#documentation fic

[businesstiramisu]

Just finished Several People Are Typing and I see why @peripapaya rec'd it to me so highly, this is EXACTLY my jam

I'm a little flabbergasted that it's tradpub and not.... on ao3 or someone's blog??? Not in a snob way at all, to be clear, I think it's great if Doubleday wants to publish really excellent chatfic. But for me this story feels like The Northern Caves or Caught Up in Our Stories or Q.A.B. and it's messing with my mind to get the same kind of experience from an ebook I got on Overdrive.

(Note: this does mean if you like SPAT, there's a wealth of similar content to find on AO3! I highly recommend the first two links above -- TNC is an original work, and CUiOS can be read canon-blind.)

Well, okay, two caveats on that claim: First, genre-wise Several People Typing is more like Bellweather (dysfunctional workplace comedy) or Welcome to Night Vale (similar type of wacky-existential-horror, also gay). Although I'll note that the three AO3 works i linked above are all very different genres from each other as well -- the common thread is the epistolary-for-the-internet age format. Which is a thing I happen to enjoy a lot, so if you want more recs just ask. I could keep going...

Second, SPAT is a purely a chatfic, whereas the three stories I linked above are *impressively* multi-media. And they do some really brilliant things with that formatting!! SPAT, on the other hand, does some brilliant things with the *constraints* of it's text-only, trad-pub formatting. Tripp & Beverly's subplot, in particular, relies on the fact that all the emojis are written out text codes (:thumbsup: instead of 👍 and of course the infamous :dusty-stick: ).

I will say in the realm of pure chatfic, I haven't seen much on AO3 that rises to the heights of SPAT in my esteem. Maybe The Origin of the PresAux Sexy Group Chat (though it's very short); Adventures In Attempting To Purchase A Book From That Weird Old Soho Bookshop, A. Z. Fell & Co. (why do these all have such long titles) if you want to count forum posts as a kind of chatfic; and of course the deservedly-much-lauded RE: Thesis defense issue (definitely check out the article it's based on as well) if you want to count emails. I love all three of these a lot. But SPAT has a little more meat to it. Gerald and Pradeep's developing relationship, the whole thing with sunsets, Gerald's (and Slackbot's) philosophical meditations on corporeality... I'm not saying it's the deepest thing I've ever read but there's some interesting stuff there!

I mean, okay, I'm not a super philosophical reader, I was mostly here for the fun characters and wacky workplace drama and even wackier metafictional elements. 99% of chatfic on ao3 is just recycled memes and, frankly, i like a lot of those too. But sometimes you do find chatfic with a little more actual plot and characterization... still, Several People Are Typing is really is a cut above the rest. Which only makes sense b/c it's made it through (presumably) something like a traditional publishing gauntlet.

[aropride]

[hinamie]

confessions of affection

chapter 4 of Like the Moon Haunts the Sun is out now!! we hope u enjoy the chapter <3 some... stuff happens lmao twirls hair cutely read from the beginning here ...or don't ...haha...unless? lmhs blog: @lmhsfic sam my love: @philosophiums

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Hello, requesting "sleeping in" thank you 🙏

Hello. I’m here, months later. Here’s something.

Buck sleeps in. Eddie’s not sure if that’s a surprise or not. He's long had the somewhat infuriating habit of not plugging his phone in overnight on his days off — theoretically to discourage scrolling on it all night and wasting the battery, but half the time it results in him sheepishly charging it up from fully dead on a page about deep sea ethernet cables or something around noon the next day. So, yeah, his phone is an expensive brick on the nightstand, alarm not even an option, and it's not like they haven't had an extremely eventful last couple of days, almost 24 hours of which Buck had spent in a car headed one way or another. Eddie understands the exhaustion. But, well- he's awake. He kind of feels like his limbs are vibrating with the feeling of- relief, or terror, or joy, or- the feeling of being home. Home, here. Los Angeles, South Bedford, the home he — and Chris — had spent years building, a home of course neither of them could leave behind for long. He lays here, in his own bed, Buck snoring next to him and Chris down the hall, and he wonders why he ever thought he’d belong anywhere else.

