#lou writes things

[louthestarspeaker]

it's almost 1am here's my essay about Dal and captainhood <333

I hath promised a Dal essay and I hath delivered… 

I've had this in the drafts for so long, but I just rewatched season two and it really allowed me to solidify a lot of my thoughts.

One of things that really strikes me about Dal's character and his relationship to command is that being in charge is a place of safety for him. He's had to be self-reliant and self-sufficient pretty much his whole life until the Protostar. It's something that was engraved into him since he was small, that the only person Dal could really depend on was himself.

And because he was never around anyone who actually cared about him until the Protostar, that was the right thing to do. This need to be in charge, to be in control really, is a learned survival skill. "I can tell you from experience, people in authority lie."

But in season two, his circumstances have changed (for the better!), and that's not the right thing to do anymore. Ultimately, to me, Dal's season two character arc is about vulnerability and trust. He's been in survival mode for so, so long, and now we watch him learn to heal.

You start with this boy who's spent the grand majority of his life alone or with people who are exploiting him, and the story takes him by the hand and tells him "now that you're safe, now that you have people who care about you, you can't live like that anymore."

All throughout season one he learns trust. Trust in his crew, in Hologram Janeway, in the Federation and in Starfleet as institutions that can and will help him and his newfound family. But as a captain,when he was guiding his crew through active crisis after crisis, trust looked like open doors. It looked like laying out all the variables and problems on a table so they could figure a way out together. 

Trust looks very different on the Voyager-A. It asks him to have faith in what he's not seeing, what he's not being told. He has to believe that they have his best interests at heart, that he's not trusting his family to something that will try to hurt them. 

Captainhood isn't just bossing people around for Dal. It's the responsibility of holding the lives of the people he loves in his hands. He trusts his own hands. He has the best interest of his crew at heart. 

To ask Dal to relinquish control, is to ask him to place the lives of himself and his family into someone else's hands. Which, historically, has not gone great for them. It prods directly at his trauma, asks him to take undo and ignore the survival instincts that kept them alive for so long. Is it any wonder he has trouble with that?

Dal's not going around crawling through Jeffries Tubes because he's a brat or because he thinks he's entitled to know everything. He's a traumatized kid whose self-sufficiency, independence, and ability to make his own decisions were once, for a very long time, the literal line between life and death for him and his crew.

And even if he trusts Starfleet and Janeway in his head on a logical level (which I absolutely believe he does), there's still this instinct that's written into him. It's a process to learn how and when to turn that off, and that's what we see especially throughout the first half of season two. 

This really culminates in the cafeteria scene after they return with the Protostar and Chakotay, when Dal advocates for the Starfleet temporal management guys to figure out a way to get the Protostar back to Tars Lamora. Dal was able to see that his hands weren't the best ones for the job, and trust Gwyn's life to someone else. That's huge for him. He trusts not just a person, but a branch of an institution he's never interacted with before, with one of the people that mean the very most to him. And Dal's able to give up that control, to place himself and his crew in that position of potential vulnerability, because he's finally started to feel it in his bones that he's safe here.

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[mediumgayitalian]

“We should hold hands,” Will says. He scratches his nose. “You know, for safety.”

Nico looks at him. He looks until Will looks back, bright blue peeking out from pale eyelashes, and then makes a point of looking around the absolute beauty of the day; the sweet strawberry breeze, the giggly rustling of oak leaves, the gentle golden sun dappling in through the branches. The chatting and laughter from the unusually calm demigods strolling around them, stopping every few steps to pick up a rock or scrawl something unintelligible on their clipboards.

“Safety,” Nico repeats.

Will ducks his head, visibly biting back a grin.

“Yup.” He coughs. “These woods are dangerous, you know. And, hey, everybody else is doing it.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Everybody.”

“Yeah! Yeah, look, there’s —” Will waves his arm around, indicating the Group, then upon noticing the general lack of hand-holding and general trend of tripping and punching and sniggering at misfortune, clears his throat and redirects. His arm waves again, with slightly less direction. “There’s examples all over!”

Nico’s mouth twitches. He stares at his friend, who stares right back, light eyebrows furrowed stubbornly.

“All over!” he insists.

“Right,” Nico drawls.

“Look, there’s — Harley and Nyssa, exhibit A —”

Nyssa, shamelessly eavesdropping, barks a laugh and tugs on the Celestial bronze handcuffs Harley is currently trying to blowtorch his way out of, jiggling her bound hand in Nico’s direction.

Will, ignoring her, barrels on.

“ — and — and — Julia and Ellis, there, look —”

Nico does indeed look. Julia does indeed appear to have her hand in the general vicinity of Ellis’s, and she does appear to be moving her arm with every swing of his, and she does also appear to be silently unlatching Ellis’s beautiful gold watch and sliding it very carefully into her pocket.

Nico glances back at Will’s still-somehow shameless face.

“Is that what we’re calling it.”

“— and — of course — there’s Cecil —”

Shoulders setting in that prim, snooty way they do when he’s winning an argument, Will gestures widely and broadly over to his best friend. Nico rolls his eyes and looks where he’s pointing, sighing, only to find, to his endless amusement, an openly snickering Lou Ellen, and a Cecil who is, perhaps for the first time in his life, walking with both hands in his pockets, face lax and serene, absentmindedly watching the leaves as he strolls past. Will’s shoulders drop.

“Dude,” Will says, or rather hisses. “You had — one freaking job —”

He holds out a hand to pause, and Nico, dutifully, pauses. He watches Will skim long fingers over the silky dirt until they close tightly around a small, shining pebble.

Which he, with better aim than Nico has seen him throw anything, whips directly at Cecil’s head.

“Hey!” cries Cecil, immediately tripping over the nearest root and sprawling onto the dirt. Lou Ellen has quite nearly joined him, laughing so hard she has gone silent and can no longer stand. “Why did you — what the heck!”

“I asked you to do one task!” Will whisper-shouts. “One!”

“Mail Clarisse a bag of fire-frogs?” Cecil asks, scratching his head.

“No! Well, yes, but — the other thing!” He flops his hands aggressively, pointing them vaguely in Lou’s direction. She has, at this point, fully succumbed, and is clutching her stomach, eyes streaming, curled into a shaking ball on the ground. “The — hands!”

It takes several seconds — eight, Nico counts — for the visible lightbulb to go off in Cecil’s eyes.

