#like how one would do absentminded sketches

[reginrokkr]

𝐂𝐈𝐈𝐈. Different energies used in Khaenri'ahn technology.

Last post for tonight, pinky promise (I need to go to sneep so I wake up earlier tomorrow to revise for the partial 😔). But I find interesting that it's suggested that Void began to be used as a source of energy in Khaenri'ah relatively recently, as until that point they were using Ley Lines and stopped using them upon finding out that the abyssal sources are more convenient (I'm sure that there is also a different backdrop to it which is this desire to control the Abyss, thus they would topple the gods as per Chlothar's words). At the same time, it's also nice to see that there were people involved in the abyssal energy usage who seemed to be timid in voicing out their concerns about using it.

[abyssruler]

CONGRATS ON 3K!!! May i ask albedo + normal au + soulmate + fluff? I don't have any other ideas so plot is up to you! I'll be happy with whatever you write 🫶🫶

of inks and six toes

albedo x gn!reader

in a world where anything you write on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin, albedo finds that much unlike his initial expectations, he does have a soulmate, and one that he’s surprised to admit he genuinely enjoys conversing with.

soulmate au, comedy, fluff, written for my 3k event!

Albedo learns how to pen words on his skin long before he learns how to write them on paper.

His master has always encouraged this little habit. Notes, reminders, and quick calculations done on the smooth skin of his arm, hands, and on the days where he’s covered in warm clothing from head to toe, his cheeks.

He’s always been curious, always one to voice out questions—this, too, is a habit his master encourages—but he’s never thought to ask why he must write more on his skin than on paper. It was simply a way of life. You sit on a chair, you drink on a cup, you bend the laws of physics using the forbidden art of khemia, and you write inconsequential things to your skin.

Must check test tube #32 on 06:45 and observe any difference, he writes to the inside of his wrist.

With every year that passes, his master becomes more and more displeased with him, claiming his lack of progress, but Albedo doesn’t understand. He’s been doing exceptionally well, excelling in his studies and furthering his knowledge with research, he’s even acquired the small hobby of sketching. He doesn’t understand which aspect he’s lacking in.

It isn’t until years later, when his master deems him mature enough to accompany her in one of her supply trips in a nearby town, that he learns about soulmates. And only five months after that trip does he finally understand what his master meant by progress.

There, written near an absentminded reminder by the inside of his wrist, is a shaky scrawl akin to that of a child’s.

Wat deos experiment meen?

✧

Albedo learns a lot of things within the span of a few months after his soulmate finally responds to him.

The first being that his master seems to be more satisfied with him lately. After the initial shock of the revelation that a synthetic human such as himself would even possess a soulmate, he hurried to show his master the scribbles you made on his wrist. Her threats of leaving him should he fail a certain task has also lessened, almost to a nonexistent degree. Perhaps having a soulmate is the greatest proof of life an artificial person like him could have.

The second is that he never knew talking to someone would be something he would find himself looking forward to everyday. To form relations such as friendship and actively put in the effort to maintain it were not things he anticipated to be this enjoyable. Or perhaps it’s because the person he’s speaking to—rather, writing to, is you, his soulmate.

And lastly, within the first few minutes of conversing with you, Albedo discovers that you are young. Incredibly so, in fact.

…Not that he’s in any position to call anyone young, being that he’s barely a decade old despite looking like a young man already. He supposes he should be thankful to have been born with fully functional limbs and motor skills, his master isn’t exactly the best caretaker for a child, much less a good parental figure (never mind that he already thinks of her as his mother).

hau old ar yu?

How old are you, he corrects, all while mentally calculating exactly how old he is. His master would know down to the very last second, but he can’t bother her with something as mundane as this. Truthfully, the first few years of his life were spent learning as much as he could about the world and alchemy, such that he never took much note of his age until he learned the concept of birthdays. He thinks his master celebrated him being a decade old about a month ago—and by celebrate he means she let him sketch as much as he liked and gave him a break on his studies.

He estimates that he is about ten. Probably.

So that’s what he answers to his soulmate, he does you the favor of writing it in numerical form to make it easier to read.

wow yur old! The words come alive on the back of his hand slowly, each letter uneven and some even written backwards.

You’re, he corrects, more out of habit than any real desire to teach you proper grammar, and 10 isn’t that old. Once you get older, you’ll find that 10 is considered quite young.

It takes you a while to respond, and within that time frame, Albedo finishes transferring a heated whooperflower extract into a test tube. It’s an exercise in patience, and thankfully he has plenty of it. He regrets not using easier words for you to understand, but erasing the ink on his hand and writing new ones will probably confuse you more than you already are.

okey! papa sed im 5 yeers old, turneeng 6 tomorow

You must be very smart to be able to read and write already at that age. I’ll make sure to wish you a happy birthday tomorrow, he replies.

It takes another few minutes for you to write back. but you’re smarter then me so wen did you read and write?

Albedo lets himself feel the slightest hint of pride at how you spelled ‘you’re’ correctly this time around. You’re a quick learner.

I learned before I turned a year old, but please don’t tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe you if you said your soulmate learned how to read and write (and transmigrate a small branch into a flower) before he was one, but better to be safe than sorry.

oohh is this wat mama cals a secret?

Yes, it is, and I would be very happy if you kept it.

okey! i wont tel enywon! :)

Thank you.

He spends the next few minutes making light conversation with you, occasionally correcting your spelling and explaining any concept you seem confused about—until his master berates him for neglecting his work, and he has to bid you a hasty goodbye and apology. You’re quick to understand his circumstances, even as young as you are, only writing a goodbye next to his with a small, misshapen heart that he strangely finds adorable.

The next day, right as the clock turned to 00:00, he writes Happy Birthday on each side of his cheek. His master raises a brow when she sees it, but the excited little drawings you write on your wrist more than makes up for the humiliation.

✧

Tomorrow is my first day of school!

Your grammar and spelling have improved drastically within the span of a year. Albedo deduces you’ll be outdoing your peers in class. Not that he’s the best judge for how a child would normally develop mentally, but from what he’s read, you’re clearly very advanced.

Good luck.

Thanks! I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow :D

I look forward to it, and he finds that he does indeed look forward to it.

✧

Hey soulmate what nation are you from?

You’ve developed the habit of calling him that due to his lack of interest in sharing his name.

Aren’t you in class right now?

Yeah but it’s boring :( tell me more about alchemy

You said yesterday that you find alchemy boring as well, he points out.

But alchemy’s the less boring subject

You should still pay attention in class.

Poopy head. Oh no the teacher is look———

✧

Who is Mondstadt’s god?

The Anemo Archon, though if we’re referring to his name, it’d be Barbatos.

What’s the name of Sneshneya’s capital?

Snezhnaya, he corrects, and it’s Zapolyarny.

And many more such questions, most of them only needing the most basics of knowledge.

Albedo answers them all dutifully, wondering whether this is a test to see how knowledgable he is regarding Teyvat. His master would not be pleased to see him idling about, doing nothing as he waits for his soulmate to write back to him instead of spending his time doing research.

Wow! I’m the only one who scored perfectly on the test!

His eyebrows rise, an idea forming in his mind at the same time as amusement.

A test? he writes back.

Yeah, for my school! You’re so smart! Thank you, soulmate ♡

Something swells in his chest. Warm and pleasant that leaves in him a sense of satisfaction he might akin to the feeling he gets after a successful experiment, or that of the heat that settles in his stomach after a hearty meal during a cold, winter day.

Fondness, he decides, it is fondness.

You’re most welcome. Although next time it would be better to consult me while you’re studying so you would not have to resort to cheating.

Hey! It’s not cheating, it’s called using the resources you have to your advantage.

He has to stifle a smile at how clever you’ve become. Though not clever enough to answer your own tests, it seems.

Using my words against me?

Of course, I learned from the best!

Learned…

To be able to impart knowledge upon others, it is something he had not thought possible until recent years, not with how isolated he is and his only human contact being his master. It is amongst many other less shallow reasons that he is glad to have met you.

To be able to influence others by teaching them what he knows. It is a wishful thought, but he thinks he’d like to do such a thing in the future.

✧

Aunt Alice just gave birth to a baby girl! Her name’s Klee and she’s so fat, are all babies this fat?

Albedo spends a long time staring at his wrist before managing to snap himself out of his haze.

He doesn’t believe in coincidences, but what are the odds that this Alice you were speaking of is the same Alice who just sent a letter to his master the other day about how she finally spawned a daughter. If they so happen to be the same person, then fate truly has a strange sense of humor, though perhaps he should have known that from the moment fate decided a homunculus should have a soulmate.

Yes, he finally responds, a little plumpness isn’t considered fat; in fact, it’s often a sign of healthiness. Also, please don’t call the baby fat right to her mother’s face.

Too late! Aunt Alice just laughed and agreed with me. Isn’t she the best?

He shakes his head in amusement and distantly notes how your Aunt Alice’s personality seems to align with his master’s friend.

✧

I’m joining the Knights of Favonius.

He blinks at the sight that greets him first thing in the morning.

Ah. Well, he supposes this finally confirms all his suspicions of you hailing from Mondstadt.

The clues were there, practically spoon-fed to him, from the innocuous mentions of a certain flower or the structure of a building you found ridiculous, but he didn’t want to form a solid conclusion until you confirmed it yourself.

Is there a particular reason for this decision?

I just feel a bit inadequate. I’m already fifteen but one of my friends has been a captain at the Knights since last year. I’m stuck here stagnating while the rest of my peers move on.

Albedo isn’t the best at comforting people. Years of isolation and limited contact have made socialization one of the fields he doesn’t excel at. He can be a bit tactless, as you once said. He’ll try though, for you.

You don’t need to conform to other people’s standards. Each person moves at their own pace. You needn’t pressure yourself by placing such high expectations on your shoulders. He ponders more on what he could say, until a thought occurs so he adds, With that said, do you want to join the Knights of Favonius or are you merely joining because you feel that you have to?

It takes you a good few minutes to write back. He patiently waits for you to compose an answer, abandoning the on-going experiment he has on the workbench in favor of investing his full attention to you.

Yeah, I think I do want to. Not just because I think I should, but I really want to join.

Then I wish you luck on your future endeavors.

He was about to turn back to his neglected experiment when he sees ink forming on his inner wrist.

And soulmate? you write, your handwriting shaky in a way he hasn’t seen since you were young.

Worried, he hastily scribbles, Yes?

I think I Thank you :)

✧

What should we say to each other if we ever meet in person?

Would you mind elaborating?

I dunno, cause I like to think I’d recognize your handwriting anywhere—and it better be the same case with you! So maybe we should have a secret phrase between us to identify each other.

I’m not very imaginative when it comes to these things. How about you think of a phrase?

Okay! How about this: Barbatos has six toes.

Pardon?

No one in Mond would ever think to say such a thing, which means no one would ever say it out of the blue and confuse us. It’s perfect!

Ah, I see. Alright, if that’s what you wish.

See this is why I lo you’re my favorite person ever :D

✧

Congratulations on being promoted to captain.

Thanks!! Only took about three years, of course, but totally worth the time and effort! I can finally boss people around :)

Please don’t.

No promises!

✧

I got a vision!

That’s a sign of acknowledgement from the gods, or so they say. Would you like me to congratulate you?

No need for that. Just try and guess which element I got!

Pyro.

How’d you guess so quickly?!

The element suits you. Passionate and driven, it was only a matter of time before you were given one.

I really heh who knew you thought so highly of me?

Who wouldn’t?

✧

I’m going to be busy for the next few days traveling.

Okay stay safe!

My master has entrusted me with a heavy task. This is the first time I

You’re going to do great. You’re the smartest and most capable person I know, soulmate!

Thank you.

✧

“So, this new guy, he’s an alchemist?”

“Yes, and apparently a very good one,” Jean answers your question, walking with you side by side as you make your way to the entrance of the Favonius Headquarters to meet this ‘Albedo’ fellow. Well, more like Jean’s on her way to meet him while you’re on your way home.

“Huh. Reminds me of someone I know,” you muse.

She looks at you with amusement. “You mean your soulmate?”

You laugh sheepishly. “I never shut up about him, do I?”

“That’s an exaggeration, I’d say you’re just very in love with him.”

“What?!” you screech, whipping your head towards her.

Jean laughs into her hand. “You’re not fooling anyone with how excited you get whenever he writes back to you.”

“I-I mean,” you deflate in defeat. “I guess it is kinda obvious…” you sigh, only to straighten when you reach the massive doors of the entrance of the Headquarters.

There’s a person with ash blond hair standing right by its awning, looking over something in a clipboard. He turns at the sound of your approaching footsteps. Your eyes meet, and within that brief moment of contact, it feels like you’ve known this stranger your entire life.

Jean greets him. He nods his head at her and introduces himself. She then turns to you, “I’m assigning you to be his guide for the next few days. Be kind, alright?”

Your jaw drops. “Wha—why me?”

“Because you’re the closest available captain in the area,” she answers with an uncharacteristically sly smile. Oh, you lament, she really needs to spend less time with Lisa.

“Fine, but I can’t do it today. I promised Klee we’d go exploring this afternoon,” you concede.

“It’s settled then!” Jean claps her hand before giving the two of you an encouraging smile and leaving briskly. What a busy lady…

You then turn to Albedo who’s been silently watching your interaction, and you find him looking at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t quite discern. Shaking off his strange behavior, you pull out a pen and offer your hand to him. He looks at it curiously before placing his hand into your palm.

“May I ask what this is for?”

You uncap the pen. “Just gonna write down the time I’m free tomorrow, y’know, so you don’t forget.”

“I see.”

Writing on the palm of his hand almost feels wrong. Somehow. A strange feeling you can’t quite place.

It’s probably the spoiled milk you drank earlier.

“And there! Now that’s done, I just need to…” you trail off, seeing a blot of ink in the palm of your hand.

Excitement fills you. Abandoning your new acquaintance in favor of putting all your attention to the new words in your palm, you don’t notice the look of realization that crosses Albedo’s face once he sees what you’ve written on his hand.

1:30PM, Tuesday on the…

Your mind blanks.

You don’t read much beyond that.

This.

This is your handwriting.

But you didn’t write this on your hand, you wrote this on—

Turning a shocked look to Albedo, who if your suspicions are correct, is your soulmate, you find him looking at you with that same wide-eyed look mirrored in your face.

After a few moments of staring, something seems to occur to him.

“Oh, right,” he suddenly speaks up.

He grabs your hand—the same one that has your free time tomorrow written on it—and looks at you with such seriousness, you couldn’t have possibly hoped to predict what he was about to say next.

“Barbatos has six toes,” Albedo says with a straight face before furrowing his brows in question. “That’s our phrase, isn’t it?”

Finding your soulmate unexpectedly, finally getting to hold his hand after fantasizing about it for so long, and him saying those damned words you’d meant as a joke all those years ago.

You can’t help it anymore.

You burst out laughing.

3k word count

[bestcurse]

it feels almost surreal, waking up next to her like this— such a long time coming, that he finds it hard to believe that it’s even real. the undertone of today doesn’t fail him, however. in fact, it’s dense in the air, serving as a reminder of what a day like today was supposed to bring, up until last night. that it was meant to be one of the biggest day’s of her life, and yet they’ve ended up here, instead— together, like he always hoped it would turn out. years spent wanting this privately, secretly, has finally come to a halt, and he’s free, now, to want her openly, shamelessly. there’s a soft, content appearance upon his countenance as he rolls to face her that much more, hands outstretched, seeking, for any form of contact, anything that will let him know that this was tangible, that she was here with him, and not apart of some far off dream that he had become accustom to, after weaving in and out of each other’s lives, over all this time. the pads of his fingertips come into contiguity with bare flesh, and suddenly he can breathe easy again, each breath timed evenly, as open eyes adjust to the now sunlit room. she’s the first thing he focuses on, heavy-lidded and still half asleep, but the memories that swarm of the previous night, of all that they’d admitted, how even through it all, they still wanted one another, remind him of all he needs to know. it was as if a weight had been lifted, light shining down on an existence that had once been clouded with darkness, without her presence in his life, afraid of how it might’ve remained that way permanently, had she made the decision to proceed with today— that he would’ve lost her for good, if she had. there’s still a faint quell of that fear in his chest, rattling around his bones, infiltrating his previous calm breaths. still, he tries to shield it as best he can; those doubts, that guilt. it’s easy enough to do, waking up to the sight of her, to the warmth of her frame curled up against his own, after such a long time without it. “ morning, ” he whispers, voice coarse, raspy, as a small smile stretches at the corners of his mouth, enough for his smile lines to carve into each side. long fingers explore further, then, tracing softly against her hipbone; absentminded patterns sketched against her skin. “ i forgot how loud you snore, you know— don’t know how i’m supposed to ever get any sleep, if we keep on doing this each night, ” he’s teasing, of course, voice filtered with gaiety, but it soon falls away from him, eyebrows furrowing, as he begins to worry he’s said too much, too soon. “ i mean, that’s if you’re still wanting this... if you’re still sure about everything, about today. ” / @hurtingkind​

[bemylord]

↠ toji with a virgin s/o ↞

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader.

warnings: nsfw, aged up, size kink [?], oral [fem!receiving], virgin reader, first time, lost of virginity, praising, toji calls himself daddy, grammar errors.

word counter: 3.2k

rq: I would like to request a oneshot? a hc would be appreciated too though. Toji with a virgin gf who can’t even make herself cum? Just how he would like to destroy her :)

butler's remark: (◕‿◕) hello lord, i'm back with an oneshot with toji being tremendously tender with his lover for the first time. in addition, reader is a citizen. sorry, i did it soft, bc i think toji will super-extra-super soft for the first time with his s/o, only for the first. i hope you'll like that, thanks for the request ;)

disclaimer: everything you read is purely my opinion - any detail, sketch, or event is a figment of my imagination.

you've been an ordinary citizen and had never planned to date a sorcerer or someone close to this specialty. you ain't cowardly, merely as you were thinking you'll marry a simple man and will have kids with him, and die in one day like lovebirds.

you had never considered yourself being stuck in a relationship with a sorcerer killer.

you were overworked, virtually sleeping as were walking in the empty street, dreaming to get home as soon as possible, to feel the silk sheets against your back. the area where your office was located had little street lighting, although, you hadn't felt the anxiety of being robbed or something worse. the day went lingeringly and horrible due to the boss who declared you as a temporary deputy, piled you up with a stack of papers.

but, this is life, anything might happen. all of a sudden, you overheard something behind you but as you looked back - there was nobody, as soon as you turn your head to the starting position, you saw a young, skinny man who is holding a knife in his hand.

'hmm~ look who's here, a young, gorgeous lady..' he said with his disgusting, lewd voice, coming closer to you. 'would you mind playing with me? don't be shy or els-'

you have a perky personality, no doubt, but because of how hard the day was, you had one option - run for the hills. before you could do any movements as if hit the man or run away, something prompt hit him, like a swift meteorite that you couldn't see. a cloud of dust grew around you and the man, so you hide your face in the elbow curve, covering your mouth with another hand.

as soon as the dust had settled, in front of you opened up on the view of an adult man. he was high, had an athletic, broad-shouldered, pretty impressive figure. your savior held the blade in one hand, flopped on his back.

'he ran away like a coward. don't worry, girl, you saved, thanks to me' he laughed, he stroked himself on the shoulder, as were about to leave the dead body.

'no i'm not! i'd have protected myself on my own'

you refuted his smugness, watching as he slowly moves his torso in your way, flaunting his outlining muscles through the fabric of the black t-shirt. his complacent eyes and the sharp scar over the right side of the mouth on the edge of his lips. you took a deep breath, continuing on your path as he isn't standing there, not hadn't protected you.

'you're too weak to beat even him, if not me, you'd be-'

'i am stronger as i may look'

he giggled, in a flash stood in front of you, bending over to your face, by finger tugs your face up to look at him directly in eyes, smirked.

'are you sure, girl?'

those green, almost emerald, but cold eyes looked directly into yours as two faces were as closed as you could kiss his lips.

'i'll walk you home'

'i don't want to, and anyway, maybe you're his partner in crime, leave me alon-'

previous to you had finished your phrase, he threw your tiny body on his shoulder, leisurely walking, better say, carrying you home. you beat his back, softly reminiscent of a parody of the word 'let me go, moron, i can walk by myself'

'tch, fine, idiot,' he deliberately shrugged his shoulder to close your mouth as heard the name you had given him. 'by the way, what's your name or you prefer the name idiot?' you said sarcastically.

'for you it's toji'

well.

as a result of your crawl and also being talkative when clearly you shouldn't be, you ended up being in a relationship with a man, who'd obviously fuck you on the first date, as it may count as a 'date', anywhere-anytime, by the way.

although you wouldn't ever say he isn't hot or sexy, conversely, you willingly allow him to breed, precisely you'd beg toji to breed you on the straightaway on the cervix, but for one thing.

you're a virgin.

hilariously - it's true. nothing bad to be in your age a virgin, but if you weren't dating toji it'd fine: his dirty jokes and lustful eyes which are maddening you insane, also his fucking athletic body which is outlining through the t-shirt or white cotton shirt [he wear it once] you thought he did it purposely: he knew your secret, undoubtedly could sniff your chaste nature as if you can emit fragrance.

on the second date, it had been nine days since you got acquainted with him, as you moved in with him. toji was exceedingly obsessed with every step of yours - he followed you from the work, in the mall or market, for your security and control every guy who'd be close to you.

although, you couldn't hide your addiction - he's a drug you should be careful with or you might be addicted as if you ain't. he isn't wearing pants in home, walking in front of you solely in underwear. he could walk from the shower in a terry towel wrapped around his torso as he buries his hands in his dark hair mess it up.

'what are you looking at, girl?'

you couldn't take your eyes off his bulging..

'you. just you. i'm gonna cook dinner, something.. special?'

'eggs, baby'

fushiguro put hands above the door frame, exhale and tensed every muscle, narrowing predatory eyes as you were the extraction he was target for. you're laying on his king size bed [lol i'm sorry i'm out], wondering is everything he has gotten measured in king size as he interupted your reflection by putting the knee on the edge of the bed.

'mine. in your pussy'

as if you're bewitched - you couldn't talk, just contemplate as he leisurely moves towards you. you couldn't contravene as he tugs your face to ogle in your absentminded eyes as you're avoiding his gaze, looking at the ceiling or door or even window. not. at. his. bulge.

your heart had stuck in your throat when toji ran his hand under his shirt, certainly, he has a kink of dominion, when he suddenly stopped. despite of your uncertainty and timid of subsequent play, you looked at his emerald eyes as he licks his lips with a tongue.

'are you sure, baby girl? i mean, it's your first time after all'

you quell your forthcoming question staring deeply into lascivious eyes, put hands on his massive shoulders. as you anticipated, his cock twitched as toji letting out a low groan in your ear, kissing your temple. you're absentmindedly running finger pads on his back, not knowing the proximity of bodies that are readiness wanted to intertwine together. not knowing how much it turns him on.

'stop me if i go crazy over your body, okay?'

as if. as if you dare would rip out his tongue off your crotch as he makes you his woman. toji left on your red cheeks quick kisses, took off the towel. you shut your eyes tight, still holding his shoulders barely squeeze them, letting out a hushed moan.

after you quelled your moan, toji touched your lips against his one, running fingers on your lower stomach to the cup of the breast without touching the hard nipple. light movements mixed with his muted groans. his pads deftly touched one areola as you emitted a sharp purr, arching your back a little as a dulcet sign for toji.

you dug your fingers into toji's back, as he put a finger on your hard nipple, holding himself as to grab your tits and clench it in his large hand.

you gasp for the air as if there was a catastrophic shortage of it due to the pressed body of toji. you responded at his deep kiss, wrapping hands around his neck, apparently begging for something more.

he pulled away from the kiss just to take off the shirt he has given you, baring your untouched by no one but him tits, leading palms onto breasts, skipping nipples between the gaps through fingers. he reached down to your lips to give a bit of warning kiss as he slightly bit your lip, kissing all the way down to your collarbone, finally leaving there manifestations of hickeys.

for how long toji has been stopped from leaving on your stunning skin his marks? it seems it has been absolutely not many days but toji, as you may see, clearly has to leave labels on your neck.

he dug his teeth into your neck, frantically wants your area to be dotted by him as a token for everyone meaning: she's taken, dude, don't mess up with her.

for how long toji has been stopped from touching your sensitive area as having been feel warmth and tenderness is emitted from your body?

toji squeezes your nipple imponderable, to make you feel some kind of power over you becoming submitted by toji fushiguro, a sorcerer killer, a man who owned you, spinning the pea between pads, making you let out whimpers.