Buck shuffles a little and Eddie thinks for a moment maybe- but he just snorts a little and keeps dreaming. Eddie tries to tamp down on the kind of sleepover giddiness bubbling up in his chest — wake up wake up wake up — and takes the opportunity to watch his best friend. His- whatever. Whatever they are now that Eddie knows what kissing him is like, quickly and quietly in his parent’s backyard, now that Eddie has stumbled his way through a question — “Why are you- why did you- all of this- do you- do you-“ — and Buck had frowned a little, not in an unhappy way but in his serious way, and had heard the real thing Eddie had wanted to know, and said “Eddie- of course I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers now, because he hadn’t the other night. He thinks Buck knows, though. He hopes he does. He’ll figure out how to say it to him when he’s awake, he’ll make sure he can never forget it.

His best friend. Whatever else they are or will be, Eddie thinks this first thing will always be true. They’ll always know each other and like each other and want to hang out. With the dubious wisdom of time and age Eddie can admit the few times they’ve fought have mostly been because something had been frustrating one of those wants. Someone should make fun of him for this, probably. Maybe Chris will, Eddie thinks, smiling at the idea that they’re in a place where they can harmlessly tease each other again. “You can’t see Buck for like three days and you go crazy,” he’ll laugh. “I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic teenager here.”

He idly wonders if he really can somehow figure out how to never go more than three days without seeing Buck ever again, and then stifles his own laughter — you’re right, imaginary Chris — because the man is still sleeping — still! — and despite his internal complaining he doesn’t actually want to disturb the guy. He looks so peaceful, passed out hard and melted into his pillow. His pillow, in Eddie’s bed. In Buck’s bed? Who is legally attached to what leases where is a little up in the air at the moment. Maybe it could be their bed. Maybe it's not too soon to say Don’t look for someplace else to live. Just stay here with me, with us. Maybe he just doesn’t care if other people think he’s moving too fast. He doesn’t even think he is, really. The will was years ago. He’s thought more about this relationship, worked harder on it and for longer, than any other in his life. Seven years is long enough to know.

Stay with me, he thinks at Buck, looking at his curls that are flattened in some places and sticking out weird in others. Tonight and every other night we get. He thinks Buck will say yes. He’s pretty certain Buck will say yes. He moved in so Eddie could leave, he’s pretty certain Buck will stay for him, too.

“Do you have a secret kid somewhere I can do something financially irresponsible for to prove my devotion to you?” Eddie asks in a whisper. Buck snorts again, but doesn’t otherwise stir. “Okay. Well, I’ll figure something else out.”

Buck’s eyelashes are pale against his cheek. His skin is rougher than when they first met, older, aging. His birthmark isn't visible, pressed into the pillow, because Buck is turned towards Eddie in his sleep. He’s all stubbly — it had itched against his face, Eddie remembers — and Eddie will kind of miss it when he has to shave before work tomorrow. He can grow it back, though, and Eddie will be around to see it in this new life where they never spend more than three days apart. Two days, maybe. 48 hours in a row and they have to say sorry, gotta go, my-

Husband? My husband is waiting for me? Bobby will probably have a harder time arguing for them to stay on the same shift if they get married, and that will make the whole never-apart-for-long thing harder. So, not yet. Not yet. But Eddie watches Buck’s chest rise and fall and thinks: someday.

He gets so caught up in that thought, the two of them in suits and nice food and pretty lights and dancing and making promises, that he doesn’t register for a moment the blue eyes blinking back at him.

“Oh,” he says, sounding stupidly surprised.

“Hi,” Buck says, the word tripping out on a little huff of laughter. Eddie wants to- to taste it. He stays where he is.

“Good morning.”

Buck smiles, so big it seems to take him a moment to catch his breath. “Morning.” He yawns, stretching out like a cat for all his puppy-like tendencies. “Time is it?”

Eddie doesn’t actually know, having better things to look at than an alarm clock or phone screen, so he rolls slightly to check. “9:15.” When he rolls back Buck is right there, slinging an arm over Eddie all casual like they’ve done this a million times instead of never before, but Eddie thinks he’s right, it doesn’t feel new at all. He grabs a handful of Buck’s shirt and just holds on, feeling his body heat.

“Slept in,” Buck says, and he doesn't seem surprised or not surprised about it either. He leans forward and kisses Eddie’s cheek, quick, quiet. They have time for- for something else, now. Something longer. There’s no rush. But first, Eddie has to make sure, he has to make it clear, he has to ask:

“Will you sleep in tomorrow? Here? And- and every other day, if you want. Forever, Buck, if you want.”

Buck smiles, again so wide it takes a moment for him to speak. “We still gotta get up on work days, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs. It makes his body lean forward under Buck’s arm, closer to him. Their knees bump together. “Well- okay. I can compromise on that. I’m very reasonable. Every other day.”