“Ohhhhh,” Cecil says. He flops his hands back in Will’s direction. “The — thing.”

Hurriedly, he stands, trying and failing to pull Lou Ellen up with him. He makes it about halfway before he drops her, wheezing, and they both go tumbling straight off the path, down the hillside, and roll to a rocky, painful stop at the base of a cedar tree. Cecil’s head hits the bark and visibly bonks.

“I genuinely think it might be hollow up there,” says Will, aghast. “I might have to check.”

Nico peers down at them. Harley, abandoning his blowtorch, stretches over Nico’s shoulder to see. When he can’t — the day Nico loses the three inches he has on the kid he’s killing himself, that indeed will be his time — Nico crouches down and allows the little menace to stand on his knee.

“I think they might be holding hands now,” Harley observes.

Nyssa hums. “Hard to say. Does it count if she’s pulling him out of a termite’s nest?”

“Of course it does,” says Will hastily. “Handholding is handholding. So. There.” He turns to Nico, eyes wide and expectant. A cloud passes overhead, and his eyes brighten. Nico smiles.

“So, what?”

“So — safety!” He waves his hand again, barely managing not to smack himself in the face. “We gotta — link up! Link up to sync up, you know what they say.”

“Nobody says that.”

“Nyssa — who asked you.”

“Nobody needs to ask me. I see bullshit, I say bullshit, I mean —”

“What if I! Cursed you! What then! Actually!”

“How about you curse these hands —”

“I will! Actually! For serious, I’m gonna —”

Lips pursed thoughtfully, Nico flexes his hands. He glances down at them. He supposes they are cold. He glances down at Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee, now somehow both in the termite nest. He supposes safety is, indeed always important. He glances over at Will’s bright red face, hair sticking up in every direction like a grouchy hedgehog’s, and Nyssa’s completely unhidden smirk. He supposes someone should put the dumbass out of his misery.

Experimentally, he slides his hand forward. He trails his cold fingers over Will’s warm palm, linking their thumbs together. He squeezes.

“Safety is important,” he says, quietly.

Will stops.

He swallows.

His hands, quite suddenly, get sweaty.

Nico smiles.

“Definitely one of the top seven things,” says Will, just as quiet. His voice cracks.

“Gods above,” Nyssa mutters.

“The termites are eating them!” shouts Harley, gleefully. “Look!”

They do indeed look.

“We should probably help them,” says Will. Or, sighs Will.

“Probably,” Nico agrees.

“Especially since it’s my fault. A little.”

“A little,” Nico smiles.

“Sigh,” Will says.

Nico smiles again. He lifts their joined hands. “Safety first, though.”

Will grins. “Safety first.”

[aesthetictarlos]

Thinking about Buck coming home after a shift and being welcomed by the sight of his boyfriend napping on the couch and their kitten on his lap—

Cuteness overload.

[junemermaid]

[fic] the taste of pomegranates

Chapters: 4/4 (Complete!) Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi Characters: Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi Additional Tags: Porn with Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Tenderness, Backstory, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Complicated Emotions, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: Part 2 of pomegranate season Summary:

You are a blade for my hand. Do not forget your place. An ordinary day carries Di Feisheng back to the past—and, with a little help, reminds him of the promise of the present.

soooo who's up for 27k words of di feisheng feels (with a side of fang duobing feels, as always, and li lianhua offering pointed asides)?

contains: di feisheng backstory, thorny and tender difanghua smut, gratuitous bath scenes, egregious fruit symbolism, and the evergreen question of how to be good to each other.

read chapter 4 on ao3.

or start from chapter 1.

[until-i-set-him-free]

GET THE FUCK OUT 😭😭😭😭😭

[anextravagantliar]

actually question for the class - what was the worst injury your muse ever went through? how did it change their life and how did they fair in recovery? tangential question, how did it change their relationship with themselves? ( this does not need to be a canonical injury - perhaps there is a point in the journey outside a canonical injury that you consider a serious shift for them, why is that a focal point in your storytelling? What effect does this have later on down they line if the are injured again? )

[jihnari]

so im knee deep in a 40yo chinese drama, as one does when the brainrot grows into a tumor, and

has anyone else noticed that full stop hong lu is the only one of his IDs with short hair?

the only one. the ONLY one. i thought surely it can't be, they have different hair styles sometimes, there must be others. but i checked. this is the only one.

(this is a short essay about hair in the qing dynasty.)

given the setting for hong lou meng (source material for hong lu), hong lu's long hair makes sense. everybody had long hair in the qing dynasty [1]. and in limbus company, the members of hong lu's family (that we've seen) have equally long hair.

hong lou meng is largely a critique of confucianism, set in the qing dynasty at confucianisms peak [2]. and hair is a Big Deal in confucianism. according to confucius:

We are given our body, skin and hair from our parents; which we ought not to damage. This idea is the quintessence of filial duty. (身體髮膚��受之父母，不敢毀傷，孝之始也。)[3]

you do not cut your hair because your parents gave it to you, and without your parents you would be nothing, filial piety blah blah [4]. hong lu, in every other mirror world, has kept his hair long and appears to still be following the wishes of his family [5].

there's a few special things about hong lu's full stop ID. the first that comes to mind, is that it's the only one of his IDs that isn't a self-sufficient lone wolf. his other IDs don't have particularly useful passives for other characters, and they don't need other IDs to function. they're self contained [6]. he also has several IDs where he's the ONLY one available from his faction [7], and plenty of ID stories that don't mention any other LBC members. sure, full stop hong lu isn't completely useless by himself, but he's not intended to be run by himself. he's intended to be run with heathcliff.

this is all to say that full stop office hong lu is an exception in more ways than one. i think it's extremely likely that this version of hong lu has at least partially cut himself off from his family [8], if not financially, then emotionally. maybe he made his own decision to set up this office, all by himself. or maybe he didn't; maybe his grandmother told him to "expand his horizons" and he happened to fulfill that by establishing a fixer office, and then he started picking up staff, and those staff became something more [9].

maybe this is the only version of hong lu that we've seen who has let himself be a real person instead of just an extension of his family's will.

