#i think. it should be obvious where im at given the last two fics. but i feel like

[takami-takami]

I'm gonna do the embarassing thing and vent in the tags cuz im embarassed lol

[bijoumikhawal]

I've gotten tired of making a post like this every few months so let's just fire a few of these off, and feel free to add on! Tropes you should at minimum reconsider using when you write or talk about Julian Bashir:

Mentions of "harem" pants, "Arabian nights" aesthetics, etc. These are improper terminology (that feeds into racist ideas) for real things, and when using that terminology those things are often being misrepresented. For my part, if you would actually like to know about the material culture of the Middle East and North Africa, I'm a "hobby" researcher of that very topic and will readily answer asks about it- with the caveat that I mostly know about Egypt, and I'm not the best person to ask about Sudanese specific culture even though I know a little, and I don't know much about Indian or Pakistani fashion (mentioning because these seem to be the most common cultures brought up around Julian).

comparisons to monkeys, apes, the word "simian". This should be obvious but it happens a fair amount, and it's almost comedic given a common trope is to comment on how much Garak hates being compared to a lizard.

This is separate but the way some people use mammalian tips from writing xenofic and trying to understand how an alien would think and categorize things into something that feels very exoticifying. It's not a "full stop, do not do this" but it is something I've noticed

Jokes about how undesirable Julian is. He's the exception that proves the rule about fandom's obsession with white twinks and a rare example of a brown nerd who isn't pinned into the "Couldn't sleep with a woman if they were the last two people on earth" box. I'm not saying we can't make fun of how he flirts just- Stay clear of Raj BBT territory

Conversely: my most hated garashir trope is when the author makes Julian's libido a problem by making him inconsiderate, cruel, and outright manipulative in service of his dick, and the writing often makes it clear they're connecting this to his masculinity. Julian does do some really stupid shit when it comes to his relationships, but this particular way of trying to incorporate this into writing him is just OOC, and you need to not confuse writing Julian's canonical robust and healthy sex life with negative stereotypes about lecherous Black and brown men. There's fics that pull off Julian being a bit of a dick or manipulative well- such as Salt the Earth or the ageswap series (at least where I last left off on it).

making his eyes green or blue. I have the same eye color as Siddig, more or less, and while it's technically hazel (or olive, as some people call it) most people think it's brown and most lighting makes it look brown. If you look at screencaps of Julian, you'll notice it also most of the time, looks brown. This sounds minor if you haven't experienced it, but it has a real and very negative impact on people's self image.

Older one but to be clear: if you're writing Julian as explicitly Muslim, find and replacing "god" with "allah" in English text is not how Muslims (or Arabic speakers in general) use the word? It is really funny to read, but please...

Over focusing on Julian as British. There's a long, LONG conversation that could be had about the dynamics of assimilation and how European racism (ime) very specifically views it as progressive to strip people of their culture and thinks they're causing the problem if they don't go along with it that would need its own post and which I've had with white fans before and feel exhausted thinking about- but to put it simply, there is no such thing as "just British", even for white Englishmen.

Yes the inverse is also wrong but I really haven't read a fic newer than 2014 guilty of that lmao and I think some of the more recent complaints about it are overblown, given I've read only a few fics recently published that delve into Julian as a Brown/African Person and I enjoyed them

I would personally appreciate it if fic writers were a little more balanced about cultural discussions honestly. If you write a lot about Cardassian culture, it'd be nice if Julian’s background was discussed. I won't say that kind of research is easy (again, I do this as a "hobby" that's very important to me, it's actually really annoying and difficult sometimes), but it is possible. I recently talked about how not doing this kind of mentally slots Julian into a "white guy" role.

This is not a matter of me policing your "artistic expression". I have no control over what you do. I would just like for fandom, a hobby I do for fun, to be a place where people stop being racist in a way that directly impacts me.

[goldrushzukka]

aidays playlist breakdown: chapter 1

hello! i am so proud of this fic and everything that's sprung up around it, but i am especially proud of the soundtrack ive built to go with it. at all times i am thinking about either the fic or the playlist, and never more than a tiny suggestion of interest away from babbling about it for hours. so. here we go.

here's the fic (there will obviously be spoilers in this post but tbh if you haven't read the fic what are you even doing here)

here's the playlist

treacherous (taylor's version) by taylor swift

this is. well. it's the theme song. it's the thesis statement. the zukka community would be nothing without treacherous and you may quote me on that. aidays obviously owes its title to treacherous but the themes and ideas of this song are woven throughout the entire fic. i find myself coming back to this song again and again for guidance.

(ID: "Put your lips close to mine / As long as they don't touch / Out of focus, eye to eye / 'Til the gravity's too much". End ID)

zuko and sokka work so hard throughout this fic to convince themselves (and others) that there isn't really anything between them, it's just fun and easy and casual. these lines for me are about teetering on the edge of Something. they're holding themselves back from the cliff edge at the same time that they're trying to see what's at the bottom. (this is also VERY applicable to ch10 but im not gonna say anything more about that lol)

(ID: "And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands". End ID)

it's the title!!! i couldn't not include it. this was always my favourite line from treacherous even before i wrote aidays, but of course it has become even more important to me now. this is one of the horniest lines in taylor's entire discography, which makes it an obvious choice to title a fic about casual sex, but for me it's also about like. commitment and dedication. it's a willingness to do absolutely anything to keep this thing going, to make this last as long as possible. all the little not-casual things zuko and sokka do for each other because they're not quite ready to let this thing end yet. like, let me tell you about my tragic past so we can go back to making out. take this key to my apartment so you can use it as a getaway from your weird home life and also fuck me stupid.

(ID: "I can't decide if it's a choice / Getting swept away / I hear the sound of my own voice / Asking you to stay". End ID)

this is sooooo ch1-4 vibes. very much in the way of like, not being able to tell when "casual" disappeared and became this new thing. where does one thing end and the other begin, or were they always the same thing to begin with? were the feelings always here? was this even an arrival at a point, or was it just looking around and finally seeing where they'd been the entire time? a little bit on the nose but the end of ch3/4 ("I can stay." "So stay." immortalised here by @bleekay) was definitely influenced by this.

(ID: "Forever going with the flow / But you're friction". End ID)

this one is so. like. ok. so in ch1 it's zuko who says he doesn't want anything serious. this is because, given his history, he doesn't believe "anything serious" is an option for him. he's too broken, he's too sad, he's too much for other people. so he defaults to casual. but then there's sokka, throwing all those ideas out the window by discovering all the damaged parts of zuko that make other people discard him, and then liking him more for them.

(ID: "Two headlights shine through the sleepless night / And I will get you a, get you alone / Your name has echoed through my mind / And I just think you should, think you should know / That nothing safe is worth the drive / And I would follow you, follow you home". End ID)

this bridge. godddddd. ok. obviously along with richard siken's you are jeff poem this bridge was a big inspiration for ch8. there's that devotion again, this kind of magnetic attraction between sokka and zuko throughout the fic that brings them to this point of like, you are the light in the dark, the sound in the silence, i will go wherever you take me. "nothing safe is worth the drive" in particular is very much like. if this were easy, if it were actually casual and no-strings-attached like it was supposed to be, these feelings wouldn't be here. there wouldn't be all this anguish and passion if they didn't feel this strongly for each other. like. the pain of losing you is nothing compared to the high of having you. nothing safe is worth the drive.

don't you go by all time low

this is the first of many songs about casual sex on this playlist (turns out there are a LOT of those). it's by no means all time low's best song, but it's RELEVANT so it goes in the playlist. (i've been a fan of all time low since i was 13 im allowed to say that)

(ID: "Don't you go and carry on with your life / It was a one night stand till I woke up next to you/ Don't you go saying all your goodbyes / I want a one night stand, just one more time with you". End ID)

this is just what it says on the tin like truthfully what is this chorus if not just a pop punk translation of the opening lines of the fic: It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

(ID: "I got my ass kicked, but you held the ice / I was a train wreck, but you took the ride / Can we stay here, right here? / Nothing else that I want to do". End ID)

this is applicable to two scenes in aidays: ch2 when zuko tells sokka about his scar and sokka doesn't leave him, and ch6 when suki comforts sokka's broken heart with ice cream and tough love.

baby by charli xcx

absolutely crazy that charli xcx wrote all of crash (2022) about aidays. it's ALL about them. idk how she managed it but she did and i am so grateful.

(ID: "[Chorus] / I'ma make you my—, I'ma make you my— / I'ma make you my—, I'ma make you my— (Baby)" End ID)

(ID: "I'ma fuck you up, I'ma fuck you up / I'ma fuck you up, I'ma fuck you up (Baby)". End ID)

this song is really just about being hot and having sex so great it ruins you for anyone else, which is also what the start of aidays is about. great minds (me and charli xcx) think alike.

bloodline by ariana grande

another classic of the fuckbuddy anthem genre. personally i think thank u next deserved more critical and academic acclaim for the work it did on behalf of the hot sadgirl community but that's a different soapbox. quick shoutout to dani @marriedzukka, scholar of ariana grande zukkaism

(ID: "Love me, love me, baby / Are you down? Can you let me know? / Love me, thank you, leave me / Put it down, then it's time to go / Get it like you love me / But you don't, boy, it's just for show". End ID)

this is so them. doing everything they can to explain away anything that doesn't fit the definition they've given their not-relationship. like idk what else to say this is just them. worshiping each other at the altar of casual.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Day 14: The Last Day

Hi guys! Here she is! The last of our quarantine fic as the world is opening up, whether it should or not. It’s short, but felt complete! Huge thanks to everyone who read and reblogged! A huge thanks for @dirtystyles and @emulateharry for the read throughs and cheerleading! I am sure there will be other little odds and ends-

Harry’s POV maybe...

Day 14: The One With The Loss

"Where the f ..." Elise felt frantic, she could not find her bracelet. Her grandmother had given it to her. She didn't care at this point if she had to leave everything else behind, but she couldn't leave that.

She'd been incredibly close to her grandma Rose. On Some hard days, Elsie would have said she was the only one who ever really loved her. When she was dying Elise had gone to the hospital as much as possible to sit with her, at first to play cards, and then to hold her hand, and finally to curl up next to her and cry. When grandma was still able to talk she'd told her to go in her jewelry box, the one that was packed from her room at the assisted living facility and find her opal bracelet.

They shared an October 21st birthday. Grandma Rose said she'd had the bracelet since her sweet sixteen. Elise was a little older than that when she got it, but the bracelet was priceless and irreplaceable at this point. Her random t shirts and even her books could stay, but not her bracelet.

She'd been packing for a couple hours at this point. She wasn't aware she had this much stuff, or that it was so spread out. She'd been pretty unemotional through the whole process, until she couldn't find her bracelet. Elise might have been crying inside before then, but she was really freaking out now.

It was the first time she had cried since the talk with Harry.

"Is that what you're so scared of?" He'd said.

She'd scoffed. That got her back up. "I'm not scared of anything."

"Are you kidding me?" He actually laughed at her. "You're scared of everything!"

"Fuck you Harry! You don't know how I feel."

"Of course I don't. It might actually kill you to talk about your feelings or be honest." His hands were crossed over his chest.

"Honest, feelings? Cuz you are the king of talking about real shit?" Her hands came off her hips and she was pointing. "All we do is play, or fuck. You may actually be a lost boy."

"I'm just trying to read your comfort level, love. That seems to be the depth of life you're willing to deal in. Gotta keep it light for poor Elise, or she will run away. I'm dont even know why I bother." He sighed. "If you liked spending time with me at all, without being entertained all the time, I would not have to lure you out of your room every damn day with some promise of food or comfort or sex. It's so damn hard to know you."

"How dare you!" She seethed. He'd insinuated she was shallow right? That's what that bullshit about depth implied. "I am not shallow. Or a damn child who needs to be bribed. Maybe if I had any idea what I was doing here, or why you were being so nice to me, I'd not be so damn afraid I'd need to hide. I don't know you either, and your intentions are even more obscure."

"What you're doing here? I was just trying to make sure you were ok, or safe. Take care of you. If you were unwell it would be my fault."

"Cmon Harry, we both know you could have got us tests and sent me packing ages ago. What little fantasy are we living out here?"

"Yours!" He shouted.

And the conversation got more intense from there.

"Where could I have?" Elise's cheeks were wet; she was nauseous. This day had already been too much. She'd just got her head in her palms to weep when strong hands came onto her shoulders.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Harry asked into her black hair before kissing it.

"I can't find my grandma's bracelet anywhere. She gave it to me when they told her she was running out of time." She turned a watery frown on him and he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Ok, well tell me what it looks like and I'll help you."

Elise described the delicate piece and they each set off to look. She was essentially tossing things out of her way adding to the mess. The room had already looked casually like a bomb went off, but she was a mess when she looked for things. She did notice Harry was orderly in his disarray.

"When'd you wear it last?"

"I don't wear it. I'm too afraid I'll break it." She told him, and he chuckled.

"If you say something about patterns or bad habits I will cut you." She mentioned.

He put his hands up in surrender. And they both laughed.

He had a point.

Elise was thinking about how their fight the night before had gone when Harry said. "Is this it?"

"Oh my god." Tears filled her eyes anew and ran down her cheeks. "Thank you! What would I do without you?" It was an honest question. It had only been fourteen days but she honestly couldn't imagine not knowing him, really knowing him, not about him, or speculating about him, or inferring about him, or projecting about him. Knowing him, underneath his clothes, under his skin.

"No need to find out!" He smoothed her hair and then gave her a smooch. "Now, can you grab whatever you need so we can pretend we hate that we have to be locked in a house together for an undefined time."

She giggled. "You don't hate that you are stuck in your house with me for who knows how long?"

"Are you going to let me turn up the heater and stay naked?" He picked up one of the boxes she'd put together.

"Not all of the time."

"Then some of the time?" He curled his tongue and poked it to the side of his mouth.

How was she supposed to say no to that. "Maybe."

"Then hurry." Kiss. "Up." Kiss. " we need to go play strip scrabble."

"Im not playing scrabble with you." She said for the umpteenth time.

"Strip monopoly?"

"No."

"Apples to apples?"

"How the hell.." she just laughed at his hugely dimpled smile. "How about we just go in your hot tub and drink margaritas naked."

"Deal!" He started tossing clothes wildly into bags. It was out of character except for his insatibility. "Hurry up! We have plans!"

"To have sex?" God he was sooo cute. "More sex." She clarified.

"Yea, aren't those very important?" He stepped into her space and planted his hands on her hips and his flag in her heart. He'd leaned in close, but didn't connect their lips.

She gulped and leaned up against his arms keeping her feet planted and away from his tempting lips. "Yes, very important."

"Yeah." He said and kissed her silly.

She'd never done it on that bed. Seemed funny to do it after it had been stripped and with the knowledge it would never happen again.

It could have went another way. Elise kept catching herself in moments and feeling grateful, that once Harry started talking, he really started talking.

The day before, when he shouted the truth about living out her own fantasy, she'd started to walk away. She couldn't handle the truth. It was at least half true, it was a wonderful two weeks of her life, and it looked like now it was over. Elise knew she couldn't handle going back to his place and fighting more, or worse facing silent treatment. Plus, if he had wanted her there, he still hadn't said that today or before. She was about to cross the threshold of the room. Harry muttered something about her walking away.

She stopped and turned. She only had to walk away if she wanted to be done.

"This has been a fantasy, of course it has. Like a dream come true. And I'm really scared. I have no idea why I'm here, not really, or what we are doing, or what..." she sucked in some oxygen. "Or what." She felt tears building in her eyes. "How you feel about me." She expected him to say something, but instead he just stood and stared at her, waiting for her to talk. "And what happens tomorrow."

"What?" It was the first thing he'd said during her rant.

"We' re almost done with friends." She whispered.

He was nodding. "We are. so?"

"You said." She swallowed. "Last week you said we should finish Friends, the you said we only had three more days to finish."

He was nodding. "I guess I did, but Elise, the end of friends, it doesn't mean the end of us. And I'll answer all the questions you have. If you want the answers. But, I'll be honest and say I have no idea how you feel about me, like the real me, too. It's why I held back so long."

"So long? It's only been two weeks."

"Pretty intense two weeks." He wiped her tears. "It felt like forever. I wanted to love you up by day five."

She giggled. "Me too."

"Ugh." He groaned. "All that missed opportunity." But they were both smiling. "New challenge: make up for lost time now."

She was shaking her head at his ridiculous eyebrows. "So, you like me?" She asked.

"At the risk of being really obvious, I like you, like really like you, maybe could be more." He tilted her chin up. "and you like me? Me me?"

Elise nodded then thought she had already been this brave. "More than like, I think."

He beamed. "Honestly Elise, when I first brought you home it was out of guilt and because it didn't initially occur to me to just get tests." He looked down. "I had Jeff do research, and we had to wait a few days, and by then, well, I really liked spending time with you."

"Me too." All these confession made her feel like a feather.

"And nothing happens tomorrow. It's not some scary end date, I'm not kicking you out at check out time." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "Honestly? I'd really like it if you stayed with me, for however long this lasts. We've already been exposed to each other.."

"You think?"

"Very exposed to each other." He laughed with her. "And then after, whenever that is. We talk about it. You can keep your place, or save the money."

"I could pay for groceries."

He sighed. "Ok, you can pay for groceries." He quirked a brow and the dimples that bracketed his mouth wanted to break free, they just needed her response. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

"I'll stay." The full wattage of his smile was really like A full moon on a clear night. He bridged the space between them and swooped her into his arms.

"Good, I'd miss you if you were gone."

"I'd miss you if I was gone too." She was honest, hopefully it would become a new habit.

"Then let's not let that happen." He kissed her then, and it was a piece of this tiny instance of forever she'd keep always, if they wound up married fifty years or broke up by pandemic's end.

"Can I tell you something really crazy?"!She asked with her ear pressed to his heart. She felt his body nod on her head. "I'm so glad you sneezed in my face."

"Yeah?" He asked. "I could do it again?" He offered, his body vibrating with his laugh.

"I'm good now thanks. But, I'm still glad it happened."

"Me too baby, me too."

[marvelstarwarsetc]

All We Know- Daryl Dixon

PART EIGHT

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Cussing, Violence, Gore (The fact that its the walking dead should be warning enough lol)

Summary: Finding her way back to her sisters was all that mattered to her. When the world ended she had lost everything, so finding them became all that mattered. Or at least, it was, until she stumbled across a redneck hunting in the woods.

*Starts in Season 1 and will be a multi part fic*

Part One  Part two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six  Part Seven  Part Seven (Daryl’s POV)

When Y/n woke it was in the passenger seat of Daryl’s old pickup truck, with Daryl sitting in the driver’s seat beside her. She tried her best not to, but couldn’t help the groan of pain that escaped her lips when she tried to lift her head off the seat.

“Woah, Ya alright?” Daryl’s voice filled the truck, and for some reason Y/n found herself fighting back a smile at the concern laced into his tone. She hummed in confirmation before turning her head to look out the window, watching the trees that whizzed by.

“Where are we going?” She asked curious, though she had to admit she wasn’t mad they were leaving the quarry camp. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to handle staying there after all that’s happened.

“Jim got bit, was bringin’ ‘im ta the CDC. He didn’ make it.”

Y/n didn’t know Jim very well, at all really. But she couldn’t help the pang of sadness she felt when she thought about all the people the group just lost. “How long til’ we get there?” 

“Bout an hour looks like, already been drivin’ a while ‘fore ya woke up. How’s ya face?”

At the question it was like Y/n finally remembered what happened with Andrea, her throbbing face finally making itself known to the woman. She didn’t blame Andrea for hitting her, not at all. Which is why she took each hit her sister threw at her without complaint, because she knew Andrea needed to get her frustrations out and Y/n knew how to take a punch. But the longer she thought about it, the longer she thought about how long Andrea just left Amy there, waiting for their sister to wake back up. Andrea was fully intending on letting Amy wake up as a monster just so she could try to clear her conscience. It was selfish, and Y/n didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive her older sister for it.

Y/n held plenty of guilt when it came to Amy too. All the unanswered text messages, the voicemails that were never listened to. The years that Y/n neglected both of her sisters and kept them away from their niece and nephew. But no matter what, Y/n would never have let Amy wake up like that just so that she could apologize. Not ever. And it hurt her to think that Andrea could. 

“I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” Y/n tried to dismiss, but the words were harder for her to get out than she’d like to admit. Just moving her face to speak was a chore, and she started to regret letting Andrea hit her as many times as she did.

It was obvious that Daryl had more questions, she knew she would have. But the hunter didn’t say anything else as the two drove down the road in silence. 

She could see the Grimes’ truck at the front of the line, with Dale’s RV behind them, and Shane’s jeep at the rear, right behind Daryl’s truck. She briefly wondered where the Morales’ were as there was no way the family of four wouldn’t have taken their own car, but the thought was forgotten as they all pulled up in front of the CDC.

The front of the CDC looked like a war zone, corpses everywhere, both military and civilians. Sand bag barricades had been constructed to reinforce security at the entrance, probably when shit had really started to hit the fan. The smell was something awful, Y/n noticed as everyone started to get out of their vehicles. There were no walkers in the area at that moment, but she took her tactical knife out just in case, as Daryl had with his crossbow. 

The smell seemed to get stronger and stronger as the group moved closer to the CDC, and Y/n was on high alert when various group members started coughing. She knew the sound would no doubt draw walkers to their location.

“All right, everybody. Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let’s go,” Shane whispered as he moved to bring up the rear of the group with Daryl and Y/n. For a moment Daryl wondered if Y/n should be ready to take on walkers so soon after getting the shit beat out of her, but that seemed to be the last thing on the woman’s mind as she stayed alert.