“Every other day,” Buck agrees, easily, and leans in again for something else, something longer.

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"

[so-very-small]

Borrower 1: so then I dive off the coffee table, and I- oh no he’s here

Borrower 2: aw man :/

Borrower 3: who invited OSHA Tiny??

OSHA Tiny: Proper head protection, such as helmets or hard hats, is crucial in workplace environments that may involve falling debris, overhead hazards, and slip/fall risks.

[centaur-dreaming]

All fic writers have that one document in their drafts that would end their entire career, social life, everything if anyone irl were to find it

[absoluteminimum]

Shockwave was doing his best to attend to Soundwave. His best was quite good.

The cables were hindering his efforts somewhat. They were quite… distracting.

[101suouexpressions]

Suou, the one who values his words

I know I recently kinda called him a liar in my fic, but despite what people might think, Suou truly never lies.

Harmless jokes

Suou had made quite the entrance with his unique style and the famous "Leo Dicaprio" line.

This, to people who knew he was just bluffing for fun (which was pretty much everyone except our beloved Sakura), was quite the shocker, but in a good way, since it helped bringing across that he was indeed friendly.

Facing inquiries from his peers

Suou's way of dealing with questions he doesn't want to answer resembles his fighting style a lot: Deflecting, and throwing the opponent off-balance.

Deflection here refers to how he diverts the attention to someone/something else, thus avoiding having to elaborate.

For example, after the duels with Shishitouren, Suou redirected his classmates to Nirei so that he didn't have to answer.

And by throwing the opponent off-balance, I mean he asked the question back at the other person, like how he dealt with Sakura here.

This doesn't always work, but it is surely effective against someone who is as easily flustered as Sakura.

However, this means that Suou's natural enemies are people who push for an answer regardless of his effort to drive them away.

Entering: Tsugeura Taiga.

Apparently, Suou really had a hard time fending himself off of pushy people. I'm pretty sure he would just beat it into their heads if they weren't someone he cares about, but Tsugeura was his classmate and although stubborn, the boy meant no harm. This left Suou, in a way, kind of helpless.

Look at his face, he's going though it! (And I'm cackling about it haha)

No matter what, there will always be situations where he couldn't crack a joke to cover up, but instead of lying about it, Suou simply refused to answer.

This can be either just nodding to what they say and calling it a day...

(You can see the pattern here. "Everyone calls me that", "That's what everyone says". He's avoiding having to give a concrete answer.)

...or, smiling mysterously.

When Sakura took notice of Nirei's scrapings and questioned Suou about it, you can see the contrast between Nirei's and Suou's responses here. Nirei had opted to an innocuous lie in hope that Sakura wouldn't push it, while Suou only gave him a secretive smile.

Suou just, does not lie.

I feel like a lot of people don't recognize this trait of him. To be fair, it was only when I was going through my notes of Suou's behaviors that I finally saw the pattern.

So, what do y'all think?

[myokk]

my first attempt at digital art (never again🥲) for mctober💘

Eloise Babbit✨

slytherin

5th year

favorite subjects: arithmancy & ancient runes

least favorite subject: beasts (animals make her nervous🥲)

hobbies: reading & thinking (IT’S A HOBBY OKAY??)

[fairytwles]

pov: the yellowjackets had a camera.

[evercelle]

The truth is: Saihara keeps losing time. The lie is: he doesn’t know why.

-- from manic moves and drowsy dreams by @merthurlin!

a post-game saiou collab maayan and i cooked up a little bit ago! sometimes a family is you, your cats, and the brainghost who won't let you be alone...

[furiouswritingbiologykid]

My love for this woman knows no bounds (I am researching long distance trucking)

[moonshynecybin]

For the promptsss: rosquez and chives (building a home together. Badly) OR daylily (parenthood: prepared for and not).

daylily: parenthood, prepared for and not

as luck would have it i already had smth like this written so i’m gonna just post that thang… this is part one of a story that i am currently like halfway-ish through atm (i made an OUTLINE…) and who knows if i ever finish it but i am certainly having fun writing a lil melodrama… i am who i am what can i say

August 3, 2020:

“What is it? My arm, there isn't nerve damage, is there? I thought the scans were good.” Marc shifts, a nervous hand cupping his elbow. He’s keeping utterly still– breathing through pain, trying to keep his head on straight.

Dr. Xavier Mir, uncharacteristically hesitant and containing an odd energy in his posture, peers at Marc. He has a clipboard in his hand, and he keeps glancing at it.