[0] disclaimer that i am NOT CHINESE nor am i an expert on the qing dynasty, but i have friends who know stuff and also the power of the internet and im here to make that everyone's problem. i read redologist research papers on my spare time now. [1] except for monks. we'll get to that. [2] or, resurgence idk it was still a major part of daily life. but it was going pretty hard. they killed people over it, among other things. [3] from wiki, sorry im a fraud but they had a book citation listed (De Bary; William T. (1999). Sources of Chinese Tradition. Columbia University Press. p. 326.) [4] there's also something about if you cut your hair, you're "damaged" and unmarriageable, at least for women, but i haven't done enough research to know specifics. but basically, cutting hair == extremely bad. or you're giving up on your current life and joining the monastery! a choice which, according to the hong lou meng drama, appears to be on equal grounds as a life decision as suicide. i think this is mostly due to the way your life will "end" as you know it? one girl really didn't want to get married to this awful guy twice her age, but he was rich and powerful, so she appealed to someone even more rich and powerful and said, "either you take me in or i cut my hair off and kill myself. or join the monastery, idk, either one". and, spoilers, later after this point she DOES choose suicide over the monastery, so take that how you will. [5] his grandmother is mentioned in several of his ID stories, explaining that he's only in a given position because she wished it. see, k corp and w corp hong lu. less strongly (evidence wise), is that in others he mentions "expanding his horizons", which in other areas of canon is noted as something his grandmother told him to go out into the world and do. [6] im not going through all the IDs for this one, sorry, it's a vibes based statement backed up by things ive seen other people say on reddit. so just Trust Me, Bro. [7] k corp, tingtang, fanghunt, and hook (tho in that one he has some LBC friends in the story they just don't have available IDs in the game) [8] obviously not fully, given his continued funds. quote, "All he had to do was to say the word, and the family would send him some pocket money… ". but even in hong lou meng, relatives the main family didn't even like, who did nothing for them, would come crawling to them for money. and the jia family would give it, either to feel magnanimous or to save face. [9] heathcliff, in the full stop ID story: "[...] we were 'scouted' to the team like stray animals gettin' taken in by some charity Office [...]". idk man. idk. i cant look at that sentence and feel remotely normal about them.

[saturnaous]

hi submas. asexual emmet fic.

hi. shuffles nervously. I like to write fanfiction sometimes. SNIFFLES REALLY HARD. I am presenting this fic. wipes snot off my face. I'm scared forever and ever. bye

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I told myself I didn’t have time to write a smutty coda to last night’s episode and then I wrote this because I’m a lying liar who lies to themselves.

Listen, you cannot tell me that Buck didn’t a) do something reckless with Tommy’s body in that hospital and b) drag the man home to fuck him the second he could.

Title: Want You Like a Desert (Heat is Relentless, Thirst is Quenchless)

Rating: E holy fuck it’s so E what the fuck happened here

Pairing: Buck/Tommy with hints of Buck (obliviously) pining for Eddie

Words: 6,294

Summary:

Buck doesn't rip his boyfriend's clothes off in the hospital lobby. That would be rude.

He blows him in the supply closet then takes him home and fucks him all night instead.

[fairchilds-glasses]

Guilt and Love

Summary:

Lou is left to raise Rachel alone after her mother passes because of a horrible illness. It's difficult to raise a five year old alone, and even more so when you aren't sure you ever cared for them in the first place.

Notes: I will warn that there are a few moments in this fic that might be a bit heavy to read. It's a story that focusing mainly on grief and loss, so there's that to watch out for obviously. There's also some abuse, depressive episodes, and I think one suicidal thought, but nothing too bad. I just want you guys to be prepared and if you were hoping for something really wholesome and happy…sorry 😂

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Under a large bright Hunters Moon, in a small hospital miles and miles away from the place he once considered home, Lou sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing anxiously. He couldn’t be sure if his restlessness was due to the fact that he was missing the first night of deer season, or if it was the fact that after tonight his life was never going to be the same.

He’d been told multiple times that he could go into the delivery room with his wife, but he’d refused. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to hold her hand. He kept considering leaving. His truck was downstairs in the parking lot waiting for him. His crossbow was in the backseat, ready to be used for the hunt. The sky was bright and the woods were filled with prey. Something kept him here. Something had been keeping him here. That curiosity. That nagging voice in the back of his mind that had kept him tightly bound to Elizabeth since their first date. That something that kept him from breaking up with her after that first night. The same something that kept him from letting her live in her car. The something that made him buy a ring. That made him run away with her. The something that brought him to this hospital with her in the first place.

He couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasn’t love? Was it? This couldn’t be love! He was a proud pure blooded esteemed hunter! He couldn’t be in love!

No, it was guilt! Guilt is what kept him stuck in this little hick town when he’d rather be back in DC with his father and friends. He felt guilty that he’d made her think he actually cared about her so he took her on more dates. He felt guilty that he’d gotten her pregnant and shunned by her own parents, so he moved to New Jersey with her. He felt guilty that she was going to have to raise this child on her own, so he’d stayed. Yes, it had to be guilt. There was no love here.

She must’ve felt the same way, because he knew damn well she didn’t love him. Not anymore at least. She might’ve loved him in the beginning, before he’d grown so cold and bitter towards her. She told him the day she revealed that she was pregnant that she’d originally planned on terminating pregnancy. Apparently due to complications the child didn’t have great survival odds as it were, and when her family had found out about the infant they’d kicked her out of her home. It just hadn’t seemed worth it. Yet, when her father scolded her for her recklessness, he’d referred to the unborn child as “that thing” and something in her snapped. It made her angry! It fucking pissed her off! And that was when she’d realized it. She cared so much about how her father addressed the baby because she already loved them. She wanted to keep them.

“Mr. Fairchild?” The nurse asked and he stood on wobbling legs, giving her his full attention. “Would you like to meet your daughter?”

He followed the nurse into the delivery room and before he’d even had the chance to take in the scene, a much shorter nurse was already putting something tiny in his arms and instructing him on how to hold it.

The baby was much smaller than he’d been expecting. Elizabeth looked huge when she was pregnant, how come this tiny bean was all that came out? Were there six more of her or something!? No, just one. One tiny squirming bundle with vibrant red hair that was already starting to curl slightly. Her little hands had been covered with mittens already so she didn’t scratch herself with her nails. She was only a few minutes old and she was already struggling in Lou’s arms, trying grab at stuff and move. She let out a small whimper like noise, and Lou practically melted. Damn it, he didn’t even want this little thing and yet there were tears sliding down the sides of his face. His heart was thudding in his chest and he found himself never wanting to let her go. He was falling in love.