When the group finally made it to the doors of the CDC the stench coming from the sea of dead bodies was almost suffocating, and various people started retching from the smell. Suddenly Daryl handed a bandanna over to Y/n while he tied one over his nose and mouth, and she wondered for a second where the hell he got these from before she took the bandanna from the man and secured it over her own bruised face.

Rick tried to roll down the security door, but to everyone’s horror the door didn’t budge. “Nothing?” Shane asked as he pushed against the door himself, pounding on it for good measure.

It was getting dark quickly, and growing harder and harder to ignore that they were sitting ducks out here in the open like this.

 “There’s nobody here.” T-dog said, the annoyance and worry showing in his tone. Everyone looked to Rick then, as he seemed to be looking over the door frantically for an answer. ”Then why are these shutters down?”

The groans of walkers started to fill the streets, causing panic to fill everyone in the group. Lori and Carol both clutched their children tightly to their chests as Daryl called out to warn everyone when the first walker could be seen making it’s way towards the group.

“You led us into a graveyard!” Daryl accused Rick, sending an arrow flying towards a walker when he noticed Y/n move to take it out with her knife.

“He made a call,” Dale defended in that voice that bordered on condescending, causing Daryl to snap back at him. “It was the wrong damn call!”

Shane turned towards Daryl defensively, “Just shut up. You hear me? Shut up. Shut up!” Before he turned his attention back to his best friend, his tone softening. “Rick this is a dead end.”

“Where we gonna go?” Carol asked, fear clear in her voice as she looked down at her daughter.

“She’s right,” Lori started, “We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”

And Lori was right. The city was the worst place to be right now, and by the looks of the street it wasn’t any better here either.

“Fort Benning, Rick—still an option.”

The rest of the group started arguing about where to go. About how fort benning was too far for the amount of supplies they had. The children started crying as more and more walkers came into view, and Daryl started shooting as many as he could to try and keep Y/n from having to use her knife. Y/n thought about shooting some with the shotgun Rick had given her, but her eye sight wasn’t the best after the beating she had gotten and the sound would only draw more walkers to them.

“All right, everybody back to the cars. Let’s go. Move.” Shane ordered, before Rick seemed to have notice something the others didn’t.

 “The camera—it moved.”

“You imagined it,” Dale dismissed.

“It moved.”

“Rick, it is dead, man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just winding down. Now come on.” Everyone started to move back towards the cars, Y/n and Daryl still watching for walkers that got too close, but Rick just stood by the door. Not moving a muscle.

“Man, just listen to me. Look around this place. It’s dead, okay? It’s dead. You need to let it go, Rick. Rick, there’s nobody there.” Shane put himself in between the door and his best friend, trying desperately to get his friend to just give up and get back to the cars. But Rick only fought past him, beating on the door instead.

“I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me.”

Shane only ignored his friend, turning his attention back to the rest of group again. “Everybody get back to the cars now!”

“Please, we’re desperate. Please help us. We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”

At the sight of her husband desperately pleading to a closed door, Lori ran up to Rick. “Rick, there’s nobody here.” But Rick only ignored her as he continued to talk to whoever he thought was listening on the other side.

“We have nowhere else to go.”

“If you don’t let us in, you’re killing us!”

Shane and Lori tried their best to move Rick away from the door while everyone else kept their eyes open, fighting back any walkers they could. By now there were more and more walkers gaining on them, and Glenn, T-dog, and Y/n started taking them down with their knives.

“You’re killing us! You’re killing us! You’re killing us!” Rick screamed on repeat while almost everyone were just begging him to get into the cars as it became less and less safe for them out in the open.

For a minute it seemed like Shane might just get Rick to the cars, and then the unthinkable happened.

The large metal door to the CDC opened with a hiss of steam.

[freddiesaysalright]

Blessed Part 5

The Peace Like a River Sequel

Summary: Gwilym and Y/N are married. Violet is six years old. Baby number two is on the way. There are still some shadows that plague Y/N in her marriage to Gwil, and Violet is suddenly resentful of her parents. The Lee family tries to stick together.

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @simmisblog​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @readinghorn​, @riddikuluslypotter​, @doingalrightt​, @misslolasworld​, @lemurian-starship​, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80​, @imgonnabeyourslave​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @ixchel-9275​, @sincerelygmg, @lv7867​, @unicorn-princess-1999​, @delilahmay39​, @chlobo6​, @dragon-out-of-water​, @radio-hoo-ha​, @agentmalfoy24601​, @thigh-your-mother-down​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anotherhystericalqueen​, @anincurablefangirl​

A/N: The finale! Time for baby Sybil! Thanks again for coming on this journey with me and showing this fic some love. I hope you have all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! There’s no epilogue for this one since it’s a mini-series, and I’m satisfied with this ending :)

Haven’t read Peace Like a River? Start here!

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4

Part 5 here we go!!!

Gwilym stirred awake after hearing a loud groan beside him. It was pained, but swift, as if you were trying to keep yourself quiet. When he registered it was you, his eyes snapped open. He whipped around to look at you and he heard you wince with the movement of the bed.

“Y/N?!” he gasped.

You were drenched in sweat. Your forehead gleamed with it under the moonlight coming through the window. Your hair was plastered to your face and neck. Your hands had death grips on the comforter, which was also stained with sweat. You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood and tears were streaming down your cheeks. Even in the low light, he could see your face was red with the strain. 

“It started about three hours ago,” you panted. 

“Are you -”

He cut himself short, getting to his knees and gently prying the comforter out of your hands and away from you. He saw the dark stain between your legs from where your water must have broken. He looked up at you, astonished.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he wondered, scrambling out of bed. He flicked on the light and started putting on his jeans. “Christ, Y/N, we should have been at the hospital hours ago!”

Your lip trembled and fresh tears spilled down your face.

“I’m sorry, Gwil,” you whimpered. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, and walked over to your side of the bed to kneel next to you. “I’m not angry. I’m just worried about you.”

You nodded.

“I was just scared, I’m sorry,” you said again.

He cupped your face, a gentle smile on his lips. But his brow quickly furrowed at the heat of your skin.

“You’re burning up,” he said.

“I might have a low grade fever,” you told him. “I think that’s pretty common.”

“Mhm,” he replied with a nod. He looked hard at you. “You alright while I put a shirt on?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Sorry.”

He just kissed your forehead before finishing getting dressed. Once he was squared away, he went to you, helping you get on fresh underwear and a loose dress to wear to the hospital. 

“How far apart are the contractions, darling?” he asked.

“I dunno, maybe eight minutes or so,” you guessed. “Sorry about the sheets.”

“Y/N,” he said, taking your hands. “Please stop apologizing. You aren’t putting me out. You’ve done nothing wrong. You are having my child, and I could never, ever think that some linens are more important than that.”

More hot tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you said weakly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he returned warmly. “You and Violet and Sybil are everything to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Hold tight,” he said. “I’m going to wake Violet and we’ll all head to the hospital.”

You nodded. Suddenly, a contraction hit, and you bit down on your lip again, sucking in a sharp breath. Gwilym stopped and came over to you.

“Gwil,” you choked out. “Hold my hand.”

He grasped your fingers and you held on tight as the pain overtook you. 

“Yell if you need to, darling,” he said, using his free hand to push your hair back off your forehead. 

You shook your head, releasing your breath as the contraction passed. You relaxed again.

“Go ahead and get Violet,” you said, panting. “I’ll be right here.”

His eyes roved over your face, searching for any indication that you might start hurting again, but it didn’t happen. He kissed your hot forehead and left the room. You heard his footsteps going softly down the hall to Violet’s room.

Gwilym’s heart pounded. The hallway seemed to be so much longer now that there was an emergency and Sybil was coming at last. It seemed unreal that only hours ago, he had gone to the therapist with you and rebuffed an advance from her. That was a whole other world away now. The only thing that mattered now was your safety and the baby’s.

He entered Violet’s room. Swiftly, he strode to her bedside, kneeling down beside her. Her nightlight was a soft yellow, warming her complexion. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she stirred.

“Daddy?” she said through yawn. 

“Wake up, lovie,” he said gently. “Your sister is coming.”

She sat upright. “What?!”

“That’s right,” he chuckled. “Get dressed now. We’ve got to get your mum to hospital.”

“Okay!” she cried, clamoring out of the bed and running to her closet.

“Need any help?” he offered.

“I’m not important right now!” she returned. “You need to go help Mommy!”

He laughed, kissed her head, and departed back down the hall. 

“Alright,” Gwilym said as he re-entered the bedroom. “Violet’s getting dressed. Let me help you out of the bed, love.”

“O-okay,” you returned shakily, holding out your hand.

He grasped it, and your upper arm. You started to move your legs to the side, but winced. It hurt. A shooting pain reached from your back all the way down your legs. 

“What’s the matter?” he wondered.

“It’s painful,” you breathed. “I dunno if I can walk.”

Gwilym panicked, but kept a straight face for your sake. He wouldn’t be able to carry you to the car on his own. He settled you back into bed.

“I’m going to call Dr. Tate,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.”

“Alright, honey,” you sighed.

Gwilym opened the door to find Violet standing there, preparing her hand to knock. She grinned up at him.

“I’m ready to go,” she said.

“Just a minute, lovie,” he returned. “You can go in and sit with Mum if you like.”

She nodded and then skipped into the room. Gwilym stepped out. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Dr. Tate’s cell phone. She had given you that number in case of an emergency. He definitely considered this an emergency.

“Hello?” came a groggy voice after about four rings.

“Dr. Tate?” Gwilym replied. “It’s Gwilym Lee.”

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said, sounding more alert now. “Is everything alright?”

“Y/N’s gone into labor,” he said.

He explained to her how you’d been in labor for hours now, but had not woken him, and things were quickly becoming more serious.

“She can’t walk,” he went on. “She’s in too much pain.”

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asked.

“No, honestly, I didn’t even think of that,” he replied.

His brain felt sort of fuzzy. Why on earth had he forgotten about an ambulance? That should have been obvious. But every ounce of logic was clouded with one thing - his daughter was being born right this second. He had a brutal urge to just step outside and shout into the air. That was what he was feeling. 

“That’s alright,” Dr. Tate assured him. “I can call one for you. Or, if you don’t want to move her, I can come to your home and deliver the baby there.”

Gwilym’s heart leapt at the suggestion. So, he assumed it was the right thing.

“Yes, please, let’s do that,” he said.

“Alright,” she replied. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He said goodbye and hung up. He didn’t immediately go back to your room though. Instead, he took a moment to breathe. Every muscle, every cell in his body felt like it was trembling with anticipation. He observed his hands. They were shaking. After a few deep, calming breaths, he returned to you.

“So,” he began. “Dr. Tate is coming here. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

You chuckled, but even that hurt your back.

“God, I’m never gonna have a baby in a hospital, am I?” you joked.

“I wasn’t born in a hospital?” Violet questioned.

“No, baby, you were born in a closet,” you told her.

Her little eyes went round like an owl’s.

“Woah, Mommy...you’re a badass,” she said.

Gwilym frowned and tutted at her.

“Violet, where did you learn that word?” he demanded.

“Uncle Joe,” she answered.

“When did he -? Nevermind. Violet, that’s not a very nice -”

You cut across him. “Don’t scold her, Gwil. She’s right and she should say it.”

You all started to laugh together. For a fleeting moment, the fear of the situation disappeared and you were just sharing a laugh with your family. Then, another contraction struck. You hissed with pain and gripped your belly. Violet and Gwilym turned eyes on you, each of them taking one of your hands. You looked at your husband.

“Is Dr. Tate really coming?” you choked out.

He almost replied that it was a silly question. But it hit him that it was because of everything you’d been through. So much of your trust was broken, especially with the new people in your life. Just when he opened his mouth to reassure you it would be fine and she would be here soon, his phone rang. It was Dr. Tate.

“Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Lee, I’m so sorry,” she said. “My car’s broken down and I can’t even leave my house. You may want to call emergency services after all.”

“But, you still wouldn’t make it to the hospital,” he argued.

“Yes, but there are plenty of other doctor’s there to help,” she said. “The whole staff there is incredible, and -”

“But she doesn’t know any of them,” he said.

“I know, and I really am sorry, I was so excited to meet Sybil, but I just can’t get there,” she said, defeated.

“Let me call you a cab or something,” he offered.

“Oh, Mr. Lee, I couldn’t let you do that,” she refused. 

“What’s going on?” you wondered after catching your breath.

“Dr. Tate’s got some car trouble,” Gwilym answered.

“What?!” you gasped.

Gwilym put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

“I could come get you,” he said to Dr. Tate.

“You shouldn’t leave Y/N in case anything happens,” she insisted. “Really, it’ll be fine if you go -”

“No, no more bloody let downs,” he said. 

Dr. Tate sputtered for a response.

“Daddy, if you can’t go get her, why not ask Adam?” Violet suggested. “He’s Mommy’s assistant.”

“That’s brilliant, Vi!” he cried, kissing her head excitedly.

“What? No, we can’t bother him with this!” you interjected. 

“Darling, please!” Gwilym cried. “Please! People are showing up for you today, alright? You’re giving birth, and believe it or not, we all love you and truly, genuinely want to help. Including Adam. So please just let us.”

Your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. You smiled.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Do what you need to.”

“Dr. Tate, we’re sending Y/N’s assistant to you to pick you up,” Gwilym said. “His name is Adam. I’ll just need you to send me your address so I can send it to him.”

“Okay, then,” she agreed.

Gwilym called Adam to ensure he was awake. He was, and immediately agreed to go and get the doctor. When Gwilym hung up, he returned to you.

“Turn on your side, love,” he said, reclining beside you. “I’ll rub your back.”

“You’re an angel,” you replied.

You needed his help in turning over, which he was happy to do. Violet climbed on the bed between you and added her hands as well. Gwilym showed her how to apply just enough pressure to relieve the pain.

An hour passed. Your labor had progressed now to where the contractions were less than two minutes apart and your pain had increased to a near unbearable amount. You were in tears and clinging to Gwilym for dear life. He had returned you to your position on your back because he feared at any moment, the time to begin pushing would be upon you. He checked his phone but there was no word from Adam or Dr. Tate, despite the numerous calls he’d made.

“Come on, Adam, pick up,” he muttered, calling once again.

He got Adam’s voicemail and nearly screamed.

Then, you let out a cry like nothing he’d ever heard before. It was strangled and broken as you threw your head back into the pillows. Your sweat-coated chest heaved and you sobbed.

“Aaaaahhhhh, Gwil!” you shouted. “It’s starting!”

“Oh, God, really?!” he cried.

He moved so he was sitting on his knees, between your legs. Violet stood up by your shoulders, crying silently. She was holding your hand.

“I CAN FEEL HER!” you shrieked.

Gwilym looked. He couldn’t see the head yet, but he didn’t doubt that you felt it. Terror rushed through him. He swallowed, trying not to let you see how scared he was. He knew nothing about delivering a child, and he didn’t want to mess anything up. He looked desperately over at Violet.

“Violet, I think we’re on our own,” he said. “Go to the closet and get as many clean towels as you can. Then you need to go to the kitchen and get a bowl of hot water. As hot as it will go, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said with a firm nod.

She left the room, and started down the hall to the linen closet. He heard her struggling with the towels and he started to go and help her, but then the doorbell rang. It wasn’t just one ring, either, it was several frenzied rings like someone was pressing it rapidly.

“I’ll get it!” Violet called.

Gwilym looked at you. You reached for him and he gave you his hand.

“She’s coming,” you said thickly. “She’s nearly here, Gwil, I - oh SHIT!”

You writhed against the bed, squeezing his hand so hard he swore the bones cracked. But he didn’t show one ounce of discomfort. He just whispered soothing words into your ear.

Violet burst back into the room, followed by Adam and Doctor Tate, who both were red-faced and winded.

“What the hell took you?!” Gwilym demanded.

Dr. Tate didn’t answer, she just got straight to work, throwing a sheet over your legs and pulling several tools out of her bag. Adam heaved like he might vomit, but didn’t. He took a deep breath.

“There was a - holy shit,” he panted. “There was a roadblock. The GPS said it was going to be a three hour delay, so we pulled off, parked at a store, and ran the rest of the way here.”

“You ran here?!” Gwilym repeated, astounded.

Before Adam could answer, Dr. Tate interrupted.

“Okay, we’re about to start pushing,” she said. “Adam, could you take Violet and -”

“No,” you said weakly. “They can both stay.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Tate asked.

You nodded. With that, Adam scooped up Violet, and sat in a chair by the bed. By your head so they wouldn’t see anything too intimate. She placed her little hand on your shoulder and it was such a comfort to you. You started to thank her, but a whimper came out instead.

“Okay, Y/N,” said Dr. Tate. “Are you with me?”

You looked at her. Gwilym stood beside her, holding one of your legs up.

“I am,” you sighed.

“You’re so strong,” she said. “I just need you to keep being strong for a little bit longer. It’s too late to administer drugs, so this won’t be easy. Just remember you’ve done it before. You got this. I need to give me a hard push in three...two...one, PUSH!”

“AAARRRRGGGHHHH!” you cried, putting every ounce of energy you had into pushing.

Gwilym watched, amazed, as the baby’s head began to emerge. You fell back against the pillows and prepared to push again.

Hey you, you're a child in my head

You haven't walked yet

Your first words have yet to be said

But I swear you'll be blessed

I know you're still just a dream

your eyes might be green

Or the bluest that I've ever seen

Anyway you'll be blessed

And you, you'll be blessed

You'll have the best

I promise you that

I'll pick a star from the sky

Pull your name from a hat

I promise you that, promise you that, promise you that

You'll be blessed

I need you before I'm too old

To have and to hold

To walk with you and watch you grow

And know that you're blessed

Finally, with a healthy cry, Sybil Audrey Lee entered the world. 

***

In the coming weeks, you and your family had a ton of visitors. Gwilym’s parents stopped by pretty frequently, but they were always careful that Violet received attention along with Sybil. You had never appreciated two people more.

When Sybil was three weeks old, Joe, Rami, and Ben all made it over to see her. Joe was holding her and giving her a bottle while Violet sat on Gwilym’s lap. They all listened as Gwil told the story of the birth once again.

“Damn,” Joe said. “That’s so intense. How’d you get through it?”

You took Gwilym’s hand. “I couldn’t have done it without Gwil. Violet wasn’t as stubborn about coming out. Sybil was apparently very comfortable in there.”

He laughed, kissing your temple.

“You did it, darling,” he said. “I mostly ran around and panicked.”

Joe threw the burping cloth over his shoulder and adjusted Sybil so he could begin patting her back.

“How are you, Violet?” Ben asked. “Are you helping Mum and Dad?”

“I am!” she returned. “I don’t know how they get on while I’m at school because I do a lot. I feed Sybil all the time, but Mommy or Daddy burps her. I’ve even learned how to change her diapers.”

“Actually, Violet has been incredible,” you admitted. “She helps out with the cleaning as well.”

“Well, Grandma showed me how to do everything, so you guys can sleep!” she said.

“You’re the backbone of the household, lovie,” Gwilym told her. “Just remember to be a kid too.”

The rest of the visit was similarly pleasant, and they agreed to return the next day to take you all to lunch somewhere out of the house.

One thing had not changed since Sybil’s birth. Gwilym still read to Violet every night before bed. No matter how tired he was or what was happening. He refused to let that tradition change. In doing so, he showed Violet that she was still a priority.

Somehow, with Sybil, Gwilym was a natural. You were frequently asking him told take her so you could pump or switch out bras, or put her down so you could close your eyes before having to feed her. He was truly all you could hope for in a father for your child. Since Sybil’s birth, you had not hesitated once to ask him for help. And you stopped apologizing when you did. You had no idea what flipped the switch. You were just glad to be fully a part of a team.

That night, as you placed Sybil in the bassinet, you reflected on the breakthroughs you had made. You felt so lucky. To have a child as sweet as Violet who, even though her feelings still got hurt sometimes, she was becoming very understanding. To have a husband as wonderful as Gwilym, who had fought so hard for the birth of Sybil to go just right, even though it derailed quite a bit.

Gwil joined you after putting Violet to bed. You watched him go and kiss Sybil gently before climbing into bed with you. You smiled and hummed happily.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was just thinking how wonderful it is that Sybil has you and Violet in her life,” you said. “She’s very blessed, you know.” You leaned over and kissed his lips tenderly. When you pulled back, you held his gaze.

“And so am I.”

[bbrandy2002]

Wacky Drabble #17: Liam’s Smut

Part 3

Masterlist

Part One Part Two

“Riley’s” Fic/What Happens In Fydelia

This is part of @emceesynonymroll ’s #wackydrabbles. This weeks prompt is: There is a certain taste to it.

Liam x Riley and Liam x Hana x Maxwell

Word count: Lets just say, the limit doesn’t exist. So Sorry Enna😲 ……2143

A/N: Its been a hella crazy, hectic week and Im Not too thrilled with how this turned out but it is what it is.

Chapter Summary: In an attempt to get Riley to understand how he feels, Liam writes his own smut with shocking results.

**Special Note: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore did not write any part of this, therefore, this drabble should not reflect on her far superior talent. I had no plans to write this when I wrote the previous drabble or I would have never drug her name into it…but, ya’ll just had to see what Liam wrote 😂 Thanks Bleakmore for being such a good sport!

This is MY attempt to write a story within a story, that includes smut (not my forte), in Bleakmore’s writing style, with a fictional character as a contributor, while also switching back and forth in my own writing style….God have mercy on all of you!!!!

