#i feel like I should post it on ao3

[introspectivememories]

was it casual when i sat in your lap in public? was it casual when i said "recently my heart is crying because you're leaving"? was it casual when we decided how your last name would fit with mine? ("yuki tsunoda-gasly" / "no tsunoda, only gasly" / "yuki gasly?") was it casual when we sang adele's "someone like you" together at your going away party? was it casual when i knew it was you just by touching your ass? was it casual when i knew it was you by smell alone? was it casual when "will you miss me?" / "for 2-3 minutes maybe" / "i'll take that. even if it's just 2-3 minutes, i'll take that"? was it casual when that bus was completely empty and we still sat right next to each other, all the way in the back? was it casual when i picked you up multiple times so you could dunk a basketball? was it casual when i begged to come over to your house multiple time and then you finally let me and we cooked fried rice together? was it casual when we played christmas twister together and i said "your big eggplant is touching my ass"? was it casual when we were pressed up against each other on a scooter going two miles per hour? was it casual when-

[mytardisisparked]

I wrote a lil something X-Files flavored for Mother's Day. @singeart and I were talking about Maggie and Mulder and their dynamic and here's the result :)

Read on AO3

Other Mothers; Other Sons

The second her mother’s door was open, Scully felt herself being engulfed in a tight hug. She smiled and did her best to return it with equal vigor, even with her arms pinned to her side.

“Hi Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.”

Maggie Scully pulled back, still holding her daughter by the shoulders. “Thank you Dana.” The genuine joy and gratitude in her eyes was almost overwhelming. After a moment, she released Scully and took a step back towards the door. “I’m almost ready to go, do you mind waiting just a moment while I finish up?”

Scully shook her head and they went inside. 

“Don’t get too comfortable!” Maggie threw over her shoulder as she breezed towards the bathroom. “I’ll be 2 seconds!”

“Okay.” Scully smiled after her. She lingered in the kitchen, looking at a couple of new pictures of Charlie’s sons on the fridge - he must have sent them in a card. The two boys were grinning wildly at the camera in that way that children do, with no regard for how much is too much. It made Scully smile wider herself. 

She turned to the rest of the kitchen and her eyes landed on a large bouquet of lilies and baby’s breath on the table. Those must be from Bill. Or, more likely, his wife, she thought. She stepped forward and, in a moment of petty, sibling-like curiosity, plucked the little card from the flowers to see who’s handwriting was on it.

She froze. The handwriting was familiar. Very familiar. It was not, however, Bill or Tara’s handwriting.

Written in the same loopy cursive that was at the bottom of all their case reports to Skinner were the words: Happy Mother’s Day!  - Fox.

The confusion evaporated as quickly as it developed; her mother had mentioned several times what a comfort Mulder was while Scully was missing, and Mulder had made a few comments himself about how much he liked Maggie. Scully also knew that Mulder’s relationship with his own mother was fraught - she never told him, but the emotional abandonment Teena inflicted on him has always been a steady, hot fuel for rage in the pit of her stomach. 

She knew he went to visit Teena for the holiday. A phone call to him that evening would probably be a good idea.

“He dropped those off this morning.” Maggie’s voice made Scully jump. She turned to find her mother leaning in the doorway, all dressed up in her Sunday best for brunch. “He’s a sweet boy.” She smiled.

Scully nodded. “I-” She swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Yeah.”

Maggie gave her an all-too-knowing look before walking over to touch one of the lily petals. “He said he was on his way to visit his mother today.”

“Um, yeah.” Scully took a breath. “He’s taking her to lunch, I think.”

They were both quiet for a moment, and Scully wondered how much her mother knew about Teena. Eventually, they looked at each other in sync; Scully saw the same knowledge that burned in her own gut burning behind Maggie’s eyes.

Scully looked away. “Did, um, did Bill call?”

“No.” Maggie turned to grab her coat. “I’m sure he will later. He’s probably not out of church yet.”

As Maggie moved to the door, Scully bit her tongue against the frustration cresting in her chest. She looked one last time at the pictures from Charlie and the bouquet from Mulder, and then followed her mother outside. 

[crownedwille]

.

[mechazushi]

After the Fall {AN ACTUAL SHORT STORY THIS TIME} [Kaiju No. 8] (Could be considered as possible Ep11 spoilers; interpreted artistically)

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Kafka Hibino." Captain Mina Ashiro started, "No. Kaiju Number Eight. I am taking you into custody." She leveled her gun to him. Her voice as steady as her hands, taking care not to let an ounce of sadness that had filled her soul melt her outward resolve. The companies were distraught and heavily wounded. Most of the infrastructure in the training area had been reduced to ash. An arched border line had been etched into the pavement around them. One side was mostly intact with spider cracks in various locations. The other side was a pale, dusty mess. No surface from the border and beyond was traversable with all of it being splintered, jutting, and uneven.

At the peak of the arch stood a half dissolved monster, melting back into a man. When the flecks peeled off and drifted into the remnants of the wind, a face began to emerge. Kafka Hibino, the former member of the Third Division had ousted himself as the elusive Kaiju Number Eight. He stood stone still, letting fragments of his alter form slough off as he never took his eyes off his captor. He wanted to think he knew what she was thinking, that this is just protocol, that there was no place in her heart that harbored ill will or intent. Mina wouldn't use her gun against him, right? They could still be friends, that he could still fight for his spot at her side.

He couldn't tell. Mina was unreadable as ever and Kafka couldn't blame her. He had been reprimanded enough times to know that this was just how she had to be in front of others in the Division. Her place wasn't a position where she was afforded the leeway to be physically emotional. Emotion was considered weakness, and she had to be strong for the others. To the officers, she was being seen as a strong captain, standing against a Daikaiju threat. It didn't matter that this was Kafka, that everyone had seen that it was Kafka who made a harrowing choice to save the lives of thousands. All they saw now was a monster, no matter how human and familiar its face was.

"Hoshina. I need you to cuff him." Captain Ashiro commanded. Hoshina heard, but was refusing to act. He couldn't bring himself to look at the situation in front of him. A man he trusted, a man he had considered as a friend and compatriot, was confirmed to be a threat to the world. Hoshina wasn't sure at the beginning what Kafka's circumstances were. He knew that things were off, but he chose to ignore them. The whole reason for letting Kafka join as a cadet was so Hoshina could investigate him, and he failed to do even that. All because he couldn't look past his smile. How could a man with a smile so bright and genuine ever be a threat to others. He didn't believe it, refused to believe it. He wasn't going to slap cuffs on a man that didn't have a threatening bone in his body.

But was he a man? Everyone saw Kafka gain impossible speed. They all saw Kafka, as a kaiju, blast into the sky and launched the bomb to a safer distance. Was Kafka a kaiju now because he was strong and dangerous? Or was he still a man because he understood sacrifice? Kaijus didn't need to deal with pesky feelings. They didn't have to worry about what others thought of them. All there was in kaiju minds was to eat and destroy. Kafka could express emotion, and has expressed desire outside of destruction. If Kafka knew that others would turn and run in fear if they knew what he was and what he could do, why did he do it anyway?

"Hoshina." Captain Ashiro commanded again, dislodging her Vice Captain from his thoughts. He still didn't want to do this, still choosing to believe in the man behind the monster's mask, but it wasn't a good idea to make the Captain repeat herself. Reaching into his side pouch, he dug up one of the plastic handcuffs that most officers are issued with. They were issued with the intent that defense members might encounter people taking the opportunity for ransacking during invasions and could preform arrests until the offender could be picked up by proper authorities. Hoshina walked up to Kafka and held the industrial zip-tie in his hands. Every neuron in his skull felt like it was screaming in retaliation, making his hands hesitate in the action of placing Kafka under physical arrest. He almost wanted to laugh. Did anyone here actually think that these meager restraints could hold back a person with a registered fortitude rating? Kafka slowly held out his wrists in front of him, looking like a toddler that was expecting a ruler to come down on them in punishment.

"It's okay. I know." Kafka whispered imperceptibly to him. His head was bowed solemnly, but he looked at Hoshina as his face remained ever reassuring. He almost felt like slapping the look off of him. How dare he act like this. How dare he try to be apologetic and caring for others in this situation. Why couldn't he be an asshole and run, fight, do anything to save himself. For god's sake, why can't he be selfish. Having to deal with a daikaiju on the loose would have been less gut wrenching than having to send a fellow soldier to an uncertain fate.

"Captain Ashiro, I can explain-" Reno Ichikawa was shouting as he came barreling over the fallen debris as nimbly as possible. Following behind at a much slower pace was Kikoru Shinomiya.

"Save it Officer Ichikawa!" Ashiro barked at him, "Telling by your outburst at this time of all places, tells me you have some knowledge on this as well." she holstered her side arm now that Kafka had been successfully restrained.