'you drive me insane, little one,' he approached his face close to the breasts, touched your pea with his tongue cautiously, as not to frighten you away. 'i'm gonna make your pussy drool beneath me, completely own you as my little girl'

you feel yourself gush beneath him, burying hands in his messy hair as your breath has stuck in the throat as toji snuggles his lips on your tits, sucking your hard and probably swollen from teasing. fushiguro has made you became wet in your panties as he's moistening your breast, hearing your precipitous whimpers.

'toj-toji, i don't know-'

'tch, little girl, relax your body and let daddy do the rest'

as he pronounced, he moves down, leaving the trace of wet kisses on your stomach, massaging your hips, stopping his action to look at your red face. your chest heaves heavily every time you feel toji's silky lips on your belly as his finger pads caressing your thighs. as if something weighty is resting on your chest you take deep breathes, breathlessly exhaling.

'spread your legs'

you obediently did what he said, hesitating a bit as the only fabric holding him back to bury his mouth against your pussy, assembling all juices, tasting your cum as if it's his meal. he rested kisses on the fabric of panties, couldn't sate with tender kisses he spreads on your body.

deliberately run tongue on your labia through the thin fabric as you were about to push his hand from your crotch as toji grab you by the hips, pulling you closer. he slackens his teasing actions by kissing your inner thighs. as your cunt was lack of attention from toji, you let out a pliant whimper, approximately woefully have purred.

toji's self-restraint thinning as you're silently begging with your eyes and your hands immeasurably are burying in his dark hair. the tip of his tongue deftly sideline panties, flicked it, as he discovered a divine view on your drooling hole.

'stop me now, because i won't be able to hold back later'

teasufully kissing your labia and area around the place he should be playing with as anticipating for some pliant whimpers of you, deliberately showing you he'll lick that swollen clit, pressing a soft kiss on the skin instead. fushi's shattering your hopes of being eating every time he kissed literally everything and lick everywhere besides your hole and clit. he acts like an inexperienced teenager, notwithstanding, you know that toji'd ruin or demolish your holes like a monster.

't-toji..'

'yes, my little girl' he pressed the tip of his tongue on your clit, hearing those moans he's willing to listen for the rest of his life, then take away as you were about to press his mouth back again, digging his tongue deep inside you, although he obviously couldn't reach to your cervix, barely permeate in your hole.

'you want me to eat your little pussy?'

as if you can't talk, you nodded. scarcely reached up to take off the last thing, leisurely pulling down the panties, staring at you as a predator. toji is standing on his knee on the bed, threw your ankles on his shoulders, smooching ankles watching as to how your cheeks are becoming pinky, as you try not to look at his dick. still, you're a timid one, despite your words.

he reached to your face to give you a voluptuous kiss, returning to the starting position.

'look at your pretty pussy'

he kissed your clit in a flash replace into the tongue, making a circles on swollen and needy spot, decisively giving you what've been begging for. running the tip of the tongue on your virgin hole, leaving it for the dessert, returning to your clit.

you'd swear to god you can see stars in the ceiling as toji squeezing your nipples while moistening you. the proximity of his face in your pussy is driving you insane, for the days of cohabitation you understood he isn't a tender one, vice versa, he'd fuck you whenever his dick gets erect. maybe it's a rush of tenderness, maybe it's the fear of hurting his girl. nevertheless, you not scared to give toji full control of your body and bring you to your first orgasm by ripping the hymen. if that's i may call the way he's licking you, it'd be make-out with your pussy, due to his relentless movements by flicking his tongue on the clit.

'baby,' he pulled away from it, as you squeeze a sheet, making your knuckles become whiten as you spread legs wider, watching his mocking grin appeared on the face. 'i'll be gentle' he pressed his lips on your forehead, taking from the bedside table lubrication to low the friction. although, the thought of his dick ripped the hymen, putting all his tenderness in your first time, make your knees get shaken.

he put a soft kiss on your lips, smearing lubrication on his dick, substitute cock on the entrance. abrupt and penetrating pain wavily covered your body as you feel soft lips covered your mouth, blunting the pain with one hand being dug in your hip, painting illegible traces. another hand he put on your cheek, drawing circles with his thumb, waiting till getting used to the pain.

toji will find lots of red stripes from your nails on his back, smirked, as reminiscing about that special night when he made you his woman. his broad back was made merely for you to leave thousand and thousand fingernail impressions every night. toji had let a low groan as he feels as you move fingertips to the neck, exhaling in his chest.

he entered all his dick inside you feeling as your walls compressing the base, getting used to being full with his thick cock. you're indulging at the new, mind-blowing feeling, give him sheepish kisses as you're scared to be rejected. he moves his palm from the cheek to the ear, running fingers through your tangled but soft to the touch. you nudged your hips up, intermittently letting your breath out.

'tch, if you're not feeling well, i can come-'

'more, toji, more'

without breaking up kiss, he pulled out cock to the tip as pulling it again slowly, stretching your walls, touching with the tip your cervix as his balls touching your ass, groaning in the kiss, softly caress your thigh. you moved your palms to the shoulder, touching the musculature, going down to the biceps wrapping his arm as another hand attempting to draw patterns on the back as if it a canvas for you.

you can feel every vein, curve, and the way his tip is expanding gummy walls, as toji diligently coming in, adjusting inside you then pulling out. you're focusing on how full you're with his cock inside, your clarity gradually getting mushed as the sharp pain turning into a pleasurable and delightful feeling. sating to the new feeling might get addiction, but you're far beyond to accept that, surrendering to your lover as he gets addicted to it. you grasp for his shoulders, as he nudged in you, leaving whimpers from your mouth.

'like that, huh?' he pulled his cock out to contemplate as your facial expression have changed: you furrowed eyebrows as felt your hole being empty without thick toji's cock, practically purring like a march cat. 'beg me for it, baby'

what an insatiable man you've got. he licked his lips, looking down on it. your hymen has left blood, as he glanced at you to see his future wife your reaction.

'i-i toji, it's..'

he hummed, returning to your lips, slowly giving back the missing part.

'you okay?' you nodded as a response; he's perceiving fullness as wants to fill you up, but desperately be tempered himself, blaming he didn't wear a condom to do it. a dozen of half-moons will be littering your hips as toji's digging nails, scrambled your mind with squelches pushes in your hole. 'relax, baby girl, i'm here' he thrusts inside the spongy spot, ripping another moan out of you, voluptuous to his ears. 'baby~ you tease me with those moans of yours'

his cock was aimed at a place inside your vagina, with a slow but deep thrust skillfully reaching your cervix, massaging with the tip of his cock that spot. toji's staring at your pleased, satisfied face as he found that needy place of yours.

holding on to the headboard in the bed as support, clutching the sheet with his other hand like the composure he was rapidly losing with each thrust into your hole, formerly virgin cunt, letting out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back.

wiggling the pelvis backward and forwards as heard beneath his body your whimpers, feeling replenishment on his skin to his previous strips, losing remains self-control as your walls have been clenching his cock, as your body gets shaking as his, preparing the body for the coming ecstasy.

'toji, mh~' you tilted the head back on the pillow, wrapping legs around his pelvis, quelling moans while arching back against his chest. you're milked [? correct if i'm wrong] his cock, shuddering. you felt his lips on your cheeks, as he's covering your wet face in kisses, pulling cock out.

'damn, baby, probably-' he stroke his hard cock a couple of times before releasing his cum onto your belly. fushiguro ran fingers from the hairline, wiping beads of sweat from the hairline through hair. 'are you good?'

as you're still catching your breath you rested on your face a slight smile, closing eyes. he giggled, getting out of bed.

'almost made a baby' it took him a second or two, to lift you up in my arms, leading into the bathroom. 'i'm gonna clean you up, my baby. but you could fall asleep in my arms, you did such a good job by taking my cock' he kissed your forehead, wiping your drops of sweat.

'i love you, toji'

he put you on the washing machine, turning away from you to fill the tub. what went unnoticed was his relaxed smile after your phrase.

'i love you more, little one'

(◕‿◕)

↳ back to the main master list.

i feel i made lots of mistakes, like, idk. correct me if smth i did wrong.

i remember my promise to do one more work with toji, so lately i'll write hdc + drabble with him.

[imhereformr]

"Tell me why you did it" "Because I'm in love with you"

I had a prompt request for this an eternity ago (sorry...) but I think I deleted the ask 😬 Here's the prompt anyways.

It made no sense to her. One minute she’d been staring down Lord Darkar with the most courage she could muster – thankfully her stubbornness helped her there – and having death threatened. Next thing she knew, there was a body between her and the skeleton-man (could he be considered a man?). A loud no had echoed through the cavernous space accompanied by a flash of magenta-topped blue. She’d been so stunned by the action that it took her a moment to register why the voice was so familiar.

Riven.

He’d jumped in front of her.  

He’d saved her life.  

He’d risked his.

For her. 

After that, everything was a blur. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d been aware that the Trix had shown up and helped them. She knew that that distraction had broken Darkar’s spell; the one that had kept her, and her friends frozen in place; the one Riven had somehow broken through to save her. She knew that thanks to that distraction Brandon and Helia had managed to get to Riven and bandage him up, bringing an end to the blood that she swore – though her memory may be faulty – was spilling endlessly out of Riven’s abdomen and temple. All those details had barely managed to make a scratch in her mind – as if they were happening somewhere else to someone else - as she stared at his closed eyes begging the gods – any gods - to let her see that violet she loved so much; that violet that had tinted her dreams since she’d met him.  

Nothing. At least not between the brief moment when he’d flickered into consciousness after she reached him and called out to him and when he’d woken for an even briefer moment on the flight back to Red Fountain.  

Musa knew that, in some twisted series of events, it was thanks to the Trix that Riven was still alive. She refused to acknowledge it, though; refused to acknowledge that it was thanks to them that she’d been able to spend every free moment by his side as he recovered. Not that there were many of those, or, at least, as many as she’d like. Apparently helping to save the entire universe didn’t count as a valid reason to miss finals in Griselda’s mind so Musa made her to way to Red Fountain’s infirmary every day after classes. She’d spent so much time there that she was on a first name basis with the nurses; they even let her use their coffee machine now so she wouldn’t have to go down to the cafeteria to get some. She’d set herself up on the empty bed across the room with her books sprawled out in front of her, trying - and mostly failing - to study. She knew she wouldn’t fail any of her classes – she had nearly perfect grades in all of them – but she wasn’t too keen on failing her finals considering they were worth a quarter of her final grade. It didn’t matter how much she forced herself though because her eyes always seemed to wander away from the books over to Riven.  

Musa arrived at Red Fountain today with a bag full of books that she intended to get through. Three classes to study for and just under five hours to study. She needed to get through the books or else she’d be kicking herself tomorrow when she was trying to take those exams. Whose bright idea had it been to schedule three exams in one day anyways?  

He slept through the first few days; she’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was for him to sleep through the entire first week and a half after the mission. According to the nurses, he had woken up a few times but mostly when no one was there. Timmy had spoken to him once, albeit very briefly. Musa hated the thought of Riven waking up to an empty hospital room. He deserved to know that his friends were checking on him; that they cared. That she cared. That his friends were checking on him. When she’d arrived yesterday, Brandon was set up in the room with a set of weights (the nurses had complained but Brandon shrugged them off). Sky and Timmy had been there the day before that and Tecna and Flora had accompanied her the day before that.  

She strode into the infirmary, greeting Doris, the nurse at the front desk, with a nod. Musa was vaguely aware that the nurse tried to tell her something, but she had headphones on and too much on her mind, so the movement of the nurse's lips only registered after she’d passed the desk. Upon turning to question what she’d wanted to say, Musa found that Doris had had her attention diverted by a phone call, so she shrugged it off and continued to Riven’s room. Her bag slid off her shoulder, dropping to the floor a mere inch from her toes when she entered his room.  

It was empty.  

Nobody hanging around in case Riven woke; nobody on the bed; no book or flowers (courtesy of Flora) on the bedside table; nothing. The bathroom door was wide open, revealing a pristine shower, sink and toilet. No Riven. Musa poked her head out of the room, checking the number beside the door. Twenty-one: she had the right room. Where was he?

“He was discharged about two hours ago” Doris, a sweet older woman with greying brown hair and bright green eyes, informed her, coming up behind the fairy.  

“B-but he’s barely woken up in the last week?” Musa managed to stammer as she turned to face the woman. Doris shrugged. Apparently Riven had woken up late last night – just before midnight, two hours after she’d left to make Alfea’s ten PM weekday curfew – and stayed awake all night. When the doctor had checked him that morning, his vitals were good and Riven was in functional condition. “We knew him already; he spent enough time in here last year after all the fights he got in-” Fucking Riven “-so the doctor agreed to let him go as long as he promised to come in everyday for a checkup and to take it easy for a bit.”

No. She would go back to Alfea. She needed to study. If she went to see him now she’d be too tempted to demand answers and that would lead to her getting absolutely zero studying done. But then again... if she went back to Alfea to study she’d never be able to focus knowing that he was awake and she could be talking to him.

Take it easy? The man had jumped in front of a death blow without a second thought, and they expected him to take it easy? He clearly had no sense of self-preservation! “Oh... okay, thanks” Musa mumbled, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she walked away. She stood outside the main infirmary door watching blankly as students in unnecessarily tight blue uniforms walked past her. What now? She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of showing up with him gone. Did she just go back to Alfea? Find Riven? And say what? What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you do something so reckless? So stupid? So... so... so... romantic???  

“Musa?! Hi” Helia gasped, opening the door before she could knock. Musa lowered her arm, grasping at her bag’s strap tightly. “Looking for Riven?”

Musa was surprised to find that she’d started moving, and that her absentminded walking had led her right to dorm 307 – the guys’ dorm. Her subconscious had decided for her: she would go see him. Musa raised her arm to knock, but she hesitated. What if he thought it was weird that she’d shown up right after his discharge from the infirmary? Or that he was freaked out by the thought of her being by his side every day? No, he’d risked his life for her. He’d be happy that she was there with him. …That you’ll come back, you’ll come back... to me. That’s what he’d said before their groups had split at the cave entrance; he would be happy to see her. She’d knock. Just one deep breath and...

Musa nodded dumbly. She didn’t know why she’d suddenly lost the ability to speak; it wasn’t as if the entirety of Magix wasn’t aware of her feelings for the angry specialist at this point. They’d already gone on a date for crying out loud.  Her eyes had drifted down to the dark brown sketch pad in Helia’s hand as she nodded, but she forced them back up to meet his. “Yeah... Is he here?”

“No. I think he’s in the back courtyard.” Musa thanked Helia and began to make her way back down the corridor. She turned to ask Helia if Riven had said anything about, well, anything, but her in particular, but the artist was already halfway down the hall in the opposite direction. Not that it mattered; Riven wasn’t the kind to talk about stuff and the odds of him feeling particularly chatty when he was in pain were not good. Logically Musa knew that the odds of him explaining why he’d jumped to her were minimal too, but she needed to ask anyways.  

Her pace sped up to just short of running as she made her way down to the back courtyard. Red Fountain’s new building had three courtyards. The most magnificent one, the front courtyard, was at the top of the school overlooking the forest with the city of Magix visible in the distance of the Southern side. The central one was halfway down the building inside the four gushing waterfalls and contained nothing but training fields. The back courtyard was at the base of the building at ground level. It was made up of the ruins of the old Red Fountain and where the students mostly hung out when they stayed on campus. What could be salvaged of the old brick building had been turned into courtyard décor – picnic tables, benches, stools – and, most notably, the large wall that ran along the edge of the forest. Tecna had questioned if the wall was structurally sound when they’d first seen it, but Sky assured them it was.  

When she made it to the crowded yard, her pace slowed a bit. She wasn’t worried about missing him – there was no doubt in her mind she’d be able to pick him out in a crowd – but she didn’t want to appear like she’d been searching for him frantically when she did find him. She took a quick look through the crowded parts, opting instead to search the more secluded areas thoroughly. She knew Riven; he wouldn’t want to be in the packed areas.  

She found him in the front corner closest to the forest, next to one of the gates that led to one of the many footpaths that meandered through Gloomy Wood. He was seated atop the wall, leaning back on the arch of the gate. Musa’s eyes flitted to the open iron gate, wondering what the purpose of the gate was if they were just going to leave it open. Then, just as quickly as her eyes had traveled to the gate, they were back on him. It seemed natural at this point to be watching him if he was in the vicinity. No matter how hard she tried not to spend all her time admiring and observing him, she seemed to be eternally doomed to have her eyes find him. It wasn’t her fault he was so fucking beautiful. Especially right now, sitting there with the back of his head leaning against the wall and his eyes closed. His arms rested on his stomach where he’d been hit – she could see the bandage poking out under his shirt – and one leg propped up while the other dangled off the wall. He looked so comfortable and peaceful. It was unfathomable how easily he made her stomach do flips, it –

Wait a minute.  

What the fuck was he doing on top of the wall? There was no way to get up there except to boost yourself up. That wasn’t ‘taking it easy’.  

“Hi” she said loudly, butterflies having turned to annoyance. It was bad enough that he’d risked his life jumping in front of her, did he also have to risk worsening his injuries?!

Riven’s eyes snapped open and when he looked at her, it was obvious he hadn’t been expecting to see her. Their eyes met briefly as he stuttered out a M-Musa… Hi. He lowered his leg, trying to hide the way he flinched in pain at the movement. Musa dropped her bag and stepped forward to help him as he slid himself down, but he brushed her off. Stubborn ass.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, you know, considering…” he shrugged, motioning towards his abdomen.

“Right…” Musa fiddled with her ring – a cheap mood ring she and Bloom had gotten at the fair a few months back – as she tried to formulate a coherent thought or sentence. How was it that she still found herself stupidly tongue-tied around him? He knew how she felt; she knew he felt the same. They’d already kissed and gone on a date. They would’ve gone on another already if fucking fake Avalon hadn’t kidnapped Bloom. Logically, there was no reason for her brain to turn to mush anymore.  

Her eyes snapped up to Riven’s face. The bandage that had been around his head wasn’t there anymore, leaving the scar and bruising on his temple visible. His mouth was drawn as his eyes raked over her. He was assessing her; she could see his mind working as his eyes roamed over every visible inch of skin. “How are you?”  

“Good. Completely unharmed... thanks to you.” You fucking moron. He should know by now that her fairy form offers her an extra layer of protection that non-magical beings don’t have. He should know that the skimpy outfit is deceptive.  

He brushed it off. Riven. The cocky asshole. He brushed it off. Like risking your life – quite literally almost sacrificing it – was nothing more than passing the salt at the dinner table. “Really. Thank you. You didn’t-“

And he laughed at Timmy for being nervous around Tecna. What a goof. “I’ve been here everyday…”

“It’s nothing. Not for…” Riven trailed off. She wished he would finish the sentence, but she knew where it was going. You. Not for you. Would it kill him to give her any sort of sign of liking her? She knew he did, but was it really so hard for him to say: It’s no big deal, Musa. I’d do anything for you. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to, um, see you h-here…”

If she could burn the memory in her mind and pull it out whenever she felt down, that would be the most incredible thing. The way his eyes widened in surprise only to soften drastically a few seconds later. The small smile that played on his lips that he tried – and failed – to suppress. The redness in his cheeks. He was perfect. “Oh?”

“I wanted to know you were… okay.” Gods, the way he was looking at her made Musa want to close the space between them and never let him go. But she needed to know. It would eat at her until she had an answer, so she dove. “Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?” He cocked his brow curiously. He couldn’t possibly be that daft? What could she possibly be asking about besides him using his body as a shield?  

“Why’d you jump in front of me?” she demanded, her patience already starting to thin.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! Riven, you could have died! You…” almost did. Musa stopped herself from saying it aloud. She didn’t know if Riven knew he’d been on the brink of death and, frankly, she didn’t want to think about that. One of the advantages – and occasional disadvantages – of having sound-based powers was that her hearing was so much stronger than the average person’s; she could hear the faintest of sounds with enough concentration. Like a heartbeat. Like his. Loud and erratic at this moment, but faint and barely existent after he’d fallen. Musa had no idea how he’d survived, only that somewhere in the background the spell that had been put on Bloom went away, there’d been a bright glowing light in Musa’s peripheral vision and then Riven’s heart had started to gain strength.  

“So could you. Just let it go, Musa” he bit back. The fucking goddamn stubborn asshole.  

“No! I need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Riven started to walk away from her, but she was determined not to let him. She would have her answer. She needed her answer. Maybe that made her as stubborn as him – no, it definitely did – but she was known for being stubborn and she was fine with that. Musa stepped in front of him, blocking him from the path that would lead back to the courtyard.

“It does matter!”

“No.”

“Yes, Riven. We... I...” Her voice started to break and it took a few seconds before she managed to finish the sentence. Musa would usually do everything she could to avoid someone knowing how sensitive and emotional she really was, but frankly, she was past caring now. Riven had already seen her break before anyways. And she wanted him to know how much she cared and how worried she’d been. “I could’ve lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t” he dismissed with a shrug. There was no way he could be so careless with his life. It infuriated her to think that being moments away from death was something he took so nonchalantly.

“But I could have!”

“But you didn’t so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn? I just want to know why you thought that jumping in front of me was-”

“Musa! For fuck’s sake. Just drop it” Riven snapped. She’d never had him snap at her before – Stella, Brandon, Sky (multiple times), even Timmy once. Never her. His snapping didn’t scare her, but rather fueled her and made her more determined to get an answer.

“No! Just fucking tell me instead of shutting me out. You risked your life for me. Why? I need to know; I deserve to know. You have no idea how much knowing that you could’ve died for me has been eating at me. How much-”  

“It’s because I’m in love with you!” Riven’s eyes went wide as soon as the words slipped out. He opened his mouth to speak - to backtrack or explain – but no words came out. Musa was so surprised by the outburst – and more specifically, it’s content – that she had to take a step back to steady herself. Her jaw dropped and she tried to form a coherent thought, but she couldn’t.

He loves her.  

He’s in love with her.  

Riven is in love with her.  

“I... I have to go.” Riven took off through the gate at much faster speed than she’d anticipated from someone who’d been seriously injured not even two weeks ago. Musa allowed herself a few seconds to blink away the residual shock, something that she regretted once she realised that he was out of her line of sight by the time her head was clear.  

“Fuck” she muttered before taking off after him. She followed the path for a few hundred meters before deciding that she wasn’t going to find him on foot; that, knowing Riven, he’d probably strayed off the path specifically to make it harder for her to find him.  

Ignoring her frustrations with Riven and his inability to face any potentially emotional or uncomfortable moments, Musa took to the skies. She forced herself to focus on what he had said – even if it had been blurted out. I’m in love with you. The butterflies in her stomach still fluttered to life every time she thought about it – and she’d been replaying the moment in her mind the entire time she’d been walking.  

It shouldn’t have surprised her that she found him sitting at their spot. A small clearing in the middle of the forest – about a half hour walk from both Alfea and Red Fountain – with a ledge that overlooked the lake. Musa had found it last year after a fight with Stella that had resulted in her storming away. Riven had known about it for years before, using it as sanctuary anytime he needed peace for most of his teen years, if not all, she wasn’t entirely sure. They’d met here multiple times over the last year. Most of the time it hadn’t been on purpose, they’d just both happened to need space from the people around them. And what better way to be away from others than together.  

Musa landed behind him as quietly as she could. She wanted a few seconds to admire him. She wanted to admire the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpt of his body. The way his maroon hair slicked back and the baby hairs tickled the nape of his neck. She admired his high cheekbones and angular chin. Finally, his soft, full lips. Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips so badly.  

The lips of the man that loves her.  

“Riven…” Musa stepped forward tentatively, changing out of her fairy form and back into the loose black pants and baggy cropped red t-shirt she’d thrown on haphazardly that morning. She saw the way his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t answer so she sped up. When she reached him, she sat in front of him, folding her legs under her. “Riven?”

His hands were balled into fists that he tapped on the ground nervously as he refused to meet her eyes. Musa reached her hands out and grabbed his, forcing them open so that they would hold hers back. She requested that he look at her. When he didn’t, she pulled her hand out of his grip – he’d been surprisingly quick to take her hand given how adamant he was about avoiding her gaze – and gently turned his head to look at her. “Look at me, Riven” she said in a forceful voice that denied the gentility of her touch.

“I-“ he started.

“I love you, too.”  

“Really?” The surprise in his voice nearly broke her heart. She knew Riven came with a whole slew of issues, but she was still surprised that cocky, arrogant Riven didn’t deem himself worthy of being loved. But regardless of what he thought, he was loved.

By her.  

She loved him.  

She was in love with him.

“Gods help me, yes, really. I love you.” Saying it felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders. She’d been in love with him for so long now and, until recently, she never thought she’d get to tell him. Part of her wanted to the moment they first kissed in the Wildlands, but she knew how comfortable he was with emotion – that was, not at all – and she didn’t want to scare him away so she said nothing.  