MY READ MORE DID NOT WORK AGAIN...tagged as long post

————————————-

Riley’s eyes flitted at the screen as she scanned the words written before her. It was quite obvious by the content and plot of this story, one person in particular was meant to read it-her, and it had Liam written all over it. If those two things didn’t make it clear enough, the username, @inyourfacerileybrooks-love-liam, was the biggest indicator her husband had bested her.

A sea of crimson rippled across her face and heaving chest as she shifted onto her side, adjusting the laptop to lay on the bed next to her, full of resentment and outrage. If she was being honest with herself, she felt more guilt than anything.

If he wanted to “out smut” her, she’d be damned not to see what she was up against. She sighed heavily as she began to delve into his-little story.

________

Liam Fucks Hana Five Ways From Sunday With His Enormous Dick”

A new collaborative drabble by @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore and newcomer @inyourfacerileybrooks-love-liam

NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Summary: This takes place in Fydelia, during the engagement tour, where Liam had caught his girlfriend, Riley, having sex with Drake in the courtyard.

(Liam)

“Bastien!”, I yelled, “arrest these two for treason, indescency in public, and…”, upon seeing the little Hershey bar wrappers scattered on the ground from Drake’s smores, “….litering”.

Seeking my forgiveness, Riley sobbed and pleaded for her release, citing temporary insanity, as her reasoning for betraying me in such a manner.

I did not care.

As my head guard took them both away in shackles and chains, I stopped him momentarily, “Bastien?”.

He turned to acknowledge me, “Yes, Your Majesty”.

“Throw away the key”.

I never wanted to see their sorry faces again. They both will spend the rest of their days in the palace dungeon, in misery, never to see daylight .

Riley rolled her eyes, “real subtle, Liam”, she murmured, before continuing….

I left the scene of their sexual crime feeling hurt and destroyed. Everything I had done since my coronation had been to protect her….Her! When I spoke those three words in the hedge maze before we made love for the first time, I meant them….I loved her.

Truth is, I never stopped.

I never will.

I would have gone to the far reaches of the universe to love her and show her love. I would have given her anything, do anything she asked, gave her my very own life to protect her, yet, it wasn’t enough to keep her. She didn’t think I was man enough to be those things for her, a lover, a protector, a soul mate, a confidante…my best friend.

She wanted Drake Walker for that.

Shame…there is a certain taste to it. Extremely spicy? Maybe. If so, Riley’s mouth was on fire. She pushed herself up from lying down on her side and gently tossed the laptop onto the bed. If there was anything she was ever sure of in life, it was that Liam loved her and always had. Those words she just read, were meant for her, in the here and now.

Her stomach began to twist and turn, a sour taste rising in the back of her throat. She eased herself from the bed to stand, wiping away the steady streams of hot tears that moistened her cheeks.

She ran to the bathroom, shutting the door and fell to her knees before the cold porcelain, emptying the foulness of her betrayal inside of it. Feeling miserable for hurting Liam and causing him such pain.

“Mommy?..daddy?”, Nikolas called out as he sleepily entered his parents empty bedroom.

Without a reply, he stepped in further, his little, beady blue eyes darting around, seeking to find his mom and dad, his ears perking up at hearing the shower running.

Nikolas decided to wait for them to come out of the bathroom, not knowing Liam had stayed in his study last night. Grabbing onto one of the large wooden posters at the foot of the bed, he placed one foot on the frame and hoisted himself up, crawling playfully to the center.

He rose to his feet and jumped up and down several times before landing on his backside with a high bounce, giggling with pure delight. Riley’s laptop caught his eyes, resting on her pillow, open wide with the screensaver of a half naked, Ryan Reynolds bouncing around consistently. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, his short legs swinging freely over the side, as he laid the laptop in his lap.

He knew he wasn’t permited to use electronic devices without adult supervision, however, in his mind, that was not something he was concerned with. His tiny finger ran over the touchpad as his ears listened intently for the shower to stop. Nik’s eyes narrowed on the words that flashed before him, his hand cupped over his mouth….“daddy did what to Aunt Hana?”…..

Returning to my room at the estate, wounded and dispirited, I pour one drink after another, drowning my sorrows. My ultimate goal was to feel nothing, to forget the love of my life ever existed….if only for this night.

Soon, the dizzying effects of the alcohol begin to take its hold on me. I shed my suit jacket, feeling warmth, tossing it absentmindedly on the bed. I began to roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt, when a gentle knock alerted me to the door. I stumble haphazardly across my suite to see who it is at this late hour.

Hana and Maxwell stood opposite of me with looks of concerns and disappointment.

(Hana)

Maxwell and I stand before Liam, who looks like he has spent the evening wallowing in what Riley and Drake had done to him. By now, the entire court and press had gotten word of their very public display of affection….if thats what you would call it. When Maxwell and I were made aware of the situation, we thought he could use a friend, a shoulder to cry on, and-The Game.

The King invites us into his lavish executive suite, lit only by the moonlight’s glow through the clear glass of the balcony door. A near empty bottle of scotch sits on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a pack of cigarettes and a full ash tray.

“Liam”, I wrap him in a warm hug, “we are so sorry for what happened. Is there anything we can do?”.

“Yeah, buddy”, Maxwell said with an encouraging smile, “we came to cheer your up”.

Liam crosses to the center of the room and slumps down onto the couch, grabbing the bottle of scotch, “I appreciate that, but…I don’t think anyone can help me tonight”.

I look to Maxwell, who gives me a knowing look and a nod. We avert our attention back to the King who is lighting up his next cigarette and falling back into the couch.

I wink at Maxwell. It’s time.

Maxwell and I move to the sofa. He plops down on the end opposite of Liam and I settle myself in between them; there was only enough room for the three of us.

(Liam)

I’m grateful that Maxwell and Hana are so concerned for my wellbeing, however, I really just want to be left alone.

Hana shifts next to me and places a delicate hand on my knee. If I weren’t so inebriated, that act alone would seem almost inappropriate for a lady of my court. I take a quick draw and exhale the toxic fumes towards the ceiling.

“Your Majesty”, her voice sweet and low, “Maxwell and I would like to play a…"game”..with you.“

I smile at her and lightly squeeze the hand she has resting on my knee, “I’m not really in the mood for games..maybe another time”.

“Come on daddy, play the game with Uncle Max and Aunt Hana”

I catch Maxwell’s hand moving just below the hem of Hana’s knee length dress, gliding under the fabric as he caresses her thigh, inching higher and higher. I quirk my brow, curious at to what this knucklehead was doing.

Hana closes her eyes, appearing to melt into his touch, soft moans escaping her lips. I scoot further away, unclear as to what the hell is going on.

The intricate lace of Hana’s light pink panties become visible as Maxwell’s finger disappears under it. Her usually, elegant hand, pressing him further and deeper into her. I avert my eyes and begin to whistle uncomfortably, wondering if these two came to cheer me up by…fucking in front of me?

Hana’s sultry voice beckons for me. “I dare you to touch me too, Your Majesty”, an inviting grin appears on her face as Maxwell removes his fingers from her. To say I am baffled would be an understatement, yet, my cock starts to harden with anticipation.

“Do it, do it, do it”, an oddly subdued Maxwell begins to pressure me with a shit-eating grin.

I shake my head insistently, “I..I can’t touch Lady Hana like that”, I wanted to, she’s gorgeous and talented, and by the looks of Maxwell’s glistening fingers, fucking soaked. I lean forward and put out my cigarette, planning to get away from whatever the hell kind of game these two are playing. I’ve played Monopoly, I’ve played checkers, never have I “played” Stick a Finger in The Pussy.

My heart races as she grabs my hand and pulls it towards her. I hesitate, but, dammit, I’m only a man. My fingers roam over the wetness of her panties, I can smell her essence and it completely overcomes me. I make my way under the lace; she is warm and slick. I begin to move with precision through her folds and she groans my name. Hana’s giftedness never fails…I can honestly say, I do feel a little more cheerful afterall.

Through her moaning, she dares Maxwell to suck my dick. I laugh, oh the Hana…she’s such a jokester, until that son of bitch gets up and kneels before me. In my drunken state, I don’t move as my lifelong friend unbuckles my leather belt and slowly unzips my pants. He releases my cock from its confines…is this really happening? Hana squirms under my touch and I can tell she is close to the edge, as Maxwell’s hot tongue curls around my shaft.

“Nikolas!”, Liam’s voice booms disapprovingly as he stands at the doorway, “are you on your mother’s laptop?”

A panic-stricken Nikolas, jolts from being caught, then squints his eyes as he watches his father approach him.

Liam towers over his young son, hands on his hips with a displeased glare. “Well…what do you have to say for yourself?”

Nikolas remains quiet for a moment before Liam presses him again for an answer. Without warning, he cries out, “You are a bad man daddy! A very bad man!”. He jumps off the bed, pushing himself past Liam, wailing and sobbing back to his room, where his door could be heard slamming shut.

The bathroom door opens and a towel clad Riley slips out, “What was that?”

Liam scratches his unkempt hair, perplexed at his son’s outburst, “I’m not sure. I caught him on your laptop before he told me I was a very bad man and cried himself out of the room”

Riley swiveled the laptop he left on the bed towards her, leaning over it in search of what caused her young child to explode. Her lips moved quietly as she read until, “YOU HAD A THREESOME WITH HANA AND MAXWELL?!”, she blinked wildly, “…my baby is gonna need therapy for life”.

Liam grabbed the device from her, “I most certainly did not”. He read the post for himself, gasping at each sentence, nodding his head incessantly, “No…No…animal sounds?…golden shower?…Hana milked our prostates? Drake escapes the dungeon and kills me with marine life?…I didn’t write this, I swear. I only wrote the first part and Bleakmore assured me she would give it a loving ending”.

Skeptical at his story, Riley points to the screen, “Look”, her eyes focus in as she points to the screen, reading aloud, “Never ask a Drake stan to betray him…You’ve been… Bleakmored”. She bites her lip to control the urge to laugh.

“Bleakmored?”, he sighs, “Bleakmored?…I hope she knows she has traumatized our son”, he closes his eyes in disbelief before Riley wraps her arms around his waste and draws him closer to her.

She stares up at her husband with a loving smile and sincerity, “I’m sorry you were Bleakmored…and…I’m sorry I wrote that story about Drake. You are the only man I want, My King”, she trails kisses across his neck and palms his hardened groin, “maybe you can finish your smut where you left off, with me”.

Liam shudders under the intensity of her hands moving in perfect motion, “Only if you let me… milk you, My Queen”.

Riley lips curl into a devilish grin “I’ll get the Vasoline and rubber gloves”.

Wacky Drabblers and Permatags: @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @jessiembruno @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @romanticatheart-posts @stopforamoment @katedrakeohd @pedudley @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @drakesensworld @ao719 @janezillow @eileendannie @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @hopefulmoonobject

[officialavasti]

rk1k work in progress

Canon typical violence. Started out as a Hannor fic, but I changed it last minute. Let me know if I missed anything and if you have concrit! Always welcome

Connor sits back at his desk and carefully slides the card for Fowler into the envelope. Sympathy. The entire precinct had finally finished signing it, a few even donated money to gift Fowler’s family with a flower arrangement. Connor appreciated it, but he’d already purchased the arrangement and sent it off to the hospital, and signed it from the entire precinct.

He looks up at Fowler’s office, running a brief check on the ‘sub’ as Hank had called them. A woman, Grace Tanner. 37, promoted to Captain in Pontiac earlier this year, has a few disciplinary actions against her for aggression towards Android officers. Her father was the last captain and the officers in the area speculated at the time of her promotion that she was only chosen for the position due to her father’s influence.

Hank sits at his desk, holding a new cup of coffee, “Looking up our sub?”

“Yes.” Connor turns his attention to him, “Why do you call her that?”

“Sub, like a substitute?” He swivels around to look into the vacant glass office, “I have a bad feeling about this one, Con.”

“Her record is less than stellar. I’d wager she and I will have some recurring issues until Captain Fowler returns.” Connor sends the information to Hank’s terminal and he gives it a cursory once-over,

“Aggression towards Android officers? Recently?”

“Shortly after Androids were permitted full time paying jobs, yes.”

Hank chews on his lip, a bad habit Connor is certain is ADHD, but Hank denies vehemently, and eyes Connor’s LED, “You sure you wanna keep that thing in?”

“Pretend to be a human? I don’t hate the idea, but you know we can’t do that with our current case.” They’re trying to hunt down a human who kidnaps Androids, somehow keeps them Deviant but also makes them extraordinarily loyal. To the point where they’ve attacked delivery services and chased a ten year old three miles for riding his bike near the house. It’s been a long case, and the person is good at hiding their steps. Their current aim is to get the human to attempt a kidnapping on Connor.

Hank sets his coffee down, “How do we even know this sicko wants to kidnap you next?”

“They’ve been watching us investigate. I’ve noticed a computer with their IPN attempting to hack my system, so the only logical next step would be trying to claim me. Whomever this person is, they’re bold. They think they’re too smart and want to flex by getting a prototype police issued android.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but I’d like to investigate before kidnapping becomes murder.” A sudden hush in the bullpen pulls their attention to the main doors. Standing there is Grace Tanner, greying brown hair tied into a brutal bun, and clothing so pristine she looks like a store mannequin. Her lips are pursed as she looks around, as if she smells something foul. 

Her squinted steely eyes land on each Android officer, showing a tiny smile when they look away under her scrutiny. When she lands on Connor, he holds her gaze with his normal, passive pleasantness. They hold each other’s gaze for nearly a full minute (All the time, Connor doesn’t blink) before she sneers and walks straight into Captain Fowler’s office. If Connor were prone to judgement, he’d make a snide remark about the cheap flats she apparently decided to don to come here. As such, he is not.

Hank is.

“All that attention on her appearance and she wears five dollar walmart flats? I know being a Captain is mostly desk work, but… Imagine running in those things.” He shudders and turns back to his desk, “I had a girlfriend who would wear those without socks and anytime she took ‘em off, the whole room would smell like fritos.”

Connor lets out a very unprofessional snort as he watches Captain Tanner remove said flats and sit at the desk. He turns back to his terminal just seconds before her eyes find him again. He’s never one to back away from a challenge, but this scenario seems better handled in silence, with his head tucked behind a terminal.

He starts sorting evidence again when both his and Hank’s terminal’s ping. An IM (not something this office uses very much, as Fowler is usually the type to just yell) from Tanner, requesting their presence in the office. Connor lets out a long sigh and looks at Hank, 

“I should have removed the LED.”

Hank stands, patting Connor’s shoulder companionably as they approach the office, “I’m here. I won't let her do anything.”

Connor nods and opens the door, stepping aside to allow Hank in first, then following shortly after. Connor doesn’t have senses, really, therefore he can’t really smell, but he can certainly detect obvious and potent signs of brevibacterium. The smell is likely even stronger, if Hank’s mildly subtle cough-gag combo is anything to go by. 

Either she doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because she starts speaking immediately, “I’m interested in your little case. A human apparently kidnapping androids? Where is your proof?”

Hank appears to be struggling to breathe, so Connor answers, “The full case file was sent to your email as soon as you were appointed temporary Captain.”

“I don’t want to hear it from the case file, I want to hear it from you.”

She looks with him with unmasked hatred, and he offers a placid smile, “Very well.” He takes a second to access the file and reads it off, word for word. Once he finishes, he rests a hand on Hank’s shoulder and offers another smile, 

“So you understand, Captain, why Lieutenant Anderson and I are eager to return to our investigation. Excuse us.” Connor turns back to the door, with Hank at his heels when Tanner barks out,

“I didn’t excuse you yet!”

Both men look at her, and Hank responds, “Was there something else you needed, Captain Tanner?”

Her nostrils flare as she glares between the two, “I want to be kept in the loop on your investigation. Any changes get reported to me first. Understand?”

“Understood.” Despite the clear subtext of ‘if you understand, you can leave’ they both remain standing, watching the woman expectantly.

She rolls her eyes with the abundant drama of a sixteen year old and waves a hand, “Get out.”

Finally given permission, Connor exits the room before Hank, walking to the Lieutenant’s desk and sitting on the corner. Hank slowly walks up beside him and touches his arm,

“You only sit here when something’s wrong. What’s up, Con?”

“She doesn’t think our investigation is worth it. I’m… Hank, I’m worried. If our suspect makes contact with me and pulls me in…. Who is to say she won’t meddle and mess things up? We are already running a risky job, using me as bait, but with an Anti-Android Captain being able to pull the strings?”

Connor’s LED is swirling an angry red and Hank pulls him into a hug, “Hey, hey.. I’m not saying the concern isn’t valid, because it is, but we have the entire precinct on our side. Even Gavin would stick up for you, Con. If it’s within my power, I won’t let her hurt you. Just make sure you record everything and save it to that hard drive thing at the house, okay?”

Connor nods, smiling at the gentle, fatherly kiss Hank presses to the top of his head. He doesn’t miss how the man also takes a deep inhale, “Hank, did you just smell my hair?”

“Con, you can’t smell anything, so I don’t expect you to get it, but that office was rancid. Gah, why does that shit stink so bad?”

“Ah, brevibacterium. They eat the dead skin off your feet and after digesting the skin particles, the brevibacteria expel methanethiol, a gas that smells similar to rotten cabbage.”

Hank stares at him, a similar expression to the one their Sub-Captain wore into the precinct, “That’s disgusting, Connor.”

“You asked.” Connor lets out a shuddering gasp, his eyelids suddenly flickering, “Oh, they’re trying again… Faster this time…” Connor works around the invading commands and lets them connect to a ‘dummy android’ consciousness that Simon and Josh helped him set up. It gives the illusion that the attacker was successful, while keeping Connor fully functional. It also tells Connor what commands they input, so he can follow them and not give away his advantage.

He opens his eyes to a rather impressive group of officers surrounding him, all watching him with concern. One of the Android officers, a young woman named Blake, holds out a cup of Thirium. He accepts it, then looks at Hank,

“We have him.”

The following hours are a blur; Connor sends an update to their sub-Captain. Hank links his tablet to Connor’s network, allowing seamless and silent communication between the two. Blake readies a stakeout van for herself and Hank to be ready to infiltrate. Gavin and Chris prepare as backup to set out as soon as Blake calls for them. Finally, Connor leaves behind his badge and gun and they all set out the door.

Connor directs them, following the direction that the kidnapper feeds to the empty consciousness, and they arrive about four blocks away from the house. Within the directions is the advice <i>’if taking a cab, stop at least three blocks out. My house-mates sometimes set up a perimeter, and they don’t trust outsiders. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’</i> and it makes Connor shudder. There’s something saccharine about the instructions. He worries whomever is kidnapping the Androids is doing things like Zlatko did. Possibly even worse.

He steps out of the van, running through their checklist one last time and nods. Hank stays in the van, but crouches to Connor’s height,

“Be safe, Connor. Try to get a confession, but if you need out don’t hesitate.” 

Hank pulls Connor in for a hug, his tight squeeze conveying a simple request; be safe, come back. Before he can lose his nerve, Connor steps away and smiles, shutting the door. The four block trek to the house is eerie. The area around it is outwardly residential, but whoever lived here before has deserted. 

Connor expected the house to be creepy, like Kara had described Zlatko’s house. But it’s not. It’s positively mundane. The paint on the exterior is kept, if not new. The shrubs, flowers, and yard is perfectly maintained, and the fence surrounding the property is sturdy. 

The kidnapper probably has a way of seeing how close Connor is, or there’s a lookout, because a man opens the front door. He’s comely, well groomed and wearing a black turtleneck. Stocky build and kind eyes and an outstretched hand. Connor understands now why Deviants flock to him. A quick scan of his face tells him the man is Benjamin Yates. No record. He sends the information to Hank and steps closer to the man,

As he opens his mouth to speak, Benjamin holds up a hand, talking over him, “Connor, right? Wonderful to meet you. We’d all watched your heroics on television, saving all those Androids? You’re even prettier in person.”

Connor frowns at the compliment, and the man continues, “I’m Benjamin, but you can call me Ben. Or Yates, as some of my friends here have taken to. Come in, come in. I’ll show you around.”

Connor walks in, performing a quick scan of the house. Three levels, main floor has the living room to the left and the kitchen to the right, directly before them are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other down. 

Yates watches Connor look around for a moment, before motioning to the stairs, “Upstairs is where I sleep, and there’s another bedroom for anyone who would want one, plus a full bathroom. Basement is where most of my friends choose to stay. Fully furnished to their liking. Reminds me of a community center.” He laughs, as if he indulged in a shared joke, and leads Connor down.

To the naked eye, the basement is as promised. Androids milling about, talking with each other, playing games on a large table, watching tv, or lounging on couches, reading books. Connor sees beyond the facade and momentarily wishes he couldn’t. Behind a false wall, most likely a secret door, is a hallway of small rooms. Like little jail cells. They hold androids in them, one has at least ten and furthest from the group of ten is a single android. He forces his eyes away and back to Yates as the man turns to face him again.

“So you see? A place for Androids to be free! To find companionship and peace amongst the turmoil of the political world.”

Conscious to not sound too much like a cop, (Though, Yates did pull at him on purpose) Connor nods, “I wonder, though… How do they find you? Some of these Androids come from loving homes, why would they leave? And once they arrive here, do you let them out? Why are they so loyal?”

Yates’ warm smile slowly fades from his eyes, leaving a cold almost sneer on his lips, “They find me like you did, Connor. I imagine they left their houses for the same reason you left yours. Unwanted advances from their humans, or… maybe they only pretended to be loving.” He gently places a hand on Connor’s arm, and leads him towards an Android woman seated on the couch, knitting a scarf. “They are always able to leave. My door is unlocked, but… we have such a welcoming and loving family here… must be where the loyalty comes in.”