“Marc, you are– you are a carrier, yes? Honda had you tested, I can see it marked in your medical file.”

“Yes,” Marc says slowly, and Mir nods, flipping over the pages in his hand. He shifts on his feet, and a bolt of fear shoots through Marc’s stomach like a rabbit. They told him there was no nerve damage. Opening a glass sliding door cannot be the thing that gives him nerve damage.

Mir keeps going.

“Well, Marc,” He makes an odd, placating sound. “I checked the blood sample that we collected from you for your pre-operative labs, and then I had them run it again to be sure, and it seems that the sample we took from you indicates that you are, well, about four months along.”

Marc blinks.

That isn't what he expected.

“What do you mean?” He asks, slow and loud.

Dr. Mir clicks his pen, Marc guesses he doesn’t deliver this kind of news too often, which explains the tone. “I mean that you are almost certainly pregnant, by the look of things.”

“I—“ Marc gapes. He tries to make his mind work, arm burning. He’s not— he’s here for emergency surgery. Dr. Mir is already dressed in the awful, washed-out toothpaste color of his scrubs. He’s about to usher Marc into pre-op. This is about his arm, all of this should be about his arm.

“Four months? That’s not possible, they would have tested me before my last surgery, it was negative. The doctors at Honda told me, they told me that it wasn’t something I would have to worry about, that I don't have enough body fat.”

Mir nods. The ringing sound fades a bit from Marc’s ears.

“False negatives are rare, but I’m afraid to say that they’re not impossible. And if you can get pregnant, there is always a possibility for conception when having penetrative sex. Have you been experiencing any symptoms? Nausea, weight gain, fatigue—“ Mir peers at him sideways, talking briskly. The shadow of anxious feet move outside the door, Álex and Jose must be pacing. “Strong emotional responses?”

Marc stares at him. Strong emotional responses. The arm that he uses to ride motorcycles is broken. This is his second surgery on it in the space of three weeks. The plate snapped this morning, three hours ago. Brno is in six days, and he will miss it, 25 points down the drain.

“No, yeah— eh. I mean, yes.” He makes himself say.

He puts his good hand to his stomach.

Four months ago. Pre-season testing in Qatar. They hadn’t used a condom, and then the world had shut down and he’d been stuck without his motorcycle until July, the longest he’s ever gone without riding competitively since he was 12 and still in school. Lately, he’s had other stuff on his mind. He’s been rehabbing his shoulder, he’s been training for the season, he’s been doing— he’s been doing motocross.

The truth is, he hasn’t noticed anything. The last few weeks, when he supposes it should have been becoming more and more obvious (four months along obvious, Jesus Christ) he’d been focused on noticing his arm, mainly, and the bike, as well— both more delicate things than he’d anticipated, and there had certainly been some strong emotional responses.

But this is.

With Vale in March, he honestly didn’t even think it was possible with the sort of life he led, and when he was 20 and his doctors all told him he didn’t have to worry about it, he’d just assumed that was the end of it. That will probably be a funny story in about ten years.

It’s not, in the moment. In the moment it just feels mystifying, terrifying— like waking up and finding out the sky had turned purple overnight, only with an additionally fucked-up impact on his life and more importantly, on his career. He bites hard at his bottom lip. A baby.

He remembers— Vale’s hands on the small of his back, hot as a brand. Vale’s hands lower. The question, knifed out between strained breaths as he thumbed slickly at where Marc was hot and wanting: Do you have one? and then Marc gripping him tighter, swallowing around the words. No, he’d wanted to say, so he had. You should just, it’s okay, and then Vale was there.

“Fuck.” He says now, with feeling. This is crazy.

His eyes dart around the sterile white of the room. When he’d come in, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sterile little sink, and hated the way he looked. Washed out and pale, small in the bundle of his jacket, his useless arm hanging out of its sleeve, but cradled close. His eyes were drawn with pain above the material of his mask, and his shoulders were postured unevenly, warped protectively over his shoddily healed fracture. He’d thought that he looked old. He turns over the feeling. Old enough?

A baby. An actual baby.

Marc is a practical man, when he wants to be. He runs down the list.

The season is still young, and he wants to be back to win—but it’s shortened because of Covid, and with him already missing two races, he realizes, with a sinking feeling in his chest, that a ninth championship at the age of 27 is looking less and less likely.

Which means that he has an actual choice here, not just the illusion of one. The doctor, having given him a thin breath of a moment, picks up on his line of thought.