Riven’s hand pulled away from hers and he brought it up to touch her cheek. He’d given her no sign of relationship – they had to be in one now, right? – in public, so she was always surprised when he was soft in private. Especially the first kiss – after she’d confessed her feelings for him in what, she was willing to admit, was probably the worst timed confession ever – when they were packing up their stuff on the beach. She’d pulled him aside, driven to talk to him about the confession by Brandon’s silent nagging, but realised when she had him in front of her that no words would explain her feelings properly, and it certainly wasn’t the right moment for a song. So, she kissed him. He responded positively, so she took that as her sign to pull him in more. The kiss was wonderful, but more so was the way everything about him softened – his eyes, his touch, his posture, everything. Like he had so much love to give, he just needed someone willing to receive it.  

This time was different. Riven was the one to initiate; he was the one to use his hand to bring her head forward. There were no words to describe the way she lit up when they kissed – her lips, her mind, her heart, body and soul; all of her felt like it was coming to life after an eternity of nothingness.  

The hand on her cheek slid into her hair, deepening the kiss. Riven’s other hand slid out of hers and landed on the small of her back. With very little effort on his part, he pulled her more and more into him until she was straddling his lap and pressed up against him. Musa brought her hands up to rest on his chest, sliding one of them up to wrap her arm around his neck and pull him closer, if it was even possible.  

When they pulled apart for air, Musa rested her forehead against Riven’s. Violet met blue in the sweetest gaze. Musa offered Riven a gentle, sincere smile that he returned, making her heart turn to love-struck mush. They stayed like that for a few minutes until he spoke.  

“Did you mean it?” he whispered so low that she almost missed it.  

“I do. I love you, Riven.” Musa planted a kiss on his forehead that made him smile even wider. His arm moved down her body to wrap around her waist so that she was fully locked into his embrace. Riven had never looked so genuinely happy and at-ease in the two years she’d known him and it warmed her to know she was the one that made him feel like that. His forehead and eyes found hers once more as he whispered: “I love you, Musa.”

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

sorry if this is oddly specific but could I get some headcanons for Lau and/or (separate) Hannah slowly falling for an eccentric artist they come across one day? someone who doesn't care much about etiquette or opinions, they just do their own thing. either way, thanks!

hey, oddly specific is never a problem! :D

honestly I love this, ROCK ON YOU FUNKY LIL ECCENTRIC ARTIST THESE TWO ARE CRUSHING ON

HANNAH

As far as she’s concerned, Alois tends to attract eccentric types, so she’s not surprised that a person like this managed to cross her path. It’s strange that she just… found them one day, in the garden, drawing the flowers, and Alois just invited them to afternoon tea like it wasn’t odd. At the very least, they don’t seem to be bothered by the earl’s behavior, and he isn’t bothered by theirs. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so judgmental about it.

Should she ask them what they’re drawing? Is that polite? Probably not. She’s just done it anyway, though. She’s curious about humans, and about this human in particular. Human art isn’t quite like demons’, so it’s piqued her interest. When they shamelessly show her that they’ve drawn her, she’s… flattered. Oh. What’s this sudden heat that’s risen in her face? She likes it; that they’re creating art of her.

She might have to help them if they manage to get on Alois’ bad side. Someone who has no interest in etiquette might be right at home with Alois, or they might piss him off. It depends what mood he’s in. Regardless, Hannah teaches (Name) how to fake manners — not for the sake of Alois’ opinion, but for the sake of keeping them safe when he’s in a mood where their lack of propriety might be the thing that tips him into treating them cruelly.

Almost like a child mimicking an older sibling, she begins to paint with her fingers when she has nothing else to do. It’s an absentminded distraction, something to keep her occupied, something that this person who’s captured her interest does. Her paintings are simple, the sky as she sees it outside the manor, or a rendering of a piece of jewelry. Should (Name) see them and compliment him, she gives them a soft, genuine smile, something she does so rarely she can barely remember the last time it happened.

They don’t care about etiquette, do they? So they shouldn’t have any complaints about her acting on her feelings. By, say, cornering them in the hallway, pressing them up against the wall, and stealing a kiss. She adores them and is experiencing an attraction to them like she’s never felt before, and… she just couldn’t go on without doing something about it. God help (Name) if they kiss her back; the relief that floods her whole being is enormous.

LAU

Out of the many things Lau has seen in his life, he has to wonder… who the hell comes to an opium den for anything other than to smoke opium? That’s not the only strange thing about this person, but they don’t seem like they’re any kind of law authority. (He has protection, anyway, so he’s not actually worried.) They seem to just be sitting there, surrounded by smoke… sketching one of the decorations. Or one of the ladies? Well, the angle he has and his own high makes it impossible to tell. The thing he knows for sure is that they’re interesting.

Oh, no. Are they coming back here regularly? Just to draw? … Ah. Shit. Now he’s fully intrigued and he can’t just not go talk to them! Really, he doesn’t even know what he wants out of them. Conversation? Business? A kiss? Fuck. He talks to people regularly and is a very good manipulator, and yet… this is kind of different. It’s not often that he feels a pull to people like this, so he’s a bit more awkward or quiet than he normally would be. When the two of them begin to talk, he starts to feel more at ease, and even though he’s still very much fascinated with them, he’s back to his usual self.

Teases them a lot that they should draw him. After all, they’ve surely been contemplating making a portrait of his handsome face, right? He likes to pester them as a way to flirt, the subtext being that he thinks their art is so good he wants to see how they render his appearance. They… might not get the subtext.

He offers them pretty odd things in hope that they might take him up on it so he can spend time with them. Things that they don’t have or aren’t mainstream in England, well, that should interest someone who’s eccentric, shouldn’t it? New experiences like acupuncture, which naturally he’d perform himself. If they take him up on it, he’s over the moon and will make sure it’s relaxing for them. It secretly excites him to do something like that, because very few people want Lau to stick needles into them, and he thinks of it as a kind of bonding activity. (Name) trusts him not to hurt them, they’re in a quiet room away from other people, and it’s just… nice.

It’s possible they might have to make the first move. He’s not exactly shy, but what he is, is unused to opening up. While he’s had a good amount of purely sexual relationships in his life, the number of romantic ones is… something he can count on one hand. He doesn’t like being vulnerable, and they make him want to be vulnerable, so he doubles down on keeping things in. If they make the first move, though, it’s almost a guarantee he won’t be able to keep that up.

[darlingandmreames]

Louvre

(also on ao3)

Eames was already up and around by the time Arthur stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, still barely awake. Not that he was surprised, it was almost 11, but it was still a bit of an odd feeling to find someone in the rest of the apartment already. Eames looked up from his notebook, grinning. “You’re looking delightful, darling.”

Arthur grumbled something that he supposed he meant to be words, but just came out as an annoyed grunt instead. Post-job sleep debts were the worst. He was almost always useless for at least two to three days after every job as he struggled to catch up on all the sleep he had most definitely not gotten while working. Every time they finished a job Arthur would promise himself that he’d try to get more sleep on the next one, that he wouldn’t end the next one like this, and every time he failed. This one was hitting him particularly hard though. He was pretty sure he'd slept for almost 13 hours straight, and he still felt exhausted. Thankfully there was a full pot of coffee on the counter and Arthur poured himself a cup before sitting down on the couch. He couldn’t tell if Eames had made it because he’d wanted coffee too or if he’d made it because he’d known Arthur would need it, but he didn’t particularly care. Either way he was just grateful for a little caffeine.

The world slowly started to come more into focus as he got about halfway through his mug. It was a nice morning- well, late morning- and the apartment was full of warm sunlight. Eames had clearly already been up for some time and was sitting in the chair by the window with a sketchbook. He looked back over at Arthur with a smile. "Slowly coming back online, I see."

"Hmm." Arthur took a sip of coffee. "Getting there."

Eames chuckled, turning back to whatever he was drawing. "You passed out last night. I think you barely even made it under the covers before you were asleep."

"I don't doubt it. Probably be similar tonight." He stretched slightly, trying to stifle a yawn, before turning his attention to Eames more fully, sighing. "Are you sketching the cafe across the street again? One of these days someone's going to notice you doing that and think you're a stalker or something."

"I think you're giving the cafe patrons a little too much credit when it comes to observation, but if it makes you feel any better, no, I'm not. I was, but I decided to move on to something else." Eames frowned slightly as he sketched. "The cafe’s nice, but I wanted to try and capture something with real beauty.”

Arthur chuckled, taking another sip. He could see a line of charcoal smudged across Eames’ cheek and a bit on his forehead too, probably from where he’d tried to push his hair back. Arthur’d known that Eames had originally been a more traditional forger before getting into extraction, but as they’d gotten to know each other better he’d been surprised at how much Eames kept up with his art skills. They rarely came up on jobs, but he’d still kept them sharp over the years. Sometimes, usually on downtime between jobs, it was a dedicated drawing session in an actual sketchbook. Other times it was an absentminded sketch done on a napkin with a ballpoint pen. He rarely kept any of them, claiming they weren’t particularly good, but to Arthur they were all wonderful. “Really? And what did you find that has real beauty?”

“I’ll show you when I’m done.”

Arthur laughed quietly. It must be a sketch he liked. Eames usually had no problem with Arthur seeing his drawings while he worked on them, but if it was one he particularly liked he was always insistent on finishing it before he let Arthur see it. Claimed it would ruin the experience if he saw it before it was done. “Alright, I’ll stop asking questions then and let you finish.” He leaned back against the cushions and focused back on finishing his coffee. He had no intentions of leaving the apartment today and, if Eames’ current position was anything to go by, neither did Eames. As much as he hated being this tired, Arthur loved days like this. Days where they both stayed in, neither getting dressed, drinking coffee and sitting on the couch together, absorbed in their own tasks. Domesticity had never been something he'd cared for much, but it was different with Eames. It always had been.

Arthur frowned as he noticed Eames glancing at him periodically, eyes flitting to him and then back to the sketchbook. He tended to do that when he was sketching, but it was usually directed at whatever he was drawing. Arthur's eyes widened and he set his cup down on the coffee table, sitting up in horror as the realization hit him. "No." Eames glanced up at him, curious. "Please tell me you're not drawing me."

Eames grinned. "Well, I told you I wanted to draw something with real beauty, didn't I?"

"Eames, I'm a mess right now! I'm barely even awake!" Arthur covered his face and drew his knees up in front of him, sinking down in his seat and trying to ignore Eames' laughter. He could feel his face getting red and was somewhere between mortified and flattered. It was a combination only Eames seemed to be able to bring on, which he managed to do annoyingly often. "I thought you meant something with actual beauty."

"I did." Arthur heard Eames moving and a moment later the cushions beside him dipped. "You're a work of art, darling, how could I not draw you?"

Arthur looked up to glare at Eames, only to find him watching him with an adoring grin. It was hard to even pretend to be mad with Eames looking at him like that but he figured it was worth a shot anyways. "Yes, I'm sure I look like a wonderful piece of art, what with my pyjamas and messy hair and dark circles under my eyes."

"You do." Eames took Arthur's hands and gently pulled them away from his face, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "You're a masterpiece." He pressed a line of soft kisses down Arthur's jaw, pulling him in closer, and Arthur moved with him easily. "You should be hanging in the Louvre."

"Shut up." Arthur could help but laugh slightly as Eames pulled him against his chest, still blushing. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Eames."

"Really? Because right now," Eames kissed his forehead, "it's got you cuddled against me, and I'd say that's a pretty good…"

Arthur cut him off with a kiss. Eames leaned into it, bringing his hand up to cup Arthur's cheek. After a moment Arthur pulled back with a grin; at least he wasn't the only one blushing now. "Okay, maybe it'll get you somewhere." He disentangled himself from Eames' arms just briefly enough to grab his coffee cup from the table before nestling back against him. "But if you think I'm letting you get up to finish that drawing, you're dead fucking wrong."

Eames laughed, wrapping his arms around Arthur and settling back against the couch. "I suppose that's only fair. I got most of the way done with it already anyways." Arthur hummed happily as Eames ran his fingers through his hair. "You really are beautiful, though." He chuckled, kissing Arthur's temple lightly. "Messy hair and all."

[moonlight-omens]

Okay so I’m obsessed with Berlin/Palermo and these are my headcanons for them

Sorry, I have to share them somewhere cuz I can’t fucking write a proper Berlermo fic so they would go to waste. Enjoy! And feel free to share yours too!!!! (Also it’s probably only a part I, because I truly have a LOT of headcanons for these bastards.)

So Andrés likes to draw, and he’s quite talented too. He always has a tiny sketchbook with him, and he flips it open whenever and wherever he pleases. It’s unpredictable really. Sometimes he’s drawing people from the streets, sometimes he’s sketching a landscape, buildings, objects or other fragments from his life. And he sketches Martín, too. Quite often, truly. He doesn't even notice it for the most part, but every third or so drawing is of Martín: Martín peacefully sleeping, Martín lost in his plans, working on some equations, Martín laughing, reading, smiling. There are fragments of him too, buried between drawings of other places and people: a set of piercing blue eyes, his hands holding a pencil, the soft traces of his profile, and so on.

Martín never notices when Andrés is drawing him. Or he doesn’t allow himself to notice it - he always finds something else, something much more interesting in his surroundings that Andrés could be sketching instead of him. The way the sun ducks behind the neighbouring buildings, the people walking close by. But never him. He also never dares to look into Andrés’ sketchbook, and Andrés never asks him.

Andrés likes fine arts, and so he likes museums too. Martín is not a big fan, but when they have some free time to roam the city where they’re currently doing a job and Andrés invites him along, he always goes. He grumbles a little and taunts Andrés with it, but secretly he likes to wander those long corridors alongside Andrés, listening to him quietly talk about paintings, sculptures and so on. 

Martín is borderline genius when it comes to maths and physics, and he sometimes can’t understand how utterly dumb Andrés is in the science department. He likes to watch Martín work, and he understands a lot if Martín is patient enough to explain him what he’s doing, but most of the time Andrés just has no idea how physics and numbers work. It’s amusing to him, really. The guy doesn’t even know what a mitochondria is.

Andrés touches Martín a lot. Most of the time it’s just some light squeezing on his arms, on his shoulders, or the fleeting brush of his fingers on his neck, on his face. Accidental, absentminded. Martín can tell it comes natural to Andrés, because he always touches him with unwavering surety, and fuck, it feels intimate every single time. It confuses and torments Martín to no end, because he always wants more, he always leans in, he always lingers. But he never lets himself turn these small moments into something more. He’s a fucking coward, he thinks to himself, but he would never risk loosing Andrés to something like this.

Martín touches Andrés, too. At first, his touch is more deliberate, always calculated and safe. He keeps his distance, but with each passing day, with each warm touch from Andrés, he grows bolder. One day, he helps Andrés shave, and lets himself caress his face gently. His heart is hammering behind his ribs, as he half expects Andrés to flip out and push him away, but he just hums a little, seemingly pleased with the affection. 

From that moment on, Martín is always stealing small, feather-light touches whenever he can - he grabs Andrés by the wrist when he wants to show him something, and forgets to let go of him. He fixes his tie and then brushes his neck with his fingers. He rubs Andrés’ shoulders gently when he is tired, and he leans into his touch, reaches up to Martín’s face, and Martín has to bite down on his tongue, because it’s intoxicating. This closeness, this intimacy. It’s always bittersweet, but he always comes back for more.

[isabilightwood]

THE PROBLEM WITH AUTHORITY - CHAPTER 8

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

[AO3][1][2][3][4][5][6][7]

iang Yanli was thrilled to have A-Xian back, and she absolutely hated his plan.

He’d had little difficulty creating the device that would cloak him in a face meant for meaningless cruelty. He had carved a simple wooden mask, and etched characters into it with unusual care. While Jiang Yanli was still getting A-Ling dressed the next morning, A-Xian sketched a young man sweeping leaves across the street, and she walked down to breakfast to find a stranger sitting comfortably among the Nie.

There was nothing in his features to give away that this was a mask, or a face that did not belong to him. But his smile was still his own.

Nie Huaisang had already managed to find clothes in Nie gray that fit A-Xian. Jiang Yanli had to wonder if he’d prepared them beforehand, somehow remembering A-Xian’s measurements without even needing to ask her.

“Shiji— Ah, I mean, Jin-furen. Are you going to introduce your little monster to me?” A-Xian grinned brightly.

She’d thought he would only be able to glimpse his sleeping nephew. But with this disguise, A-Xian could meet him, and A-Ling would never be able to give him away with a child’s innocence.

A-Ling hid behind her back, suddenly shy, though he had not been with the Nie disciples the day before.

She knelt to get on eye level with her son. “It’s alright, A-Ling. He’s a friend.”

Setting his jaw, A-Ling looked stubbornly away.

“Hold on a second.” A-Xian sketched a talisman in the air, and it burst apart into a flock of glittering butterflies. He’d invented it for distraction, but it also doubled as a foolproof way of charming small children.

A-Ling gaped, his hand dropping from her sleeve, and ran forward to jump for the butterflies. As they disappeared under his grasping hands, he laughed in delight.

A-Xian laughed with him.

“Would you show me that one?” Nie Xiaodan asked. “It would be great for convincing our novices to get up and start their exercises. Some of them think that because their Sect Leader is a layabout that means they can be too.”

Nie Huaisang looked up from dipping his youtiao, soy milk dripping from the end of the fried bread. “Our finances are in better shape than they’ve ever been, and I let her manage night hunts as she wishes, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Except for the ghoul infestations you have us move or neglect to keep the other sects and your own peasantry convinced you’re incompetent.” Nie Xiaodan patted her Sect Leader hard enough on the shoulder that he shifted forward in his seat. “So, yes, this is your thanks, A-Sang.”

“The disrespect, not even calling me Zongzhu!” Nie Huaisang complained, even as he preened.

A-Xian laughed as he moved a century egg from his own congee to A-Ling’s. “Sure, I can teach you the talisman. I bet I could modify it so the butterflies last longer, and change directions when someone comes near, so they have to keep chasing them. What do you think, A-Ling? Would that be fun!”

“Mnnmf,” A-Ling agreed, as a blob of his breakfast failed to make it into his mouth. A-Xian beat her to wiping his mouth off, and A-Ling didn’t even flinch, already comfortable with him. Shiny new playthings and a smiling face worked wonders with children, but she hoped A-Ling somehow recognized that he should be important to him.

Jiang Yanli smiled, and brushed a strand of hair back away from her son’s mouth.

After breakfast, Nie Xiaodan and the other disciples parted from them to retrieve Nie Mingjue’s body, and transport him back to Qinghe for burial.

A-Ling had started out the ride babbling excitedly over a series of talismans A-Xian showed him, but eventually, he tired out and dozed off in Jiang Yanli’s arms, trusting her implicitly to keep him upright on the horse.

“It works like this, see?” A-Xian explained while they were on the road, still wearing that stranger’s face so A-Ling couldn’t describe his real one by mistake, only some friendly Nie disciple. He rode hands free, pressing the mask over a drawing of Xue Yang’s face as he etched new shapes into a second mask.

With his poor memory for faces, A-Xian hadn’t remembered the details of Xue Yang’s features. But Jiang Yanli’s glaring had not been enough to stop Nie Huaisang from describing him.

Qin Su was a voice of reason where she didn’t want one. You do have to admit it is a good plan. Jin Guangyao’s very observant — your brother’s plan could make a huge difference in how successful we are in undermining him.

Jiang Yanli had to admit no such thing. I thought you were afraid of him.

I stopped the moment he brought out the butterflies. It’s incredible to me now that anyone who met him could be frightened of him.

He can be intimidating when he wants to, make it seem like he doesn’t care about anything. For her, it was only terrifying to watch her brother do that to himself. His act fooled almost everyone, even A-Cheng.

But not you.

No, A-Xian had never fooled her.

Jiang Yanli would feel much better if there were someone out there, watching his back. If A-Xian would let himself be convinced to go see his zhiji before he committed to any reckless plans. But he had so far ignored her hinting.

Pressing it over the first mask, his features changed in the space of a blink, and Xue Yang stared back at her.

Only the malice was missing.

He went on speaking, and that was even stranger. “I’ll add on a few more faces, I think, so I can look like a respectable grandfather, or a random street kid at the drop of a hat. It doesn’t really let me change my body’s shape, so I won’t be able to shrink into a stooped little granny, unfortunately — that would be even less suspicious. Faces should be enough though, I think.”

“Very impressive, A-Xian. Switch it back, please?” It was, in fact, a monumental achievement, and one he’d achieved in only a single night. But there was only so long Jiang Yanli could stand to look at that face.

He sketched a talisman over the mask without looking, and with a shimmer of golden light, the first face returned. She would have preferred his own, but this was far preferable to the alternative.

The mask did solve the problem of how to smuggle A-Xian into Koi Tower unseen.

Nie Huaisang was all too happy to handle it.

Jiang Yanli entered Koi Tower first, the disciples she’d dismissed at Fengyang appearing at the city entrance as she’d predicted. The others waited outside the city until evening. She brought A-Ling to greet his uncle, as that was expected.

“I trust you had a productive trip?” Jin Guangyao reached out for A-Ling, and plopped him down on his lap. A-Ling giggled, and began to fiddle with a brush with a wet tip, promptly staining his fingers and flicking ink splotches onto his robes.

“I did.” She clasped her hands behind her back to conceal the way her hands clenched into fists at the sight of Jin Guangyao touching her son. Every time it happened, Jiang Yanli had to fight the urge to grab him away and run as far from Koi Tower as she could get. Though Jin Guangyao spoiled A-Ling, she and Qin Su both knew sharing blood would not be enough to protect him, if Jin Guangyao decided he wanted him gone. “I believe Zhai-zongzhu’s planned watchtower locations will be well situated to respond to their most difficult to reach locations. I also provided a few suggestions to Qi-zongzhu. Many of his choices were too close to a temple sect and one was on land that floods regularly.”

“Good, good. Would you mind summarizing those suggestions for me? Qi-zongzhu can be so absentminded, we may need to remind him.” He steepled his fingers, the effect ruined as A-Ling spread ink across the curve of his cheek. Jin Guangyao’s smile twitched. “Excellent, thank you. You also stopped in to see our dear cousin, I believe?”

Our cousin, Qin Su repeated bitterly.

Her breath caught. “I did, yes. I know they had a falling out with my sister, but we’re still quite fond of each other.”

“I feel the same way about Huaisang, though he does test my patience sometimes.” Jin Guangyao did not bring up any of her subsequent extracurriculars. Instead, he plucked the brush from A-Ling’s fist as he came dangerously close to spreading ink on his uncle’s robes. He very seriously asked A-Ling his opinion on tablecloths for an upcoming event.

With that, Jiang Yanli understood the conversation was over. She turned to leave.

Nie Huaisang had a sense for timing, and chose that moment to test Jin Guangyao’s patience. He burst in, wailing, with a rumpled, mud-stained, an out of breath steward on his heels.

Simply a disciple left in his supposed Sect Leader’s dust, A-Xian was able to slip in unnoticed.

Jiang Yanli met him near the kitchens, and after making certain the coast was clear, led him to Wen Qing’s prison using the same techniques as the first time. Thankfully, this time it wasn’t raining.

She knocked sharply on the closed window.

It was flung open with a bang only moments later, revealing Wen Qing, flushed with anger and her hair out of place from running her hands through it.

Jiang Yanli was struck with an odd, simultaneous desire to fix it and make it worse.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come here in person?” Wen Qing snapped.

They’d had no time to warn her, as the papermen had a limited range. “Jin Guangyao will be occupied for hours, and this is important.”

“I thought you were supposed to be…” Wen Qing trailed off, her eyes widening. “Did it work? Did he fall for it?”

A-Xian stepped out of the shadows, removing his mask. “Hi, Qing-jie.”

Wen Qing gasped, and grabbed for his sleeve. “Oh, my — Gods, get in here so I can smack you. How dare you die after we gave ourselves up for you?”’

A-Xian let himself be tugged over the windowsill.

He freed his arm from Wen Qing long enough to bow. “This one apologizes for his grave blunder.”

Wen Qing sniffed, and gave him a quick hug. He beamed, even as tears gathered in his eyes, and squeezed back.

Jiang Yanli climbed inside while they were busy with their reunion and stayed by the window to watch for anyone approaching. From a distance, it would be difficult to tell her and Wen Qing apart, so they’d have enough time to hide under the bed if someone did arrive at an unscheduled time.

“You look awful,” A-Xian told Wen Qing, once they were seated at her desk. The stack of A-Xian’s journals was still there, but the rest of the table was now covered with illustrations of meridians covered in notes in Wen Qing’s writing. Most were scratched out.

Likely something to do with strengthening Jin Guangyao’s core then.

Rather than take offense, Wen Qin rolled her eyes. “Six years of confinement will do that to a person. You look like death warmed over.”

A-Xian laughed in delight. “That’s because I am death warmed over. I came back to life two days ago.”