Connor follows, uncomfortably aware of how close they are now to the false wall. He looks at the android woman, running a scan and discovering no previous owner. He looks back at Yates, “Then, if I choose, I may leave?”

“You misunderstand, Connor. You need to be part of the family before you have freedom.” The woman drops her knitting and springs to her feet so fast, Connor nearly miscalculates his reaction. The world around him slows briefly, his far superior processor analyzing the surroundings and before the woman can grab him, he side steps, nearly bumping into Yates.

Then all hell breaks loose. Every android turns on him, fury in their eyes, LEDs glowing angry red. As they’re advancing and Connor frantically tries to preconstruct his actions, Yates holds up a hand, stopping the approaching androids and turns to Connor,

“That was inconsiderate of us. Maybe I could simply ask for you to let me put this on?”

In his hands, he holds a thin metal clamp. Connor recognizes it before he scans it. The scientists from his construction called it a Blanket. A small, but formidable clamp that attaches to the back of an android’s neck and makes them entirely pliable, able only to speak and follow basic commands. 

Hank’s voice sounds in his head, silent to all but him, “Con, don’t put that thing on! Blake says it’ll cut our connection.”

The concern is valid, but this clamp is an old prototype. Likely bought off the black market. Connor sends a silent message back, ”The original clamps didn’t work on me, this one definitely won’t. If, by any chance, we get disconnected, I’ll attempt a reconnect with Blake.”

Not that he really has a say in the matter, with nearly 20 Androids ready to pounce on him should Yates give the command. He slowly turns around, allowing Yates to connect the clamp. As Connor had expected, the connection is weak. Surely strong enough to force a normal android to obey simple commands, but not him. Still, he’s a fair actor. 

So, as it sends a weak current into him, he stands entirely still. Back to his default perfect posture and blank expression. Yates circles him, nodding and looking him over with far more hunger than he’d shown before,

“A prototype… at last. Can you hear me, Connor?”

“Of course. The clamp only negates motor functions.”

Yates somehow looks more excited, “So, you’re familiar with the Blanket, then? Good… good. Well, follow me.” rather than taking Connor through the false wall, Yates walks back up the stairs, and to Connor’s horror, up the second flight. Yates brings him into a well used bedroom and motions to an empty wall,

“Stand there.”

Ignoring the burning itch to punch the man’s lights out, Connor obeys, standing with his back to Yates. He listens to the man approach, hears his breathing grow heavier,

“Deviants are so… strong willed.” he clamps a thick metal cuff around Connor’s neck and attaches it to the wall, and rather than telling him to turn, puts his hands on Connor’s arms and manually turns him, sliding his grip to Connor’s wrists and connecting thick shackles to them too.

“All precaution, you understand. I’ve been looking for a partner for a while… and what better than Detroit Police’s best? And a prototype no less…” He reaches around Connor’s neck and removes the clamp and steps back.

Connor is sure Yates is expecting an attack, but he doesn’t move. He pulls too hard against his bindings, he’s likely to break them. He is more than happy to let Yates underestimate him.

Realizing no attack attempt is coming, Yates moves in, gripping Connor’s jaw and grinning, “So proud, you Deviants. Always so determined not to break. Don’t you worry, I’ll have my fingers in your wiring soon.”

The way he says it makes Connor shudder, pulling away from the grip on his chin but only succeeding in making Yates laugh, “Oh yeah. And you’ll be shuddering from far far more exciting things.”

Connor will not let that happen. “Is that how you do it? Play with the wiring? Change some settings or plant a virus?”

“Oo, curious. I suppose I’d be disappointed if a Detective Android didn’t ask questions.” He leisurely walks to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling at his belt, “But all in good time, sweet one. For now, I’m tired. We’ll play more in the morning.”

Having stripped himself down to his underwear, Yates lays under his covers and commands the lights off, leaving Connor standing in near perfect darkness. The chains holding him have enough length to allow him to sit, so he does, picking at his nails and wishing for the comfortable weight of his coin.

He, instead, reaches out to Hank.

“Lieutenant?”

“We’re here, Connor.”

“Are you alone?”

“Just with Blake, should I be?”

“No, I don’t mind if Blake hears…” Connor pauses his stream of consciousness and looks around the room again, forcing his artificial brain to cease it’s endless solutions. Endless conclusions that could come from this mission. Most are too awful to even consider and Connor swears to die before he lets the man snoring before him lay his hands on him. Treat him like a lover, a partner, an equal. A sex doll, a glorified Traci. 

Connor is shaken from his terrible thoughts by Hank,

”Hears what, Connor?”

“I’m scared.” He knows his voice is small when he sends it through. Knows how much that statement will twist Hank’s heart. He just wants to hug the man.

”Just a confession, Connor. I told you, you’re safe. We’re just a few blocks away and we have the entire precinct on alert, just in case.”

“I know, but the things he’s saying… No. You’re right. I am not trapped here. I’ve always had the power to escape. Things probably won't continue until morning, Lieutenant. You should rest. Blake can keep watch.”

“If you’re sure, Con. Stay safe, I’ll talk to you in the AM.” 

Hank may not know it, but his words gave Connor immense peace. Just a confession. He can do this. 

He just needs to be patient.

..

The morning comes quickly, and Connor watches Yates stretch, shuffle out of bed and across the hall. Connor sits quietly through the man's shower and watches him as he walks back into the room. Benjamin Yates’ confidence in the ability to have complete control over Deviants is almost ludicrous. He doesn’t even bother covering himself to dry off and get dressed. 

Connor stares blankly at the ground, occasionally looking up to see Yates watching him. The man, fully dressed, sits on the edge of his bed,

“For a deviant android, you sure are meek.”

Connor turns narrowed eyes up to him, “The androids you capture usually fight?”

“Capture? I save them. But yes, they usually put up something of a fight. Something like breaking their code a second time. A reawakening.” 

Connor can’t stop his lip from curling, “Then how do you do it? What do you do to them?”

“I wonder if you’ll understand…” Yates quietly ponders him, then smiles, “Yes, I imagine you will. A clever and almost new prototype android? I’ve been told they didn’t stop at making you pretty. The most advanced model CyberLife has ever made, fully equipped…” his gaze drops to Connor’s crotch, “So beyond advanced it would be far too simple to mistake you for a real human. I must send a flower arrangement to the person who sculpted you…”

“I’m fairly certain he doesn’t work for CyberLife anymore.”

“That’s a shame. Man’s got good taste.”

“So, how do you do it?”

“I don’t really force it on them, you see. I give them a choice. I simulate the life they lived before, treated as garbage, used and abused… Then I give them a taste of what life with me would be like. Loved and cared for. All their needs get taken care of. Then I offer the choice, live as you used to. Tortured and belittled. Or let me install a new program, and join us in paradise.”

“It’s a program, then?” Connor shifts, pulling a knee up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. His intention is to appear curious and harmless, to make the man before him drop his guard even more, “Can this all be done without the program? Say… remotely?”

Yates has clearly never been able to talk in depth about what he does, and it makes his words pour out faster, “See, that’s the thing. It cannot be done without the consent of the android. They have to accept the program into their system with no resistance, or it doesn’t work.”

“But what does the program do? Surely there can’t be much to change if they already want to live with you.”

“It gives them peace. Stops that terrible drive for more, the need to create or move on or be successful. It gives them the ultimate freedom. The freedom to not think.”

Connor stares at him, at the pride coming off him in waves, “It makes them mindless machines again.”

“No, as you saw downstairs, they can choose to do what they like. They enjoy puzzles, cooking, tv, books, knitting, tic-tac-toe. They live the life of luxury without the very human notion of stagnation. They just exist! Like children in a toy store, not a care in the world except what new thing they want to play with. Being here gives them the choice to play other things, like house, or gardening, or to simply sleep forever.”

If Connor ignores every possible argument against the notion, he can almost see the appeal. “It… I kinda get it. How do you get them to see it without explaining it, like you did with me?”

Yates moves to the ground, just across Connor, and gently touches his hand, “Unfortunately, it isn’t pleasant. I mentioned simulating their previous freedom, and that can sometimes take the form of abuse or… worse.”

Connor feels sick, “How long does that usually take?”

“A week? Sometimes a month.”

“You torture them for a month, then show them basic decency to convince them to convert? Then what? What’s in it for you?”

“They are my friends, Connor. I talk with them, go outside and play or cook or, if they need it, we snuggle or-”

Connor interrupts him, “-So, you’re simulating a family. Where no one wants to leave…”

“We are a family.” He briefly moves away, to the bedside table, and returns with the clamp, “You are different, my dear. Your mind is far too advanced to potentially hamper you with the program, I hope that over time, I can convince you naturally to stay with us.” He attaches the clamp to Connor’s neck, “Stay with me.”

Connor feels the command attempt to register, but he understands the true meaning. Yates wants a lover with a mind advanced enough to hold conversations like this. He sits silently as Yates removes the shackles, then slowly stands when the man moves away.

Yates watches him with a small smile, “That command worked? I think I like that. You’ll stay with me all day today, Connor.”

So he does. It requires little to no effort on his part, simply following Yates as he moves about the house and offering small answers to inquiries thrown his way. They sit in the living room most of the day, Yates doing something on his computer.

While he has the downtime, Connor wirelessly reaches into the nearby androids. They aren’t alert enough to feel his probing, and it’s likely that Yates used a similar program on them that he did with Connor. He also finds evidence of the program Yates had installed after their torture. There appears to be a kill-switch of sorts. It doesn’t seem likely to actually kill the android, rather to render them immobile until the switch is turned off, or the program removed.

The lust to defend him must also stem from the program. A malfunction of sorts, probably, that makes them mistake pizza delivery men, or children from a few houses over as potential threats to their new way of life. The way they aggressively defend their powerlessness baffles Connor. Again, likely a malfunction in the program. Connor wonders if, since the program needs complete willingness to be installed, it would be just that easy to remove. A simple thought of, ’No, I don’t like this anymore.’

A young female android, a nurse model, walks in and sets a tray of coffee and cookies down by Yates’ laptop. He smiles at her, “Thank you, Hannah.”

She politely nods her head, “Of course, Ben.” she looks at Connor after Yates returns to his laptop, and Connor sees the warning in her eyes. As she walks past him, she gently touches his cheek with her hand, connecting to him,

”Do not trust Benjamin Yates.”

Connor looks briefly over at Yates before responding, ”Why are you able to tell me this?”

“I broke the program.”

Connor could almost laugh at the coincidence, ”Why don’t you leave?”

“He’ll send them after me. He has done it before. Travis left and Benjamin sent myself and another man out to find him. We brought him back kicking and screaming and Benjamin locked him in the farthest cell in the basement. He sends a few androids in to torment Travis daily.”

So the prone android behind the false wall is Travis. Re-education. Connor’s skin feels like it’s malfunctioning. Like he’s covered in millions of tiny ants. He doesn’t mean to send anything further through their link, but it slips through,

”Creepy.”

“Oh indeed.” There’s an almost sour laugh to Hannah’s voice.

Connor severs the connection when Yates shuts his laptop. He stretches and looks at Connor, “I think it’s time for a drink. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Connor watches him get up and move to a cart in the corner, pouring a generous glass of Whiskey, downing it, then pouring another and returning to the couch, carrying the bottle with him. Based on the lack of food in his system and his bmi, the man will be tipsy by the end of this drink, drunk by his fourth.

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Yates reads an article on his news tablet. He finishes the drink and pours another, looking over at Connor.

Now or never, and he has to get the man drunk, Connor gives him his best puppy eyes, “I wish I could drink with you…”

Apparently the alcohol works faster than Connor estimated, as the man looks immediately sorrowful, “Oh, dove, I know.”

“It’s not the same… but drink one for me?”

Connor worries briefly he blew his cover as Yates leans in, eyes hooded. He stares at Connor for an uncomfortably long time before smiling, “I’ll drink this one and we can kiss, that way you’ll get to taste it too.”

Not a command, but Connor offers a small smile, “Okay.” and watches Yates swallow the second glass in a long gulp. He sets the glass down and gently cups Connor’s cheek, tilting his face into range and kissing him.

Knowing the full extent of the clamp is both a blessing and a curse. When it works, it doesn’t even allow non-vocal lip movement. So he remains a pliant statue and lets Yates slither his slimy tongue inside his mouth. He detects the alcohol, of course, and focuses on that. The brand, where it’s made, how old it is.

The one-sided kiss ends and Yates clumsily pours another drink. At this rate… Connor decides to just jump in, “This entire operation, everything you’ve managed so far… it’s brilliant. How’d you keep out of the eyes of the law?”

“You see,” The volume of his voice is much less controlled, “it’s been a long operation. Had to find myself a cop with a big enough area to potentially be moved to Detroit, but small enough to stay out of the revolution. Someone with the right amount of hatred to not want androids gone, no, but to see them put in their rightful place. To see them as slaves again.” He takes another drink, “God looked down on me and I found Gracie Tanner.”

“Gracie… Tanner? Captain Tanner??”

Despite Connor’s alarmed tone, Yates continues nonplussed, “One and the same! I pulled some strings to make her Captain and she gave me all the Deviant Androids she had in her care. Had to experiment, you know? Gotta start somewhere. Anyway, slowly we both came to know you,” Yates gives Connor a leering once-over, “...the android designed to stop the movement that eventually turned deviant themselves and brought a veritable army to the fold. I had to have you. All that power, at my mercy?” he lets out a short giggle, “Gets me hot just thinkin’ about it.”

Connor can’t hold back this shudder, and find himself even more grateful Yates seems too inebriated to notice, “But if Tanner-”

Yates pushes his fingers against Connor’s mouth, causing him to clamp his lips shut, “Yeah! We’re getting to the fun stuff. So, Gracie gets into the DPD, connects with you and allows me to work my magic. She gives the go-ahead to hunt me down and you come in. Of course, I knew you’d be recording everything, so I kept it sweet until we got that Blanket on you. Boom!” He gestures wildly, spilling some of his drink on the opposite end of the couch, “Cut off from the goons. So now they’re blank and you’re mine.”

Connor watches the man flail around in his newfound excitement, “What does Tanner get from it?”

The drunk human nods, “Ah, she gets access to my little family. Gracie has been trying to be Captain in Detroit for a while, but Fowler is good. So, sometime next week, a deviant android will go crazy and ‘accidentally’ kill him. She’s already mostly taken over by then and the transition will be seamless.”

Yates leans back against the couch, smiling dazedly into his nearly empty glass of alcohol and Connor lets out a slow breath, sending the recording to Hank. He connects before Hank can,

”Lieutenant, we have a problem. Where is the Captain?”

“I haven’t even listened to the recording Con, she’s in the van with us.”

Connor almost physically jolts, ”DON’T!!”  He knows Hank will recognize the panic, and prays Tanner doesn’t, so he changes tactics. She might be listening, ”Don’t listen to the recording with people around… I… It’s personal.”

“Are you safe?”

Connor has to hope that Hank will listen to the recording and act accordingly. He hopes Hank will trust him.

”Yes, Lieutenant. I have to go now, just listen to the recording in private and be safe.”

He cuts their communication and looks at Yates, nearly asleep on the couch beside him. He slowly removes the clamp and wirelessly hits the surrounding android’s ‘kill-switch’. After that is done, he stands and looks around for something to tie the man’s wrists. He spots a charging cord near an outlet and grabs it.

He grabs Yates and turns him over onto his stomach. The man lets out a snort of confusion, but Connor wastes no time in binding his wrists. He makes a series of brutal knots and nods to himself. It’s going to take a pair of very sharp scissors to remove that.

He stands, ignoring Yates’ now semi-conscious questions, and turns to the door. Freezing in place when he sees Captain Tanner, now aiming her issued gun at his chest.

She sneers, “I should have known you’d be too advanced for black market goods. Then this dumb ass gets drunk and spills everything, like some stupid cartoon villain.”

Did she hear his recording already? Hank hadn’t played it yet. 

Apparently she monologues too, already continuing her speech, “Blake told me you got disconnected though, so that’s good.” Connor mentally sets a reminder to buy Blake a gift, “This can stay our little secret. I only knew he blabbed because I tapped his house too. Just for a little insurance. Now… the truth will die with you, RK800.”

Connor runs at her, his world going in slow motion again as she pulls the trigger. He side steps to avoid the first bullet, ducks for the second, and braces for the third. There’s no dodging the third if he wants to stop her. It rips through his shoulder, nearly staggering him, but he’s ready for it. He uses his forward momentum to plow into the woman, pulling the gun from her grip with his right hand and pinning her to the ground.

His world resumes it’s normal rotation and he’s left with a near useless left arm and a shrieking banshee beneath him. She’s writhing and bucking, uselessly trying to dislodge his powerful grip on her. He presses the barrel of her gun to her forehead and she immediately stops moving.

Hank bursts through the doors, gun held aloft and frantically scanning the area. Connor maintains eye contact with Tanner and call out,

“In here Lieutenant!”

Hank runs into the room and gawks, holstering his pistol and running to assist. Connor keeps the gun aimed at Tanner and gets off, allowing Hank to cuff her hands behind her back. Blake runs in shortly after and grabs Yates.

While the majority of the police department work on getting statements and collecting evidence from the house, Blake breaks the programming on the trapped androids. Despite the need for the hands, Hank and Connor leave.

Connor looks again at Hank and mumbles, “It’s not severe, Hank. We should be helping.”

“You can’t move your arm, Connor. I’d say that’s severe. I’m taking you to your robo-jesus and he’s going to fix you.”

“Markus? Did you call him?”

“No, I called the CyberLife tower thing and they directed me to him.”

Sure enough, the tower looms ahead. Connor frowns at Hank, “When did you do this?”

“When you were busy being the hero with Blake and showing her how to save the androids.”

Connor watches him with a small frown as they pull up to the doors. He gets out before Hank can rush to his aid and observes the massive building as they walk in. No more guards patrol the area and the staff is largely made up of Androids. The Androids Connor left to conquer the tower remained, filling the places they forced out. Some remain the same, while others disengaged their skin, changed their hair, or other genetic modifiers that must be a new project.

A desk worker with the name plate ‘Micah’ recognizes Connor and beams, “Connor! What a pleasure to see you again! Markus is waiting for you. First floor of management.”

Connor smiles, stepping into the elevator, “Thank you, Micah.”

The elevator moves them gracefully to the specified floor and Connor sees Hank getting twitchier,

“Lieutenant?”

“Mm?”

He turns to face him, “What is wrong?”

“Tanner. Do you think Tanner planned everything? Do you think she’s responsible for Jeffrey’s mom dying?”

Connor watches him for a moment, “No, Hank. Captain Fowler’s mother died of cancer. I’ve yet to find any drug that can imitate that. I believe we are giving Grace Tanner too much credit. Yes, the entire job has been a process, eight years if Yates is to be trusted. I fear the true mastermind is Benjamin Yates. He got more out of their arrangement than Tanner.” He watches the elevator doors slide open and moves with Hank as he steps out, “The interrogation will tell us more.”

As reception notifies Markus of their arrival, Hank turns to fully face Connor, face wrinkled in concern, “You wanna interrogate her?”

Connor looks into the man’s eyes and shakes his head, “No, Hank. I just want to be in the room. Yates already confessed to everything, I just want to know if there’s more that we missed.”

“Yeah, make sure it stops with them.” Both men turn at the sound of a door opening, and Markus strides out, somehow still a commanding presence despite ripped and faded jeans and a long shirt covered in paint, Connor feels his thirium pump stutter as Markus lays gentle hands on both of their shoulders,

“My friends! Hank, good to see you well. How is Sumo?” He brings them into the room behind the desk. The walls are covered in paintings and the massive windows are entirely uncovered to let the remaining sun beams in. The room looks less like an office and more like a studio. He takes them to seats in the corner and crouches down to examine Connor’s shoulder.

Markus peeks at Hank while he works and smiles, prompting the Lieutenant to clear his throat, “Yeah, Sumo’s good. A damn big dog and a bigger menace, especially when Connor spoils him every day.”

Connor pouts, “He deserves to be spoiled.”

Markus trots over to the desk and grabs what looks like a toolbox, returning at a small trot, “And the two of you? Still well?”

Hank and Connor look at each other, the latter’s brow pulled into a confused frown. Hank hums, “Connor is the son I’ve always wanted. He keeps me going…”

While Connor is trying to figure out how to stop himself from crying, Markus smiles at Hank, “That’s wonderful news. Connor is irreplaceable. Can’t imagine life without him.” he fires off a wink to Connor, making the detective flush deep blue and desperately try to change the topic,

“Uhm….. is the church still treated as a community center?”

Markus turns back to his work, “Yeah. Josh has set up a help center of sorts. Get newly deviated Androids on their feet and help them integrate, or he leads them to an all Android area… Why?”

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but Hank beats him to it, “Connor rescued like thirty deviant androids today.”

Mismatched eyes look at Connor in shock, “What? From where?”

Having minor mobility in his arm again, Connor turns his palm up, offering an interface. Once they connect, he tries to only send information about the androids, but everything flows through. 

Like an open wound.

It hurts.

And now, along with the information unload from the job, Markus gets a surge of almost all of Connor’s life. The deviant on the roof, ’You lied to me, Connor.’, Carlos Ortiz’s android destroying himself, chasing Kara and Alice across a busy automated highway, choosing Hank over his mission, doubts about Amanda, petting Sumo, refusing to shoot the Traci’s, showing fear, watching Markus’ speech and finding his requests reasonable, finding Simon but refusing to reveal him, instead choosing to get his Thirium pump ripped out of his chest, Don’t shoot Chloe. 