No! No it was not love! It was just guilt! Just more guilt. He felt guilty for the life this little freak was going to live. That’s all the feeling was. Nothing more.

“Is she okay?” Elizabeth was asking in a weak voice, “She’s still okay?”

“She’s…” Lou swallowed, glossy eyes staring down at the little creature nuzzling closer to him. “She’s perfect.” 

If only perfect could’ve lasted forever…

 ***

“It’s not looking good I’m afraid.” The doctor explained, running a hand down his sour face. “She’s been fighting hard, but I think she’s reached the end.”

Lou just nodded, staring out into nothing, arms wrapped around himself. Why did this damn hospital always feel so cold?

 Elizabeth was only diagnosed with Chronic Withering Disease eighteen months ago, but it felt like it had been years. Having to not only be constantly available every time doctors called, check in with her every single day and bring her anything she requested that was within his limits, was wearing him down fast. He constantly had dark bags under his eyes and her hair was disheveled. He looked as sick as she did at this point.

No. That was a lie. She didn’t even look sick anymore. She looked dead. Lying in the hospital bed, emaciated and frail. Cloudy eyes and dry, thin hair. Lou didn’t need a doctor to tell him she wasn’t going to make it much longer, he could tell from looking at her.

The worst part was that while she was in the hospital, they’d actually grown much closer than they ever had before. He’d come sit with her everyday and just talk. About life, about work, about everything. He found that she was a much better friend than she was a wife. She was a great listener, and extremely understanding. Hell she even asked him about his fucking love life! She knew he’d want to move on once she passed, and a few times she’d ask him how he felt about the nurses in the building. She was mostly joking, but there were hints of truth in her teasing.

Of course now that he’d actually grown to care about the bitch she was leaving him.

It was good, right? I mean, obviously death was never good, but it was an easy ticket out! He could go back to his old life! He could reconnect with his family and friends and go home to DC! Act like the past four and a half years never happened!

Wrong. He couldn’t do any of that, because he was still stuck with Rachel.

The annoying little thorn in his side. The little red head had been so precious and adorable at first, but now she was nothing but a pain. She was much closer to Elizabeth than she’d ever been with Lou. Once she’d grown enough that she no longer had to be rested on Lou’s chest to sleep, she suddenly acted as if she was afraid of her father! She never wanted to be around him! She stared at him with fear filled blue eyes and dropped to the floor, covering her head, whenever Lou so much as looked at her the wrong way.

“Sir… I know you’ve been holding off on bringing your daughter to say her goodbyes, and trust me I don’t blame you. But… If you were planning on letting her see her mother one last time, you might not have a lot of time to do so.” The doctor continued, drawing him out of his thoughts.

He glanced at the thick glass window separating them from Elizabeth’s bed. He’d been told before that he could bring Rachel to see her so long as the door to her room remained sealed and they only interacted with each other through the safety of the glass since Elizabeth was so frail that a single wrong move could cause her bones to snap. They’d done several blood tests on the child after her mother’s diagnosis just to be certain that she didn’t have the extremely fatal genetic disease along with her.

He had yet to bring his daughter to see her. As much as he and Rachel didn’t get along, he feared for her getting sick. No, he’d not wanted Rachel in the beginning. On some level he still didn’t want her! Still, he wouldn’t wish this illness upon anybody, especially not a child! Aside from fearing that Rachel would somehow catch the disease through the glass despite it not even being contagious, he also feared how the child would react to seeing her mother in such a sorry state.

Ever since she’d been taken away, Elizabeth had asked about Rachel every single day. She understood why she hadn’t been to allowed see her, but she still wanted to know if she was alright. She asked about her schooling, about her health. She wanted stories of her, and photographs. She wanted to know her baby was okay. And Rachel wasn’t much different. She begged for her mother every day. Asked where she was, when she was coming home, why she left. Lou had raised his voice several times, the constant repeat of questions growing old. Still, Rachel didn’t let up. She’d gotten in trouble a lot at school for her behavior. She’d been acting out so badly that her teacher couldn't do anything with her. She’d even talked about having her removed from her class! It seemed the longer she spent away from her mother, the more aggressive she became! If Elizabeth died and Rachel never got to see her again, she’d never truly grasp what happened to her. She’d never understand why she disappeared. She’d never come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t coming back. She’d just continue to grow more and more aggressive until Lou couldn’t do anything with her.

As scary as it was, he knew it was time. He had to bring Rachel to say goodbye.

***

“Remember what I told you, Curls.” Lou breathed as they stepped into the hospital side by side, holding tightly to Rachel’s hand. He nodded at the receptionist as they went past the front desk. She knew him well by now.

“Be on my best behavior.” Rachel squeaked out in a tiny voice, tensing slightly as she took in the scenery. Even a child, unable to grasp the concept of pain and death, seemed to understand the sad and eerie atmosphere.

“That’s right.” He nodded, “And why do we have to be on our best behavior?”

“Because mommy is sick.” Rachel swallowed.

“Right.” The elevator dinged and they stepped inside.. He pressed the button to take them to their floor without even looking. He took a deep breath inward. “Now, I already told you once, kid, but I’m gonna say it again. Your mom is going to be in her own room, and we can’t go in, okay?”

Rachel was staring up at him, listening harder than she’d ever listened to anything in her little life. Absorbing every word.

“We have to stay on our side of the window, and she has to stay on her side.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s really sick plus she’s very tired and you might accidentally hurt her”

“Like with the chickens pots?”

“Chicken Pox.” He corrected, “And no. It’s a little worse than chicken pox.”

The elevator dinged again, the doors opening and letting them out into the quietest floor in the entire hospital. They walked through the silent hallways, feeling like the only people on earth, before finally coming to a desk with a single nurse sitting behind it, looking tiredly over a computer screen.

“Morning Nancy.” Lou nodded.

“Morning Nancy!” Rachel repeated, nodding her head to mimic her father.

The half-asleep nurse stood from the swivel chair and looked over the counter, peering down at Rachel. Her tired eyes lit up upon seeing her and she gave her a kind half smile.

“You must be Rachel.” She sighed, “Your mother has told us all so much about you.”

“You know my mom?” She asked, standing straighter, “Have you been to her room? Did you get the chickens pots?”

“Rachel.” Lou growled under his breath and the child flinched, her legs bending as if she was about to drop to the ground but she managed to stop herself.