“You do have— options, Marc. We have you at around four months along.” He sighs. “The injury, if all is normal after surgery, should heal in six to eight weeks, but this is not a normal injury, it has been retraumatized, and you’ve put a lot of stress on the bone,”

You let me do that, Marc thinks but doesn’t say. It's unfair to say it out loud, he’s the one who decided to ride.

“Now, if you want, there are precautions we can take for the baby, or we can see about going another route with that. We need to decide soon, though, because I want to get you into surgery as soon as possible, and I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain.”

Marc ignores his comment about pain— pain usually goes away, eventually, and he’s good at ignoring it. In a few minutes, once he doesn’t need to think clearly, he’ll ask for painkillers that are safe. Six to eight weeks. He would be back by— god, Misano. There goes his season.

“Another route?” He croaks out.

“You are past the 14 week cutoff for an abortion in Spain, but there are a few other countries where it is less of a problem— Sweden, the Netherlands. I’m sure that I can get you in contact with some people that are, ah, discreet, once we get you through today’s procedure.”

Fabio Quartararo already has 50 points more than Marc. He considers the neat zero next to his name in the standings. What’s worse— P10 in the championship or nothing at all. What’s worse— sitting out, or, or a child.

“My arm, six to eight weeks, you said,” He confirms, and the doctor nods.

“If everything goes well.”

Including the initial break, he will have been out around eleven weeks in total by the end of the healing, but the doctors will usually give him what he wants if he looks like he can stand the pain. If he tries to come back in four weeks, instead of six— no, even then the next grand prix would be in September. It’s still half the season, no way around that, and no one can DNF for half the season and still win a title, not even him.

The baby would be six months along by September, and here by November. That would give him the full offseason to heal. A nauseous, unsteady little thrill runs up his spine.

He could be the first rider to win after giving birth.

He takes a shuddering breath. He finds, even still, that he suddenly wants to cry very badly. He doesn’t.

“But, um, this surgery— the baby will be fine?”

Mir tilts his head, like that’s not what he expected Marc to say. “There are always risks this early into pregnancy with surgery, especially after the amount of stress your body has undergone these last few weeks, but it’s not unusual. There are ways to mitigate that risk as you heal, as well.”

His brain keeps catching— back on the bike in six weeks.

His brain keeps catching— 50 points already.

If he does this, he won’t be able to ride until next season, which is undoubtedly the worst and scariest part of the whole thing. He doesn’t do well with boredom, or with waiting, and he can already feel the need bunching under his skin, that gut-wrenching want to get from wherever he is to his bike as fast as possible. Whatever can get him to the top step, he’ll do it, he’ll do it fast, and if it means pain, then well, he can bear it.

But the thing that makes him pause is, if he doesn’t do this, he might never get another chance.

And the idea of that, of losing that, is also scary— scarier than he thought it would be. There’s a part of him that thought he wouldn’t get to do this at all, and it’s reaching towards the realization of the idea with a greedy sort of hunger he hardly seems aware of. If he followed his initial plan, he wouldn’t have a family for probably another ten years, once he retired. And that is only if he finds someone to do it with. He never thought he’d get to do it now, so soon, and with— he finds that he likes the idea.

Especially not with someone that he— he makes himself stop, and a pang shoots through his stomach.

That’s a stupid, childish thought. Vale’s made himself clear, best to nip that part of the fantasy in the bud.

He reviews. 6 months off of his bike.

He reviews. 50 points already. A baby. Blue eyes and curly hair.

“Marc, I know this is sudden, and it is hard to think clearly.” No it’s not, Marc thinks, a little distantly.

“—But I also know you’re in pain, and we do need to get you into surgery, so I need to know what you want us to do.”

He looks up at Dr. Mir. He swallows. He’s never been one to avoid what scares him.

He goes with his gut.

“I’m keeping it.” He says with conviction.

And twenty minutes later they put him under to fix the plate in his arm.

