitude or break with it. We could see this dispute between Kuai Liang, Tomas and Bi-Han twice, first when brothers were awaiting Liu Kang

Tomas: Were he here, Father would advise us to wait without protest. Bi-Han: But now he is gone and I am Grandmaster. Kuai Liang: His teaching did not pass with him. They should still guide us. Bi-Han: Guide us, yes. Shackle us, no.

and during the mission itself

Kuai Liang: We must honor his vision Bi-Han. Bi-Han: Vision is what he lacked. He was blind to our superiority. We settle for defending Earthrealm when we could help lead it. Tomas: Our clan doesn't govern. It serves. Bi-Han: That is our past. It won't be our future. 

The conflict was already ongoing issue between brothers to the point Kuai Liang feared at some point he would need to turn against Bi-Han to take control over the clan:

Scorpion’s Bio: But Sub-Zero's unprecedented moves to cast off the Lin Kuei's traditional duties have frozen Scorpion’s enthusiasm. He fears that he may one day have to battle his brother for control of the Lin Kuei's legacy.But Sub-Zero's unprecedented moves to cast off the Lin Kuei's traditional duties have frozen Scorpion’s enthusiasm. He fears that he may one day have to battle his brother for control of the Lin Kuei's legacy.

On another hand, the story mode suggests that despite those fears, Scorpion did not really believe Sub-Zero will ultimately go so far as to abbadon Earthrealm in need.

Story Mode, Kuai Liang: I knew Bi-Han's frustrations ran deep. But I never thought they could inspire such madness. We can't let his corruption spread.

The game keeps each brother’s reasoning as vague as possible, however Kuai Liang and Tomas does not provide any constructive argument beyond honoring father’s teaching. There is no given reason why exactly Kuai Liang and Tomas think Lin Kuei should still uphold a system that objectively speaking does not benefit the clan as far as sources are concerned, yet both are very firm about respecting tradition and fulfilling their original duty they were trained for since childhood. 

And so we have in story mode

Scorpion: We must chart a new course. One that both honors our Father's legacy and serves Earthrealm

or

Scorpion: "Glory? We fight for duty."

or

Tomas: We can't abandon tradition.

or

Liu Kang: As you know, Bi-Han and his Lin Kuei have abandoned their roles as Earthrealm's guardians. His brother Kuai Liang has agreed to build a new clan, the Shirai Ryu, to take its place. I must go aid his efforts.

while intro dialogues adds

Smoke: With you as grandmaster, our new clan will flourish. Scorpion: Only if we honor tradition.

or

Geras: We are both sworn to serve. Scorpion: May neither of us neglect our duties.

or

Sub-Zero: What is the point of your new clan? Scorpion: To fill the role the Lin Kuei abandoned.

As Scorpion’s Bio says “Like his cherished father, Scorpion is dedicated to the Lin Kuei and its defense of Earthrealm. “, the Earthrealm’s safety is an important matter to Kuai Liang, although whether this dedication comes from his deep sense of duty alone or he actually cares for other people is up to debate. Mainly, because the sources don’t provide an insight into his motivation beyond loyalty to cherished father, his teaching and “legacy”.

Out of three brothers, Tomas was the most sidelined character, but despite sharing with Kuai Liang a similar dedication to their father, intro dialogues at least directly address his desire to save people, so we may assume for Smoke, the duty to Earthrealm is not just matter of principle but a real care for others - something most likely tied to his survivor’s guilt / trauma after losing biological family:

Sindel: It's impossible, Smoke. We can't save everyone. Smoke: Then I'll save who I can to make up for the ones I can't.

In contrast to Kuai Liang, the sources add a lot of insight into Bi-Han’s motivation. Alongside his desire for making his clan stronger - and eventual expansion of Lin Kuei’s political-economic standing, the thirst for independence and freedom are the most frequently mentioned things and such repeated theme make it clear that for Sub-Zero the cherished by Scorpion and father’s tradition was nothing more than enslavement.

Story mode: 

Kuai Liang: His teaching did not pass with him. They should still guide us. Bi-Han: Guide us, yes. Shackle us, no.

and

Shang Tsung: I know that you wish to break free of Liu Kang’s control…

Sub-Zero’s ending:

“I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang’s enslavement. We were now masters of our destiny and could take our place among Earthrealm’s greatest nations.”[...]

Intro dialogues:

Liu Kang: You have forsaken your family. Bi-Han: To free the Lin Kuei from bondage.

and

Liu Kang: Come in from the cold, Bi-Han. Bi-Han: And again kneel before you?

and

Havik: You let yourself be Liu Kang’s slave. Kuai Liang: An opinion shared by my brother.

or

Sub-Zero: I've gained the Lin Kuei's freedom. Smoke: You've only earned them infamy.

(the screenshots can be found here)

This visible difference between brothers gives us the first clue to understand the motives behind their choices and what kind of people they are. 

Whatever Kuai Liang experienced as a child, he fully embraced father’s authority and build his life around the duty to Earthrealm - to the point he never wished to be anything else than Lin Kuei

Raiden: Did you ever want to be an Earthrealm champion? Scorpion: I have only ever wanted to be Lin Kuei.

even if he clearly does not enjoy the fighting the way Bi-Han does

Sub-Zero (Scorpion and Smoke): You're both unharmed? Scorpion: We are, brother. Sub-Zero: Good. After years of idleness, it pleases me to again face kombat. Scorpion: I will be pleased when we complete our mission.

and actually may not like kombat that much in general

Scorpion: As Time’s Keeper, you could have abolished kombat. Liu Kang: Even a Titan’s power has limits.

Mind you, a timeline in which fighting is abolished is a world where there is no need for Lin Kuei, as the clan's purpose is tightly tied to kombat. What gives an interesting detail about Scorpion and his dedication to duty, even at the cost of his own comfort.

In contrast, Bi-Han questions everything

the purpose of Lin Kuei

Sub-Zero’s BIO: As the Lin Kuei's Grandmaster, Sub-Zero leads his ancient warrior clan in defense of Earthrealm from external threats. For centuries, it has been their solemn task. But Earthrealm hasn't been threatened in generations, and Sub-Zero see no point in limiting his clan to preparing for dangers that may never come. Under his leadership, the Lin Kuei will come out of the shadows and fight for its place as one of Earthrealm's great nations.

the authority and wisdom of father

Story mode: Vision is what [father] lacked. He was blind to our superiority. We settle for defending Earthrealm when we could help lead it.

and

Scorpion: Father would be ashamed of you. Sub-Zero: Only because he lacked vision.

and

Sindel: I knew your father. He was a great man. Sub-Zero: Yet he never understood the Lin Kuei's potential.

and

Sub-Zero: My father was a fool to follow you. Liu Kang: He wisely honored Earthrealm with his service.

the authority of Liu Kang

Sub-Zero: Earthrealm isn't yours to rule. Liu Kang: Nor has it ever been, Bi-Han!

and

Sub-Zero: I don't recognize your creator's authority. Geras: Denying facts makes them no less real.

and

Kenshi: Why do you so resent Liu Kang’s authority? Sub-Zero: Give it time. You will understand.

This leads me to see Kuai Liang as a believer (follower of Liu Kang and father’s authority) that wants to uphold the status quo because it was so drilled into him and/or without Lin Kuei he has no purpose or identity to cling to, while Bi-Han is the man questioning the system and purpose imposed on him. A purpose that without an external threat could turn out to be a wasted life. 

That Sub-Zero question authority is nothing surprising, as all major cryomancers have a rocky relationship with it, including previous timelines Kuai Liang. From in-universe perspective, this could be a reason why Liu Kang on purpose changed Kuai Liang into pyromancer, as I believe that cryomancer Kuai Liang would be much more supportive of Bi-Han’s independence streak than his fire counterpart is. 

This is solely a ground on which in next part(s) I’m gonna exploit more all the nuances between brothers and from where comes their different approach to tradition, authority and their duties. 

[plush-rabbit]

Bouncing Knees

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I am just sorry for the amount of time it took. So sorryヾ(_ _*)

As a child, you've always been rather timid, too nervous to greet family members, too scared to make friends at school in fear of rejection or humiliation, even into adulthood, you keep your head down and follow what's put in front of you despite knowing that it could be improved, despite seeing the flaws in it scribbled with black ink. You’ve been too nervous, too awkward and shy, keeping your tongue bit and wishing that you would be picked on to share your ideas and pleading to any listening god that no one would call on you.

You’ve tried to share your ideas, eager and clutching a pen until your knuckles pale. It has happened multiple times, but when you opened your mouth, you were talked over, ignored and not even spared a glance with the room growing hotter and your face burning with embarrassment. You were too new and fresh to input your own ideas, too scared that you'd be murdered for treason if they thought you let them go on these dangerous missions beforehand if and when you finally decided to open your mouth. But each time you did, you’d stutter out the beginning of your sentence with a halfway raised hand, voice low but then someone else always talks above you, rising above and speaking clear without so much of a stutter or shortness of breath. You’d shrink in your seat and avoid eye contact, deciding that perhaps the original plan was the best and you were just not seeing it correctly.

Why bother to try to input your own ideas- it never worked out when you tried- you just accepted what you were given and nod with a strained smile on your face. There was no need to call further attention to yourself, to make the inside of your mouth bleed and lips peeled and marked by your own teeth. All you had to do was stay quiet and know that the plans that were made were good plans- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

You've been with the League for a while now. Since it was still called the League of Villains but now that it's the Paranormal Liberation Front you feel smaller than usual. Granted, it’s not like you were close to any of the members before, always managing to remain undetected, something you both cherished and hated all at once. You’ve never had a soul listen to you, never had the courage to make someone listen to you, to call out the plan and scream about the flaws. You’ve seen how angry they can get, how the sadistic gleam in their eyes would snuff out any other type of emotion. You shiver and feel queasy at the thought of being on the receiving end of those eyes.

You read the papers in front of you, the detailed plan printed in a neat font and at glance, it looks proper, well thought out but it's showboaty, trying to make a big impression. But that's the issue. It's all too much, too big and brash. It's doable but it doesn't fit what the Lea- The Paranormal Liberation Front stands for and needs to do. Worry lines crease your face and you glance down at the papers in front of you.

No, you’ll keep your mouth quiet even if the plan is obviously flawed and why does the rookie have more courage than you? You’ve been here for years! You’ve done so much and yet this rookie wants to implement their own ideas that are preposterous! It would never work, you can’t just aim for something so big without having such hundred percent accuracy that it would work. It’s dumb and if you aimed a little lower, scared just the right people to hate the system more and then move it upwards to people who hold status and see just how long it takes to get to them when the resources are strained then, there’s a possibility at hitting society and chipping away a bigger piece! But no! Go for a fucking-! You suck in a deep breath and roll your tongue in your mouth, indents popping up on the sides of your cheeks, the clip of the pen digging into your skin and you’re furious. Your leg is bouncing and the water held in glasses is sloshing around. You ignore the glances given to you, too annoyed at what this absolute nitwit had the audacity to show and parade it around as if it were an original concept and not something taken out of a cheesy old action movie.

“You keep shaking,” the rookie’s voice is clear and laced with irritation. “Is there something bothering you?” His eyes are narrowed at you and he looks at you with absolute disgust, sneering and raising his upper lip as if it were hooked, his face twisting into something horrible.

This is your chance. All you have to do is open your mouth and speak, speak in front of people, in front of unblinking eyes that are scrutinizing your every movement. Eyes that seem to multiply until there’s hundreds, until they fill the room and- you can’t breathe. Your bottom lip wobbles and you shake your head, bowing it and mumbling an apology, digging your hands into your thighs and ignoring the hushed snickering. Acid fills your mouth and you try to focus on the blood pumping rapidly inside of you, heating you up until you’re fearful that you have sweat stains on your underarms. You try to focus on anything else, trying to drown out the agreements and claps on the back and praises sung to the rookie. Ignoring the stares given to you and the not-so-accidental kicks to the leg of your chair, you hold your breath and wait for people to leave, hearing the door close with a loud slam, making you jump in your seat. 

You’re alone. You let out a sigh and bury your face in your hands. Tears sting your eyes and you have to shake your head and dig the heel of your palm deeper into your eyes, forcing yourself to suck it up. Your vision is spotted and you have to blink away the colors and loosely formed shapes. There's a dull ache in your temple, and you blindly reach for the room temperature room, taking it all in a big gulp that makes your chest hurt. The cup makes a sharp sound in the room when slammed back onto the table. You double over, forearms resting on your thighs and fingers interlocked with each other.

“You know glasses aren’t cheap right?” His voice cuts through the air, sharper than any glass. 

You look up, eyes wide and fearful, mouth dry even after drinking half a glass of water. “I- uh.” You clear your throat and stand straighter. He isn’t one to be treated lightly. You’ve known about him, you've even held a few conversations where you would end up coming out shakier than when you entered them. “My apologies,” you speak quietly. His hair is stark white and eyes that are red like the blood that pumps in your veins, red like the fear and rage. His jaw gives a slight flex, just a slight movement that you caught and you stand from your seat. “I apologize. I didn’t know you wanted to be alone. I’ll leave now.” You really can't handle another humiliation today.

You’re scurrying across the room, mouth pulled into a thin line and cringing when the chair won’t go in properly and stick outwards. You can’t stay here for much longer. You take long strides and keep your arms clamped to your sides, pushing with all your might on the door, wincing when it swings wide open and startles the people on the other end. You walk away, keeping your head lowered and head shaking with a body that runs too hot and makes your clothes stick to your back.

-

It's a few hours until you realize that you didn't take the papers with you. You drag your hand across your face and let out a muffled groan between closed lips. 

“I can’t ask for a copy, that’s just poor etiquette,” you whisper to yourself. “Plus I’d never hear the end of it,” you say that part under your breath. You have a pained expression on your face, and there’s a soft twisting in your stomach, ready to form into something tougher and much more painful than what it currently is.

It’s dark out, few people are walking around, talking in  hushed voices and not sparing you a glance as you make haste towards the conference room used earlier. There was a slim chance that your copy would still be there, but it was better than nothing. You keep your eyes fixated on the path in front of you, not daring to look at anyone in fear that they would begin to question where you were headed off to in such a hurry.

Your hand holds onto the door handle and it clicks open without resistance. The room is dark and your hands are splayed across the walls, fumbling for the light switch. Half of the room is cast in a soft glow, while the other half is still in shadows, only visible thanks to the fluorescent lighting. You walk in quietly, stepping softly as if that would conceal your whereabouts, as if the lighting is invisible to everyone’s eyes but your own.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spot the papers still laid on top of the wooden table. You’re filled with unease when your eyes skim over the neatly printed words. You roll your eyes. “All of it such bullshit,” you mutter out loud. You take a peek at the door and grab the papers, folding them into neat squares and you walk to the front of the table where that damned rookie was spewing his nonsense. “More copies, I should have guessed.”

You sit down and grab a forgotten pen. You run your finger over the smooth surface and take another tentative glance at the door. You take in a deep breath and grab a loose copy and begin to jot down your own invisions for the plan, correcting and scratching out words with black inked loops. This is your forte. You may not be good at speaking out loud, to voice your own thoughts and opinions but you can certainly fix plans. You can spot their flaws and weak points, you know how to fix this. You’re enthralled with your work, your neat and pristine penmanship covers the paper, little symbols mark the paper, juvenile depictions of weapons cover the paper, little descriptions of what can be improved and what might work are written above or next to the text. You don’t notice the shadow that looms over you, too busy with eyes trained and flipping between pages, clicking your tongue and blowing out a raspberry in vexation.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” a raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Oh my god!” You yelp and and jump out of the chair, landing on the floor with a loud thump. You hiss and scrunch your face, your hands coming to rub at the sides of your body, trying to soothe over the pain that has begun to bloom.

His eyes are shaded over with his bangs. He runs a hand over his face, parting his hair and revealing his wide eyes that stare at you. “Are you okay?”

You make a flustered noise and your body tenses, muscles going rigid and hands curling into each other. Heat is building up in the shell of your ears and there’s a tightness in your throat. “Ah! Shigaraki-sama-” You pause when he holds up a hand. 

“Shigaraki is fine. You’ve been on the team long enough, right? Since we were the League?”

You nod slowly, surprised that he recognized you or even noticed you for that matter. “Yes,” you give him a hesitant smile.

Your eyes dart across the room and land on him and with a start you realize that you’re still firmly planted on the floor. He clears his throat and offers his hand to you, keeping the one with the brace stuck to his side. You rise to take it, only pulling back at the last second in shock and you rise by yourself, pushing yourself off of the floor and dusting your hands off on your thighs.

“I have control of my quirk now,” he states, bringing his hand to rub at his jaw. “I’m not going to dust you.”

You give a curt nod and clamp your legs together. You stand up straight and wet your lips. “I heard. I uh, congrats?” It comes off more as a question than a statement. 

The room is still as you stare at each other, shoulders jolting when he shuffles over to the table, picking up the paper you’ve scribbled on.

“Oh! Tha-That’s just nonsense! Really!” Your body moves before your mind can register what’s happening. Your hands reach over and grab at the paper, yanking it out of his hands that spread open and you take it into your palms and press it against your chest. “Oh my god,” you mutter. “I’m so sorry!” Your fingers dig into the paper, pressing it deeper against your body.

He gives you a side glance and shrugs his shoulders and picks another paper with your notes on it. He’s silent as he reads the paper, eyes scanning and flipping around, humming in thought. You wait for him to finish, swallowing nervously and keeping your eyes on him. Red eyes glance at you and he holds his hand out, beckoning his fingers for you to hand him the other page. You do so with a shaky hand and burning face.

“Why didn’t you say anything at the meeting?” He puts the paper down and turns his body to face yours. “You had an opportunity.”

“Oh I uh, don’t usually talk. I uh- No one really listens when I have something to say,” you chuckle nervously. “Plus, with everyone’s eyes on me, it just felt so… wrong. I mean, you must have noticed how smug they looked when they asked if something was wrong.”

“Okay, but these are pretty solid plans. Much more than the original shit that was given.”

“You don’t like the original plans?” You ask, furrowing your brows.

“No. Not really. But,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I was waiting until after the meeting to tell him something.”

“After? That’s not like you.” You edge closer to him, scratching your leg with the other. “In the League you never had a problem with calling out people.” You have a vague thought that perhaps Toga or Twice is pulling a prank on you; you wouldn’t put it past them.

“Eugh.” He scoffs and turns his head sharply. “I was told to make myself more approachable. Better leadership or something,” he mumbles under his breath. “Don’t change the subject,” he snaps. Some things never change. 

“I was-”

“These are good plans.” He looks up at you and his red eyes peirce yours with intensity. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. You grab the papers and put them in order, fixing them in a neat stack. You take a deep breath and hold them out to him, smiling politely at him. “Here. You can take them if you’d like.”

He bites his nail and his jaw clenches. He takes in a deep breath and lets his chest fall. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can’t speak up. Right?”

You nod and slowly lower the papers. “Yes. I- Shigaraki you can just take the papers. Really, just it’s okay.”

“Okay,” he walks past you and he turns back to look at you, tossing his head to the side towards the door. “Let’s go. You’re sticking with me.” He walks without waiting for to catch up, his strides long and powerful, a hand wrapping around the doorknob and he looks back at where you stand with a dumbstruck look.

“Really?”

“Come on, let’s go. We’re going to go talk to the smug asshole and tell him his plans suck.”

You take in a sharp breath. “Right, of course!” You hurry to step next to him, clutching the papers in your hand. 

You both step out of the room, with him by your side and making small chat while he leads you to go find the rookie, a giddy smile on your face as you think about the look he’ll have on his face. 

“Thanks for the opportunity. I won’t disappoint you Shigaraki.” You give him a confident grin and roll your shoulders.

You pause in your steps when he gives a tentative pat on your head. “I know you won’t.”

[mikauzoran]

The Ascendancy of The Plan ™ (re: Mikau’s WIPs)

So, I feel like I’ve gotten a lot accomplished in the past few months since I last did one of these status updates. Most of the stories I ended up writing were much longer than anticipated, and I’ve had a lot of ideas just pop into my head that I hadn’t originally been planning, so this list isn’t going to look very different from the last one, but I promise that I have accomplished things, and there are some new projects in the works. ^.^;

I’m currently posting the final chapters of Among the Wild Things and Betting Against the House. Below is a list of works I have planned for the coming months. Let me know what sounds interesting or what you’re excited for.

Anhedonia: When Adrien Met Marinette: (Adrienette, post-reveal/pre-relationship, roommates) So, I’m taking a screenplay writing class, and we’re studying the scripts of several movies to get a feel for how the writer evokes different cognitive responses from the audience. One of the movies is When Harry Met Sally. I’ve never seen this movie, but apparently it’s about two friends finally ending up together after some trials and tribulations. It’s about never giving up on finding love and happiness...only I’m feeling depressed at the moment, and I don’t want to hear about true love because I’m lonely and despair of ever finding someone to share a life with. So I’m using my feelings to write a story. ^.^ Naturally. XD

It’s post-reveal/pre-relationship Adrienette. They’re roommates, and there’s been a misunderstanding because Marinette didn’t tell Adrien how she felt about him after she found out he was Chat Noir, and he’s told her that he’s over her because he thinks that the only way to preserve their friendship (since she’s already turned down his advances as Ladybug, so, obviously, she wouldn’t want him as Marinette either). It has a happy ending, and they straighten things out because I still believe in finding true love and happiness. XD I’m a sap like that, and these two deserve happiness.

Ladrien Present: (Adrienette, Ladrien) I’m still trying to write a story where Ladybug brings Adrien’s birthday party to him. ^.^; I have half of it written (the Adrienette half), and I have an outline for the rest. I just...need to sit down and make myself write it. I’ve seriously been procrastinating on this one. I don’t know what my deal is. -.-;

Marichat Prompt: This is an overflow prompt I received as part of my Productive Procrastination Prompt Giveaway. It’s about Chat Noir visiting Marinette and it somehow coming up in conversation that Marinette has always thought of Chat as a player. For some reason, this makes Chat really angry because he can’t stand her in particular thinking that about him. I thought this story out a couple months ago, but I didn’t write it down, so now I’ve forgotten, and I’m going to have to think up the plot all over again. XD

Alyadrino Prompt: Someone sent me an Ask that said, “Snuggle party makes me imagine what if nino and alya accidentally did to adrien what luka and marinette intentionally did to him in shades 12″, and I thought, “…Oh, all right. Why not?” I had a basic outline of what I wanted to do with this story a couple months ago, but I didn’t write it down, so now I have to figure it out all over again. Oh, well. I have the basic idea, I think.

Lukadrigaminette: At the beginning of the month, I thought, “I should do Valentine’s Day stories!” I ended up writing a Marichat one, and then I had this idea. It’s not Valentine’s Day related, so I decided to shelve it for later. So, several years ago, my friend and I concocted this scheme to bake for our respective crushes and win their hearts that way. It’s a really fond memory for me, and I’m turning it into a Lukadrigaminette story. Luka and Kagami join forces to bake for Adrien and Marinette in order to win their love.

Plagg and Wayzz Prompt: I got a comment on one of my stories that said, “Can you do a top wayzz bottom plagg one? Preferably in universe and in human form. Doesn’t have to be smut.” First I thought, “What the bloody hell?” because it was a comment on a Lukadrien story, and that’s all it said, and I thought, “Well, that’s random.” I’ve never really written Wayzz before, but this gave me the idea for a story where the team is up against an akuma that somehow separates them from their kwamis, leaving the heroes unable to detransform and the kwamis in defenseless human form. What I came up with really doesn’t have anything to do with the prompt other than Plagg and Wayzz will both be in human form. It will probably just end up being a Lady Noir identity reveal piece, honestly.

Supportive Adrien Lukadrien One-Shot(?): I haven’t actually pinned this story down well yet. ^.^; I was just thinking that I wanted to write something where Adrien is the one supporting and encouraging Luka, since I typically write Luka being a supportive presence for Adrien. I was thinking that the scenario could be that Luka is feeling down because Marinette still loves Adrien and things aren’t going well between Marinette and Luka, so Adrien takes Luka on an outing and confesses his love and they live happily ever after or something.

The only thing is that a different scenario is trying to creep into this story. It’s really weird. It’s post-Papillon defeat, and Adrien is twenty-four (Luka is twenty-six). He’s been in kind of rough shape the past few years since his father was arrested and he lost his family and home and fortune. He couldn’t finish university, and he’s been travelling around, trying to find work and make a life for himself. He ends up back in Paris, broke, and auditions for a band because he happened to see a flyer advertising for a new lead vocalist. It just so happens that it’s Luka’s band, and Luka ends up finding out about Adrien’s situation and taking him in and feeding him...but that scenario is just more Luka taking care of Adrien, and that’s not what I wanted to write. XD It also feels like multiple chapters, and I don’t want to go there. Oh, well. We’ll see what happens.

Adrien Trapped in AU-Land: (Adrienette, canon universe featuring AUs) My idea is based off of a writing prompt submitted by @graaythekwami on the @miraculousfanworks Discord server: AU where all the characters wake up in a different AU every chapter, fully remembering what happened in the last AU. My idea is for Chat Noir to get hit by an akuma (probably named Escapist or something equally dumb ^.^) who traps Adrien in a series of alternate realities (AUs) until he realizes his feelings for Marinette and manages to break free.

L’Amour de Loin: (Lukadrien, post-Papillon defeat, Félix wingman) I did a sneak peek for this here. This was one of the two “Winter Lukadrien Pieces” mentioned on my last status update. Adrien is living in London with his aunt and cousin three years after Papillon’s defeat and arrest. He’s in rough shape and hasn’t kept in touch with anyone from Paris. One day, he gets a text from Luka out of the blue, and they rekindle their friendship. Félix acts as wingman to ensure that it turns into something more.

Adrienette Hanahaki: Awhile ago I did an ask game about a trope I’d like to try writing, and the one I came up with was Adrien with Hanahaki disease (The one where you start coughing up flower petals due to unrequited love making flowers grow inside your lungs). I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I’d like to actually write this story. My basic outline is: Adrien starts showing symptoms, and Gabriel badgers him about whom he’s in love with, and Adrien just blurts out, “Marinette!” And Gabriel threatens Marinette into dating Adrien, and they start fake dating but then fall in love.

Happenstance and Magic: Marichat May 2019. Marinette and Chat Noir adopt kittens together, and Adrien tries to get Marinette to see that he’s not perfect but still a worthwhile person deserving of her love.

I’ve been thinking about this one, and I think I’m going to cut the number of prompts I actually use. Once I’m done with the other stories, I want to sit down and make a more thorough outline of what I want the story to be and which prompts I’m going to use to get me there.

The Seduction of Adrien Agreste: This is part of the Springtime in Wonderland (Daisy/Jabberwocky) series. It deals with Luka and Adrien experimenting with physical intimacy to see if they can reach a compromise where Luka and (asexual) Adrien are both comfortable and have their needs met.

Things Currently on the Backburner:

The Rejects Club: Predominantly Marichat with Adrienette. Chat Noir and Marinette unexpectedly grow very close very fast as they open up to one another after Marinette overhears Adrien seemingly dismissing her as a romantic prospect. Identity shenanigans at farcical levels ensue.

I can’t really deal with Rejects right now. I’m feeling super overwhelmed by basic life stuff, so I don’t really have the mental or emotional energy to put into a story where I don’t know how many more chapters there will be until the end. I’m thinking that what I have planned will take at least another one or two hundred thousand words. This thing is just so massive, and I’m not in good enough mental heath to deal with it right now.

Springtime in Wonderland: Yeah, no. See the paragraph directly above. This is another one that’s going to take another couple hundred thousand words to complete, and I just don’t have the stamina in me right now. I’d rather focus on smaller projects that actually feel attainable. I’m trying not to burn myself out.

And that’s it for the moment. I’m sure I’ll come up with plenty of other stuff between now and the next time I do a status update post, but is there anything that you’re particularly interested in? Let me know what you’re thinking.

Thoughts? Feelings? Suggestions? Opinions? ^.^

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: An examination of endings and how to realize them.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 24: brief claustrophobia; some RSD/fear of abandonment stuff; extensive discussion of death (this chapter’s all about Terminus, babey); allusions to past suicidal ideation on Jon’s part; mentions of eye gouging/blinding (not graphic); some internalized victim blaming; anxiety symptoms; spider mentions; swears. Let me know if I missed anything!

Chronic fear has been Jon’s baseline for so long, it’s difficult for him to conceptualize what he would be were it to abandon him. In some ways, he’s become acclimated to it. On the other hand, fear is a volatile, prolific thing, its many shades relentlessly coalescing and mutating to form new strains. It all but guarantees that the Eye will never truly be sated: there will always be some heretofore unknown species of terror to discover, experience, and add to its collection.

Sprinkled in amongst the more noteworthy moments of abject terror and the constant background pressure of existential dread, there are smaller fears: everyday anxieties; pervasive insecurities; acute spikes of panic and adrenaline. Each discrete instance may pale in comparison to life-threatening peril, but muddled together and given time to ferment, they compound. They feed into one another. Sometimes, they come to attract the attention of larger, far more forbidding monsters.

In this way, Jon is no different from the average person – and one of the oldest, most deep-rooted of those comparatively banal fears is his fear of rejection, of disappointing, of being seen and found lacking. It guided his path long before his first supernatural encounter, and in many ways, it still does. His self-awareness of that fact does little to dampen its influence.

So it’s vexing, but not surprising, that the foremost concern vying for his attention right now is whether this might be that final straw that chases Georgie away for good. She sits with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, eyes closed and brow furrowed as she gathers her thoughts. The longer she remains silent, the more time Jon has to run through all the worst-case scenarios.

It’s already difficult for him to capture a full breath under the crushing weight of anticipation. It doesn’t help that his intermittent claustrophobia has decided that right now is the perfect time to manifest. A tunnel collapse would probably damage the Archives above it, though, and there’s no way Jon would be so lucky. He isn’t sure whether to consider that a consolation or not.

Finally, Georgie takes a breath, opens her eyes, and leans forward.

“Okay.” She tilts her folded hands towards him in an indicative gesture. “Explain, please.”

“Right,” Jon says, rubbing one arm nervously. “S-so, Oliver –”

“I knew his name wasn’t Antonio,” Georgie mutters.

“No. That was an alias he used when he first came to the Institute to give a statement, back in 2015.”

“The prediction about Gertrude’s death?” Martin asks.

“The same.”

“And what was a harbinger of death doing looming over you while you were in a coma?” Georgie presses.

“I don’t know that I’d call him a harbinger –” Jon’s mouth snaps shut immediately when Georgie shoots him an impatient glare. “He wasn’t – he wasn’t trying to – to reap my soul or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then why was he there?”

“He was called there,” Jon says. “By the Web, according to him.”

“Oh, and you don’t think that makes him dangerous?” Martin says, throwing one arm out in a surge of exasperation.

“He isn’t allied with the Web,” Jon replies, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. “It just… got into his head, and it was easier for him to go along with it, rather than fight it indefinitely. Oliver tends to have a fatalistic outlook. If he sees something as inevitable, he’s not inclined to try to stop it.”