"You too, Shinomiya. Hoshina told me about his suspicions about how you managed to neutralize the honju at the acceptance trials earlier this year and with you showing up behind Ichikawa here, I can assume that you're in on this too." She began to wordlessly direct those around her and made moves to stand behind Kafka and Hoshina.

"Okonogi, send several vehicles over to the training area. We have multiple wounded and a lot of tired soldiers that I think would rather drive than walk back to barracks. Leader Ebina, gather some of your people and start marking a path through the rubble so we can transport the wounded."

"Roger that, Captain. Do you want me to send an armored vehicle for Kaiju Number Eight?" replied Okonogi. Captain Ashiro looked hard at Kafka, now back to appearing completely human and in the plastic cuffs. Hoshina was looking right at the captain. Blood had stopped dripping down his face minutes ago, but it was still clear that he wasn't in any shape to fight anything more powerful than a mouse right now. She took in the fact that his hands were placed gently on top of Kafka's limply curled fists, a sight that Kafka couldn't pull his eyes away from.

"No. Leave the armored vehicle for now. We might need it to be fueled and stocked for whatever happens tomorrow." Ashiro replied back after serious consideration. With most of the Division looking the way it did, and the person most capable of going head to head with a daikaiju of small size looking like death warmed over, she acknowledged the fact that Kafka; or Kaiju Number Eight, she hadn't stopped her brain from fluctuating between the two, hadn't taken the opportunity to bolt for the hills. She figured if he was going to try anything, he would have as soon as she leveled her sidearm at him. In the bright moonlight over head, she could see the person she once considered a friend chuckle noticeably.

"Thanks for that, Captain Ashiro. Those trucks don't have the best air condi-"

"Save it. I don't want to hear another word from you tonight." Captain Ashiro commanded. She could clearly see the word's effect on him as he visibly flinched at her sharp tone. As the officers around her got into position and steadied their hands on their rifles, she pointed her finger off over Hoshina's shoulder, indicating that they should start moving. Kafka's feet regretfully began to shuffle around to face the direction he was supposed to go in, but when he tried to take an actual step he hissed loudly and nearly collapsed to his knees onto the pavement. Hoshina didn't think for a second as he rushed forward to catch him before he landed, propping himself under Kafka's broad chest and grabbing his shoulder to keep him balanced. The chorus of six safety switches all clicking off in unison could be heard behind the two of them.

"Shit- Sorry, sorry! Knees were locked." Kafka said, glancing over his and Hoshina's connected bodies.

"Sorry." He added, seemingly addressed to no one in particular.

'Maybe that was addressed to all of us.' Hoshina thought as he helped Kafka readjust to his feet. Once he felt okay enough to walk, he began to move forward at a sluggish pace. It was clear to Hoshina that he wasn't walking slow on purpose, and that it really must have taken a lot out of him to propel himself into the air and sucker punch a twenty kiloton yoju bomb into the lower stratosphere. Hoshina kept a hand on Kafka's upper back as he gently guided him through the path Ebina's team had marked earlier. With the moment they were in being as quiet as possible, save for the occasional echoing crash of broken rubble hitting the ground all around them, Hoshina took a second to think.

'I mean, when you think about it, that should be enough to knock the wind out of anyone capable of doing that in that sort of situation.' He stunned himself with the words in his head. How could he even try and logic out what a man with the power of turning into a Kaiju was even qualified to accomplish? This whole situation was absurd and he hated it. He hated everything in that moment. He hated Kafka for putting himself in danger, he hated Captain Ashiro knowing she was only doing her job, he hated himself because he was the one who told Kafka not to get attached to others on the job because God only knows what could happen and here he was, feeling attached knowing damn well that he was going to feel like shit because he was basically loosing the best damn thing this Division had going for it!

Hoshina couldn't writhe in his personal hell for much longer as the group had made it to the busted doors of the training grounds. The remnants of his fight with Kaiju Number Ten as well as debris from the explosion had all been pushed to the sides as best as possible. A few tents had been erected to preform triage and separate the barely scratched from the mortally wounded and treat them appropriately. A rotating convoy of open air trucks and military jeeps were set up at the far end of the street carrying the tired and lightly wounded to somewhere else on base for rest, if it was available for most. All activity seemed to slow, almost stopping in some areas as Kafka led his paltry parade showcasing his imprisonment through the masses. It almost felt like a display of a man being condemned. Okonogi pulled ahead of the line in her own commandeered jeep and pulled it to a stop in front of Kafka and Ashiro. The captain told the six behind her to grab a vehicle for themselves and follow close behind, before wordlessly hopping into the passenger seat of the car. As Hoshina hopped in the exposed backseat, he could hear Kafka groan and hiss as he settled into the spot on the bench next to him.

"Hssssss, haaaa, hoooo. Wow, sitting down. A novel idea. Who knew?" Kafka talked exhaustedly as he fumbled with the lap belt using his restrained hands.

"Miss Okonogi, not to presumptuously assume your driving skills, but you mind being careful and avoiding potholes and barricades on the way to my cell. I'm gonna take a nap." Kafka's head slumped unceremoniously against the metal bar framing the back of the jeep and immediately started to breath heavily, almost as if he was asleep already. His closed eyes meant he didn't get to see Mina's irritated glare she sent his way before she took the clipboard that Okonogi brought with her. Hoshina rested his elbow against the car's sidewall and placed his face in his hand, staring at an unaware Kafka.

'He's asleep. This no good, dirty, rotten, lying, mutant Kaiju bastard is asleep?' Hoshina thought angrily. As he felt the car move forward and tuned out Captain Ashiro and Okonogi's conversation, he realized all he could think about in that moment was him.

'A man saves an entire base and this is how we thank him.' Hoshina's inner monologue continued. He knew he wasn't the only one here who felt like this, and when the news got out in the morning he was sure lots of others were going to have mixed feelings on this as well. Arresting him was for the best, he knew that as well. Good intentions or no, human or no, it didn't change the fact that Kafka can become a kaiju. The whole purpose of the Divisions was to eliminate kaijus. The fact that Kafka was allowed to breathe, let alone sitting in the back of a car with the two most powerful people on base at rock bottom of their best, spoke volumes about how crazy and fucked up these circumstances were. Protocol was kill on sight, and Kafka knows this. Yet here he was, sleeping the rest of his freedom away.

'It wouldn't be hard, either.' Hoshina thoughts continued, 'I may not be able to put up a good fight at the moment, but we can assume he's mostly human right now. He's asleep and tired, which means he's vulnerable' He played with the tip of the handle connected to his sword. 'I could end it all for him right now and he wouldn't be wiser.'

But he wouldn't. Hoshina couldn't lay any hand on him with deadly and harmful intent behind it, now and forever. Monster or Human, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing could ever change the fact that Hoshina had one percent of trust in this man right now. And he wondered if Kafka could feel that too, because why else could he be so blissfully asleep right now.

'He's not going to be like that for long.' Hoshina thought bitterly. The protocol was kill on sight for honju and yoju, yes, but that stopped at daikaiju. they were killed like any other threat, but whatever that was left of the body after the fight was sent off for research. Research and experimentation. Hoshina knew that it was a snowball's chance in hell that the leaders of the Defense Force were just going to let them keep Kafka on base, but were they going to let Kafka stay alive and intact? Hoshina could feel his heart be poisoned and start to cramp up at the thought. He had to look away for a moment , lest tears started to mix with the blood and stain his cheeks even more. It took several sharp breaths and a solid minute of mental filing to help his chest feels normal again.

Hoshina tried to take another look at the mystery that was his fellow soldier. A face as still as a forest pond, covered in already healed scratches. Light from the moon created soft shadows on his eyelids and neck. flickering and shifting in tandem with the shakes and jolts coming from the moving jeep. His worker's tan looking more pronounced than it usually did. Kafka looked stoic and peaceful, which created a stark contrast to the unearthly and demonic visage Hoshina has associated with Kaiju Number Eight. It was an awful situation Hoshina found himself in.

On one hand, he wanted to come across the bench and hold him. Whisper calmly in his ear that everything was going to be okay. That he won't have to worry about whatever that's going to come for him in the morning. On the other hand, he wanted to be the one that was being held. To have all those sweet and empty promises whispered back at him, to be told that things would be fine for him too. Kafka won't have to leave the base, that this whole kaiju transformation business was just the concussion talking, and the base will be back to operational in no time at all.