[steblynkaagain]

Bellinitez fic idea I'm (obviously) not writing:

A few of months after the Conclave Innocent is fucking sick of Vatican; so he's decided to get dressed in regular clothes and get out from the Vatican through a secret passage just to get some fresh air; unfortunately for him, in the first bar he entered he run onto Aldo. Well, not immediately; he takes a drink and enjoys the vibe and someone's trying to ask him out but suddenly there's Aldo: "No, he's with me 😌 sorry dear I'm late", (sarcastically) kiss Vincent on the cheek while firmly grabbing his shoulder so he won't fall from bar chair and run away and Vincent thinks he's getting dragged back right now but instead Aldo just sits on the next chair and they talk for the longest time they ever talked yet;

Vincent is telling him how sick he's from the golden cage, how he's too used to live in dangerous palaces and doesn't really keep his celibacy vows because that's a way to feel alive, how Curia is getting on his nerves, half of them are looking at him as he's a saint, the other half wants to eat him alive, I guess thank you Aldo for not putting me on a pedestal and not trying to paint me antichrist? And Aldo is telling Vincent (that's the first time he's calling him Vincent), you're doing well, he's sorry for being suspicious and unwelcoming on the Conclave, how he felt relieved when Vincent became the Pope - thank God it's not Thomas, thank God it's not himself, how nicely Vincent told Tedesco off yesterday, how his attempt at disguise is so poor everyone's going to recognize him and Aldo will get him plain glasses and a hat.

So they're going for a walk after that because idk they have to get up early in the morning but Vincent still wants to have a few hours of relative freedom, like he's chaperoned by no one else but his Secretary of the State but he's surprisingly nice when no one is nagging on his nerves. "You've promised to get me a hat and glasses, are you going to keep an eye on me the next time?" Vincent asks, Aldo shrugs. Whatever. When they're going to part their ways finally, Aldo hugs Vincent, noticing he's shivering either from the morning cold or from whatever's going with his life, so Aldo kisses his forehead and Vincent looks at him with disappointed hungry eyes, so Aldo kisses him again, now in the corner of his mouth (plausible enough) and Vincent picked up the hint and kissed him back. Not the worst night, Vincent thinks. Maybe he deserved to feel like he's still a human sometime; maybe it's actually not a bad idea if Aldo will decide to join him next time.

[wandixx]

GIW made a lot of mistakes and the biggest one was going against Young Justice part 2

part one is here

@whimsicalchaosgarden you asked to be tagged, sorry it took so long

Trigger warnings: mentions of experimentation and dehumanization (tell me if there is more appropriate way of phrasing it)

“So,” Robin started, taking the voice recorder out of his utility belt. “It'll probably be best if we get an explanation while making an accident report. This way we get it all over sooner”

Everyone agreed with this idea, standing in the loose circle in the debriefing area to make it all feel more serious. They had limited time before the next batch of cookies needed to be taken out of the oven and there was no way they all wouldn't devolve into chaos when it happened. M’gann knew from experience. 

To make sure they wouldn't take too long and cookies wouldn't turn on the fire alarm (again) both she and Danny set a timer.

In the meantime they had to learn who actually attacked them earlier.

“Phantom do the honors”

Danny froze for a moment, looking like deer caught in the headlight before he asked in a bit squeaky voice:

“How do I make an accident report?”

“Just say what happened but make it sound fancy,” Artemis explained. 

“Make a mission report and we'll fix it along the way,” Kaldur proposed.

“Answer ‘When? Where? Who was involved? What happened? What have you done about it?’ without excessive use of puns to avoid Bat-lecture” Robin helped, already in handstand.

“Bat-lecture? Really Rob?”

“So it's like lab report lite” Danny said before Robin did anything more than squawk indignantly “Alright, I can do it. Do you have any set phrase to start? And which accident report is it, in the database?"

“44th… How about ‘[Hero name], report’? Sounds serious enough.”

Everyone agreed, so after a moment of silence Kaldur did the honors.

“Phantom, report”

Danny straightened, rolling his shoulders back and locked his eyes in the middle distance. It was a bit eerie how fast he went from relaxed and goofy to almost emotionless statue. M’gann wished to never encounter it again, thank you very much.

“Incident report no. 45 made by Young Justice member Phantom, regarding an attack from earlier today, 26th April 20XX. The Young Justice Team, later referred to as the Team, went on a trip to an amusement park staying currently in the city of Happy Harbour. It was an activity meant to strengthen interpersonal relationships within the Team, previously green-lit by Red Tornado. Every member was in civilian attire as per protocol. Around 3:15 PM, after two and a half hours, the Team were disturbed by a group of ten armed people, recognized by member Phantom as belonging to Ghost Investigation Ward, colloquially known as GIW or Guys In White because of their uniforms. Later in the report the organization will be referred to as the GIW. Two shots were fired by the assailants, targeting but not reaching member Phantom. Members of the GIW were hostile but with use of humor and threat of legal actions, the Team managed to diffuse the situation before it endangered passerbys. Despite direct attack, none of the Team members’ identities were compromised. Assailants left the confrontation with belief that Phantom left his ectoplasmic signature on an unrelated civilian. Agents refused to admit they were working for the GIW since its operations break a couple of laws of the state Rhode Island. Because of that, their appearance was reported to local law enforcement and taken care of. No injuries or damage to the city infrastructure were sustained other than two burns in the asphalt in the place of confrontation. Required follow-up with local law enforcement in civilian attire as victims of assault. End of report” Danny sighed, easing back into a more natural position. “This good?” he asked, with a sheepish smile.