“No, sweetie. I didn’t get chicken pox. I’m one of the nurses that takes care of your mom. Are you here to see her today?”

She nodded, a small smile creeping over her face.

“Okay. Well I’m sure your dad has already told you, but I’m gonna tell you too. You can’t go in your momma’s room with her, you have to stay on the other side of the window.”

“Right.” She nodded.

“And your mom is really sick, honey. So she’s going to look different than when you last saw her, okay?”

She nodded again. Her smile disappeared and she searched the ground before looking back up at the nurse with a nervous expression. “When will I be able to go to her room?” She asked. “When will she come home?”

The nurse walked around the desk, getting down on her knees in front of Rachel and taking both of her little hands into her own, running her thumb over the back of them as she took a deep breath.

“Listen sweetie, your momma’s body isn’t working like it’s supposed to anymore, okay?” She explained softly, “One day, it’s going to stop working. Her heart won’t beat, and she won’t breathe. She won’t be able to see or hear or feel anymore.”

Lou watched Rachel’s eyes widen, scanning the nurse's face, taking it all in.

“Wh…When will it start working again?”

“It won’t, baby. We won’t have her around anymore. At least not like you used to. You will always have her in your heart, but she won’t be able to be with you anymore.”

Lou had been dreading that conversation. He’d tried multiple items to explain what was going to happen to his daughter, but he couldn’t find the words. He’d expressed this to nurse Nancy before, and he was glad she seemed to have been prepared to help him.

“Death isn’t like a trip. She’s not going to come back, but she will always love you, okay honey?” Nancy asked, giving her hands a small squeeze.

She was quiet. Too quiet. Lou couldn’t tell if she was understanding what she was saying to her or not.

“Dead like the heads and antlers on the walls?” She breathed quietly, eyes cast down at the tile floor.

“Oh…” Nancy swallowed, glancing up at Lou. she hadn’t been prepared for this kind of a response. She hadn’t realized that Rachel, the five year old, already had at least a little experience with death. “Well…”

“Sort of, kid.” He interrupted, clearing his throat.

Nancy took the hint and stood up, dusting off her knees. She’d done enough parenting his child for one day.

“Well then, if you follow me I’ll show you your mom, okay?”

Rachel nodded quietly before following behind the nurse, Lou bringing up the rear.

The air felt heavier as they marched onwards, closer and closer to the large glass window at the end of the hall.

“Mom?” Rachel asked, perking up slightly. From her short height, she could make out a vague shape lying on the bed by the glass. The nurses had moved Elizabeth’s bed up against the window to make interacting with others easier. This way they could stop and speak to her without going into the room and then having disturb her from her rest every single time they had a question for her.

Nancy put the thin mask over her face and gave Rachel a small nod before she went into the room, switching on the light inside.

“She went in! Is she gonna get the chickens pots- er- the chicken pox?” Rachel asked, tugging on his pants leg worriedly. Lou ignored her, instead watching as Nancy very carefully woke his wife from her slumber.

Her milky white clouded eyes struggled to focus on anything, and when she sat up her body shook weakly. Her eyelids were drooping, and even without being on her side of the glass, he could practically feel how exhausted she was. He wished he could help her. Not because he loved her or anything, but because he felt guilty. Guilty that she was having to suffer through this illness while he was out here, perfectly healthy. On some level, he wished he could switch places with her. If one of them had to die, it should’ve been him. He’d been the one making all those stupid fucking mistakes. He should be the one in the hospital, and she should be the one staying alive and raising Rachel.

Thanks to the speaker mounted on the glass, they could hear the goings on inside Elizabeth’s room, and she’d be able to hear them once her mind had caught up with her body and started functioning enough to understand what was happening anyway.

“Mrs. Fairchild, I believe there’s someone here to see you.” Nancy smiled, pointing out at Rachel through the glass.

He watched his wife slowly piece together the nurses words, understanding what she was saying. She turned slowly and looked down at the red haired child… But something was wrong. She wasn’t smiling down at her. She wasn’t pressing hands against the glass. She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t acting like someone who’d been stuck in a hospital for eighteen months finally being reunited with their child! In fact she was acting like-

“Where?” Elizabeth’s hoarse voice quivered, vacant eyes scanning the ground all around where Rachel was. She couldn’t see her. As bright as her hair was, she couldn’t see it!

Lou could practically hear the little girl’s heart shattering in her chest as Rachel got closer, standing on the tips of her toes and pressing her hands against the cold glass.

“I’m right here, mommy!” She called out. Elizabeth didn’t even twitch at the noise, it was like she hadn’t heard her at all.

“Look.” Nancy encouraged, moving closer and pressing her palm against the glass near Rachel’s, “It’s your daughter. It’s Rachel!”

Elizabeth stayed in place for a moment longer before slowly turning back to the nurse, eyes narrowed weakly. “Who’s Rachel?”

“Mommy!” Rachel’s voice broke, she balled her tiny fists and hit the glass once before Lou got down on one knee, carefully but forcefully snatching the back of her shirt and pulling her backwards before she could hit the window a second time. “Mommy I’m right here! Can’t you see me!?”

“Rachel, sweetie, take it easy!” Lou swallowed, trying to make his voice calm and gentle like Nancy’s had been.

“Why can’t she see me!?” The child sobbed, trying to get closer again. Lou wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her back while she struggled to escape. Desperately trying to get closer. “Why can’t she see me, I’m right here!”

“Sh-she has bad days sometimes.” Lou tried to explain. He didn’t have a good way to put it into words. “She forgets me sometimes too, kid it’s not that she-”

“She forgot me!?” She interrupted, tears cascading down her face. “No! No, mommy don’t forget me! Please see me!”

“Rachel.” Lou shushed, noticing how Elizabeth’s eyes were starting to dart around. Trying to filter through the strange crying sounds coming from absolutely nothing.

He felt Rachel’s stomach move under his arm. Her chest shook as something primal deep within her threatened to rise up.

“No, Rachel. Don’t-”

Before he’d been able to finish his sentence, the child was wailing. A desperate attempt to get her mother’s attention. Elizabeth stiffened and her dull eyes widened, but she still didn’t seem to comprehend what was going on. They were stressing her out! He threw a hand over Rachel’s mouth and the little girl started shaking her head, kicking her feet, and scratching at Lou’s arms in a desperate attempt to escape, tears heavily flowing down her face the entire time.