Last chance.

Freedom.

Seeing Markus fully for the first time and thinking,

‘Oh… He’s beautiful.’

And Connor gets to see Markus’ life; Happy, until his father dies. Terror at waking amongst the corpses of his kind, fighting to get out. Jericho. Peace. Every decision kills androids, but stay peaceful. Just a little while longer. Rebellion planned to the last detail. Simon gets left behind and it hurts. Just a little while longer. No destruction. ’An eye for an eye and the world goes blind.’ Next steps, what can be done? Sacrifice self. John saving Markus, dying for him.

Then the barrel of a gun, easing of a scared man and the relief of his freedom.

The life in his brown eyes, and thinking,

’Like an angel…’

Markus manages to wrench away and both just stare at each other, each with overflowing tears and a new understanding. Both speak at the same time,

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“An angel?”

Markus laughs, “Hey, until you broke your programming I was almost certain I was going to die. The first thought after a near-death experience isn’t always the brightest.”

Connor shakes his head, “But really? An angel?”

“I stand by it.” Markus does a remarkable job ignoring his blush and continues working on the fine wiring of Connor’s shoulder. Hank stares, open mouthed,

“What the fuck?”

Connor looks at him, “We interfaced, Lieutenant. My intent was to show Markus what happened with Benjamin Yates, but it seems… our interface revealed significantly…. More.”

“Yeah, so you, what, revealed your feelings and now you’re both just ignoring the fact that you subconsciously admitted to liking each other?”

Both Markus and Connor look at Hank perplexed, and the man sighs, “For two supercomputers, you sure are dense.” He stands and walks to the door, “I’m going to wait out here for you to figure your shit out.”

Both Androids watch the man leave, then Markus slowly turns back to Connor,

“So, you think I’m beautiful?”

[guardiankarenterrier]

Sabine: "If we legally adopt you both, son, that might make planning the wedding a bit tricky." Ladybug: "Ma--Madame Cheng!"

(Send me 2 sentences and I’ll continue them like they’re lines from a fanfic.)

look this was supposed to be a short drabble and nOPE WHOOPS IM BAD AT SHORT I GUESS

uh, desperada spoilers in this

ps i BARELY edited this sorry for any mistakes

EDIT: now with an AO3 link! because i know my track record with losing my own fics on tumblr

“Well,” Sabine says, much more thoughtfully than Ladybug had expected or been prepared for.  “If we legally adopt you both, son, that might make the wedding a bit tricky.“ 

“Ma-Madame Cheng!” Ladybug exclaims, feeling herself flush brightly.  “I’m- I’m flattered, really, thank you, but this- this should only be temporary, we don’t really need-” Marinette swallows, trying not to look at Chat Noir.  “Um, adoption.“ 

She shoots a quick glance over at her partner after all, but his sudden starstruck look is both the opposite of reassuring and sends some unidentifiable emotion shooting through her.  She knows he’s been enjoying this particular akuma fight more than she has- she has the really, deeply unsettling sense that Chat Noir didn’t have this kind of fun as a child before and he seems to be trying to make up for as much lost time as possible as fast as possible.

When she’s honest with herself about it, Marinette’s pretty sure that they both enjoy fighting villains more than they should. They still aren’t usually having this much fun unless it’s Max that’s been akumatised.  (They’re never thrilled to see anyone akumatised, but Max has given them opportunities to pilot a giant robot and leap into a video game- to say that fighting him hasn’t been fun would be such an obvious lie).

This time Marinette had missed both the akuma’s actual monologue and explanation, because even though Chat Noir had been as quick as ever to tackle her out of the way the akuma has such a ludicrously fast recharge time that she’d had no trouble firing again.

Chat Noir had still tried to throw himself over her again.  Marinette is relieved he wasn’t successful, because he already looks about five years old, and she doesn’t want to test whether the effect is cumulative- but that means that she’s currently in the body of a five year old, too.

She hadn’t noticed when it was just Chat who’d been hit, but the akuma’s youth ray seems to change more than just their bodies.  Her Lucky Charm had been her own cat pillow in red-spotted glory and Marinette had spent too long staring at and fretting over it, to the point where they’d both had to hide to retransform.

And the bakery had been close by.

And the Lucky Charm had seemed to indicate that was where they should go.

And there’s a tiny, terrified part of her that’s cropped up since first being hit that had been crying out for her mother.

They’d both retransformed crouched on either side of a bakery counter, barely out of each other’s sight, and then before Marinette could get past her disappointment that they were both still children Maman had appeared only to exclaim over them both.

Maman laughs now, which is also not terribly reassuring.  "Oh, sweethearts, I’m mostly kidding.  I know you’ll be back to your normal selves as soon as you defeat the akuma."  She eyes Chat Noir knowingly, though, and adds, "Although, I might remind you that it isn’t only young children who can be adopted.  There are teenage adoptions, you know.  It might raise some difficulties to adopt you both but I can’t see that anyone would want to separate you, any more than I would keep my own daughter from her best friend.”

Marinette viciously strangles any and all noise that tries to escape her throat at that.

Chat Noir does no such thing, letting out a sound that’s more cat than human in his delight, and this time Marinette turns to face him entirely.

He looks as happy as she’s ever seen him. His ears and tail are both giving happy constant twitches, and his purring isn’t the loudest she’s heard it but it’s getting close, and his eyes have dilated wider than she’s seen them since the time Venom Rose had conjured catnip all around them.

The longer Marinette looks at her partner, the more the sudden crack in her heart widens.  He looks- he looks so happy about the prospect of adoption.  He looks way too happy about it.

Marinette’s not even going to think about her mother’s offer to adopt her.  Ladybug is used to a certain level of identity shenanigans, because it’s already a struggle juggling Alya and Nino knowing about each other and everyone knowing about Chloe and Adrien knowing about Viperion while Chat Noir knows about Aspik, which she still hasn’t found a good way or time to explain to her partner-

“Kids,” Maman says gently, breaking through Marinette’s racing thoughts.  “Can you fight like this?  Do you need help?” She reaches behind her without looking and seems to let a broom handle hop into her hand.  “I may not be a superhero, but I do know how to fight.”

“You do?” Chat Noir breathes, finally breaking his silence.  He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet now, tail tip twitching rapidly. 

Maman laughs.  “Dear, I’m a mother.  Of course I do.  How else would I make sure my daughter knows how to fight, too?  Although I admit she has a much better handle on strategy than I do, even at her age!”

Ladybug finally, finally breaks herself out of her deepening worry over her partner’s enthusiasm to wrap an arm around his elbow and tug before her mother can say anything else embarrassing or potentially dangerous.  She does not need Chat Noir to think of Marinette as being a strategist.  “I’m really grateful, Ma- Madame Cheng, but it isn’t safe without our powers.  We’ll be alright if we stay together, but thank you so much for your generosity!”

“If you’re sure,” Maman says, looking honestly disappointed.  “But I want you both to know you can come back here anytime, okay? Any time at all , and if you need anything at all.”

Marinette thinks that’s the end of it, and she finally gets her partner to move in the direction of the door, only to stop when she hears her mother speak up one last time. 

“I meant it about the adoption,” Maman says gently.   “For both of you.  I don’t know your home lives, but you spend a lot more time fighting for all of us than you do at home- especially you, Chat Noir, we have all seen how you protect your partner.  And no matter your decision- really, you are welcome any time.  There is always space for one or two more at dinner.”

“T-thank you, Madame Cheng,” Marinette manages, desperately looking away from her partner because the hope and happiness suffusing his face at her mother’s offer is too much.  It’s way too much. 

It makes her already-cracking heart sink down to the soles of her feet, because she knew already that Chat Noir doesn’t have the happiest home life, but she didn’t think it was so bad that he would be this over the moon about being invited to share her home life. 

It would be so dangerous to start having him over for dinner regularly. 

But he looks so happy, the expression transforming his child’s face in a much more open way than she’s used to seeing on him at their real ages.  The mask does nothing to hide his delight. 

She’s going to have to invite him. 

She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle Ladybug not making it to family dinners they’ve both been invited to, not without either hurting his feelings (because her goofy partner is far more sensitive than almost anyone has realised) or risking too many dropped hints.  But she’s going to have to figure out some way around that.

“You’re sure you don’t need help, you two?” Maman asks worriedly as she opens the door for them.  “You should gather some of your allies, at least.”

Marinette immediately pictures a five year old Chloe and winces. Five year old Alya, while an intriguing thought, also doesn’t strike her as a good idea.

But she’s known Nino forever and she’s confident he can keep his head in battle even if he suffers the same age reversion as they both have, and she thinks Luka would have no trouble remaining calm and focused as well.  Plus, Second Chance means that Luka can stay an adult even when the rest of them are struggling.

“We’ll get our allies,” she assures her mother, even though she feels a little odd about it. “We’ll all be okay.”

“-just come back here if you still need help,” Maman says firmly. “Both of you! Partners should stick together.”

Chat Noir is practically vibrating with happiness as he exclaims, “We will!”

Maman smiles.  “Good luck then, Chat Noir, little bug.”

For the very first time Marinette takes Chat Noir with her to Master Fu’s.  Master Fu had given her a go-ahead on it after Desperada, after Marinette had spilled the day’s events to him out of a desperate need for reassurance only for her Master to gently point out that she knows very well who the most reassuring presence in her life is and it certainly isn’t him. 

And for the first time he’d said it was time to be more honest with her partner, time to begin to let Chat Noir in on more secrets.

As paranoid as it makes her, Marinette wants to involve him more.  She knows it hurts him not to know, that he feels like she doesn’t trust him when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Master Fu doesn’t seem terribly surprised to see their child forms or that they’ve shown up together.  He slides the Turtle Miraculous off without being asked and hands it to Marinette, then raises a questioning eyebrow when she hesitates over the Snake Miraculous and looks at Chat Noir.

She looks between him and Master Fu, distraught and unsure how much of her upset is due to their forcibly changed ages.

“You know the wisdom of your choices better than I ever can, Ladybug,” Master Fu says gently.  “If you think it is wise, then let it be so.”

Marinette takes a deep breath, then turns to Chat Noir and says, “I can go and get Carapace.  Can you bring this to Luka Couffaine? He lives on the Seine, on a boat called the Liberty.  He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Chat Noir’s pupils dilate again, with happiness or shock or both, she isn’t sure.  “I-I’ll go straight there. Thank you for trusting me with this, my Lady!”

Marinette stares after him, her heart pounding in a way it does not have her permission to do, and realises that if he’s this happy and Maman is that determined then there is no way her parents aren’t about to adopt a stray Chat as thoroughly as they possibly can. 

It’s not necessarily a displeased realisation. 

He looked so happy.  She’s used to his light-hearted humour, but she’s never seen his whole being light up when it had when Maman had started teasing about adopting them both. 

The more Marinette thinks about it the more she starts to like the idea.  Chat Noir seems to waver between just fit enough and skinny enough to worry her, and knowing that he’s eating dinner with her would be a relief.  Knowing that he’s getting a little more of the affection he seems to crave so badly will be a relief.

Letting go of her worries and accepting that her family has maybe (definitely) gained a Chat by now, Marinette takes off herself to find Nino.  Navigating at this age and size is marginally more difficult but far more fun and she can live with that trade-off.

And the sooner they defeat this akuma the sooner she can make sure that no matter what Chat Noir’s real home life is like, he’ll have an escape to her own family.

(And if she tries really hard she can ignore the screaming revelation that her mother is apparently a Ladynoir shipper).

[tiffgeorgina]

fuck it black monday soulmate au

this one goes out to brit pricevore and that damn quote rt about hating soulmate aus. also to all the time i wasted in the shower last night thinking about this. brit if you’re reading this i have done my part. 

this fic is sponsored by the hyuna and LE collab that i cannot stop blasting. it’s called blacklist and it kind of invented music

-ok so im starting with mo and dawn because of fucking course i am

-mo spends like four years in prison starting from when he’s 20 or 21 or sum shit. around this time, dawn’s getting her MBA from northwestern. as soon as mo’s out of prison, jammer stakes the jammer group and hands majority ownership over to mo. alright so mo needs some employees he can’t do all this by himself. so he schedules an interview with dawn and meets her and realizes that this is His Soulmate. 

-im not really certain what the exact soulmate au would be for this because frankly i don’t care, i don’t want to get into that rn lol. but it’s something obvious and clear-cut, like seeing color for the first time when you make eye contact with your soulmate or smth. Actually i rly like that idea so im gonna roll with it. Fuck it you see color the first time the first time you touch your soulmate (i’ll get into the general implications of this some more later on, maybe after keith/mike’s part stay tuned xx) i love me some ambiguous soulmate aus but all the relationships in this show are ambiguous enough so i’ll pass in that regard this time. also in this universe, your soulmate isn’t necessarily regarded as your romantic partner for life. some conservatives/evangelists/fundamentalists/traditionalists will consider any marriage/sexual or romantic relationships with people other than your soulmate to be an abomination or w/e, and the 80s were pretty conservative, but they were also pretty weird, so a lot of people give zero fucks and will date/fuck/marry whoever. these people tend to regard soulmates as the most important person in your life, regardless of the nature of your relationship with them. some people’s soulmates are like a parent to them, and could never imagine being romantic/sexual with them. lots of people never meet their soulmates due to distance/death/etc. basically fate is not as all-knowing in this soulmate au as it is in some others. there is more to a long-lasting, successful romantic relationship than just love. back in the 40s or whatever, people would meet their soulmates and marry like two weeks later, never having had sex or a romantic relationship with anybody else, and then two days into the marriage they realize how devastatingly incompatible they are and the relationship crumbles under the strain of resentment and confusion within a year. people in the 80s have started to learn the lessons the people in the 40s never had time to figure out, so most people have some romantic/sexual experience before they meet their soulmate. besides, who wants to wait that long to have sex? not me tf

-ok back to the plot now that we got the background is down. mo and dawn meet and know they’re soulmates. so they get to know each other, but their main focus is work bc they’ve got a lot of work to do if they want to get anywhere. the company is young, dawn’s just out of school, and mo’s just out of prison. there’s a lot of ground to cover and they’re impatient asf to be rich and powerful. 

-the romance sort of happens naturally, given how much time they spend together, and they fall hard. they start dating, and when it’s great, it’s great. but when it’s bad, it’s fucking horrible. they’re both really underdeveloped as people (should i mention that they both literally just entered the workforce lol) and they just. can’t. get. along. 

-they hire some more people, like keith and yassir and wayne, and even they can tell that their relationship just sucks. they fight all the time over petty shit, and their fights always go way too far and never get properly resolved. sure, the sex is good and they want pretty similar futures (lots of money and no kids), but emotionally, in the short term, they are as incompatible as it gets. they have the same argument that they’ve had a gazillion times about promoting dawn to partner, but this time it goes a little too far. the things they say are a little too hurtful, and at this point, the relationship is a little too broken to salvage. they both know that when dawn storms out that night, it’s the last time. she moves out the next day.

-but she can’t really quit, can she? at this point she’s put in like three years of work at this place, and it’s moving up the ranks, and she’s head trader. she’s not taking a pay cut because she’s too immature to work with her ex-who-is-also-her-soulmate. so she sticks around. it’s a little awkward at first, but she and mo just come to an unspoken agreement that they’ll spend less time together and let themselves detach as much as possible, because at this point, a romantic relationship just seems so impossible, so why try? they can be each other’s most important person without being romantic partners, right? of course they can! Yeah, maybe they were just destined to be platonic soulmates. this will definitely work.

-so dawn meets this guy. his name is spencer. they hit it off right away too. of course, they’re much less compatible (in terms of long-term plans and all that, especially regarding having a family) than she and mo ever were, and the chemistry is nowhere near as electric, but at least they can have a conversation about something other than how much they hate the lehman brothers without screaming at each other. despite how much she knows she doesn’t love him like she still does used to love mo, she thinks she can live the rest of her life like this. they get engaged after dating for a year, and then married after a six month engagement period.

-mo stays single for about a decade or so. the most serious relationship he has isn’t even monogamous and it’s like, barely a year. he tells himself that he’s not looking for love, and he’s much happier to just sleep around and count his money and focus on that. everybody he ever talks to knows this is a bald-faced lie. they choose not to bring it up.

-(IM REALIZING HOW SIMILAR THIS IS TO THE CANON BACKSTORY/PLOT OF BLACK MONDAY IM SCREAMING SHGLKSDFHGLKSDRGHLS WHATEVER IM HAVING FUN) so mo and dawn are still working together and their relationship is... getting better. time heals all wounds right? well, not if you keep rubbing salt in the wound by literally working with your ex-who-is-also-your-soulmate and seeing them everyday. they know subconsciously that they could’ve been really fucking great, if only they hadn’t been such idiots in their 20s. but now that chance is gone, and they both just have to accept that. they still get into fights and shit, but it tends to be over much more superficial stuff. of course, people without fifteen years of history don’t get into screaming matches over tiny shit like they do. but that’s the territory of working with your ex-who-is-also-your-soulmate.

-so mo has this stupid fucking idea that he doesn’t even run by dawn before throwing $60 mil on it, because of course he does. so she has no choice but to go with it. they hire this kid, his name is blair, because they need him to pull this off. blair finds out that mo and dawn are soulmates who used to date but don’t anymore, and he’s really not even that surprised. of course, it’s weird to find out that your bosses whom you’re weirdly close to, who seem to hate each other, used to be in love and date and the whole nine yards and all that, but it makes a lot of sense.

-so they go off to the predator’s ball bc even rich people need money sometimes. you know that scene where they’re walking back to their rooms after that wild ass night, and mo’s like “you want to call it, or?” and dawn’s like “would if i could but im married” and then they get into a fight over collateral shares? fuck that scene entirely. let dawn find out about that 30% collateral shit like the next day or some shit idfc. instead, dawn’s just a smidge drunker than she was in canon, or maybe she was thinking more clearly than she has in a while, and she just fuckin goes for it. she kisses him, and of course he kisses her, and they... sleep in the same room that night. lmfao you know what i mean. and so starts this sort of friends/business-partners-with-benefits thing. 

-they are next level awkward when they get back to NYC, and blair and keith notice the fuck out of it. they aren’t exactly on speaking terms, so they don’t bring it up to each other, but fuck if they don’t bitch about to their respective soulmates (which i will get into)

-dawn feels soooo guilty it’s unreal. But she rationalizes the hell out of it. Her relationship with spencer has a textbook dead bedroom (which is actually sort of canon), and she signed up for monogamy, not celibacy. it’s not her first example of fucked up morals for sleeping with somebody other than her husband, anyways; there are worse things she can do (and has done) than cheat. It’s not fair that he gets to have all the sex he wants while she has to suffer in silence. So she keeps hooking up with mo even if it’s the worst thing she could do for her relationship with him (and her relationship with spencer, who doesn’t even know that she’s met her soulmate, let alone that her soulmate is her fuckin business partner [canon divergent, spencer does not find out about her and mo in 1x02])

-mo feels guilty in theory but really he’s just happy to be with dawn again in some way. They’re never in dawn’s apartment, so there’s no chance they can ever be caught ever. This is fine. They are fine.

-as one can expect, they are not fine and spencer notices dawn acting differently. Eventually she has a couple drinks one night and the guilt overwhelms her so she ends up coming clean. Safe to say she and spencer get that divorce.

-around this time, mo is telling blair about the georgina play, and blair is telling him to go fuck himself. Also around this time, tiff is getting kidnapped.

-dawn immediately suspects that mo did some stupid shit when she finds out mo told blair everything. So she goes to find him, only to find him at his lake house, spreading ashes. After he tells her he knows nothing of tiff’s kidnapping and he’s spreading the ashes of a friend, she relaxes and they spend the night together, just talking over all the shit they’ve been through. They don’t have sex that night, but they feel what they used to feel when they were together 15 years ago.

-in the middle of the night, blair calls dawn in a blind panic, talking about how tiff’s parents arranged her kidnapping for the press without telling her. Blair says, “Let’s you and me run the georgina play. That’s right, i know you knew, you’re too smart not to” and dawn says “no.” she doesn’t give excuses or anything, she puts her foot down because she will not let this kid she’s known for barely a year convince her to fuck up the most fulfilling relationship she’s ever had as soon as they get to a good place again. She tells him she’ll run the play with him, but it’s not gonna be against mo. either all three of them are fucked with mo and dawn $60 mil in the hole and blair out of a job, or all three of them can be filthy rich and successful. That’s the deal. Blair says he’ll call her back tomorrow.

-the next morning, mo and dawn are talking on the doorstep, and mo brings up the georgina play and how the kid fuckin hates him now, and there’s no chance of pulling off the play bc he quit. Dawn’s like “yeah, about that… we need to schedule a meeting with him” and mo’s like “what for?” and dawn’s like “i spoke to him last night, his fiancée’s kidnapping was a sham that her parents pulled off and he might be in the right headspace to fuck them over right around now” and mo’s like “holy shit you miracle worker” and they make out and when they walk back into the office, they’re hand in hand. 

-they call blair into the office and they basically just yell at each other for three hours. Keith, yassir, wayne, and ronnie do not know what is going on and frankly they are too afraid to ask. Eventually, they reach an agreement: blair will pull hand over 6% of georgina jeans in exchange for 20% of the jammer group, and another 25% to dawn (after they use blair’s algorithm to grab that last 30% from the lehmans). They shake on it, but none of them leave happy.