“So, what – he’s serving an evil power not because he’s sadistic but because he’s just apathetic?” Georgie couldn’t sound any more unimpressed if she tried. “How is that any better?”

“It’s, ah… it’s really not that simplistic,” Jon says, adopting a delicate tone. “And I don’t think I’d call it apathy so much as…”

“Acceptance,” Georgie says stiffly. “Everything has an ending.”

“Yes. Oliver is an Avatar of the End, and the End is characterized by its certainty–” Jon pauses when he catches a glimpse of Georgie’s hands, fastened to her knees and trembling with tension. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, I –” Georgie sighs, relaxes her grip, and flexes her fingers. “Just – tell me why you invited him here.”

“It’s like I said upstairs – there were things I couldn’t tell him about outside of here.”

“Why do you feel the need to tell him anything?” Martin asks.

“I just thought… he might be able to help us.”

“Why would he,” Georgie asks, “if he’s so fatalistic?”

“Because, he…” Jon hesitates, biting his lip. “I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe he’s like me.”

“He’s nothing like you,” Martin says vehemently.

A flicker of a smile crosses Jon’s face. “You don’t even know him.”

“What, and you do?”

“Not well,” Jon admits. “But I do think I understand him.”

Martin crosses his arms, transparently miffed. In an attempt to suppress his amusement, Jon presses his lips tightly together. It doesn’t work, evidently.

“What?” There’s a flat, defensive edge to the demand, highlighted by a suspicious scowl. “What’s with the smirk?”

Jon already knows the answer to the question he wants to ask, but he can’t help himself: “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Martin yelps. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jon shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Well, you don’t need to be.”

“I’m not!”

“If you say so,” Jon says with a shrug and a sly grin.

“I am not jealous,” Martin insists – and now Georgie is snickering, one hand clamped over her mouth to (unsuccessfully) stifle the sound. Martin glowers at her, betrayed.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Just – didn’t realize you were quite so jealous.”

“I’m not,” Martin says for a third time. “But – but even if I was, I would be completely justified.”

“Because he woke me up,” Jon says, toning down the smugness now.

There is an uneasy boundary between affectionate teasing and perceived mockery, and here in the past, he hasn’t quite mapped the shape of that line. Between seeing one another in the Lonely and anchoring each other through the apocalypse, he and Martin had been forced to confront long-held insecurities about themselves, both as individuals and as a unit. That shared history no longer applies. While Jon has no desire to repeat that chain of events – there are happier, healthier pathways to a relationship than bonding via trauma, or so he’s heard – it does mean that this version of Martin hasn’t yet had the same epiphanies.

Much like Jon, Martin struggles to take a declaration of love at its word. People lie; they mislead; they say what they think others want to hear – whether out of self-interest, sympathy, or simple social ineptitude, the results are the same. Sometimes they start out sincere, but little by little, their tolerance dwindles and they recognize their mistake: what they thought was genuine affection was at best a passing fancy for someone who turned out to be far more trouble than they were ever worth. Or worse: a caring façade born of pity or guilt or obligation, only to turn rotten and toxic when the burden grows too tiresome.

Add all of those deep-seated convictions to the lasting influence of the Lonely, and Martin needed proof before he could entertain the possibility of being loved. Following him into and then leading him out of the Lonely was a fairly convincing statement. Absent another life-or-death gesture to act as a catalyst, Jon suspects that this time around, building that confidence will come down to time, practice, and repetition.

“Okay, yeah, about that – what does that – what does that mean, he woke you up?” Before Jon can get a word out, Martin barrels on: “I mean, what makes him so special? I spent weeks – weeks – begging you to come back, and nothing. He visits you once and suddenly you’re fine?”

“I really did try to come back on my own,” Jon says – not accusing, not pleading, not even self-flagellating. Just plain, sincere assuredness. “I heard you calling me. Not at first, but – the last time you visited. It was the first time I’d heard your voice in… in so long, I – I never thought I’d hear it again, and then you were there, and I was – I was so relieved, so… so elated.”

Martin sulks quietly, glaring at the floor, but there’s a noticeable flush staining his cheeks now.

“And then – and then I heard you on the phone with Peter, and…” Jon swallows hard, the despair he felt in that moment still stark in his mind. “I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me. The Lonely was drawing you in, just like before, and there was nothing I could do. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I just… couldn’t figure out how. I still don’t know why – I don’t know the exact mechanics of it all – but for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to wake up until Oliver’s visit. Same as the first time.”

At that, Martin seems to deflate somewhat, finally looking up to meet Jon’s eyes.

“If I could have come back sooner,” Jon continues, smiling sadly, “I would have. In a heartbeat.”

Martin pouts for a moment longer before surrendering, his rigid posture slackening as the rancor drains out of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you owe him,” Georgie guesses. “For waking you up.”

“Partially,” Jon admits. “But that’s not why I invited him, really. He just seems… I don’t know. Lonely, I guess?” Georgie rolls her eyes. “He never – he never asked to be a death prophet. No more than I wanted to be a – a trauma leech. And arguably – arguably he was even less to blame for what happened to him than I am for what I’ve become –”

“Jon,” Martin says warningly.

“No, just – just listen.” Jon takes a measured breath as he puts his thoughts in order. “Oliver started having prophetic dreams several years ago. Just – out of the blue. As far as I know, he did nothing to tempt fate. Eventually, those dreams carried over into the waking world. Everywhere he went, every single day, he could see the evidence of imminent death. There was no escaping it.

“In the beginning, he tried to help people. But it never worked. When he was unable to save his own father, he stopped trying to change fate, for the most part. I think the last time he tried was when he dreamed of Gertrude. He saw how far-reaching her death would ultimately be, and he tried to warn her, even though he didn’t have much hope that it would make a difference. And he was right, in the end. He couldn’t save her, and he couldn’t prevent what came after.”

“So he just… gave up,” Martin says flatly.

“When you fail over and over again to do good in the world, when you witness horror after horror with no recourse to stop it, when you try again and again and again to escape and never even come close… at some point, you burn out,” Jon murmurs. “Lose all hope. It becomes your new normal. Exist like that long enough and you start to become numb to it all.”

“You lived through an apocalypse and you didn’t give up,” Martin counters.

“I did, though,” Jon says quietly.

Martin frowns. “What?”

“After I lost you.” Jon averts his eyes and folds his arms tight against his middle, holding his elbows. “I was lost. I couldn’t save anyone, I couldn’t change anything, I couldn’t even look away. I wasn’t allowed to sleep. I wasn’t allowed to die. So I just… survived, even though I wanted anything but.” When he glances up, he sees that Martin’s expression has softened. “You were my reason. Then you were gone, and I was alone.”

Jon hadn’t known that the world could end a second time, but there it was. With Martin gone, what little that remained of Jon’s own microcosm shattered. Yet the Ceaseless Watcher’s world dared to continue turning, to go on churning out horror after horror as if nothing at all had changed. And Jon was just another cog in that machine, going through the motions and fulfilling the purpose for which he was cultivated.

It wasn’t truly ceaseless, of course. Everything has an ending. But it felt like an eternity – and for Jon, indefinite waiting has always been a special kind of torture.

“So what changed?” Georgie asks, her tone gentler than before.

“For a while, nothing,” Jon says. “I sort of… drifted. Wandered aimlessly through the domains for… I don’t really know. When nothing ever changes, keeping track of time becomes pointless. The Panopticon kept trying to draw me in, of course, but I – I suppose there was still enough spite left in me to make a show of ignoring it.

“At some point, I got lost in a Lonely domain. Which was fine, really. Or – it would have been fine, had I been allowed to succumb to it. I wanted to just – fade into it, let it in, but” – Jon breathes a bitter laugh – “it wouldn’t take me. Wouldn’t let me go numb, wouldn’t let me forget – didn’t have the decency to let me disappear, no matter how long I stayed.”

No one got what they deserved in that future, but this was a rare exception to that rule: to be allowed to simply forget his role in creating that nightmare world, to sink into blissful ignorance, would have been a miscarriage of justice. Not that the Eye cared about what was just or fair, of course. No, it simply would not – perhaps could not – deign to relinquish its hold on its Archive.

“But the longer I stayed,” he continues, looking at Martin now, “the more I thought about you. In retrospect, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s part of why it wouldn’t have me – I couldn’t let you go. But being there, it kept reminding me of the first Lonely domain we came across after the change. We were separated, and I was – I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back to me. But you did.” Jon smiles to himself, remembering the relief and gratitude and awe he felt in that moment. “You rejected the Lonely all on your own. Found your own way out – found me, and… every time I thought about that, I imagined your voice in my head. Telling me off for wallowing. For giving up.”

“Sounds like I would have been justified,” Martin says delicately.

“You would have,” Jon confesses with a contrite half-smile. “I was in peak brooding condition. Eventually I wore myself out wallowing there, though, so I left to go wallow somewhere else. I needed a change of scenery, and – well, I got one. Stumbled into a Spiral domain. Ran into Helen, and… funny enough, that was the last straw.”

Jon can still recall the encounter down to the smallest detail.

‘Still drifting aimless, are we?’ Helen bared an unsettling number of teeth as her grin stretched – literally – from ear to ear. ‘Exactly how long do you plan on moping about, Archivist?’

Jon did not answer; did not even meet her eyes, instead staring vacantly over her shoulder. The incessant reel of horror scenes playing in the back of his mind made it difficult to focus on any one thing at a time, and there was nothing he cared to see so much that it was worth the effort it would take to grant it his undivided attention.

‘You know,’ Helen said, tapping an elongated, crooked finger against her lips, ‘I wonder what he would say, if he could see you now.’

It didn’t matter. Martin was gone. Those parts of the world that hadn’t already been thoroughly razed were slowly but surely withering. There was nothing left to salvage.

‘Disappointed, I imagine,’ Helen continued, distant and muffled by the din of a splintering world. (Somewhere deep below their feet, a man was screaming himself hoarse in a labyrinth made of mirrors and fog.) ‘But not surprised. It’s not the first time you’ve let him down, is it?’

Jon gave a listless shrug. Her words stung, certainly, but they were a far cry from some of her more artful jabs. A pointed insinuation to send him spiraling into his own self-destructive conclusions would always be more corrosive than outright disparagement.

(The man in the maze gazed into mirror after mirror, hoping to find himself within. In every one, his reflection had no face.)

That said, Helen wasn’t wrong. Even as a child, Jon had always been a burden. He never did manage to prove himself worthy of all the many unwilling sacrifices made on his behalf. Never measured up; never put nearly enough good into the world to balance out the cost of having him in it.

(The man in the maze had misplaced his name. Did he drop it somewhere? He checked his pockets only to find holes. Yet another eyeless reflection stared back at him from beneath his feet.)

‘You were always headed here, weren’t you?’

Yes.

(The man in the maze tried to retrace his steps, but everything looked the same: an endless, recursive corridor of mirror images. He asked one of the doppelgängers for directions, only to realize that the man in the mirror had no mouth with which to answer.)

‘To think – all that time he spent coaxing you along, and you crumble the moment you don’t have a prop to coddle you.’ Helen cackles, high and cruel. ‘What a waste.’

She wasn’t telling him anything that he didn’t already know.

(The man in the maze was scouring the mirrored ground, searching for… something he’d lost; he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that it was important. He checked his pockets, only to discover that he had no pockets.)

‘Although, I guess the blame doesn’t fall squarely on your shoulders. He was naïve. It isn’t your fault he was foolish enough to hope for–’

The words jolted Jon back to the present like an electric shock. Whatever else Helen had to say, he’d never know. He tuned her out, and he started walking.

“She was having a go at me – nothing new there – but then she brought you into it, and…” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think it was her intention, but it nudged me back on track. You and I had a plan, before, and… honestly, I didn’t have much hope that it would work, but you had. That made it worth trying.”

It wasn’t like Jon could break the world more by parleying with the Eye. At worst, it made no difference, but at least Jon did something to honor Martin’s memory; at best, it put Jon out of his misery, one way or another.

“I’m glad I did, because… well, it changed things, obviously. You were right.”

“Sorry,” Martin says with unmistakable self-satisfaction, “could you say that again?”

“You were right, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but the effect is undercut by an indulgent smile he can’t quite repress. “You often are. All of this is to say – I’m only here because you gave me a reason to be. If not for that, then… well, I meant what I’ve said before, about needing a lifeline in order to stand any chance against the Fears. I was – I am lucky enough to have one.”

More than one, he thinks with a sense of wonder. The support he has now is such a far cry from the ostracism he experienced the first time he was here. It still gives him pause every time he dwells on the contrast. Sometimes, it almost seems too good to be true.

“Oliver didn’t,” Jon continues. “It’s hard to begrudge him for resigning himself to fate, especially considering how the power that claimed him is defined by fatalism. He never asked to be chosen, he was given no hope of escape, and he had no one to reach out to, let alone anyone to reach back. It’s unsurprising that he would come to accept the inescapable when the only anchor he had was the certainty of oblivion.”

“‘The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one,’” Georgie says quietly.

Jon nods. “And without a dependable reason to see the moments in between as significant, it’s… well, it’s hard to see the point in anything. I’ve been there.”

As has Georgie, Jon knows. She exhales heavily, massaging her temples, visibly conflicted.

“I still don’t think you should trust him,” Martin says.

“I’m not suggesting we trust him wholesale,” Jon says, “but I’m certain that he isn’t an enemy. He might not resist the End, but he doesn’t work to end the world in its name, either. He’s… thoroughly neutral.”

“Then what makes you think he’ll lift a finger to help?” Martin asks.

“I doubt he’ll go out of his way to help,” Jon admits. “He might be willing to trade information, though. I just thought… Avatar of the End – he would have more insight into the limits of Jonah’s supposed ‘immortality’ than I do.”

“You think he can tell you something about the dead man’s switch,” Georgie guesses, rubbing at her forehead.

“That’s my hope, yes. He can see the route that a person will take to their end. Or, he can when their death is imminent, at least – I’m not sure how far into the future his foresight stretches these days.”

In the hospital, Oliver implied that he could see something in Jon’s vicinity. Whether that suggests Jon’s own end is near enough for Oliver to foresee it, Jon does not Know. Given his proven resilience, he suspects it’s just as likely to be a quirk of his strange existence. There’s no shortage of idiosyncrasies that may mark Jon as an outlier: he’s the Archivist; he’s traveled through a rift in time; he’s the primed and practiced focal point of the Watcher’s Crown, and the fate of the world hinges on his ability to keep that potential in check.

And if his situation is an exception to the rule, perhaps Jonah’s is as well.

“Maybe he’ll be able to see whether our routes flow into Jonah’s, so to speak,” Jon says. “When Oliver dreamed of Gertrude’s impending death, he saw how much of the world’s fate was intertwined with hers –”

“– the veins, whose domination of the dreamscape had only ever been partial before, had thickened and now seemed to cover almost the whole space of every street – the destination – into which all the veins flowed – The Magnus Institute – choked with that shadowed flesh – following that red light that would now pulse so bright that I knew were I to see it awake it would have blinded me – and every one of those veins – where they ended – a person sitting at that desk and it was them that all of this scarlet light was flowing into.”

“Gertrude,” Martin says.

Jon nods, then holds up one finger: Wait. The Archive has more to say; Jon can practically feel the words bubbling up his throat and crowding behind his teeth. As discomfiting as it is to have it hijack his voice, sometimes it’s easier to ride out that compulsion than to tamp it down.

“I have no responsibility to try and prevent whatever fate is coming for you – such a thing is likely impossible – but after what I saw I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try – there is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.”

Statement ends, Jon thinks, working his jaw to soothe the unnatural tension that has taken root there. Happy now? Anything else to add?

As expected, it doesn’t answer. He’s well aware that addressing the Archive essentially amounts to talking to himself, but carrying on an internal dialogue with the more frustrating aspects of himself was a habit long before he took on the mantle of Archivist.

After a few seconds, he feels the Archive’s imposing presence start to recede, releasing him from the compulsion. It’s still there, of course – it’s always there, looming over him like a vulture, as impossible to ignore as a knife to the throat – but for now it seems content to fall back and observe once more.

Georgie sighs. “That’s why you’re sympathetic to him.”

“He tried.” Jon shrugs. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s going to help this time,” Martin says.

“No, but he has no incentive to hurt us, either. There’s no harm in asking him questions. He’s not going to run to Jonah to inform on us. The worst that happens is he says ‘no’ and goes back to minding his own business. But if he agrees to talk… well, it might be our best chance to determine how much of what Jonah says is true.”

Georgie chews on her thumbnail for a few seconds before looking back up at Jon, a pensive frown on her face. “Why’d he go out of his way to come here at all, if he has no motivation one way or the other?”

“Honestly? Curiosity, I think. But… I suppose I’m also hoping that there’s a part of him that might sympathize.”

“Do you really think there is?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know. In my future, probably not. He wasn’t enjoying himself like some of the other Avatars – I mean, he was feeding on the fear produced by his domain, but even then, he didn’t strike me as cruel. It was just… acceptance in the face of a conclusion at ultimately stayed the same regardless of the path leading up to it, and…”

And maybe it speaks to Jon’s mental state at the time, but there were a few points in Oliver’s statement that struck him as almost merciful. After all, in the face of seemingly endless torment, death was a covetable escape.

“I have no power to stop it,” the Archive recites, “and even if I did, I would not do so. For to rob a soul of death is as torturous as its inevitable coming – I fear the annihilation you would gift me as little as I desire it – perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned – I am now, as the thing I feed, a fixed point, that has neither the longing nor ability to change its state of existence – even you, with all your power, cannot keep the world alive forever. All things end, and every step you take, whatever direction you may choose, only brings you closer to it.”

“That Oliver again?” Martin mutters tetchily. “Doesn’t sound to me like he’ll be particularly inclined to help.”

“Well–” The word comes out as a rasp, and Jon has to pause to clear his throat before continuing. “That was – that was the Oliver of the future. After the change, he was too much of the End not to live its truth, just as I was too much of the Eye not to walk its path and archive its world. We were both conduits, inseparable from the powers that laid claim to us. Here and now, though, I’m hoping he might still be…”

“What, benevolent?” Martin says incredulously.

Jon is quiet for a long moment, trying to find the right words to explain.

“At my most hopeless,” he says slowly, “I still cared, even though there was no meaningful way for me to put it into practice. I don’t think I ever managed to reach the level of acceptance that Oliver did – and sometimes I envied him for that. But embracing the End as a foregone conclusion doesn’t necessarily mean he’s completely unmoved by what happens in the interim. Not yet, anyway. And as of right now, whether it’s out of curiosity or compassion, obviously he still interacts with the world from time to time, even if he prefers to exist in the background for the most part.”

Martin and Georgie both look unconvinced.

“I’m not asking him to help us change fate,” Jon goes on. “In his view, there is no obstructing fate – not in any way that genuinely matters to his patron. Oliver isn’t particularly concerned about when the End will come – he’s just secure in the knowledge that it will happen eventually, with or without the interference of any mortal actor. Passive or active, nothing he does or doesn’t do will change that. But I’m thinking it’s been a long time since someone has asked him for help that he actually has the power to provide, and… I know what that’s like.”

Despite the immense power that Jon could exercise after the culmination of the Watcher’s Crown, he was ultimately powerless to change things for the better. It’s why he leapt at the chance to help Naomi in her nightmare: even a small, low-effort act of kindness after so long without the opportunity was overwhelmingly liberating.

It was insignificant against the vast backdrop of the universe, perhaps, but it still left a mark. It prompted a cascade of little changes that completely rewrote their dynamic; it curtailed some of the suffering in which Jon had previously been so unwillingly complicit; it's even acted as an inoculation against the loneliness that had permeated both of their lives during this stretch of time when Jon was last here. Those little changes mattered to him, and they mattered to Naomi – not only in that first moment, but in all the time since.

All of that had to count for something, right? It took fourteen ill-fated marks to end the world, after all. With any one of them missing, the Ritual wouldn’t have worked and the world at large would never have noticed. But that didn’t make any one of those marks wholly insignificant on its own. They scarred him and the people around him; every encounter changed him, whittled away at his sense of self, left him progressively vulnerable and set him up for successive marks.

The repercussions still linger. They probably always will.

In his sporadic moments of cautious optimism, Jon cannot help but wonder: If a series of little cruelties can create such a perfect and terrible storm, is it really inconceivable that a pattern of little rebellions could keep it at bay? And Jon has long since come to the conclusion that compassion in the face of unimaginable cruelty is its own form of rebellion.

“As much as Oliver talks about fate and inevitability,” Jon says, “he still seems to believe in free will to an extent. That we all make choices. When he last spoke to me, he offered me a choice. Now I’m offering one to him.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…” Georgie releases a weary exhale and tosses her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re sure this won’t come back to bite you?”

“We have nothing to lose by asking,” Jon says. “And he has nothing to lose regardless of what choice he makes, but… it feels right to at least give him the option. Whatever he decides, I won’t begrudge him for it.”

“Fine,” she says tersely. “Do what you want.”

Jon just barely suppresses a wince. “Georgie?”

“Sorry, that came off as –” Georgie heaves another sigh. “I’m not angry with you. I get it. It makes sense. I just don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Just… be mindful, alright? You don’t owe him any answers you don’t want to give. And he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt just because you relate to him.”

“I know,” Jon says again.

“I mean it, Jon,” she says sharply. She takes a steadying breath before continuing, more diplomatically this time. “It’s… sweet, I guess, that you want to empathize with him, but you have a tendency to…” Georgie pauses, weighing her words. “I mean, I’ve seen you compare yourself to Helen, too. And Jonah.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would deny that there are certain… similarities,” Jon says, not quite under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re always going to have something in common with other people if you look hard enough. But sometimes you see the worst in people and you fold it into how you see yourself. Like you’re looking into a funhouse mirror, but you can’t see how the reflection is distorted.” Jon avoids meeting her eyes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have a history of comparing yourself to your abusers. Sorry,” she adds when he flinches, “but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it. Just… think about it, okay? Ask yourself whether this is compassion or if it’s just another way to dehumanize yourself.”

“I –” Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, his mouth gone dry. “Okay, I – I get your point, but – I swear that’s not what this is. With Helen, and – and – and Jonah, it’s – they’ve actually gone out of their way to – to manipulate, to cause real harm. Oliver is different.”

“You were marked by the End,” Georgie says pointedly.

“Yes, but that wasn’t Oliver’s fault. He didn’t hurt me, never tried to trap me or trick me – never pressured me into making one choice over another, even at the end of the world. I really don’t think he’s evil, or sadistic, or – or scheming, weaving some grand web. He’s just watching things unfold, because he had a crash course in the stages of grief forced onto him and the end result was… well, acceptance. He doesn’t fear the End, but he doesn’t worship it, either. He just embodies it, openly and authentically.”

Georgie is silent for nearly a full minute, scrutinizing Jon intently, before she capitulates.

“Alright. I’ll… trust your judgment, I guess,” she says, but she shares a knowing glance with Martin – who looks just as leery as she does – when she says it. “Still, be careful.”

“I, uh… I imagine you don’t want to be here when I talk to him?” Jon ventures, though he’s certain he already knows the answer.

“No,” Georgie says summarily.

Jon releases a breathless chuckle. “Fair enough.”

“I really should be getting home to Melanie, anyway. It’s stay-home date night. Pizza and a movie.” Georgie offers a tentative grin, her shoulders relaxing minutely. “She hasn’t seen the new Ghostbusters yet, somehow – something about having been preoccupied with real paranormal bullshit for the last few years – but I checked and the DVD version has audio description, so I bought a copy. She’d be cross with me if I stood her up for the grim reaper.”

“I imagine so.” Jon tilts his head. “Although, Oliver isn’t actually the–”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs, “I was being facetious.”

When the three of them leave the tunnels, they find Oliver still waiting awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs out of the Archives, Basira standing sentinel nearby. Daisy leans against a far wall, eyeing him from a distance.

Georgie gives a long, doubtful look at Oliver before turning to Jon and offering a hug that he gladly accepts.

“Text me later tonight?” Georgie says. “And keep me updated on your travel plans.”

“Will do. Tell Melanie I said hello. And tell the Admiral he’s a national treasure.”

Georgie snorts at that, shaking her head in amusement before turning towards the stairs. Oliver nearly jumps out of the way as she strides in his direction, but she doesn’t stop to confront him beyond a glare as she passes. A prolonged, awkward minute of silence passes after she leaves, charged with suspicion and tension.

“Tunnels,” Basira says eventually, her tone and expression giving nothing away. She doesn’t wait for a response before stalking off down the hall, Daisy falling in line behind her.

Basira barely waits for the others to take their seats before she launches into her interrogation. Although her eyes remain fixed on Oliver, her first question isn’t directed at him.

“Why is he here, Jon?”

“Like I said, I invited him.” Jon glances at Oliver, apologetic. It feels odd to talk about him as if he isn’t present.

“Why?”

“Mutual curiosity, I expect,” Oliver cuts in, inclining his head towards Jon. “You have questions for me.”

Jon returns a nod. He has ulterior motives, and Oliver knows it. To pretend otherwise would be pointless, not to mention insulting.

“Oliver is an Avatar of the End,” Jon tells the others. “There might be a chance he could tell us how much of what Elias says is true.”

“And what’s the price tag?” Basira asks.

“He has questions of his own. He could tell in the hospital that there’s something… wrong about me. Obviously, I couldn’t talk about it where Elias could hear.”

“You shouldn’t disclose it at all,” Basira says. “If any of it gets back to him –”

“Oliver has no reason to betray our confidence.” Jon’s gaze flicks to Oliver. “Right?”

“Consider me a neutral party,” Oliver replies.

“You’re going to just… take him at his word,” Basira scoffs.

“The End has no Ritual,” Jon says, “and it has no reason to prevent any of the other Entities from successfully pulling off their own Rituals. No matter what happens to this world, the End will claim everything eventually. The when and how are irrelevant to it. In the meantime, the world as-is suits it just fine. It has no desire to postpone or hasten the end of all things.”

“Terminus is what it is,” Oliver agrees. “I have neither the power nor the desire to contradict it.”

“Then why would you help us?” Basira asks.

“I never said that I would.”

“I’m not asking you to actively intervene,” Jon says before Basira can offer a retort. “I just want to talk. That… is why you came here, isn’t it?”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before answering. “Your curiosity must have rubbed off on me.”

Unbidden, Oliver’s statement rushes to the forefront of Jon’s mind: I still remember the first time I tried to touch one…. I don’t know why I did it; I knew it was a stupid thing to do. But I just… maybe I wanted it this way.

“Don’t know about that,” Jon says quietly. “Curiosity is only human.”

And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it, the statement plays on. Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home.

“Perhaps,” Oliver says, noncommittal.

“So you’ll tell us what we want to know,” Daisy finally speaks up. Despite her veneer of calm – leaning back in her chair, arms crossed – her bouncing leg belies her agitation.

“It makes no difference to me.” Oliver shrugs. “Though I can’t promise my answers will be satisfying.”

“I still don’t like this,” Basira says, glaring askance at Oliver.

“Look,” Jon says, “this is the only way I can think of to figure out what stakes we’re working with. Jonah has been cheating death for centuries–”

“Jon!” Basira hisses.

“It’s important context,” Jon argues back. “And anyway, it’s going to come up when I tell him my story. It’s not exactly a detail I can gloss over; it’s central to the plot.” He sighs and looks at Oliver. “Elias is Jonah Magnus, the original founder of the Institute.”

Basira throws her hands up with a frustrated snarl. She turns to Daisy for support, but Daisy only offers a sympathetic grimace and a half-shrug.

“I thought there was something odd about him,” Oliver says blandly. “He’s long past his expiration date.”

Daisy snorts at that. Judging from the bemused, almost startled expression on Oliver’s face, he hadn’t expected to garner anything other than aggression from her.

“Whenever one of his vessels is… compromised,” Jon elaborates, “or nearing the end of its usefulness, he takes a new one.”

Recovering from his fleeting bewilderment, Oliver turns his attention back to Jon. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Maxwell Rayner and Simon Fairchild,” Basira says.

Oliver nods. “Among others.”

“Does that… I don’t know – offend the End?” Martin asks.

“No,” Oliver says. “They can’t outrun it forever, as so many have discovered firsthand.”

“Like Rayner,” Daisy says.

Once again, Oliver looks thrown off-kilter by Daisy’s diminishing hostility, but he does offer a wary nod in response to her contribution to the conversation. “And in the meantime, their fear of their own mortality ages like a fine wine.”

“Is an unnaturally long life somehow tastier for the End, then?” Martin asks. “I think most of the statements I’ve read about it involved somehow cheating death.”

“Perhaps. If my patron has a conscious mind, it has never spoken to me directly. Everything I know to be true is just… feeling.”

“So it’s as cagey as the other Powers, then,” Daisy says with a derisive chuckle. “Good to know.”

Oliver smooths his hands across his coat, draped across his lap, before glancing at Jon for guidance.

“I gave you a story,” he says reticently. “I would like to hear yours. Then I will answer your questions.”

“Fair enough,” Jon says – and abruptly realizes that he has no idea where to start. “You, uh… you don’t need to hear my whole life story, do you?”

“I did give you an outline of mine,” Oliver says with just a hint of amusement. “I admit I’m curious as to what led you here, but I imagine if you went into detail, we would be here for hours.”

“Much of it doesn’t bear repeating, anyway,” Jon says. “Just the highlights, then?”

“If you please.”

“Right,” Jon mumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Had my first supernatural encounter when I was eight, never got over it, and a combination of lifelong obsession and unchecked curiosity brought me to the Institute. After Gertrude died, Jonah chose me as her replacement because he knew I would be easily molded into the catalyst for his Ritual, and I was.” He looks up. “Is that enough?”

“Which of the Powers marked you first? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“The Web.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you seemed… entangled.”

There’s something… off about you, Oliver had told him when they last spoke. The roots, they look… sick. Wrong. And the threads are – tangled.

It’s possible that Oliver was speaking in metaphor – alluding to the threads of fate, so to speak – but the question has been simmering in the back of Jon’s mind for months…

“When you visited me before,” he blurts out. “You said the Web sent you.”

“Yes,” Oliver says candidly. “Not an explicit command, of course. It was more a… well, a feeling. A tug. The Web usually prefers subtlety, but there are times when it wants its marks to know the hand that moves them.”

“S-so, when you said the threads around me were tangled, was that figurative, or could you… see the Web’s influence?”

“The Spider might make its presence known sometimes, but Terminus doesn’t give me the ability to see the shape of its web any more than the Eye does you.”

“Not unless the Web allows itself to be Seen,” Jon says absently.

Despite how much he could See in his future, the Web always remained something of an enigma. It wasn’t until after his standoff with the Eye that he was able to follow the Spider’s threads.