“Perfect”

“How are you so good at reporting? You didn’t even know what to do a second ago? That’s just unfair”

“I used to write my parent’s lab reports. It’s pretty similar in form”

“Lab-”

“Follow-up to the report only, Kid-Flash,” Robin interrupted “Phantom. elaborate on who were the assailants”

Danny stepped back from himself again.

“GIW is a ghost hunting organization supported and accredited by the state government in Illinois, legally operating also in states Wisconsin and Ohio. Their goal is to catch and examine ecto-entities to learn more about their biology and ways to obliterate them. Obviously their plans for experimentation don’t include consideration of ghosts’ well-being”

“Damn, that’s messed up”

“They wouldn't catch a blob ghost if they tried,” Danny shrugged, though something was wrong with the gesture. She wasn't sure though, so she moved on.

“Then why were you scared?” M’gann pressed on instead.

“My parents… are, you know, prominent ghost hunters so when GIW opened we all got a tour around the whole building. The lab was… it made me imagine things I wished I had never thought about”

“They have labs? Like evil labs?” Robin perked up like a kid who just heard that Christmas came early. “How could you hide it from us?!” he added, falling to hang on Danny's shoulder. He twirled a bit to catch the left one even though before he stood on halfa’s right side. Dramatic as always “Conner, we have a birthday gift for you!”

“What does GIW’s lab have to do with my birthday?”

“The potential!” Robin yelled, straightening for a better effect.

Everyone started laughing. Well, everyone other than Conner who just looked at them confused.

“He probably wants to storm another lab, bring up nostalgia of our first meeting,” Kaldur calmed down just enough to explain.

“Tell me you wouldn't like to punch an evil scientist,” Wally added, almost dropping to the floor. 

“This does sound nice”

“And THIS is exactly the reason why I haven't told you all. Thanks for spoiling my surprise Rob,” Danny lied, though he did his best to sound truthful. He even projected some false mirth.

It would take much more to trick M’gann though. She abruptly stopped laughing.

“You're lying. Why actually haven't you told us?” she demanded maybe a little too harshly, but she was worried. Everyone froze for a moment, before turning to look at Danny.

“They're all bark no bite, and aim worse than Stormtroopers’, so I haven't considered them important enough to report”

Other's didn’t know, of course, but M’gann knew just how terrified Danny was during the confrontation and how echoes of that fear soured air around him even hours later.

Everyone did realize this explanation was a tone of bullshit though. 

Apparently incredulous stares were enough of the response.

“You and the Justice League have more important things to deal with than some shitty local laws”

“Bullshit again,” Artemis burst her lips “This is exactly what Justice League is for”

“I already found people to help me lobby against them”

“And why aren't we on the list?” 

Danny fell silent, not looking anyone in the eyes, which was quite a feat considering they had him in a half circle. M’gann considered moving to his side to show her support. Stare down like that had to be quite stressful.

Why not actually. She stepped closer, and drew him in the loose side hug. Danny tensed, which wasn't abnormal for him. He usually relaxed in about thirty seconds, if he didn't, she'd let go.

“I didn't expect them to breach the containment…”

“Each of these lies is worse, you know? Like, insulting our intelligence level of worse,” Artemis interrupted once more, pinning him with her eyes alone “Give us truth or stop talking”

Danny raised his head to look back at Artemis and mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing the key away. 

“Really?”

Boy just shrugged, not breaking eye contact.

“Alright, let's move on to the next question, how did it get approved in the first place?” Wally interrupted, waving his hand between them. They both shook off like dogs fresh out of water.

“Couldn't you wait five more seconds until I won?” 

“Ha! You wish Artemis. Though you could give us a moment”

“I gave you literal ages”

Danny snorted “Sorry, I keep forgetting how impatient you are”

“Oh shut up, my brain is just faster than yours, you slowpokes”

“Sure, sure”

“He made a good point,” Kaldur said “This shouldn’t even pass. And even if, you’re legally a Meta”

“Normal ghosts aren’t and halfas being a thing is not exactly common knowledge among the living”

“I’ll never get used to this distinction”

“I believe in you, Rob”

“What about ‘Extraterrestrial, extradimensional and otherwise previously unincluded’ Optional Protocol to the ‘International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights’?”