None of those things were going to happen. The base reconstruction was going to take forever, Kafka was going to have to leave, and nothing was going to be fine. Hoshina turned away again, feeling the chest tightening again and wanted to keep his tears to himself for the time being. He couldn't cry now because there was a superior officer present and didn't also want to wake Kafka. He couldn't cry in the morning because he needed to be strong in the face of whatever decision that was to come down on his officer's head. As the first shifts of color indicative of the approaching dawn began to brighten the night sky, Hoshina tamped down every bit of emotion he had to let out later into the first few minutes of however much sleep he was going to get in those twilight hours.

This was going to be a rough few months, wasn't it?

[bubble-popping]

okay this is kinda embarrassing bc i meant to post this a long time ago and just... Didn't.

More dnb gods au bc them <3

Truthfully, Techno didn't know why he stood here, hand hovering above the wood of a door. Even less did he understand why he felt so nervous about going in. The words 'Dream's Study' felt like a permanent 'do not disturb' sign. He knew how much he hated to be interrupted when he worked, especially for trivial matters such as a minor headache. Techno hadn't seen Dream for a while, and it was showing with how Chat nagged and clawed at his brain. He wasn't quite at the stage of attacking his dearest friends and causing major property damage because of their volume and relentlessness, but Dream had asked--pleaded, to be more precise--for him to visit before it got to that point. So, here he stood, trying to think of how to phrase his current predicament without sounding like a total loser. And Chat was not helping.

just knock?

man's forgot how to knock

bro forgor

E

E

average dork in love behavior

no u guys don't get it he's so normal about dream i promise

social anxiety L

L

LOL

L

L

"How do you nerds even know half those phrases? I don't say anythin' like that-" Before he knew it, the sound of squeaks and chirps emitted from behind the door. The Blobs' heightened senses never ceased to amaze him.

"What? Techno's outside? How-OW!"

Techno startled upon hearing the exclamation accompanied by a thud and finally kicked himself into gear, opening the door and peeking inside to see Dream standing up from behind his desk, cradling his horns and uttering more hisses of pain. "Dream? You alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine! Jus' bumped my head is all. I'm alright." The blond waved off his concern as he sank into his chair. "Is something up? Chat being loud again?"

The piglin god decided to step further into the room. He'd gone this far, might as well go the full mile. "Well, not at the moment now that you're, ya know, talkin'."

"Aw, they just missed me, huh?" Dream rested his head in his hand, smile smug and eyes scrunched.

YES

DREAM

DREAM POG

simps. every single one of you. me too.

GUYS SHUT UP I CAN'T FOCUS ON HIS PRETTY

pretty dreamie :)

WE AGREED ON DAYDREAM FOR THE NICKNAME IDOIT

**idiot lol

lol

LOL

Lol

LOL

"I didn't say all that. Don't get ahead of yourself, teletubby." As if Techno's absolutely scathing remark wasn't enough of a blow to the man's ego, several Blobs then decided it was their special moment to shine as they dropped down on Techno chirping and cooing not too unlike Phil's crows. He glanced up to see many more piled on a hammock above his head. The majority still soundly slept. Techno could only imagine what it'd look like if they were all awake.

"Hey! What have I told you guys about personal space?" Dream promptly stood from his chair and came over to brush the little Blobs off, a bright gold strong as sunshine glowing on his cheeks. It really didn't match the stern expression he was trying to show. "I'm so sorry about them. We're still working on that..." He didn't meet Techno's eyes as his hands swiped across his shoulders. Not even when he reached further up, lifting on the tips of his toes to pluck away the ones that had settled in his hair.

"They're not so bad. At least they're cute. Chat is just plain annoyin'," Techno grumbled.

WE'RE RIGHT HERE YA KNOW

techno hates us y'all

we're literally fixing your love life?

so ungrateful

Dream giggled softly, shaking his head. Only then did he meet Techno's gaze. "Chat isn't bad either. It's just like the Blobs, they're excitable. I think Chat's cool."

dream gets us y'all

omg he's looking at us guys

HE'S THINKS WE'RE COOL

i hope he wins the custody battle in the divorce

they aren't even married yet

praying on their downfall already is crazy

SHUT UP HE'S STILL TALKIMG

he stopped tho?

**talking

LOL

LOL

L

L

L

Techno pressed a hand to his temple, face twisting in discomfort. "You don't have to hear 'em all the time..."

Dream offered a sympathetic smile before he seemed to get an idea. "Would you like to rest with me while I fulfill some dream requests?"

"I don't wanna bother ya if you're workin'-"

"You wouldn't be a bother, ya big idiot. C'mon, I could use the company." He smiled sweetly, taking Techno by the arm with pretty green eyes begging from under long blond lashes. Naturally, Techno let himself be dragged away--but he still wasn't a simp, Chat, shut up--to a different corner of the office: an area that closely resembled a pillow fort.

Techno really had to duck down to enter it, clearly not built for a god his size. Inside was more spacious than it initially appeared. Made of many different colors and shapes of cushions, all draped with soft blankets, and partially bordered by the lower shelves of a bookcase. Dream easily found a spot to lay down, propped up and facing the curtain canopy. Techno squeezed against the nearest wall out of consideration for Dream's space, but regardless only managed a gap of mere inches. He too looked up, and when he did, he swore that nothing was above them at all. Tiny lights were strategically placed to emulate the night sky. Techno could even see certain constellations in the pattern.

"How did...?"

"Oh, some Blobs got into my glowstone dust by accident and they reminded me of stars, so I got this idea." And Techno believed him because when he squinted he saw, as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, many tiny Blobs hanging by thin threads with the proudest grins on their faces.

"Of course..." He huffed, smirking and shaking his head.

A comfortable silence succeeded his words, covering the pair in a particular kind of blanket. The kind that had Techno curiously glancing over to see Dream concentrating on a cloud held aloft by the green strings connected to his fingers.

"What's that one? If ya don't mind me askin'."

"Hm? Oh, well, usually I don't share other people's dreams. They're personal things, meant for your mind alone. But..." Dream got a small, almost mischievous smile on his face. "This one here is for one of my regulars."

"Regulars?"

"Mhm. I think she prays almost every night, always for the same thing. She's an old woman and recently her wife of almost 60 years passed away from an unfortunate accident. Do you know what she asks to dream of?"

Techno couldn't imagine knowing that much about a mortal. But then again, all those that prayed to him usually didn't live very long, so he supposed he just never got the chance to.

"What?"

"She just wants to speak with her again. Nothing else matters, except that she's there. They talk about so many things. Sometimes, they don't speak at all. Just sit there next to each other, enjoying the company. I've put them in all sorts of places. Relaxing on a beach, watching a fireworks display from afar, sitting on their rocking chairs in their living room..." He'd finished crafting the dream by then, offering it to one of the Blobs who devoured the cloud whole and promptly wiggled into the crevice of two pillows. Afterwards, he folded his hands atop his stomach and closed his eyes, smiling wistfully. "Such a sweet, pure love... I only hope someone will love me like that."

A heat unlike any other instantly filled Techno's cheeks.

ASDFGHJKL HE'S LITERALLY ASKING FOR IT

LET'S GOOO

KISS HIM YOU IDIOT

how did that guy make that sound

KISS

KISS

KISS

L matchmakers fr

wdym we're such W matchmakers

yeah he boutta get that sheep pus-

Techno quickly sat up from the comfortable pile onto his elbow, resolutely pushing that thought out of his head.

"Techno?" Dream looked to him, gaze wide and inquisitive. The piglin god turned to stare down at him, and though he knew he had to say something that might finally shut Chat up about this, the words got caught in his throat. Green eyes were simply too pretty, surrounded by freckles and waves of golden blond. A hand surprised him out of his admiring. Gentle fingers pushed the hair that had fallen into Techno's face behind his pointed ear then came to a rest at his cheek. "Something wrong?"

"No," he answered with a shake of his head, placing his hand upon Dream's and leaning into the touch. It still didn't make a lot of sense to him, why Dream was so tender towards him despite his reputation and prowess... Or, perhaps, because of it? Techno cherished it all the same. "Nothin's wrong. 'm just... 'm not sure how to, how to word-"

"Tech," the sheep god murmured, now cupping both of Techno's cheeks and wearing a bittersweet smile, "you don't have to force yourself. I was just thinking out loud. I wasn't trying to-"

"It's not that, I mean, well, it is, but-" He sighed, closing his eyes to collect himself before opening them with a renewed determination. "I get what you're sayin' and I feel the same way."

"You do?"

"Ya think I'd come just to make Chat shut up? That's just a sweet bonus, dude."

Dream giggled, a similar blush rising on his face. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means I... would really like to kiss ya, if you'll let me."

The blush immediately brightened to a shimmering gold. He pushed himself to a sit as well, closing the gap between them to barely a few inches. "I think I'd like that."