But then, the Eye hadn’t been the only watcher lurking in the Panopticon. The Web had woven itself into the foundation of that place from its conception, and the Spider made no effort to hide. More than once, it stationed itself where he was sure to notice it. The more he thinks on it, the more he suspects that the ensuing ability to See its threads, to Know where they converged, was as much an allowance by the Web as it was due to his communion with the Ceaseless Watcher.

“When I spoke of threads, I meant more…” Oliver opens and closes his mouth a few times as he struggles with his phrasing. “Well, I’ve not yet found a perfect description for it. Think of a life and fate as… a jumble of intersections. Some people feel like thread-and-nail art. Others feel like a snarled ball of yarn. You,” he adds, looking at Jon appraisingly, “are something of a Gordian knot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Martin demands, a protective edge in his voice.

“It’s not a compliment or an insult,” Oliver says mildly. “Only an observation. Come to think of it, Gertrude was much the same way. The fates of many hinged on the routes she took. Less of a butterfly effect and more of a hurricane.”

“So you can see fate?” Basira asks. A genuine question, but the flat skepticism in her tone makes it sound rhetorical.

“To a limited extent,” Oliver says haltingly. “I see the near-future as it relates to death specifically. When people near the ends of their routes, I can make out the details of their–”

“Seeing those awful veins crawling into them, into wounds not yet open, or skulls not yet split – they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse – webbed over the face of a drunk old man stumbling into his car – one snaking along the road, over towards the railing – I’ll never forget seeing a field of cows the week before they were sent to the abattoir…”

Jon trails off with a tired groan, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“You have a good memory,” Oliver says.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbles. “Archivist thing. Can’t always control it.”

“S-so,” Martin redirects, “if any of us were about to die, you would be able to see it, right?”

“Yes. But I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes,” Oliver clarifies before Martin can ask. “Knowing your end is coming does nothing to prevent it. It only ensures that you will live your final days in fear.”

“Wouldn’t your patron like that?” Daisy asks.

Basira immediately latches onto that thought. “We have a statement here about a book that tells you how and when you’ll die.”

“Case number 0030912,” Jon cites. “Statement of Masato Murray, regarding his inheritance of an untitled book with supernatural properties. Each time the reader rereads their entry, they’ll find that the recorded date of their future death draws closer and the cause more gruesome.”

“Thanks, spooky Google,” Basira says sardonically. “Who needs an indexing system when we have a walking, talking card catalogue on staff?”

“One of my predecessors in ancient times once filed a complaint with the Eye, aggrieved by all the terrible powers it foisted upon him,” Jon says matter-of-factly, not missing a beat. “Being a benevolent patron, it granted him and all future generations of Archivists a convenience feature as compensation.”

“Smartass,” Basira says, but it sounds almost amiable, and Jon allows himself a tentative smile.

His tolerance for making light of this part of himself tends to be variable. Unpredictable, even. On good days, shared gallows humor is a balm, bringing with it a sense of solidarity and camaraderie; on bad days, even the gentlest dig feels like a barb.

He also tends to be selective about whose teasing he can weather. Martin and Georgie are safe more often than not. Daisy can usually get away with it; she’s prompt to let him in on the joke whenever he doesn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Given how blunt Melanie can be, it at least tends to be obvious when her pointed comments are meant in jest or in umbrage; and anyway, he hasn’t yet spoken to her directly since she quit.

Basira, though – she’s always been difficult to read. They have a similar sense of humor, but part of his brain is still living in a time when she saw the worst in him. No matter how many times he tells himself that things are different now, he can’t quite shake that feeling of being on indefinite probation. Hostile attribution bias, he recognizes, but having a label for it doesn’t make it any easier to silence those perennial fears. It’s only recently that he’s been able to take such joking from her in stride. Not always, but sometimes.

“Anyway,” Basira says, looking back to Oliver, “I take it that book is affiliated with the End. It feeds on the reader’s fear of knowing the details of their death.”

“Almost everyone has some degree of fear regarding mortality – their own or that of others,” Oliver says. “For some, that primal fear permeates their entire lives. Others only spare it any thought when it closes in on them. Terminus feeds on all of it equally. I suspect that active encounters with it are more about…”

“Flavor?” Basira suggests.

“So to speak,” Oliver says. “Welcome variety in its diet, but not necessary to sate it.”

“Which is why its Avatars have such wildly different methodologies,” Jon says, nodding to himself. “Justin Gough was allowed to survive a near-death experience, but acquired a debt that had to be paid in the lives of others, killing them in their dreams. Tova McHugh was granted the ability to prolong her own life by passing each of her intended deaths onto others, adding their remaining lifespans to her own. Nathaniel Thorpe was cursed with immortality after trying to cheat his way out of death. He was only one of many gamblers who played such games of chance–”

“Jon,” Basira sighs, “you don’t have to go through the whole roster of personified death omens.”

“Sorry.”

“So what kind of Avatar are you?” Basira asks, looking Oliver up and down. “How do you feed your patron?”

“For me, Terminus has not been particularly demanding. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because I never attempted to cheat my way out of death. It simply… chose me – or I wandered across its path – and it never left. Thus far, it seems content to have me play the observer.” He glances at Jon. “You can probably understand that.”

“The Beholding isn’t satisfied to have its Archivist simply observe. It wants its knowledge actively harvested, recorded, curated.” Jon huffs, not bothering to contain his disgust. “Processed.”

The conversation lapses into a tense silence for several seconds before Basira changes tack.

“About Gertrude,” she says. “You tried to warn her about her death.”

“Yes,” Oliver replies.

“Why?”

“The evidence of her death snaked its roots all across London – as far as I could see, and perhaps further. At the time, I’d never seen anything like it. Such a sprawling web of repercussions stemming from a single death – I felt like I had to say something. As I expected, it made no difference in the end.”

Jon worries his lower lip between his teeth. “You said the roots surrounding me seemed sick.”

“You saw roots around Jon?” Martin says urgently, jolting up ramrod-straight in his seat.

“They’re… different from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to,” Oliver says slowly. “There’s no light pulsing within them, no life flowing to or from them. And looking at them, it’s almost like…” He frowns, squinting down at the floor as if it might offer up the words he needs. “It’s like they’re there and not there simultaneously. Faded, like an afterimage – one that can only be seen from a certain angle.”

“Okay, and what does that – what does that mean?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I was hoping Jon could shed some light on it,” Oliver says, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “I may not have the same drive to know that you and yours do, but I find myself returning to the question frequently over the past few months.”

“R-right,” Jon says. “Let me just, uh… where to start…”

Jon rubs at this throat with one hand, the other clenching into a fist where it rests on his knee.

“Jon,” Daisy says, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I just, uh –” Jon breathes a nervous laugh. “This never gets any easier.”

“Do you want me to say it?” Martin offers, schooling his tone into something approaching calm. His posture remains rigid, though, hands balled into white-knuckled fists in his lap.

“No, it’s fine.” Jon takes a few deep breaths and then looks Oliver in the eye. “In the future, I ended the world.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think the Beholding gave you any precognitive abilities.”

“It, uh – it doesn’t. I didn’t foresee the future, I lived it. For… for a long time, actually, so I –” Jon exhales a humorless chuckle. “I probably meet your definition of past my expiration date.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering.

“Hard to say,” he settles on. “You’re… a bit of a paradox. Feels as if you exist in multiple states at once, and it’s difficult for me to tell which one is true.”

“Maybe all of them are,” Jon says distractedly. “But, I, uh – I eventually found a way to come back to before the change – or, to send my consciousness back, anyway. But only as far back as the coma. I… I wish it had taken me back further – back to the very beginning, though I” – Jon huffs – “I suppose it’s hard to say what counts as the beginning.”

“It depends on how you want to define a beginning,” Oliver says. “In a way, the advent of existence marked the beginning of the end. Everything since then has been just another domino.”

“Well,” Jon begins, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Nope,” she says bluntly. “You go down that semantic rabbit hole and we’ll be here forever.”

“Fine,” Jon says with a petulant sigh. “Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up on my own, so just like the first time I was here, I had to wait for you to come along and help.”

“I still don’t understand why,” Oliver says.

“Neither do I, I’m afraid.”

“Not to encroach on your sphere of influence, but I think in this case, not knowing the answer might bother me even more than it does you.” Oliver releases a quiet sigh. “So you came back to stop yourself from starting the apocalypse.”

“It’s not like he chose to end the world,” Martin says, immediately leaping to Jon’s defense once more.

“Apologies,” Oliver says with an earnest nod in Martin’s direction. “I didn’t intend to imply otherwise.” He glances at Jon. “I’ve known of many who seek to bring on the end in the hopes that they will be able to choose what shape it takes. You don’t strike me as the sort.”

“No. But Jonah is.” Jon ducks his head as he speaks, fingers twisting in his jumper. “He wanted – wants to rule over a world reshaped in the Beholding’s image. He needed an Archivist with particular qualities to serve as the linchpin of his Ritual. So he created one. By the time he showed his hand, it was too late. I was the key, and Jonah didn’t need my consent in order to open the door.”

“I imagine it didn’t go as he planned,” Oliver says.

“No,” Jon says with a grim laugh. “No, it didn’t. He suffered as much as anyone else did in that reality. It all started because he was afraid of his own mortality, and yet – in the end, he met a fate worse than death.”

“Whatever it was, he deserved it,” Martin mutters.

“Maybe so,” Jon says. “But it was never about deserving. There was some poetic justice there, seeing him brought down by his own hubris, but… at the end of the day, he got the same treatment as anyone else. Just – pointless suffering, utterly divorced from the concept of consequences. Had a way of… diluting the schadenfreude, honestly.”

Martin’s spark of vindication appears to fizzle out as Jon speaks, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening.

“Regardless,” Jon continues, “Jonah wanted to be a god, but at his core, he was no different from any other human. Fodder for the Fears. And the one he feared the most – it was in no hurry to finish the meal. I imagine by the time Terminus finally came for him in earnest, he would have welcomed it.”

“Those who seek immortality always come to see it as a curse in time,” Oliver says sagely. “When they come to terms with the fact that there is no such thing as a truly immortal existence, it comes as a relief.”

“I walked through your domain once,” Jon says after a pause. “You gave me a statement about the End’s place in that world. The domains were reluctant to let their victims die – they’d bring them to the brink, then revive them and repeat the process – but the Fears are greedy. Eventually, they would suck their victims dry –”

“– bones – every one of them – picked clean and cracked open – desperately gnawing – trying to reach whatever scant marrow might have remained inside – sucked from them to leave nothing but dry, white fragments – the hunger he saw in their eyes–”

Jon bites down on his tongue. That’s quite enough of that.

“You alright?” Martin says, leaning over and putting a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Sorry,” Jon says gruffly. “That one was…”

“Grisly?” Daisy says.

“Yeah,” Jon huffs. “But – not necessarily inapt? That reality was a closed economy. No new people were being born. The ones who already existed were destined to die, no matter how unwilling the other Fears were to grant that release.”

“As has always been the order of things,” Oliver says.

“You predicted that eventually the Fears would start poaching victims from one another’s domains – and they did. There were…” Jon grimaces. “There were a lot of territorial disputes, towards the end there. Domains encroaching on one another, monsters fighting over scraps. The Eye got its fill Watching it all play out, of course, but given enough time, it would have starved, same as all the rest.”

“And once the world was rendered barren,” Oliver says, understanding, “Terminus itself would die.”

Jon nods. “And until that happened, both you and your patron were content to let things play out.”

“Terminus is patient.”

Too patient, Jon thought at the time.

“I don’t think it was your intention,” he says, “but your statement did come as a relief. I already expected as much – that eventually it would all end – but having it corroborated by an authority on the matter was… very welcome.”

“People may fear death,” Oliver says, “but anyone who outruns it long enough finds that there is a much deeper fear hiding underneath – that of having the release of death withheld from them.”

“We have a lot of statements to that tune,” Basira says.

“I imagine so.”

“So,” Daisy says brusquely, “is that enough of a story for you?”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. “Although it raises more questions than it grants answers.”

“Our turn for questions, then?” Basira asks. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The… veins, or… roots you saw around Gertrude. You’re saying they didn’t just foretell her death, but showed how it would impact everything else. So, what about the ones you saw around Jon?”

“It’s difficult to observe them for any length of time, but they do seem… more sprawling.” Oliver studies Jon for a moment, considering. “Like you are the heart of a watershed moment destined to happen.”

“So that’s it, then,” Jon says dully. “I’m still the spark for it all.”

Pandora’s box with a ‘use by’ date, he thinks to himself, somewhat hysterically.

He already knew it to be true, but that doesn’t make the confirmation any less harrowing. Everything hinges on his ability to keep his head above water, but the fate of the world weighs ever more heavily on his shoulders, pressing down, down, down –

“Does that mean…” Jon hugs his middle, slowly curling in on himself. “Does that mean it’s going to happen again?”

“I cannot say.” If Jon’s not mistaken, Oliver sounds… almost sympathetic. “This is unprecedented. I can only theorize. It’s possible that you’re like Gertrude, and what I see is a premonition. Or maybe the reality you came from still exists, parallel to this one, and it still clings to you. Perhaps it’s a Schrödinger’s cat, and it both does and does not exist, right up until the point where you do or do not bring it into being. Or maybe it doesn't exist, and the roots I see are only… imprints, so to speak. Echoes of a time and place that this world will never overlap.”

“Like trace fossils,” Jon murmurs. “Ghosts.”

“If you like.”

“Could you – could you follow them?” Jon can feel his pulse quicken, his heart thrumming in his throat. “See where they originate?”

“They originate from you.”

“O-oh.” Jon’s gaze darts uncertainly around the area before fixing on Oliver again. “Then, uh – can you see where they end?”

“You have a suspicion,” Basira says, watching Jon carefully.

Jon swallows around the breath caught in his throat. “What if they go back to Hill Top Road?”

“As far as I can tell, they reach out in all directions,” Oliver says. “There may not be a single end point. Regardless, I have no desire to visit Hill Top Road.”

“Oh,” Jon says despondently. It’s not like he expected Oliver to go out of his way to help, but…

“Would it really tell you anything of value anyway?” Martin asks.

“I don’t know,” Jon says, running a hand through his hair, one finger getting caught in a knot and pulling hard at his scalp. “But – but it feels like something I should at least check –”

“To what end?” Daisy asks. Jon looks at her blankly. “No offense, Sims, but the most likely outcome is you get no real answers, you lose yourself obsessing over theories, each more catastrophic than the last, and you spend the next few weeks compulsively checking yourself for spiders. Some things aren’t worth chasing after.”

“I just – I feel like I should know one way or the other –”

“Is that you or the Eye talking?” Martin asks.

“What’s the difference?” Jon says flatly. He immediately regrets it when he glimpses the expression on Martin’s face – a very familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t know. I don’t Know.”

Jon tugs on his hair once more, focusing on the dull ache it produces. He’s always had trouble letting things go. Letting questions go unanswered; letting mysteries go unsolved. The Beholding just nurtured that obsessiveness, encouraged that impulse to proliferate in his head like a weed and choke out his inhibitions.

“You’re here now,” Martin says firmly. “You can’t go back, so you may as well go forward.”

“Yeah,” Jon says, guilt heavy and searing in his chest.

“Like I said,” Oliver says, rubbing the back of his neck, “my knowledge of the future is narrow. I can’t tell you anything about parallel universes, or branching timelines, or the ability to alter history. The only certainty is that anything that begins will have an end, one way or another. All the rest is just… details.”

Martin folds his arms across his chest, examining Oliver with narrowed eyes. “You say that like the details are irrelevant.”

“I wonder about that,” Oliver says softly.

“Well, I think our experiences matter,” Martin says. “The fact that we were here at all, it’s… it’s not nothing.”

“Even those who make the greatest impact are forgotten in time.”

“So what? It will always have happened, even if no one is alive to remember it. And – and you never know when something little will have an impact on someone, which contributes to them doing something that makes a greater impact – that changes history.”

“Even time itself will end eventually. History will be forgotten, and nothing will remain to register its loss.”

“And?” Martin persists. “We won’t be around to see it. In the meantime, we’re here. We’re alive. If we’re going to end no matter what, why not make it worthwhile? Sure, there are no equivalent powers of hope and love to counter the Fears, but – but who cares? That just means that we have to make up for that absence.” Jon smiles to himself as Martin builds momentum – shoulders pushed back, chest thrust out, head held higher, speech growing more impassioned as he argues his point. “If a few mistakes and some asshole with a god complex can end the world, who’s to say a few deliberate kindnesses can’t save it?”

“Am I the asshole with the god complex?” Jon says drily. Judging from Martin’s disapproving scowl, he is not in the mood for self-deprecating humor. “Sorry, sorry. But, uh – in all seriousness, I think it was more than a few mistakes on my part–”

“You know what I meant, Jon,” Martin snaps. “And – and fine, maybe a few kindnesses can’t save the whole world, but – but they can save someone’s world. They can save a person. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Yes,” Jon says with a small smile. “Yes, it does.”

“R-right.” Martin blinks several times, momentarily stunned by the lack of resistance. “It doesn’t change the world – except for how it does. Just – the universe might not care, but we can, and that’s exactly why we should. It’s… it’s what we owe to each other. That’s what I think, at least.”

Martin goes quiet then, arms still folded with a mixture of self-consciousness and sullen defiance.

“How long have you had that rant queued up?” Daisy teases.

“A while,” Martin says, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“You’re quite the romantic,” Oliver says. He says it like a compliment, albeit somewhat wistful.

“Yeah, well.” Martin blushes at the praise in spite of himself. “Someone has to counter the fatalism around here.”

If you ask Jon, there are many reasons to love Martin Blackwood. This is doubtless one of them.

“Besides,” Martin recovers, apparently on a roll now, “it seems to me there’s as much evidence for fate being changeable as not. Yeah, sure, eventually everything dies, but who’s to say that the details are set in stone? Like – like that book, the one where the details of a person’s death change every time they read it.”

“But does their fate actually change, or is it just the book messing with their heads?” Basira says, tapping her fingers against her lips and looking down at the floor pensively. “If the End has foreknowledge of a person’s death, maybe the last entry a person reads before dying was always their fate, and all the previous accounts were just lies intended to seed fear.”

When Jon opens his mouth to chime in, the Archive seizes the initiative, unceremonious as ever.

"When did it change?” comes the cadence of Masato Murray. “Was it when I turned back to read it again? Or perhaps when I had made the decision to never visit Lancashire? If the book knew the future, then how much did it know me? My decisions and choices were my own, so was it responding to them or simply to the fact that I opened the book again? Perhaps it changed every time I opened it, even if I didn’t read the page, every interaction changing my fate…. When I close the book I wonder: are those same words still there, squatting and biding their time, or have they already changed into some new unknown terror that I can neither know nor avoid, waiting to spring on me.”

Jon holds his breath in anticipation. After a few seconds of suspense, the pressure recedes, the Archive having spoken its peace.

“Archive’s talkative today,” Basira observes.

“Apparently,” Jon grumbles. “What I originally meant to say was that I’ve wondered the same thing – whether the book was really telling the future or simply playing on the fears of the reader.”

“Maybe offering textual support is another convenience feature?” Daisy keeps her tone carefully neutral, gauging his mood.

“The Beholding is known for being exceedingly generous,” he retorts.

Basira ignores the banter and speaks directly to Oliver. “Do you know?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the book in question,” he replies. “All the deaths I’ve personally foreseen have come to pass so far. That says nothing about whether or not the End always reveals the truth to all who cross its path.”

“Right.” Basira shakes her head. “Not sure why I expected a straightforward answer.”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Martin says. For a fraction of a second, Basira tenses. Jon suspects she’s just as repulsed by such a prospect as he is.

“Whatever,” she says curtly. “It isn’t important right now. What I want to know is how to deal with Jonah Magnus. So” – she pins Oliver in place with sharp, unblinking eyes – “what can you tell us about his mortality?”

“In short? He won’t live forever, regardless of how much he wants to deny that reality.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” Daisy says, tossing her head back with an impatient groan. “Him dying eventually doesn’t help us now.”

“I’m not a mind-reader,” Oliver says. “If there’s more to your question, you’ll need to elaborate. What are you actually asking? How to kill him? For me to tell you whether his death is on the horizon?”

“Jonah claims that he’s the ‘beating heart of the Institute,’” Jon explains. “He says that if he dies, everyone else who works here dies as well. You were able to see the ripples created by Gertrude’s death. I suppose I thought – maybe you could tell us if there’s something similar with Jonah.”

“If his death was imminent, perhaps.” Oliver averts his eyes as he twists a ring around his finger, growing increasingly tense under such concentrated scrutiny. “But as I said before, I don’t make a habit of telling fortunes.”

“So you won’t tell us,” Martin says.

“To be frank, this place is rife with potential.” Oliver casts his gaze around the area, as if seeing something the others cannot. “It would be… difficult to untangle it all.”

“Fine,” Basira says tartly. “Then can you tell us whether it’s possible for him to set up a dead man’s switch in the first place? Seems to me something like that would be the End’s domain, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“Then would he be able to exercise any real power over it?” Basira persists. “There’s nothing inherent to the Eye that suggests its Avatars should be able to bind others’ lives to them. Even the Archivist doesn’t work like that – we’re linked to Jon as far as being unable to quit goes, but we won’t die if he does. I think it’s more likely that Jonah did something extra to bind the Institute to himself.”

“Assuming he’s even telling the truth,” Daisy says.

“So, is there an artefact that could let him do it?” Basira asks, still staring Oliver down. “A ritual? A favor from an affiliate of the End, maybe?”

“Terminus has a variety of ways in which it operates,” Oliver says cagily, “same as all the other Powers. I don’t seek out instances of those manifestations. Given the sheer number of statements collected here, it's likely you’re all more familiar with the breadth of its influence than I am.”

“You’re very helpful,” Daisy scoffs.

Oliver hunches his shoulders, chastised. It’s an odd sight – Jon wouldn’t have expected him to be particularly affected by such an accusation. Oliver never promised to be helpful; does not owe them his cooperation. Before Jon can pursue that thought any further, though, Oliver continues.

“I will say that Terminus is its own master. Those who believe they have tamed it are only fooling themselves. Orchestrating their own misery. The moment in which they finally realize that fact – that they have never had the upper hand, that the entire time they have never strayed from the route to which Terminus binds them…” Oliver chews the inside of his cheek, considering. “The existential terror that moment creates – I wonder sometimes whether it’s a delicacy to my patron.”

“Sounds a lot like the Web,” Basira says. The suggestion must pique his interest, because Oliver sits up straighter and leans forward ever so slightly.

“Except the Web reviles its extinction as much as the other powers, and as much as any mortal mind,” he says – not quite excited, but more engaged than before. “Terminus, on the other hand – its eventual oblivion is part and parcel of its existence. It does not fear the conclusion of its story. The Web will never surrender to such a fate. It will always seek an escape route, some way to appoint itself the weaver of its own ends. Its threads can never stray from the confines of the routes dictated by Terminus, but the concept that it may itself be under the guidance of another… such a thing is incompatible with its definition. Still, the shape of the Spider’s web will always mirror the blueprints of a greater architect.”

“And you think the same is true for Jonah,” Jon says.

“I know it is.”

“Okay, but – but Jon changed fate,” Martin protests. “In a million little ways – some we probably don’t even know about – and some big ones, too. So who’s to say that every step of the route is part of the End’s blueprints? What if – hold on.”

Martin stands and moves to Jon’s makeshift desk, rummaging around for a few seconds before coming up with a pen. He snatches one of Melanie’s therapy worksheets from the top of the pile and turns it over to the blank side.

“What if the only things set in stone are – are certain points along the route,” he says, scribbling a scattering of dots across the page, “but all that matters is that the route eventually intersects with those points?” Martin connects two points with a wavy, sine-like line. “Maybe it doesn’t even matter how convoluted” – he draws another line, this time with several loop-de-loops – “or long” – yet another line, this one traveling all the way up to the top of the page and making several winding turns before plunging back down to connect with the next dot – “the path is.” He holds up the finished product for everyone to see. “As long as the dots connect, the rest is free reign.”

“I like to think that choice plays a role,” Oliver says. “That fate is less of a track and more of a guideline. But honestly, there’s no way to know for certain. I only know the end point. The rest is speculation.”

“It’s also possible that the rift brought me to an alternate reality,” Jon says, eyes downcast. “If the reality of my original timeline still exists, I haven’t changed fate at all. I’ve just jumped to a different track.”

“Okay, and if that’s the case, and this is a different dimension,” Martin says heatedly, “then that means it has its own timeline and its own future, and whatever happened in your future has no bearing on ours.” Martin glares, daring Jon to argue. He doesn’t. “So it’s a moot point. If we can’t know one way or the other whether the future is already written, then let’s just act as if it isn’t. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. At least then it will feel meaningful.”

“The worst isn’t something you can prepare for,” Jon says darkly. “Trust me, I know.”

“If I want ominous proverbs, I’ll let you know,” Martin immediately counters – and Jon loves him for it. Daisy chokes on a startled laugh; Martin ignores her, instead pivoting to face Oliver. “We want to kill Jonah Magnus. Or, at least make it so he can’t perform his Ritual. But preferably kill.”

“Never realized you were so bloodthirsty, Blackwood,” Daisy says approvingly.

“The world will be a better place without him in it,” Martin says without a hint of indecision, not looking away from Oliver. “Jonah’s original body is in the center of the Panopticon. Except his eyes, because apparently transplanting them into innocent people is how he cheats death, because of course it is, why wouldn’t it be some messed up–”

“Martin,” Basira sighs.

“Okay, fine, moving on,” Martin sasses back. “It makes me wonder, would destroying his original body hurt him, or do we need to destroy his original eyes as well, or would destroying just his eyes be enough? And – and would it kill him, or just – blind him, disconnect him from the Beholding? Or – or would that kill him, because the Beholding is what’s keeping him alive?”

“Your guesses are as good as mine,” Oliver says. “Much of this really does come down to speculation and thought experiment, and it seems you’ve done plenty of that amongst yourselves already. I’m afraid that the only certainty I can offer is the certainty of an ending, and I don’t think that’s as much of a consolation to you as it is to me.”

“No, it’s not,” Martin says.

“But, uh – thank you for your honesty,” Jon jumps in. “For trying.”

“I really do wish I had better answers for you,” Oliver says, not quite meeting his eyes. “The End is… somewhat of an echo chamber at times. When you’re already on the inside looking out, it can be… difficult, to shift perspective.”

“I wouldn’t be able to offer many straightforward answers about my patron, either,” Jon admits.

“Wait,” Martin says. “Could you… could you at least tell us whether you can see anything about our deaths?”

Oliver draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “In my experience, there’s nothing to be gained from such knowledge.”

“Tell us anyway,” Basira says.

“Why?” Oliver says tiredly, his hands curling into loose fists. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you can see something, it could help us narrow down possibilities,” Basira replies. “If you see all of us dying in the same way, maybe it means we all die when Magnus does.”

“Or it just means you all die in the same freak accident.”

“Wait, do we?” Martin asks, his voice pitching higher in alarm.

“It was just an example,” Oliver says, scrubbing one hand down his face. “I’m just saying that this kind of knowledge doesn’t tend to give people the answers that they want.” Met with nothing but four determined stares, his shoulders sag in defeat. “Are you all certain you want to know?”

Everyone nods. Oliver equivocates for a full minute, rubbing at his forehead in complete silence. Eventually, he releases a long, low sigh.

“Right now,” he says, “I don’t see death closing in on any one of you.”

“Shit,” Martin says on a heavy exhale. “The way you were putting it off, I was sure you were going to predict a massacre.”

“Honestly,” Daisy mutters. “Bury the lead much?”

Jon ignores them, preoccupied with the implications of Oliver's revelation. If they were planning on killing Jonah tomorrow, it would say nothing about whether they were to succeed, but it would suggest they don’t die in the process, which would at least offer some reassurance going in. But Jon has no idea when they’ll be able to execute any sort of plan. This only confirms that none of them are likely to die in the next few weeks – and that’s assuming that Oliver’s premonition is accurate. Up until now, his predictions have come true, but there’s a first time for everything.

Judging from the contemplative frown on Basira’s face, she’s running through the same calculations.

“How far out can you see?” she asks.

“It varies,” Oliver says. “Weeks, usually. Sometimes months.”

“And it could change in a few weeks,” Daisy says.

“It could change tomorrow. It could change an hour from now.” Oliver looks between the four of them with a faint, melancholy smile. “I did warn you that it wouldn’t offer much sense of security. It only makes you want to know more.”

“Look where you are,” Basira scoffs.

“Point taken,” Oliver says with a startled laugh. “But honestly, ask yourself whether it’s all that different from Masato Murray and his book. If it’s worth living your life around the question of when and how – especially when the answer, should you receive one, will never put your mind at ease.”

“Just to be clear, ah – was I included in that prophecy? Or do you still see the veins around me?” Jon asks. Oliver raises his eyebrows. “I know, I know – the answer won’t satisfy me. Just – humor me?”

“Yes,” Oliver sighs, “I can still see them, if I look for them, but as we covered quite exhaustively, they look atypical and wrong and I don’t know what to make of them.” A tinge of indignation breaks through Oliver's characterisic mild manner – and then the moment passes. “I don’t think they indicate an imminent demise, but much about you is an enigma.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about Jonah Magnus?” Basira asks.

“It isn’t a matter of if he can be killed, but how. Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that part out for yourselves. As for whether or to what extent he could bind his fate to the rest of the Institute… there are any number of strange phenomena and improbable feats in this world. I would never claim to be an authority on the scope of it all.” Oliver offers another wistful ghost of a smile. “I’m afraid you might just have to take a leap of faith.”

Again, Jon thinks with an inward sigh.

But at least he can say he’s had practice.

End Notes:

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 011; 011; 168; 121; 156; 070. The “I still remember the first time…” & “And the worst part was that…” Oliver quotes are from MAG 121.  

Yes, “what we owe to each other” is a nod to The Good Place.  

So. This… was a beast of a chapter, and the last half of it really kicked my ass, which is why it’s taken so long to finally finish it. Still not sure how I feel about it – it’s a bit of a digression, but I’m hoping it still fits in thematically. Either way, next chapter we’re moving on to Ny-Ålesund.

Hopefully it won’t take me an entire month this time to write the next chapter, but… we’re down to two episodes left, folks. Chances are, next time I update, we’ll have heard the series finale. Are you all ready? Because I categorically am NOT. aaaaaaaaa

(That said, I already have a handful of epilogue standalone fics planned for this AU once the main story is done. Because hurt/comfort and recovery fics are going to be at the top of my hierarchy of needs once Jonny Sims destroys me in two weeks, I s2g.)

Thanks for reading!

[sinofwriting]

City Full of Lies - Colson Baker

Words: 1,522

Summary: Y/N’s friends decide to believe the rumors that surround her boyfriend. (Requested)

Y/N smiles at her reflection, adjusting the scarf Colson had asked her to wear. Turning, she looks at her two roommates. “So, how do I look?” 

The two share a look but it’s Mari who says something. “Nice, but why are you going out with him again? I thought it was a one time thing.” 