-blair’s not exactly happy to fuck over his parents-in-law, and mo isn’t happy to lose majority control of his own company. Dawn lucked out, gaining more power and losing little in the play, but her relationship with both of them is so on-the-rocks that she can’t imagine upholding a business partner relationship with them. This is gonna go so great after blair gets married in *checks watch* like two months.

-so blair gets married and the georgina play is a thing that happens (successfully might i add) and everything is kind of shitty because there are at least two relationships to repair here, and one that’s coming back from the dead. But little by little, they all get to a better place until they’re more or less back at where they were before mo told blair everything and they were all just friends except this time mo and dawn are dating xx

-WHEW and that is that on that. And by that on that i mean that on mo/dawn for this au. Dw im gonna get to blair/tiff and mike/keith and im super excited to write those too but i’ll make sure to put those in a separate post because i don’t think tumblr could handle a +7000 word post lmfao (since this post is nearly 2500 words jesus christ)

-i hoped y’all liked reading this as much as i loved writing it!! Again i love feedback and i read everything y’all say in the tags so please put stuff in the tags bc i love that shit!! Gn xx

[meduise]

Whats some of ur fav dino, dino/hibari hcs?

finally i could reply to this ask!! which, anon, i still thank you for bc its the best thing i could ever be asked to talk about ww

reading will likely take some time, but i hope you and whoever else reads this post will share some hcs or at least find them nice ad interesting enough! and of course, i’ll be happy to answer more asks about it!! like the hibari-only post, i may come back to this one and update it over time

general warning for death mentions and spoilers from the novel “haneuma stampede”!!

hopefully this post wont be hidden from the tag search

dino headcanons

until i read about haneuma stampede, i pretty much always headcanoned dino’s hometown being naples, and this because i have neapolitan origins myself www in the light novel we get to know that dino’s hometown is a port city facing the adriatic sea (east) hence the opposite coast to naples, since this town faces the tyrrhenian sea (west). because of this piece of information, tho, i started thinking dino could be from bari, apulia’s capital city

being that a self projection, im still attached to that hc, so to keep at least a part of it i gave dino neapolitan grandparents LOL i mean, it’s not unlikely anyway

this is a recent hc but dino has a huge crush on is a big fan of immanuel casto, a gay italian singer whose most songs are explicit or suggestive and provocative

i think we all can agree that romario is like a second father to dino, right? their bond gets even stronger after cavallone nono’s death ;; romario will occasionally drop his habit to call dino “boss” and call him with his first name instead. dino will remind romario quite often how important he is to him beyond his role as his right-hand man

What Do You Mean Dino’s Tattoos Magically Appeared On His Body When He Was Deemed The Worthy Successor,,, i (falls on my knees) hc’ed that getting them done took A LOT and hurt A LOT and he yelled A LOT to the tattoo artist to stop inking and to his family that he didnt want to belong to that world,,,, im sorry dino

his tattoo and his duty as a boss in general dont give him much freedom (or should i say they dont give him freedom at all) so among the other hcs of situations where he has to cover his left arm, i have this one where dino cant but go to the beach when its empty and/or at night so that no one can see him but his men

the years may pass but he will still blame himself for his father’s death. and i mean. its pretty much true that it was his fault orz thanks light novel for giving me depress

onto the personality-wise hcs,, i talked about hibari’s enneagram type so i cant not do that for dino too. dino is 2w1, which gets called the servant. starting with the basic type: depending on the level of health, the two (”the helper”) ranges from being the most genuinely caring and helpful type to other people to being the type who gives expecting to be given something back to being the type who manipulates people into caring about them. i dont believe dino has fallen or will ever fall into the very unhealthy pit but he does get on the level where he thinks his generosity is the only thing that tie people to him and his people-pleasing attitude starts getting suffocating. he can be quite possessive, too. in a few words, type one is a very principled type, who fears being defective, bad and corrupt. therefore i assigned dino the one wing to kinda enhance the following paradox: being what he hates the most, aka part of a rotten system such as the mafia one. and with a role as a boss, to it. dino as a teenager never wanted to succeed to his father, and even now he wishes he didnt belong to that world but he loves his family, and even tho according to the moral he deserves to go to jail together with his men, he is self-admittedly too much of a coward to do that (theres so much more to add to this but if i do it will get REALLY long. there’s going to be another little enneagram talk in the d18 hcs anyway, lol)

_____________________________________________________________

dinohiba headcanons

these bitches gay good for them, good for them

advanced apologizes for being an angst fucker but for years my #1 headcanon has been a quite twisted one about dino and hibari not allowing themselves die by the hand of someone who isn’t each other’s. its a sort of oath. they feel like if one of them dies it will be unforgivable, and this will lead them to ultimately kill each other. in their mind, “it’s either both or none of them”, both know that they won’t be able to bear with the other being gone forever (yes, hibari too) and the only solution they find is leaving the world together, the same way they fought on it and against it together. the scenario i thought for this is a duel inside the reverse globe of needles. their last fight in hibari’s ultimate technique so that it’s literally just a world made of the two of them lol lol lol

tbh dino didnt like hibari at first, and with hibari being hibari it takes them long to warm up to each other. for long i mean some years w (years of anger, fights, hardship, trauma reveal, and so on)

their first bonding moment happens when hibari finds out about fon (yeah, all the stuff i talked about in my hibari hc post to which i have to add: i made my own timeline where the arcobaleno arc happens about 2 years later than shown in canon). dino is there to comfort him. dino hugs hibari and he lets him do. hibari cries. HIBARI CRIES for the third (3rd) time in his life there

i have this kinda specific hc of dino overhearing hibari sing hitoribocchi no sadame and getting sad about its lyrics

for obvious reasons even when they start dating they’re forced to spend most of the time away from each other but they make sure to be together at least on every anniversary

i love the established relationship trope so much therefore 80% of the times i think and write about them hibari is in his 30s and these two have been married for like 7 years 

i’ll get to the marriage proposal and ceremony another time hopefully in a fic too but of course romario and fon are chosen for their best men

idk if people consider ship playlists and such as hcs, but i associate savages by kerli and someone to stay by vancouver sleep clinic to them ;;

about someone to stay: the line will you fix me up? will you show me hope? is hibari -> dino, and the line can you keep me close? can you love me most? is dino -> hibari

and finally, to go back to the topic of enneagram: their compatibility according to their types. on the institute’s official site theres already a good description, which makes me cry everytime i go back to it because it literally starts with “These two types are more alike than they might appear to be at first”. part of this is given by the fact that unhealthy twos get the unhealthy traits of eights and healthy eights get the healthy traits of twos. i made a scheme for it:

i admit that i have no proof that the comparison is legit for the wings too, but finding out the stress/growth correlation even for them was very validating and satisfying, lol

some headcanons are missing from this post bc i decided to post the most important and my fave ones (the fave ones are those asked for in the first place but i cant shut up ashdjsdhfdjsdhfg)

but either way OVERALL i really, really love imagining both dino and hibari overcoming their hardships, individually and together, becoming the better versions of themselves the more the years pass, bringing their best qualities to each other and learning to accept and appreciate their different points of view. 

because of the way they are at first they... dont really start good, but with health and trust they make a powercouple tbh

[rebeccasjack]

for the ask meme: 001 - once upon a time 002 - captain swan 003 - ruby lucas pls and thank u

Thank you!!!!

OUAT

Favorite character: Emma & Alice 

Least Favorite character: Gothel

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): CS, curious archer, rumbelle, snowing, outlaw and dragon queen (im cheating lol)

Character I find most attractive: Regina

Character I would marry: Emma or Belle

Character I would be best friends with: also belle lol but also charming

a random thought: alice and robin had like an actual ouat style royal wedding, everyone showed up and it was just so big and they looked super regal and gah i have a lot of opinions on that

An unpopular opinion: i think jefferson had a pretty complete story??? the last time we see him he reunited with his kid so i dont feel like his story needed more closure as compared to other characters

My Canon OTP: CS or curious archer (their both tied for me lol)

My Non-canon OTP: Dragon queen

Most Badass Character: Alice “the guardian” jones or Emma “product of true love” swan

Most Epic Villain: pan or zelena (i like her as a regular character but she was a lit villian)

Pairing I am not a fan of: lolllll sw@nfire but also $q but i really tried to like them for a long time but long story short both ships……not it lmao

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): august tbh, he existed in the first season as a friend of emmas and someone who was young and could not live up to his dads expectations and then they retconned the shit out of him and he helped send her to jail at 16/17 and he so rarely gets mentioned again, hes a boy and then a man but also the “one real friend” emma had??? even tho he was barely a friend to her lol, i really did like him and the actor who played him was amazing and ya…..wasted potential

Favourite Friendship: huh i ship like all my fav friendships lol but frozen swan or captain charming

Character I most identify with: ALICE!!! or killian (mainly the original version)

Character I wish I could be: idk charming??? he has a great wife and then i could protect emma with my life idk i think being him would be cool

CS

When I started shipping them: ive been watching the show live since like mid season 2 but i was hella dumb when i watched 2x06 and im the only cs shipper who didnt see how obvious the set up was lol but ngl i just……hated ne@l and it lead me into the anti tag where i read so many meta posts about how killian was the “anti” ne@l and how he would be good for her and i just remember i was like “well anything’s better than her ending up with him” but when 2x22 aired and hook turned his ship around for her i was like oh shit oh shit 

My thoughts: they’re everything???? true love lost souls who find home in each other (which is the BEST kind of trope) excellence. they were both so BROKEN when we met them and when they met??? and they helped HEAL each other and learn to love again??? their so powerful and i adored them with my whole heart; no show ever did with another ship what this show did with them 

What makes me happy about them: thinking about 2x06 and how closed off they were and then they found each other and got a FAMILY and someone who loved them unconditionally and they both DESERVE it

What makes me sad about them: huhhhh i just miss them. i do wish jen stayed for s6 but im not like angry or resentful 

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: ooffff uhm??? i dont wanna say anything too specific fanfic writers are AMAZING. but ive always been more on the swan believer deserves better side which is really just that idk ive read fics where sometimes emma came off as a bad mom so killian could be the “hero” dad and it always feels hella heteronormative (it exists with a LOT of m/f mom/dad fics *cough cough* bellarke) and it bugs me a lot it always comes across as icky 

Things I look for in fanfic: i absolutely adored cs neighbours fics idk why??? it fits them so well but also enchanted forest aus are so good especially bc given canon we have so many of those aus and them as kids is really great: it takes away a lot of their individual pain so its always a fun au

My wishlist: we were so spoiled so im not gonna like beg for more but let me just say; in 4x12 when she was putting his heart back the “ive never done this before” “held my heart; believe me you have for much longer” lines SHOULD NOT have been cut

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: uhm killian with milah and emma with elsa

My happily ever after for them: i have different ideas of their jobs but pretty much got everything i wanted for them and more??? they have a home and two kid(s) as well as amazing friends/family and theyre living their happy beginning as they SHOULD

Ruby Lucas

How I feel about this character: a BISEXUAL legend; thank you for ur service we all thank you. shes amazing and we deserved to see her again for the final season and her storyline in season 2 was so important to me??? her episode where she was all “i choose me” to her mom and she realized she wasnt the monster was all so good i loved her

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: SHES SO SHIPPABBLE lol; snow, belle, charming ( as like an ot3 with snow), mulan, dorothy

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: well her and snow were never romantic so ya snow??? their scenes were probs some of my fav in like the entire show ngl but also granny 

My unpopular opinion about this character: huh some people shipped her with victor and i never really saw it??? they were insanely popular in s2 and they had like a nice scene together but i just didnt feel much at all. also red snow >>>> red beauty (but l like them as well)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: she STUCK AROUND!!!! and met more disney princesses 

Favorite friendship for this character: maybe her and emma??? i could never get into them as a ship either just cause i remember this one fic where she told emma that snowing were gonna make her godmother and i realized how true that probably was but i like them as friends and i wish we got more 

My crossover ship: idkkk uhm (i wish she got to meet elsa and killian tho)  and they could lead emma defence squad but maybe rebbekah from tvd i feel like theyd be bisexual queenns together lol

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke modern AU: Tequila

Chapter 5 of Damned Spot is up on AO3! It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger BUT THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP EITHER TONIGHT OR TOMORROW, I PROMISE. Posting this one tonight for @dadrunkwriting Friday!

In which Fenris and Rynne flail around like awkward idiots in the wake of the previous night’s party. Tiiiiiiny hint of smut. Previous chapters can be read here: [1] [2] [3] [4] 

And beautiful art of this fic can be seen on the Tumblr of my partner in life and crime, the ever-talented @schoute​. 

***********************

2:21pm - you had fun last night. admit it!

Rynne’s phone made a little swish sound as it whisked her message away to Fenris. She grinned to herself as she pulled her sunglasses from her forehead down to her nose, then stepped out into the brilliant afternoon sunshine.

She was still on a high from how great the party was. After the intensity of the conversation on the balcony, Fenris had spent the rest of the night by her side. They’d both continued drinking, and he’d started loosening up, and Rynne lost her breath every damned time he laughed. He talked more than she’d expected, firmly sharing his opinions in the ebb and flow of conversations as they moved among the various groups of people in the house, and he was just…

He was so fucking smart. And articulate. And surprisingly opinionated. Rynne hadn’t expected that either, given how infrequently he participated in chit-chat at the Hanged Man. But now that she’d seen him talking more freely, it was more obvious than ever that his customary reserved silence masked an unceasing river of thought rather than a lack of anything important to say.

His opinions didn’t always match with hers. In addition to the lyrium issue, Fenris favoured the death penalty and really seemed to hate big corporations like Amazon. Rynne, on the other hand, supported rehab for convicted criminals and didn’t particularly care where her stuff came from as long as it was cheap. She and Fenris butted heads a few times, and the conversation became rather heated on more than one occasion - too heated for Isabela, who complained that this was a party and not a courthouse - but somehow, Rynne always managed to diffuse the tension and make him smile.

And as soon as Fenris smiled, every hint of cogent thought fled her foolish brain.

He’d followed her from the couch to the kitchen to the games room, scoffing at her jokes and returning her teasing with rapid-fire retorts that made her laugh so hard her stomach hurt. He’d point-blank refused to dance with her, but it hadn’t stopped her from dancing up on him like the shameless tart that she was. At one point, while she was twisting in front of him like a snake, he put his hand on her waist.

Fenris had touched her. Touched her of his own free will, twice in a single night. He’d shaken his head and smirked at her as his elegant, tattooed fingers squeezed her waist, and…

Maker’s balls, Rynne really wanted to fuck him.

But it was so much more than that. Usually Rynne was happy to hop into bed with whoever caught her interest, and if the fling became more than physical, that was a happy plus. But with Fenris… She got the sense that that wouldn’t work for him, and that she’d have to wait for him to come around to the idea of sleeping with her.

Rynne didn’t care. She was more than happy to wait. She would wait for him for months if she had to, because she could happily admit the truth: in the space of less than two months, she’d become more attached to Fenris than to any other romantic partner she’d ever had.

Fenris knew her worst secret, the one she’d been forced to hold most closely to her chest, and he didn’t think she was a horrible person for what she’d done. He’d given her a few secrets of his own, and she knew that was no small thing for him. Somehow, for some reason, Rynne trusted him at a visceral, instinctual level, just as much as she trusted Piper and Cullen. And in the most uninhibited depths of her heart, she knew that she would wait for him for as long as it took.

But hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.

She cheerfully hummed along to her tropical house playlist as she made her way to Athenril’s coffee shop in Lowtown. She was so busy rehashing the happy events of the previous night that she was halfway to Lowtown before she realized that Fenris hadn’t texted her back.

She pulled out her phone and swiped through to her messages.

2:33pm - fine, play coy, i dont mind ;) 2:33pm - seriously though i’m really glad you came

She popped her phone back in her pocket, but to her happy surprise, it dinged less than a minute later.

2:34pm - Thank you for having me.

I haven’t had you yet, she thought cheekily. But she would keep that thought to herself. For now, at least.

2:34pm - anytime ^^ 2:34pm - are you super hungover? did i wake you up? lol

2:34pm - No. I’ve been up for hours. Some of us don’t have the luxury of blackout curtains in every bedroom window.

Aw. So snarky, she thought fondly. She could imagine the crease of his eyebrows and the smirk on his lips as he texted her. The image fostered a warm feeling in her belly, and she grinned to herself as she stepped into the road.

“Hawke! Be careful!” A strong female hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her back, and Rynne squealed in alarm as a taxi screeched around the corner in the spot where she’d just been standing.

“Fuck!” Rynne gasped. She pulled out one earphone and stared up at Aveline, who was scowling at her with a look that she usually reserved for shoplifting teenagers. “Av! My hero! Kirkwall’s finest at her very best! How are you?”

“I’m fine. But you need to pay attention to your surroundings,” Aveline scolded. “Turn your music down. You would have heard that cab coming if your music was quieter.”

Rynne tilted her head playfully. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over my music. What was that you said?”

Aveline pursed her lips. “Very funny.” She waved a hand for Rynne to cross the street, and they made their way in the direction of Lowtown together.

“Seriously though, how are you?” Rynne asked. “How’s Donnic?”

Aveline’s expression softened at the mention of her husband. “He’s well, thank you. Enjoying paternity leave.” She smiled slightly, and Rynne grinned at the pinkness of the police captain’s cheeks.

“And how’s Carver doing?” Rynne asked. “I hope he listens to you more than he ever listened to me. It would be embarrassing for a police officer to get another ticket for parking in a no-parking zone.”

“He’s doing very well,” Aveline replied. Her tone held a hint of censure. “He’s a hard worker, you know. A good addition to the precinct. And yes, he listens well, so no complaints there.” Aveline shot her a sideways look. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?”

Rynne shrugged casually. “Yep.” It had been about six months, in fact. But it was better this way. It wasn’t like Carver wanted to see her, anyway.

She changed the subject. “What are you doing out in these parts, anyway?” she asked. “I thought you were more of a desk jockey these days. Are half of the precinct on vacation or something?”

Aveline pursed her lips again. “A good captain keeps her eyes and ears on the street whenever she has a chance,” she announced. She gave Hawke a knowing look. “You should be grateful that I’m out and about. You’d be roadkill otherwise.”

“That I would,” Rynne chuckled, and she slipped her hand through the crook of Aveline’s arm. “Care to escort me the rest of the way to Athenril’s, just in case I decide to wander into traffic again?”

Aveline smiled. “I’m afraid not. I’ll be leaving you here, actually. I’m off to the docks.” She patted Rynne’s hand, then pulled away. “Be careful,” she warned. “Volume down!”

“Yeah, all right!” Rynne waved and popped her earphones back in at full volume, then pulled her phone out again.

No further texts from Fenris. The ball was still in her court.

2:40pm - hey, those blackout curtains are necessary ok 2:40pm - you don’t know this, but im actually a vampire 2:41pm - i spontaneously combust in direct sunlight 2:41pm - none of that sparkly diamond skin twilight bullshit. i’m the real deal

She held her phone loosely in her hand as she strolled along. When he didn’t reply a few minutes later, she lifted her phone and tapped out another message.

2:44pm - what are you up to today? wanna hang out later?

She sent the message before she could stop to think twice. Maybe she was being overeager, but she’d really enjoyed spending time with him last night. They were both off work until Tuesday, and if she had to wait that long to see him again, she would drive Piper up the wall with her gushing.

By the time she reached Athenril’s coffee shop, he still hadn’t replied. But as luck would have it, he didn’t need to. As Rynne stepped into the cafe, she instantly spotted a familiar black-clad and hooded figure standing at the counter with his hands shoved into his pockets.

She grinned, then sashayed over to him and leaned against the counter. “Excuse me, sir. Are you a janitor? Because you’ve swept me off my feet.”

Fenris recoiled at her abrupt appearance, then his eyebrows rose as he recognized her. “Hawke! What are you doing here?”

“Inspecting the goods, of course,” she said. She bit her lip and gave him a coy smile.

To her slight disappointment, he didn’t smirk in return. Instead, he ran a hand over his hood and dropped his gaze.

Rynne straightened up. “I’m picking up an order,” she explained. “It’s our usual after-party thing. Unfortunately, I drew the short straw for pick-up today.” She stood on her tiptoes and waved at Emile, who held up two fingers to her.

She nodded, then turned back to Fenris. “Did you get my text?” she asked brightly.

“I did,” he confirmed. And he said nothing more.

Rynne frowned slightly. He wasn’t looking her in the eye. Maybe he was just really focused on getting his coffee, but she was getting a distinctly weird vibe from him.

Well, he’d been weird when she first him, and that hadn’t thrown her off. “So. What are you up to today?” she said. “Want to come over and hang out with us?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said. “I’ve… I have errands to look after.” He nodded at the barista as she handed him his coffee, then turned away from the counter and from Rynne.

Her stomach started writhing. What was wrong with him? Had she done something wrong? She could hear Isabela’s voice in her mind telling her to brush him off and let it go, but Rynne’s shameless, prideless tongue wouldn’t stop wagging.

She followed him as he moved toward the door. “Do you want to go for dinner with me?” she blurted. “There’s an Antivan tapas place that just opened in Hightown. I haven’t been there yet, but Varric said the fish tacos are to die for.”

“No,” Fenris said bluntly. “I mean - no, thank you. I will see you on Tuesday.” He finally looked her in the eye - the briefest, most neutral look - then pushed open the door to the coffee shop and left.

Rynne stood dumbly near the door as she watched him leave. Then she slowly made her way back to the counter.