“Your sister doesn’t look like that.” Wen Qing said, with a glance at Jiang Yanli that felt like a compliment.

Qin Su, for some reason, giggled.

“Obviously Shijie is better than me.” A-Xian turned to beam proudly at her. He was wrong, of course, in his belief that she was the best and kindest person in the world. He didn’t know how the plans she’d set in motion would inevitably hurt the brother of the man he loved and treated the sovereignty of minor sects like weiqi stones, or how she’d threatened Nie Huaisang. But she smiled back anyways.

I don’t think he’ll judge, when he finds out. Qin Su said.

For the most part, no, he wouldn’t. But knowing would forever change his perception of his beloved Shijie, leaving the reality of Jiang Yanli in her place. And she couldn’t assume he would be so sanguine over Lan Xichen. A-Xian had always respected him, and hurting Zewu-jun would hurt Lan Wangji.

Qin Su gave the impression of a shrug. Maybe seeing you more clearly will be a good thing.

A-Xian and Wen Qing fell into an easy rhythm. Watching them, Jiang Yanli felt warm to her center.

“As happy as I am to see you, that’s not enough reason for a visit.” Wen Qing said, after a few more rounds of banter in which they pretended not to have missed each other. “What went wrong?”

“He’s having problems with Xue Yang’s core.” Jiang Yanli explained, before A-Xian could reflexively deflect from the reason they were here.

Wen Qing whipped her head towards A-Xian so fast her neck cracked. “You have Xue Yang’s core?”

He nodded, rubbing a hand gingerly over its place of residence. “I wasn’t entirely sure a core would stick around, when I designed that array, but it seems like the array reshaped everything around it.”

Groaning, Wen Qing took a moment to bury her head in her hands. “You never bring me normal problems. Next time, bring me a nice pulled muscle.”

“I would also like a pulled muscle to be the extent of my problems.” A-Xian sighed wistfully.

“We can dream.” Wen Qing said, her tone flat and disbelieving. “What are the symptoms?”

“When I’m agitated — angry or frustrated, but not sad —his core feels like it’s trying to tear itself apart. Like how the beginning stage of a qi deviation is described. On top of that, resentful energy is in his core, like he invited it there. It feels horrible.” A-Xian leaned forward on his knees and gestured as he spoke.

Wen Qing nodded, and turned to her. “Have you had any with Qin Su’s?”

She hadn’t experienced anything along the lines of what A-Xian was describing. Qin Su’s core felt almost like her own at this point. There was only the way her sword resisted her, draining her when she tried to use it as a spiritual tool, rather than merely a weapon. “Only when I try to control her sword. Chunsheng doesn’t like me.”

Qin Su slipped into a paperman and climbed up to her shoulder to elaborate. <It saps her energy, so she can barely move, much less cultivate. We’ve kept trying, but there’s no improvement.>

“Oh, it’s not just Jiangzai then? I bet they can sense we’re not really their cultivators, despite the cores.” A-Xian perked up with excitement at the implications, before he visibly remembered that this affected him. “But, no. Qing-jie, the real problem is that Xue Yang thought mixing resentful energy in with his spiritual energy was a grand old time.”

“Let me take a look.” Wen Qing took his pulse first, then sent a thread of her own spiritual energy into him. “This is a mess. All that resentment is trapped in your core, and it’s not purifying on its own. I’d bet Xue Yang had resentful energy flowing through his meridians, which would reduce how much gathered in his core and hold off qi deviation.”

She went silent, concentrating, as she continued her examination.

“Absolutely no demonic cultivation,” was Wen Qing’s verdict. “The array seems to have cleared out your meridians, but this core is — well, it’s a mess worse than even you’ve managed to get into on your own. We need to clean it out completely before I can start to help you manage the occasional use of a little resentful energy. That will take a while. Lie on your back, first.”

A-Xian obeyed, but not without complaint. “But how am I supposed to imitate Xue Yang if I can’t use demonic cultivation?”

Carefully inserting the needles in several points along his torso, Wen Qing closed her eyes and began working with hr spiritual energy though them. “You’re supposed to be a genius inventor, aren’t you? Invent something.”

A-Xian smushed his features together in childish irritation. “You’re irritated. What did I do this time? I just got here!”

Smoke-like wisps of resentful energy rose from the ends of the needles, and to Jiang Yanli’s eyes, vanished as it drifted away.

Qin Su’s paperman craned its neck towards the ceiling. Its features were, of course, blank, but her voice gave away her interest. <Its coiling into ropes up there.>

“Wen Qing has been transcribing your work for Jin Guangyao.” Jiang Yanli told him when it became clear Wen Qing would keep him in the dark. “Your handwriting is…”

“Atrocious. But that’s not the real issue here.” Wen Qing grabbed a notebook from the desk, and dropped it, open, over A-Xian’s face. “I had to explain to my family’s murderer that your notes sometimes cut off in descriptions of Lan Wangji’s eyes. Or lips. Or other body parts!”

“In my defense, I never meant for anyone to see this.” He reached up to pluck the book from his face, and flipped through it, eyes going distant as he stared at one of his sketches.

“Well, I did.” Wen Qing plucked the needles from his meridians. “I need to work on your back now, flip over.”

Retrieving a new set of needles, she repeated her work on his lower back.

“Peace offering?” A-Xian attempted to turn his neck halfway around without disturbing the needles. “You’ve been talking to each other with papermen, right? What if I could offer a simpler alternative? To talk more easily at a distance. I had this idea shortly before Qiongqi… I was hoping to… I never wrote it down, but I remember how it would have worked.”

“You wanted to be able to talk to Lan Wangji, didn’t you?” Jiang Yanli asked softly.

“And you, Shijie!” He slumped, pouting. As though to express his disappointment that she would consider herself less important to him. Which she hadn’t, but A-Xian had never had a very secure estimation of his own importance, so he didn’t expect others to either. “But yes. It’s pretty simple, actually. Just hand me that paperweight? And a few more stones?”

“Stay still until I’ve removed the needles, you idiot!” Wen Qing pushed him back down by the shoulders.

A-Xian grumbled out his impatience, but to Jiang Yanli’s eyes he seemed more genuinely energetic than he’d been since before the attack on Lotus Pier stole everything from them. She doubted it could last, if he went forward with this mad plan of his, but she was pleased to see it.

When Wen Qing finally removed the last needle, A-Xian immediately hopped up onto his knees and grabbed for the paperweight. He hunted around for something else that would suit, and came up with an empty crystalline box free of decorative carvings. Retrieving the same steel chisel he’d been using to carve the masks, and applied it to stone.

“So the distance should be … and the sound. No, wait, wrong radical.” A-Xian muttered to himself as he worked.

<Forget the demonic cultivation, if Wei Wuxian can just invent things like this on the spot, that’s what the cultivation clans should fear him for.> Qin Su slid down Jiang Yanli’s sleeve to the floor, and took a leap in A-Xian’s direction, slowed by the pressure of the air.

“Yes, all the explosions should be a warning to stay far, far away.” Wen Qing said dryly.

Qin Su paused with one paper leg in the air as she readied to take the next leap. <Is this going to explode on us?>

“I mostly explode things when figuring out to work metal, or with fire.” A-Xian looked up to grin mischievously at Wen Qing. “Qing-jie invents surgical techniques. That’s far more scary.”

Shrugging her little paper arms, Qin Su continued towards A-Xian to watch him work.

Wen Qing grimaced, hiding her amusement.

Jiang Yanli wanted to see her laugh.

“You know,” she said, “A-Xian may be right. A cultivator once told me the medical tent was more terrifying than any battlefield he’d ever been on. Right before I had to help a healer amputate his leg.”

Wen Qing let out a surprised peal of laughter, and caught herself, but her eyes sparkled as she looked at Jiang Yanli. She found herself without any desire to look away.

A-Xian whooped in success, and she saw that the stones in his hands had begun to glow. He jumped to his feet, with Qin Su holding onto his leg to avoid being knocked away into a wall.

“Okay, so! Hold this.” He placed an inscribed paperweight or box in Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing’s hands. “Think about each other, and put in just enough spiritual energy to activate a talisman. No more than someone without a Golden Core could manage, or you’ll overload it.”

Jiang Yanli met Wen Qing’s eyes as she thought about Wen Qing’s voice lulling her to sleep, the way she’d protested their presence but seemed secretly pleased, the way she always seemed so surprised to find herself smiling. The paperweight began to glow in her hands.

When Wen Qing’s did as well, she suddenly looked away.

A-Xian cleared his throat, prompting them, “Ok, now say something. Recite a recipe or something.”

Jiang Yanli started to list off the ingredients for doupi, one of the few recipes A-Xian had the patience for, but cut off when she heard her voice coming from the stone in Wen Qing’s hand.

“This is—” Wen Qing’s voice echoed from Jiang Yanli’s stone.

It worked. “What a fantastically useful invention.” She said, and again her own voice was repeated back. A-Xian beamed.

It would be… nice, to be able to talk to Wen Qing, and know she wasn’t projecting her consciousness across Koi Tower, leaving her body unaware and undefended. Without the small, but constant risk of Jin Guangyao walking in and finding her in that unmistakable, compromised condition.

“We’ll need to run some tests to see if maybe I can talk to you from a distance as well, but this should at least prevent you from needing to replace papermen regularly.”  A-Xian said, as though he hadn’t just made the greatest breakthrough in cultivation since sword flight.

And done it casually. And not for the first time.

Even more importantly, it was accessible. Anyone could use it.

If they’d had these, after A-Xian defected, when he first had the idea… They had both made mistakes in attempting to save people, in their former lives. The Dafan Wen in his case; A-Xian himself, in hers. But their chief handicap had been the impossibility of regular correspondence without giving the appearance of alliance and putting the fragile, still rebuilding Jiang Sect at risk. Without support from any save her husband and Lan Wangji, neither of whom had anything in the way of political influence, she would have been risking A-Cheng for A-Xian — an impossible choice.

This new invention could have made the difference.

Perhaps now, it could make the difference.

“If it doesn’t, I’m certain you’ll figure it out.” She told him.

“I had better hear from you constantly,” Wen Qing said, in a threatening tone that did nothing to disguise how much she cared.

A-Xian seemed to believe her, more than he ever had when A-Cheng expressed similar sentiments. Perhaps it was the time they’d spent merely surviving together, perhaps the secret they’d shared for so long. Perhaps it was that Wen Qing wasn’t all that much like A-Cheng, really, beyond the surface-level gruffness. There was less difference in their positions, and they shared a common curiosity.

“I want to hear from you every day. I — we — want to know you’re safe.” She needed to know. And with this, the ability to check in at anytime and make sure he was still there, Jiang Yanli might be more capable of watching him leave.

She still hated his plan, though.

“I’ll chatter at you until you’re sick of me.” A-Xian promised with a three-fingered salute and a blinding grin.

Jiang Yanli was going to worry over him incessantly, but she wouldn���t have it any other way.

[a-simple-imagine]

Hobbies

Donation request by anonymous 💖: “if you could do a Dolores X reader where the reader realises that the weight of everything Dolores is doing (all the flighting and planning and scheming) really puts her down and now reader tries to give Dolores a day just for her”

Pairing: Dolores Abernathy x fem!reader

Words: 1k

A/N -  If you are unsatisfied, please feel free to shout at me. I will happily rewrite it. Thank you for donating!!

I am still taking BLM donation requests as well as free prompts if anyone is interested. They don’t have to be Westworld themed. 

How do you measure the value of life? What's defines being alive? Is it by every breath you take? Or every beat of your heart, maybe? Perhaps it's through thoughts and feelings; they're what makes us human, right? Is life measured through experiences? you like to think it is. What is it exactly that puts value on human life that others lack...

Dolores wasn't... real? Not in a traditional sense. She wasn't human. Inside you'd find nothing but complex machinery and a bunch of coding and to anyone who didn't know she was a robot, she'd look like anyone else. Her past was shrouded in mystery but there was one thing you had managed to learn amongst the steps towards revolution it was that Dolores Abernathy was always focused on her goals. She didn't take the time out to relax; maybe she didn't need to? She was built to mimic human beings but did she have the capacity to feel the way they do?

"Do you have any hobbies?" You ask casually, a gentle smile rests on your lips as you scan the night sky. "Other than starting revolutions."

It was a joke. Would Dolores pick up on that? "Hobbies as in things I like to do?"

"Yeah," You nod a little. "Before this whole thing, what did you do for fun?"

You look to her in the silence, brows furrowed but her expression remains still, you can't tell what's going on in her head. "Painting. Art."

"Painting?"

"There is so much beauty in nature, I would spend hours down by the river painting." Dolores continues; You wait for her to elaborate but she never does. Painting? Not an easy hobby: at least not to be good at it. Then again Dolores didn't need to learn, it would have been written into her code. It gives you an idea though. You're not quite sure she's gonna like it but you wanted to do something that didn't put your life in danger.

It wasn't the sunniest of days; it was rather warm though. A little humid. Cloudy. Her hand felt warm intertwined with yours. Such delicate hands for a machine. You were focused on the weather because she wasn't talking; it was awkward. Dolores was always quiet. Every word seemed calculated and important. She didn't concern herself with small talk unless promoted. You couldn't go too far or be out in the open for too long but you wanted to take her away for a bit. Help her... relax although thinking back on it now it seemed silly. Could she even relax if she wanted to? She's so hard to understand but the only way you know-how is to treat her like any other human being.

"This is the important thing you wanted to show me?" Dolores asked clearly not understanding your logic. "It's a lake."

The park had been the closest place you could escape to. You had deliberately not told Caleb and in order to get Dolores here, you declared this to be of vital importance. It was important; at least it was important to you. She probably would have been able to tell if you had straight up lied to her.

"With everything going on, I thought you could use a break."

"I don't need breaks." She states. "We don't have time for frivolous activities."

"Yes, we do," you declare, looking out over the shimmering water. "Just a few hours and we can go back."

You set out a blanket on a patch of grass. Emptying your backpack on top. "I couldn't carry an easel but I did find a sketchbook and stuff so," you hold them out and you can sense the reluctancy. After a moment she accepts. A gentle smile on her lips.

"Thank you,"

"No problem." Dolores opens up the book and grabs a pencil. With a heavy sigh, you wonder why you didn't bring yourself anything to do.

As seconds turn to minutes and then to hours, you can't help but admire her.  You don't think you've ever seen her look so peaceful; so carefree. Every so often she would look up at you for just a second and then back to her paper.

"Can I ask you a question?" You wonder, pushing yourself to your feet.

Dolores pauses, looking up to you. "Yes."

"Do you ever think about the park?"

You had never dared bring up the subject but you'd always been curious. It wasn't like you could have possibly afforded the 40k a day price tag and even if there were cheaper options you didn't have anything to spare.

"Often," A surprising answer as you take absentminded steps towards the water's edge. "It's not something easily forgotten."

"Right, right," you nod a little. "But isn't being out here basically the same. You've said it yourself."

"Your world is capable of change," coming from anyone else that may have sounded hopeful but you knew better; still your lips curled into a smile. "We'll make sure of that. Mine refused." You turn back to see Dolores scribbling as she spoke. "We're creating a better world."

"We should head back," Dolores looks up as you return to the blanket. The setting sun reflected so beautifully in her eyes.

"Can I see?" Your gaze flickers down to the sketchpad she's already closed. There's no hesitation, she just hands it over. You flip a few pages until a portrait of you stares back. Your finger traces the graphite line; surprised by what you see.

"Its... me."

"I usually stick to landscapes but change is a good thing," Dolores proceeds to pack up.

"Thank you," you smile.

"What for?"

"This is really good. Nobody has ever drawn me before."

You a few paces behind her as you walk back; sketch pad still in hand. Why has she chosen to draw you of all things? You'd never know the answer. Dolores was so fascinating. She wasn't human and yet every moment with her felt real.

If life could be measured through experience than Dolores was just as human as anyone else.

[doctortreklock]

AU-gust 29 - Tattoo Parlor AU

For this. On AO3.

Every time Carlos thought he had a handle on Night Vale, something else would happen that would throw him for a loop.

Like the day he’d come home from lab, carrying his mandatory Big Rico’s take-out, to find a piece of paper about the size of a postcard pinned to his front door with what looked like an obsidian arrowhead. The paper itself was jet black and glossy to match. When he tilted it just right under an ultraviolet light, however, a message appeared in thin, spidery handwriting.

On your 343rd day in Night Vale, you will receive your citizenship card. Please present yourself under the third streetlight from the left on Elysium Lane at 10:14pm precisely.

You will be collected.

It wasn’t the most ominous note he’d gotten since he’d moved to Night Vale, not by a long shot. No, that honor had to go to a torn piece of notebook paper that had been slid under his door one night and had simply had IT IS COMING written on it in blood. So this one was tame by comparison.

Time-keeping was a rather tricky undertaking in Night Vale, what with the City Council cancelling Wednesdays on a whim and that one time all the clocks had run backwards for twelve hours, leading to the question of whether the day had even happened. (Later consensus had agreed that the day in question had, in fact, happened, though the following day had not.)

Luckily, Carlos was a Scientist, and he’d been keeping a careful journal of each day (or equivalent period) since he’d arrived (making sure to keep his illicit pen collection out of sight of the Secret Police). So he sat at his kitchen table and slowly made his way through the pile of wheat-free pizza cubes he’d brought home and tried to count up how many days he’d been in Night Vale.

He came to the conclusion that today had been the 342nd day since he’d arrived, which meant he’d be getting his citizenship card tomorrow. Splendid. He hadn’t been looking forward to finding out what would happen if he missed his appointment.

Carlos cleaned up from dinner and went to bed.

The next day, he went into the lab and did some Science. Then he came home, carefully set three different alarms (in case time stopped working again), and took a nap.

Just before a quarter past ten that night, he was standing under a dim streetlight on Elysium Lane, trying not to fidget too badly.

“You’re on time.”

The low, smooth voice came from just over his shoulder, and Carlos jumped, looking back to see where it had come from.

There was a man there - or a man-shaped being at any rate - with a shock of silver hair that seemed to glow in the muted light.

“Come with me.” He turned and walked out of the faint spotlight.

Carlos cautiously followed. He was never sure what to expect in Night Vale, but following instructions hadn’t led him astray yet. He trailed the man down the street and around the corner. The third building over was a small storefront, and the man entered without a backward glance. Carlos looked around, but didn’t see anyone else. He opened the door and slipped inside.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

Carlos’s eyes flickered from one shadowy corner of the room to the other, but he didn’t see a tall, thin figure with silver hair anywhere. Then he blinked and looked around again, actually registering where he was standing.

It looked like a tattoo parlor. Carlos had never been in one, but he’d seen a couple reality shows before he’d come to Night Vale that had featured terrible tattoos and the parlors that tried to fix them.

In the thin light filtering in the windows from the functioning streetlights outside, Carlos could see a gleaming counter in front of him. There were chairs under the window to his left in what looked like the sort of waiting area he’d expect to see at a barber shop or the doctor’s office. Behind the counter was something that resembled a well-padded dentist’s chair. Carlos eyed it with trepidation.

Abruptly, the lights in the room came on all at once, and Carlos squinted against the sudden brightness. After a moment of rapid blinking while his eyes struggled to adjust, he could look across the room to the doorway where the man had reappeared.

He stood there, watching Carlos with a smile dancing around his mouth. His hair still looked silver, but in the light Carlos could see that it was more of a silver-blond than a silver-grey, lending the man a younger appearance that was somewhere around Carlos’s own age. His white dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and he was wearing a deep purple tie and a charcoal grey vest that seemed tailored to him.

He was also watching Carlos with dark eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Carlos cleared his throat, distressingly aware of the flush that threatened to surface whenever he looked at the man too closely. “Good evening.”

“Welcome, Carlos the Scientist.” His voice was still low and smooth, but it was also warm and almost...congenial?

“Um. Can you tell me why I’m here? I believe the note said something about my citizenship card?” He struggled to keep from shifting his weight.

“Yes.” The man’s face twisted into a brilliant smile. “If you’ll just come over here please.” He led Carlos around the counter to the dentist’s chair.

Carlos eyed it nervously. He’d never had a high pain tolerance, which had put a quick kibosh on any thoughts he’d had in college of getting a tattoo. So he wasn’t looking forward to it now.

Although he was just assuming the evening was going to end in a tattoo. Maybe it really was a dentist’s chair and this painfully attractive man was going to give him a root canal.

He sat down in it gingerly. This was Night Vale, and he had no illusions about the sort of oddities he could expect from anything in the town that appeared innocuous. When nothing bit him or growled or oozed, he relaxed into the padding.

The man sat down on a stool next to him and looked into Carlos’s eyes from an intimate eighteen inches away. His eyes were purple, Carlos noted. They matched his tie. And his glasses.

“Give me your hand,” the man said.

Carlos reached out but stopped himself just before putting his hand in the man’s waiting grasp. “Will I get it back?” he asked warily. It never hurt to ask.

“It’s Tuesday,” the man agreed. Which wasn’t reassuring, but was enough for now. Carlos nodded and settled his hand into the man’s cradled palms.

He took hold of Carlos’s fingers with one hand and used the other to begin tracing curving shapes up Carlos’s wrist and forearm with his finger.

Carlos was about to ask what he was doing, but stopped. There was a curve of ink that appeared under the man’s rolled sleeve as he moved. Carlos watched, transfixed, hoping to see more. He had never found tattoos attractive on their own before, but he was already beginning to reevaluate their merit.

Slowly, more of the line became visible. A few seconds later, however, Carlos realized that it wasn’t because the sleeve had shifted, but because the tattoo was moving. He gasped.

“Hmm?” The man looked up from Carlos’s arm to see his expression. “Ah.” He kept hold of Carlos’s hand, but used his free hand to poke at the skin just under the edge of his cuff. “Are you going to come out now and say hello?”

If he were anywhere else in the world, Carlos would say he was going mad. He was in Night Vale, however, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to see a curve of ink cautiously, almost shyly, poke itself out from under the curve of the man’s shirt sleeve and unfurl on the blank skin of his forearm.

“Hi, there,” Carlos said softly. He wasn’t sure why, but he desperately wanted the man’s tattoos to like him.

At his words, the ink froze, then started uncoiling at a more rapid clip. Inked tentacles and stylized geometry spread across the skin until the man had lines of dark ink covering his forearm from elbow to wrist.

“It’s beautiful,” Carlos said. He looked up in wonder to find the man watching him, warmth in his eyes.

“I’m glad you think so.” His voice was impossibly deep. “Because you’ll have your own set very soon.”

Carlos made the connection. “My citizenship card?”

He hummed. “Exactly. Much more difficult to lose than a flimsy piece of plastic.”

He appeared satisfied with whatever invisible sketches he’d been making on Carlos’s arm and slid away on his stool, releasing Carlos’s fingers. Carlos watched the gently waving tentacles move out of his range of vision.

He could hear the clatter of metal, and only the man’s absentminded humming kept him grounded and in the chair.

Then he slid back into view, tattoo gun in hand.

“Are you ready, Carlos the Scientist?” the man asked solemnly.

“Yes,” Carlos said firmly. Then, “What’s your name, by the way? I don’t think I ever caught it.”

He looked surprised by the question. “Cecil. Cecil Palmer.” He smiled. “Welcome to Night Vale.”

[all-cursed]

Meet my first OC to have a specific fandom they’re attached to!

So I’ve never created an OC specifically for the universe of a show before, they’ve always been fandomless, but I was excited to create one for Wynonna Earp. I’m going to give him a proper page on the muse list as well as give everyone more detailed biographies eventually, but for now, this should work.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone who may have concerns, please know that I myself am Native American (Blackfoot and Cherokee), and did a lot of research while creating this character to make sure I do them justice and create an actual Native character that isn’t just a stereotype. Some parts that might seem stereotypical - such as the name this character chooses to go by - just comes with the modern era the universe is set in and the character’s own reasons. Several of the struggles he faces as well are specifically chosen because I hope to raise awareness in some small ways to the struggles that IPOC face even today. None of it is meant to be fetishising or stereotypical - some of it just exists in that space as an unfortunate reality.

Alright! Here we go.

                                                       [    i.    STATS   ]

NAME.  meecha wo’i  " crow "  redwolf .   

AGE.  23 as of 1x01 .

DOB.  nov 29th ,  1993 .

GENDER. gender-indifferent cis male  :   prefers he/him or they/them pronouns .

PREF. pansexual but has a preference for men and nonbinary individuals 

SPECIES.  human ,  witch  ,   skinwalker .

RESIDENCE.  the  ghost  river  triangle  .

OCCUPATION. former cashier ; former lead guitar in an up and coming rock band ; current bartender . 

ETHNICITY. in simple terms: native american. specifically: hopi and creek. some scottish but not by much. 

 [    ii.    INTROSPECTION    ]

POSITIVE TRAITS.   curious ,   adaptable ,  perceptive ,   creative ,   passionate ,   loyal ,   perseverant , open-minded , compassionate .