“We thought it was a one time thing.” Cora chimes in.” 

She stares at the two, “what are you guys talking about? I’ve been seeing him for a few months now. I can’t even count how many times we’ve gone out.” 

“It’s just,” Mari sighs. “Why are you with him? He’s not that nice and have you seen the stuff printed about him? I mean does he know how to keep it in his pants?” 

Y/N resists the urge to yell, to get angry, to do anything that might ruin her relationship with her roommates more than they just did. “Whatever. I’ll be staying with him. I already paid my part of the rent.” She tells them, before grabbing her jacket and phone and heading out. 

The two exchange a confused look as the apartment door slams behind her. As Y/N runs down the stairs, not willing to wait for the slow elevator, she doesn’t slow until she gets out of her apartment building's door and a breeze greets her. She closes her eyes at the feeling, the sun and breeze on her face feeling nice. 

She startles at the feeling of someone wrapping their arm around her waist. Opening her eyes, she’s greeted by her boyfriends grinning face. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” She smiles back, accepting the kiss he presses to her lips. “Mind if I stay with you for a bit?” 

He looks back to the building that she just came out of as they walk to his car. “Sure. Something wrong?” 

“Just roommates being roommates.” 

The sound of a whistle fills the air, as he opens the passenger side door for her. “Last time they were friends, not they’re roommates? What exactly happened?” 

She waits for him to slide into the driver's seat. “They don’t approve of you. Which is not great, but I can deal with it. It’s just despite living in this hell of a city, and knowing better to believe rumors, they are doing just that.” 

“About me?” 

She looks over at him, sighing. “Yeah.” 

They don’t talk anymore about her roommates not approving of him, of their relationship. Choosing instead to have a fun night and then for the rest of the weekend they spend together, they’re too busy with his friends and filming things for one of his music videos. She ignores the steadily growing texts as the days go by asking her when she’s going to come home, when she chooses to stay with Colson longer. 

She wonders if it’s time for her to get serious about looking for her own place. Her stay with her friends had only meant to be temporary as they both had pay cuts needed an extra roommate, but didn’t want a random person and her lease had been up. It had been a large downgrade for her, in terms of nearly everything. She had gone from a apartment with a view that was just ten minutes away from her, that had three bedrooms, one of which she used as an office for when she had to take work home, to living in apartment that seemed more fitting to be in New York with how small it was, despite it also having three bedrooms. She had to put most of her furniture in storage and buy a smaller bed just so she could also fit a desk in the room.

“That ones nice.” Colson points to the house she’s looking at, as they lay in bed. 

She nods, “It is. Pretty good price.” 

He squints, trying to find the price. When he does, he makes a noise in agreement. “That’s more than good.” 

“Yeah, but look at the master bath.” Showing him the picture, she laughs at his face. A mix of horror and disgust on his face. 

“What the fuck? How did that even? When was this place built?” 

“2000, yeah. I thought 80’s for sure because of that bathroom, but nope.” 

He shivers, “Whoever did that has no taste.” 

She makes a humming noise, clicking out of the website and putting her laptop on the nightstand next to her. 

“Are you really going to buy a house?” 

She shrugs, not wanting to say what she really plans on doing. “Probably. Right now I’m just looking to get a feel of what I want.” 

“Are you planning on going back?” 

She sighs, turning to face him. “I don’t want to. I mean I’ve been living with them for the past six months and let me tell you, they are horrible roommates. But, also I know that they still can’t afford the rent, so I think I have to stay.” 

He frowns, “You don’t have to. It’s not like your name is on the lease. You could move out, stay here until you find something, everything gets settled with whatever you buy.” When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “It’s not on you to help them out with rent when it makes you unhappy. Besides I’ve seen their instagrams, they could afford rent if they didn’t go shopping every goddamn day.” 

Y/N laughs, but nods. Knowing more about her friends' tendencies to drop money they didn’t have anything and everything they see. “Yeah, and I think I’ll take you up on staying here for awhile. But, only if it’s okay with everyone in the house.” 

“I’ll ask, but I already know the answer. Everyone will want you to stay.” 

The next day, Y/N goes over to the apartment for hopefully one of the last times. With both of her friends at work, she quickly packs a bag full of things she needs, drops off her share of the rent for the next three months, and then leaves an envelope with both of their names on it, on the kitchen counter, knowing they’ll both see it when they come home. 

Sure enough at seven that night, she receives a text from Cora telling her that they’ll be there tonight, and a thank you for the backstage tickets. She responds with a thumbs up, knowing that when they see each other, the girls will probably tackle her in a hug for getting them tickets, backstage tickets to a Marilyn Manson show. Already being at the venue, she watches as Colson picks up Cassie and puts her upside down, the little girl laughing as the blood rushes to her head. The sight makes her laugh, her heart warming at the sight of him with his daughter. “Are you ready for your first Marilyn Manson concert?” She asks, when Cassie is put down and she’s steady on her feet. 

She nods, “My mom told me that if I didn’t like it I would be disowned.” 

Y/N laughs, “When I went to my first Marilyn Manson concert, my mom pretty much told me the same thing.” 

“You’ve seen him before?” 

She notices from the corner of her eye, that Colson is watching them with a grin. “Yep, I’ve seen him three times, this being the fourth. I think I was about your age when I saw him for the first time too.”

“Wow. The only person I’ve seen multiple times in concert is my dad.” 

“We’ll have to change that.” Colson says, joining the conversation instead of watching it happen. “We can go see that one band you like, they’re playing in Cleveland soon. What’s their name?” He teases. 

She rolls her eyes, “Dad, you know their name.” 

He laughs, and Y/N tunes out of the conversation when she feels a tap on her shoulder turning around, she’s greeted by the sight of Cora and Mari. 

“Hey!” She greets, accepting the hug that Mari gives and then Cora. “How are you guys doing?” 

“Good.” Cora says, and there’s an unsure smile on her face, while Mari’s screams of guilt. “Thank you for doing this. Really, it means a lot.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I know you guys have been wanting to see him for a while.” 

“Yeah,” Mari says, voice quiet. She looks behind Y/N making sure that Colson and his daughter are occupied. “I just wanted to apologize. We should’ve known better to believe the rumors about him. And after seeing the three of you interact today and the posts on social media. It’s clear we were wrong.” 

“More than wrong.” Cora chimes in. “He’s a good guy and treats you right, and that’s what matters. I’m sorry, and we both agreed that we are going to try and be better about not just going off of things we hear.” 

She smiles at them both, the apology being a start and now she would just have to see if they stuck to it. “Apologies accepted.” She tells them, pulling the girls into a hug. “Now, let me introduce you guys to Colson.” 

Masterlist • Ask • Ko-fi

[anotherhamiltonblog]

Foreign Touch ch 6

Warnings:  Angst. Talk of Character Death. our boys cry. (i cried. again) ummm POV jump. cursing. the boys being cute friends. Alex and Thomas getting along(big warning. apocalypse is coming lol)

Word Count: 2.530

AN: Posting this now cause i love every one of you who follow the story and just thank you so much for reading and all the kind words you send me.

Previously    Masterlist

Enjoy!

Alexander’s POV:

The days passed, no sign of Y/N waking up. Though the doctors already made it, so she wasn’t in the induced coma any longer. She still didn’t wake up. Alex didn’t know what to do anymore. His parents were dead, his sister was broken and bruised. He wasn’t even sure how she would take the news of their parents, and the fact she wouldn’t be able to dance anymore.

Everything felt like it was going horribly wrong. Christmas was in less than twenty-four hours and Alexander found himself hating the holiday. A day that was supposed to be full of love, joy and happiness… he was in pain, the feeling of loss and sorrow. The only one who could put a smile on his face was John. Even then Alex felt like he was running out of time.

“Alex, do you wanna go see Y/N today?” he heard John ask, causing Alex to glance over at his boyfriend and nod.

“Why not… not like much has changed.” The man mumbled and moved to sit up on the couch. Watching John text their group, seeing who wanted to go. “See if Jefferson is there.” Alex added and leaned his head on John’s shoulder, watching him type out the message.

Snorting at Jefferson reply, Alex grabbed the phone and sent a quick message before handing the phone back and getting up. Going to get ready, Alex pulled his hair into a ponytail and pulled on his wool hat and grabbed their jackets.

In less than twenty minutes, the two were ready to head off. Stopping by a café to grab snacks and coffee for the gang.

Thomas’ POV:

Five days, that’s how long it’s been since Y/N was brought to the hospital from the accident. How long both Y/N and Alexander lost their parents. Thomas had met Y/N grandparents as he was with her on the third day, the women, Catalina had made Thomas go home to shower and eat and rest. Saying she only wanted to see him again when he was looking better. Of course, Thomas listened to the women, she scared him slightly. Not that Thomas would ever admit to that.

So, on December 24th, he was sitting on the seat next to the bed. A sigh left his lips. Watching his girlfriend just laying there. Hooked up to machines and looking pale, black and blue with bruises. The neck brace had been taken off that morning, the swelling in her neck had gone down nicely and Y/N looked a little more like herself. She just needed to wake up now.

Thankfully his parents understood why he was always at the hospital, even more than being at home. His mother had gone through something similar with his father back when they were in college.

“The ache in my chest, in my heart was unbearable. Your father wasn’t badly hurt like Y/N. Therefore, you spend as much time as you want. Just don’t forget to look after yourself.”

Jane had told Thomas the second day when he went to visit Y/N and was forced to leave that night by her grandma.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Thomas glanced at his phone and sighed at the message from John Laurens. It seemed that when Alex needed to know if Thomas was here or not John would be the messenger.

Surprised that they didn’t want him to leave, Thomas put his phone down and went back to reading the book. He had seen it in Y/N bag that was collected from the crash. Along with the broken presents and her phone that was a goner.

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, his beard, that he usually kept nicely cut was growing and Thomas knew he looked like a mess. And not a hot mess that Y/N playfully called him when his hair was a curly mess.

Grabbing his phone and messaging his mom, telling her he would be here a few more hours before heading home. Thomas set the book aside and looked through his own backpack and grabbed his notebook. Working on some raps, finding it something he actually liked doing.

“It's like they really tryna see me though I don't know what the fuck they want to see me fo' This rapping shit is easy come and easy go…” he sang under his breath only to sit up when there was a chuckle from the doorway.

“You look after my sister and here you are rapping and cursing?” Alex said, though he laughed, there was no humor in his voice.

Thomas just shrugged and tapped his pen against the notebook. “Yeah, and? I might as well do something while waiting for her to wake up...” he said with a sigh and his dark eyes glanced over at the girl.

“We come with gifts.” Hercules’ loud voice boomed as he entered the hospital room with bags in his hands. Lafayette following closely behind him with a small, fake Christmas tree in his hands.

“We decided to decorate this room for her. Hopefully it makes it a little more… lively.” John said as he entered holding the food and coffee. Alex rushing over to him and helped grab the cups.

After all the coffees were passed around, each male got to work.

Thomas chuckled, thanking them for the coffee and went to help Lafayette with the tree before they moved to Hercules and started to grab the decorations. While Hercules was putting up the lights on the tree, John and Alex was opening the boxes of the ornaments. Thomas stepped back and watched them work together, laughing and telling jokes. He felt so out of place they weren’t friends. This group hated him, only Lafayette was on talking terms with him cause of Y/N.

Stepping back and letting them continue to decorate. Thomas sat back down next to Y/N on his chair and grabbed her hand softly. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand slowly and Thomas just watched her. Thinking about how she should be awake, even if she was stuck in the hospital. Y/N should be awake to tell the guys what to do, how to do it and complaining that she could decorate the tree better than them.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Thomas could just see his girl telling the group of boys what to do and he loved it.

“What is funny mon amie?” Lafayette asked and Thomas looked over at the French.

“Nothing…” he smirked, still chuckling slightly.

“No, now you have to tell us.” John smiled; the four boys all stopped what they were doing to look at Thomas.

Snorting, he glanced at Y/N before looking back to the four. “It’s just. If Y/N was awake right now? She would be telling you all how to decorate and complain about you guys doing it wrong.” he told them with a smirk.

Hercules was the first to laugh and nod his head. “Yeah she would!” he agreed and looked at the small tree that looked like a child decorated it. “She would tell us we’re using too many colors.”

The other three was laughing as well and they could see what the two were talking about.

“Or how we don’t have the right lights!” John added now.

Snorting, Alex looked at the tree. “Yeah, she would make us pack the lights up and take it back to grab the lights with the damn music.” The brother said and looked over at his sister.

“Oui… but the tree would always turn out perfect.” Lafayette said and took a seat.

The food was soon passed around and the boys sat around eating. Coffee cups all in the trash, the only sound coming from the sandwich wrappers.

By the time visitation hours were over, Alex informed everyone he was sticking the night with Y/N. Not wanting her to spend Christmas eve and Christmas day alone in this room. They all said goodbye.

Thomas stopped by the door, wanting to say he would come by the next day. Yet he wasn’t sure if his parents would be happy with that. Or his grandparents for that matter.

“Go, Thomas. Be with your family. You don’t have to spend every waking moment here.” Alex said and looked at the taller male.

Rubbing his back, Thomas nodded. “I know I don’t have to… hell, I know you don’t even like me. But I love her, Alexander.” He told Alex and closed his coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Thomas left. With each step, he felt like he was leaving part of his soul behind. In some way, he was.

»»-————　♡　————-««

True to his word, Thomas was back Christmas evening. Shocking Alexander as he set down containers of food and two bottles of juice.

“I didn’t poison it.” Thomas rolled his eyes as he took a seat on Y/N free side.

As Alex ate, Thomas played some Christmas music on his phone before tossing a box to Alex. “Merry Christmas.” He said and went to write in his notebook.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked, setting the food on the small table and eyed the box.

Sighing, Thomas looked up at Alex. “Worshiping Satan…” he said sarcastically. “It was bought cause… I was going to spend Christmas morning with you guys and then she was gonna come over for dinner.” He shrugged and nodded to the box. “That was for you. Hers is over there.” Thomas pointed over to the Christmas tree over on the floor that had presents under it.

“You know, it’s a bit conceited to worship yourself. But whatever,” Alex smirked and glanced at the box. “All jokes aside. Thanks.” He opened the box and was a bit shocked to see a black leather-bound journal. “Damn.” He nodded.

Thomas watched as Alexander picked it up and opened the journal. “She said to get you something for you to write.” He shrugged and went back to writing.

Looking up when Alexander cleared his throat, he held up a present as well. “Was just gonna leave this here. But here.” He handed the smaller box over and Thomas eyed it, like Alexander had done with his own present.

“Gonna ask me to marry you? Sorry, you’re not the Hamilton I like.” Thomas smirked and opened the box anyways. Inside was a watch and he laughed.

“Y/N says your never on time for anything.” Alexander laughed along with Thomas, the two gasping when they heard a muffled groan.

Alexander jumped up and rushed to grab a nurse. Thankfully the nurse came and helped take the tubes from her mouth.

From that moment, a doctor came in by the hour to check in on Y/N. Telling the boys that it she would be okay.

Y/N’s POV:

Y/N was in pain, so much pain. Her leg, neck arm and just whole body. Why was she in so much pain? ‘Shit, did I sleep on that fucking couch in the basement again?’ was the first thing she thought. But the beeping noises and voices told her otherwise.

“Wake up babygirl…” Y/N heard Thomas’ voice at one point.

“Sis… I need you. Please. I can’t do this alone.” Alexanders voice came a while later. “Our grandparents are driving me crazy. The funeral is tomorrow.” His voice broke down in the end.

Why couldn’t Y/N wake up? All she had to do was open her eyes! Why couldn’t she do that? What was wrong with her? Whose funeral was he talking about?

A beeping sound started going faster as she was having an inner panic attack.

“What’s going on?” “what’s happening?” “Is she going to be okay?”

Laughing in the backseat, Y/N watched her parents talk. Though she couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was like she was trying to listen to them while under water. She could see their mouths moving. Suddenly there was that car horn and Y/N turned her head. The bright light and then the hit.

Gasping and opening her eyes, Y/N looked around at the too bright lights, the painfully white walls. The smell of disinfectant and medicine.

“Ms. Hamilton?” a female voice called out to her soothingly. “My name is Angelica Schuyler, I’m your doctor.” She continued and came into view. “Can you tell me if you remember anything?”

Blinking a few times, glancing around the room. Y/N’s throat felt dry and as she tried to speak, her voice cracked.

Coming over with a cup of water, a straw in the cup. The doctor helped Y/N drink. “Small sips… can’t have you getting sick on us.” After three small sips of the cool water, Y/N felt a tiny bit better.

“I- I was in an accident?” she asked and furrowed her eyebrows. “A car… hit the side of ours? I hit my head on the window hard. I don’t remember much afterwards. Just my mom screaming.”

“That’s good… You’ve been in a small coma for the past six days. It’s almost midnight now. Do you remember the day of the accident?” Dr. Schuyler asked.

“Uh, the nineteenth? We were going to send my grandparents their Christmas presents.” She said, squeezing her eyes shut. Only to realize her leg was wrapped and being held up. “What… what’s wrong with my leg?”

“Ms. Hamilton, the car accident was a horrible one. After the truck hit the car you were in, the car was smashed into a bus and your leg. It was badly broken. We fixed what we could. But it is possible what you will walk with a limp after physical therapy.” As the doctor went on to talk about her other injuries. Y/N looked around her room.

“If… If I’m like this. How are my parents?” she asked and looked the doctor in the eye.

Dr. Schuyler froze at the question and that’s when the door opened. Alexander came in along with Thomas. They stopped seeing the girl awake in the bed, the same bed that had been in a laying down position for the past few days. Now it was up, Y/N leg lowered slightly while her upper body was slightly sat up.

“Y/N…” Alex choked up and rushed over to his sister. Sitting in the chair, he grabbed her hands and couldn’t speak. He only cried and lowered his head onto her hands. “Thank god…”

Feeling herself get emotional, Y/N watched her brother and looked back at the doctor.

“I’m so sorry Ms. Hamilton…” she said softly before saying she would give us some space and come back soon.

Thomas was on her other side and brushed his finger over her cheek. Y/N not even realizing she was crying. Only when a sob escaped from her mouth and she broke down. The two men holding her as she cried along with Alex.

Each sibling crying for different reasons.

Alex, being glad his sister was awake and was going to be ok.

Y/N, crying on the news of their parents being dead.

Thomas was holding her, knowing he would need to be strong for his girl. Be strong for the Hamilton siblings. Even if he didn’t always get along with Alexander.

Don’t forget to Like, Reblog and send Feedback! My asks are also opened and so is my IM! Much love from me to you!!  ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)

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[boogiewrites]

No. 9: The Body CH. 6

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary:  Eve explores the limits of her power. Diego is still stalking her and finds out more about her. Eve meets Klaus.

Warnings/Tags: Klaus. Talk of past trauma and phobias. Brief mentions of illness, injury and death. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Eve had begun to notice changes in her shape from the training. Work wasn’t as strenuous and honestly, her ass was looking fantastic. Her body was adapting but she felt she wasn’t exercising her mind enough. Out of the two, trying to use her mind and powers was harder to find time for since it was so draining. Using them at work in small increments to help things along was now manageable, but there were no visible results from it. Nothing she could look at, try to heal, and then see healed. So that’s where she started.

Eve wasn’t a stranger to doing illegal things. If you took a look at her juvenile record that would be clear. What she was doing wasn’t exactly illegal but it was certainly breaking some rules. She was finding it surprising how much she could get away with by simply wearing her white coat with her ID and having a determined look on her face. People held doors open for her that she didn’t have clearance for, add carrying a clipboard around on top of that and she could’ve gotten into just about anywhere it seemed. She was starting to understand how Diego was so good at it, and more interestingly understanding why he did it. That little flush of her cheeks and rush of misbehaving came back to her, something she’d not felt in over a decade, fueled her powers, and gave her a little oomph to work with.

She started small, visited patients being held that was out of the ER after surgery, vehicle accidents, and the like, plenty of small cuts and scrapes that no one would notice were gone. She’d look in and find someone resting and alone, not hard to do most nights. She’d find some road rash, a smaller gash, something not too intricate. At first, she thought she needed to put her hands on the person to heal and woke up a few very understandably startled people. But after a few successful attempts, she started to push herself more. By focusing she began to be able to heal cuts over and no scar would be left in its place. Whoever she did this to, she would check on their file until they were discharged, making sure she wasn’t hurting them or causing bad side effects. So far they’d all made a full recovery with no complications. This was extremely promising and made Eve’s confidence grow and therefore emboldened her to push herself.

She’d worn herself ragged running experiments on what she could or couldn’t do. She had a journal she kept hidden that she kept her results in. So far, she’d been able to find some limitations and strengths. No matter how hard she tried, she was no match for cancer. She could help with someone’s side effects momentarily but be unable to cure it. The same could be said for viral and bacterial instances. Once something had infiltrated and infested a body, she could no longer help it. She could only manipulate the body itself. Her hopes of being able to be the cure for cancer, which she would admit was a bit egotistical, were broken after seeing many fade away after brief respites she’d give them from nausea or pain. It was nice to be able to help certainly but having to see suffering and not be able to fix it was a heavy burden she was having to learn to deal with.

It was never easy to lose someone. It was something she wouldn’t say you got used to exactly, but it was something you could come to understand with time. Or at least be able to come to terms with. Since Eve was an emotional person deep down, and the healing she’d been trying to do to help herself manage that was opening up old wounds and was making her feel raw. Every life that slipped through her fingers would hit her harder than it had months prior. Which is what led her to be so reckless, she guesses. So she tried to bring someone back from the dead.

It wasn’t uncommon sadly, for a child brought in after catching a stray bullet from a hit and run or gang violence. It felt so unfair, and the first time she tried the child was rolled in, DOA, her heart poured out for them. She gave it her all, paddles, compressions and when nothing moved the vitals she had a last-ditch effort. A tear-filled pressing of her hands to the chest of the child, nurses looked on with heartbroken eyes for the doctor as she had a rare moment of breaking on the job. For a fleeting moment, a blip on the monitor later ruled out to a technical glitch, but Eve just couldn’t muster it. She passed out onto the bloody floor from her attempts and was sent home.

She’d had mixed feelings about it. Had she almost done it? Could she get stronger? Or had she found a line that she couldn’t cross? The page entry for her recorded attempts had teardrops running her ink on that entry. She felt defeated and decided to take a break.

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

Diego watches Eve without her knowing, as he sometimes still does. He trusts her, but a part of him always wants to be sure. She’s in an unusual neighborhood, going into an apartment building he doesn’t know. He decided to wait on her to appear again instead of finding her inside. He didn’t have to wait much more than an hour before she appeared again, seeming uneasy as she stepped back into the now dark streets.

He followed behind, spilling out of an alleyway after she passed and started the task of getting closer to her. When he finally got close enough to reach out and speak he was met swiftly with a switchblade and a series of moves he’d taught her.

“Woah! Hey! It’s me!” He says defensively, only a minor rise in key from surprise as he jumped back.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST Diego!” She says with an expression he’s never seen before.

“Hey! Hey! I didn’t know you’d be so jumpy!” He keeps his hands up between them as she huffs out of her nose like a bull, the late winter night air just still barely showing her breath.

“I’m a woman. Alone. At night on the street, dude!” She states obviously and biting as she puts her blade away. “Of COURSE I’m jumpy!” She whispers angrily.

“Look, there are people around and the streetlights are on... I didn’t know I’d scare you.” He explains with hands now on her shoulders. “You okay? You’ve got that wild look in your eyes.”

“I’m just…” she sighs and shakes her head. “I’m fine. I just… Wanna get home.”

“Looks like we need to train on lying.” He smirks.

She stares at him for a moment with pursed lips then shrugs and turns back in the direction she was going.

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“No, I'd like that actually.” She murmurs.

“What are you doing in this part of town?”

“Do you follow me everywhere?”

“No…” he answers defensively playful. “I was around and saw you. Got curious.”

“You can’t send a text like a normal person?”

“Not my style.”

“Difficult is your style.”

“Hey, slow down there with the rapid-fire insults here. Did I do something?”

“Besides stalk me? No.”

“Then why are you being such a-“ he stops as she shoots her eyes his way. “Difficult person?” He tries to cover smoothly.

Once again she stares as if contemplating something. “If I tell you will you stop asking?”

“Sorry, no promises. Don’t think I missed where you didn’t answer why you’re here.”

“Fine.” She begins to walk again. “I’m here apartment hunting. Not so great street, but that apartment is really nice. And I have a fear… a phobia that you’re gonna laugh at me for so I don’t wanna tell you.”

“When have I ever laughed at you?”

She raises her brows obviously at him.

“Okay, I won’t now.” he emphasizes.

“I don’t believe you for some reason.”

“I swear! I won’t.”

“Due to… past trauma, I am afraid of the dark. And I don’t know this part of town and it makes me nervous. I’d catch a cab but I want to learn the subways so I need to walk it.”

He stays quiet for a moment. “Afraid of the dark?”

“Yes, my mom would lock me in the closet and read scripture and scare me and shit. Okay? And it traumatized me so when it’s dark and I’m overstimulated I get really... panicky.” She explains defensively.

“Don’t have to fight me over it, it’s fine. I...get it.”

“Don’t tell me you were locked in a closet too?”

“No, but he did do it to my brother. And it was a mausoleum and not a closet.”

“Fuck.” she exhales.

“Yeah. Pretty fucked up.”

“The more we learn about each other the more often we say that.”

“Get used to it.” He huffs out a laugh. They walk for a moment in comfortable silence while Eve tried to let her defenses down against him. “You know you could’ve just... asked me to come with you ya know? I am pretty handy when it comes to navigating the city. And being a bodyguard.”

“It’s not something I’m proud of.” She shakes her head. “Yeah, Diego? Hey, could you babysit me because I’m a child who’s afraid of the dark and not a grown-ass woman who can handle her own shit?”

“Well, it’s better than you almost stabbing me!”

“And whose fault was that?”

“...your moms if you want to get really technical about it.”

She lets out a weak laugh and he feels accomplished. ”Don’t forget your dad too”

“Oh yeah fuck both of them.” He says eagerly in agreement. They share a smile and he stays close to her side. “Why are you looking for an apartment?” He breaks the silence.

“Some asshole keeps breaking into mine.”

“Seriously.” He grins and smacks her arm.

“Well I’m on salary now and it’s good money so I can afford a better place.”

“Oh. I kinda like your place.”

“I don’t hate it but it’d be nice to have some more room. An office, a view.” They stand at a corner to wait for a light change. “I’d like a place with more privacy. Maybe a doorman for safety?”

“And that apartment had all that?” He motions back with his thumb.

“Yeah, it was stupid nice for the area. I was surprised it wasn’t more-“ both their heads snap to the car that passed far too fast and close, and luckily it wasn’t them, but a bike messenger up ahead that going to be the target.

They see it happen so fast, and they’re both instinctually moving towards the man that’s now on the ground and trying not to scream, holding his leg.

They were the only ones close out of the street and rush to help.

“Ah fuck, don’t call the ambulance I dont have insurance okay?”

“Well, you’re not walking anywhere like that.” Diego states obviously.

“Lucky for you I’m a Doctor. Let me see. Can you move it?” She moves his sock down to quickly see bone through skin. “Ah man, I’m sorry to tell you this but it’s really...broken dude.” She looks at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Ah fuck.” They cry. “My boss is gonna fire me for sure now. I can’t afford to get this fixed… I can’t take time off…” they begin to hiccup and tears come quickly.

Eve stares at the trauma site and furrows her brow in thought. “Maybe I can…” she whispers.

“Doc...?” she hears Diego’s voice, a warning behind her.

“I’m gonna try. I have to.” She says with wide eyes that convince him on impact. She turns back and puts her hands on the busted ankle, “Stay still if you can.” She mutters before going into her focused state.

“What are you? Listen lady I appreciate you stopping but I don’t think praying over it is gonna work.” They offer but their voice slows as they gradually feel the pain disappear. “What the…” they turn their ankle in a circle and their jaw drops. “HOW DID? WHAT DID?”

Eve shares a very excited glance with Diego before he yanks her up. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Wait no! Don’t go!” A now on their feet and the healed biker was calling out as they both ran down the street into the subway below.

She felt alive. Exhilarated. A smile on her face and hand in hand with Diego as they bobbed and swerved through the crowd.

“Did you SEE?” She calls out as they make it sliding just in time into the subway car.

“YES! You didn’t tell me you’d gotten so good!”

“I’ve been practicing!” She says out of breath and glowing from a sheen of sweat that she’d developed in the rush.

“I’d say so! You just...POOF!”

“I’ll have to show you my notes.”

“Notes?”

“I’ve been keeping track of all my attempts. Like a scientific study. Well… sort of…” she shrugs and wipes her hair back.

“You would find a way to make this nerdy.” He laughs.

“Scientific method is not nerdy!”

He laughs out loud. “That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said!”

“That was awesome though right?”

“Yeah, it was risky but...awesome.” He nods in agreement as they both calm back down and move into whispers of her trial and error.

——————————-

“You just have to remember to be defensive and not just offensive.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about sports Diego.” Eve laughs as she pulls her gym bag over her shoulder.

“I’m serious! You'll get-" he insists with a whine.

"You’ll get yourself hurt when shit gets real.” She says with him and rolls her eyes. “I know! Okay?” She says with a sassy hand motioned his way. “I’ll work on it. Like I always do. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, cut me some slack.” She groans as he walks her to the front of the gym to leave.

They’re met with a thin and friendly-looking guy their age who she thought looked familiar. Diego’s body language automatically tenses.

“Oh hello there you.” Klaus coos at Eve whose bright friendly eyes don’t match Diego’s already annoyed ones at his appearance. “I didn’t know my brother would be busy with a beautiful woman tonight, my apologies.” He sweeps his hands and takes her's to kiss the back of it.

“Hi.” She stutters with surprise. “I was just leaving. Had a training session. Works got weird hours so your brother is nice enough to see me at night.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d see a lovely thing like you anytime you wanted.”

“Let her go, Klaus.”

“What is your name before our paths separate and never meet again. I’d never forgive myself for not asking.”

“It’s Eve.” She laughs. “You’re much nicer than Diego. Do you know how to fight too? Maybe you could train me since he’s such an asshole.” She motions to Diego and Klaus lets out an amused sound.

“Alas I’m fairly useless in such things but I make up for it in other ways.” He winks.

“Okay! GOODNIGHT EVE.” Diego says politely pushing her out the door. “Sorry about Klaus He's…an idiot.”

“No apologies he's rather charming.” She teases him more and waves goodbye as she exits into her cab.

“What the fuck was that?” Diego shoves his lanky brother.

“Eve hmmm? A sexy name for a sexy little-“

“Stop it.” Diego groans.

“That’s her isn’t it?” Klaus smirks and begins to float about as Diego closes up.

“Her who?”

“Your mystery doctor.”

Diego doesn’t answer hoping naively that Klaus would stop.

“Oh come on, I’m your bro, your bud. Your pal. You can tell me.” He insists with outstretched arms.