They both leaned in, heads tilting to accommodate the other, but when Techno connected with something, he knew it was not Dream's lips. A Blob had managed to slip in at the last second, squeaking happily. The two pulled back in equal astonishment, allowing the Blob to drop on Dream's lap.

Dream's expression rapidly soured. "You little-!" He snatched the Blob up, gripping its little body in a tight grasp. "That's it. You're all going in timeout now." With a snap of his fingers, all the Blobs including the ones that hung from the ceiling exploded into puffs of clouds, leaving the two in near total darkness aside from Dream's glowing eyes. "Much better. Now..." Hands suddenly grabbed Techno by the shoulders and twisted them so he was flat on his back and Dream was straddling his waist. His voice lowered to a whisper as he leaned in once again, bright green illuminating both their faces. "Where were we?"

[moreclaypigeons]

No like seriously ARE we ready to talk about the misogyny in fandom spaces

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

Okay it happened. My first time writing for Agents of Shield. My heart and mind are taken over by Coulson and Daisy and well, girl gotta do what she gotta do and ✨process✨ those feelings. Full thing under the cut because I accidentally hit over 2k with this thing and who knows, maybe it'll end up on AO3 as well! For now I'm just testing waters.

@skoulsons @outer-edges I hope you'll enjoy this little tearjerker.

"There's no S.H.I.E.L.D. without you."

Maybe. But to him, there's no S.H.I.E.L.D. without her. He's the past, but she's the future; she's the one who will bring this pile of ashes back to life, who will lead with her giant heart and a brilliant mind and create something extraordinary. She's the legacy he couldn't be more proud to leave behind.

"There's nothing without you," Daisy sobs as she breaks down in front of him, and Phil's heart shatters to pieces in his chest like she just hit it with her powers. He answers its call, its desperate plea to bring her closer, and he pulls her in, a soft come here on his lips as he gathers Daisy in his arms and lets her fall apart against him.

Her tears soak into the collar of his jacket. She's shaking, wrecked by sobs she can no longer hold back. He brings a hand up to cup the back of her head, and he closes his eyes at the softness of her long, brown waves under his calloused fingertips, letting it overcome him.

Holding her had always been quite a difficult task for him because, once he had her in his arms, he never wanted to let go. But he had to. Because duty called, because he was needed elsewhere, because she had to go. There was always something that forced them to pull apart, always something that had him stepping away and releasing her, always something that made him let go.

Now he's dying. He could be gone in an hour, a day, a week.

This time, he's not letting her go.

She seems so small in his arms. This force of a woman, powerful, brave, and fierce, now a sobbing little girl who wants to hide in his embrace and never leave. Phil feels a lump form in his throat as he thinks of a time when she really was little, when she had no one to hold her and dry her tears, when she had no one to go to. It only makes him hold her tighter and squeeze her against him so hard that he could crush bones if his body wasn't too weak for it.

If only he had known back then. If only he had found her sooner. How many nights did he spend thinking about this? How long had he sat by her bedside after she'd been shot, going over all the what-ifs in his head? For how long had he held her hand against his lips, staring at her pale face, wondering what it would've been like if he had the chance to raise her?

Four years together doesn't feel like enough all of a sudden. He's one foot in the grave; he accepted his fate and made peace with it, but if there's one thing he regrets, it's not having more time with her. If he had found her sooner, they would've had a whole life together; he would've watched her grow up, graduate from the academy, he would've been privileged to see the road she's been on to become who she is now from beginning to end. Instead, he's only a blip in time, there one second and gone the next.

He won't see her restore S.H.I.E.L.D. to its former glory. He won't see her reach the full scope of her gift. He won't be there to watch her finally find the love and happiness she deserves, won't walk her down the aisle like he secretly dreamed he would one day. He won't hear the laughter of her children as they run into his arms with her smile on their faces and call him 'grandpa'.

He wanted that. More than anything, he wanted that.

And now…

Here she is. The daughter he never had but had always wanted. Breaking apart in his arms because soon he'll be gone and there's nothing she can do to stop it. She will try; he has no doubt about that. He can give all the orders he wants, but Daisy will move heaven and earth to keep him alive. It's a futile task, really, but he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't do the same thing if the roles were reversed. He had done the same thing, and they had only known each other for a few weeks at the time.

He already loved her even then. A few short weeks, and she was already everything to him.

A violent sob shakes her frame and makes Daisy cling to him tighter. His jacket strains against his back when she grabs fistfuls of it and trembles, her breath hitching in her throat. This time, when he squeezes his eyes shut, a single tear rolls down Phil’s cheek.

"Daisy..." His voice is breaking.

"No, I can't, I can't..." She shakes her head and chokes on a sob that turns into a wail, muffled only by his shoulder. It's like a knife plunged into his heart and twisted around.

"Shh, shh… It's okay," he whispers into her hair, even though the words taste like ash on his tongue. He's leaving her, it's not going to be okay. Not for a while. She will grieve, she will hurt, she'll need time and space. There will be a hole in her heart that nothing will ever fill again. He knows because the same hole opened in his chest when he held her lifeless body in his arms, blood oozing from two gunshot wounds in her stomach staining his hands red. It was stitched together and closed, but the fear of it reopening again remained, making itself known every time he watched her head out for another mission.

"Daisy," he tries again, Skye at the tip of his tongue. It's the name she had given herself — the name of someone who didn't know her story. Everybody laughed at him for having a hard time getting used to the change in the beginning, but Phil couldn't help it when the name alone made his heart beat louder. Her true name has the same effect on him these days; it pumps life into his veins whenever he says it, and if only that were enough to keep him alive, he'd take it.

Daisy burrows deeper into his shoulder.

"Please don't," she weeps. "Don't tell me it's okay. I can't– I can't do this. I can't lose you."

His hands automatically move to cup her cheeks as he pulls away. When her eyes find his, they are bloodshot and brimming with tears; he makes no attempt to conceal his own. They are both barely holding themselves together, but they need this. Daisy needs this to survive after he is gone.

"Listen to me," Phil pleads, leaning in close. "I might be gone, but I will never leave you, okay? I'll be here," He taps her temple with his finger, then presses his palm right above her heart, "and here."

Tears roll down his face now, and his voice cracks and trembles, but the smile on his face couldn't be brighter. "I don't know if there's Heaven or anything else waiting for me. I didn't stay long enough last time to find out. But whatever happens, I'll be watching over you, Daisy. I promise."

That's the one thing he's absolutely sure of. No matter what the other side holds for him, he is not leaving her side. His teachings, his guidance, his care, it will all help her carry on through life. She'll find him in herself but also in others — a whole bunch of people who love her just as much as he does and will be there for her every step of the way. He might be leaving her, but he's not leaving her alone.

Her hand lands on his over her heart, and holds on tight. It's warm, soft, and so gentle, despite holding the power to crack the world apart. Her eyes stay locked on his own, deep brown wells of pain and sorrow and for a long moment she stays quiet, only looking into his eyes.

"Dad," Daisy sobs out, and Phil feels all the air leave his lungs in one sweep. "Dad, please…"

"Oh, baby girl."

Before the impact of these words can knock him to the floor, Phil crushes her back to him, and he holds her closer than ever before, tighter than his body has the strength for. His back hits the wall with a soft thud as he presses a kiss to her temple and begins sobbing into her hair. Daisy collapses against him, nestling into the crook of his neck, and they both slide down to the chilly concrete floor.

He's not sure how long they sit there. Could be minutes, could be hours. Daisy is curled up across his lap, leaning sideways against him with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Phil rocks her slowly, like a child who wakes up after a nightmare and needs comfort. He wishes it was only that — a bad dream he can chase away, kiss her forehead and dry her tears, then put her back to bed with the promise that no monster can get to her. He holds her, both arms encasing her and keeping her close to his chest, where her palm rests, feeling for the drum of his faint heartbeat through his shirt.

Phil rests his cheek against Daisy’s hair with a sigh. If only it didn’t have to hurt so much. If only there was a way for him to go without leaving her in so much pain.

Her sobs die down after a while, and when they do, she just stays there, limp against him, forcing herself to breathe. She's exhausted, he can tell, and if he wasn't still feeling so weak after fainting earlier, he would've picked her up and carried her to bed. All he can do instead is tuck her closer and let her rest for as long as she needs, right where they are. Wait until she's able to stand back on her feet and walk back to the base with her head held high.

Because she will. And she will let Hell break loose to save him. There will be nothing he can do to stop her.

"I am not giving up on you," Daisy says into the empty space around them, as if reading his mind. Her rough voice scratches against the walls of her throat.

Phil closes his eyes. "I know."

She lifts her head and looks at him. There's fire in her gaze that knows no objection, a determination as strong as her powers are. She's taking her grief, and instead of letting it break her, she's using it to fuel herself.