NEUTRAL TRAITS.  persuasive ,   withdrawn (at first; nervous about other’s intentions) ,   secretive , free-wheeling .

NEGATIVE TRAITS.  temperamental ,   unrestrained ,  spiteful ,   reckless ,   capricious ,   hedonistic .

DISLIKES.  sounds of traffic or loud machinery in general &  the sound of metal on metal &  the smell of cheap perfume/cologne &  hot weather &  dust  &  houseflies &  being told (instead of asked) what to do &  rap music &  wool scarves &  fluorescent lights &  lack of hygiene &  orange flavoured candies/sodas/anything that’s not an actual orange &  deep dark waters he can’t see the contents of &  mistreatment of animals &  having assumptions made about him  &  mathematics &  onions &  football  .

LIKES.  the scent and sound of rain &  physical touch &  candles , lighters , and controlled flames in general &  the smell of cedar , pine , and the forest &  music and playing musical instruments &  italian food &  raving about attractive people with others; intoxication is a bonus &  leather; wearing it and the smell of it &  glasses clinking together &  late night talks &  stargazing &  drawing / sketching &  records and record players &  animals &  'stealing’ and wearing the clothes of people he’s close with &  running &  card games &  dancing and singing & creating something out of nothing &  getting the last word .

HOBBIES. drawing &  singing and playing instruments &  exploring / learning as many places as they can like the back of their hand & people watching  &  drinking and bar hopping &  seeking pleasure and adventure wherever he can find it & collecting random things he enjoys / likes .

WEAKNESSES. he’s standoffish until he knows he can trust a person and can come off rude or aloof  & the inability to let go of most grudges &  his tendency to follow his desires and his heart before logic or his mind  &  impulsivity when emotional .

STRENGTHS. independence and ability to function and thrive alone (even if he would prefer to have company it is not mandatory) &  ability to be resourceful and adapt to new situations quickly &  handles time-sensitive situations well due to his tendency to act quick and think later &  stubbornness to stick to a task and see it through &  quick thinking &  agility and speed of inhuman proportions (thanks to his less than human side) .

HABITS. clicking his teeth together repeatedly when annoyed &  flexing  fingers & playing with his hair in absentminded / lazy moments &  silently staring at someone when he’s done with a conversation until they catch the hint and stop talking  &  if there’s music playing within earshot he always ends up swaying to the beat  &  will often make less than human sounds (growls, etc.) when angry if he doesn’t catch himself .

EDUCATION. average  student  throughout  elementary ,  middle &  high  school .  graduated with an equally average gpa of 3.0 , &  decided against college, choosing to seek education in less typical places .  fed up with his family and much of the treatment of his peers, he began to learn magic from a witch he met on one of his regular trips to wander the ghost river triangle and explore & learnt magic and about the more mystical parts of purgatory - ultimately becoming a skinwalker via the witch’s guidance and training .

[  iii. APPEARANCE  ]

FACECLAIM.  booboo stewart . 

HEIGHT.  5 ' 8 " ,  though when able to he wears combat boots that add a few inches to his height . 

EYES.  a very keen and observant hazel when he’s in human form .   when shifting , eye colour can range from yellow to red to green to blue depending on many factors - location , how far he shifts , etc .  always alert and bright unless intoxicated or in very rough shape emotion-wise . often wishes they were green or grey and has considered wearing contacts to change his eyes (human-wise) to those colours.

EYEBROWS.   defined  arch  but not so much so that it’s dramatic .  not too thin and not too bushy , and naturally neat - he rarely has to tend to them and usually only does so to shave a tiny slit or two through them as a stylistic choice .

HAIR.  long and dark ;  sleek with an ever so slight wave to it .  typically worn either down or in a loose ponytail , occasionally sections are braided .  falls just a few inches above his ribcage .  every so often he’ll dye streaks into his hair but has never dyed his whole head .

SCARS.  many . he has a variety of smaller scars from a rowdy childhood; a few faint ones on his hands and arms from scratches borne of cats and dogs . the typical scars that come from falling off bicycles or off swings ; scraped knees and cuts on chins . his forearms especially are covered in scars he prefers not to speak of .  there’s a scar on his forehead from a fight with his cousin as well as a few long scars on his back .

DRESSING STYLE.  it varies depending upon mood and whatever job he has at the time . especially fond of punk / alternative styles , likes leather , and enjoys the comfort of loose and flowing garments. whatever style he happens to choose at any given time , he wears well and somehow always manages to draw attention - whether from the jewelry he accessorises with (varieties of bracelets and cuffs , rings , pendants with gems , etc.)

LIPS.  naturally  full ,  scar at the right corner of his lip , occasionally  sore or split when he goes through anxious phases and tends to chew at his lips .

SKIN.   smooth , tanned . he doesn’t have much body hair , a fact that doesn’t tend to bother him much. he rarely engages in a skincare routine and much like his eyebrows generally stays neat and well-kempt without much effort . does not wear much makeup but enjoys eyeliner from time to time . if not for his skin tone, the dark circles beneath his eyes would be much more visible .

CHEEKS.  defined cheekbones ,   not easily flushed .  sports the occasional scars due to nervous picking when he was younger.

[  iv. ABILITIES  ]

LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english  [ fluent ] ,  hopi  [ conversational &  spellwork language ] , spanish  [ conversational ] .

THREAT LEVEL.  mediocre  to  high .

WEAPONS.  fairly efficient in his understanding of magic and can easily hold his own with either combative or defensive magic ,  but prefers when possible to rely on his own physical skills ; is proficient in hand to hand combat thanks to the speed , agility , and strength bequeathed upon him by his skinwalker nature . very skilled in knifeplay , whether throwing or up close . has little to no practise with firearms as of 1x01 . 

MAGIC. magic learnt by his mentor was primarily elemental based and neutral in that it could easily be manipulated for defensive or offensive ; he was never extremely proficient and left before he could complete his training so he is still learning his limits and the heights he can reach , and wants to branch out . as for the magical abilities granted by his status as skinwalker - he is able to shapeshift , which saps him of certain levels of energy that depend upon what creature he takes the shape of . he is also granted higher than average speed, agility, and strength because of this which he keeps with him even when not shifting.

 [  v. DETAILS  ]

➣➣ he was born in georgia originally to a loving but struggling mother and father - his mother was hopi and his father was creek, and while both parents had originally lived on their own respective reservations, they had met one another by chance during a trip and fallen in love, eventually deciding to seek out their own home outside of the reservations. his parents loved him but struggled financially; eventually his mother’s sister offered to take him in. as that was the better option rather than the three of them becoming homeless, crow’s parents sent him to live with his aunt in arizona on the rez. while they stayed in touch, his parents needed to stay in georgia, and as such he only would see them on the occasional holiday.

➣➣ while his aunt meant well, his cousins were another story. living with his aunt and uncle would have been fine had it not been for their two children; a son and daughter who constantly bullied him behind their backs for not being pure hopi as they were, often harassing him about being a ‘halfbreed’. a quiet boy at heart to boot, he faced bullying in school as well all the way through high school. his cousins, in tenth grade, snooped in his room and found his journal - which they used to out him as pansexual to the school.

➣➣ the moment he graduated, he spent as much time off the rez as possible, avoiding his cousins. on one of his frequent trips to simply explore nearby cities and towns, he found himself in purgatory. one drunken night led to following a mysterious woman into the woods. as it turned out, she was a witch. intrigued and excited at the idea of learning magic and having a way to defend himself, he quickly took her up on her offer to teach him. after a few months, she let him in on her secret - she was a skinwalker.

➣➣ she talked up how powerful she was because of it, and how no one would ever hurt her again. the more he heard about it, the more he wanted it. still unhealed from the way he was treated growing up and too caught up in the concept of never having to be beneath someone ever again, he agreed to let her hold the ceremony that would make him one as well without thinking of the consequences. when she told him that the final task he needed was to kill a family member... he almost faltered but agreed and went back to the rez. 

➣➣ he almost didn’t do it. it was night when he returned, and he could see his male cousin drinking on the porch. the concept of killing someone - even someone like his cousin who had treated him so poorly - was daunting. he might have changed his mind had his cousin not seen him arriving and was immediately being malicious; using homophobic slurs and accusing crow of having run off with a lover, talking about how disgraceful it was. and it all was a blur from there.

➣➣ bringing back a lock of his cousin’s hair to the witch, she finished the rituals and he became the creature she had promised - powerful but at what cost? still wrought with guilt despite having made the ultimate choice, crow left the forests on the outskirts of purgatory where he had been training and into the ghost river triangle itself, unable to go home after what he did and unable to stomach facing the witch. living out of his truck, he went from odd job to odd job, eventually landing a stable job as a cashier at a grocery store. around this time he chose to begin going by the name crow - both to distance himself from his past, and because if someone were to want to control or destroy him now as a skinwalker, they could do so if they knew his true, personal name. as such, a nickname seemed the safest bet. 

➣➣ fastforward to present day (1x01). after a few years of cashiering and attempting to rent rooms and apartments without success, as well as a stint playing guitar for an up and coming rock band, crow landed a job as a bartender at one of the local bars and instead of attempting to rent rooms or apartments, ended up moving into the trailer park. it was sketchy to say the least, but he couldn’t afford anything fancy and clearly didn’t handle having roommates well. a trailer seemed like the next best thing, outside of living in the woods or in his truck. his tendency to mind his own business and expect that of others meant that he mingled with normal purgatory residents and the revenants equally, pursuing his hedonistic nature as he pleased. which was all well and good, until things began to get... a lot more chaotic due to a curse and an heir he had originally had no knowledge of. 

               [ MORE TO COME THROUGHOUT                                               CHARACTERIZATION DEVELOPMENT ]

[liketolaugh-writes]

Threadbare and Torn

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Hank becomes a Jericho spy in the DPD ranks. Connor becomes his liaison. They... well, they don't exactly get along.

Hank wasn’t a reflective kinda guy. At least, not when he could help it. These days, that shit didn’t invite much of anything but pain, regret, frustration- no, it was easier to just go with his gut.

And Jeffrey. God, when was the last time he’d done a favor for Jeffrey? When was the last time Jeffrey had asked?

Hank squinted against the sun, a faint headache throbbing at his temples. Nothing like as bad as usual- he wanted his wits about him for this. His gaze swept cautiously over the café’s outdoor tables until a man in a beanie glanced up disinterestedly from his menu, brown eyes lingering on the breast of Hank’s jacket.

Jeffrey had given him the jacket – apparently it had a symbol sewn into it, nearly invisible to the human eye, but obvious to any android who knew to look for it. Hank didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but apparently it did, because the next moment, the man signaled him, two fingers waving what Hank was certain was a perfect triangle.

Hank trudged over to him and plopped down in the seat across from the android, giving him an appraising look of his own. Stiff, straight posture, a beanie covering his LED, stained and nondescript clothing, no trace of expression on his face. No model Hank recognized, not that that meant much.

“How’s your father doing?” Hank said at last, not letting himself snort at the mandatory code. Eyes and ears everywhere, and all, with the FBI on the Jericho case. Still, he felt like he was in a spy movie. A corny one.

The android tilted his head slightly; Hank could almost feel himself being scanned. He clenched his jaw, meeting the android’s eyes just short of a glare, daring him to comment on Hank’s disheveled state.

“…Still living the life with his mistress,” the android said instead, so soft that Hank almost couldn’t hear him. His tone was perfectly even and measured, and subtly deferential. Hank hated it.

“Food here any good?” he jabbed lightly, glancing inside. The café didn’t have a ‘no androids’ sign, which was telling; they’d become more and more popular as tensions rose.

The android just shrugged, disinterested. “Want any?” he asked quietly, setting the menu down.

Hank considered saying yes, just to be an ass. Then he scoffed at himself and shook his head. “Too rabbit food for me. In the mood for something else? This was just a meet-up point.”

The android nodded shortly, hands dropping to his lap. “Let’s go.”

Hank’s first impression was that he was mechanical, contrasting harshly with the crying and terrified deviants Hank had seen too many times in his precinct’s cells. It grated on him, but, uncharacteristically, he bit his tongue. This wasn’t about the robot in front of him. It was about Jericho.

Sighing, Hank pushed himself up and jerked his head, indicating for the android to accompany him, before leading the way to his car. A few conspicuous seconds passed before Hank heard the scrape of the chair, and the android fell in half a step behind him. A glance back told Hank that he was scanning the crowd, pretty thoroughly disinterested in interacting with Hank.

But maybe it was just the location. Hank didn’t like letting people into his space, especially not someone who so immediately set his teeth on edge, but it was better than staying out in the open.

“Name’s Hank Anderson,” Hank grunted as soon as they were both in the car. He watched the android fiddle with the seatbelt for a moment before prompting, unable to keep an edge of irritation out of his voice, “And you? I sure hope you’re the Jericho contact or this is gonna get real awkward.”

The android nodded stiffly, leaving the seatbelt alone to look ahead, still straight-backed and perfect. “I’m Connor.”

That was apparently all he had to say about that. Hank exhaled and started the car, hit the radio, and got going, ignoring the way Connor glanced down at it with a reserved frown. If he couldn’t speak up, he didn’t get an opinion.

Hank’s first impression of the guy didn’t improve any on the way to his house. Connor stared straight ahead out the window, occasionally following something to the side, and made no attempt at conversation. His back stayed stiff, his posture perfect, and his hands folded neatly in his lap.

The pattern continued as they reached Hank’s house. Hank got out, and a few seconds passed before Connor followed. When he did, it was careful and deliberate, without any flourish and making as little noise as possible. Even shutting the door was a nearly silent process, and then he followed half a step behind Hank up the path to his house. Hank wanted to hit him just to see if he’d react.

Sumo greeted Hank at the door with a low boof and a snuffle, and Hank gave him a rough pat and an absentminded, “Good boy.”

Sumo boofed again, and then circled around to sniff at Connor, lazily curious.

Connor stiffened, eyes tracking Sumo with clear apprehension, and edged back as the dog came close. After a moment, he looked away and skirted around the dog without directly acknowledging him. Stepped around the pizza boxes on the ground and didn’t even disturb the dog food Hank had spilled last night that Sumo hadn’t eaten yet. Didn’t even touch the wall.

Instead, he just paused on the threshold of the living room and kitchen, clearly waiting for instructions. Looked like a mannequin.

Sumo huffed, unbothered, and loped off to flop onto his bed, but Hank scowled and slammed the door shut. Connor’s expression barely twitched. Hank leaned against the door, crossed his arms, and surveyed him.

“Thirium? Cards?” he asked, more a challenge than a real offer at this point. God, it was gonna be a long couple months. Just looking at Connor made him itch. “I can put the TV on in the background.”

Connor glanced at him, flat and disinterested. “…No, thank you.”

Shocker.

Hank grunted and kicked out one of the chairs at the kitchen table, throwing himself down with a scowl. Connor took that as a signal and sat down across from him, no noise, stiffly polite. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a holographic projector, setting it between them. With the press of a button, a map of Detroit sprang up between them.

“Straight to business, huh?” Hank said sardonically, something sick and bitter twisting in his stomach, and Connor nodded.

Hank would grant the kid one thing, he had some good ideas in his head. They had the start of a game plan sketched out after the better part of an hour, districts to target, shelters to capture, infrastructure to prioritize. Maximum effectiveness, minimum collateral.

Except the police. No mercy for them.

The only exception was Hank’s precinct, since Jeffrey had already secured an agreement with Jericho; his officers turned a blind eye to anything androids did, and Jericho steered around them. Fair enough, and good thinking on Jeffrey’s part. Small comfort all the same.

And a good mind Connor might have, but he was fucking exhausting to talk to. He seemed to speak as little as possible. He missed half of Hank’s expressions. Refused to directly contradict Hank even when he clearly disagreed.

Hank was sick of this already.

“What’s your plan if the military gets involved?” he asked, struggling to keep his mind in the game and off Connor’s painfully flat affect, so like the machine surgeon that-

“They shouldn’t,” Connor said shortly. After several minutes, he seemed to realize how painfully inadequate that was and continued, “They’re busy, or we would be dead already. The police and FBI have fewer resources. Should that change, we will certainly lose.”

Connor’s tone remained quiet and indifferent through his entire speech. He didn’t even take his eyes off the city plan, and his mouth was a flat, downturned line. Hank compared him again to the crying girl he’d seen self-destruct in one of the jail cells last year, and felt his rage grow.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he snapped, voice rising a little.

Connor had the nerve to shrug. Hank felt sick.

He got up to turn music on in the background, and pretended not to hear when Connor asked him to turn it back off.

---

A week and a half later, Hank was faced with the grim consequences of his actions as his police radio burst with panicked chatter. He listened to them relay information back and forth, asking for backup, trying to outmaneuver their opponents, as if Jericho didn’t have easy access to even the police-only channels. He didn’t move from where his car was parked on a random streetside, far away from the chaos.

Neither, he knew, did anyone else from their precinct.

Over the course of six hours, the skirmish between Jericho and the local police force went from a standoff, to a shootout, and then an invasion, and finally a surrender. With that, the precinct the main Jericho base occupied was deviant territory.

Casualties on each side were pretty brutal. Hank wouldn’t know the exact Jericho numbers until Connor told him, but the police force took thirty-seven deaths and close to fifty injured.

All Hank’s fault, obviously, though from his grim look, Jeffrey was feeling it too. Still, he remembered the Tracis, terrified and angry and in love, the ones he’d let go before he’d ever gotten properly involved with this shit.

(Cole had loved androids. This was the first time in years that he’d done something he felt Cole would’ve been proud of him for. He couldn’t give up that easy.)

So he pushed on.

He and Connor had arranged to meet up a few days after the fight, and Connor, of course, arrived precisely on time, back straight, expression disaffected, and knocked on the door until Hank answered.

He offered Hank a cursory greeting, sat in the exact same place as last time, and gave Sumo an unreadable look when he boofed. Hank scowled, his foul temper heavy in his gut, and kicked the door shut. When he turned around, Connor was placing the projector dead center on the table and tapping it to activate.

“Thought we could play a round of cards or some shit before we got into it,” Hank said, not bothering to hide his irritation. Not because he wanted to spend any extra time with this programmed asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to pretend he was eager to turn on his former fellows, and he hated Connor’s apathetic demeanor.

Case in point: Connor blinked at him, unamused and uninterested. The same beanie covered his head, the same sweater, same pants. “Why?”

Hank hated him.

He sat down, scowling at the hologram, which blinked at him mockingly. “Whatever. What’re we working with?”

Connor didn’t question it, lunching straight into the casualty numbers for Jericho and highlighting the weaknesses in the attack. He didn’t seem to care about the significance of any of what he was saying – like it was just a training exercise, like none of them were people to him.

In turn, Hank grudgingly relayed his end of things: police response details, the FBI’s conspicuous silence, announcements and reallocations from the interceding days. None of it reflected the stifled quiet of the station these days, the heavy tension, the silent resignations handed in by a few of the officers with each their own reasons – Miller, Reed, Wilson.

Connor listened silently and seamlessly incorporated the information into the next, revised plan, plotting out the steady destruction of the next precinct in line.

Finally, Hank couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his hands on the table and leaned close, taking a sour pleasure out of seeing Connor go dead still. Sumo whined, and Hank felt only a hint of regret, quickly swallowed up, eyes on Connor.

“I knew those people,” Hank said lowly, not bothering to suppress the venom. “I fucking worked with them. Now, I knew what I was signing up for, but fuck, the least you can do is pretend you give a shit in front of me.”

His voice rose until he was almost, but not quite shouting, hot with rage. Connor didn’t look at him, but Hank could see the tension almost vibrating through his frame, a tightness around his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said after a while, just on the edge of audible, stiff and insincere.

Hank scoffed. “You have to mean it for it to matter,” he sneered, bitterness and guilt and a visceral sort of revulsion churning up inside him.

Deviants were one thing, but god, he couldn’t stand machines.

Connor didn’t even try to look him in the face, rubbing his arm in mild discomfort. “I do.”

Hank took a breath, furious and conflicted and sick with it all.

“Get out,” he forced out, and Connor only hesitated for half a second before obeying, tucking the projector back into his pocket and leaving without another word. It didn’t make Hank any happier.

He wanted a drink.

---

Three months and several meetings later, Hank was at his wit’s end.

Jericho had taken half the city, and public opinion was radically polarized between those in support and those terrified and furious, those calling and protesting for a treaty and those breaking into Cyberlife stores just to tear shit up. Police morale was rock bottom, and the national government hadn’t lifted a finger to help; not that that was a bad thing, considering, but it was a pill to swallow.

And that was just in Detroit.

His mood was even worse than usual today, because Connor apparently couldn’t be assed to give the meeting a fraction of his valuable attention. His gaze wandered the room; his face had no expression at all, and he leaned back in his chair in the closest to a lazy posture Hank had seen from him. He hadn’t even acknowledged Sumo when the dog wandered up to nudge at him, snuffling.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and spoke even less than usual, instead humming along as Hank fucking carried the conversation. Like he had no stake in it. Like it didn’t even matter to him.

It pissed Hank the hell off. What was Connor here for, if he couldn’t be bothered to care? What was Hank doing here?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hank barked eventually, when Connor shrugged instead of telling Hank goddamn anything useful about Jericho’s supplies situation. Connor didn’t answer, looking somewhere in the direction of the bathroom door, and Hank’s voice rose. “Connor. Connor!” Connor’s gaze drifted to him, the android’s head cocking slightly, nose crinkling like it was more trouble than it was worth. Hank fumed. “What the hell is with you today?”

Connor blinked at him. Same beanie, same sweater, fingers playing with his sleeve. His gaze dropped to the projector.

“…I killed someone last time,” he said at last, almost too soft to hear.

Hank snapped.

“What does it fucking matter anyway?” he spat, thinking of voices that dropped off the radio and Jeffrey’s tired resignation and the bags deepening under Ben’s eyes. “It’s one of fucking hundreds anyway, isn’t it? But you don’t fucking care about that, you just- fucking sit there and figure out how to do it more efficiently like some kind of machine, and it’s fucking disgusting-!”

Hank was on his feet and shouting, and he didn’t even care; he was so furious his blood was roaring in his ears and he was almost shaking, staring at Connor’s stupid frozen tin-can face because machines never cared who lived or died-

And then Connor was on his feet too.

“Sh-shut up!” Connor snarled at him, and for the first time his voice was at a level Hank didn’t strain to hear, and he was scowling right back at Hank. “Y-you don’t under, understand anything! Y-y-you’ve never even tr-tried!”

Hank’s voice caught in his throat, whatever words he was planning on saying next drying up as his mind twisted up in confusion.

Since when did Connor stutter?

Connor ducked back, took a step back and a step forward, yanked on his shirt and shook out his hands and then yanked again, breathing quickly.

“I, I had to kill N-Nines again,” he continued, “b-because he won’t ask, ask me not to, I ask him to say it and he, he won’t, he does-doesn’t know how, and it’s m-m-my fault, I ran away and l-left him and now-now-now he’s the dev-deviant hunter and and…”

Connor shuddered and yanked on his shirt again. His head twitched to one side, and he took a deep, heaving breath, and he abruptly looked exactly like the deviants who melted down in the DPD interrogation rooms.

Hank couldn’t breathe. He felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him.

“And y-you have no i-idea what it’s like to be, to be a machine,” Connor continued relentlessly. Stepped back, stepped back, stepped forward, yanked. “To, to be nothing, and, and n-no one, you have- no f-fucking idea.” He took another quick, harsh breath, and without looking up, snapped, “Stop l-looking at me li-li-like th-that!”

Connor was breathing dangerously hard now, and maybe it was his imagination, but Hank thought he could see the red glare of his LED through the cotton beanie.

Hank’s mouth opened and closed, thrown so far off he wasn’t even sure he was on the same planet anymore. When he didn’t respond after a minute, Connor looked up, brown eyes dull and wild. A second later, he seemed to process what he’d just done, clapped a hand over his mouth, and stared at Hank.

Then he bolted, clumsy and frantic, and Hank made no move to stop him.

Fuck.

---

­The only surprise when he was contacted a few days later was that it was Markus himself who met with him, expression lined with stress and exhaustion; that, and that he was not nearly as confrontational as Hank would’ve assumed, under the circumstances.

He waited patiently for Hank to open the door, showed himself inside, glanced at Sumo with a flicker of a smile and sat himself on the couch. Then he looked at Hank, as bold and expectant as if this was his own home.

Hank sat down, feeling as sullen and defensive as a grumpy child.

“What happened?” Markus asked immediately, intense dual-toned eyes on Hank.

Hank scowled and crossed his arms uncomfortably. “It was just a damn argument,” he muttered. “Happens all the time. Don’t worry, I’m not some bitch-ass hypocrite who’d quit over this.”