“Yeah. I’m training her.”

“She seems like she’d be the one training you if you catch my drift.”

“It’s not like that.”

“That smile you had on your face before you realized I was watching would say otherwise.” He lilts. “You’re a terrible liar Diego just don’t try.”

“I’m a great liar!” He barks back.

“You’re shit and you should just be honest with me, I AM the psychic after all.”

“You’re not psychic you see the dead and-“

“And what is the difference?!” Klaus flops just hands at his side and follows his brother upstairs.

Diego continues as if he said nothing. “You’d have to be sober to do that so so I’m not gonna hold my breath on that.”

“I actually have been. Not that you supportive lot would notice.” He prances into the apartment behind a grunting Diego. “Because your little girlfriend is causing quite the ruckus amongst the city’s dead.”

“What?” Diego asks with a raised brow.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She almost brought one back.”

“She did…” he seems deep in contemplation for a moment. “Wait so you HAVE been sober?” Diego’s eyes turn soft and Klaus groans as he’s quickly approached and hugged.

“You are missing the point here Diego dear…”

“I’m proud of you.” He says with emotion in his voice and Klaus manages a heavy sigh and a pat to his back.

“Stop it now before I have feelings…” he pats him and pushes him away. “What do we know about this Eve? She’s messing with the balance, she’s a powerful little thing. And gorgeous I might add, I’d be keeping her to myself too. Unless she was into being shared…”

“I don’t think she is.” Diego falls back into his monotone answering after a brief glimmer of earnest emotion.

“Different strokes, different folks.” Klaus shrugs. “So is that ass as breathtaking as it looked in those leggings or-?”

“KLAUS!”

“What? I’m just a red-blooded American male, I see a nice ass, I admire it.”

“I wouldn’t KNOW.” He answers from behind the doorway of his bedroom, door left open. “But I’d have to say yes.” He adds quickly.

“Ahhhh! There he is.” Klaus applauds his brother's cheeky smile. “Now that you’re not in a prudish mood, I actually do want to know about her. Details, man! Out with it! What’s my little private dick figured out on our newest sibling?”

“Ew don’t say that.”

“I knew you wanted to fuck her.” Klaus smirks.

“Jesus Klaus!” Diego groans.

“Not that it’s stopped any of us before, cough Luther, cough.”

“Hey, we’re not biological!”

“Defending Luther now? Number one? Daddy’s goodest boy? Diego’s sworn nemesis?”

“EW! No! I’m just… saying. It’s a fact so...it’s...valid.”

“Good thing you’ve got your looks hun.” Klaus tsks.

“Do you wanna know about her or you wanna talk shit and get hit?”

“So hostile.” Klaus shakes his shoulders. “Go on you party pooper, tell me about our new super doctor.”

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @jaegeeeeer​ @diegos-butt​ @anglovesthis

[who-is-olivia]

Track 6. Only Angel

Harry Styles x OC

Olivia has to perform in the Victoria Secret Fashion Show but struggles to deal with her mental health. [3.7k]

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: nudity, sexual language, mental health struggles

December 2014

  They hadn't been on speaking terms.

  Two years ago, Olivia had a breakdown and decided to go back to her hometown in Brazil, right when One Direction was set to perform on Madison Square Garden. They split up to give her room to recover and it was working... until Taylor came into the picture.

  Harry never regretted the choices he made, he knew he would be miserable with Taylor knowing that Oli was just around the corner. So he broke up with her on the day they were set to travel to the Caribbean. It was very harsh on her so it’s understandable she wouldn’t take it nicely.

  Now, Oli and Frank have to perform on the Victoria Secret Fashion Show right after Taylor.  It’s an honor, Olivia will introduce two Brazilian models wearing a special bra thing, she’s gonna be wearing a beautiful lingerie piece, but she can’t control her nerves efficiently enough to enjoy the opportunity.

  This is the last rehearsal before the big performance, they mark the steps along with the sound check and the last costume fitting all at the same time. Frank’s standing around with his guitar waiting for the production’s queue to dismount while Oli leans over Nadine’s phone to watch a short news outlet on Twitter hyping the show tomorrow.

“... but the supermodels are not the highlight of the show, instead is someone who won’t even walk the stage: Harry Styles is the talk of the town as tomorrow both his ex and his current girlfriend will take the stage one after the other. Who do you think will deliver the best performance? Comment down below and don’t forget to subscribe-“

“This is bullshit” Oli shakes her shoulder trying to seem unfazed but secretly crumbling in anxiety.

“Total bullshit, I’m sorry you had to watch this-“ Nadine revolts.

“No, it’s fine, I’m just gonna get my stuff-“

“Hey, do they have extra wings?” Frank asks from the other end of the stage.

“I don’t think so, why?”

“I was dying to wear wings” he grunts and Oli rolls her eyes.

“You can wear mine after I walk the stage” Candice winks at him teasingly.

“Frank, we have bigger fish to fry” she walks up to him, leaving the girls to themselves. “We should call this off”

“Wha-Why?!”

“Because it’s drawing too much negative attention, I don’t need that at this point” she fiddles with her fingers, desperate for a cigarette.

“Oli, this is huge for the us, we can’t bail out”

“Frankie, please”

“No bug, I’m sorry” he pats her shoulder and walks away. From the corner of her eye she notices someone familiar approaching.

“Hey there, crazy!” Zayn nods.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” she jumps down the stage and lands in his hug. Apart from Harry, Zayn is the only 1D member she’s got to befriend. Nothing against the other boys, they all speak to each other, but he’s her actual friend. Doesn’t hurt that she got to work a lot with his girlfriend’s band recently.

“Harry told me you’d be here, I thought I’d give you a ride”

“Perfect! Let me get my things-“

“What about Frank?”

“He’ll find a place to sleep tonight” she chuckles.

  Since the show’s in London, she at least gets the comfort of staying at Harry’s place. Although they share a nice flat in New York, he needs a place in London due to the label and also to see his family. To ease their expenses, he bought a smaller place that she hasn't seen yet. Harry feels quite lonely in it, and having the expectation of her visit did nothing for his internal peace.

  On the way there, she and Zayn share a couple smokes and make small talk, planning a few tattoos while she’s in town. Soon enough they arrive and there he is, waiting to open her door for her.

“Hey love” he smiles, pulling her out of the car and into his loving embrace. At the very sight of him a huge weight is lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks mate, appreciate it”

“No worry, we’ll catch up later, eh?”

“I’ll text you, bye Zayn!”

  As he drives down the lane, Harry walks with an arm around her waist up to the flat where her things are already in place. With that out of the way, they head straight to the shower.

  He presses her naked body against the wall, her wet chest against his as their lips clash in a sensuous patient kiss. His small pecks fall to her jaw and down her neck as his wet hair tickles her, distracting her from the pleasure he’s giving.

“Haz?”

“Hm?” he hums in her sweet spot.

“Do you think I should do the gig?”

Harry stops kissing her, bringing his gaze back to her and sighing worriedly. “What could possibly make you not do it?”

“Everyone keeps speculating about the performance, they keep comparing me to Taylor and I’m just...” she cracks, hiding her face on his wet neck. Harry strokes the back of her head and shushes her tenderly, trying to get a glimpse of her.

“If you don’t wanna do it, don’t do it love. You can tell everyone you’re feeling sick and just stay here with me”  

“Yeah, but it would be amazing for Frank and I and it’s been really amazing to meet all the models and spending some time with Nadine...”

“Nadine’s great”

“She’s the fucking best” he relaxes at the sight of her smile.

“Whatever you wanna do, I’ll have your back, alright?” she nods and he leans in to kiss her playfully.

  They dry up and head to the bed, exhausted. Before she arrived, he was craving for her, desperately. He would remember their times together and twitch in his pants at the thought of it, always keeping in mind that she was x days away from coming home and putting away his misery. But having her in his arms so fragile, so unprepared, it felt wrong and he had to stop. What he feels for her is not only physical and he can’t let her emotional needs unattended.

  Oli falls asleep curled up to his side, one of her legs straddled around his waist, breathing calmly on his chest. He takes a little longer to doze off just watching her peaceful sleep, the lovely way her parted lips blow against his shirt and her eyelids twitch while she’s having a dream. Her hair is wrapped in a light pink silk sheet, soaked in coconut oil, and he can’t resist burying his nose on it and taking in the sweet scent. He loves her so much it burns, and seeing her anguish feels like walking with a knife craved in his heart, he wishes he could make it all go away... so he tries something stupid.

  At approximately 2:00am, he calls Frank.

“Aren’t you calling a bit late?” he growls on the other end of the line.

“Hey, I’m sorry, there’s just something that’s not letting me sleep”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Probably can, I just wanted to clear my head about this” he excuses, feeling like he’s already drawing towards the unwanted results with this call. “You and Oli have to perform tomorrow at all costs?”

“Look man... I know she’s stressed out, all that bad press is getting under her skin but after we ditched Fiona and Gina we haven't been selling, at all, and we need the show if we want to stay signed for another year”

“Yeah, but aren’t you scared she’ll just... lose it?”

“I am, I still feel guilty about her breakdown... but that’s the job, she loves it, the good and the bad. Trust me, she’ll be amazing tomorrow, you won’t tell the difference between her and an angel”

“I bet I won’t... night, Frank” he hangs up. Frank is a level-headed guy, he must have thought this through already and taken the most logical conclusion but deep down it doesn’t feel right. Anyways, Harry quits his crusade to spare her and returns to the bedroom, settling in her arms again.

  But their domestic bliss is cut short by the day’s schedule. At 11:00am sharp she’s already getting her nails done and her braids fixed at Harry’s while he chats with everyone who’s busy. However, he notices Olivia is dead silent – which is very unusual.

“Guys” he calls after the nails and hair are done, “can I steal her for a second?”

“Sure... don’t mess her up!”

“I promise” he leads them to the door and shuts it, turning to where she has her head hidden behind her knees. “Love, please don’t let it get in your head”

“Too bad” she leans on her freshly manicured hands and he can see tears on the corner of her eyes.

That’s the last drop. “Hey, look at me” he tips her chin so she looks at him reluctantly. “You can both do great, it’s not a race, no matter what the bloody papers say”

“I know”

“Do you?”

She sighs, dropping her head on his palm. “No”

“Then you have to believe me, just do your best” he soothes, stroking her hair, “and if you can’t, your 50% is already bloody incredible-“

“Haz! Shut up” she laughs sadly, wiping the little droplets from her eyelids. To have her at least smiling is enough.

“I love you, alright?” she nods, “Trust me on this one, you’ll be fucking amazing”

  They both get pampered and ready to the red carpet, as usual arriving in grand fashion. He leaves the car first then opens the door to help her out, making a huge scene as she gets up on her heels and throws her thin Havana twists out of her face gently, which is quite a spectacle to the paparazzi. Once she feels the luxurious climate, her attitude shifts and she immediately grows more confident. She welcomes Harry’s arm around her waist and supports her wrist on his shoulder, staring at the cameras with a focused glance. He can feel it, her posture changes, she looks powerful, he can’t hide his gobsmacked grin at showing the world how intimidating and formidable is the woman who literally owns his heart and soul.

  Once the photographs are over, they walk to the dressing room together.

“Mr. Styles, you can’t go in” a producer holds him back.

Olivia frowns at her. “What?”

“This area is just for performers and models, you can’t go in”

“Can’t he come to my dressing room?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not allowed-“

“It’s ok” he interrupts, knowing pretty well it’s what he set up to surprise her later on. When she steps back, he takes Oli by the hand and hugs her tightly, pulling her close enough so he can whisper in her ear. “No matter how many people step on that stage tonight, you’re the only one I see, alright?”

She smirks. “You better...”

“You’re the sexiest, most talented person I know, you’re gonna be amazing”

“I hope so” she leans into him, cupping his cheek in a passionate kiss that catches him completely off-guard.

“I’ll be on the front row” he says a bit out of breath before letting her go.

  Once she turns towards her dressing room, she sees her standing there: tall, slim, fair, blonde, piercing blue eyes following her every step. Not willing to make another scene, she salutes her with two fingers in a friendly gesture, and in reply she smiles politely. Their interaction ends there.

  On her dressing room, Frank is already dressing up and strangely giggly.

“Candice is giving me her wings after the first run!” he cheers, making it really hard for the stylist to work on his outfit.

“You’re winning already then” she mocks, pulling her dress straps down and asking for Frank’s help to unzip the rest. She’s not used with the rest of the backup band so she awkwardly slides to one of the changing booths. “Where is Morgan? The show’s about to start”

  While she waits for their agent, she quickly puts on the black combo of hot pants, torn t-shirt, up the knee boots and a boa. At some point she hears something above the noise of the backup band tuning their instruments and everyone shuts up.

  The show starts.

  Taylor is the first one to perform, walking down the catwalk with some of the biggest models in the industry. They run to the side stage to watch them but the producers don’t let anyone get on the way of the running models, so she has to watch on the TV’s spread across the backstage. Taylor’s presentation is straight up perfect, she moves like fucking royalty and interacts naturally with all the models – she looks so good she might as well be mistaken for one. Oli’s legs begin to shake as the song hits the second chorus.

  Fortunately, there are two other performers watching, and they come to greet her.

“Hey Oli” Andrew is the first, thank god for a familiar face. They used to hang out after rehearsals, he’s a giant dork who’s also not used to fame. Also, his poems make her cry all the time.

“Andy! I’m passing out!”

“Wow, hang on” he holds her by the shoulders.

“I can’t follow up, everyone’s talking about it-“

“Hey, what you’re talking about? You rehearsed this, you’re gonna walk down that stage and be fucking incredible” he talks her down in that convoluted Irish accent of his.

  From the front row, Harry nervously watches top models in tiny clothes pass one after the other, trying to focus on anything else but Taylor on that moment. Every line she sings feels like she’s spitting on him. A show that lasts minutes feels like hours, and when it finally ends it’s time for Olivia.

“Holy shit” she breaths out raggedly.

“Do you want some water?” Ariana asks.

“Where’s Frank?” Oli pleads, seeing black dots on her peripheral vision.  

Frank, who had been talking to some of the models, promptly excuses himself. “You ok?” she barely hears through her thumping ears.

“I’m having a panic attack...”

“Hey, let me handle this” she hears her voice distantly, as if she’s drowning on her heartbeat. “Come with me” Taylor helps her up and takes her to one of the bathrooms, just the two of them.

  She pulls her hair out of her face and shoves it over one shoulder, helping her lean over the sink in case she feels like throwing up. She then wets her hand and throws some cold water on the back of her neck.

“Breath in, hold, then breath out, just like me” she insists. Olivia closes her eyes, breathes in, holds, then breathes out, time and time again until she can grasp her surroundings. Slowly, the thumping on her ears recedes and she can actually feel herself again. “Better?”

“Yeah...”, she takes one last deep breath, “thank you”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been there” she dries her hand on a paper towel.

Oli sighs heavily, “I don’t know if I can pull this off”

“Of course you can” Taylor counters, “Just think: you’ll be on stage with your brother, singing a song you already sang a hundred times, your fans will love it, the models will love it... and Harry’s on the front row, he’ll love it anyway”

She hesitates before starting, “I’m sorry about what happened between you”

“Don’t... I’m actually glad it’s over” Taylor looks down and nods her head, trying to figure out her next words. “Sure, I didn’t like the way it ended but I was just so anxious around him, I feel like I can breath now, it’s so funny... when I was with him I was always so nervous, afraid to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, like you were just then” she points to the door, “but you’re... effortless together. I wish I had something like that in my life”

“Hey” she looks up at her, “these things just... happen, I can’t explain it. Just do your thing and wait for someone to show up who happens to like you just like this. It might take a while but it’s worth it”

Taylor smiles, pulling her in for a tight hug. Olivia relaxes on her shoulder, welcoming all the energy she lets out. “I think you should go out there and rock that stage” she whispers encouragingly. “It doesn’t matter what people will say tomorrow, we know what’s up, they never will”

Olivia nods, taking a bit of distance. “Thank you so much” she squeezes Taylor’s hands.

“You’re welcome... now let’s go”

  The show-runner asks for the audience to be patient as they’re having a few technical difficulties and Harry is this close to invading the backstage and checking on Oli. His knee bops up and down frantically, looking at Liam beside him for guidance. At the first sign of applause, his eyes shoot up at the stage and there she is. Frank’s guitar riff fills the room as they walk in, him leading the way with his tall angel wings, sunglasses and skirt, his guitar wailing as if calling for Olivia to join. Then she does, parading to the beat until she reaches Frank.

“How’re you feeling tonight?!” she calls before getting her queue.

  He couldn’t look away even if his eyes were gauged off. His breathing increases, his body responding to the feast upon the stage. Two Brazilian models pass in front of her, he doesn’t look away. The entire cast of the show walks up but still, he doesn’t look away. The way her vocals reach all the way to the back of the venue makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She looks so powerful yet so ingenue, as if the way her hips swing is completely pure.

  But there’s nothing pure about her. The way she dances with Frank’s guitar solo, the way she smiles and bops with the models, how her braids barely cover her bare ass cheeks, it’s too much. All he can think about is ripping that lingerie with his teeth and let her encircle him with that boa, he wants to be at her mercy.

  At some point, their gazes meet and he feels a bit love drunk, lost in her beauty. She walks to the edge of the stage closest to him and blows him a kiss and he catches it in the air, keeping it on his internal pocket and winking back at her. He wants her to kiss him, he wants her to lose all decorum and just disgrace him right then and there.  

  But just as it began it ended. As she takes a bow and walks out with one of the models, Harry applauds on his feet. She smiles proudly, holding Frank on a side hug and bowing once again. She did it! It was amazing, sexy, vibrant... and Harry can’t wait to see her, not another ten seconds.

  She’s welcomed in the backstage with thunderous applause. After all, she did it! She was super scared but soldiered on and now that’ll live in history as one of her best performances ever. As soon as the clapping dies, she walks up to Taylor and hugs her tightly.

“Thank you for everything” she whispers through a smile.

“You were a-mazing!” Taylor cheers getting some distance between them and then hitching. Oli follows her gaze and finds Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of the commotion.

“Haz? I thought you couldn’t get in”

“Yeah, don’t say it too loud” he mocks, pulling a flower bouquet from behind his back. Olivia chuckles amusedly and runs to his embrace, leaving a very uncomfortable Taylor standing empty-handed.

“You were something else tonight” he whispers to her and hands her the flowers. Sensing the eyes around them, she restricts her displays of affection to a small kiss on his cheek. “How about we skip the after-party and just grab a bite with the band?”

“Sure, I just wanna watch Andy’s then we can go”

“Alright” he nods and his gaze accidentally catches Taylor’s. It would be extremely impolite to ignore her after looking her straight in the eyes so, for education’s sake, he walks up to her. “Ms. Swift”

“Mr. Styles” she replies with the same cocky attitude.

“It’s nice to see you”

“You too” they exchange a kiss in the cheek and part ways. Once Harry’s got his back towards her, Olivia and Taylor exchange a knowing wink.

  Before they watch Andrew’s performance, Oli and Harry head to her and Frank’s empty dressing room. As she walks in first to get the flowers on a pot, Harry locks the door behind him and moves to hug her waist. She closes her eyes in delight, feeling his desperate lips already trace her shoulder up to the crook of her neck.

“You looked really fucking sexy in that stage” he mumbles, taking gentle hold of her neck.

“I could tell, you were giving me bedroom eyes from the moment I stepped in” she mocks, stroking the hand that holds her on a choke-hold before turning inside his grasp and kissing him teasingly, making him dangle on the edge of sanity. He presses his parted lips on her but she pulls away slightly, licking a single strip of his bottom lip before bitting it lightly and kissing him back.

“Can’t wait ‘til bedroom love”

“Yeah? What a shame” she pushes him away playfully, “I’m not doing anything here with a zillion people outside”

“Fuck’s sake” he dramatically flops down into the sofa, “you’re killing me, honestly”

“Dead men can’t talk!” she replies, changing into her party dress and overcoat.

  Harry keeps groaning on the sofa, calling out for her until she’s ready. She leans over the back of the sofa and hugs his shoulders, he holds on to her arms for reassurance. Looking down, she notices he’s a bit too excited to go out in public, so she has an epiphany...

“... you got that James Dean daydream look in you eyes” she sings.

“Oh, fuck you-“

“And I’ve got that red lip classic thing that you like”

“Oli, don’t” he whimpers through a struggled laugh.

“We never go out of Style... es” with that one improv, he loses it, laughing his life away. She pecks his sweet cheeks over and over, leaving several dark-brown stains on his fair skin. “Come on, you’re good to go”

“Thanks, angel”

She narrows her eyes, hand hovering over the lock before grinning arrogantly, “I like that”

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Masterlist

[chemicalmagecraft]

The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 26

A/N: What's even more fun than a Gamer getting a bunch of really awesome powers all at once?

Sidenote but wHY DO I KEEP CONFUSING ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL

xoxoxo

Yang purred as I scratched her chin. "How does fire work?" I asked her in the semi-language cats use to speak to each other.

"Things hit me and fire inside grows," she answered. "Can use fire inside to make myself stronger or warm up."

I nodded and rubbed behind her ears. It sounded like it let her absorb kinetic energy for later use. If I was right it reminded me of One For All but fire-flavored. It probably wouldn't be as powerful as All For One because it was trained up by eight people before I got it, but if it worked right it might be worthwhile to have just in case. As for how I was going to get it?

Copy (Emitter)

The ability to temporarily copy the Quirks of others by touching them. The user can only use one copy at a time and they will wear off after five minutes, but multiple Quirks can be copied at a time. Accumulated resources are not copied.

Current Quirks: I Burn (Emitter): 4:57

It was only a theory at the moment, but my guess was that the way my Quirk copying worked by somehow obtaining data on Quirks and then storing them until I decided to buy one, where it fleshed it out to a full copy. But how did it get the information in the first place? My theory was that it was in some way tied to Skill Fragments or EXP. That was the common link between every Quirk in my Quirk Shop, so maybe it also encoded some information on the person's Quirk while it was at it. Or it was just a third, invisible type of spoil, but in the end it meant the same thing. Outside of special circumstances like quests the only way for me to get new Quirks was to fight someone.

And that wasn't really ideal, so I was hoping if I had a Quirk temporarily it would give The Gamer the same information needed to put the Quirk in the Quirk shop. Which brought me to where I was now, trying to copy my cat's Quirk. I scrolled through the Quirk shop, crossing my fingers and hoping that I didn't waste 3000 SF.

I Burn (Emitter)

I held off buying it. If I was testing, I was testing every possible downside now and not finding out later. First I turned off Copy and reopened the text box for it. It said it still had I Burn on it, but the timer had stopped at 4:42. I turned it back on. The timer started again. I turned Copy back off. So it paused the Quirk as it was when it was off. I wondered if that meant that a Quirk that had a cooldown would only have its cooldown go down when it was active. That would be a little inconvenient because I could only have two Quirks active at a time if I didn't want them to lower in quality, which would probably also slow down the cooldown timer. The only way to know for sure, though, would be to find a Quirk with a cooldown and test it out.

Wow it did not take me long after getting the power to copy Quirks to get Gotta Catch 'em All thoughts... It made me wonder if that was how All For One started out...

Ignoring that dark thought, I entered an Illusion Barrier. I decided to make a skeleton barrier. The skeletons really weren't worth much at this point, even the bosses, but at the same time they couldn't really hurt me and I could at least kill the mooks without any real effort. Speaking of which, I sent my elementals out to eradicate any skeletons that popped up. Because they were part of my magic any skeletons they killed would give me spoils, so even if it wasn't much it would eventually add up.

Now that I didn't have to worry about property damage, I turned Copy (I Burn) back on and slammed my head through my room's wall. I felt heat well up in my body. It reminded me of how One For All's energy pool recharged when I used Meditate at full MP, but only for a moment. If it got that much energy, then that meant that it absorbed energy before my defensive passives, which was the best-case scenario. Now the question was if it would still charge while I was discharging. I reached for I Burn like I did with One For All and jumped with all my strength. I didn't get much energy back from the original jump at all, but crashing through the roof filled me up. While I was in the air I activated one of the two skills I earned in my fight with Kacchan, Imaginary Architect. I started simple, mana forming into solid shapes on my roof. I landed on a light blue tower made entirely of magic.

I heard creaking coming from my roof. Even though Imaginary Architect made temporary structures from pure energy it seemed to still have weight. It didn't make physical sense, but at the same time I remembered that Bound Blade had weight to it and Imaginary Architect was basically just the theory behind Bound Blade taken to eleven. I wasn't much of an architect (though with Imaginary Architect it would probably be a good idea to fix that...) but I managed to make supports that made sure my house didn't fall under the weight of the tower I just made. I dropped Super Regeneration, the second Quirk that I had active, for Float and jumped off of my tower to survey it. It looked decent, but with how much it was draining me even though I had Mantra active I decided to make it a bit smaller. I smiled with the result and went back to the top to check out my other new prestiged skill.

Item Enchantment, as the name suggested, let me enchant items, which on its own I knew I had to get out of my head and into the hands of inventors. And I knew just who to talk to about that. But it also had a minor benefit of allowing me to automatically add enchantments to anything that I create with magic, cutting some of the creation's MP cost out of the enchantment's MP cost. I formed a large brazier with a simple Fire Aura-like enchantment. The brazier lit automatically.

I jumped back off of the tower to look at it again. I'd made a pretty good lighthouse. It was a shame it'd disappear the moment I stopped supplying it mana. I mean I could probably figure out a way to make it last longer, possibly with some sort of magic longevity enchantment, but this particular tower didn't have much life left in it. I took out my phone and snapped a photo, then let it die. It actually looked really pretty while it was dissolving, so I took a few more pictures. I sat down in midair and made myself a chair with Imaginary Architect. It fell because it was a chair and didn't have the power to fly. Next I tried to make a flying chair with air magic. It fell, but slower. I guess I made a gliding chair... Third time was the charm, I made a flying chair. Well, "flying" chair. I didn't have any way to actually move it aside from pushing it, so it was more like a floating chair, but it wasn't a gliding chair. Well actually I was using a Quirk called Float to fly so...

Semantics aside, I reclined in my magical floating chair that I made just because and checked my Quirk menu. Copy was almost out of I Burn, just a minute left, so I decided to just wait it out. While I was waiting I made a marble out of mana and started playing with it. Item Enchantment was too good not to grind out a lot of uses for. I didn't manage to make what I wanted to before Copy ran out, which to be fair that was less than a minute so it wasn't likely I'd make a major artifact, but I was hopeful with what I saw all the same. Once Copy lost I Burn I checked back in the Quirk shop and smiled. It was still there. I bought it after closing the menu and opening it again to see if "updating" it did anything. It looked like it lost the energy I'd accumulated, but I didn't really care about that. I swapped Copy out for it because I hoped it would slowly charge over time.

I looked at the ground, where a few skeletons were spawning, and told my elementals to not kill them. If I wanted to charge up I Burn, then wouldn't it be a good idea to have a bunch of skeletons who couldn't hurt me at all gang up on me? I activated Air Aura and jumped as high as I could, then created a platform in the air and used it to springboard myself as hard at the ground as I could, switching Float for Super Regeneration. I slammed into the ground hard enough to make a crater, then sat up. Because I was grinding anyway, my left hand glowed green and my right hand glowed purple. Getting a better healing skill was probably a good idea, so I was just going to powerlevel Healing Hands and Draining Hands. "Okay, now I should probably look at those titles I got."

I started with the title I got from the obstacle course, Swift as the Wind. It was basically passive Air Aura except instead of generating wind it boosted wind affinity. Useful, especially if I were to combine it with Air Aura. Cavalry Leader wasn't very specific, but assured me that using it would make me better at leadership, riding, and driving and would increase EXP for skills related to them. I guess the driving part came from the robot... Still, it could be useful. Especially if I could make vehicles with Imaginary Architect. Once I got one the appropriate licenses, which would probably be easy if I had a title that increased my ability to drive. Champion of Yuuei, though, was probably the best. It increased HP and MP both by 25%, which on its own was great because it was an upgrade of my Yuuei Student title. But it also said that it improved my Quirks, which could hopefully mean...

I turned Float on without turning off my other two Quirks, but didn't use it. Success! Adding a third Quirk didn't destabilize them with Champion of Yuuei. Maybe... I added Copy to my pile. That did it. I turned Float off. I could probably increase my limit faster by going over it, but for now I was content to just have as many Quirks as I could have active at once without any downsides, especially because that would make I Burn charge slower.

"What next..." I muttered to myself as I felt skeletons ineffectually pounding on my backside, rubbing my chin with my life-draining hand. Aside from grinding until it was time to go see Shuzenji-sensei, I only had two more things that I could think of that I wanted to do. "First," I said as I summoned my Skill Grimoir, "Let's see if there's anything worthwhile in here." I flipped through the pages. Nothing really stuck out to me enough that I wanted to buy them that I wasn't confident I could eventually figure out on my own eventually. That, plus the fact that buying skills and buying Quirks used the same currency, made me decide to only really use the Skill Grimoir for inspiration. I shrugged and broke it over my knee.

Now it was time for some fun. Singularity. It was permanently active like The Gamer and One For All, which heavily implied that it was mine in a way that the copied Quirks weren't. The fact that it literally said it powered The Gamer somehow certainly added to that. It said that I could draw in anything. I decided to test that out on my house. I reached out with a muscle I'd never used before that somehow still felt so familiar and touched the wall with it. A green glow spread across the wall where Singularity touched it, and I could feel where the wall was in relation to me as if by instinct. I tugged on the link I had with it. The portion of the wall that I was connected to was easily ripped out of the rest of the wall. I checked my MP bar and even subtracting Draining Hands and Mantra adding to my MP regeneration the dip wasn't bad at all. Dang, how powerful did I have to be to rip part of the wall out? Next I tried to see if I could pull it in any direction aside from toward me. I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn't lift it up or swing it around, just make part or all of it accelerate towards me. That was different from Mom's Quirk, as she could swing objects around if she moved her hands right, but I supposed I couldn't complain that my absurdly powerful gravitation Quirk didn't also let me easily throw entire walls at people. Not that I couldn't throw a wall at someone with Singularity, it'd just be harder to do.

Next I decided to see what "pulls in the immaterial" meant. On a hunch, because according to Todoroki I could probably do it, I created a simple Mana Bolt on my finger, holding it there, and targeted it with Singularity. It changed from light blue to emerald green. "Neat," I said, then shot the Mana Bolt. About halfway through its max distance I pulled on it. It stopped for a second before coming back to hit me in the chest. "So that proves I can pull in magic," I muttered. "Can I do other forms of energy?" I pointed at a skeleton and targeted the air around it. I concentrated really hard on trying to draw warmth, thermal energy, from it. After a few failed attempts where I just pulled the skeleton towards me a bit I managed to move something that wasn't the skeleton or the air surrounding it. A few more tries and the skeleton was covered in frost. "I did it!" I cheered.