Lou scooped her up, holding her back to his chest, keeping her mouth covered. He had to lean backwards to keep the little girl’s flailing legs from kicking him, and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t calm her down.

“I’m going to take her home, Nancy!” He called to the nurse over the commotion. “We’ll try again tomorrow!”

“Mmm!” Rachel cried out, voice muffled by her father’s hand “Nnmm!”

“Rachel, we’ll try again tomorrow.” Lou growled through gritted teeth, backing away from the glass, towing the still fighting child with him.

The tight hold Lou had on his daughter finally loosened once they were out of earshot of his wife's room, and Rachel didn’t hesitate to shake his hand away from her mouth. “Mom!” She screamed, voice broken up and scratchy. Large salty tears and snot covered her face, and she kept kicking her legs, trying to force Lou to drop her. “Mommy! Mommy I’m here! I’m here please see me!”

“Rachel, you have got to calm down!” Lou begged through his teeth as he hauled the energetic ball of sobs through the halls of the hospital, drawing the attention of everyone they passed.

“NO!” Rachel screamed. One of her kicks managed to make contact with Lou’s ribs and the man had to stop walking momentarily, the force knocking the wind from his lungs momentarily. “No! I want my mommy! I want my mommy!”

“I already told you, your mom is having a bad day!” Lou growled, heart thudding in his chest. “We will try to visit her again tomorrow, don’t you understand!?” 

“No!”

Finally they made it out of the hospital! Finally away from all the prying judgmental eyes. Everyone staring at them. Judging him. Wondering why on earth he couldn’t get control of his own damn child!

They made it to Lou’s truck and he threw open the back door, practically tossing Rachel down into the seat next to her booster. The hair on the back of his neck raised and he bared his teeth. Snarling down at the child, seeing nothing but red.

“Listen to me you little shit!” He shouted, causing Rachel to flinch and begin to curl in on herself, lying down flat in the seat, body shaking as she desperately tried to contain her sobs. “I already told you. Your mother is having a bad day! I am sorry that she couldn’t remember you, but I can’t help it! You’re going to start listening to me when I tell you to calm down, do you understand?”

“I-I want my my mommy!” Rachel sobbed, looking up at him with large glassy eyes. “I just want my mommy!”

“I know!” Lou snapped, “I fucking know! You already said that! Crying about it won’t fix it, okay! You’re just making things harder!”

“I-I-I’m sorry!”

“You’d better be sorry!” He huffed, taking a step backwards. “Now we’re going home. If I hear one more peep out of you I… I…” He searched the girl’s shivering body for something, anything, he could use as a leverage before remembering something the child had mentioned earlier “I’ll mount your head on the wall, do you understand!?” He finished, clenching his fists.

That seemed to do the trick, because Rachel’s eyes had gone wide, and her trembling grew worse. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She stayed in place, watching her father carefully. Shaking like a leaf.

“Good.”

That evening, Rachel was quiet. She sniffled every so often, never quite getting over her crying spell from the hospital. She messed over her food, refusing to eat anything, but this was normal. She’d been doing that since her mother had gotten sick. Lou knew it was because she was used to eating balanced meals. Lots of fruits and veggies and meat in moderation. Now she was being served by a hunter who could barely cook for himself. Steaks, burgers, chicken or more often than not venison, he found it easier to cook whatever his latest kill was. At first Lou wondered if he was doing something wrong, but he’d just tell himself it was fine. The girl was probably supposed to have more meat in her diet anyway. All those evenings she’d been spending lying around complaining about an upset stomach was completely unrelated. She’d be fine.

They were going to be fine.

It was late that night. Rachel was asleep, curled up in her bed, squeaking out in her sleep the way she often did when she was having a bad dream. Elizabeth would often hear her from across the house and she never thought twice about crawling into her bed beside her, holding her close. Her heart beating beside her seemed to chase the darkness away, similar to the way Lou had been the only one able to soothe her to sleep as an infant. He could never bring himself to even attempt to comfort her that way now. He wasn’t cut out for parenting and he knew it.

He was standing out on the front porch, smoking a cigarette in the crisp fall night. Listening to the sounds of the leaves rustling in the trees above them. His phone began to ring in his pocket, and he took a sharp breath inwards. He knew. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew.

Lou answered without evening looking down at the screen, his breath visible in the cold. Tears were already starting to form in his eyes.

Elizabeth was dead.

***

“Rachel, listen. You remember how that nice nurse the other day told you that your mom’s body would stop working soon? Well, it stopped. Your mother is dead, Rach.

No, we can’t go see her. She’s gone, and she can’t come back.

Because that’s just how life is, Rachel!

I know I told you we’d go see her again, but we can’t!”

He sat on the couch with his head in his hands, leg bouncing anxiously the way it had the night Rachel had been born. The kid hadn’t understood any part of this process, and he didn’t know how to help her. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. Elizabeth hadn’t passed. She was just pulling a horrible horrible prank on him. Just getting back at him for all the years he’d been so mean to her.

The funeral had gone just as bad as he’d imagined it would. Only a handful of people actually came. None of her family, only a handful of coworkers. Her former boss had stayed the longest, seemingly offering more support to Rachel than Lou, which was fine. Lou hardly even knew the man, he most certainly didn’t need his sympathy. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy! It wasn’t like he’d ever loved her! It wasn’t tears of a broken heart, it was just guilt.

Of course, she’d been cremated so there was no body. Nothing for Lou to physically show Rachel. Nothing to do to force the little girl to understand. She was there. She wore the black clothes. She stood in the line. She listened to the priest jibber jabber while people in attendance who barely knew Elizabeth swiped away at fake tears, pretending to care more than they did just so her small and pathetic little memorial service would feel real.

Rachel had been given a week out of school, but they’d told Lou that when she came back they were transferring her to a different class. That stupid teacher had finally had enough of her. Lou bit at his tongue, holding back his words. He wanted to tell her that he could see right through her. He wanted to tell her she was being a bitch. He knew damn well she was only having her transferred to another class because she didn’t want to have to deal with a grieving five year old. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He didn’t want to deal with it either, but he was stuck with the little freak! Unlike her, he couldn’t just pawn Rachel off onto whoever this new teacher was. He wished he could.