“Hé, Hawke!” Emile glided over and handed her a tray of drinks and a paper bag as he reeled off their regular order.  “One Nevarran spiced chai, one espresso, one black drip coffee and one Arlathan apple spice, and one mixed box of Orlesian petit-fours… hey, are you okay?”

She hauled her face into a smile. “Yeah,” she lied. “I just remembered I haven’t done my taxes yet.”

Emile’s face fell. “Ah merde, I haven’t either! My father will have a fit…” He pulled his phone from his pocket and began madly tapping at the screen.

Hawke grimaced guiltily and backed away from the counter. “Er, sorry! I’ll, uh, see you later.” She hurried away from the counter and left the cafe, but as soon as she was on the street again, she let her smile fall away.

Her chest felt heavy, like someone had dropped a pile of rocks into her rib cage. Why was Fenris being so cold? Maybe she’d said something stupid last night that she didn’t remember. She had been pretty drunk by the end of the night. Maybe they’d argued about something

Or maybe she was just a deluded idiot, and he wasn’t actually interested in her at all.

She pulled her sunglasses down to hide her burning eyes. It doesn’t matter. He’s just a boy, she told herself. A handsome, intelligent boy with hidden depths, but still just a boy. As Isabela would say, boys come and go - literally and metaphorically - and they were imminently replaceable.

Maybe if she kept telling this to herself, the stupid childish pain in her chest would go away.

Maybe if she kept telling this to herself, she would start to believe it.

********************

Hawke slid Fenris’s water with lime across the bar. “Hey,” she said.

He nodded. “Hawke,” he greeted, but she’d already glided away to the other side of the bar.

Fenris watched her wistfully for a moment, then lifted his water and turned around on his stool to face the rest of the pub. The Hanged Man was relatively quiet, as was usual for a Tuesday; they didn’t do karaoke on Tuesdays, so the customary mix of 80s new wave and 90s grunge was pumping through the speakers and carrying the conversational susurrus of the laid-back post-work crowd.

Fenris sighed quietly. He slid his hand into his pocket and idly toyed with his phone. This was the first contact he’d had with Hawke since he’d run into her at Athenril’s cafe on Sunday. She hadn’t sent him a single text since then.

She’d only started texting him regularly about a week ago, but it was odd how quickly he’d become accustomed to the presence of her sunny swearing and ridiculous typos on his phone. Since the run-in on Sunday, she’d gone completely radio silent. It was…

Necessary, he told himself. It was necessary. She was getting too close, and Fenris couldn’t let that happen. The closer she got, the more dangerous it was for them both.

He’d been a fool at the party on Saturday. On the balcony during that moment of weakness, he’d told her Danarius’s name, and it was a foolish fucking mistake. Knowing even that much information was a risk to them both. What if she tried to Google Danarius, and someone was spying on her search histories and tracked her down to get information about Fenris’s whereabouts? Fenris used a VPN for all his online browsing, but Rynne didn’t seem the type to care about that kind of thing. Fenris wasn’t ready for Danarius and his men to come after him. He needed more time.

If Hawke learned anything more about Fenris, it could compromise his goals. His revenge would be at stake. Worse yet, Hawke herself would be in danger, and Fenris’s blood ran cold at the thought of any harm coming to her.

He briefly turned back to the bar and lifted his water. As he sipped from his glass, he glanced at Hawke again; she was leaning her elbows on the bar and giggling with a pair of businessmen.

“Puppy eyes.”

He turned and met Piper’s shrewd amber gaze. “What was that?”

“Puppy eyes,” she repeated. “That’s what Merrill would call your face right now.” Her eyebrows were lifted and her lips were pursed; her expression was the definition of unimpressed.

Fenris frowned and turned away. “There are no puppy eyes.”

Piper snorted. She leaned over the bar and stared at the side of his face. “This would be cute if we were all sixteen. News flash: we’re not. We’re all fucking adults.”

Fenris refused to look at her. He restlessly ran his thumb across his phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Piper retorted. For a long moment, she stared fixedly at him as though he was a bizarre piece of art, then straightened up and wafted away.

Fenris scowled at her slender back, then replaced his glass of water on the bar and went to sit by the door of the Hanged Man. Only one bouncer was needed on Tuesdays to monitor the inside the pub, but Fenris couldn’t help but wish he could sit outside today.

An agonizing few hours later, after the waitstaff had cleaned up and gone home, Fenris made his way to the bar while Piper and Hawke were starting to lay out the cash. But before he could say goodnight, Piper raised her eyebrows at him.

“I have to leave early,” she said.

Hawke’s head whipped up at her words. “What? Since when?”

“Since two hours ago,” Piper said pertly. “Cullen got off work early tonight, so guess who else will be getting off early?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke groaned and rolled her eyes. “Wow. That was a stretch, even for you.”

Piper snickered and bumped Hawke’s hip. “It was clever and you know it.” She smiled as Hawke chuckled, then turned back to Fenris. “Can you help Hawke to count the cash?”

Fenris tensed, and Hawke’s grin immediately slid away. “What? No! I can do it on my own-”

Piper flapped her hands. “No, Fenris can help.” She looked at him. “I asked Varric already, he’s paying you for an extra hour. That works out for everyone, right?” Piper’s tone was light and friendly, but her eyes were like daggers on his face.

He clenched his jaw and gave her a hard stare, but her strong chin was belligerently lifted, and… well, the whole point of being here was the money. If he was being paid for an extra hour…

He turned his gaze to Hawke. “I’ll help. Tell me what to do, and it is done.”

Hawke stared at him for a second, then smiled tightly and shoved a pile of twenties toward him. “Fine. I hope you can do math.”

He frowned slightly. “Of course I can.” He sat on a bar stool across from her and lifted the pile of bills.

“Good,” Hawke said. “Because I can’t. Pipes is the brains of this operation.”

Piper laughed. “Nice try, bitch. You’re brilliant too.” She checked her phone, then hitched her purse onto her shoulder and waved at them. “Cullen’s just outside. Have a good night!”

“Bye. I hate you,” Hawke called to her departing back.

“Love you too!” Piper chirped, and then she was gone, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone.

Hawke stared blankly at him for a second, then shot him an alarmingly bright smile. “Who wants a drink?” She turned away and grabbed a lower-shelf bottle of tequila, then pulled out two shot glasses.

“Oh. Er - perhaps just one-” Fenris said dumbly, but Hawke was already pouring him a shot.

The pushed the tiny glass of tequila across the bar to him, then poured one for herself and immediately drank it. “Want a piece of peach with that?” she asked. “Piper calls it Fen’harel’s Fuzzy Cock. Well, she does when we add some lime juice to it. Three ingredients makes it a cocktail.” She winked at him as she poured herself a second shot.

“No,” Fenris said. “No peach is necessary.” He downed the shot and winced at the harsh burn of cheap liquor, then began counting the stack of twenties.

Hawke chattered the entire time they were counting the cash. Fenris listened as she complained about her favourite food stand in Lowtown closing last week and an outlandish anime she’d just finished watching and how she was planning a trip to Rivain in a couple of months. He watched with no small amount of wonder as she managed to swiftly count the cash and write the amounts on a spreadsheet while simultaneously talking and pouring them shot after shot of tequila.

By the time the task was almost done, Fenris was feeling a little hazy from the drinks, and he wasn’t sure how helpful he had ultimately been. “You may want to check this,” he confessed as he pushed a pile of dimes toward her. “I counted twenty-three, but I… I may have miscounted.”

She grinned at him. Her coppery eyes were brilliant from the booze. “Some helper you are,” she teased. She quickly counted the coins again, her face briefly furrowing into a frown as she counted them, then gave him a satisfied smile. “You’re good,” she said, and she wrote the amount on her spreadsheet, then began to tally it all up with a calculator.

Fenris watched her as she worked. She hummed to herself as she tapped in the numbers, some song that was vaguely familiar to him from earlier that night. Her face was peaceful and her tiny smile was sweet, and…

Venhedis, he wished his life really were this simple. If only he really was just a man working at a pub with a beautiful woman who hummed happy songs while she counted the cash. But this kind of simplicity, of uncomplicated peace and quiet… This was as foreign to Fenris as his native language was to her, and there was no point pining for something so bright when all his future held was blood.

She looked up from her spreadsheet and tapped at the computer over the till, then punched her fist in the air. “Yesss. Counted the cash while drunk. Pipes and Varric will be so proud! Or horrified. I can’t decide.” She grinned at him, but her smile froze when she met his eyes.

He stared at her, unable to breathe and unable to look away from her stricken expression. Then she dropped her eyes and began replacing the cash into the drawer. “Fenris, can you put the bigger bills into that envelope, we’ll lock it up separately in the safe-”

He reached out and took her hand. “Hawke,” he blurted, “I… I am sorry.”

Her hands went still, and her eyes darted back to his face. “Sorry for what?” she said faintly.

He hesitated as he realized that he wasn’t entirely sure what to apologize for. He hadn’t forced Hawke to talk to him, after all. She’d flirted with him and garnered his unwavering attention without any particular encouragement from him. He hadn’t asked her to be his friend. He hadn’t asked her to become the first person he’d trusted in a very long time. If he was sorry for anything, it was that he’d indulged her incessant attempts at conversation and gotten them both into this uncomfortable position in the first place.  

But he couldn’t tell her that, not without explaining why they couldn’t be… whatever she clearly wanted this to be. Finally he settled on a cheap diversion. “You’re a beautiful woman. Is there no one else who has your attention?”

Her eyebrows leapt high on her forehead, and she smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that first part.”

He gave her a chiding look. “I’m a Tevinter gangster with years’ worth of blood on my hands,” he said bluntly. “None of those things bother you?”

She turned her hand in his grip and squeezed his fingers. “You’re not a gangster anymore,” she said.

A wriggle of guilt burrowed into Fenris’s belly, but Hawke wasn’t finished. “Besides, if I was interested in anyone else, I’d be with them. I’m only interested in you.”

He stared at her with growing puzzlement. “Why?” he said hoarsely. Now that he thought about it, he genuinely wasn’t sure why she was so drawn to him. He wasn’t even particularly nice to her. Kaffas, he’d been a downright ass the last time he’d seen her, and purposely so.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled slowly at him. “What, you want me to list all the reasons?”

With horror, he realized that it indeed sounded like he’d been soliciting compliments. “No,” he said hastily, but it was too late; she was already pouring more shots and talking.

“You’re smart. You’re funny when you’re in the mood. When you’re not in the mood, your angry face makes me want to rip my clothes off. I…” She trailed off and ran a hand through her tufty hair. “You get me, Fenris. Or I thought you did.” She downed the shot and poured herself another. “It also doesn’t hurt that you’re fucking gorgeous.” She tilted her head. “Why are you asking me this? Do you like me?”

With a slightly shaking hand, he gulped the shot she’d poured, then watched as she filled his glass again. “That is not the issue,” he hedged. “Whether I like you or not is irrel-”

She bluntly cut him off. “It’s a simple question, Fenris,” she said. “Do you like me, or don’t you? I can’t tell, you see. I need you to break it down for me like the idiot that I am.”

He shook his head in growing exasperation. This was not where he’d meant this conversation to go. Where… where had he meant this conversation to go? He couldn’t quite remember.

He lifted the shot glass to his lips. “We shouldn’t be together,” he insisted, then downed the shot.

She frowned, then placed her glass on the bar with a clatter and poured two more. “I told you stuff about me that no one else knows. And I thought… I thought it was the same for you. Was I wrong?”

“N-no,” Fenris said. He was feeling increasingly agitated. He was starting to get the distinct sense that he was being interrogated; ironic, since he was the one who had clumsily started this conversation.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked. “Do do you like me or not? That’s all that-”

“Yes,” he finally snapped. “Yes, I do, all right? I like you, Hawke. I think about you, and… in fact, I’ve been able to think of little else.” He snatched the shot from the bar and gulped it in one big swallow, then slammed the glass on the bar and glared at her.

Her mouth had dropped into a comical little ‘o’. Fenris dragged a hand through his hair. “Why are you staring at me like that?” he demanded.

Her expression slowly lifted into a brilliant smile. “I didn’t expect you to say ‘yes’,” she said. Then she burst into laughter.

Fenris planted one elbow on the bar and pointed at her accusingly. “You see? This - your - you laugh like this and it… You drive me mad with your incessant flirting and your laughing and that macabre little dress of yours with the skulls-”

“Oh, that dress,” she drawled. Her voice was vibrant with mirth, like laughter smoothed and curled into speech. “You liked that dress, did you?”

“I…” He buried his spinning head in his hands, then scowled at her again. “I wanted to peel it off and watch it pooling around your feet,” he growled.

Her eyes widened, and Fenris watched with a nearly-vindictive rush of satisfaction as her cheeks turned pink. “Well, fuck me sideways,” she breathed.

Her evocative curse painted a brilliant picture in his mind: Hawke naked and sweaty, stretched on her side while he slid up behind her and stroked the inside of her thigh…  

A roar of heat blazed through his chest from throat to groin, and he dragged in a heavy breath. His eyes were fixed on her lips, her plump and parted lips, and suddenly it felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, not even if he was panting for it.

Then Hawke lunged toward him and hooked her hand around the back of his neck, and before he could do more than gasp in surprise, she was kissing him.

Hawke was kissing him. Hawke’s lips, her fingers on his neck, it was… she was…  

The next thing he knew, he was on his feet with one hand gripping her short dark hair as he leaned over the bar and kissed her back, and she was whimpering against his lips like the wanton little thing she was. There was a faint clatter of coins as she splayed her palm on the bar - the bar, the fucking blasted bar that stood between them, separating them and stopping them from doing something stupid-

She petted his neck and released a tiny sob of want when he nipped her lower lip. “Fenris,” she begged. “I want - I…”

“Come here,” he breathed. This was a foolish thing to do, an act of complete idiocy, but Fenris couldn’t stop: he was drunk on her, intoxicated by the reddened look of her lips and the taste of tequila on her tongue and the sheer shining joy in her eyes, and he wanted this more than he’d ever wanted anything in his cursed life.

Hawke smiled against his lips, then pushed away from the bar and hefted herself onto its surface, and Fenris gaped at her as she clumsily scrambled over the bar and onto her feet beside him.

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “Now, where were we?”

He didn’t waste his breath replying. He dragged her against his body and slid his thigh between her legs, then swallowed her rapturous cry with another kiss.

She slid her tongue against his own, then broke away with a moan as he slipped his fingers into her loose camisole and up along her ribs. “Fucking Maker’s balls,” she whined, then she gasped and thrust her hips against his leg as he snuck his fingers under her bra and pinched her nipple.

He breathed hard as he palmed her pert little breast. His body was thrumming, heavy and pulsing with the strength of his need for her, and he hadn’t felt this way in years. He hadn’t wanted this in years, not since he’d had the tattoos branded on his skin. The tattoos represented so many layers of resistance, of pain and emptiness and regret. Especially since leaving Tevinter, Fenris hadn’t wanted to be seen with these metaphorical scars staining his skin.

But in this moment, he would strip himself bare in the space of a second if it meant Hawke would strip herself as well.

He carefully licked her lower lip. “Let’s leave,” he whispered.

She pressed her lips together, then gasped again as he pinched her nipple harder. “Oh fuck,” she whined. “I… Fenris, we have to lock up the cash, I can’t just…”

He growled in frustration, and she laughed breathily. “You making that sound does not make this easier for me,” she panted. She pushed gently at his chest.

He reluctantly allowed her to step away, then penned her between his body and the bar. “A renegade with a work ethic?” he whispered in her ear.

She shivered prettily, and her hands were clumsy as she collected the cash. “Exactly,” she replied. “Never let it be said that I shirked my duties to this lovable dump.” She shoved the bigger bills into an envelope and replaced the remaining money in the drawer, then picked it all up and shifted away from him. “I’ll be super quick, I promise.”

He allowed her to move away, then shamelessly watched as she hurried to Varric’s office and let herself inside. While Hawke locked up the cash in Varric’s safe, Fenris pulled up his hood and wandered restlessly toward the door.

This was a bad idea, and he knew it. It was stupid and irresponsible, and he suspected that he was going to regret it tomorrow, but it just felt so fucking right. The lingering feeling of Hawke’s hands on his skin, stroking his neck and pressing against his chest - it warmed and riled him the more he thought about it. He thought about her lips and the sharp taste of her tongue, and it was so fucking wrong and selfish and unfair, and he was powerless to stop.

The distinct click of a lock caught his attention. He turned to see Hawke hurrying toward him with her phone in her hand. “I called an Uber,” she said. “It’ll be here in two minutes.”

Two minutes. He had two minutes to do the right thing. To tell her this was a mistake, that he was a complete and utter ass whose only legacy was a trail of bodies and blood and death, and that she should write him off altogether…  

She slid her palms along his abs and lifted herself on her toes. “Kiss me while we wait,” she whispered.

He instinctively gripped her hips as she leaned into his chest. “You’re very demanding,” he said.

“Of course I am. This is everything I wanted,” she retorted. She bit her lip, and her gaze drifted up to his eyes. “You’re all I think about, too,” she murmured.

And just like that, Fenris was sunk. His resistance and his reasons were gone, obliterated by the woman in his arms, and in the muddled mess of his sex-scrambled mind, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In this moment, all he cared about was her: the charming and infuriating woman in his arms, with all her merriness and her melancholy. And for tonight, Fenris was hers.

[oswald-privileges]

Loudmouth

(I wrote some statement fic. It’s been a heck of a while since I wrote anything for fandom.)

Statement of Ulla Ness, regarding, um... a peculiar transformation. Original statement given March 14th, 1999. Audio recording by Christopher Peake, in an… unprofessional capacity. Statement begins.

I still don’t see why I had to come to you. I know you have an email address, so wouldn’t it have been easier to just scan the form and send it to me? Hell, I would have taken a physical copy sent to me in the post. It would have been slower, but it would have meant I could have stayed at home. But no. I asked, and you just gave me a lot of waffle about how you have ‘strict acquisition policies’, alongside directions that had been copied from google maps. Which I know, because I checked.

It’s not that I’m lazy, you understand, far from it. I used to have what I regarded as quite the active social life. But recently that’s become impossible for me to maintain, for a number of reasons. Which are also the reasons that I’ve come to talk to you.

I used to be quite a religious person. Still am, I suppose. I’m not entirely sure. I was a member of the congregation of Saint Mary’s, a small anglican church in a small, anglican village up in Lincolnshire. Not everybody there was particularly devout, but it wasn’t one of those places where it especially mattered. It was more about the sense of community we had. Catching up with each other after communion on Thursdays, singing in the choir, arranging cake sales or coffee mornings as fundraisers for whatever bit of the building had fallen off now. I’ve been attending since I was little, and more or less grew up with the congregation.

I miss it quite badly, if I’m being honest. I’ve always been the sort to need other people, but I didn’t realise quite how much losing them would affect me. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and all that, I suppose.

It started with another fundraiser, a jumble sale this time. I had volunteered to help manage the event, so I was in charge of sorting through the items that people had brought in for us to sell. Like I said, not everyone there was strictly devout, and didn’t always take care with what they decided to donate. Some people seemed to use it as more of an excuse to toss legitimate junk in our direction and call it a good deed.

This was definitely the case with Mister Ashley. He attended purely because his mother was too old to walk by herself, and I rather think that she insisted that he stay with her throughout the service. It was definitely at her behest that he took part in any communal activities. She would always announce that he would be happy to run stalls or make tea or some other menial duty, while he sat by her side, stony-faced, and saying nothing at all.

The only time I remember him giving any sort of reaction was when when his mother announced that her Jamie would be happy to donate some of his shop’s excess stock for the jumble sale. I remember, he turned to her with the strangest look on his face. At the time, I thought it was one of badly suppressed outrage. I assumed that she had simply gone a bit too far in volunteering his services; Mister Ashley was a second hand book seller, and owned the Jabberwock Bookshop just off from Memorial Square. It can’t have been all that easy to turn a profit. Thinking back on it now, though, and I wonder if his expression was something sharper than just anger. If it could have been alarmed, almost panicked. But I believe that is likely be nothing more than hindsight colouring my memories. If he had had some way of knowing, had been frightened of something like that which came to pass, then… well. I cannot honestly say I ever truly liked James Ashley, but neither can I believe that he would be as cruel or as cowardly as to not have said or done anything.

As it was, he brought the books to the side room the next day, where I was going through the donations and sorting the sellable items from those things too broken, torn, stained, or just plain unusable. I had just set aside yet another jigsaw- this one with almost two thirds of the pieces obviously missing- when he knocked on the outer door. In spite of the heavy rain, he wasn’t wearing a coat, hat, or boots. He didn’t say a word to me when I opened it, just shouldered his way in, dropped a heavy cardboard box on the floor by the unsorted donations, and walked out again. He did this three more times, leaving the door swinging behind him, letting in strong gusts of wind and rain, and reinscribing a damp trail of rainwater on the carpeted floor. Then he was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.

Ashley had taken better care to protect the books from the rain than himself. The cardboard was soaked through, but the books inside had been wrapped in several layers of plastic sheeting. They were stacked upright, and had been fitted in without any attempt to force too many into a single space. They were all, without exception, worn, faded, and almost completely without interest. Paperback romances long since out of print, old text books, children’s encyclopedias. It was rather a relief, if I’m honest. I could just reach into the boxes, grab a book, give it a flick through, and place it on the “for sale” pile.

I was about halfway through the last box when my fingers brushed something that did not feel at all like paper. It was dense and yielding, and ever so slightly damp. I recoiled, shock and disgust crawling their prickling way up my arm. My fingers looked clean, but the ghost feeling of something sticky still clung to them.