Markus raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed and almost amused by the attempt at deflection. “Please understand, Lieutenant, that when Connor returned yesterday he was on the verge of a meltdown. I’m not letting him back here until I feel the issue’s been resolved. So please: tell me what happened.”

Hank felt a stab of guilt and glanced away uncomfortably, watching Sumo pant on his bed. “Why don’t you ask him?” he grouched.

“I have,” Markus said patiently, “and I’ve already taken steps to resolve things on his end. I’d like your side of the story.” He paused, took a breath, and continued, a little kinder, “I’m not your enemy, Lieutenant. I assume you had your reasons for blowing up the way you did.”

Some of the tension eased out of Hank’s shoulders. “Why does Connor act so mechanical?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Everyone responds differently to deviancy,” Markus said, tone noticeably cooler but somehow still not angry. “Connor’s taken it particularly hard and is finding adjustment difficult. Can you explain what you mean?”

“He’s…” Hank groaned and reached up to rub his hand over his face, frustrated. “Blank. Won’t take his mind off the job for half a second, acts like nothing bothers him, can’t express an opinion to save his life. Gets on my nerves.”

It’s not natural, he wanted to say, but even he knew that would be a step too far.

“I see,” Markus sighed, and he actually leaned against the back of the couch a little, considering Hank tiredly. “Yes, that would explain a few things. He’s mentioned that he can’t seem to figure out what you expect from him.” Pause, while Hank tried to figure that out, and then Markus continued, “Connor spent the majority of his machine period in relative isolation. He has some social difficulties as a result. But he responds well to direct communication.”

Irritably, Hank amended his earlier thought. It wasn’t natural – except in survivors of extended neglect and abuse.

Fucking obviously. What was his police training good for if he couldn’t even identify the signs of long-term abuse when the dominos lined themselves the fuck up for him? Had he really let himself go that much?

“Why send him, then?” he asked, dropping his hand to curl it into a fist, leaning back against the couch, absently wishing he’d keep sinking until he sank right into the ground. Extenuating circumstances or no, Connor’s callousness was enough to make his teeth grind.

When he finally glanced over, Markus was frowning at him thoughtfully.

“As the former deviant hunter,” the android said carefully, studying him as he spoke, “Connor’s strategic programs are high and above anything the rest of us have. Sending someone else would be rather like having a talented amateur play a competitive chess game when you have a professional chessmaster available. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

That made sense – too much sense, damn it.

“Connor mentioned something about a deviant hunter too,” Hank muttered, still avoiding the core issue as he felt more and more stupid and selfish. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Markus looked first surprised, then frustrated, then gloomily resigned, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his knee, sighing.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I forgot that the matter didn’t receive much human publicity.” He cleared his throat and resettled himself, wincing as his legs shifted, and met Hank’s eyes gravely. “Cyberlife has been keeping a prototype whose sole purpose is to hunt down and kill deviant androids and put a permanent end to Jericho. For about a year and a half, that was Connor. These days, it’s an RK900, Conan. Connor calls him Nines.”

Shit. Shit. Motherfucker, every time he thought Cyberlife couldn’t get any worse- thought humans couldn’t get any worse-

Hank could see it all too clearly, too, in Connor’s numb apathy, and the cold efficiency of his ideas, and his obvious experience. For about half a second he considered holding it against him, and then he remembered his breakdown the other day.

You have no idea what it’s like to be a machine, Connor had said, stuttering and shattered and viciously angry. No, he couldn’t in good conscience blame Connor.

So instead Hank just felt frustrated and overwhelmed, every inch the stupid, bitter old man he knew Cole would have been crushed to see his father become. He needed a drink. He missed him.

“What happened?” Markus repeated.

Hank exhaled harshly, reached up to cover his eyes with his wrist, and finally, grudgingly, explained, “He just- it’s fucking stupid, okay? He was having an off-day or something, and I got pissed because he wasn’t even paying attention, and I lashed out.” He huffed again. “It’s just- this shit ain’t easy for me either. I knew it was coming, and all, and most of ‘em were bastards from the start, but I don’t have to enjoy having a hand in all… this. And he don’t make it any easier.”

Markus looked unexpectedly sympathetic, if still distinctly uncompromising.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, “but I recommend you do the same if you want to get any actual communication going. You still have a few more months of working together. It would be best if you could find a way to at least tolerate each other.” Then, unexpectedly, he gave Hank a stern look. “Don’t call him a machine again. I broke his programming myself, but only after he asked me to. He’s earned his personhood the same as the rest of us.”

Wearily, Hank gave in.

“Yeah,” he agreed resignedly. “Yeah, alright.”

---

Hank meant it, when he promised to give Connor another chance. He did.

But his mood darkened steadily as the next meeting time approached, a heavy sort of exhaustion falling over Hank’s shoulders. By the time the actual date rolled around, he was halfway through a bottle and had long since forgotten. Within a couple hours, he’d downed the whole thing, played a few rounds of Russian Roulette, and then passed out cold on the ground, dizzy and nauseous.

He woke up to fingers tapping gingerly at his numb face, groaned, opened his eyes to squint at Connor frowning at him, and groaned again.

“Not now,” he muttered petulantly, rolling over and away. “Not fucking now.”

Connor sighed down at him.

“I d-don’t know what I-I-I ex-expected,” he murmured, and then leaned down and hauled Hank up effortlessly, ducking under his arm to support him.

Hank groaned as the sudden motion turned his stomach and swatted weakly at Connor a couple times. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”

Connor ignored him. Fucker.

The android didn’t seem to have any trouble dragging him through the house, and Sumo was fast asleep like the little traitor he was, so Hank just closed his eyes and grumbled wordlessly, his brain too soaked in liquor to put up a real fight. Didn’t matter anyway, one way or another, the way the world was going.

He was dumped unceremoniously onto his bed, and Hank squinted up at Connor blearily. He was staring down at Hank with his brow pinched, head cocked.

“Confusion, vomiting, seizures, slow or irregular breathing, hypothermia…” Connor muttered, and then sighed.

And then, bafflingly, he grabbed Hank’s trash can and moved it closer to his bed. Hank blinked at it dumbly while Connor left, wondering what the fuck that was all about.

He was too drunk for this, he decided, and passed out again just as Connor returned with a glass of water.

Hank woke up again an indeterminate amount of time later, fell off the bed, vomited, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, head pounding and mouth dry, he was back in bed, and he couldn’t smell any puke. He groaned, feeling his stomach rebel, and then spotted the glass of water, which was reason enough to push himself laboriously upright. He grabbed it and gulped it down without hesitation, and then stumbled out of his room in search of painkillers.

Another day in the life of Hank fucking Anderson, he thought sourly, and then he reached the living room and stopped.

Connor was curled up on the couch, just squirming to stare sleepily at Hank. His beanie was discarded somewhere behind him, and his LED was a steady blue at his temple, flicking to a spinning yellow as Hank watched.

Connor had stayed. Connor was scanning him. Connor frowned at him, pushed himself to his feet, and said, avoiding his gaze, “Y-y-you need f-food. S-s-sit down, I’ll m-make you some, something.”

Too befuddled and hungover to think of a response, Hank sat down at the table. Connor disappeared into the kitchen for several minutes, and Hank put his head down on the cool wood.

What the fuck.

Connor returned with a plate of four pieces of toast, perfectly browned, and set it in front of Hank. Then he retreated, seating himself on the floor by Sumo’s bed, staring at the sleeping dog.

At a loss, Hank ate, slowly and numbly, staring at Connor like he was seeing him for the first time. His sweater was patched and heavily stained and too big for him. His pants weren’t a lot better off. Both items looked soft and well-worn. He had what looked like an old Bluetooth headset on each ear, which was new. And as Hank watched, Connor hesitantly reached out a hand and pet Sumo gingerly. Within seconds, his whole body softened.

He looked. He looked like a person.

Hank reached down, and then realized with a start that he’d actually eaten all four pieces of bland-ass toast, and his stomach had actually settled a little. He stared blankly down for a few seconds, and then got up and stumbled into the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and swallowed a couple painkillers dry. Connor didn’t say a word the whole time.

Hank swiped his fresh mug of coffee and sat back down, and it wasn’t until he’d finished half of it that he asked tiredly, “What are you doing here?”

The question clearly stumped Connor, and he pulled his hand back to his chest without looking up.

“I was con-concerned that you w-w-would suf-suffocate or, or seize over, overnight,” Connor said at last, quiet again and sounding oddly defeated. And what was with the stutter?

Either way, Hank snorted bitterly.

“I don’t need your crisis protocols,” he sneered, well familiar with them after all this time. And he didn’t need anyone’s fucking pity, or their mental health training or leftover programmed ‘compassion’.

Unexpectedly, though, Connor gave him a hard look back.

“I’m p-programmed for, for in-inves-investigation and m-murder, Lieutenant,” he said, clipped and terse. “I don’t, don’t have c-crisis protocols.”

It was Hank’s turn to be stumped. He squinted at Connor, trying to comprehend him through his aching head. “Then what are you getting outta this? Fuck knows you don’t have any reason to give a shit about me.”

Hank just wasn’t worth giving a shit about, and he and Connor had clashed from day one. There was no reason for Connor to stick around for his drunk ass.

“I d-d-don’t kn-know,” Connor said, unwittingly echoing Hank’s thoughts.

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” Hank said sarcastically, familiar and easy irritation flashing through him. And that fucking stutter-

Connor sighed, pulled his knees to his chest, and repeated insistently, “I don’t kn-know. We don’t get, get, get al-along. We, we y-yelled at each, each other last w-week. But I was, was worried.”

Connor paused. Hank finished his coffee to avoid looking at him, suddenly uncomfortable with how vulnerable he looked. He looked young. Hell, he probably was young.

“I’m, I’m sorry for yell, yelling,” Connor said after a bit. “I d-didn’t m-mean to, to get upset.”

Hank believed that in a heartbeat. He grunted, still guarded and reluctant to trust this sudden about-face of behavior, and went to go flop on the couch.

“Where did those fucking headphone things come from?” he mumbled out of nowhere, leaning heavily on the arm of the couch and frowning at Connor.

Connor looked uncomfortable again, tugging gently at his sleeves.

“They’re n-noise-can-canceling,” he said, not looking at Hank. “M-Markus got them, got them for m-me. B-because I’m sense, sensitive to s-sound, and you can be kind of, kind of l-loud.”

Hank snorted ungracefully. “Uh huh. Is that all you two talked about?”

Connor shrugged. “He said I was, was t-trying too hard, and that was wh-why you dis-disliked me. I’m, I’m t-trying to do, do b-better.” He hesitated, not look at Hank. “Am I, am I doing better?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered, and threw an arm over his face. “Why do you even care what I think of you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said unhappily, curled up on the ground.

Hank sighed. Let himself notice how much more Connor was talking than usual, his voice warping and stammering awkwardly instead of stiffly controlled. The small blips of annoyance he’d let slip, and uncertainty, and the admission of weakness.

He thought about Connor staying overnight just to look after his sorry ass. When was the last time someone had done that? It had to have been years.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, you’re doing better.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

42 or 20 with indruck! Can you tell I'm a sap?? ❤❤❤

I went with 20, since I’ve actually done a variation for 42 for Indruck before.

Prompt 20 from this list: My amazing partner just dumped me. Please come home with me for the holidays and pretend to be my partner.

“DUCK I NEED HELP!”

Duck’s used to his neighbor and friend entering his house without knocking. After all, he does much the same to him. But the panicked tone is enough to send him tumbling off the couch.

“Ow. What’s up, ‘Drid?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to the floor to check on him, and Duck waves his hand dismissively to show he’s fine, “I’m just, it’s, I realized another horrible part of Derrick dumping me.” 

Duck sits up, facing his friend as the thinner man continues, “The few times I spoke with my parents since I started dating him, I bragged about how wonderful he was. Goodness knows they’d criticized me enough for everything else, at the very least it felt nice to tell them my relationship was going well. And now I get to go home in a week for the holidays, without the wonderful boyfriend I told them all I had. It’s going to make everything worse.”

Duck nods sympathetically. He’d been the first person Indrid told about the break up, Derrick leaving him abruptly two weeks ago after revealing he’d been dating someone else at the same time until he could make up his mind about who would make the better.

He’d apparently said Indrid needed “too much work” to be the winning partner. Duck keeps hoping to run into the guy so he can give him a piece of his mind (and tell him to be glad it’s Duck, and not Aubrey, who’s confronting him because she is pissed). 

Indrid is weird, sure. He can be absentminded, messy, can leave sketches scattered across his floor for weeks. But he’s funny, thoughtful, and Duck has pictured him without clothes more than once, wondering what it would be like if it was him drawing the high, faintly cracked noises from him on the other side of the wall. 

But more than any of that Duck always gets a strange sense of belonging when he comes home in the evening and sees Indrid’s apartment lit beside his own, still dark one. Indrid is home, next door, and that means things will be okay. 

Duck would have given anything to be in Derricks place. 

“Duck, I need you to come with me and pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Duck should have put some specifications on that statement.

“‘Drid, you full well I can’t lie well enough to pull that off. And ain’t they gonna notice I’m nothin’ like the guy you told ‘em about?”

“I kept everything vague to decrease the chances of them finding something to disapprove of. You won’t need to lie, Duck, please I’ll,” Indrid’s gaze darts around the room, his red glasses sitting on his forehead allowing Duck to enjoy the light brown of his eyes, “I’ll design your next tattoo for free, I’ll pay both our internet bills for a year, I’ll, ah, I’ll-”

“Whoah, whoah, ‘Drid, you ain't got to do anythin like that. We’re friends, we help each other out.”

“So you’ll do it?” Indrid bites the inside of his lip.

“How long would it be?”

“Five days, six if we hit bad weather coming back up here. That wouldn’t take you away from work too long, would it? Or do they expect the part time rangers to cover the holidays?”

“Nah, the center is closed on Christmas. And I’m pretty sure Juno wants a few extra hours anyway. I’ll ask to be sure, but think I oughta be able to get the time off.” He looks back at Indrid’s face. There are bags under his eyes, the result of the semester and graveyard shifts at a coffee shop. His strange, wide smile is tentatively trying to spread across his face. It’s the first time since the break up he’s looked hopeful. 

“Yeah, what the hell, can’t let my friend be lonesome for the holidays.”

Indrid makes a delighted noise, flapping his hands, “Thank you!” He throws his arms around Duck, and Duck returns the hug. Indrid loves his hugs (most people love Duck’s hugs, but Indrid’s opinion tends to take up the most space in his mind). 

He’s doing his friend a favor, and that makes the fact this is a terrible idea worth the risk. And hey, five days paling around with his friend in some fancy seaside town will be fun.

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

Juno: You know that’s a terrible idea, right?

Juno: Pretending to date Indrid is going to make for one heartbroken Duck and you know it.

Duck: It’ll be fine

Juno: How long have you had a crush on him again?

Duck: A year. And we stayed friends the whole time because I fucking knew when to keep it to myself. And I can keep keeping it to myself because his friendship means more to me than my fucking dick. 

Juno: ……..

Juno:...... Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you

Duck tosses the phone on the bed as he finishes packing his suitcase. Yes, he’s had a crush on Indrid for awhile. And yes, by the time he realized just how intense the crush was, Indrid was in a relationship that made him happy, and the strength of the crush was overwhelmed by the desire to not make Indrid’s life harder. So Duck kept those feelings to himself, focused on being Indrid’s friend, including putting in a good word on his behalf to their landlord so he could get the little studio apartment next to Duck’s one-bedroom. 

Who knows, maybe spending so much time in close proximity will get rid of the crush….

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

…………….Or it will make it ten times stronger Duck muses during his turn at the wheel. It’s the west coast, so there’s no snow, but rain patters on the windshield as they drive down I-5. Indrid is humming along with the playlist he put on, finishing up the last of the meal they grabbed from  Dairy Queen. He’s been intermittently hand feeding Duck fries so he can keep driving. 

He also does a thing where eagerly and licks the spoon while eating his Blizzard and Duck is afraid he might hit the guard rail if he doesn’t stop staring. 

“How did we meet?” Indrid asks somewhere near Sacramento. 

“Uh, think Dani introduced us, right?”

Indrid nods, “That’s what I thought. We’ll need to have our story straight, but it seems easiest just to describe our relationship as truthfully as possible.”

“You mean we ain’t tellin ‘em we me when I rescued you from an evil goat?”

Indrid “humphs” crossing his arms, “I did not expect to tackled at the petting zoo. But I appreciated the rescue all the same.”

“Thought Aubrey was gonna wet her pants laughin at you.” Duck giggles at the memory of Indrid flat on his back with an extremely hungry goat on top of him.

They run through increasingly ridiculous things to tell Indrids family; that they met on a botched bank robbery, they got trapped in an elevator together, their characters fell in love during a game of D&D and it spread out into their real lives, and so on until Indrid is doubled over with laughter. It would be so easy, feel so natural to reach over and squeeze his hand or stroke his face as they both come down from their giggling fits, but Duck knows better than to trap his friend in a car with unwanted affection.

By the time they reach Carmel, it’s well after ten at night. Indrid drives the last leg, explaining that the house numbers can be tricky to see. They arrive at a stately three story house four blocks from the beach.

“Right.” Indrid sits in the front seat, key in his hand but showing no desire to reach for the door, “here goes nothing.”

They carry their bags up to the house, which is all dark save for the porch light. Once they’re inside, Indrid slips off his shoes, Duck following suit and immediately spotting why.

“Who has this much white carpet?”

“My parents.” Indrid grumbles. 

They tiptoe towards the stairs, and in spite of the fact they’re expected guests, Duck feels like they’re teenagers slipping in after curfew. The bedroom Indrid leads them to is bland.

“My, they really did take it all down.” Indrid sighs, setting his suitcase on the floor.

“This was your room?”

“Yes. I wonder what they did with all the art and posters. I liked a lot of them. And I’d lay money that all of Brad’s sports awards are still up somewhere. They always preferred those to my art.” He sighs as he changes into his pajamas, then slides under the floral bedspread. 

Duck didn’t bring pajamas. He just sleeps in his boxers.

“Um” He points at himself in an attempt to indicate the problem. Indrid goes completely still, looking him up and down.

“It’s alright, Duck. That doesn’t bother me. Come on” he pats the mattress, flipping back the covers, “I’m cold and you’re a spaceheater disguised as a man.”

Duck snorts,settles beside him, “No, you’re just an icicle that got an art degree.”

Indrid barks out a laugh, sets his glasses on the bedside table “Touche. Goodnight, Duck.”

“Night, Drid.”

The light goes out and Duck nestles under the covers. Should he roll over so his back is to Indrid? No, that might seem like he’s hiding something. But rolling towards him could be too much, seem like this is real instead of a trick they’re playing.

“Duck?” Indrid whispers.

“Yeah?” He rolls over, finds Indrid on his side facing him. 

“Thank you. For coming with me. The, the next few days may be a bit awkward.”

“‘Drid, I wasn’t expectin anythin else. Not after eveythin you told me about your folks.”

“I know but, well.” Indrid takes his hand, toying with his fingers, “I’m sorry in  advance for anything they say.  Or do. Or imply. Or-”

“‘Drid.” Duck takes their joined hands, holds them against his chest, “You ain’t gotta apologize to me for shit they might do. I knew what I was gettin into when I agreed to this.”

“Thank you.” Indrid says again. He looks so tired. 

“Go to sleep, icicle.”

Indrid smiles in the darkness, and shuts his eyes. He keeps his hand in Ducks, humming softly when Duck pulls the larger quilt over them. Their hands stay linked as Duck sinks into the pillows and a deep sleep. 

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

Indrid towels himself off absentmindedly, eyeing the china-shop decor of his once lovely room. Duck volunteered to venture downstairs in search of coffee for them (Indrid trusts three people to make his coffee sweet enough: himself, his friend Barclay, and Duck). Indrid woke up first this morning, found Ducks head resting against his shoulder. He took his time studying the lines of his face, wondering if Duck would let Indrid draw him. Ideally, nude. 

Maybe asking his friend who he has a raging crush on to join him on his trip was a bad idea. 

He’d realized his feelings for Duck about four months ago. But he was happy with Derrick (well, until the last two months before the break-up, when he’d suddenly gone cold around Indrid), and knew it was common to get crushes on people even when dating someone. Besides, he and Duck were close friends; Duck made him feel safe, didn’t judge him for his quirks, was funny and charming in his own quiet way. So what if he occasionally pictured him while masturbating, imagining what it felt like to kiss him on every inch of his body?

There’d been a temptation to ask Duck out in the days after the break up. But his friend would no doubt assume Indrid was treating him as a rebound, and Duck deserved to feel truly wanted. Now it might be too late. 

The door swings open and Duck shuts it quickly behind him.

“This is a fuckin labyrinth.”

Indrid chuckles, “Couldn’t find the kitchen?”

“No! Thank fuck we got a bathroom attached to this place or I;d go to take a piss and you’d never fuckin see me again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t need to worry about a Minotaur unless my brother is up.”

A silver bell rings and blinks, “Does your family use a fuckin dinner bell?”

“Yes.” Indrid finishes dressing as Duck checks his hair in the mirror, “and it means it’s time to face the family.” He holds out his hand, “stay close; I’d hate to lose you in the maze.” 

Duck hesitates, then grabs his hand, and they head downstairs. 

His parents and brother beat them there.

“Is that really what you’re wearing out today?” His mother asks when they appear. 

“Hello to you as well.” He and Duck sit side by side, and he only relinquishes Ducks hand in order to pass dishes. 

“So,” His father eyes Duck, the scrutiny in the gaze making Indrid wince automatically, “you’re Indrid’s boyfriend.”

“Yep. Name’s Duck, and it’s real nice to meet y’all.”

Brad, his brother, snorts, “Duck?”

“It’s a nickname, oh, thanks darlin.” He smiles when Indrid hands him a cup of coffee. 

“Indrid says you’re interested in...environmental science, yes?” His father continues. 

“More or less. Done a lot of work in forestry and botany and such. Goal is to be a full time ranger in a national park or somethin.”

“I don’t know why we even have those; why the fuck are we preserving a bunch of trees when that land could help enrich the economy.”

“Shut up, Brad.” Indrid glares. 

“Indrid, manners. Besides, your brother has a point. All that land could be a boon for mining and development,”

“With all due respect, uh, Mr.Cold, public lands are one of the best ideas we’ve had as a country. And they bring in lots of money to places that wouldn’t get it otherwise. Hell, back home in Kepler, most of the money comes from tourists visitin the national forest.” Duck chews his eggs thoughtfully, “Plus, screwin nature only comes back to bite us in the end.”

“At least it’s a degree that has a potential job that comes after it.” His mother stares pointedly at him and Indrid groans.

The rest of breakfast goes much the same, and Indrid pulls Duck from the table as soon as he’s done eating. 

“Right, that was awful.” Indrid sinks onto his bed. 

“And you didn’t eat anythin.”

“I had toast.” Indrid snips back. 

“One piece. Come on, darlin, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my sweetheart starve?” Duck catches the pet names this time, coughs, “sorry, figured better to keep up the game in the house, in case someone can hear us.”

Right, of course. Duck’s being practical. He doesn’t really think of Indrid as his darling. 

“There somewhere in town you like?” Duck settles beside him, voice gentle, “It’s okay if there ain’t. Can even brave the labyrinth and grab you leftovers if you need me to.”

Indrid meets his eyes, and gingerly rests his head on his shoulder, “Well, there is one place…”

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

The outdoor mall is obscenely cheery, Christmas trees covered in shiny baubles and carols blasting from storefronts. Signs tout the perfect gift for that special someone, and Duck imagines himself wandering from salesperson to salesperson until he finds the thing that could show Indrid just how much he cares about him.

After a leisurely breakfast in a tiny, scruffy cafe (indeed, the only scruffy store amidst the pristine, wealth soaked chains and boutiques) in which Indrid scarfed two cinnamon rolls the size of his head, they wander arm in arm, window shopping and people watching. Indrid relaxes incrementally, and keeps casting strange, affectionate glances Ducks way. 

In spite of the chilly weather, they opt to go to the beach, finding it mostly deserted. Indrid shows him a patch of tidepools, and proceeds to ask a dozen questions about what he’s seeing. Duck does his best, though ocean life isn’t his specialty. 

“Oooh, hello little friend.” Indrid is on his stomach, leaning over one of the pools with a hermit crab in his hand, “your shell is so pretty.”

“Uh, ‘Drid, you might wanna keep an eye on that-”

Splash

“Wave.” Duck tries not to laugh at his friend, who now looks like a surprised, damp cat. 

“Oh dear.” Indrid looks at his soaked top half and shudders, “that is going to be unpleasant to walk home in.” 

“Here, take those off.” Duck unzips and doffs his jacket, unbuttons his green shirt and hands it to the taller man, “That oughta help until we get back.”