"Please, don't make me give up on you."

And what can he possibly say to that? He won't convince her. He won't change her mind, just like she won't change his. Daisy has always been stubborn, but so has he, and over time, Phil came to terms with the fact that he might have accidentally bestowed even more of that stubbornness on her.

He smiles, stroking her cheek instead of saying anything, and the way Daisy leans into his touch with a sigh melts him. It's a rare occurrence when they get to be like this, when they allow themselves to be this close and open with each other, and he doesn't take a single second of that for granted. Only wishes it was happening under better circumstances.

"You're good?" He asks, ducking his head to catch her eyes.

Daisy wipes her face with the sleeve of her shirt and nods. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

They both know she won't be, not for a long time. But for now, it's enough. He's not gone yet. They still have time. They still have work to do.

Phil lifts her to her feet, and the two of them take a deep breath, trying not to think about how much of a mess they are. He hasn't let go of her yet, and now Daisy is staring down at their joined hands, her face obscured by a curtain of hair. Her chin wobbles, but Phil is fast; he reaches out and tilts it up, making her look at him.

"You'll be okay," he tells her.

Fresh tears glisten in her eyes.

"How do you know?"

He catches one drop with his thumb.

"Because I know my little girl."

Her smile is everything to him. It's sad and a little shy, her cheeks blush when she drops her head to try and hide it, but it still lights up his chest like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He'll hold onto that smile for as long as he can.

When he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her to his side, the rest of Daisy's tears are gone. She rests her head on his shoulder, lets him kiss her hair one more time, and as they head back to the others, they both feel somewhat lighter. A lot will change in the next few days; the weight of the world is still on their shoulders, but as long as he's here, Phil can make sure Daisy won't crumble under it.

After all, she's humanity’s shield. And her father's daughter.

[quigzahhutt]

hey folks I just wrote some smutty sargebon phone sex in the span of like 4 hours does anyone want to see it

[bellamyblakru]

would anyone read an ongoing original work on ao3 or is that not something people read

[needlesandnilbogs]

happy two year anniversary to mirrorverse, I’m sorry to everyone I’ve inflicted this on (not really about the inflicting it on you but about the length) (how did it get so long in two years)

proof:

[id: a bit of the ao3 work page for the first of the mirrorverse stories I’ve written. it has the publication date of July 9, 2022, circled]

[presumenothing]

so we all know the drill, yeah? my keyboard slipped etc etc and thus i present: 吉祥纹莲花楼 aka LOTUS CASEBOOK (the novel) CHAPTER ONE: TASTER EDITION further aka "the first chapter, but minus the Case Exposition bit because wow noooope". note also that this is not as serious nor thoroughly-edited as some of my other TLs (nif fandom alumni may remember me from known, unknown aka this absolute unit/research spiral of a post-canon fic; this is Not That and also, hi!!). and now with that out of the way, enjoy! ETA: fixed some missing bits that got eaten while posting to tumblr + only maybe 30% on-topic footnotes over here

PART THE FIRST: A GHOST, MURDER, IN THE GREEN GAUZE WINDOW

Changzhou City, Xiaomian Inn.

The seventeenth of the sixth month, just around midnight.

It had been two days since Cheng Yunhe, the head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company, started escorting these sixteen boxes of precious goods. Though all had been well so far, he felt tight-strung with exhaustion, and despite having fallen asleep he woke up without quite knowing why.

Silence permeated the dark room.

Outside the window… there was singing.

Faint waves of sound, barely discernible, as if someone was singing; and apparently quite in earnest, too, but in an incredibly odd tone… just as if… someone was singing with their tongue cut out. 

He opened his eyes, and looked at the window directly across from his bed.

Amidst the darkness, green flecks flickered dim and sudden across that window, now far then near, and only on this one window across from him.

Outside the window, the faraway song continued, that broken tongue singing a tragic melody that no-one living could possibly understand…

He’d already practised almost forty years of martial arts, and though his hearing and sight might not be the top in the jianghu, it could hardly be weak either, but he… could not make out the sound of anything human.

As the wind whistled through the slightly-ajar window, he stared at that window with its flickering green shadows – and for the very first time in his life, he thought of a word – ghosts?

–

ONE: LUCKY PATTERN LOTUS PARLOUR

The broad daylight of a sunny day.

Bingshan Town was not a remarkable place by any means; it had neither rare treasure nor great legends, and just like the vast majority of places in the jianghu, its denizens were a little boring, its crops a tad skinny, its rivers a tinge dirty, and its post-meal conversational topics a touch lacking… far too lacking, actually, so whenever there was something everyone had to delight in it for the longest time – not to mention how that recent happening was an odd one indeed.

The tale so far: on this day, the eighteenth of the month, when the people of Bingshan Town opened their doors to sweep their stoops, they abruptly found that their only-too-familiar main street had suddenly sprouted a two-storey wooden building. This building was hardly a short one, either, fully capable of housing people inside, and in spacious lodgings no less; it was made fully of wood, and engraved with patterns unusually fine and ornate, that even a blind person could recognise by touch – none other than lotus flowers and auspicious clouds.

After a good half-day’s worth of discussion, some eagle-eyed people recognised at last how this building had “suddenly appeared”: though its structure was that of a building, it turned out that it was not connected to the ground… at any rate, this building had been pulled by someone with a cart, here to the main street of their Bingshan Town, and put it there. Everyone expressed their amazement at this, but nobody could comprehend why anyone would bother dragging over such a large building in the dead of night just to leave it on the street, or what it could possibly be for. Perhaps as a shrine for their town god? Though speaking of which, their local shrine had indeed fallen into disrepair and gone unworshipped for many years now…

Such debate continued for three days straight, up until an express convoy working at some company who happened to be coming home was struck dumbfounded upon seeing it, screeched “The Lucky Parlour!” and there and then turned to run madly away without even returning home, still yelling “Lucky Parlour!” along the way – and thus the building abruptly became a haunted house, that would drive anyone who saw it right mad.

Only seven days later, when that express convoy suddenly brought the entire convoy company back to Bingshan Town, did the masses discover that said building was not in fact some haunted house. 

Not only was it not a haunted house, it was actually an auspicious building, a super-duper auspicious building. 

The “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” was a medical clinic.

Its master was of surname Li, named Lianhua.

What kind of a person was Li Lianhua? As a matter of fact, nobody in the jianghu knew either. Whether his master, his background, the level of his martial arts, his age, or even the matter of his looks: all of it was unknown. Six years had passed since this person appeared in the jianghu, and in total he’d done only two things, but just these two things alone had been enough to turn the “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” into the single most fascinating legend in the jianghu.

The two things Li Lianhua had done: the first was bringing back to life the martial scholar “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, who’d been buried for many days after dying from major injuries after a decisive duel. The second was bringing back to life “Ironflute Hero” He Lantie, who’d also been buried for many days with all his bones broken after dying from a cliff fall.

Just these two incidents alone had already made Li Lianhua the one figure in the jianghu that people most wanted to acquaint themselves with, but there was also the matter of his strange house that he always brought along with him – this only made Li Lianhua more of a legend amongst legends.

The head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company led every last one of his men on swift horseback to Bingshan Town, and after three days of clean baths and devout incense, finally delivered on great tenterhooks a letter of greeting to that building carved of precious softwood: Cheng Yunhe of Hexing Convoy Company wishes to consult on an important matter.

Said letter was pushed in via a window gap.

All forty-odd men of the company waited alongside Cheng Yunhe, as if it was the King of Hell inside of that building, passing judgement––

Soon after, that building that had been so silent as to seem unoccupied let out the faintest of creaking sounds. All of Hexing Convoy held their breath, and even the rubbernecking passers-by caught theirs, too, widening their eyes to better await whatever creature could possibly emerge from this building.

The door swung swiftly open, and not in the slow swing of everyone’s imagination.

A large cloud of dust burst forth with a bang, blowing all over Cheng Yunhe, and the figure in the door made a sound of dismay, saying with great apology: “I was tidying up odds and ends, and didn’t even realise I had guests, my apologies, apologies indeed.”

All of Hexing Convoy, now covered in dust and sawdust, stared in astonishment at the one who’d opened the door with a broom in one hand; the very same broom where that bright red greeting letter was now stuck on. He looked very young, no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and perhaps even a little younger than that if not for the much-mended grey robes he was wearing; his skin was fair and his looks refined, but neither was he so beautifully handsome as to be unforgettable from a glance. He held the broom in his right hand and a dustpan in his left, and looked out at the dozens-strong line outside his door with a face full of apology.

Cheng Yunhe gave a heavy cough, and saluted in greeting: “I, “Thousand-Mile Crane” Cheng Yunhe, humbly greet Li-xiansheng of the Lucky Parlour; may I perhaps request that you pass a message to him that there is a matter I wish to consult him on?”