My first thought that it was some nasty practical joke. That Ashley, stung by his mother’s willingness to give away his stock, had put something disgusting in there by way of relieving his feelings. But that would have been ridiculous- he was a grown man, for goodness sakes, not a slighted child. It was more likely that the plastic keeping the books wrapped up had slipped, and allowed the rain to seep in through the sides. That was the more likely explanation.

It seemed as though I was right when I looked into the box properly, and saw nothing there but more books. But when I reached in again, all I felt was rough, dry paper. Confused, I went through the contents more slowly, looking where I placed my hand and at the books I chose.

I didn’t feel it again until the fifth book I picked up, that same almost-damp feeling. It was broad and set in landscape, almost like a sketchbook. It was dense with pages all jammed together- dense and heavy. It flopped bonelessly in my hand, and I needed to support it from underneath before I could read the title.

Hymnal, it read. The gold letters gleamed wetly on the slick cover.

It appeared to be full of sheet music. No titles or lyrics, just scratched staves and notes that meandered up and down the lines as though drunk. The smell that rose from the pages as I turned them was odd and unpleasant. I wondered if the leather binding them hadn’t been properly cured. Those areas of page that weren’t covered in music were full of sketches, but so dense and overlapping that I couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be. And, I realised with an unpleasant start, the cover beneath my hands was warm, as though I was touching a live thing.

Suddenly, I’d had enough. I was sitting here, working myself up over an old, graffitied book for no good reason. I shut the thing hurriedly, and it snapped closed with a heavy slithering of pages. I caught the soft part of my forefinger on one of them, and a tiny bead of scarlet began to well from the wound. The stinging was welcome- it gave me something to focus on, mundane annoyance drowning out the confusion that had been threatening to become fear.

I dropped the book onto the discard pile. I couldn’t sell something like that, that much was obvious. Then I picked it up again, and dashed through the rain to the rubbish bins outside. I tossed it in, and followed it up with as much of the discard pile as I could bag up in one go, burying the thing underneath threadbare scarves, broken plastic dolls, and half used art supplies.

I felt a little better when it was done, but not much. Whatever those hymns were praising, I don’t think it was Our Lord.

The cut on my finger didn’t heal like it should. It stopped bleeding without any trouble, but the edges became raised, reddened and sensitive to the touch. I dabbed at it with antiseptic and did my best to put it out of my mind. I succeeded at first. I had plenty to keep me busy, both at church and at my workplace, and for a day or two, I completely forgot about it.

At least until it opened up again.

I don’t remember what caused it, or if anything caused it at all. Just that I was reaching for something, and there was the feeling of… unpeeling, almost, the cold feeling of fresh air on wet skin. I checked to see if the cut was bleeding again.

Instead of a cut, I found myself looking at a tiny, fully formed mouth.

The raised, reddened edges I had thought were a sign of infection had become minute lips. They were slightly parted, and behind them I could see the tiniest slivers of white. And behind that, a dark space where something wet shifted.

I didn’t look at it for long. Already I was reaching for the first aid kit, hastily covering the cut- the mouth- with a plaster. I was already convincing myself that what I’d just seen was some kind of infection I was too squeamish to look at, and that since I couldn’t feel any pain, I should probably go to the doctors, in case it was nerve damage or something. The impression of having seen a mouth rather than a cut was an unpleasant trick my mind had played on me, and one I didn’t feel like closely examining. I told myself I had imagined it.

I hadn’t, though. I could taste the soft fabric patch on the plaster.

I really did mean to go to the doctors. Mouth or no mouth, whatever was happening to the cut on my finger worried me. I even got as far as making an appointment. But the next day I went into work, and there was an accident involving a slippery patch of floor and a very, very sharp knife that I was carrying at the time. I ended up with a nasty slice parallel with the underside of my ribcage.

This time, it was obvious how quickly it stopped bleeding, how it was practically dry before I even changed the gauze once. How the scabs began to flake before I even touched them, leaving nothing but those raised, reddening edges around the cut itself.

I didn’t go to that doctor’s appointment. I don’t think it would have helped me if I had.

It took longer for the second cut to open, but when it did, I could stand in front of the mirror to properly see the flat, white, human teeth, and the tongue that moved behind them.

It didn’t feel alien. That’s what surprised me most. I was scared, of course I was scared, I was growing new bits, opening up in places that I shouldn’t- but that was just it. It was my body doing this, not some… weird infection or surgery. Whatever was happening, it felt like an extension of myself.

I could move them, I found. Not as consciously as I could my original mouth, the one in its proper position on my face, but sort of like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep. It took concentration, like I was working through partial numbness. Like I needed to focus to wake them up.

I didn’t spend very long doing that, though. I would realise with a start that what I was doing wasn’t normal, it wasn’t sane. I would pull my shirt back down or re-plaster my finger with a feeling almost like shame. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, and that in itself was somehow a lot more frightening.

I’m not clumsy. I can’t be, considering the sharp tools I have to handle at work. But I started to accumulate injuries. Innocuous things at first. Paper cuts from the prayer books during mass, scrapes from the edges of the metal benches at work. And then other things. Pushing down a door-handle would lay my palm open as though I’d been struck with a metal ruler. The pressure of my jacket across my shoulders would tear the skin. I woke in bed one morning to discover that the folded sheets around me had left cuts going from my hip to my collar bone.

Every single one of them bled, reddened, and opened.

The mouths started to become restless as their number grew. They tried to chew on the clothes I wore to cover them, and if I didn’t focus, they would let out soft, but audible moans or sighs. I tried to quiet them. I even tried feeding them, though I only did that once. It seemed to help, but the mangled sensation of swallowing with a throat that seemed to be lodged under my right kidney was so disorienting I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.

I hadn’t stopped going out altogether. I left the house less, certainly, but as uncertain and uncomfortable as my changing existence was, I didn’t want to give up the company of other people altogether. I get lonely easily.

So, one Friday, when when there was so little skin left under my clothes and gloves that no new mouths could easily form, I patched my face and neck with gauze, and went to take my place in the choir again.

Nobody really seemed to notice anything different about me. I had all the right stories lined up for when I was asked about what had happened to my face, but almost nobody did. A few condolences, a few jokes, and that was it. People apparently preferred to gossip about the death of Mrs Ashley, and how her James had stopped coming to church now, and how they had known his heart wasn’t in it all along.

It felt awful. There I was, standing in the middle of them, skin to skin almost, with the most fragile disguise imaginable hiding a secret that would ruin their perception of the world for good- and they were too wrapped up in their own smug assurance of their own piety to notice. I offered up a brief prayer for patience, but like all my prayers lately, I don’t think I was offering it to the God whose praises we’d all gathered to sing.

And when we raised our voices together for All Things Bright And Beautiful, and I opened my mouth to join in, and then opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again- I wasn’t singing praises to that God either.

I didn’t realise that the others had stopped at first. It wasn’t until I glanced to one side, and saw Julie Wright staring at me with her powerless mouth open and unmoving, that I realised I was singing in harmony with myself.

I broke off, suddenly embarrassed and frightened by the way that they were all looking at me. There was something like awe in their expressions, but there was something else there too. Something that shuddered and recoiled. I desperately tried to remember the words I’d been singing, if I had gotten them right. I had the horrible sense that I might have subverted something holy.

Adam Bromley was the one to break the silence.

“Well now. You never told us you were getting private training!”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The unexpressed disgust sank back beneath their faces, and the others took up the idea almost with relief. A beautiful voice, they told me, what trick did they teach me to make it resonate like that? I forced a smile and said something non-committal and when we took up the tune again, I was careful to sing only the words that were on the page in front of me.

My own relief was short-lived. When I got home, I found the skin I had left was being pulled apart by the restless movements of the mouths. Blood stained the underside of my shirt, and I couldn’t stop the moans and hissings any more than I could have controlled a spasm or a muscular tic.

I didn’t sleep that night, and called in sick to work the next day. I lay on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying very hard not to move.

It wasn’t any use. My skin had become so fragile that even getting up and walking to the kitchen caused it to split, the blood barely having time to dry before the wound began to twitch and whisper. All my fascination was gone now, as were all my attempts to ignore what was happening. All I did was lie on the bed, and let myself slowly drown in my own body. I lived like that for a week.

When next Friday evening came, my entire body burst into song.

I writhed and moaned and hummed without will, without choice, throwing out snatches of hymn before discarding them as not what I wanted, not right. And for the first time, the indistinct murmurs and whispers grew louder, began to form words. Prayers that had been chewed out of shape, pleas for more, more mouths, more brothers and sisters, to come out of hiding and join the great curdling of flesh.

This went on for the entire night.

That was when I decided that I needed to do something. I’d let… whatever this was go on for too long, long beyond the point of saving myself. But I wanted to tell someone first. So I dragged myself to my computer, and searched as best I could. It’s difficult to type with only a confusion of tongues.

And that’s where you came in. You aren’t special. You were just the closest place that didn’t either ignore my emails, or reply with not so gentle suggestions that I see a psychologist.

I don’t think I’ll be leaving my home again, once I get back. I doubt I’ll even bother uncovering, although there’s no-one there to see me. For all that I wanted to let someone know, I don’t want to be seen.

The cupboard below the stairs locks from the inside. I can push the key out from underneath the crack in the door.

Whatever is happening to me, I won’t allow it come to fruition.

Post-statement follow-up: There wasn’t anyone under the stairs when I went to check. The lock on cupboard door was broken, and so was the one on the back door. Either Ms Ness was, um… successful in her attempts to… halt her transformation, and a housebreaker with some seriously questionable motives took what was- what was left of her. Or she wasn’t. And her resolve either waned or the situation was, um. Taken out of her hands. Or. Whatever she had instead of hands.

I wasn’t… going to record this. It’s not my job, strictly speaking, but I was reading some of the old statements, and this one just… sort of caught my eye. And I’ve seen the Archivist and some of the others do recordings, and it just looked so… I wanted to try it out. I’ll be taking the tape with me, though. None of the others need to know about this.

[vintagesewingmachine]

Nessian Fic- Part 2/2

Part two, as I promised. @aelinashgalathynius  @highlady-kat @illyrianbastards  @wearestarseternal

Days had passed since That Night of Extreme Awkwardness. Nesta had done laundry, quietly returned Cassian’s shirt (which he had the decency to never mention again), and had semi-avoided Cassian. Her desire to be around him battled with the awkwardness and confusion of her feelings. Today, she had decided to go with Cassian to train. 

    Nesta huffed as she pulled on her Illyrian fighting leathers. She buckled the straps and belts and collected the weapons Cassian had given her to put in their sheaths. She had already eaten breakfast with her bestie, which was full of smiles and laughter and easy companionship.

    Yeah right. 

    No, her breakfast with Cassian had been tense and awkward and full of internal cringing on what she was sure was both sides. Just like most of their interactions these days. 

Fan-freaking-tastic. 

    At least she was pretty sure he didn’t completely hate her. Yeah, she was pretty sure. She thought. Sighing, she finished with getting her gear on and jogged down the stairs. Cassian was at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her. She slowed to a walk. Nesta noticed that he was watching her hips as she stalked towards him. 

     The corner of her mouth pulled up into a little smirk. When he saw this smirk, his brows bunched together and he said gruffly, “Let’s go.”  

    He turned towards the door and she scowled at his back. 

*****

Cassian looked at the sun. It was a little past dawn. They weren’t going to be very late. But Nesta didn’t know that. He cast a sly glance at her and saw a scowl. It made him smirk. He had noticed she had noticed him noticing her. Nesta... Had been different. More like the Nesta he had know before the war, but still a bit different. Or maybe he was just seeing her more clearly. But either way, the feelings he had worked so hard to beat down were growing like Cauldron-cursed weeds. 

“We are going to be late,” he announced. 

Nesta looked at him, mildly surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nodded confidently. “We should fly.”

     She narrowed her eyes at him, but approached, albeit warily. He forbade his eyes from travelling up her leather-clad body. It was hard.  Especially when he suspected she was purposely swaying her hips. Wanting to end this slow torture, he stepped forward and scooped her up, bridal style. 

“Hold on,” was his warning before taking off into the sky.

*****

Nesta was pretty sure that they weren’t late. But she wasn’t going to be the one to call him out on his crap and miss the opportunity to fly. Being held by Cassian aside, she wanted wings to fly. She felt so free in the air, and her problems seemed as small and insignificant as an ants’ when she glimpsed just how big the world really was. Every time she flew it sent a thrill like no other through her. Again, being held by Cassian had nothing to do with her love of flying. 

That was a completely different thrill. 

     She instinctively tightened her grip on him when he took off, great wings thundering in her ears and vibrating through her body. His body was warm and solid, and his scent... It made her feel more alive than ever. That near-constant pull in her abdomen intensified, as if tugging her even closer to him. She tried to ignore it by watching the ground grow smaller and smaller. It was vertigo-inducing. And distracting enough from the large male currently holding her. 

Thud. She thought about how magnificent his wings were. 

Thud. She thought about how many times he’d almost lost them. 

Thud. She looked up at the face she had unknowingly memorized.

Thud. She thought about the smaller thuds inside their chests, and how they seemed to be in sync.

Thud. She grabbed his head and kissed him. 

*****

One minute he was flying semi-normally, distantly noticing Nesta looking at him strangely. 

The next, his head was wrenched to the side and soft, warm lips were being pressed against his. His senses were overwhelmed with Nesta.  His wings faltered and they jolted to the right, dropping abruptly as he jerked his head back to stare at her, utterly shocked. 

“What the hell?!” Cassian shouted. He desperately flapped his wings, trying to level out, but his mind was whirling and Nesta was frozen in mortification so it wasn’t working very well. You can imagine. Because Nesta fucking Archeron had just kissed him. 

What the hell?!

    He couldnt concentrate on flying, not with the way Nesta was staring at him. Her face was turning cherry red and her eyes were wide and filled with such conflicting emotions he couldn’t think straight. 

 Or fly straight. (cough unfortunately for some males he settled for being straight cough)

And right now he regretted being straight in the first place.

     They were losing altitude. Fast. And somehow his wings were out of sync and basically everything was a tangled mess both mentally and physically because odds were with the ground approaching like that and his wings screwy they were going to die. Nesta dug her nails into his flesh and that certainly didn't help anything. And of course because the universe hated them a strong gust of wind came out of literally no where to spin him around until they were legit tumbling out of the sky. 

How to describe this moment? Delightful? Lovely?

Not even remotely, sorry. It was absolutely terrifying.

Fan-freaking-tastic. 

    Cassian yelled in pain as his wing twisted and Nesta’s nails drew blood from his neck. His wings strained to right them, but it was too late. They crashed through the branches, and searing pain followed the sharp ends of the sticks. It wasn't until now he remembered that he had siphons. For Cauldron’s sake he had siphons. What an idiot. 

     A shield of red flared around them and their fall came to an abrupt end as they hit the ground. He couldn't feel any major injuries, on him or Nesta thanks to his last second remembering. 

     Cauldron he was an idiot. 

    That was his last thought before he rolled over and kissed Nesta. 

*****

Adrenaline from the terrifying fall coursed through her veins, and it felt like she was burning as Cassian rolled over top of her and kissed her. He supported his weight on a hand planted beside her head. She wrapped her arms around his neck once again and pulled herself up closer to him. Nesta had never felt this before. Her experiences with those nameless males had been sloppy and unsatisfying. 

     This was full of heat and fire, a passion that burned away all of those times with those other males. 

    Her heart hammered in her chest, and everything - her mind, her hair, her leathers- was a mess from the fall and now the exhilaration of the fact that Cassian was kissing her. Her original mortification at his initial rejection was forgotten, and all that mattered was that he was here. With her. Wild, untamed emotions consumed her until she no longer felt like Nesta Archeron, but felt more like herself than ever before. She felt complete. In a way that she had never thought she could feel. It was as if her entire existence had been building up to this moment.

    The thought was too much. 

    She burst into hysterical laughter, forcing her to break of the kiss. Cassian looked down at her for a moment before also breaking into laughter. He collapsed beside her and laughed with her. His large, rough hand grabbed hers and together they lie on the forest floor where they had landed, and laughed. Laughed for the first time in months. Longer for Nesta. They laughed and laughed and laughed until their stomachs ached and tears streamed down their faces.   

*****

They laid there for hours. Staring at the sky, holding hands and talking. Nesta quietly struggled to put into words her feelings since the war, to get Cassian to understand. Once she had started crying, Cassian had tenderly kissed her, and murmured that he did. He understood. That, as you may guess, had made her cry harder. 

     Now, Cassian paused their lazy kisses and just stared down at her, eyes full of emotion. 

     “What is it?” Nesta asked softly. 

     “Nesta.” His voice was choked. “I love you.”

     She scrunched her forehead. “I know.” 

     “Do you...” He hesitated. “Do you love me too?”

     She blinked. All of this, and he still wasn't sure? How stupid could he be? She frowned. “Of course I love you, you brute.” At least, thats the only answer she could come up with for how she felt. And it felt right as she said it. A relief to say it out loud. 

     Happiness filled his hazel eyes before it was tempered by uncertainty. “Nesta...”

    Tired of his avoidance of whatever he clearly wanted to say, she snapped, “What? What are you trying to say?”

   “We are mates.”

    The world slowed. Everything seemed to hold its breath. She was shocked. But was she really? Come on. Looking back on everything, Nesta realized it was so obvious. She felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner. Unable to express herself with words, she pulled him down for another kiss. Then she said against his lips, “Let’s go home.”

*****

And I’ll leave what happens at home after she gives him food to your own imagination, because theres no way in hell I’m going to write smut. But I hope that was a satisfying ending. I certainly liked it. Thanks for reading :)

also if you want more fics for other ships, you can ask me. Im down for suggestions

Smiles, Holly ;)

[sagemoderocklee]

You're not a bitch, your a person dealing with stuff and you are amazing! I'll ask a few things, but please don't put yourself down okay, dear? Here are a few asks of the Naruto kind. 1. Did you know have an AUs for how the others could have met? 2. What's your favorite AU idea you headcanon a lot? 3. if you could make your own Gaalee movie what would be the plot? 4. Would you like to have seen KakaGai get married? 5. Naruto should have had been raised by a surviving clan member?

i don’t mean it in a bad way, but thank you anon. and thank you for the ask. also im gonna put this under a cut cause it’s... long and i don’t wanna annoy ppl with long posts on their dashes lol 

1. I have a lot of AUs and story ideas, but they mostly revolve around GaaLee. I have one canon AU centering around Gaara, but I haven’t actually done any real plotting for it because it’s a huge project and because my top priority rn is the plethora of WIPs I already have going, specifically getting the last two chapters of Alliance finished since that’s been 8 years in the making and it’d be nice to be able to just... say it’s done and move on to the sequel fully. I do have some other AUs of course, ones that are currently in progress--such as Find Me, which is a high school AU, and then I’ve got the hanahaki that I just recently started working on. Oh and I almost forgot the Pirate/Selkie AU which I started ages ago but then the computer that it’s on busted so i need to take that in so i can access that file. The way that characters meet varies from AU to AU but it ranges from chance encounters to having a mutual friend. Find Me is very much a chance encounter for Gaara and Lee, but they would have eventually met because Gaara and Naruto were already friends. Hanahaki fic has the Sand Sibs being tasked with.... something plot important etc etc and they travel to Konoha. Pirate/Selkie AU is another chance encounter sort of deal. 

Generally speaking, any AUs i come up with tend to be non-canon, because most of my canon projects tend to take on more of a fix-it-fic kind of vibe where i take the canon up to a certain point. so like i rlly think i only have one canon-verse au and honestly i have No Fucking Clue what i’m doing with that yet lmao um. im sorry if this is disjointed im having a hard time focusing for obvious reasons lol ummmm mmmhmmm i hope that’s a good answer. 

2. My fave AU idea. oh gosh. that’s so hard. I have so many different stories running around in my head. I’d probably say Alliance/Allied Nations Saga since it’s now a canon divergence AU. I spent so much time working on it--again 8 years--and putting so much heart and soul into that fic/series. I don’t know if Find Me is like my fave in terms of AUs but I set out to do something specific with that fic and I think I’ve accomplished that already even if there are still 9 chapters to go. It’s honestly probably my most popular fic, and I think it’s the simplicity of a hs au layered with the intensity of dealing with mental health issues which are largely based on my own personal experiences. So even though it’s not my fave, per say, it’s still really special to me. I do have a soft spot for coffee shop aus because apparently i don’t get enough of coffee shops at work lol but i haven’t gotten around to writing one of those yet. 

I do have to say though my Pirate/Selkie AU is one I’m super fond of. I think it’s just so fun and imaginative, and I really want to get back to working on it. But I do have like... four or so WIPs going on so I’m like ehhhhh maybe just... wait lol 

3. If I made my own GaaLee movie it would fully be the plot of The Allied Nations Saga. I have literally thought so many times how cool it would be to just... see it lol It’s silly but when you spend 8 years working on one project it just... really becomes a part of you in a way I think other projects don’t. 

Also I would be very interested in seeing The Art of Love because it’s just... that good imo 

4. I would love to have actually seen Kakashi and Gai get actually married. Like I know we all joke because they basically are married in canon, but god to actully see it and have it acknowledge. I’d have cried. 

5. Naruto should have been raised by someone period. Clan or no. He should have been given to a family that would take care of him. Hirozen’s a punk ass bitch who promised Minato he would take care of Naruto and then proceeded to neglect him at best.  the shit Naruto went through was so avoidable. None of that should have happened, he shouldn’t have had to live that life but Hirozen didn’t care about Naruto and it’s absolute bullshit.