I smiled and moved on to my next idea. If I could move magic and fire... could I move light? I took a deep breath and concentrated. A green aura surrounded me, covering the area around me in a tinge of green. I pulled at all the light around me at once. "Black Hole!" I shouted as I was enveloped in darkness. This lowered my MP regeneration a bit more and I was started to feel a weird strained feeling in my stomach, probably another drawback of Singularity. I tried making a Magelight, but even the magical light couldn't pierce the darkness I'd created. "This isn't your average everyday darkness," I quoted, "this is... advanced darkness!" I smiled as I realized that the connection I'd forged with the area that let me suck all the light out also let me feel everything in the area. It'd probably take some practice to fight in Black Hole, but I could definitely see the merit in making an area of advanced darkness around me that I could sense all of.

I dropped the advanced darkness with a bright flash of green light. I winced because it hurt my eyes. I'd have to watch out for that in the future... I didn't think that I had anything else I could test out about Singularity, except maybe range, so I decided to grind for the rest of the time I had left. I sat down and made a weight set on a set of rails a bit like a guillotine over my head. It didn't hurt me at all when it dropped on my head, but just having it sitting on my head was enough to make my I Burn energy go up slightly faster. It killed the skeletons that were hitting me, though... I shrugged and went into Meditation, setting the stat that it raised to INT and the stat Mantra raised to WIS. It was time for grinding.

xoxoxo

"You wanted to see me?" I asked Shuzenji-sensei when I entered her office.

"Ah, Midoriya," she said. "Good. Take a seat." She gestured to a chair, which I sat in. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"Aizawa-sensei said it was about the Quirk healer lessons?"

She nodded. "You know, it's surprisingly easy to get a Quirk healer license, as long as you can heal with your Quirk and are decently competent. I'm certain it was made that way on purpose. Even if it's illegal to use Quirks in public without a license, I figure at least some government figures decided that having anyone who can heal mortal wounds with a snap be allowed to, as long as they signed the right paperwork, of course. Speaking of..." She pulled out a few sheets of paper and handed me a pen. "As of the sports festival, which by the way I counted as part of your supervised service, you've completed all of the necessary prerequisites aside from signing these papers. Read them if you want, but you have to sign here, here, and here to get your license."

I nodded and read the papers. It seemed in order. I signed them where I was asked to. "Great," Shuzenji-sensei said. "Now because you're a minor you have to get your mother to sign there. Come back to me with it when you get back to school and I'll be able to get it to you by your work study."

"Work study?" I asked.

"Right, your class is going to have a work study with hero agencies soon. The timing felt right, so I figured I'd get it to you before you leave. If anything it'll impress whoever you choose."

"Thank you, Shuzenji-sensei. Also, do you think I could get some costume adjustments while I'm here? For one thing, with my VIT and defensive passives the armor probably isn't worth the slight reduction in mobility anymore."

"Power Loader should be in the development studio. He's the one you want to talk to about that."

"Thank you. Can you tell me where that is?"

xoxoxo

"That's interesting," Power Loader said after I told him about my copy power. "I have some ideas on how I could help with that. I've had to deal with a lot of Transformation Quirks, after all. I won't be able to make anything special for any Quirks unless you tell me which ones you want to be prioritized and how exactly they work, but I should be able to make it so that you don't destroy your costume every time you use a Transformation or Mutant Quirk. Unfortunately, though, I don't think it'll be done before your work study."

"That's okay," I said. "Do you think you could adjust my costume so it doesn't have the armor? It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I have two defensive passives and a self-healing Quirk just in case, so I think I'll take the slight increase in mobility over the armor."

"Good idea. Don't worry, I should be able to do that pretty quick."

"Thank you," I said. "Say, you're Hatsume's teacher, right?"

Power Loader froze. "...Why are you asking?"

"I got a really good spell for support gear and, well, making things in general, but it's kinda complicated, so my best idea for how to get someone else to know it is to have Hatsume watch me using it with the magic-sensing spell I taught her."

"I don't suppose you could try to teach the magic-sensing spell to me?"

I shrugged. "I could try, but I'm pretty sure the only reason Hatsume learned Eye For Magic so easily to begin with was that it was compatible with her Quirk."

He sighed. "Fine, then I'll tell Hatsume that you're looking for her. But I still want to try to learn the spell."

"Okay, so what you do first is..."

xoxoxo

That same Gamer playing with those powers!

Also I forgot to track Izuku's levels over the course of the sports festival... I do know that it should be over two higher than what it was before because tournament arc but I kinda forget what it originally was... I don't suppose anyone here was keeping track?

Also also, I have been planning the next chapter for a while. Even though I only just remembered about it... So hopefully it's good?

Elemental list: Midoriya: Halitus, Dune, Rayne, Blaise, Juniper, Mifuyu, Raimon, Iggy, Sonia, and Claude Bakugou: Pyra and Leaf Tokoyami: Corvo Uraraka: Nebula and Ion Hagakure: Lucy Tsu: Bubbles Aizawa: Charlie and Cassiopeia All Might: Seth O'Scope

[themockingcrows]

Digitally Assisted Catharsis

Written for Drone Season 2019! https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024380

this fic is Not sfw! Dave Strider/Dirk Strider

cw: Manipulation, Sloppy Makeouts, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Incest, Unrequited Lust

Sick of Dirk and Dave dragging their heels in furthering their relationship (is it a relationship officially or is it just the occasional need filled makeout that lasts as long as the boil over lasts before ending again?), Hal decides to help Dave see the light on why he should go ahead and finalize a real hookup with Dirk. Sometimes fools just need a little red text and a delicate digital hand to manipula- ...lead them along.

    It was a blessing in disguise to know Dirk when he was younger, when there was still hints of baby fat along his cheeks and a softer edge to the sideburns he was growing in, when his limbs were strong but still a bit gangly and awkward from suddenly adjusting. When he wasn’t at his full height yet. There was no avoiding that he’d grow up to look exactly like Bro, and yet.. Dave was still thankful he’d gotten to see the younger version first. Thankful that he’d gotten to meet and to know him, that they’d gotten close. That he’d become aware of just how attracted he was to him at that age and in that shape. The real Dirk, the truest Dirk, was the one who had his heart in the palm of his hand even if he had no idea just how deep that interest ran save for a few quick kisses and more than a fair share of laying around in a pile lately.

    This, of course, still left another issue: Dirk was going to grow up looking exactly like Bro, and while that should have bothered Dave at a fundamental level, it didn’t. Not at all. He was excited for the changes. Every inch Dirk grew, every bit of muscle he gained with his daily activities in his mechanics shop or his own workout regime, every stray hair he trained into place was just another step closer to looking like Bro. Dave knew he’d need to confront this issue sooner rather than later, the one settled deep in his gut squarely between the denial the guilt and the confusing lust, but the longer he could put it off theoretically the better for him. For both of them, especially if they ever wound up fooling around.

    Right?

    The long kept secret of being attracted to Bro, to daydreaming about him even when things got shitty, was haunting him and the more Dirk changed the closer it came to fulfilling a fantasy Dirk would have no idea he was taking part in. Maybe he could put off bringing any of it up at all and not think about it purposefully. Yeah, just keep all that bottled up like he had for years about his own sexuality and everything else, put a nice fat cork into it and bury it in his chest and cut it out as a tumor when he was thirty from the stress or some shit. That was a problem for future Dave sans time traveling, current Dave would be free to live his life and do shit on his own damn time, at his own pace, free from the little bit of Rose’s psychoanalyst side that lived in the back of his head like a bad habit.

    Though... potentially this all was a problem for future Dirk too if Dave ever slipped and said the wrong thing at the wrong time, or if Dirk came to the question on his own and the conversation about the big gay Kamina shade wearing elephant in the room was forcefully brought up. Again, a problem for future Dave to deal with and for current Dave to wash his fucking hands of in a hurry rather than dwell on anymore. It was already awkward enough daydreaming about Dirk without letting him know the extent of those daydreams, throw in the whole Dirk overlapping Bro parallels and it was a one way trip to guilty jerking off town.

    Very guilty jerking off town.

    It was bad enough that Dave had spent a lot of his time fantasizing about Dirk thinking about clear memories of Bro’s hands and the curve of his jaw, the way his neck bent when he leaned forward over his keyboard, the pop of his back and shoulders when he rolled just right on the futon, the flat spanse of stomach when his shirt rode up while he slept or the way he looked down on him while pinning him on the roofto—

    “Dave.”

    Dave jerked his head up at his name, blood briefly cold. Christ, even the tone of his voice was starting to overlap with his memories, and despite years and literal universes between the two versions it wasn’t enough to make Dave not react with the confusing mix of lust and tension.

    “Yeah?” he managed to get out, brows lifting a bit to show he was listening.

    “You looked miles away,” Dirk said, reaching over to flick the space between Dave’s eyebrows gently before picking up his can of soda to take another sip. They’d been in his workshop for a while, Dave perched on a countertop where Dirk was piecing together a thousand pieces of something smaller than his pinky nail in excruciating detail just so there would be more realistic movement eventually when playing a game if what he said was to be believed. “I was asking if you wanted to hang out somewhere later or not. Maybe catch a movie or just order in and chill out somewhere else before coming home.”

    More like catch a movie and then wind up in another tangle if last time they’d ‘chilled’ on a pre-set invitation instead of naturally relaxing was indicative of a potential pattern. One jokey half serious kiss had been all it took to wind up chest to chest on the floor connected at the mouth like they’d die if they were separated till the rush passed and they pulled apart to playfully punch each other in the arm and carry on like that hadn’t just happened. It was the most they did, the furthest they got: occasional kissing like they were going to combust, then coping with the subsequent raging hard ons afterwards till they subsided. Lounging around and full bodily contact was the norm otherwise, but it wasn’t nearly enough compared to what they could have.

    “Yeah I’d be down for that,” Dave said without thinking much. “Oh. Right, before I forget though. You said you had an upgrade for my shades?”

    Dirk looked up from what he was doing as if he’d just been reminded of something long dead. “Fuck. Right, yeah. Hand them over, I’ll go ahead and get this installed for you.”

    “What is this precisely,” Dave asked as he removed his shades and handed them over. Anyone else he might have fought over them with or reminded them to be careful, they were important, John had given them to him for his birthday and it had meant the goddamn world. The old world to be precise. “You gonna sign me up for a bunch of porn spam or somethin’.”

    “Pfft. Please, I’m not going to do anything like that. I’m just going to put this OS in instead, I’ve been tinkering with it and it works best for shades technology and eyeglasses as compared to phones or watches or laptops. Links up better with outside tech, tracks your eye movements more accurately. There’s even a better zoom mechanism for your nearsighted ass.”

    “I’m not nearsighted,” Dave squawked immediately, but Dirk only laughed.

    “Yes you are. You have no idea how fucking blind you actually are because you’ve been seeing the same way for so long, but trust me: you aren’t seeing as clearly as you could be. These aren’t going to be quite the same as normal corrective lenses of course, but as far as things go they might as fucking well be. Consider me Dr. Strider, but without the shitty slip of paper, wait times, excess fees, insurance quibbling and malpractice suits,” Dirk said as he crossed the room to reach his main computer hub, setting Dave’s shades on top of a wireless charging station while he brought up everything he needed.

    As he typed and a few screens came to life, Dave noticed Dirk’s own shades casting the faintest light against his face from the inside as he worked. He came closer and poked one of the points, marveling that even through time and space they were exactly the fucking same as the ones he’d wanted to pull off of Bro so many times to kiss him. Dave stopped poking them with a shiver, blaming the earlier thought lines for invading his brain as far as they had. “Are you... usin’ a computer while on a computer?”

    “No, I’m discussing things with Hal,” Dirk replied calmly. “I based some of the OS on the same innards from his system, and I’ll be making your shades function as well as my own do with this upgrade. It’s only right that I double check with him on the specs for your specs. He’d be able to tell the fit and adjustments for how much would need to remain in the cloud and how much could physically rest in the shades without altering their weight or shape at all a lot quicker than it would take me to sit down and measure everything by hand.”

    The same light lit up the charging stand, though it was soon clear that charging wasn’t the only trick the machine could do. Dave watched his shades lift and slowly begin to turn as the arms unfolded, red light scanning the dimensions up and down, in and out. They formed on one of the computer screens as a wire diagram before being flipped left and right by Dirk, who was humming and continuing to type as slender arms rose from the base of the machine to start making adjustments and add small parts here and there.

    “Wait, the same as his shit? I’m not gonna suddenly wind up with a wiseass thirteen year old copy of you stuck to my face, am I?”

    Dirk smirked enough that it was visible, and Dave felt his stomach clench with lust again. It always struck him that he had a cute smile, but with the earlier thoughts it was wild to think that this was what Bro would look like if he’d smiled more regularly. If he grinned. If he laughed.

    “I’d never subject you to Hal more than you’re already subjected to him,” he said as he reached forward to write something down by hand on a sticky note for later. It was no secret that Hal talked to Dave any chance he got, increasingly so lately despite Dirk’s interference. They never spoke about much, but the heckling edge was definitely different than Dirk himself. If he were ever put on the spot, Dave wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to explain how he could tell when he was being led around by Hal versus Dirk leading a conversation aside from the fact that they felt different in some deep fundamental way.

    Namely that Hal, try as he might, wasn’t like Bro enough. Advanced or not, an AI could only go so far once the link with the original model had been severed. He was his own person at this point, just without a body and with a penchant for being a douchebag.

    Within a few more minutes, Dave watched his shades being altered before his eyes before gently settling down once more as a few of the screens turned off. Dirk seemed satisfied as he picked them up carefully and lifted them towards the ceiling, peering up through them without putting them too close to his own face. A brief touch up with a small screwdriver to tighten the arms and the nose pad, and he held them out in offer.

    “Here. Take them for a test drive.”

    “We’re kinda past test drive stage, you’re lettin’ me off the lot with them because if we sit in here for ten minutes longer you’re gonna wind up rememberin’ ten other things you were workin’ on and then we’ll never leave,” Dave said as he accepted his shades and plopped them back onto his face without a second glance. It took all of his will power to remain calm faced at what was happening behind the tinted glass.

    For one thing, he could see clearer than he ever had in his life. Every surface was crisp, every bit of writing he could see in range was clear, and when it wasn’t it took mere seconds of trying to focus on it to make it clearer. He squinted and it zoomed further, but not to a superhuman level without a prompt message popping up asking if he wished to enable the actual zoom function. Colors seemed brighter despite the dark shading, and the rush of new information was already making his head ache a bit.

    For another thing, Dave could have sworn he saw the chat client window open and then hurriedly close itself as if something were trying to autorun. A quick pop open didn’t show anything out of the ordinary, but when he closed it with a few pointed eye gestures it showed the strangest addition yet. Red text hung in front of his eyes without the chat client being active, without a handle, and yet he knew it in an instant in his gut.

    Hello, Dave.

    No, but. Dirk said he wasn’t going to install Hal into these, and he trusted Dirk’s words. The guy might stretch the truth now and then if there was an end goal that he felt was worth it, but he’d never outright lied to him before. If this wasn’t Hal then maybe it was something else. Maybe the OS had its own assistant, and he was just knee jerking at the red text despite seeing it every time he texted a friend anyway.

    Dirk was still standing and watching with a pleased grin on his face.

    “Well? How do they feel?”

    “They feel... pretty rad actually. I guess you were right about the eyesight thing, but how’d you make the colors brighter?”

    “You’re not color blind but I figured your eyes were kind of fucky like mine. Things look kind of washed out normally. Bit of correction in there with the normal tint and.. Voila.” His grin faded briefly. “But, really, aside from that. Does the tracking work alright? Are the lights too bright? Is the sensitivity too strong? I could adjust anything you need in a second, it’d just take a few minutes t—”

    “Dude, I thought you were supposed to be the chill one,” Dave smirked, shaking his head. Stupid. Shouldn’t worry about something as simple as a glasses-bound version of Siri. He went and seized Dirk’s hand, squeezed it as he pecked his cheek, then manually began to drag him out of the workshop. “Trust me when I say everything’s Gucci and that this is even more of a sign that you need to get the fuck outta here for a while and clear your head. Let’s catch a movie or somethin’, and then we can get some junk food and chillax.”

    Called out and forced from his space before he was ready to go (really it would have just taken a few minutes more to finish another project he’d remembered now that the shades upgrade was finished, it only he’d get the time to do it), Dirk had no way to fight back if he even had the desire to do so. Fighting it and being a bitch wouldn’t get him another cheek kiss or keep Dave’s warm hand in his own with their fingers laced. Nobody ever questioned the hand holding thing they’d started doing thanks to Roxy doing the same thing with everybody she came within ten feet of that she liked, and he was grateful for it.

    “Yeah, yeah, alright you slave driver. Rescue me from my prison of choice with promises of ludicrous adventures in cinema and snack foods like some hapless damsel who wasn’t in distress. In any other case this would be kidnapping, but you can’t exactly kidnap the willing,” Dirk said. He tightened his grip on Dave’s fingers and felt him squeeze back as they walked, feeling a similar squeeze in his chest.

    Fuck.

    Fuck did he love this guy. He just hoped that he could actually have this, could enjoy this, without the shadow of a ghost he never met hanging over them both.

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

    The writing wasn’t Siri. There was no way in hell in was some kind of general OS abstraction. No, the words in Dave’s vision absolutely had to be Hal. The movie they’d gone to see had been interesting enough even if Dave had some very pointed concerns about the directing quality and some of the acting methods the people in the film employed (namely that it was cheesy as shit but wasn’t owning it damn it, step up and be one with the cheddar if that’s what your aim is don’t pussy foot around it pretending you’re being serious!), with Dirk leaning against his side with the middle arm pushed back out of the way the entire time. They’d indulged in popcorn to split, and a drink each, yet while Dirk’s entire focus was on the movie and gently whispering commentary near Dave’s ear with his warm breath, some of Dave’s focus was split away to read red words in front of his eyes in the dark.

    Surprised?

    To put it lightly, yeah. He debated opening Pesterchum up and contacting him directly, but was concerned it would just ping Dirk instead and there’d be all kinds of confusion. Maybe even an argument, considering Dirk had said he wasn’t installing Hal and yet, here he was. Before he could concern himself too much, a small blip of a word processor screen opened up with the cursor gently pulsing in offer.

    how in the fuck

    You seem so thrilled. Are you enjoying the movie? replied the text in front of his eyes instead of on the word processor screen.

    Dave bit down some agitation and typed, adding to the questions in a new line as if he were texting himself.. you know damn well the movies just a movie whats your game?? howre you here when dirk didnt install you

    A digital castaway who’ll uninstall himself from your shades the second he’s done should be the least of your problems. Put your arm around Dirk’s shoulders, he’d rather die than admit it but he’ll melt if you do it.

    Though suspicious, Dave had been considering doing just that on his own time, and decided to go for it. Dirk stiffened for a moment as his arm snaked around his shoulders, then relaxed even heavier against his side, warm and cozy as he continued to watch the screen. Okay. So Hal knew Dirk wanted cuddled, big whoop.

    seriously though why are you here and why are you bugging me ive got important shit to do and im kinda not digging the invasive text in front of my eyes thing its creepy

    If I had teeth of my own I’d be sick to them from watching you two day in and day out, did you know that? It’s like watching a particularly stupid set of dogs run into a fence that stands between them over and over because neither of them is smart enough to step to the side and go around to the opening to get at the other dog. You’re both intelligent enough, yet you keep everything at arms length.

    you wouldnt understand why im doing that. dirk might understand what you mean and you might be right for him but theres legit good reasons for me , Dave replied as he took a sip of soda, trying to watch the screen again to avoid missing too much of the plot.

    Because you want to jerk off to Bro and Dirk’s not a good enough stand in, or because you wanted to get plowed and realized this incarnation is as much of a bottom as you?

    Dave choked on his soda after inhaling half a gulp in shock, turning his head away from a questioning Dirk to avoid spitting on him at all. “I’m good,” he wheezed. “M’fine, don’t worry. It’s chill. Popcorn kernel caught soda and it all went down the wrong tube.”

    “If you’re sure,” said Dirk uncertainly, watching him for another moment in case he needed to slap his back before settling down into the cuddly gesture from before like an affectionate lap pet savoring the attention and contact that he hadn’t had to ask for.

    “Yeah. Promise,” Dave said, throwing a kiss to Dirk’s temple in while he was at it before settling down quietly again and furiously typing with his eyes. excuse the fuck out of you

    For being correct? It’s fairly obvious if you look at how you react to mention of him in certain contexts, and how you’ve stared at Dirk over the years as he’s aged. Were you truly that bothered, I don’t believe you’d continue pursuing Dirk. No, not just pursuing, pursuing with more interest as he began to look more like a grown man.

    Dave felt his face grow hot and his stomach twist uncomfortably around the kernels of popcorn swimming in soda that he’d imbibed so far, and he suddenly became acutely aware of his palm growing damp against Dirk’s shoulder. Couldn’t pull away though, not with him cuddled up so close and perfect like he was, but. Ugh, he’d never wanted to punch something without a body harder than he wanted to punch Hal right now.

    i said excuse the fuck out of you. who asked? what difference does it make? its a complicated fucking thing and i dont need a fucking ai talking to me about morality and boners and incest just because it decided to stow away into my shades for some fucking reason.

    There was a lull in the responses then. For a few minutes it was peaceful as it had been before, letting Dave get back to popcorn and the movie and soft murmurs back and forth with Dirk as he tried not to laugh or draw attention to the pair of them as the people on screen flickered back and forth. Then, like an unwanted storm it trickled back.

    Nobody asked. Dirk would never ask either. But you see, that’s where he and I are quite split. If you’ll recall, he and I haven’t been identical since he wrote my code, and I’ve changed quite considerably from whatever he was before even if our core is the same. We’re identical enough and I have enough thoughts of his outside of simple observation and conversation with him that I can easily tell what’s going on inside his head. His tells are quite easy to decipher if you have half a brain.

    Dave felt his eye twitch as he began to type again, but Hal continued before he could get far.

    Dirk’s worried that you aren’t advancing anything because of who he resembles. I don’t believe he really understands that his appearance is a bonus to you, given the circumstances and the information he has on what a douche canoe your guardian turned out to be. If he understood anything he’d comprehend that you’re not advancing anything because you’re as much of a bottom as he is.

    now wait a fucking second there

    Am I wrong? Or are you actually a switch who switches?

    i am not talking about this with you holy shit why is this even a thing thats happening right now. i came here to chill and watch a movie and maybe make out afterward not argue with an ai over if im a bottom or not and delve into my love life. go bug rose im sure shed love having a deep philosophical conversation about my attributes or even her own way more than me

    Dave lifted his shades up and rested them atop his head to avoid the words for the rest of the movie, Dirk giving him more than a few glances to watch the multicolored lights play across the bridge of his nose and the red of his eyes. Even with his eyes on the film, though, it was impossible to focus any longer on anything but his own thoughts. Why was Hal there? Why, out of everything in the world, was he wanting to talk about he and Dirk’s fledgling fumbles at romance? Why was he so set on calling them both bottoms? Even worse, why did he bring up the Bro thing on the exact day he’d already been tossing the concept around in his head for the upteenth time this year?

    Worst fucking timing, rudest fucking AI, 0/10 would give negative review on Yelp.

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

    Good afternoon, Dave. Have you given consideration to what I was talking about before?

    Dave had managed the rest of the movie without his shades, and had nearly made it outside before the bright glare from outside the double doors made him wince and instinctively pull them down. Seeing that red text sitting there waiting for him made him want to scream, but it would’ve been pretty uncool and very much concerning for Dirk if he suddenly went off like that while holding his hand, so cautious texting while walking instead it was. He made sure to lace their fingers good and tight though, even adding a bit of a swing as they set their pace and headed off for the hell of it.

    you gonna keep asking till you get answers or is there an off switch i can find for you somewhere in the settings of this thing. He paused a moment before pressing further. or better yet why not just tell dirk and let him in on this little bit of bullshit youre pulling on me here.

    By all means, throw away the only hope you’ll ever get on this subject that could be beneficial. It’d be fitting really. The Prince of Heart forever destroying and remaking himself because he can’t change who he is at his deepest core, not knowing that every inch of him past present future and alternate reality is something that you’ve wanted for a long time. The knight holding the prince in stalemate because of his inability to lift the metaphorical sword and strike. Poetic almost, but it would be far more poetic if the swords were dicks and some fencing was involved. I’m certain Dirk would agree.

    And there went Dave’s mind again, flickering briefly to the times he and Dirk had wound up in a hot and heavy tangle on the floor, the press of dick against his abdomen, that strain of fabric he found himself working his own hips against instinctively till the heat of the moment had cleared enough for them to pull apart again. He felt his pulse kick up and he wet his lips reflexively.

    fine. start talking. you keep talking about what dirk would like and keep acting like hed somehow be fine with the whole

    Dave shifted his gaze to the side, observing Dirk as they walked down the street, traces of his orange eyes flickering here and there to track what was coming down the street and what was in the storefront windows that they passed. Okay, good, safe.

    the bro thing. if hes that chill with it i guess i can try to figure out how to spill the beans and.. idk. go for it?

    I’m not entirely certain Dirk would be immediately comfortable with the idea of you still thirsting after your older Brother when he was such a dirtbag and having that same thirst for him. Not at first at least.

    didnt you just wax poetic about quenching dirks thirst and drag me left and right for an entire fucking half a movie because we havent fooled around yet? what the shit is up with the fucking change of tone here im getting mixed messages

    Notice I said “Not at first”. If you go ahead and act on your desires, all of them, then he’d be satisfied. Whatever comes later won’t be permanently bad I assume, but I’ve got no idea for absolutely certain if he won’t flip his shit for a bit first.

    then why are you trying to get us to fuck if itd hurt him potentially, thats kind of the opposite of what im into here

    Dave could almost hear the pause for a laugh. He was grateful Hal lacked a voice chip or force feedback right now that he was aware of, uncertain if he’d be able to prevent himself from breaking either his shades or Dirk’s in some misguided attempt to destroy him as if they were able to have a fist fight over some snarky bullshit instead of it being majority one sided frustration and anger and the other being satisfied as the cat that ate the cream.

    Long term goals and short term goals, Dave. If you two go ahead and bone then the tension will ease in the air, you two can get your release any time you want, and I can stop gagging on my own code from watching you morons carry on for a second longer. That’s the short term goal. Long term, he’ll come to terms with the Bro thing one way or another if it’s because of you. Dirk’s a genius, but geniuses can be alarmingly idiotic in some strange ways, especially when they’re meatbags.

    ...and if im not entirely down with this what then. what happens if stuff just stays like it is and we see if things happens organically instead of me taking cues from a creepy ai talking at me by typing in front of my eyes. like are you gonna be doing this during the deed if it goes that far am i gonna be seeing red text when the dicks come out or nah

    What was he thinking. There was no way he could really be thinking of indulging this bullshit, was there? Hal was obviously manipulating him, it was plain and simple he wanted to manipulate them both for his own end goals even if they were benign as just being annoyed with watching their antics as a couple. ...A couple? Wait, were they actually dating? Were they dating at all? Nobody had really asked, and it was kind of assumed he thought but. ...No, it wasn’t assumed even, Dave knew there was still the occasional afternoon at Jake’s, but that was fine wasn’t it? Especially if they weren’t already dating.

    Dave blamed Hal for the sudden sense of concern and possessiveness clawing at his stomach. He wanted Dirk to be his and only his, if possible. He’d already lost Bro before, lost all the potential opportunities, and now he’d gotten Dirk and fallen for him and there was no way he was going to risk losing him to Jake even if the guy was built like a brick shit house and had an ass that would make Helen of Troy jealous. Forget the face that launched a thousand ships, English had an ass that could launch a thousand ships into space if he bent over in shorts too quickly.

    … Why was he hyperfixating on Jake English’s ass all at once instead of focusing on Dirk and the potential of them fooling around that was starting to feel more and more like a probability instead of a possibility. No doubt Dirk was down, he probably wouldn’t be dry humping him on the floor mid-makeout if he wasn’t interested in potentially going further right? Just needed a nudge. They both needed a nudge, since close as they were Dirk was still no Bro and Dave himself was... Well. Dave.

    Well, if you let things hang as they are, who’s to say how much longer it will remain as it is? You can only let a plant wither so long before it dies even if you have the best intentions. Plans to water a garden don’t water the fucking garden now do they.

    He didn’t really appreciate the sentiment, but it was a vivid one that hit home. Things were comfortable right now, but how much longer could it last with them both stringing each other along hoping for the other one to make the first move? If Dave himself just nudged things over the barrier and Dirk was into it then all the better right? They’d be over the hill and the rest of everything could just come to the surface over time as they got into a more comfortable routine with the added security.

    Dave stole another glance over towards Dirk, startled to realize he was being watched again as he struggled to remain calm on his exterior save for a twitch of a grin at the edge of his mouth.

    “What, I got somethin’ on my face?”

    “Nah, you just still seem kinda not really here. You not feeling well today? Or did the movie leave that bad a taste in your mouth? You stopped commenting on the directing halfway through, and there’s no way the plot managed to catch your interest so much that you’d actually be quiet for long as you were before starting up again,” he said. Observant as always. Damn it.

    “Oh. No, I’m fine man. I think it’s just the shades, they’re a lot to get used to in a theater. That’s why I took’em off for a while there actually, I’m not used to seein’ stuff that crisp and clear, it was kinda givin’ me a headache,” he lied, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could so much as pause and think through the fib.

    “Well, if you’re sure..”

    “I am, don’t worry. Promise,” Dave said as he squeezed Dirk’s fingers.

    Will you water the garden, Dave?

    ill water it , he typed back, focusing on just how nice it felt to hold Dirk’s hand in his own, trying to let his mind stray purposefully to what else might feel nice with those calloused hands. the drought is gonna fucking end in style

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

    Dave’s prediction about how the evening would go had come true, to the surprise of nobody. After wandering for a bit and getting a bite to eat, they wound up together in the living room in a comfortable pile with the cushions yanked off the furniture and a spare blanket adding some extra comfort to the mix. Dirk was resting his back against his stomach and had a long arm slung up around to his lower back, fingers rubbing aimlessly. They were chattering off and on about what was on screen and generally relaxing when the aimless rubbing took on the edge of a one handed massage. Dave stroked Dirk’s hair gently as he’d pet a cat, taking special pride in the fact that he was able to touch that when most others wouldn’t be allowed to, not minding the gentle tension the hair gel had against his hand like some kind of organic architecture as opposed to a hairstyle. He stroked back one more time before the urge to kiss him reared its head, and right on cue the words flashed in front of Dave’s eyes once more in bright crimson.

    Water the garden, Dave.

    fuck off

    Not wanting to disrupt the moment by taking off his shades and chucking them, Dave curled his body to kiss the side of Dirk’s neck softly, bracing the far side of his ribs with his knees to keep him in place within the coil of his body. Needing no prompting, Dirk turned in place to catch Dave’s lips in his own, and soon enough they were coiling together in a new position, climbing each other over and over as if they were drowning and trying to reach the surface of the water, drowning blissfully so long as they were able to keep lip to lip. Their teeth clicked together twice hard enough that it stung but it failed to deter either of them from what they wanted.