“Ah,” said the grey-robed young man. “A message?”

Cheng Yunhe spoke gravely: “I fear we must meet with Li Lianhua, Li-xiansheng himself, for there is crucial business to discuss.”

The young man set down the broom. “I am indeed Li Lianhua.”

Cheng Yunhe’s eyes widened abruptly, mouth falling open, and in that moment every last bystander wanted nothing more than to toss three or five eggs into his mouth. Very swiftly he shut it again, and gave another heavy cough. “Your good reputation precedes you, Li-xiansheng…” 

And then he found himself at a loss on how to continue, for he had already detailed the ins and outs of the matter on the greeting letter, but that same letter was now stuck on Li Lianhua’s broom.

Li Lianhua said: “Apologies, apologies… my residence is covered in clutter at the moment…”

He raised a hand to invite Cheng Yunhe inside.

The Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour was indeed covered in assorted junk; from nails to hammer, saw to axe, dustcloths to broom, sawdust and dust everywhere, and a few boxes holding who-knew-what. The front room held only one table and chair each, both made of bamboo and not worth even twenty bronze coins. Cheng Yunhe felt heavy doubt in his heart, but what with the sheer reputation of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, and this grey-robed man to be sitting in it, he dared not to suspect him to be a fake, either; and thus he was left with no choice but to sit respectfully across from Li Lianhua and recount every part of those fearsome events he’d encountered a half-month ago.

[––CASE EXPOSITION CUT FOR SANITY––]

Such was the tale of the “Green Window Ghost Murder” that had thrown the martial world into heated debate over the last half a month. Yu Mulan, heartbroken over the senseless death of his beloved daughter, flew into a rage and commanded the death of all the swordsmen who had been escorting Yu Qiushuang that night, alongside a kill order for the entirety of Hexing Convoy Company. Cheng Yunhe, pushed to his wits’ end, had been about to bring his family and disband the company for a scattered escape when he heard the news of the Lucky Parlour.

Li Lianhua could bring the dead back to life – and so Cheng Yunhe suddenly thought: if Li Lianhua could resurrect Yu Qiushuang, wouldn’t that resolve everything? Resurrection was not something he would have ever believed in, just a half-month ago, but with matters the way they were now he could only work with what he had, dead or otherwise, and since the heavens had seen fit to let him come across Li Lianhua, why not give it a try? After all… if the legends were true, all could not but be well.

But even until he’d finished recounting the “Green Window Ghost Murder” incident, he hadn’t heard any startling insights out of Li Lianhua, only an ah and a nod of his head.

After finishing his tea, Cheng Yunhe had no choice but to leave. He truly could not think of any good reason to remain any longer in that empty building of Li Lianhua’s, full of assorted junk and Li Lianhua’s expression full of gentle incomprehension. 

Cheng Yunhe departed.

From the second storey of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, someone said, leisurely: “Even five years later, you’re still plenty famous, aren’t you…”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, drinking tea. “Ah…”

Who even knew what he was ah-ing about.

“Actually I’ve never been able to figure it out.” That figure descended slowly from the second storey. He was thin and pale, all skin and bones, and perhaps if he gained twenty pounds he’d be a elegantly beautiful young man, but as it stood he mostly just resembled a victim of starvation. Yet this particular hungry corpse also happened to be wearing a set of rich white robes of particularly meticulous workmanship, with the tassel and jade ornaments favoured only by those fine young masters untouched by worldly troubles, and a long sword with an unusually elegant shape to its hilt. “How could anyone in this world possibly believe in something like resurrection? It’s been five whole years, and yet nobody has forgotten those two scandals of yours…”

“Because none of them are as smart as you.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly, stood up to stretch, then picked up his broom and resumed sweeping the floor.

“Can you not sweep the floor?” The hungry corpse from the upper storey suddenly glared. “How can you possibly keep sweeping when I, the great Fang-dagongzi, am here right in front of you? Do you realise that if Cheng Yunhe had known I was in here just now, he’d definitely kneel down and beg me too ask that old geezer Yu not to slaughter his entire family? You have a young master of my handsome looks and eminent status in front of you, and yet you’ve been doing nothing but sweep the floor?"

“I can’t.” Li Lianhua said: “I haven’t cleaned and repaired this building in too long. It’s very dirty, and leaks when it rains, too.”

The white-robed corpse kept up the wide-eyed glaring for many moments longer, before suddenly letting out a sigh. “Someone like you who can’t fight and can’t treat diseases, who doesn’t plant crops or commit theft either – how have you even managed to survive all these years in such fame? I really don’t get it.” 

This white-robed hungry corpse was “Melancholic Young Master” Fang Duobing, the eldest son of the of the Fang martial family. He’d known Li Lianhua for an entire six years, long enough that he even knew exactly how this same person had come to fame – Shi Wenjue had suffered major injuries in his duel and used the Turtle’s Breath method to close his qi and recover, the local villagers had taken him for dead and buried him, Li Lianhua had gone to dig him up, and thus Shi Wenjue had naturally come back to life; He Lantie, on the other hand, had staged an entire cliff jump after failing in his pursuit of a wife, played dead and buried himself in the ground, and Li Lianhua who’d just happened to be passing by dug him out yet again. The whole world was wondering how Li Lianhua had managed to bring the dead back to life, while all Fang Duobing wanted to know was how he knew where on earth (or under it) there’d be a live person to dig up.

“I did still have some silver coins, a while ago.” Li Lianhua carefully swept the front room, then put away the dustpan. “As long as you plan well, you can still make do.”

Fang Duobing rolled his eyes. “And how much silver do you have now?”

“Fifty taels.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly. “That’s enough to use for a lifetime, to me.”

Fang Duobing tsked. “To think that there’s losers like you in the martial world, who only plan to spend fifty taels in their whole life, it’s practically a shame upon the jianghu. Had Cheng Yunhe known what kind of person you are, I’d like to see whether he still would’ve come asking for help… heh, asking a ‘miracle doctor’ who doesn’t know a drop of medicine and has to go everywhere with his house on his back because he’s too stingy to stay in an inn, to go treat the dead, I can’t believe he thought of that.” Fang Duobing rolled his eyes again for good measure, and eyed Li Lianhua up and down. “Though I can’t actually tell whether you are going to help him go treat the dead or not.”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, fingers still meticulously fiddling away with the interlocking joint on that squeaky bamboo table of his, and gave a small smile upon hearing this. “Why wouldn’t I go? After all, I don’t know how to plant crops, or sell vegetables, and I’m not in want of coin. Wouldn’t life be incredibly boring if I didn’t have something to do?”

“When that old geezer Yu finds out that you’re a fake miracle doctor and decides to kill your entire family, Fang-dagongzi is absolutely not going to save you,” Fang Duobing said, leisurely. “Go on then, don’t expect this young master here to see you off.”

And so it was that Li Lianhua spent a whole three days tidying up inside the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, packing who-knows-what into that small parcel of his, and after meticulously writing a lengthy missive temporarily entrusting the parlour to the care of “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, he set off at last.

He was headed to Yu Fortress, to see the corpse of Yu Qiushuang.

[wundrousarts]

Hi folks! It seems like people are discovering that there are people online who write some WEIRD! 👎 stuff for Nevermoor. Some tips and tricks for dealing with that:

Don't engage. Don't read the fics. Don't even comment to say how much you hate it.

Don't spread it around. It's gross as hell, I know! But being like "ew, guys, I found this gross fic" just means you're causing more people to seek out said gross fic, and that's just not great. If you don't want to see it, no one else wants to either.

If you can: block, mute, or filter. I don't really use any fanfic sites to know if these functionalities exist, but I'm sure people online have found ways. Edit: here's a way to do it on Ao3.

TL;DR: Ignore, Ignore, Ignore. 👍

(PS: Same thing goes for when people send weird inappropriate anon messages. Just delete them from your inbox and don't subject others to them.)

This is unfortunately something that's been present for years in the fandom, on both Ao3 and Wattpad. This is also why I essentially don't read Nevermoor fics unless they're for Mogtober, and even then I'm cautious. I have seen some weird stuff written about my favorite characters that I wish I could pluck from my brain and set on fire, or worse! But when I stumble across that stuff, I just quickly close the tab and pivot to something else to get my mind off of it.