“Oh my god Conner, you’re the only person to say the whole name ever”

“Hey!”

“It all comes down to the definition of the ghost and the fact that Alien addition uses sentience and sapience as a ground to give anyone said rights. And also, US signed it but didn’t ratify it so…”

“Isn’t it same thing?”

“Nope. I thought so too, but apparently signing anything means nothing unless it’s also ratified, so I’m kinda fucked. Can’t even get the UN to frown at them disapprovingly, because officially, nothing was agreed to. And you know, even if they ratified it, ecto-scientists conducted enough research to prove we aren’t sapient enough to have these rights anyway. Just most of the states didn’t need to make a law out of it”

“That’s rough buddy”

“Are you really quoting Avatar at me right now? Really Artemis?”

“Yes”

“Wasn’t Avatar this movie with blue people? I don’t think they said that there”

M’gann wasn’t quite sure why human members seemed to be appalled by the question.

“We’re going to fix that later-”

“What exactly is there to be fixed, because I feel like we’re talking about to different things”

“- but for now can we go back to the whole ‘ghosts have no rights in Illinois’ thing” Robin continued, completely ignoring Conner’s questions.

“Illinois, Wisconsin and Ohio. There are portals to the Zone in two of these states. GIW already tried to send nuke through one of them”

“How Americana of them,” Kaldur muttered.

“If you have another insane tidbit about them, please share it all now. My mind can’t utilize any more revelations like that”

“I handled it, don’t worry”

“Someone tried to nuke literal Afterlife…”

“Yup, get on the schedule Kid Flash. You’re supposed to be fast”

M’gann knocked her arm into his, kinda as a ‘don’t be mean’ message. Danny kinda tensed, but soon relaxed back and moved his head as if he wanted to lay it on her shoulder. Excitement of the day was clearly catching up to him.

M’gann wouldn’t be mad if he did laid his head there.

“Why do we learn about it just now?”

“I wrote the report, not my fault you haven’t read it”

“Can’t fault us for assuming we’d know every important thing from your endless bitching!”

Danny straightened and laughed, in this horrible humorless way that made M’gann want to claw at her brain until she couldn’t hear or sense any of it.

Instead, she brought her other hand up and just held him tighter.

Thankfully the whole spectacle didn’t last long.

“It’s cute that you think I bitch about anything important”

“Phantom…”

“Don’t Phantom me right now. Even if by some miracle they managed to send the missile to the Zone, it most likely wouldn’t have worked. They’re mostly just a joke.”

“They managed to shot you. Right upper arm or shoulder”

“Don’t deny it, we’ve seen you wince when I leaned on you and when M’gann hugged you”

Martian tried to let go hearing that, but Danny held her in place. She stayed where she was but carefully moved her hand away from the slightly damp area on his shirt. She suddenly caught on everything that was wrong with him, now that she knew to look for it.

“I got worse from the hand of my house’s security system”

“You… understand that it’s… like… way worse, right?”

“You don’t know life until you hear threats of dissection against your alter ego after stopping death ray with bowl of cereal,” he said, relaxing more into her side again. He sounded absolutely exhausted.

“Do you want to move in here? Until we deal with this whole GIW and assorted mess?” she said instead. Conner nodded, surprisingly eager to share the space that he considered somewhat sacred.

“Nope, I’m good, I’m needed there”

“You could Zeta- yeah, no, nevermind, it wasn’t good idea. But we could make it work”

“You still should-”

“It’s fine. I mean, I have it handled and it doesn’t affect that many people. And we’re working on it. It’s fine”

“It really is not,” Conner growled.

“You need your arm patched up” M’gann demanded, ignoring previous conversation, with eyes still fixed on the blood that stained her forearm. She should’ve destroyed at least Operative K.

“I bandaged it up”

“It soaked through then. Let’s go to med–”

Loud shrill interrupted her, because of course it did.

“Oh, look, convenient distraction! Let’s take the cookies out before they get burned!”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” M’gann stated in a way that allowed no argument “You’re getting away for now only because I’m holding most of your weight right now”

“Sure we will. And I can stand on my own, thank you very much”

“I’ve heard many lies today and this might be the worst of them. We’re going to Medbay as soon as the cookies are out”

“You’ve got it boss”