Later that night after Lou had decided to go to bed he twitched at a sudden scraping noise coming from down the hall. He listened for a moment before curiosity got the better of him and he stood, making his way towards Rachel’s room.

“Hey!” He barked, opening the door to find his five year old standing on her bed, using her plastic toy tools to scrape at the wall by the window.

The child jumped at his voice, dropping down onto the mattress and grabbing her hair, body starting to shake.

“Kid what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He raised an eyebrow.

I… I needed to let momma inside.” Rachel squeaked, and Lou’s breath hitched for a moment.

“You… What?”

“I… I heard momma.” She shivered, “Sh-she was outside. I need to let her in.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at the window, the markings on the walls, and the unmade bed sheets.

“Rachel, you were dreaming. Your mom’s not outside.” He sighed.

“But- But I heard her!” Rachel whimpered.

Lou swallowed back tears, a shiver running down his spine. He wished it were true. He wished she were standing outside. He wished he could open the window and let her inside. Deep down he knew it couldn’t be real. It was a dream and that was that.

“You were dreaming, kid. Stop scratching up my walls.”

Rachel didn’t stop scratching the walls. As the days passed, she kept waking up from delusional dreams and frantically trying to tear an opening into their home. There were tiny markings all over the walls and floors at the little girl’s level. It was growing old. No matter how many times Lou tried to convince her that it wasn’t real, she just couldn’t get it through her head.

It was two in the morning when Lou had finally had enough.

He’d been awoken by the all too familiar sound of plastic against wood. Rachel was up again. At the front door by the sounds of it. This had gone on too long. This was far enough.

He bared his teeth and climbed out of his warm bed, slinking through the cold house. The icy floor freezing under his feet and causing goosebumps to rise up on his skin under his shirt.

“Rachel!” He snapped, turning the corner into the living room.

Again, Rachel dropped, hands covering her head and grabbing at her curly red hair.

“What the fuck are you doing, kid!?” He snarled, eyes narrowing.

“I… Mom needs to-”

“Rachel, your mother is dead!” Lou interrupted, ignoring the glossy eyed stare the child was giving him in the dark.

“But… But she said she was-”

“You are dreaming! Do you fucking hear me!? You’re dreaming! Your mother is dead and nothing we do is going to fix that!”

Tears were starting to leak down the sides of the five year old’s face now, her little chest moving up and down rapidly. “Sh-she’s outside! She’s j-just lost!” She sobbed.

“No!” Lou stomped closer, snatching the little girl by the collar of her pajama shirt and lifting her up to eye level. “Rachel enough is enough! You have got to stop this! Your mom is not coming back, okay!?”

“Sh-she-”

“She’s not coming back!” He growled, teeth bared.

Rachel was crying too hard for her words to be comprehensive anymore. Little nails scraping across Lou’s arms as she struggled to free herself, wanting to be put back down.

“She was ju-just holding me!” She finally choked out in heavy sobs, “Sh-she was in my room! She said she had to go but she-”

“Stop!” Lou shouted so loud that she had to cover her little ears, face scrunching up. “Stop talking like this, Rachel! You were dreaming!”

Rachel hung in his arms, crying, biting her own fingers in an attempt to stop herself, hardly able to breathe through the tears threatening to drown her.

“Say it.” Lou snarled, eyes narrowing. “Say you were dreaming!”

“I-I-I was-was dre-dreaming!” Rachel coughed.

“Say it again.”

“I wa-as dreaming!”

“Louder!”

“I was dreaming!”

They stayed there silently. Lou kept his eyes glued to the child struggling in his hold before eventually releasing his hold on Rachel’s shirt, letting her fall unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor.

He stared down at her for a moment. A puddle of tears and sobs on the ground. He felt nothing but cold. He turned and went back to his room, leaving the child behind.

If only that stupid woman had taken better care of herself. If only Lou hadn’t gone out hunting quite as much. If only if only if only.

He wished he’d never gotten so defensive when his fathers hunting friends challenged him. He wished he’d never agreed to their rules. He wished he’d never taken Elizabeth on that first date, or any of those dates. He wished he’d never stayed in her van longer that night. He wished he’d looked away from those big brown eyes. He wished they hadn’t had such a strong hold on him.

He wished he’d never fallen in love with her.

He shook himself off. No. He wasn’t in love with her! He’d never been in love with her! He’d… He thought about her smile, her laugh. Her beautiful eyes, her sweet voice. He thought about the way her hand felt intertwined with his. He felt about the way she laid her head on his shoulder when they sat next to each other on the couch. He thought about how she slept with her arm wrapped around him. Her hugs, her jokes, her heartbeat.

He loved her. He fucking loved her. He’d loved her the whole fucking time.

Oh God, he’d been in love. He’d been in love with her! He’d loved her enough to go on a second date. He’d loved her enough to go on a third! He loved her enough to have sex with her that night. Enough to agree to help her raise the child. Enough to run away with her! Buy a home! Start a life! Raise a fucking baby! He’d loved her.

And now she was gone.

She was gone forever.

He barely registered the things going on in the house that morning. He’d thought of nothing but Elizabeth’s face all night. He could hear dishes in the kitchen. He could hear the clatter of things moving throughout the house. He heard the clicking of little shoes on the hardwood floor, and saw the shoes stop in front of him. He looked up, making eye contact with Rachel, dressed and ready for school with her backpack on her shoulders.

“A-are you going to t-take me to school?” She squeaked nervously. Lou sat silently staring at him for a moment, processing. God why did she have to look so much like her. She had her face. She had her curly hair. Her nose, her smile. Why the fuck did she have to look like her!? He wished he didn’t have to look at that face all the time.

“D-dad?”

 He shook himself off.

“School.” He swallowed. “Yes. School.”

He didn’t want to take Rachel to school. He didn’t want to do anything. He wanted to lay in bed and die. What was he supposed to do with his life now? What was the point?

 He blinked and suddenly they were in the drop off line in Rachel’s kindergarten. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Rachel in her carseat, gripping the seatbelt tightly with a horrified expression on her face, body shivering. He couldn’t for the life of him remember how he’d gotten here. Had he driven the car out here?

When it was their turn, a short woman opened the back door, letting Rachel jump out of the car onto the sidewalk. She gave the woman a hug, which seemed to shock her for a moment, before she bolted into the school without even saying goodbye. Lou was driving away before the woman had even gotten the door closed all the way.