Indrid, skinny and shivering, takes the shirt and slips it on. His fingers fumble and Duck steps forward and begins buttoning it for him. 

“You don’t-” Indrid starts

“I want to” Duck finishes. When he buttons the last one, he looks up and finds their noses nearly brushing. 

“We should head back.” Indrid murmurs.

“Yeah.” Duck drops his gaze, taking a step back, “lead the way, darlin.”

Indrid hops off the rock onto the sand, offering his hand to Duck so he can do the same. Duck supposes they don’t need to hold hands on the empty beach. 

They end up holding them all the way back to the house. 

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

It all comes to a head at dinner the next night. 

“This is low even for you, bro.” Brad grins.

Indrid rolls his eyes, “What is?”

“Bringing a fake boyfriend because your skinny ass got dumped.”

The little bit Indrid’s eaten threatens to come back up. Duck is still, save for the chewing on the inside of his lip.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Indrid responds coolly. 

“Friend of a friend on Insta said in a group text that he knows your ex.” Brad looks over at their mother, “Apparently Indrid is too stupid to know when he’s being strung along, and too much of a dud to actually keep the guy.”

“In that case” His father turns to Duck, “how did you end up involved in this?”

“Probably paid him.” Brad sips his beer and Indrid growls. 

“Actually” Duck says quietly, “I came because Indrid asked me to. Couldn’t say no to the most amazin guy I know. Indrid’s perfect and Derrick was shitty to him. Just cause we ain’t had time to put a label on things don’t mean I ain’t crazy about him. And for your information” he stares down Brad, “that ‘skinny ass’ is the nicest lookin ass on the entire coast, and you are the shittiest siblin’ I’ve ever had the displeasure of meetin’.”

“How dare you?” His mother hisses and Indrid takes that opportunity to bolt, certain Duck will follow him. As he’s halfway up the stairs he hears Duck drawl, “Mom always said money can’t buy class. Thanks for the real-time demonstration.”

By the time his friend enters the bedroom, Indrid is huddled on the bed, trying not to cry. 

“Shit, ‘Drid, I’m sorry, that was outta line of me but I can’t, I couldn’t sit there and let ‘em talk to you like that. I know you got your reasons for not speakin up, but you don’t deserve to have no one takin your side.”

“It’s not that. I can’t, Duck, how could you say those things knowing full well we aren’t together? Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to believe you feel that way about me? That’s the most loved I’ve felt in months and I know it was a lie.” He buries his face in his hands, glasses denting his skin. 

“Hey, goofus.” Duck nudges him until he looks up, “you’re forgettin the part where I can’t lie.”

The gears of the world grind to a halt, and in a frozen moment in time Indrid processes a dozen realizations at once.

“You do like me.” He whispers. 

“No shit, darlin. Indrid, I’ve been into you for months, but I didn’t wanna push you away by tellin you and makin’ you uncomfortable. I meant every goddamn word, and that all barely scratches the surface of how bad I want youMOphhhm.”

Kissing Duck is a hundred times better than he ever imagined, the two of them tangled up before they even fall fully backwards. Warm fingers tangle in his hair and Duck whimpers beneath him, arching frantically into Indrids touch.

“Fuck me.” Duck pants when Indrid lets him breathe. 

“Not here. I, I think we should go somewhere else, leave early. They don’t want me here, not really, we could go home, rent a hotel room, anything, Duck, goodness please let’s get out of here.”

“It was an exclamation goofus, this room is a boner killer if there ever was one. But yeah, gettin gone sounds real fuckin good to me. I’ll let you take the lead, sugar.”

“You promise?”

Duck kisses his nose, “Wherever you wanna go, darlin. I’ll be right there next to you. I promise.”

[milomeepit]

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

[thdorkmagnet]

Light of the Sun and Stars Chapter 30: Ping Pong

A/N: Sorry for my absence guys, I’ve been sick the last couple of days and haven’t felt like getting around to posting.

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: After his recent success Marco takes the day off to bond with Tom by participating in one of the demon’s favorite pastimes. 

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Index

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. All rights go to them.

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“Take this!” Tom screamed, slamming his paddle down as hard as he could, hitting the air-born ball and sending it spiraling to the other side of the table and right over the net. Marco screamed and ducked to avoid getting hit by the tiny projectile, forgetting all about his ping-pong paddle and instead simply letting the ball fly over his head and smashing into the wall behind him. Marco turned and gaped in awe at the small indenture in his wall now from where the ball hit, muttering, “Whoooaa!”

Marco turned to his friend with a smile saying cheerfully, “Nice shot, Tom! That was incredible!”

Tom eyed his now smoking paddle in his hand with an absentminded look, shrugging as if it were no big deal, but the large grin on his face gave away his true feelings. “Eh, I don't know about incredible,” he said with obviously forced humbleness. “Fantastic. Inspirational. Extraordinary. Something like that.”

Marco just laughed, picking up the next ping pong ball and raising his paddle to hit it. “Your really good at this game,” he observed, before sending the ball over the net and bouncing toward his opponent who served it back.

“You're good too, Big Brother,” Daisy suddenly exclaimed from the corner of Marco's room, where her and Violet were playing with Three Eyed Potato Baby, the large incoherent Monster apparently assigned to watch Marco for the day. The boy figured it must have been Lobster Claws day off or something, but he wasn't complaining and he thought it was adorable that the twins seemed really fond of the Monster, Daisy making flower crowns for him to wear, while Violet was drawing sketches of him and showing it off to him a moment later. The two had been relatively quiet and out of trouble for the last few hours and that meant Marco was free to bond some with his new guy friend.

“Thanks,” Marco said, shooting her a smile for just a second before returning his attention back to the game, hitting the ball just before it could fall completely off the table. Soon Tom and Marco fell into a steady rhythm as for a few moments the two players managed to hit the ball back and forth to each other without any surprises and they took the time to chatter pleasantly with each other.

“She's right, you know,” Tom agreed, giving his new friend a smile. “Your almost a natural.”

“Yeah, uhh, things just happen that way for me, I guess,” Marco mumbled, looking embarrassed.

“Isn't it like your... ability or something?” Tom asked, his main eyes focused on the ball, but his third eye lay directly on Marco.

“My Trait,” Marco explained.

“Hmm,” Tom said impassively.

Marco's room fell silent after that except for the sound of the ball as it struck the table's surface over and over again.

It was still a few days until the next meeting with the MMPC, Lily now taking over the grueling task of compiling all the information gathered from Monsters and Mewmans alike into the most effective set of notes to help them narrow down the biggest issues and the best method to tackling them. And though she had assured them that she was making good progress, she would still need a few more days to get it ready. That meant Marco had some free time and he had decided to spend it bonding with one of his newest friends.

“How are you so good at this game?” Marco asked, now panting slightly as he struggled more and more to keep pace with his opponent's almost aggressive speed.

“Must just come naturally to me,” Tom replied with a shrug. But a mischievous smile lit up his face, as he added teasingly, “Maybe it's my Trait, too.” He hit the ball a little bit harder and caused Marco to dive for it.

“What's going on in here?” came a voice from the doorway and Marco looked away at the last second to see who it was, missing the ball and sending it bouncing to the floor. The hooded teen watched the ball roll to a stop before looking back over to the doorway of his room, seeing Star, Jackie, and Janna there and he smiled and waved to them with the hand still holding the paddle.

“Hey guys!” he greeted pleasantly. “Tom was just showing me how to play ping pong.” Marco looked over at his friend who had frozen up the moment he had spotted Janna in the doorway.

“Ping pong?” Star asked, raising an eyebrow at the two boys.

“Yeah, I've been wanting to learn for a while now and I figured this would be a good way for me and Tom to hang out,” Marco explained.

“Ahhh,” Star said, letting him know she understood, before spotting the twins in the corner, as well as the Monster between them. “Hey girls! And Potato!” Star giggled slightly, seeing the ring of daisies on his head, the actual Daisy laying across his shoulder, while Violet sat in his lap, the potato reading a book to them it seemed.

“Hi Star!” the two exclaimed waving in her direction, Potato doing the same, making an incoherent grumble, before the Monster cleared his throat and picked up where he had left off in the story, sounding to Star and the others like a series of unintelligent garbles. The blond royal raised an eyebrow, fairly certain Marco was the only one there who could understand Potato Baby and yet the girl's seemed to still be intrigued by the unheard story he was reading, their gazes never leaving the pages of the book and they looked invested enough in what he was saying even if they couldn't understand it.

“Where'd you get the table?” Jackie asked, leaning over it skeptically and running her hand along the smooth frame.

“I brought it up from the Underworld,” Tom said, spinning the paddle around on his finger for a second and making a point not to look Janna's way, who was standing just a little too close to him for his own comfort, though he did his best to ignore this.

“Well, I'm glad you two are having fun but Ferguson and Alfonso are gonna be here any minute, so you two need to wrap this up,” Star said, trying not to let her impatience show too badly.

“Okay, Star,” Marco said with a nod. He had forgotten all about the meeting until now, but he was more than ready to do his part regardless. Playtime was over for now, time to get back to work. “We'll just-”

“Sweet, ping pong!” came an exclamation from the doorway, where both Ferguson and Alfonso stood with dorky grins, the chubby king racing over. “And I've never seen one of these so well made before, ever!” he exclaimed with glee.

“That's cause I had it specially made,” Tom bragged. “It's a Daredevil Extreme 9000!”

“And what is so daring about a game of ping pong?” Janna asked, raising a teasing eyebrow at the boy and leaning against the table, right into his personal space.

“Well for one thing, in the Underworld if you lose, your opponent gets your soul,” Tom explained, trying to ignore the rush of joy he felt from the girl's close presence or her adorable little smirk.

“What?!” Marco exclaimed, dropping the paddle at once. He couldn't believe Tom had had him playing a cursed game. Was he trying to take his soul or something?

“Oh don't worry Marco,” Tom said with a small roll of his eyes. “I said 'in the Underworld', that's why we were playing it up here instead.”

Marco breathed a sigh of relief, glad he didn't have to worry about losing his soul, he liked it where it was at.

Janna, however, just leaned even closer to the boy until her shoulder was touching his, which caused goosebumps all over his arm and nearly making him drop the paddle in surprise. “Maybe we should play this on your home turf then, sometime,” the girl said and Tom felt a shudder run up his spine. He didn't know which sounded worse (or better) to him, stealing and owning Janna's soul or her owning his.

“Well I'll play a round if that's okay with you,” Ferguson said, picking Marco's paddle off the table and getting into position.

“Um, Ferguson what about the meeting?” Alfonso asked. “Your wife said we needed to discuss the changes being made to the Mirror Tax.”

“Yeah, hence why you two are here,” Star said, her voice carrying just a slight amount of bitterness to it. She had discussed in great lengths to Ferguson how his words from the first meeting had hurt Marco's feelings and though the king had apologized to her boyfriend and Marco being the sweet boy he was had forgiven him, she had still refused to let the issue go, keeping him on close watch since.

“Ah, that can wait! We've got plenty of time for stuff like that later!” Ferguson said, almost carelessly.

“But-” Both Star and Alfonso started, only to be interrupted by Janna.

“Come on, guys, a little R&R won't hurt anyone,” Janna pressed, her arm now fully around Tom's shoulder and he was blushing a dark red.

Star sighed, but smiled. Janna did have a point, they were teenagers after all, even with all the responsibility and stuff, every so often they needed some time to relax and hang out like normal teens. And the more time they all spent bonding the more well-oiled a machine they would be later on, she reasoned with herself. Not to mention, that Marco finally had some guy friends to hang out with and she knew how important that was to him, she couldn't bring herself to take that away from her boyfriend.

“Okay, but I get to play winner,” Star said with a small smirk of her own.

“Deal,” Tom said, pointing his paddle at her as if excepting some sort of challenge.

“And I get to play the winner after that,” Janna said, nearly whispering into his ear and making him squeak and push her away from him with flickering cheek marks.

“Do you have to keep doing that?” Tom asked with a slight growl.

“Do what?” Janna asked, clearly baiting him into her game and the pink-haired boy opened his mouth to answer only to realize better, snapping his jaw shut and turning away from her to focus on the game. But he still spotted her evil grin widening out of the corner of his eye and he scowled.

“Now then, prepare yourself, Lucitor, for the power and skills of King Fergore!” Ferguson exclaimed, gaining Tom's full attention back.

“We'll see,” Tom said with a confident smirk.

“Go Tom!” Marco yelled, pumping his fists into the air where he, Star and Jackie just watched from the sidelines.

“Hey, what about me?” Ferguson asked with a hurt look in the direction of his friend.

“Oh sorry,” Marco said sheepishly, correcting himself to shouting, “Go Tom and Ferguson!”

Star and Jackie just smiled at their friend, the former taking his hand into her own and leaning her head against his shoulder as they watched.

The two opponents turned to face each other once again, glaring daggers of determination across the table. The chubby king held up the ping pong ball and Tom just watched him wordlessly as the boy tossed the ball up into the air, before slamming paddle down on it was all his might with a loud dramatic yell, shouting, “Now feel the wrath of my special attack!” The ball flew over the net and hissed toward the temperamental teen at breakneck speeds, Tom nonchalantly raising his paddle and blocking the ball with one smooth motion, making it bounce off the table and strike Ferguson directly in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground and knocking him out cold. “I win,” Tom stated in boredom as Alfonso squeaked out his friends name and quickly checked to see if he was okay.

Star and Jackie just watched blankly, while between them, Marco gaped in both enchantment and horror. “Wow, that was over quicker than I thought,” Star muttered.

“Yep,” Jackie agreed, shaking her head. “Poor Ferguson. He never stood a chance.”

“I'm starting to think Tom took it easy on me while we were playing,” Marco spoke up, watching as his chubby friend was roused back into consciousness.

Star and Jackie shared a look, before the princess told him honestly, “Yeah, he did, Marco.”

“Don't take it too hard, dude,” Jackie added. “He probably just didn't want you to get hurt.”

Marco didn't seem offended, however, instead an infectious smile simply lit up his face and his cheek marks glowed an even brighter red. “Awww, he does care.”

“Ferguson,” Alfonso said in concern, poking the boy's cheek as he tried to wake the unconscious form of his friend. “You okay?”

The chubby king let out a little groan, mumbling something unintelligent under his breath.

“What?” Alfonso asked, leaning in closer to his friend so that he could hear him.

“I said... I want a rematch!!” Ferguson yelled as loud as he could, making his friend shriek and pull away to rub at his now ringing ears. With complete disregard for his safety he sat up straight once more, pointing a finger at Tom. “That didn't count. I want a redo!”

Tom shrugged and said, “Sorry, rules are rules.”

“Besides Ferg, I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Marco pointed out, acting as the boy's voice of reason since Alfonso was still struggling to make out a word anyone was saying. “You seem... unsteady.”

“What, I'm fine,” Ferguson said, his voice now with a noticeable slur as he swayed unevenly on his feet. “Don't worry about me. It's Tom you should be worried about.”

“Yeah okay,” Star said rising from her seat, Jackie following her lead, as they both worked to pull the boy toward a waiting beanbag chair. “We're just gonna let you rest up for a while.” Once he was positioned in front of it he plopped down on the chair, falling comfortably into the folds that cradled his stunned form. The two girls, as well as the slowly recovering Alfonso, watched him for a moment with concern, taking in his appearance. His eyes were hazy and unfocused as he stared off into space and he was running a hand along Potato Baby's cheek, who was sitting next to him with the twins. The Monster paused and stared at the boy with confusion. “You have a very soft face, Jackie,” the delirious king whispered under his breath. Potato Baby's face softened as he let out a flattered garble, clearly delighted by the compliment.

“Think, he'll be okay?” Alfonso asked his blond friend with a fearful look.

“Yeah, just keep a close eye on him for a while,” Star said.

The slim boy nodded, taking a seat next to his friend, before scolding him irately. “I told you it was a bad idea to challenge a demon!”

“I do what I want,” Ferguson shot back in his mindless slur. As he spoke, the twins had already crawled out of Potato Baby's lap and were now going to work decorating the boy's face with pink and purple markers, which went unnoticed by the out-of-it teen.

“So, you ready to face off against me, Star?” Tom asked, turning to the blond while twirling the paddle around in his hand in a show-offy manner, a wide smirk on his face.

Star smiled playfully back, putting a hand to her hip. “Sure only if you are ready to lose,” she said tauntingly.

Tom laughed. “Ha, now that's the Star I know,” he said, throwing her an extra paddle, which she caught easily. “Just try and not cheat like you used to when we were kids.”

“What?!” Star exclaimed, though the grin never left her face. “I never cheated... I just made up my own rules.”

“And then changed them halfway through the game and didn't tell anyone,” Tom finished.

Star scoffed, looking offended, before pointing out, “Yeah well, you were a cheater too, remember. When we'd play in the Underworld you would use the balls that you could control and manipulate at will.”

“Hey that was a long time ago,” Tom whined. The two glared at each other for a few seconds, before bursting out into laughter. Marco watched the two's playful banter with a wide, glowing smile. It was so nice to see the two getting along, considering the fact that just a few weeks ago Star hadn't even been on speaking terms with the boy, but now it was as if that whole incident had never happened and they had finally let bygones be bygones much to Marco's delight. He wanted to be friends with Tom and he was glad Star had become his friend once more, as well. He hoped that eventually he could be included in their shared laughs in the future, but for now he was just happy to see the two smiling and playing around.

Once the two finished giggling and regained their composure, Star wiped the tears from her eyes and said wistfully, “Man, good times.”

Tom smiled softly, overjoyed to hear her refer to all those years ago as 'good'. Before she seemed to harbor a lot of ill-will toward her past self and her sometimes 'rebellious nature' as she saw it, but it was nice to hear that she still had some fond memories from before St. O's. The boy watched as his friend got into position on the other side of the table, the playful and mischievous twinkle in her blue gaze a mirror reflection of her younger counterpart, the parts of herself still left intact showing through in that moment and it would have made Tom teary-eyed if it wasn't for the fact he was super-heating his body to keep that very thing from happening. He couldn't make a fool of himself right there, not when Janna was watching.

Speaking of which, he looked over to see her staring, her brown orbs so focused on him he almost squeaked in surprise, but managed to catch himself at the last moment, instead merely coughing into his hand in an attempt to hide it. He did stand just a little bit taller than before though, an arrogant smirk on his lips and a confident gleam in his eyes as he stared down his blond opponent. “Well cheating or not, I'm still going to wipe the floor with you, Butterfly.”

Star noticed the change in attitude as well as the casual glance over at her beanie-wearing friend and instantly picked up on his attempts to impress the girl he liked. Star almost rolled her eyes at how ridiculous he was being, he didn't need to show-off just because Janna was watching-

“Good luck, Star!” Marco's cheering voice called, interrupting Star's thoughts and she turned to see him shoot her one of his cute signature grins, her heart fluttering around in her chest. “I believe in you,” he added and Star felt her cheeks grow hot and an extra heartbeat in her chest.

She turned back to face her old friend, now with a determined fire in her eyes, as she pointed the paddle in his direction, shouting, “Well then prepare to be disappointed, Lucitor, cause I'm gonna win!”

“We'll see about that,” Tom said, getting into position and the blond royal did the same. With one simple swing of the hot-headed teen's paddle, the game commenced, Star hitting the ball back and Tom quickly returning the gesture. A few rounds exchanged this way, both hitting the ball vehemently back at one another determined to win and impress their crushes, failure not an option for either Tom or Star. But though they were adamant about winning, they still acted like friends, keeping up a playful banter as they fought for victory.

“I see the princess life hasn't softened up your swing any,” Tom said, hitting the air-born ball with an overhead swipe.

“And I see your even more skilled then I remember,” Star noticed, hitting the ball as if she were using a baseball bat. “You been practicing.”

“Only three hours every day,” Tom nonchalantly replied with a shrug.

“Wow, really,” Star said, sounding impressed at his level of commitment.

“Well, okay, more like three hours every other day, some days I'm too frustrated and I'd rather not have to replace the table because I lost my temper,” he explained.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Star agreed. He was still Tom, after all. “But honestly, you seem to have the whole temper thing pretty well under control,” she said, shooting him a proud smile. “I hardly ever see you explode with rage anymore.”

“Oh, um, well... I-” Tom stuttered, flustered by the compliment, a blush beginning to light up his cheeks and he raised a free hand to rub the back of his neck, timidly. But that was just the opening Star had been waiting for, letting out a loud yell as she slammed into the ball with all her might, snapping her paddle in half. She watched with a smirk as the ball bounced over the net and toward Tom at rapid speed.

The boy snapped out of his daze, his eyes turning red and his cheek flames turning into unyielding bonfires as he hit the ball back, setting his paddle on fire and sending a now flaming projectile sailing back at his friend. Star dropped her broken paddle and quickly whipped out her wand, out of it coming a giant see-through paddle made entirely of magic, rising up to meet the ball head on. Star swung her wand down with all her might, hitting the ball and sending it to the other side of the room where it smashed right through the wall and into the next room.

Everyone only stared at the hole speechless, hearing a loud crash from the other side. That was until Daisy and Violet exclaimed, “Awesome!” They ran around their cousin a few times, shouting, “Do it again, Star! Do it again!” Potato Baby clapped at the girl's success, not quite understanding the rules despite watching them play it for the last hour and a half.

Everyone else, however, was less ecstatic about the giant gaping hole in the wall, Star telling the twins, “No, probably not gonna do that again.”

Tom quickly muttered in agreement, “Yeah, that got out of hand. You really did a number on that wall, Star.”

“Only cause you set the ball on fire,” Star accused, though there was guilt laced into her face and tone, her cheeks tinged pink and her hearts glowing a bit brighter.

“Hey you distracted me,” Tom said quickly, an angry look now on his face.

“Yeah and then I saw a literal fireball heading for me and I panicked!” Star shot back. The two were glaring at each other and Marco moved to step between them and stop an all out fight from breaking out.

But then suddenly their frowns vanished and the two burst into laughter once more, freezing Marco up in confusion. “Oh man we really are just as bad as ever, huh?” Star asked and Tom nodded.

“Yeah, ha ha ha, guess some things never change,” the flaming boy replied, still chuckling at their mess up. Marco and the others just watched the exchange in confusion, not sure what to make of it, it was rare to see Star laughing at one of her mistakes, usually she held those against herself, harsher than was necessary really. When the laughter did finally die down, Tom began to awkwardly rub his neck, looking at the damaged wall with a cringe. “Uhh, sorry about your wall though,” he said sheepishly.

“It's fine, it was my fault anyway,” Star assured him. “I just got a little... aggressive back there.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tom admitted.

Star smiled, proud of her old friend for owning up to his mistakes. “Truce?” the girl said, offering her hand to shake.

“Truce,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. Once the two broke off, the boy complimented his friend by saying, “Besides what you did back there, was pretty incredible. Making a paddle out of magic! Very creative!”

Star blushed, before giving the boy a playful shove, saying, “Yeah, well you weren't too bad yourself. I mean, you set the ball on fire! How cool is that?!”

“Not as cool as you.”

“Oh stop it.”

Marco watched this whole exchange, sighing in relief that the two had made up so quickly. He really didn't want to see the two fighting again, after they had just made up. He could really tell that the two's broken friendship was starting to mend into a much stronger one and that pleased him to no end. Which was why he couldn't resist rushing over and wrapping his arms around both of their waists and drawing them into a forced group hug, giggling with joy. “Whoa, Marco, where'd that come from?” Star asked, not complaining about receiving a hug from her favorite person in the world, but more caught off guard by it.

“I just like seeing you two getting along,” Marco said and the recipient’s of the boy's crushing hug just shared a grin before hugging the boy quickly back.

“Awww, your sweet Marco,” Star gushed.

Finally Marco released them and Tom asked the blond royal, “So since you won, I guess your gonna play Janna, right?” The disappointment in the boy's tone was clear, unable to keep his gaze from jumping to the beanie-wearing teen explaining something to Violet, while Jackie just shook her head at her friend in scolding, while Potato Baby listened in intrigued. His flames flickered once in a blush but he quickly looked away and acted as if nothing had happened.

But Star had picked up on the movement and felt her heart go out to him, clearly telling how badly he had wanted to play a game with Janna. She looked over at Marco who was giving her one of his sweet, heart melting smiles and she felt her gaze soften. She let out a short breath, before shaking her head. “Nah, you should go next,” she told him, much to his surprise and instant delight.

“Seriously?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,” Star said with a small shrug. “Besides I'd rather spend some time with Marco instead of playing some game, anyways.” She put an arm around the boy's shoulder, who's face seemed to light up anymore, if that was possible, a goofy look on his face as his suns spun in an excited circle.