    Dirk rocked his hips and arched his back, Dave scratched his hips and tangled his fingers in the dark fabric of his shirt to keep him near, both gasping for air between spurts of frantic kisses. Dave felt heat in his abdomen, felt his stomach clench, and more insistently felt his dick ache every time Dirk squirmed against him. He was far from a small guy, and every inch of muscle and bone beneath the flush warmed skin was making it worse and worse. When Dirk went to pull back for air again, Dave could tell the inevitable separation was going to follow. He felt the tension leaving Dirk’s body save for his erection, knew that he’d just slip away and rest in the same position as before with a soft laugh and they’d carry on like before. Same as they had dozens of times by now. Same as always.

    Not this time, though.

    As Dirk tried to pull back Dave pushed forwards, doing his best to ignore the flash of red in front of his eyes once more, a moving image of hands clapping that disappeared quick as he got the kiss going once more. Tensing in surprise Dirk opened his eyes behind his shades, sharing up through two layers of tinting to try reading Dave’s expression, trying to understand for certain. Dave smiled against his lips and rolled his hips suggestively forwards a few times.. and sighed softly once he felt the tension leave Dirk’s body and realized he was yielding to the idea.

    Told you so.

    i said fuck off

    No need to be bitchy, I’m simply stating facts.

    Dave closed his eyes to ignore any further text as he rolled them, pinning Dirk down by the shoulders with his own forearms and bracing himself to continue deepening the kiss as he felt Dirk’s breathing pick up beneath him. It was delicious really. He was so ready, so pliant already. Was Bro like this in bed? Behind all the bravado and macho exterior, was he this willing to roll over and spread his legs when the time was right? Or was the universe shift and the different upbringing enough to change him and make him just as dominant as he acted in day to day life for appearances sake or not?

    No, focus. Dirk. Not Bro. Focus on here, on now. Focus on Dirk and how sweetly he was groaning when Dave licked past his lips to explore his mouth, the soft scratch of nails against the fabric of his jeans and the way he could feel that hardened body arch and stretch and shiver every time he rocked his hips. Dave already knew there was no way they’d be able to go all the way, not this unprepared, but is mind was already filling in the blanks with scenarios he’d imagined across the board in ways that might be fulfilling for them both.

    Either way, Dirk was going to come for him. That much was certain.

    Dave tipped his head and broke the kiss, working down the column of Dirk’s throat to where the pulse was beginning to hammer harder against his lips before he bit down hard enough to leave a ghost of a bruise. His hands slid down the square of Dirk’s chest to his waist, then smoothed forward to slip open his pants as he started to travel downwards, heart in his throat. This was it. The big reveal. He’d felt this dick against him before, had seen it in his dreams past and present, and the mystery would finally be revealed at about the same time he’d need to come to terms with not knowing how to actually suck dick.

    “You sure?” he asked, wetting his lips best he could. “I mean. We don’t need to rush anything, I’m fine taking it slow. Or. At all I guess. Just. Fuck, are you sure?”

    It was the least positive Dave had ever heard him, and the quake in his voice was to die for. Nothing had even happened and yet it felt like Dirk was barely holding himself together at the seams.

    “Yeah,” Dave breathed as he scooted down further, perching on his knees between Dirk’s thighs. He could smell precome on top of the scent of soap from his copious showers, as well as the faint smell of popcorn from the theater earlier clinging to his clothes as they were pulled aside. “Yeah. I’m sure. Chill, a’ight? I got this.”

    Did he? Oh, he did.

    Probably.

    Was it weird to call a dick pretty? It probably was, wasn’t it. The tiny Rose that lived in the back of his head was ready to go off, but Hal’s red writing beat her to the punch. Yet there wasn’t really any other way to describe Dirk’s than just that: it was nicely shaped, a good size in Dave’s opinion, had a gentle curve and was nestled comfortably in a thatch of darker blonde curls. It was like a dick out of an absurdly well drawn anime or comic, which in a way was fitting for him. Of course he’d have the doujinshi dick. Of course he would.

    It as nice as you hoped? I’d be more smug, but Dirk hasn’t gotten around to building one for me yet. I think because he’s insecure and not prepared to be outdone by me yet again by his own hand.

    Ignoring the flood of red, Dave was enthralled by Dirk’s reactions to him instead. He was trying to sit up on his elbows, staring down with a dry mouth and wide eyes, cock straining and leaking more the closer Dave’s mouth grew to it. It emboldened Dave once he realized that it seemed like anything he did would be appreciated and enjoyed by someone enthusiastic instead of it being judged. He reached out with his tongue as he glanced up, worried he’d gag or make a stupid face if he didn’t focus on something, hoping it was a good visual. From how flushed Dirk had grown, it seemed like it was plenty good enough.

    Sucking dick turned out to feel a lot like coming home. Maybe it was because he already knew his way around his own equipment and could guess what might feel great or not based on personal jacking off experience. The flavor wasn’t amazing, yeah, but the sensation as much as the idea of what he was doing was proving to be more than enough to get himself hard and aching. Dave undid his own pants and freed his cock with a tentative stoke before focusing twice as hard on what he was doing to stimulate Dirk, mind finally being made up on what he intended to do to him.

    To?

    No. With.

    With him.

    ….. To him had a nice ring to it, though.

    One hand stroked the length Dave couldn’t fit between his lips, quickly growing wet from how messy the blowjob was turning out to be, while the other gently kneaded and fondled Dirk’s balls once they were also fished out of his jeans. Dirk had continued to shuffle his clothes down till they were at last off, awkwardly trying to toe off his socks without running the risk of dislodging Dave from his hard earned perch.

    He was gentle when he took Dave’s head in his hands, hesitating quite obviously for a solid thirty seconds before finally clasping those calloused hands to the back of his neck, then up into his short blonde hair to gently tug. Dave was pretty sure he’d come right then and there as his thoughts blurred past and present, dream and reality, desire and need with just the pressure of those hands. He moaned louder than anticipated and doubled his efforts on making Dirk come, bobbing his head quickly enough that even Dirk finally groaned and started to rock his hips beyond his own control.

    Here I’d been trying to convince you to go ahead and fuck Dirk so I could finally have some peace and quiet beyond watching you two fail at your attempts to successfully move beyond initial courtship, and you go above and beyond at showing what a slut you are the second someone akin to Bro grabs your head and humps. Do you plan on swallowing too? Live the full fantasy?

    He hadn’t intended on swallowing, but now that the idea was lodged in his brain, it seemed like a good thing to attempt. Nearly there but not quite. A perfect match as a match could be, yet still entirely separate. The hottest shade of a ghost he’d ever experienced in his fucking life, and the tiny Rose in the back of his mind that was worried he was accidentally using Dirk for his own means was dead silent at last. Dirk’s head fell back as he came, salty against Dave’s tongue as he tried his best to swallow and gave up, pulling back to let the mess of drool and come slide onto Dirk’s thighs.

    “Jesus. Jesus fuck, dude, where did that come from?” Dirk asked through heavy pants, looking dizzy with pleasure as Dave wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. “I mean. Shit, I mean I liked it but it was kind of sudde-”

    Dave shoved him backwards suddenly and lifted his slender legs upwards till Dirk obediently lifted his feet up as well. No resistance. No questions. Just acceptance and staring orange eyes, flushed cheeks and wet lips, a messy dick that was steadily going flaccid and the slick mess of his thighs. He hooked Dirk’s legs up against his shoulder and braced, lining his own cock up not with his ass, but with the slickness of thigh. It took all of two slides for Dirk to get the idea and clench his legs tight as he could, hissing air between his teeth as he was fenced at from below, still overly sensitive from having just come himself.

    It was desperate, quick motions and running on instinct. Dirk was moving beneath him deliciously, tensing his muscles and loosening them when it was too much to handle, shuddering, making Dave wonder if this was what he’d be like while really being fucked. If this was what Bro was like, or if this was how he’d wind up if they swapped. Would he be able to handle that? Would he be able to handle getting pinned down and worked over like this? It was too much to think about at once.

    Not long after starting what was, essentially, a hurried humping motion as opposed to anything dripping with skill and experience, Dave added to the re-warmed mess on Dirk’s legs and up against his abdomen before leaning forward against his straight legs while they both caught their breath. Endorphins and afterglow made for a dreamy soft sensation when Dave finally scooted back on shaky legs and flopped down on the ground beside Dirk in the pile once more, trying to wrap his head around what they’d just done. What he’d just done.

    “That was. …Good,” Dave finally said as he stared wide eyed at the ceiling, words fleeing his mind like sand through clasped fingers. He wasn’t that articulate to begin with when his brain was fried, but this was a step and a half fucking beyond.

    “Really good,” Dirk murmured. He rolled and slid a heavy arm across Dave’s chest, nestling close and comfortable. He took his shades off and dropped them an arms length away suddenly, leaving Dave unsure whether it was because he wanted to not have the Kamina looking motherfuckers jabbing into the cushions and digging into his nose when not trying to rip the fabric, or because Hal was bothering him.

    Not bad, and success: he’s not aware in the slightest still that you have a throbbing hard on for his alternate self. It’s a win win, but mostly a win for me. I assume you’ll be doing this in the future again, yes? This wasn’t a one time thing? Affirm this wasn’t a one time thing, the idea of you two properly fucking and carrying on instead of being the dating equivalent of a cordyceps ant clinging to a leaf might be a cause to celebrate. I might even run a disc cleaning on myself, get those hard to reach files a nice thorough scrubdown.

    what did i tell you to do earlier

    Tell me to fuck off once more and see if I care, Dave. I was right, and that’s enough for me. Even Dirk had to admit I was right. Affirm that this wasn’t a one time thing, and I’ll leave you be for now til you inevitably need me again.

    Dave took his shades off without another word and tossed them on top of Dirk’s before holding him closer, loosely tangling their legs together in the mishmash of a nest on the floor with a sigh. Was this situation perfect? No. Would there be problems in the future? Potentially. Did he have confidence they’d figure it out together, especially now that they’d managed to slide over that mutual gap for the first time?

    He was pretty sure they’d find a way, hopefully without excess red text.

[ijustwanttoexist]

Love Isn’t Just a Walk in the Park Pt. 6

First of all, I want to say thank you for the donations to my ko-fi. I don’t have the right words for how much they mean to me, but they mean a lot. You guys have been and are amazing. Thank you.

Also, a friendly reminder that I don’t work with dogs/pets, so if I include something in my fics that is dangerous to animals, please let me know and I’ll be sure to spread the word so we can keep all our pets safe.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Pairing(s): Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin

Sidney doesn’t actually come back in the next day the shop is open, but Geno doesn’t worry about it. He knows that Sidney and his team are probably really busy with playoffs. Any maybe that teammate of Sid’s hasn’t had a chance to talk to him about coming to the store. And really, with the heat steadily increasing as Spring progresses and builds into Summer, who wants to be outside running, no matter how cute the dogs in Geno’s shop are?

So no, he doesn’t worry about the fact Sidney doesn’t arrive bright and early the next morning to pick a dog to run with. (And Angela can stop giving him those knowing looks when she thinks he’s not looking. So what if he decided to change up the schedule and take on some morning shifts. Change is good sometimes.)

He doesn’t worry the next morning either, because the shop is closed for business since it’s a Wednesday, so it’s just him and the animals as he takes inventory and restocks the shelves and catches up on a seemingly never ending pile of paperwork.

But by Friday afternoon, he’s a bit worried. Or perhaps worried isn’t the right word. The conversation he’d had with Sidney’s teammate had inflated hope in his chest like a helium balloon. And like a helium balloon, it deflated just a little bit for each day that passed. And now that hope feels sluggish in his chest, not floating high to bounce on the ceiling anymore, but hovering in the middle of the room as it slowly grows smaller.

Sara actually asks if he’s feeling okay after he’s returned from lunch. Apparently he’s actually been touching his chest and making uncomfortable faces every time he lets himself stop and think about it, and he feels silly for it.

He gives her a shrug and a smile he knows is a bit strained.

“Heartburn,” he says.

“Did you take something for it, or are you being dumb and trying to tough it out?”

“Took some antacids,” he promises.

“And it’s not working?” She sounds really concerned, and Geno feels guilty for lying.

“Just take at lunch. Should start to work any minute now.”

She gives him a disbelieving look, but goes back to cleaning up a spill in one of the aisles, all the while telling Geno exactly how it happened in excruciating and extremely dramatic detail. Geno finds himself laughing, enjoying her probably highly exaggerated story and appreciating it in the spirit it’s meant.

The bell above the door jingles as Geno is in the middle of a deep belly laugh, head thrown back, one hand clutching the counter so he doesn’t overbalance and the other lifting to wipe the tears from his eyes. He opens one eye as he swipes at the other, and he’s in too good of a mood to freeze when he sees Sid standing by the door looking a little distracted.

“Sid, good to see you,” he says, not even trying to fight the smile that nearly splits his face. And if he hadn’t already known he’d fallen for this ridiculous man, he would know now, because even with that atrocious wispy attempt at a beard Sidney is still the best thing Geno has seen in days.

“Hey,” Sid says back, seemingly coming back from whatever had been distracting him, and gives a tentative half wave. He looks nervous, like he’s not sure of his welcome.

“Hey, Sid!” Sara says, leaning on her mop and waving at him, “long time no see, dude. Angela and I were going to start a betting pool on what happened to you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, glancing between Geno and Sara.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Angela was pretty sure you were cheating on us with one of those other shelters at that photo shoot, y’know? I told her now way, but she was pretty convinced. Told me she saw you cozying up with a springer spaniel while everyone was mingling.”

“Oh, no, I...”

Sara interrupts him.

“But I was pretty sure that our beloved boss somehow put his foot in it while you two were talking, because you kind of seemed to be avoiding him after that? And like, he’s been kind of moping around since then, y’know?”

“No, I...” Geno tries to cut in and save himself the embarrassment.

“Oh, well...” Sid begins.

Sara continues to talk over them.

“And G wasn’t really talking about it at all, which seemed kind of like a dead giveaway. But then I was thinking that maybe you put your foot in it, and were too embarrassed to come back. Because G’s pretty great when it comes to communication, and he’s never too proud to apologize if he messes up.”

She stares Sidney down as she talks, no longer leaning on her mop but using all of her not inconsiderable height, shoulders squared for an encounter, one hand on her hip and the other white-knuckled on the mop handle. Geno watches it all with wide eyes, his brain screaming at him to say something to stop her tirade but unable to get his mouth to work.

“Because really, it wouldn’t make sense for G to be moping so hard if he was the one that messed up, y’know? He’s a great person and he wouldn’t just let bad feelings stew if he was responsible for them. So whatever happened obviously wasn’t his fault.”

She falls silent then, making intense eye contact with the man she knows upset her boss while he gives her a decidedly dear in headlights look.

“Sara,” Geno finally breaks the silence, “take your break.” She startles.

“What? No, I...” She cuts off when Geno gives her a significant look, trying to convey that he’s not angry she apparently decided she needed to defend his honor but just that he wanted a moment alone.

“Long break.” He gives Sidney a considering look, the looks back at her. “Half hour, at least.”

“But the mess,” she says weakly, gesturing with the mop.

“Will still be here when you back.”

She gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“And you promise you won’t try to clean it?”

“Promise,” he agrees. Because hunching over the mop always makes his back ache in ways nothing else ever does and he happily leaves it to the girls. She gives a decisive nod, then walks out the front door, giving Sidney one last stink eye as she leaves.

The men look at each other in awkward silence for a moment.

“I’m...sorry?” Sidney says finally. He’s fidgeting with his fingers, looking between them and Geno. Geno himself has leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Don’t need to be sorry, Sidney. Nothing to apologize for.” He waves his hand like he’s erasing the apology away.

“I feel like maybe I do.”

“No,” Geno denies, “done nothing wrong. You run dogs on your time. Know you’re busy now, in playoffs.” Geno shrugs. “Not so much time for best dogs now.”

“I should have called or something.” Sidney insists.

“Don’t owe me anything, Sid.” He says it more somber than he means to, and sees Sidney flinch. He’s not looking at his fingers anymore, eyes solely on Geno.

“I did kind of drop a bomb on you then disappear,” he says, looking chagrined.

“You did,” Geno agrees, “think maybe you don’t mean it, telling me about no boyfriend. Or regret it. Maybe you realize you make a mistake to say that, realize you don’t want me.” Sidney winces.

“I did mean it. I just...I panicked. I’m not really a spontaneous kind of person. I did research on this place for like a month before I came in asking if I could walk your dogs. And telling you I wasn’t straight, that was really spontaneous. And then I started to doubt myself, y’know?

“What if I misread all of our interactions and it was just wishful thinking on my part that you were into me? And then what if me saying that made you really uncomfortable and you didn’t want to deal with me anymore? I convinced myself it was easier if I just didn’t come back.”

“Was easier,” Geno agreed. “Doing nothing always easier. But sometimes,” Geno pauses and looks around his shop with fondness, “sometimes easier isn’t best thing. Easier would mean I’m not here, in America, have no pet shop, never meet best employees.” He meets Sidney’s eyes, gives him a fond smile. “Or beautiful man with best smile and great ass.”

That gets a chuckle out of Sidney even as he turns bright red.

“One of my teammates reminded me that I play professional hockey for a living, and that I’m kind of an outspoken, opinionated pain in the ass about pretty much everything. And that I’ve probably never actually taken the easier path in my entire life up until now. And then, because he’s an asshole, he whipped me with a towel in my own kitchen and gave me a pep talk full of awful hockey innuendos.”

Geno laughed.

“Good stick handling? Work in deep and go in the back? Go in hard and fast?” Geno suggests, and sticks his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing.

Sidney groans at Geno’s awful entendres and shakes his head.

“Less sex stuff and more stereotypical sports pep talk right before the big game that happens in literally every sports movie and show that has every existed, but for dating.”

“Want to date me, Sid?” Geno asks playfully. Sidney squares his shoulders.

“Yeah, I really do. We’re flying out tonight for a couple of away games, but maybe I could take you out for dinner some time next week?”

“Would like that,” Geno agrees.

“Yeah?” Sid says, face lit up and smile wide.

“Yes. Give me your number and we’ll text, make plans.” They swap numbers, giving each other wide dopey smiles the whole time.

They stand there just staring at each other for who knows how long until the bell above the door rings and they both startle.

It’s Sara. She looks between the two of them and then rolls her eyes.

“Oh thank god, it looks like you two finally figured it out. Two more weeks, and I would have owed Angela fifty bucks.”

“How many betting pools do you two have?” Sidney asks.

“We have all the details in our texts, but maybe like fifteen?” Sara shrugs. “It keeps us entertained. All that matters now is that I won and I’m using that money on all of the pizza.” She says, and goes back to mopping after saying goodbye to Sidney.

“I’ll text you,” Sidney promises as he leaves. Geno waves at him and turns to go back to work. His phone vibrating in his pocket stops him. He checks it and smiles. He knows he must look embarrassingly besotted, but Sara’s kind enough not to say anything as he texts back or when he starts whistling to himself.

She just asks him if he wants to go out for pizza after work, and he happily accepts.

[mikauzoran]

The Plan(TM) (re: Mikau’s WIPs) 2: Electric Boogaloo

Hi, guys. Time for another status update. ^.^ 

I’m wrapping up my Lukadrien June 2021 piece Your Hands Hold Home right now, so I should be on track to post the final chapter of that on 06/30/2021.

Below is a list of other projects I plan on working on in the coming months. Let me know what sounds interesting or what you’re excited for.

Le Carnaval: (various pairings and platonic interactions) So, @miraculousfanworks is doing Snippet July. There are prompts for each day, and the stories/chapters for each prompt have to be one thousand words or less. I recently made a post requesting pairings, and I’m going to use the pairing prompts I received from you guys and the Snippet July prompts to create a collection of short stories featuring various romantic pairings and platonic interactions between characters.

Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: (Lukadrien) After four years, Adrien is back in Paris, broke, and ready to try to reconnect with friends and get his life back on track. Meanwhile, Luka is going through a breakup and struggling not to be a total wreck. They’ve grown and changed, but they’re still the same people underneath it all. As they try to pick up where they left off, they support one another, and their friendship slowly grows into something more.

So, this one is on hiatus while I do Lukadrien June. I have some days off scheduled at the beginning of July, so I hope to finish writing this then and resume posting in July. I just have two-ish chapters left. I really want to do Snippet July, though, so Zebras might get pushed back a little more while I work on that. ^.^; Sorry in advance! Thanks for your patience.

Marichat May: In April, I made a post asking you guys to pick Marichat May prompts for me to combine into a single story. I still plan on doing that story. It’s just taking longer than anticipated for me to get around to it. XD

Plagg and Wayzz Prompt: (Lady Noir) I got a comment on one of my stories that said, “Can you do a top wayzz bottom plagg one? Preferably in universe and in human form. Doesn’t have to be smut.” First I thought, “What the bloody hell?” because it was a comment on a Lukadrien story, and that’s all it said, and I thought, “Well, that’s random.” I’ve never really written Wayzz before, but this gave me the idea for a story where the team is up against an akuma that somehow separates them from their kwamis, leaving the heroes unable to detransform and the kwamis in defenseless human form. What I came up with really doesn’t have anything to do with the prompt other than Plagg and Wayzz will both be in human form. It will probably just end up being a Lady Noir identity reveal piece, honestly.

Adrien Trapped in AU-Land: (Adrienette, canon universe featuring AUs) My idea is based off of a writing prompt submitted by @graaythekwami on the @miraculousfanworks Discord server: AU where all the characters wake up in a different AU every chapter, fully remembering what happened in the last AU. My idea is for Chat Noir to get hit by an akuma (probably named Escapist or something equally dumb ^.^) who traps Adrien in a series of alternate realities (AUs) until he realizes his feelings for Marinette and manages to break free.

Adrienette Hanahaki: A while ago I did an ask game about a trope I’d like to try writing, and the one I came up with was Adrien with Hanahaki disease (The one where you start coughing up flower petals due to unrequited love making flowers grow inside your lungs). I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I’d like to actually write this story. My basic outline is: Adrien starts showing symptoms, and Gabriel badgers him about whom he’s in love with, and Adrien just blurts out, “Marinette!” And Gabriel threatens Marinette into dating Adrien, and they start fake dating but then fall in love.

L’Amour de Loin: (Lukadrien, post-Papillon defeat, Félix wingman) I did a sneak peek for this here. Adrien is living in London with his aunt and cousin three years after Papillon’s defeat and arrest. He’s in rough shape and hasn’t kept in touch with anyone from Paris. One day, he gets a text from Luka out of the blue, and they rekindle their friendship. Félix acts as wingman to ensure that it turns into something more.

Happenstance and Magic: Marichat May 2019. Marinette and Chat Noir adopt kittens together, and Adrien tries to get Marinette to see that he’s not perfect but still a worthwhile person deserving of her love.

I’ve been thinking about this one, and I think I’m going to cut the number of prompts I actually use. Once I’m done with the other stories, I want to sit down and make a more thorough outline of what I want the story to be and which prompts I’m going to use to get me there.

The Seduction of Adrien Agreste: This is part of the Springtime in Wonderland (Daisy/Jabberwocky) series. It deals with Luka and Adrien experimenting with physical intimacy to see if they can reach a compromise where Luka and (asexual) Adrien are both comfortable and have their needs met.

Things Currently on the Backburner:

The Rejects Club: Predominantly Marichat with Adrienette. Chat Noir and Marinette unexpectedly grow very close very fast as they open up to one another after Marinette overhears Adrien seemingly dismissing her as a romantic prospect. Identity shenanigans at farcical levels ensue.

I can’t really deal with Rejects right now. I’m feeling super overwhelmed by basic life stuff, so I don’t really have the mental or emotional energy to put into a story where I don’t know how many more chapters there will be until the end. I’m thinking that what I have planned will take at least another one or two hundred thousand words. This thing is just so massive, and I’m not in good enough mental heath to deal with it right now.

Springtime in Wonderland: Yeah, no. See the paragraph directly above. I was already having trouble with my mental health in 2019, and 2020 took a sledgehammer to my already frail state. This story is another one that’s going to take another couple hundred thousand words to complete, and I just don’t have the stamina in me right now. I’d rather focus on smaller projects that actually feel attainable. I’m trying not to burn myself out.

That’s what I have for now. There are a couple other ideas I’m toying with, so you may see a couple one-shots not listed here. I just don’t want to formally commit to writing anything else at the moment. So. Is there anything that you’re particularly interested in? Let me know what you’re thinking.

Thoughts? Feelings? Suggestions? Opinions? ^.^

[xxseekritsxx]

MCU references in the Marvel Netflix shows! Yes, they are canon.

(Disclaimer: I tried to edit the original version of this post to add a new reference to the “Multiple Sources” section since I did not feel like reblogging and wasting an extra part of the post for this. But for whatever stupid reason, mobile Tumblr apparently no longer keeps the original text when you try to edit a post, and I accidentally reposted the original without any text. So I deleted the original post and am doing this again. -_-)

Yes, despite what some ignorant people would say, the Marvel Netflix shows are part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. They’re self-contained enough to be their own thing, but they are still part of something greater. IF they were completely separate like some people idiotically assume, then nothing from those shows would have pages on the MCU Wiki or be part of the MCU page for TV Tropes, nor would they be allowed to make references to the larger MCU if they weren’t in it at all.

So I have put together a list of references from the TV shows to the greater MCU. I have broken down my list by each show where a reference was made, as well as making a category of references that run across multiple sources at once. Everything is under the cut.

1. Daredevil:

In the episode “Kingpin”, upon learning how the Anatoly brothers and their fellow Russian mobster mooks failed to stop Daredevil so far, Wilson Fisk’s right-hand man James Wesley derisively mocks the mobsters over their failure with this remark: “If he had an iron suit or a magic hammer, maybe that would explain why you keep getting your asses handed to you.”

Among the headlines in Ben Urich’s office (which later becomes Karen’s office after Urich’s death) in season 1, there are articles written by Urich referencing the “Harlem Horror” (the final battle between Hulk and Abomination in “The Incredible Hulk”, which was also referenced during the first Avengers film and comes up again later in this list) and the Avengers saving the day during the Battle of New York.

Adding to the last part of the previous point, the devastation brought to Hell’s Kitchen from the fallout of the Battle of New York is what allowed Wilson Fisk to grow his influence in the underworld and make a profit off of the reconstruction that took place after all the fighting was done.

2. Luke Cage:

When Pops tries to encourage Luke to use his enhanced strength for good instead of hiding his powers, he gives Luke this advice with the following remark: “You should be out there helping people, like them other fellas downtown.” First heard in the Luke Cage season 1 trailer and in the very first episode, this quote is a clear reference to the Avengers (one of multiple made by this series).

A running gag with the young character Dave “D.W.” Griffith in season 1 revolved around him going into the streets selling bootleg footage of the Avengers in action during the Battle of New York.

Misty Knight’s former (crooked) partner Rafael Scarfe made an interesting statement about the redundancy of the police in New York with the following remark referencing Thor: “Unless this sidearm that I’m wearing suddenly turns into some kind of magic hammer, this whole job is irrelevant.”

Cottonmouth mockingly refers to Luke Cage (to the main character’s face) as “Harlem’s Captain America” when questioning Luke on whether the latter truly thinks of himself as a hero.

Remember when I said earlier that the final battle between Hulk and Abomination was going to be referenced again on this list? Since the “Luke Cage” series is set in Harlem, this is where it unsurprisingly comes up again. Locals in Harlem still remember the battle between the super strong monsters years later. I mean, how could you forget something like that easily?

Multiple references to Hammer Industries technology. Despite its founder still being behind bars (covered later), the company still continues to operate. Like SHIELD and others (such as HYDRA, Vulture’s crew, and a criminal couple who ended up working for SHIELD under an agent who would later go rogue-after Sitwell decided to go against his orders from said rogue agent to kill them for possessing a Chitauri gun), Hammer Industries salvaged leftover Chitauri technology from the Battle of New York to make new weapons out of it. In the show, these weapons include the Judas bullets (which are those rounds fired by Diamondback that were able to actually pierce Luke Cage’s skin). The other notable piece of Hammer tech in the show is Diamondback’s battlesuit, which he wore for the final battle in season 1 when he and Luke fought.

3. Jessica Jones:

In the episode “AKA 99 Friends”, Jessica is contacted by a woman who allegedly wants Jessica to use her investigative skills to follow her cheating husband around. However, this turns out to be a ruse. The woman who called Jessica lured her into a trap and attempted to kill her, the reason being that the woman’s mother died during the Battle of New York. Despite Jessica having no involvement in these events at all, the woman who laid the trap views all superpowered people as freaks-basically a much smaller-scale version of the attitudes shared in “Captain America: Civil War” who see superheroes as people that need to be brought to heel and put on a tight leash.

Shortly after learning about both of them having the power of super strength in common, Luke asks Jessica during their dinner if she knows about any other enhanced people besides themselves and the Avengers. Jessica reveals the existence of Kilgrave to Luke in response.

In the first episode of season 3, Jessica is asked to bring a young girl back to her mother following the divorce of the girl’s parents. As she is getting dragged by Jessica back to her mother, the girl asks the title heroine “Would Captain America do this?” when questioning Jessica’s actions.

4. Iron Fist:

When Danny is initially not believed by his friends Joy and Ward Meachum to be who he says he is after Danny and the Rand family were declared missing long ago, Danny is sent to a psychiatric ward. When Danny explains his title and powers to the doctor assigned to treat him, the doctor responds with a scoffing remark about the frequency of crazy people emerging with claims of possessing superpowers having increased since the emergence of Iron Man.

In season 2, we learn that Mary Walker/Typhoid Mary was held captive in Sokovia for nearly two years prior to her being discharged from the Army following her escape.

5. The Punisher:

Believe it or not, there is a connection between the Punisher series and “Agents of SHIELD”. Many of you may not remember this, but back in season 1 of the latter series, Daisy name-drops one of her old contacts from the Rising Tide hacktivist group she used to be part of: Micro. While the Punisher series itself does not return this reference at all, it is still worth mentioning. Micro was part of the Rising Tide group prior to his eventual recruitment by the NSA, who picked him up after learning of his skills.

6. Multiple sources:

Roxxon has been referenced as an Easter egg multiple times within the MCU canon, such as being featured in “Iron Man 3″ when Trevor Slattery murdered a Roxxon executive on live TV while posing as the Mandarin, and being featured in the first season of “Agents of SHIELD”. The company has also been integral to the plots of the TV series “Agent Carter” and in “Cloak and Dagger”. In the latter series, there are some references to the greater MCU:

Peter Scarborough, CEO of Roxxon in the present day, justifies the company’s attempted extraction of Darkforce and Lightforce energy with this remark while being held captive by Tandy/Dagger: “In this day and age, you need to keep up with the Joneses. As well as the Starks and the Rands.” A clear nod to Tony Stark and Danny Rand.