We should not entertain these types of people in a fandom full of minors about a middle grade series, so: just don't engage with them, ignore them, filter them out, and maybe even drown them out with some fics of your own.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

every time i see ai fandom art on my dash, i get annoyed all over again and have to remind myself the person reblogging it probably has no idea it's ai bc they reblogged it from someone else who didn't tag it as such. but still

[shinakazami1]

Rhys AI au snippet nr 2 - Personal project

Jack used to love fast travel years ago and while he still found them as if not more useful, his body seemed to disagree. For whatever reason, it was his muscles that kept getting smitten by it. It didn't matter that he felt them already on the planet - he still could run errands quite well, and there was nothing a bit of healing couldn't fix. Too bad that didn't work on the nausea that kept lingering for a day.

He gave a finger gun and a wink to the secretary - whoever this one was, and walked into his office.

"Welcome back, handsome."

"Hiya Rhysie! Missed me?"

"Always, it's not like you carry me in your echo watch everywhere."

Jack bounced from one leg to the other, and then with a last swirl sat in his throne, to turn on the computer.

"Jack, you will have a meeting in two hou-"

"I know I know, cupcake, don't remind me. Dahl just wants to lose some men and piss me off. They are really taking that l in the name seriously."

"Because they're losers."

"Precisely! But there I got my morning coffee by lessening the bandit... number..."

"Hm? Is something wrong?"

Jack's brows furrowed.  As per usual, he first checked his echo device, to see if anyone tried to spy on him. He never thought it was likely for bandits to figure out how to multitask, and since they were all busy dying, they certainly wouldn't even think about doing something like that. It didn't mean, however, that someone else couldn't use that thinking and opportunity to their advantage.

Seeing the few gigabytes added to Rhys' files was not something he expected. He thought he encrypted and hid the guy's code well enough for nobody to even be able to tell he was even there but the number of gigabytes added from the past copy seemed just too suspicious.

"Rhysie, are you feeling any... Different?"

"Different in what way, sir?"

"Heavier."

After a moment of silence, Rhys sighed.

"I really don't think comments about weight are good for your image, sir. It can come as really-"

"No, as in yes, I know that but- I meant your files. Had anything happened to them? "

"Happened?"

"Yeah like, like uh, something was added. Your travel notes are never THAT heavy, even if they are boring."

"I try to get all the details out there and it's not my fault you need everything to be a dopamine rush experience. I like focusing on things that might be useful."

"That one Loader Bot corpse still hadn't come in handy, Rhysie."

"It has been as we updated their shields and weak spots."

"Yeah, it's pretty funny how their crotch was--wait, we are getting off the topic. And you're not panicking so, this means you know what the additional files are."

"You could always open them, sir."

"Yes, since I see it's your encriptions system but what is this supposed to be, kiddo? You working for someone else?"

"You know that's impossible. If I were to do that, I would just cease to exist. You made me this way."

Once the code breaker finished encrypting the files, Jack opened the folder and felt his brows furrow even further.

"Pictures."

"Yes."

"Of what."

"I... Would prefer for you not to open them. I'm going to count the sand grains on them when I'm bored."

"What's the password."

"Jack, you told me I can have my personal project."

"Personal doesn't mean secret. What is this, huh? Are you planning to sell these pictures somewhere? Maybe get some of my angles on Echo Net?"

"No... it's a stupid little project."

'And you would know that if you already opened it but you want to torment me', Rhys thought.  Yet, he decided Jack's blood pressure was already getting into grade 3  hypertension, so he wasn't going to make him angrier.

It was Jack's weird way to show trust but also, to assert dominance and Rhys never understood why humans wasted their energy on being a walking box for paradoxes.

"Sooooo... Cupcake, short and simple. What are these pictures."

"Of you. Sir."

Jack was really checking the boundaries of furrowing eyebrows.

"Rhysie, I was just joking about selling some pictures on Echo Net. Are you..."

"I do edit them, sir. Personal project."

For the first time since Jack Sat next to the desk, his facial muscles finally relaxed, letting the eyebrows rest. Something seemed to click in Jack's brain, letting him not feel in danger anymore.

"The new posters! My, you've been trying to get them out before my birthday to make me a present? Rhysie, you know I hate surprises! I despise them and I could in fact destroy you for one! You should remember it by now! Especially since I check the propaganda to seem most a-hole-like! "

"Yes, and you do a great job with it. A true antihero."

"A true anti-villain. Which is a hero."

"Of course, sir."

"Well then - show me the pictures, Rhys."

Rhys saw that the 'sweet' mode didn't lower Jack's pressure. He liked to shift in emotions so much to make people confused but Rhys was - well, rather embarrassed to say what the photos were actually about. He was happy to have at least had the project hidden for a few weeks, keeping the amount in control but for the past few weeks of Jack just killing bandits most of the time, he had enough time to spare on that.

He knew Jack would take a look somehow without him knowing one way or another. And with how little censor he had on himself, Rhys wasn't willing to risk getting back to the Nice Kid phase. Jack's poster acting was top notch - but the fake familiarity was a technique many fell for. Rhys fortunately couldn't.

But in the end, Jack got what he asked for, as usual.

"These... You've made my body, right sir? You remember that 3D model you've made?"

"Cupcake, I don't work, I commissioned someone to get your sweet ass there. Get to the point."

"You hadn't let me use it for a while now and I thought that I still like it. So, since it's in my programming, I... Just open the first picture, sir."

Jack didn't even let the mouse twitch for a moment. He wanted Rhys to open it, to commit to confessing to whatever bad thing he imagined but Rhys only found it stupid.

Unfortunately for him, though, the anxiety protocol, while a bit tamer than in the past, was still strong. And Rhys was really not looking forward to repeating the last time it got too high, especially since Jack made it this much better for this whole mission he has been on. And Rhys really didn't want to feel something so unbearable nearly all the time, again.

With the need to just get it over with, Rhys opened the newest file and waited for Jack's reaction.

There was a momentary spike in blood pressure but just a moment later, both it and the pulse lowered. The analysis of Jack's facial muscles made Rhys relax again, as the anger and frustration morphed into joy and laughter.

"Rhysie, I know I have been upgrading you with the generative processes but you still like the old photo manipulation ways but this, this is just hilarious! Are- oh my god all of them are like this?! How many edits have you made?"

At that moment, Rhys was very happy not to have a visible face, since he probably wouldn't be able to look at Jack for too long from the embarrassment he probably should feel.

"I... We have been going on these journeys together for a while now and I thought it would be...a nice thing. I have been browsing EchoNet and noticing that people like to take pictures like that. And I want to keep some memory of being on these trips with you."

The folder contained pictures of Jack, from different angles, mostly from the echo watch, and Rhys' body edited into such a level of precision, that it would be hard to tell they were edited at all.

"And the facial expressions..."

"I added them to the model, based on data I've gathered. It wasn't hard to edit the rig and get that to work."

"Wowie, Rhysie, but these..." Rhys let Jack gather his thoughts. "These need to be deleted."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, nobody should know what you look like. Delete them, immediately."

"I...no! They are well encrypted, you have seen that! And without me, they can never open them. Nothing bad will happen, Jack. Nobody is going to try and steal me."

Jack was skimming through the pictures, seeing the model seem to look like it was holding the device to take the picture and ground himself more into the scene. Smiling, eating together, riding in cars and... just looking at a sunset together, backs facing the camera.

"I won't delete them, Jack. And I ask you not to delete them, either. I worked hard on these and I want to keep them. They will never go anywhere but just on the drive."

"Why would you want to keep a memory like that?"

Rhys felt it was a trap question with no good answer. Nothing he would have said would be able to exactly revert the process, but, he knew Jack wasn't exactly in patient moment for him to analyse each answer.

"I thought it would be nice to share these with you, to remind you I was there."

Rhys didn't expect Jack to leave the office without the echo watch. He rarely did that. If it was for the bathroom - even if he had one hidden in the office, or it was to cool down, it wasn't important.

If the pictures still stayed - they would stay there. And that was enough for Rhys.

Jack wanted him to develop a hobby and there it was.

Nothing bad could come out of it.

[pipperoo]

Summary:

In an effort to get Max off her back, Grace invites him to a "date" at Waylon Hall in an effort to scare him off. But, when the crumbling floorboards sends Max to his early demise, Grace believes her problem to be solved. Until, he returns as a ghost that only she can see and hear and, even worse, who can't get more than 30 feet away before he forcibly teleports back to her side. Through their efforts to figure out how to send Max to the next plane, they grow closer and learn more about the person they didn't that well in the first place. But, digging deeper into the mystery may lead them straight to danger that lurks in the heart of this town. - Max accidentally becomes a ghost which allows him and Grace to growth as they get into shit together.

The first chapter to one of my newest fic is out! I was hoping to get this out earlier, but things didn't really flesh out, but I now have so much time to work on it now. I really hope you enjoy bc I've had this idea since late March and have thought abt it so much.