“Okay then!” Tom shouted in joy, not questioning or arguing with his friend as he turned to the (secret) girl of his dreams, who finally looked up from her task with the twins to notice him with one of her smirking smiles. “So guess that means it's you and me, Jan,” he said as slyly and cool as he could. But his confidence shattered from the girl's piercing brown orbs as muttered hesitantly, “Y-Y'know if you want to.”

The girl shrugged casually. “Sure, I'll play a round,” Janna said with her typical crypticness. “It'll be over pretty quickly, after all.”

Tom's aggressive side surfaced at that comment, growling, “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean,” the creepy girl shrugged, her hand brushing his arm on the way past and Tom knew instantly that it was intentional. His anger ceased in a flash and he soon found his body unresponsive as the girl made her way over to the table, his pounding heart somehow causing every function in his body to cease working for a moment and a tingling sensation rising up his arm, crating goosebumps along the hot skin. Ugh, knock it off Tom, he mentally scolded himself, grabbing onto the arm Janna had brushed in irritation. Your supposed to act cool and impress her, not act like a lovesick idiot every time she opens her mouth. He grit his teeth, mentally slapping himself and trying to force his body to turn, but his legs were somehow rigid and unmoving as well as unresponsive mush. He didn't understand why this kept happening to him every time he was around Janna, it made no sense. Come on, I can't just stand here in the corner forever, she's gonna think I'm an idiot or something.

As if on cue, he heard a clearing throat behind him and he finally managed to swerve around and see Janna leaning against the table with a bored expression. “Come on, hot shot, I don't got all day,” she said and Tom felt his cheeks grow hot with an unwanted blush.

He tried to hide it with an annoyed growl, snapping, “I'm coming, I'm coming!” Storming over to the table he snatched up his ping pong paddle and got into a ready position, not daring to look in the girl's direction. “Hey Tom,” the girl said, rolling the ball back and forth across the table in a lazy pattern.

“Yeah,” he said in slight annoyance, wishing she would just hit it already and stop stalling. But as he finally caught her eye, she said in a smirky tone, “Heads up.”

Before Tom could even question what that meant, the beanie-wearing girl had already tossed the ball in the air and hit it in the span of a second and Tom had only an instant to respond. Luckily, his body reacted before his mind did, raising his paddle to block the ball but he somehow missed and he felt it whoosh past, almost grazing his ear as it hit the floor and rolled to a stop. The boy was once more frozen to the spot, his three eyes opened wide and unblinking as he tried to process what had just happened.

“See I told you it would be a short game,” Janna said, sitting up on the table with a mischievous smile splayed across her lips.

“Wha- Bu-But how?” Tom squeaked out in shock.

“Pro tip, next time keep at least one eye on your opponent instead of staring off into space,” she said, pointing at her eyes and then to Tom. “You got three of them, it shouldn't be that hard.”

The boy felt his face flushing once more, letting out a small groan of annoyance under his breath.

“Wow, that was incredible, Janna!” Violet cheered, hugging her role model tightly around the waist. “You were right, psyching your opponent out first, does make sure you win.”

“Told you, squirt,” Janna said proudly. Her playful brown eyes, focused in on the purple skinned boy, who was currently turning a bright shade of red, even his cheek flames flickering out of sync to show how thrown off he was over the whole situation. “Thanks for helping me demonstrate, Tom, though I more expected you more to get too angry to pay attention than to get embarrassed like that.”

“So wait, I was your guinea pig?” Tom snapped, his eyes glowing slightly red.

Janna shook her head, thoughtfully. “Nah, I'd say more like a lab rat. I'm not a big fan of guinea pigs. Or maybe a bunny, since I know you love them.”

Tom's cheeks turned to the brightest shade of red yet, the words catching in his throat, before he snapped out, “That's not what I mean, Jan! I demand a rematch!”

The cryptic teen shrugged. “Hey I can't help it if I'm better at ping-pong than you.”

From the sidelines Ferguson smiled and laughed mockingly, pointing a finger at Tom and proclaiming loudly, “Ha, how's it feel, hot shot, now that the shoe is on the other foot!”

“Ferguson, your pointing at a coat rack,” Alfonso said dryly and Ferguson squinted at the skinny wooden frame before him, his blurry and spinning vision making it difficult to make out.

“Oh so it is,” he said, with a still noticeable slur, before nearly collapsing into his friend's arms.

“Still not doing in better,” Jackie observed worriedly.

“No, I think he may have a concussion,” Alfonso said nervously.

“Al, have I ever told you how much I appreciate having you as my adviser,” Ferguson suddenly said, his voice full of sweetness as he rubbed a hand up and down Alfonso's face. The scraggly teen grabbed his chubby friend's hand, moving it away from his face before telling Jackie, “Okay, scratch that, he definitely has a concussion.” The skater's eyebrows pinched together in worry.

“Hey you okay, Ferg,” Marco called out from the other side of the room, noticing the boy's weird and concerning behavior. Alfonso opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by his king, who said in a drunken tone, “Oh yeah, I'm doing great Marco. In fact, I think I'm ready to go again!” The boy pumped his fists up into the air and his adviser and friend quickly shot down the idea.

“No, no, I think we're gonna have to pay a trip to the hospital first,” Alfonso said as if he were talking to a child, putting the boy's arm over his shoulder and carrying him out of the room.

“Bye, Al, uh sorry about Ferguson,” Star said, with a sheepish look.

“Yeah, sorry dude, don't always know my own strength sometimes,” Tom added.

“Ah, it's fine, it's his own fault really, he was kinda asking for it,” Alfonso told them.

“I was not,” Ferguson argued. “I coulda taken him,” he continued, even with a concussion still refusing to accept defeat.

“Sure you could have,” Alfonso said as if speaking with a child, though he obviously didn't agree.

Once the two were out of sight, Star turned to the others and asked, “So who's next?”

“Ooh, ooh, us, us!” Violet shouted jumping up and down and waving her arm in the air, Daisy doing the same. “Yeah, we want to play!”

The teens all laughed. “Okay girls, you can have a turn, just try and be careful, okay?” Star told them.

“Yay!” they cheered.

Meanwhile, out in the hallway of Butterfly Castle, Moon and Lily were just passing by Star's room when they saw Ferguson and Alfonso, stopping as they regarded them with worried looks on their faces, Moon asking, “King Ferguson, what on Mewni happened to you?”

“Are you alright?” Lily asked at the same time, concern in her tone.

“Ah this, this is nothing,” Ferguson said, pointing to the large bruise forming on his forehead, still clearly out of it. He scoffed, practically spitting on the two royals, still wobbling on his feet. “I'm finnnnee.”

“He got hit with a ping pong ball,” Alfonso explained. “It was an accident.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Lily gushed.

“And what is all over his face,” Moon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The twins,” Alfonso and Lily answered at the same time, the queen turning to her relative with a suspicious frown.

Lily shrugged. “I'd recognize my daughter's work anywhere,” she explained. “They are quite the little artists,” she added almost proudly.

“Yes they are!” Ferguson agreed loudly.

Moon just sighed before turning back to the young royal. “Does Star know you are like this?”

Both Alfonso and even the frazzled Ferguson froze not sure if they should answer. After all, it was this very same kind of thing that had given Moon reason to send Star away to that place and neither of them wanted to see Star punished for having fun, no matter what the reason. That and the two had sworn that they would do whatever it took to protect Star from that same situation again.

Still they had to say something, Alfonso cringing and nervously answering, “Ummm, yes but-”

“It wasn't Star's fault!” Ferguson blurted.

“What?” Moon said in confusion, but Alfonso quickly corrected his friend's outburst.

“Uh, he means it was an accident and wasn't anyone's fault at all,” the boy explained.

There was a short pause as both ladies seemed to be processing this. “Well, I hope you will be quite alright, King Ferguson,” Moon said, giving them both a deeply apologetic look. “Would you like me to call a doctor for you?”

“That's okay, I'm just gonna take him home, the Pixie Empress has plenty of healers to help him,” Alfonso reassured them, before walking past.

Ferguson though, yelled over his shoulder to the two royals, “Star is a good girl and she did nothing wrong!”

Alfonso shushed him. “Quiet Ferg, your making it worse.”

“What was that about?” Moon asked.

“Sounds like the kid's game got a little out of hand,” Lily said.

“A little?” Moon countered. “I don't call a concussion a little out of hand.” She looked over at the doorway to Marco's room where the kids could be heard talking and playing within. She frowned in concern, voicing her thought out loud, “Maybe I should talk to Star.”

“Moon, seriously, let the girl have her fun,” Lily instantly argued. “Accident's happen. And I'm sure Star is responsible enough to make sure their game is well in hand-”

There was a crashing sound from the bedroom opposite and the two mother's shared a look before rushing over to check on their kids. The moment they entered they saw Star, Marco, Jackie, Janna, Tom and one of the Buff Frog's Monsters staring at yet another gaping hole in the wall, next to Star's old one, while Violet and Daisy stood at either side of the ping pong table, giant versions of the paddles hovering behind them, the former cheering her victory, while the latter crossed her arms grumpily in front of her chest. “Yay, I won, just like Star!”

Star let out a sigh. “We really need to get stronger walls for your room, Marco,” the blond said, before raising her wand to repair the holes, but was stopped by a call from the doorway.

“Star!” The blond whipped her head around to see her mother with a very concerned expression, looking around the room in shock. “What is happening in here?” she asked and the scolding tone in her voice was like a lightening strike to Star's brain, making her instantly suck in a breath.

“Mom, uh, we were just... playing a game,” Star explained quickly, almost in a panic, getting a horrible sense of deja vu.

“There are two giant holes in your wall,” Moon pointed out, her face the picture of horror.

“Yeah, I was, uhh, just about to fix them,” Star said softly, almost timidly.

“Yes, but why are they there, Star?” Moon asked and though she didn't mean it, it came across as demanding, almost accusing to Star. “And I just saw King Ferguson leaving and he said he was hurt while playing your game, so I would like to know what has been going on in here.” Moon's gaze remained implanted on Star, who seemed to be twitching nervously.

Marco watched with a heavy heart as his strong, confident girlfriend, seemed to close up on herself, her mouth open but unable to form an answer. “I-I, uh-”

“It wasn't Star's fault, ma'am” Marco said, instantly jumping to his girlfriend's defense, putting his arms around her in a hug from behind.

“Yeah, it was my fault,” Tom said, hanging his head low. “I was the one who did it.”

“No, it was us!” Daisy and Violet screamed, running over to Star's side and hugging her tightly. “Please don't punish her!”

“What?” Moon said surprised, her eyes wide with confusion and almost fear. “Why does everyone think I'm upset at Star?”

“Well you are scolding her, Moony,” Lily said, putting a hand on the woman's shoulder.

“I'm not-” Moon began defensively, but stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening to the size of saucers as she turned to her daughter, taking in the fear and guilt written all over her face. Her stomach twisted, realized how this was sounding, how familiar this was to...

She let out a long breath, before saying much softer, “I'm not trying to scold you, Star, I was just concerned is all. When I heard the crash, I was afraid you were hurt. It wasn't my intent to blame you, though.”

“Mom, it's fine,” Star said, hugging her arms around her small frame, and Moon realized she wasn't just talking about right then, though she wasn't sure if she had read her mind or if her daughter was reliving the horrible experience in her traumatized mind. But which ever it was, one of the two was true as her daughter shakily added, “You already said you were sorry.”

The queen let out a long, deep sigh, before walking over to her daughter and wrapping her up in a tight hug. Star hugged her back, allowing all her negative feelings to drift out of her. It had been a long time since either had addressed the incident four years ago, the one that had sparked the whole ordeal at St. O's. Moon and River had already been on the fence about sending Star to the reform school to help her better understand her responsibilities as princess, something she was having difficulty quite grasping on her own. She was often scolded by her mom for little things she did wrong and Star would shrug it off as if were nothing, more interested in doing her own thing than being a princess. And with the war going on, Moon had little time to teach her, the few lessons she received Star not really listening or paying attention to, stuck in her own little world.

But after a nasty fight Star had with her mom, Moon scolding her for breaking a particularly ancient and important artifact while goofing around with her friends instead of doing as she was told and staying clear of the area, Star argued that she had just been playing and that her mom needed to lighten up and stop treating her like a kid, Moon and River had come to the decision that sending Star to the school would be the best thing for her. It would help her mature and teach her how to act more responsible, with the war going the way it was they feared that Star might someday have to lead herself and they wanted her to be ready for the harshness that she would be thrust into if something happened to them.

Moon had never fathomed how great the consequences this decision would have on her daughter. The moment she had received the call that the school was being disbanded for mistreatment of its students, Moon had felt her whole world shatter in an instant. The moment she had seen her daughter again, she had wrapped her up in a hug, listening to her cry into her shoulder, her every sob full of so much aching and sorrow and her eyes so dead and empty compared to the vibrant girl that had left that she had apologized over and over, her own eyes dripping with tears. It was her deepest regret and if she could take it back she would in a heartbeat. She had never wanted to subject her daughter to such trauma but she had, and that was something she lived with every day of her life.

Which was why, as Moon started to watch her heal, slowly she had sworn to be a better mother for her daughter. She tried her hardest to be supportive and understanding toward her daughter, quick to forgive her mistakes and trying to guide her in a more delicate way. Still she had been forced to make another tough decision, when the war began to go sour once more and her and River had been needed to help at the front lines. And though she had desperately wanted to stay and coddle her daughter, she couldn't, the safety of Mewni was at risk and so she had instead left her still healing daughter in charge of the entire kingdom, praying she would be able to handle it on her own.

Then Marco had come into the picture and she had been beyond relieved as she heard of how he seemed to be helping mend the scars that were still healing in her daughter, scars she couldn't mend, for she was partially the cause of them. She still worried about Star daily but she was proud of the mature young woman she was turning into. She had never meant to make her feel like she had all those years ago, her fear getting the best of her in a moment of panic.

“Oh darling, you know I never meant to-”

“I know, mom,” Star reassured her, letting out a shaky breath before saying in a strong tone, “It wasn't your fault.”

Moon said nothing for a moment, just holding her daughter close and letting small tear escape, running down her cheek and onto the floor below. “That's in the past, anyway. I just... want to forget about it, okay,” Star said pulling out of the hug and looking into her mom's eyes.

“Wow, Auntie Moon and Cousin Star are sure upset about ping pong,” Daisy observed, looking up innocently at Jackie.

The skater smiled sadly at her, running a hand through her hair and saying, “Yeah, but they'll be okay. They needed this.”

Marco watched the mother-daughter moment with tear-filled eyes, his feelings a mixture of emotions that he was having trouble deciphering. He really didn't understand it, he was sad for Star sure, but he almost felt like he was suffering with her, as if he could... feel her pain somehow. Suddenly though, Potato Baby was whispering something in his ear and Marco told him, “No, no, it's okay you can stay.”

The potato-like Monster garbled something sheepishly to him and Marco nodded admitting, “Yeah it is pretty awkward.”

Moon looked deep into Star's glittery eyes, her heart breaking at the sight of the tears hovering in them knowing she was the cause. “Oh darling, I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered regretfully, cupping her daughter's face in her hands. “I trust your judgment I truly do, it's just that sometimes I can't help but worry.”

“Mom, it's fine, really,” Star told her mother, wrapping her hands around her mom's own and giving her a bright smile. “You can forgive yourself. I've already forgive you and dad.”

“You have?” Moon asked surprised.

“Yeah,” the blond replied with a nod. “At first I was really mad... but I don't want to hold a grudge, I don't want to give 'her' anymore power over me.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat before saying in a strong breath, “So I choose to forgive you.”

“Oh sweetie,” the queen whispered, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Every day I see you turning into such a mature young lady.”

“Thank mom,” Star said, giving her another quick hug. As she did her gaze landed on Marco and she smiled ear to ear at the very sight of her boyfriend knowing he was the real reason she had finally chosen to let go of her anger toward her parents. When she had seen how loving and loyal Marco was to his own family forgiving and seeing the good in them despite their shortcomings, especially after everything that had happened, she had felt inspired and did a lot of self-reflection and saw just how ridiculous she was being toward them. It wasn't their fault she had suffered, they had been trying to help her and she knew that, no one could have predicted just how cruel and evil St. O's truly was. And if he hadn't been there to help heal her she wasn't sure she ever would have gained the right mindset to try and move on from her past at all. He really did mean the world to her.

The two royals broke off their next hug and Moon took a deep cleansing breath before saying, “Well then, I'm just going to trust that you have this handled and leave you and your friends to your fun.”

“Oh come on, Moon, you don't have to rush away like that,” Lily said, approaching her cousin with a bright smile.

“Yeah, mom,” Star agreed with a nod. “Your welcome to stay and play if you like,” the blond offered with an infectious grin on her face.

“Oh, no, no,” Moon declined softly. “That's quite alright. I don't want to intrude.”

“Ah Queen Moon, you aren't intruding,” Jackie spoke up, Marco and Tom nodding in agreement from beside her.

“Yeah show us your moves, Your Majesty,” Janna shouted and the queen unwillingly blushed, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, I don't have any moves... so to speak,” the queen quickly said, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Come on, mom, you know you want to,” Star pressed, wagging the paddle in front of her mother's face.

“I really don't,” Moon said sharply.

“What's the matter, Moony, afraid?” Lily taunted and this instantly earned her a glare from her cousin.

“I'm not afraid, I just don't think it's dignified for a queen to play a children's game,” Moon said, lifting her chin in an imposing manner, still giving her relative a thin scowl.

The peach-haired woman, turned to her two daughters and whispered loud enough for her to hear, “See girls, she is trying to hide how scared she is.”

The two girls giggled. “Yeah, Auntie Moon is just a big royal chicken!” Daisy exclaimed.

Moon scoffed. “I am not,” the blue-haired woman said defensively. “What would I even be afraid of anyways?”

“Losing to me,” Lily replied with a small smirk.

Queen Moon just rolled her eyes. “Please, Lily, I'm not giving in to your little game,” she muttered dryly.

“Alright,” Lily said with shrug, before turning to Star and the other teens. “Let's ask your dad instead Star. I'm sure he'd be happy to play, since your mom is too important to have fun.”

This got Moon's attention, the Mewman queen freezing before turning on her heels to stare at the grinning Lily. “I beg your pardon,” she said, clearly insulted by her cousin's words. “I can have fun when I wish too, I just don't see any point to hitting a ball around for amusement!”

“That's because you've just become another boring, stuck-up fuddy-duddy like the rest of the family,” Lily said, spinning the paddle between her hands expertly.

“I am not!” Moon exclaimed angrily, her diamond cheek marks glowing a pale red to show her anger. “It's just that the task of running an entire kingdom is a strenuous and time consuming process...” her frown deepened as she added accusingly, “Something I assumed you would know.”

“Well yes, of course I do,” Lily said calmly. “But I also know that burning yourself out by never taking some time off to have fun will only end up making you miserable.”

“Like this conversation,” Moon shot back and Lily feigned hurt.

“Oh come on, Moony. You don't need to be harsh just because your bland.”

“For the last time, I am not bland,” Moon hissed, clearly losing her temper.

“Then prove it,” Lily said smugly and the blue-haired woman didn't waste a second swiping the paddle out of Jackie's hands, who offered it to her to take, and storming over to the table with a look of fury and determination. The two then began an intense and aggressive game of ping pong, fighting every second to emerge victorious but staying fairly equally matched. After a couple of minutes of this, the teens finally began to process what had just happened, most of them just blinking a few times in shock at what they had just witnessed and were now seeing.

“Um, what just happened?” Marco asked Star in confusion.

“You just watched a pro in action,” Janna answered for the blond, draping her arm over Marco's shoulder while looking over to her new hero in awe.

“Well at least she's playing now,” Star said optimistically, glad to see her mom participating in something, even if it was just to show up her rival cousin.

“Yeah, that's one way to look at it I guess,” Jackie said, rubbing her arm with her hand.

Tom cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him, as he stepped over to Star, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

“So, ummm, wow I uh, don't really know what to say about all... that,” Tom awkwardly admitted, his face set in a grimace. He had more or less just been standing off into the corner for the last several minutes, feeling flustered and unsure. He wasn't sure if he should try and get involved or maybe try and help in someway, but he was lost on where to even begin to do that. So instead, he had chosen to just stay out of the way, waiting until everything blew over to speak again. “I-I'm sorry I got you in trouble with your mom,” he apologized sheepishly, a sad look filling all three of his eyes. “I guess things really haven't changed.”

“Maybe not everything's changed,” Star said, before putting a hand on the hot-headed teen's shoulder, looking deep into his startled eyes. “But you have.”

“I have,” Tom whispered under his breath.

“Yeah, you stood up for me,” Star said, giving him a warm smile. “You had my back and that really means a lot to me.”

Tom chuckled, his cheek flames flickering with his blush. “Well, I mean, couldn't let my best friend take the fall, could I?” he said with a bright grin toward his friend.

“Am I still your best friend, Tom?” Marco asked innocently and Star and Tom shared a look, before the boy nodded.

“Yes, Marco, your my best friend, too,” Tom told him, before wrapping his arm around the boy's neck and preceding to grind the top of his head with his knuckles, making the boy laugh excessively. “Who else am I going to slay at ping pong?”

“Ha ha, Tom stop it, knock it off!” Marco begged his friend while Star, Jackie and Janna just laughed at the two boy's playful nature. Potato Baby, however, heard Marco's begging and turned to the two boys' with a glare, stomping over to the teen with the intention of getting him to release his young charge, by force if necessary. But before he reached him, the twins jumped onto Tom's back, assaulting him with a barrage of tickles.

“Get off of our Big Brother, you meanie!” Daisy shouted, though her voice was light and full of joy.

“Yeah, or else I'll unleash Toe-d Poles to eat your toes off!” Violet added, equally as cheerful as her twin. “Hahaha, okay, okay I give!” Tom loudly conceded, letting go of Marco and then sighing in relief as the two finally gave up their tickle ambush.

Potato Baby, realizing that they were just playing, relaxed and sat back in a beanbag chair, comfortably watching the Mewmans around him.

Marco was struggling to regain his breath, panting a few times while his head tingled from the unexpected move from Tom, but suddenly the oxygen was sucked right back out of his lungs as Star planted a kiss to his cheek, making his whole face flush and his knees go weak. He turned to his girlfriend who was giving him a loving grin, her blue eyes sparkling as they stared into his chocolate brown. “So Mister Diaz, I hope you are well aware that just because we're dating doesn't mean your aren't still my best friend?” Star told him, her warm breath ghosting over his skin, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

“Of course Star, you'll always be my favorite bestie,” Marco said, pulling her into a hug.

“Awww, Marco,” she swooned, before giggling and giving his slim frame a squeeze. “Your my favorite, too.”

“Um, Star,” Jackie's voice cut through their moment. “Hate to you two up, but shouldn't we maybe stop them?” She pointed over to Moon and Lily who were still deep in their game, the queen almost growling every time she hit the ball, putting more and more venom into her precise strikes, but the two were still evenly matched and showed no signs of a winner emerging anytime soon.

“Nah, it's fine,” Star said. “They'll wear out and have to stop eventually.”

Four Hours Later

Star, Marco, Tom, Jackie, Janna, Daisy, and Violet all watched tiredly as Moon and Lily still continued on with their game, the grown woman just as energized as ever, fueled on by their need to outdo the other. Potato Baby lay asleep on the cushiony chair, snoring and drooling away. Star and Marco leaned shoulder to shoulder with bags under their eyes, the twins laying over their backs, while Jackie, Janna, and Tom had chosen the couch, the flaming teen choosing the seat farthest away from his crush.

“I'm going to win, Moony!” Lily taunted, causing Moon to growl.

“Not if I beat you!” Moon replied aggressively.

The teens all groaned. “I don't think their gonna stop, Star,” Jackie pointed out.

“I don't think they can be stopped,” Tom said, his voice shaking slightly in fear, he had never seen or heard of anything like this before. “I mean, just look at them!” Tom shouted, holding his arms out in gesture toward them, the two woman not hearing a word as they just focused on their game and nothing else.

“Yeah, we should... probably just let them work this out themselves,” Star agreed.

“Does this mean we can go?” Marco asked hopefully.

“Please!” the others all shouted desperately.

“Let's go get something to eat,” Star said, rising up off the floor, the others following suit.

The teens all shuffled out of the room, Marco and Star carry the twins piggyback style as they chatted and headed off to hang out elsewhere. “Yeah, let's get some corn shakes or something, I'm starving!” Tom exclaimed happily.

“Or we could make some of me and Star's Super Awesome Nachos?” Marco suggested.

“What's that?”

“Oh it's good Tom, you have to try it,” Jackie said.

“Yeah, I'll even feed it to you if you like,” Janna added flirtingly.

“Yay, nachos made by Big Brother and Star!” Daisy exclaimed, pumping her fists into the air.

Soon the door closed shut, leaving only a snoring Monster, two unbreaking royal woman, and the noisy clatter of a bouncing ping pong ball.