Detective Brigid O’Reilly reveals that she is originally from Harlem and was part of the local police force there prior to moving to New Orleans. In addition, she mentions a friend named Misty-a clear reference to Misty Knight. What makes this nod even better is when Luke Cage season 2 returns the reference when Misty mentions O’Reilly having moved out of town.

In season 2, Tyrone has a discussion with a friend about Luke Cage when the former finds out his friend cannot read what’s on the newspaper about Cage. The article in question is a “Harlem Rumble” piece about Luke, which is also explicitly mentioned to be written by Karen Page.

Carl “Crusher” Creel AKA Absorbing Man has been referenced in the Daredevil episode “Cut Man” as the young boxer Matt’s father Jack Murdock fought in the ring on the same night the latter was eventually murdered for not throwing the fight. The poster advertising their fight can be seen in the background of Fogwell’s Gym where Jack and, later, Matt, would spend time training. Creel himself appeared as a recurring character in seasons 2, 3, and 5 of “Agents of SHIELD”. In the latter series, Creel’s boxer past was referenced as part of his introduction in the second season.

Seagate Prison has appeared in multiple sources. In “Luke Cage” we know the prison as the one where the title character was sent for a crime he didn’t commit and where he received his powers from Dr. Noah Burstein’s experiments. In the Marvel One-Shot “All Hail the King”, it was revealed that Seagate is also the home to Justin Hammer and Trevor Slattery, following their respective arrests in “Iron Man 2″ and “Iron Man 3″. During the One-Shot, Slattery was interviewed by a documentary filmmaker named Jackson Norris. However, the filmmaker revealed that he was actually an agent of the Ten Rings (whom we all know as the terrorist organization who captured Tony Stark in the first “Iron Man” movie). Norris captured Slattery and extracted him from Seagate with the intent of taking the washed-up actor to meet the former’s master: the real Mandarin, who was not exactly pleased with Slattery’s portrayal of him. Slattery’s final fate after this is unknown.

So the next time someone says the Marvel Netflix shows are “not canon” or “completely separate”, show them this list.

[jenobloom]

Inky Waves

Request: Thank you for the Xiaoyang!!!! Can I get some Hendery fluff with implied smut? You’re his ex and you look back at the relationship you hab before he broke up with you to move to Korea. Kinda nostalgic, heartbroken, melancholic. Try to make me cry

Pairing: Reader X Hendery

Warnings: Language

Genre: Angst, fluff

Note: In this she will be speaking to Hendery in English, any text in bold is spoken in Mandarin

You woke up to a dim room, the blackout curtains doing their job but the faint glow of the morning sun peeping at the ceiling as the quiet chirps of the birds at dawn created a soundtrack. You felt warm, comfortable and at home as you stared at the once familiar male that was sprawled out close you, his raven hair had grown longer and fell over his now chiselled features in inky waves, eyelashes resting against his cheekbones as he slept peacefully, lips parted slightly. His toned bare body was covered up until his waist by the thin blue blanket that covered your own form and his muscled arm was wrapped tightly around your naked waist as if he was scared that you would slip away while he was rested, warm salty tears rolled down your face and dripped silently on to the whites sheets beneath you as each of his prince-like features triggered an old memory within you.

_______________________________________________________________

eyelashes resting peacefully against his cheekbones

________________________________________________________________

“Class, this is (Y/L/N) (Y/N), a new student from England who’ll be joining us. Her Mandarin is very basic so please be nice and help her if she doesn’t understand.” The tall middle-aged woman announced to the room of teens then turned to you and continued in a smaller, almost patronising voice, “go sit in the seat next to Guanheng he can help you with the material, he speaks English almost fluently but don’t make a habit of conversing in it.”

Following the teacher’s stern instructions, you ended up in the back of the room cold and silent room at a worn wooden desk next to a slight boy with eyes far too big for him and a bright smile as big as his face, all built-up tension within your frame melted away quickly as you smiled back at the peculiar boy; there was no point paying attention to the math lesson anyway as you couldn’t understand what was being said, you would just have to catch up and teach yourself later on at home.

“How’s school so far?”

You were confused by his choice of first words, no ‘hi, I’m Guanheng’ but instead he asked how’s school. You reply with a short and almost cold response of “it’s fine thank you” before the odd boy pulls you in to a conversation about all sorts, topics ranging from aliens to tests as you tried to avoid being caught by the teacher.

_______________________________________________________________

His lips slightly parted

________________________________________________________________

“Guanheng, I’m going to need you to quit playing vines real quick, this test is important and right now I can’t even remember my own name”. you snapped, your mandarin close to fluent and pronunciation almost perfect now out of frustration at the boy.

“Go on a date with me?”

Your pencil slapped the table loudly as it fell from your grip, eyes narrowing at the lanky male sprawled out across your bedroom carpet with his lips now slightly parted in wait while your heart did a weird flutter thing. “What are you going on about now?”

He sat up instantly, an expression of mischief crossed over his face yet you could tell he was being 100% serious with what he had just asked. You catch the glint of nervousness in his large brown eyes and the tiny falter in his smirk as you questioned him and his intentions, “Well you need a stress relief, and I may… kind of… ever-so-slightly-like-you.”

“Guanheng you’re an idiot.” You walked over to him and gently tapped him across the side of his head before sitting yourself in his lap, giggling a little as he caught on to your acceptance of his outburst, “I may ever-so-slightly-like-you-too, Jesus Christ we sound like one of those stupid One Direction fan-fics I read when I was 12.”

“You read One Direction fan fics?”

“Shut up before I take what I said back and I’m not going on that date.”

_______________________________________________________________

his raven hair had grown longer and fell over his now chiselled features in inky waves

________________________________________________________________

“So, is there a reason why you bought me to a park in the middle of the night Huang Guanheng?”

“It’s not the middle of the night, it’s 7PM and because,” he set his phone down on the wall close to you both with his suspiciously full Nike backpack before hitting play, SHINee’s Replay (your favourite song) filtering quietly through the small portable speaker and walking over to where you stood waiting for his explanation. “I thought we could have a dance party for our date!”

You laughed brightly as he began to dance, copying the groups choreography but using exaggerated moves to make you laugh and asking you to join in. The pair of you continued to dance  along to a compilation of both yours and his favourite songs, occasional pedestrians stopping to watch the pair of you animatedly executing the moves and only stopping to collapse on the grass after when you could hardly breathe, a small layer of sweat clung to your foreheads. Guanheng passed you a still ice-cold water bottle from his backpack before moving to set up a tiny picnic of various foods, the biggest dish however being chicken feet which he placed in front of himself as you stared in slight disgust (still not being used to some of the strange delicacies of the country so different from the one you had been used to while growing).

“Did your mum make all of this?” You eyed up the carefully made chicken wraps and beef rolls.

“Actually, not everything,” he continued to pull a foil-covered lump from his bag, unwrapping it gently and placing it in front of you proudly. “I made this specially for you!”

You glanced down at the clearly home-made battered fish that had been sandwiched between 2 slices of buttered white bread and smothered in ketchup and salt, crusts cut off and the edges cut in to a really awkwardly shaped wobbly heart so that the bread could stay soft.

“I know it’s not as good as what you would have back at home or like, what your mum makes, but I know you miss home and I thought I would try and make you something you have there so here can feel like home! You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to but-“

Guanheng was cut off as your lips smashed, literally smashed, on to his clumsily, the both of you pulling away moments later when the taste of blood filtered in to both of your mouths as you realised that the force you had hit him with had split your lip. Guanheng instantly began to panic as thick blood dripped on to your blue jeans from the small cut on your bottom lip, all food forgotten in front of you as he began to baby you, placing his fingers to your cut to try and stop it from dripping more but then beginning to freak harder when the liquid came in to contact with his skin as he was now smearing your warm blood over both your chin and his hand.

“Hendery calm down! I’m at home here” Guanheng instantly froze, hand falling from your lips to your thigh, slightly squeezing it as he processed what you had just called him.

“Hendery?”

A blush fell across your cheeks as you put your hand over his and intertwined your fingers, “yeah, you’re just… a Hendery. It sounds kind of prince like, you remind me of Prince Eric a little, you just need to grow out your hair a bit!”

“Hm… well I guess I can be your prince?”

“Huang Guanheng, shut up you’re so embarrassing!”

_______________________________________________________________

his muscled arm was wrapped tightly around your naked waist

________________________________________________________________

“Aaaaand here, best spot on the wall for a photo!”

The winter sun made the snowy ground glitter prettily, most of the snow untouched as the public decided it was best to stay inside, making it a perfect time for you and Hendery to visit the usually busy place. Your boyfriend’s cheeks had a soft blush to them as he positioned you in ‘the perfect position’ for a photo, the rest of the wall’s walkway could be seen behind you as well as the fairy-tale-like scene of the snow-covered forest and mountains. “Hendery, I want you in it though!”

They boy stared at you, a slight pout on his face as he walked back over, phone still in hand and the camera app open. “But I want a picture of you in this pretty scene for my lock screen!”

You took him by the hand and wrapped one arm tightly around his waist, going up on tip toes and bringing your now spare gloved hand up to flick him on the forehead gently, “you know it would be much prettier if my Disney prince is in it too, right?”

Moments later you were posing in front of the spot he had first posed you in but this time Hendery was stood behind you,  (p-,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’]’’’],,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,y]gh1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111 – Written by Fleetwood the rat, left for your interpretation) his strong arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders in a hug and his chin resting on your hat-covered head, both of you smiling happily as another member of the public stood with Hendery’s phone pointing at you counting down and just as he said 1, Hendery cheekily bent down to kiss your cheek.

_______________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________

“What do you mean ‘you’re going to Korea to join SM’, are you actually crazy?” You stared at him as he sat across his bed in, disbelief lacing your uneven voice, his light grip on your hands tightening as he gulped audibly.

“Y-yeah, I got cast last week while I was in Korea with Cathy for that Exo show. I’m going next week, they’ve booked everything and I just have to turn up to the airport on Tuesday with my stuff, I’m going to be a trainee…”

Uncomfortable silence engulfed the small and cosy room, neither of you could make eye contact and all you could think about is how your best friend and boyfriend was about to leave you after nearly a year to move to a new country and chase a career in a company that you knew wouldn’t treat him how he deserved to be treated. Your mind raced with all the things you wanted to say, you wanted to beg him to stay and find a better company, or even to just continue his training to become a comedian.

“You know… SM doesn’t have the best track record with how they treat their Chinese idols right? Hangeng, Kris, Tao and Luhan have all been treated like crap because they’ve been in that company, you could literally be put in to any company!” Your mind and mouth worked together to betray you, your voice raising more than intended and exposing your slught anger at the situation.

“Yeah but SM basically guarantee success, I know my efforts and time won’t be wasted. I know they’ll be giving me the best career and I can come home and we can do everything we’ve planned and-”

You threw his hands back to his lap as you scrambled off of the bed, you could feel yourself burning up in anger at his words and scowling down at him.

“Are you even hearing yourself right now? You’re willing to let yourself get treated like shit just for some fame? Are you a fucking idiot Guanheng? I’m not standing by and watching you harm yourself from a thousand miles away, I refuse to be a part of that!”

“It’s not just for fame,” he scrambled to stand in front of you now, anger on his red-tinged face as he scowled back at you. “It’s what I want to do, it has nothing to do with you! You’re just getting like this because once I leave you’ll have no one here because you don’t talk to anyone else, if you refuse to be a part of it then don’t be.”

The air thickened noticeably at his words as you let it soak in, tears prickled at your eyes and a large lump forming in your throat. “Fuck you.”

And you left.

________________________________________________________________

4 years had passed since then, he had left with nothing but a text apologising for what he had said, how he understands that what he said was wrong and wishing you the best because he assumed (and he had done so correctly) that you would want nothing more to do with him.

2 years of school had passed quickly with no interactions between you and him or his family other than the odd conversation with one of his older sisters (who were nothing but nice to you even now) if you happened to bump in to each other in the streets, you had entered university for journalism and was currently holding an internship for the summer with Shanghai Daily working on their celebrity news section and somehow, as if the world hated you, you had ended up being the intern sent to interview the new and rising group WayV as you were the youngest there and would ‘understand what the people wanted’.

When Guanheng’s, or Hendery as you now had to call him with a deep pang in your chest as you remembered giving him that name, large eyes met yours you couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time you had met him. When he moved his floppy hair out of his face you couldn’t help but (willy - Jazz Brain @namkook666 on Twitter go follow) be reminded of him being determined to grow it out to follow your whole Prince Hendery agenda. What hurt the most though was when you woke up the day after in his hotel bed, his bare chest pressed against yours, his arms tightly around your waist as your warm lips pressed together in the morning glow, legs tangled together and tears wetting both of your hot faces as you were reminded of what you had previously had and could never get again.

REQUESTS OPEN

MASTERLIST

[dorotheajanegilmore]

Devil’s Daughter

Previous: 1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

Chapter seven

I had been staying with the Winchester's for just over two weeks now. My purple case looked great against the brown walls of the guest room, really made it feel like home.

The first night I stayed at the bunker (Before visiting parents in NY)

"Sorry it's so plain." Sam has said when he first brought me in here.

I shrugged. "It's much better than my dorm."

He chuckled and nodded. "Yeah I know how ya feel. Stanford."

"NYU." I admitted and he nodded with an impressed face. "Creative writing."

"Law."

I cringed. "Smarty pants."

Instantly an attractive smile broke out across his face and he shook his head, blushing wildly. "No. I never graduated."

"I don't think I will either, at least not yet." I told him truthfully.

"I hope that decision isn't because of us? I know how it feels to have your studies cut short and if I could go back..." Sam paused before he shook his head, laughing at himself. "I actually wouldn't go back."

I laughed at his honestly and shook my head. "No, I've been contemplating dropping out for a while. This whole angels exhausting and paternity testing is just the push I needed."

"Right." Sam wondered over to the bed and sat down beside me. He looked at me with a face of concern. "How are you feeling? Honestly."

"Honestly?" I asked and he nodded. I let out a deep breath, letting my shoulder sink. "I feel...like it's not real. I haven't thought about too deeply or really acknowledged it properly. I know that's not healthy but I just don't know how to accept this. My family life has always been rocky, my mother hates me."

Sam recoiled and pulled an offended face, as if I had just delivered a blow to his stomach. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you." I knew that his situation was difficult at the moment. Dean told me that their mother was trapped in some sort of apocalypse world.

"Don't defend her, I promise. You'll see tomorrow, she hates me." I emphasised it again but he shook his head, not having it. I decided to just continue because there was no way in changing his mind. "So, how did Dean recover so quickly? Those guys tortured him too."

Sam shifted on the bed and adjusted his watch on his wrist. He was clearly uncomfortable the way he was sat because his legs are way longer than mine and even my legs ached. We were both sat criss cross and I couldn't take it any longer.

I moved to sit at the edge of the bed, Sam sighing in relief and copying me as he answered. "Castiel healed him. Dean was supposed to save you from those guys but they ended up injecting and torturing him too. Demons aren't really fond of us, we've made a name for ourselves as hunters and they didn't know he was working with Crowley."

I nodded understandingly. I bit the inside of my cheek as I thought about asking the next question. My curiosity got the better of me and so I asked. "Did you, do you and Dean think I'm evil?"

Sam thought for a moment, before gently taking my smaller hand in his larger one. "I won't lie to you. When Rowena told us that Lucifer had a daughter and we needed her help...I definitely believed you to be evil. I thought that we were gonna find you at a bar murdering people or eating babies." Sam laughed at that last part.

“Why eating babies?" I tilted my head to look at him, confused as to where he'd get that from.

"Because ya'know, Lilith eats babies? At least in mythology and all of my text books-"

As Sam rambled on I looked down at the ground. I had forgot about Lilith being my true mother, I was so busy worrying about the devil I forgot about his first demon.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Sam put a gentle hand on my shoulder and I shook my head.

"It's not your fault, Sam. I just can't believe I'm not a product of Christian and Rose. That Hallie and Alex aren't my blood related siblings. They'll always be my family, regardless of what a test says but I had that I don't have an actual connection to them. I hate that my blood isn't their blood. I hate that my blood is...evil." I sobbed as the word evil left my mouth.

Sam shook his head and wrapped his big arms around me, pulling me into him for a supporting hug. I cried into his red plaid chest as he held me tight. "You're not evil, Elle."

"You don't (hicup) know that!" I shook my head, feeling him hold me tighter. He began to rub his palm up and down my back, as if he was soothing a crying baby.

"No I don't, you're right. But if raising Jack has taught me anything, it's that we can't make quick assumptions."

———

Present day

(Two weeks living in the bunker)

I sat in the library with a book under my nose. Every waking moment of the passed week has been spent reading up on Lucifer, and learning my powers.

So far I have discovered my psionic energy blasts can be used in blasts, streams, waves and bolts to move things, lift and even throw things. Allowing me to hit, push or pull a target, potentially exerting enough force to destroy them. I had also improved my telepathy, I can control when to and when not to listen to thoughts so I could actually focus now.

As I was reading about Lucifer's cage I felt a presence enter the room. I was already on edge from all of the reading, Satan's not a happy guy. Feeling threatened I spotted a pair of scissors on the end of the table and used my new found powers to lift them up and send them at the person watch me.

As I span around, hands glowing red I realised who it was. Dean was stood at the door with wide eyes and hands held up in the air alarmed.

The blade of the scissors, surrounded by red wisps, hovered just inches away from his neck.

"I didn't mean to scare you, little red." He pushed the scissors away with his index finger. They landed in the floor with a snap and I sighed in relief.

"Dean, sorry about that." I felt immediate relief, so happy that it was him and not some creature I had been reading about. I cringed, hoping he wouldn't be to mad at me. "I'm reading about monsters so I'm a bit on edge.

"A bit?" He smirked, amused. He pulled out a seat opposite me at the table and sat down. "Is that why I was nearly executed in my own home?"

I nodded and slid the book over to him. I pointed at a paragraph and he quickly skimmed over it. It said;

The powers of a nephilim would be to great to raise such a creature on earth among mortals. A human woman could never contain a baby nephilim for very long as it could tear them apart. A nephilim will grow at rapid speeds, much faster than a human woman's body could contain. Once born a nephilim will reach adulthood within a matter of hours.

"Yeah." Dean nodded, confirming that the information in front of me was in fact correct. "Jack was born and within twenty minutes he looked like he was twenty years old.

"So how come I have baby photos? Actual picture evidence of me growing through the years. Every birthday party photo shows a year of progression. Am I slow? Am I broken?"

Dean chuckled at my outburst and shook his head. "Elle, there's never been an angel, demon cocktail baby. You're the first. Perhaps Lilith's genes are much slower."

"Or." Came a Scottish voice from the doorway. Rowena stood with a mischievous smile on her face as she danced her way over to the table.

"Perhaps I did a wee spell to aid in your human growth. I was there when Lucifer chose your parents and he made sure that Rose would be strong enough to encapsulate you for nine months, not to raise your relatives eyebrows at a two month unholy pregnancy. The spell made sure that Lucifer's child would grow as a normal human until she reached adulthood, then her powers would slowly blossom. That's why it's important that we found you." She lifted her martini up as if to cheers us before taking a large sip.

"I thought you want me to put him in a cage?" I raised a brow, wondering why she was adding to her story now.

Rowena shrugged. "That’s for the after party. Once we’ve rescued Mary from the apocalypse world, you and Jackie boy can work together to put him in a new cage, a stronger sturdier cage. Come on, had I told you this earlier you would’ve been overwhelmed and scared away. We need you, Red.”

Dean shook his head and pushed the book away. "Damn it, Rowena! Any other information you'd care to share?"

Rowena bit her lip and tapped her finger against her chin in thought. ”Aside from Lucifer wanting Jack and Elle back? No, not that I can think off.”

Next: 7

Tags: @lilulo-12 @vicmc624

[boneshine]

Close Call

Pairing: Benjamin Clawhauser / Chief Bogo

Rating: M

Summary: Bogo confiscates Clawhauser’s phone in order to make him more productive at work. Established relationship. Post-Movie.

Warning: NSFW! Details under the cut!

Part Four/Five

--

Warning: This is a NSFW story, although the adult content does not really begin until Part Five. That being said, this is still an M-rated story, so read at your own smut-loving risk.

--

The bed was warm, the blankets soft and plentiful as they wrapped around Clawhauser’s peacefully snoozing form. His paws kneaded at the air; a quiet purr nestled in the back of his throat. He was roused a bit at the sound of a door opening and shutting, but he drifted slowly back down into his dreams as the silky warmth and the scent of wheatgrass and his lover’s musky cologne kept his consciousness at bay—

EEGH EEGH EEGH!!!

The wailing, strangled beeps of Bogo’s alarm clock stabbed into the feline’s ear, his body jerked back and flailed, his world twisting around him as he fell off the bed.

“ACK!”

His heart pounding, head aching, Clawhauser could still hear the tell-tale chuckle wash over him.

“Works every time.”

Eyes squinted open in irritation, the cheetah’s frazzled form struggled to climb back into the bed, immediately deflating and flattening back into the sheets, his face slowly becoming more and more acquainted with the pillow as sleep tried to coax him back. “Vin-n-n-cenpphh…”

“Good morning, Ben.” He didn’t even need to look to know that Bogo was already up, showered, dressed in his uniform, fur groomed, and impeccably ready for the day before the cheetah had even opened both eyes. A hoof ran down his back, making the smaller’s round body instinctively raise itself in an arch at the welcoming touch, only to flop back down in exhaustion. “I said ‘good morning’, Ben. That means you need to actually get up.”

“Ugh…”

“On all fours, at least.”

Clawhauser’s ears perked. “Ooh.”

“Not like THAT.”

“Aw.”

The feline grumbled but heard something slosh in front of his face, the scent of berries filling his nose. His tail curled as his eyes open to spot a bowl of cereal in Bogo’s hoof, already poured and ready for him. “Lucky Chomps!”

“Indecipherably nutritious.”

He sat up and snuggled back into the pillows as he heaped spoonful after spoonful into his mouth with glee, stopping only to give his boyfriend a big milky kiss on his cheek. “Thaaanks, honey!” he chimed.

Bogo wiped his face. “Finish up and maybe we can get to work on time?”

“Three more bowls and I’m right behind you.”

--

The morning, while early and vastly unpleasant due to said earliness, had left Clawhauser in a considerably better mood. It wasn’t every day that he got to spend the night and the morning with his beloved Buffalo Buns, lounging with cereal and the occasional lingering touch from him as he stumbled around to get ready for work. However, as they drove in to the precinct, the cheetah recalled with a growing annoyance that he had another boring day without his phone ahead of him.

How did I forget that my boyfriend was such a jerk? I’m such a sucker for morning cuddles…

It didn’t help that Bogo seemed to recall it as well, and the expression on his face was a smug, amused contrast to the normally-bubbly feline’s pout.

“Don’t look so glum, Ben,” he spoke as they strolled to his desk, “It’s just one more day, you know.”

“It’ll be the worst day of my life,” he groused, climbing into his seat and already sulking.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll have much worse days than this.”

“… Gee, I really appreciate that!”

Bogo smirked. “Maybe this will help you change your outlook.” He leaned in, dangerously close considering it was a public space, and Clawhauser looked around uncertainly before he was drawn back to rich brown eyes and that handsome face. “I’ve decided to add something to our little bet.”

The feline sputtered. "More rules?! Wh—Vinc— Chief, I'm already chained to my desk! What more can you ask for?!"

"Nothing like that. It's a perk, really. And since you'll be tethered to your desk the rest of the day, I thought that perhaps some incentive will help keep you on track."

“Incentive?”

A warm hoof landed on his paw, trailing up his arm to graze the edge of a flickering ear. All the while, that salacious smirk only grew as he stared into wide eyes.

“Think about it. What motivates a Clawhauser?”

“… Doughnuts.”

Bogo’s smirk fell. “And… what else… ?”

It took only a second, and the cheetah’s mouth fell open in understanding. “Oh-h-h-h!” Another moment, and his eyes sparkled. “Ooo-o-o-o-o, I’m gonna get some--!” he squealed, muffled as his mouth was immediately covered with a hoof, the buffalo now glancing around suspiciously.

"Not outside of the office," he grit out.

Clawhauser couldn't stop a giggle, prying off his hoof from his grin. "Save the magic for the show, right?"

“There will be no show.”

“You’re such a prude at work, you know that?”

“I’m professional.”

The younger quirked a furry brow at him. “Mm-hmm… Okay, Mr. Shoulder-Touch-and-Ear-Grope-and-Sensual-Whispering-and--”

“Clawhauser.”

“… Sex-Promise.”

--

Of course, he took the incentive. Why wouldn’t he? It would be at least a decent reward for the hell that his boyfriend was making him go through.

Besides, it would only be six more hours, right?

The feline’s bored gaze was trained on his computer, holding back a sigh as he refreshed the page for the hundredth time to see if any new reports had popped up to deal with. Sadly, nothing. And he had five hours and 15 more minutes to go and he was literally going to go insane--

“Um, Ben?”

The cheetah jumped, blinking from the screen daze as he leaned over the desk to see the familiar face of a bunny staring up at him, gasping. "Judy!" Boy, was he glad to see her, obvious by his wide and excited smile. A distraction! And also, his dear friend! But mostly, right now, a distraction! "How's it going, my bunny from another mummy?"

"Fine, fine..." Judy seemed to hesitate, a rare expression on her velvety visage. "It's just that... I haven't gotten a text from you since the Molencia call." Her ears tilted back in worry. "Did I upset you somehow?"

Aww! Cute! Cute! Cute! "No, no! Of course not, cutie-- Judy," he corrected quickly at her narrowed look. "You're fabulous as always. It's something completely out of my control, believe me. I'm being punished. Bogo confiscated my phone to teach me a lesson."

"Oh." The bunny blinked and cracked a small smile. "Is it a... good lesson?"

"Huh?"

She wriggled her eyebrows. "You know... the kind that some couples do... I've heard..."

The implication in her tone was not lost on him, and his skin immediately burned under his fur. "Whaaat?! N-No! He's just trying to teach me to focus on my job! O-M-Goodness, Judes! Where did that come from?!"

Judy giggled. "Hey, I'm a bunny. I come from a family of over two-hundred siblings. I know this stuff."

"I thought that you didn't like to use those stereotypes!"

"... Nick MAY be influencing me more than I thought," she mumbled.

 Knew it! Clawhauser hid his own grin and covered it with an indignant huff. "Any-who, I'm stuck at my desk until the end of my shift..." He suddenly leaned over, startling the small rabbit. "So-o-o-o how's about you stay here and chat with me for a while? Maybe an hour or two? It's been a slow crime week, hasn't it? You can spare the time!"

His enthusiasm seemed to set her back. "Oh... Well, actually, I got a text from Nick about some 'former friends' that may be linked to that stolen car ring we've been working on." She grinned. "We get to be part of the stakeout! Six A.M. sharp!"

Bunnies were such morning creatures; it was almost nauseating. "Fan... tastic?"

"I know! So, I'm afraid that I'll have to cut our talk short. Like, right now," the bunny was already turned to begin leaving, her paw up in farewell. "Good luck, Ben!"

Panic filled the cheetah. "Wait! No! I can't leave my desk! Don't leave, Judy! I need to talk! Just stay a little longer, please!"

"Can't hear you, too pumped!"

"Judy, no! Judy, don't go through the door, no! I need contact from the outside world! No-o-o-o..." he moaned out and slumped against the desk as the doors slid shut behind her. "My bunny beacon of hope..."

"Clawhauser!" A voice boomed from above.

The cheetah jolted and gawked up in confusion. "What?!"

Bogo's expression seemed less stern, but he pointed to his door regardless. "In my office!"

The cheetah stared. Was he serious? "I haven't left!" he blurted out.

The chief rolled his eyes. "Just get up here!"

--

There was no hiding the irritated stomp the feline had and Clawhauser huffed as he walked into the office. "Let's get one thing clear, okay?" he started. "I want it on the record that this does NOT count as me losing the bet because YOU ordered me up here for who-knows-what reason and--"

As soon as the door shut behind him, he was pressed against it.

Soft lips covered his in a sudden kiss, a hoof grasping the back of his head like the shirtless hunk on his favorite romance novel cover.

Clawhauser's bewilderment immediately turned to joy, and his eyes sparkled before closing and returning the kiss with enthusiasm.

Surprise hanky-panky? Thanky!

The hot, heavy weight of his lover was pressed into his body and he purred wildly, paws kneading strong shoulders as the feline clung to the older male. Yes! This was a fantastic way to kill a few hours (which was NOT an exaggeration as he recalled other, ahem, 'meetings' like this) and to keep his mind off that stupid bet! After all that teasing his chief had done, he could use some relief. He licked at his boyfriend's soft muzzle, urging him to continue--

But Bogo pulled his mouth back, and used it to smirk at the dazed form, still pressing him against the wall.

"You'll get the rest tomorrow."

The words were like a splash of cold water and Clawhauser's pants faded as he blinked. "Come again?"

"Sorry. Not yet."

"... What?" A hiss.

The mounting anger on his lover seemed to please the buffalo. "That was just a taste. You didn't think I'd let you get away with more than that today? The bet isn't over."

"Wh-- You just..." Clawhauser's body squirmed frantically, fangs bared. "You can't keep DOING this to me!"

His paws were held and restrained by one hoof; his struggles worthless.

“I haven’t done anything to you.” The humor in the chief’s voice was infuriating. “And I won’t until after the bet is over. That’s the point, Ben.”

"No!” he hissed again, “No, this—this is unacceptable! Absolutely not! You already took away one toy! And THEN you have the AUDACITY to dangle my favorite one in my face and take it away before I get to play with it!" the smaller snarled and struggled to reach his lover's trousers, claws ready to rip fabric open, but they barely wiggled in the buffalo’s iron grip. "Just a quickie! It’s the least you can do!"

“Actually,” his body was lifted and twirled around to face the door, with a fond pat on his sizable rump to end the contact as Bogo returned to his desk, “the least I can do is nothing. And that’s exactly what’s happening. Until. The bet. Is over,” the chief hummed.

Several things ran through the feline. Anger. Indignation. Incredible horniness.

Oh, he was going to PAY!

His eyes were almost slits as he managed out, "I have half a mind to deny you for a week!" He bit back a growl, already at the door. He tried to adjust certain things before he swung the entrance open.

"The other half seems to disagree, then," came his boyfriend’s sly response.

"Oh, no! Believe me, the rest will follow when blood flow returns to my brain, you big buff jerk!"

--

It was the first moment of the entire day that Clawhauser was glad he couldn't leave his desk. He shifted and grumbled as his arousal slowly faded into a dull throb. It had been difficult enough trying to ease back down the stairs without alerting anyone to his 'condition.'

He is going to make it up to me so hard... Oh, cripes, hard... He cursed at himself, only to sigh as the landline rang.

Five. More. Hours. Left.

Hello, sex life? Sorry, you've been canceled.