This is one of two fics I plan to work on (the steph and the phantoms au is coming!) and I plan to finish the first chapter for the other before continuing this. Hope you like it :)

[discobrainrot]

PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Trivial: Success] - Uh-oh...

1. What do you mean by "uh-oh"? What's happening?

PERCEPTION (Hearing) - Footsteps. Heavy, thudding, angry footsteps are heading your way.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The sound of RCM-issue boots against the Old Silk Mill's floor is unmistakable. Only one person in the building can make his brisk walk sound intimidating from across the bullpen. Satellite Officer Vicquemare is headed your way, and he is not pleased.

COMPOSURE - I don't mean to alarm you, Harry, but you might want to put on your best "I'm Innocent!" face. Fast.

1. [Composure - Formidable] Keep it together, man. 2. [Drama - Impossible] Feign absolute innocence. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Godly] Why is Jean mad? 4. Just let it happen. He'll fill you in.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Failure] - Where to start? Since you returned from sick leave, you haven't submitted your paperwork on time. Your desk is a mess. You lost his pen the other day...

1. Okay, I think I get it...

ESPRIT DE CORPS - ...You chew your lunch at an alarming decibel. You remembered how he takes his coffee, but not anything else about him. You're closer to Lieutenant Kitsuragi than him these days. You can't figure out what's wrong. God, the list goes on and on, Detective.

DAMAGED MORALE (-1)

LOGIC - No time to worry about it now. He's at your desk, and he does not look happy.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Is this your idea of a joke, Shitkid?" He growls, slamming his RCM issue ledger on your desk. A flurry of loose papers drifts up as he does, emphasizing the sorry state of your desk.

1. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  2. "Yeah! Pretty funny, right? Just like old times! ... Right?" 3. [Logic - Challenging] Figure out why Jean is mad, for real, this time.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - You open Jean's ledger, flipping through forms and case files.

VICQUEMARE'S LEDGER - Most of the names are familiar. You and Kim have helped him work on some of the more recent ones.

EMPATHY [Impossible: Failure] - Is he upset that you're working with Kim? You thought he didn't want to work with you anymore.

PERCEPTION (Sight) - No -- look, there! On the most recent closed case!

VICQUEMARE'S LEDGER - Jean's most recently closed case (THE FOOTLOOSE FIGHTER) stands apart from the rest. Not only because of the exceptional detective work he demonstrated but because of a small addition to the first page. A yellow sticker in the shape of a star, no more than 1.5cm x 1.5cm, has been placed on the top right-hand corner. The words "Good Job!" are printed in the centre.

HALF LIGHT - He thinks you put it there to demean him.

1. What?! Why?

LOGIC - Because when you complete a task, you get a sticker. Either dispensed by lieutenant Kitsuragi or yourself.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - This is based on the concept of positive reinforcement. After displaying the desired behaviour, you're exposed to positive stimuli. Several varieties of positive reinforcement exist, including natural reinforcers, token reinforcers, social reinforcers, and tangible reinforcers.

VOLITION - As it stands, you receive star stickers of various colours with phrases such as "Good Job!" and "Great Work!" and "Wow!" when you complete your paperwork, drink enough water, eat on your lunch break, and a variety of other tasks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It's not as fun as speed and booze, but I'll take all the damn dopamine I can get.

EMPATHY - As you look up to meet Jean's eyes, there's no question about his feelings. The pockmarked skin of his cheeks is practically glowing red from rage and embarrassment.

PAIN THRESHOLD - He doesn't like that you need these infantile rewards to do the bare minimum. The assumption that he needs them as well? It's more than he can take.

1. But I didn't put the sticker there!

DRAMA - He's not likely to believe that, ssssire.

1. [Rhetoric - Impossible] Explain that you didn't give him the sticker. 2. [Suggestion - Godly] Calm him down. 3. [Half Light - Medium] Lean into it and make fun of him. 4. [Composure - Legendary] Keep your cool and brush it off.

RHETORIC [Impossible: Failure] - Oh, god, Harry, there's nothing you can say to make this better. But, thankfully, it seems like someone's coming to your rescue.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm. Officers." At some point, while you were withering under Jean's glare, Kim arrived at your desk. "What--"

OFFICER JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I'll tell you what's going on!" He snaps before Kim can get the whole question out. "Shitkid over here decided if he has to go back to fucking kindergarten, the rest of us are going with him! Isn't that right, Harry?"

YOU - "Jean--"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Don't you Jean, me." He points a finger in your face, hissing through gritted teeth. "You think everything's a big joke, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I--"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Officer Vicquemare." Kim cuts him off, holding up a gloved hand.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [Challenging: Success] - The tips of the lieutenant's ears are turning red.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I... Think I understand what this is about. I-- Khm-- I apologize."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "You don't have to go around cleaning up Shitkid's messes, Kitsuragi."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm not 'cleaning up' after detective Du Bois." He sighs, taking off his glasses to clean them.

VISUAL CALCULUS - They're already exceptionally clean.

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is about the sticker in your ledger, isn't it?" Having spent enough time dawdling on the left lens, he moves on to polishing the right. "He didn't put it there. I did."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "...What?" The reaction is delayed, as though he's trying to parse a hidden meaning to the lieutenant's words.

1. "... What?" 2. "See, Jean! I was trying to tell you I didn't do it!" 3. Say nothing.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm. Yes, well..." Donning his glasses again, Kim looks just about anywhere except in Jean's direction. "I... overheard you the other day saying that you felt unappreciated."

CONCEPTUALIZATION - He's summarizing quite a bit. You were also privy to the tail end of Jean's self-deprecating muttering. It's a little concerning how little he thinks of himself - and that's coming from you.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I assumed that a more... overt display of recognition would be unwelcome. I see now that I overstepped professional boundaries - it won't happen again."

1. [Rhetoric - Formidable] Back Kim up. 2. [Half Light - Trivial] Throw Kim under the bus. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Challenging] What's Jean feeling?

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Challenging: Success] - Officer Vicquemare is an experienced officer and resourceful man. The RCM is lucky to have him. You are fortunate to have him. He can count the number of times someone told him those things on the one hand.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - In short, he doesn't know what to feel.

1. [Rhetoric - Formidable] Back Kim up. 2. [Half Light - Trivial] Throw Kim under the bus. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Challenging] What's Jean feeling?

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] - This is difficult for me to say, but… Words won't be as effective as actions in this instance.

1. Give Jean a pat on the back. 2. Punch Jean's shoulder (gently). 3. Hand Jean his ledger.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - He opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say to either of you. Looking between his ledger and Kim, he eventually decides to take it from your hand.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "It's... alright." He mutters. "Your heart was in the right place. I'm uh..."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - The look he gives you borders on horrified.

1. "Don't worry about it, Jean." 2. "Oh, this'll be good! Apologize. Make it worth my time." 3. Say nothing.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Good. I won't." He stiffens, steeling himself behind the bulwark of rage. "I--I have more important things to be doing! Get back to work, Shitkid."

KIM KITSURAGI - Once Jean retreats to his desk, Kim practically collapses at yours. His gloved hands cover his ever-reddening ears, and he lets out a groan only you can hear.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can't believe I did that." He mutters, looking almost as ashamed as Jean.

COMPOSURE - The lieutenant keeps his shit together with far, far more grace than Jean.

1. "What are you talking about? I thought it was sweet!" 2. "Yeah, Kim, you shit the bed." 3. [Empathy - Challenging] Peek at what Jean is doing.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] - Jean sits at his desk across the bullpen. His cheeks are still flushed despite his best attempts to temper himself. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - He can't focus right now. Instead, he runs his fingers over a little yellow sticker on the top right hand of his paperwork. 

EMPATHY - It's not a jab, but he won't be able to believe it. Not yet. But this is a step in the right direction. 

INLAND EMPIRE - One day, a day closer than any of you realize, he'll start to believe that people do care about him. The road from there is long and fraught with pitfalls and setbacks. 

VOLITION - You know that better than most.

INLAND EMPIRE - But you'll be there. And so will Kim. Your time in this world is limited, and you're more intent on making the best of it now than ever. 

1. "I think you did the right thing, Kim." 

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks up from your desk, eyebrow raised (but not yet to the level of psionic control).

1. "Trust me. I he needed to see people believe in him. Especially someone like you."

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks over his shoulder to Jean's desk, taking a long moment to silently observe him. 

EMPATHY - He doesn't know Jean like you once did, but he trusts you. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "...Fine. But I think I'll limit my sticker-giving to you and Officers McLaine and Torson."

1. "That sounds fa--Wait! Since when did Mack and Torso get stickers?!"

KIM KITSURAGI - He heaves a deep, long-suffering sigh that you know is more for comedic effect than anything else. As Jean looks up across the room, he doesn't notice the hint of a smile pulling at his lips.