Another blink and he was standing in the shower, staring down at nothing. Letting the water wash over him.

Why had he been so fucking mean to her? Why had he yelled at her? Fought with her? Why had he thrown things? He hit her! He fucking hit her! Dammit he’d been hitting Rachel too. Dammit he was fucking everything up. Why did he keep fucking everything up? Why hadn’t he realized he loved her.

Suddenly the water was freezing. How long had he been in the shower!? He stepped out and wrapped a towel around himself, picking up his phone. Oh shit! It’s nearly nine o’clock in the evening. He was supposed to go pick up Rachel hours ago! He frantically pulled up the phone number of the school and dialed, but nothing happened. When was the last time he’d paid the phone bill?

He shook his head and rushed into his room to get dressed. Somewhere between getting dressed and leaving to get Rachel, he’d gotten lost and ended up sitting on the bedroom floor, staring down at his hands as tears dripped down his face, his chest aching. He fucking loved that woman. He loved her even though he didn’t want to. He loved her and he’d never told her.

 Light stretched across the floor and hit him in the eyes. How long had his eyes been closed? What time was it now? He picked up his phone again, but it was dead. What was he doing? What was he supposed to be doing? He got up and finished getting dressed, walking into the living room. He took in the scratches and markings on the floors and walls. Rachel. Where was Rachel?

 As he was trying to figure out what had happened to Rachel, he got distracted by the couch. He’d sat with Elizabeth on this couch so many times. He sat in what used to be her favorite spot, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Why was this her favorite spot? Was it because the other spot belonged to him? Which one of them had picked their favorite spot first?

What was he doing again? Rachel! Where the fuck was Rachel!? He went towards the child’s room, looking inside. Rachel hadn’t been here for a few days by the looks of it. So, where was she?

He twitched at the sound of a car pulling into the front yard. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes before going to stand on the front porch. He watched as a blond woman with a kind face got out of the car. Trailing behind her as she walked towards the house, was a very tired and very scared looking Rachel.

He leaned against the support beam of the porch. “Can I help you?” He asked.

“That depends.” The woman swallowed, “Are you Lou?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Jolly, I live near the school, I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. I tried to call you after school yesterday when you missed pickup time.”

Shit, he’d completely forgotten! He knew he’d been forgetting something.

“Ah, shit. Yeah, the car was outta gas.” He lied, unsure how to explain what had actually happened.

“That’s your excuse?” The woman asked, hands on her hips. “And you couldn’t call the school or-” She stopped, letting out a frustrated sigh, “You know what, I have a lot I’d like to say to you, but I’m not going to right now. Not in front of Rachel…” She trailed off, turning to look behind her where the little girl had dropped onto the ground. “Rachel?”

“She does that a lot.” Lou nodded once, watching as the woman walked over and went to try and make the frightened child stand again. “Her mother said it was a phase, but I hope she outgrows it soon. It’s really annoying.”

The blond woman cut him a look. “So… Your car was outta gas. Was your phone out of gas too?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lou bit his tongue. What was this bitch’s problem!? She had no idea what was going on in his head. He didn’t even know what the fuck was going on in his head right now!? It had only been a few months since Elizabeth died, and the last thing he wanted was for this woman to come into his yard and start shit! She needed to just hand over the fucking kid and leave already!

“Funny. No, smartass.” He growled, “I can’t get down to pay the bill without a car now, can I?”

“Hey, here’s a suggestion.” Said the woman who’d somehow managed to get Rachel into her arms. She was clinging to her like a monkey in a tree, head pressed into her shoulder and body visibly trembling. She was terrified. Lou had done that. “Since you’re having trouble with your car, and I go to the school every day with my own daughter anyway, why don’t we just let her stay with me for the rest of the school week? I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Lou swallowed, looking back down at Rachel’s shivering form in the woman’s arms. Clearly he wasn’t in the right headspace to look after the kid right now. He hadn’t even remembered to pick her up for the past two days for fucks sake! As horrible as it sounded, maybe this lady was right. He couldn’t let them know how scared he was for himself though. He had to play it off like he was fine. He couldn’t let them know he was struggling. Couldn’t let them know he’d ever fallen in love with his wife. Couldn’t let them see that he was grieving.

“Well, I don’t see why not.” He shrugged, “It’d give me a break from the little gremlin. Sure, you wanna come in and pack a bag?”

This was good. He just needed a few days to get ahold of himself. He couldn’t let anyone know what he was going through, that he ever cared for his wife. He’d be fine. Everything was going to be fine.

…

 End (for now)

—————————————————————————

“Oh he realised what he was doing was wrong so that means he’s gonna change right?” *LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER* Nope! If anyone thought that you have too much faith in him.

​This is what happens when I let the angst parasites win.

So there we go! This was a sort of more in depth look at Lou in a way, going into how he thinks and views these situations.

I may write more stuff like this in the future mainly just because the thought of little Rachel is too cute to not write more about 😂.

Obviously if you want more info on anything mentioned feel free to message or comment or whatever or you can look at the little info posts I’ve posted in the past, just click on either Lou or Elizabeth’s tag and you’ll find them quickly lol.

Tags cause omg Sophie actually wrote something and finished it for once: @barclaysangel @nicascurls @morganandtheemorgana @sigyn-foxyposts @sayitwithsizzle @squidsharky if anyone else wants to be tagged in anything I write in future lmk




[aesthetictarlos]

another bucktommy prompt – this one specifically because i looove how big and strong they both are: character a is having both hands full with bags (maybe from a shopping trip?) and character b says "let me hold that", referring to the bags. character a misunderstands, thinking character b wants to hold hands, so they promptly switch all bags to one hand and take hold of character b's hand. you decide who is who is this scenario!

Thank you for this prompt, I loved it! ❤️

Buck greets the young girl behind the counter and follows his boyfriend outside, putting his card back into the wallet. They're hosting a 118 hang out at Tommy's place - their place now, actually, which is why they're the hosts - and they've bought tons of food and beverage.

Tommy's hands are both full with bags and they've parked away from the grocery shop's entrance since the parking lot was packed, but as much as Buck's enjoying the view of his boyfriend's muscles bulging as he effortlessly carries the bags, he wants to help.

"Let me hold that," he says after he's pocketed his wallet and his hands are free.

Tommy glances at him and smoothly shifts the three bags he's carrying on his left hand to his right one, lacing his fingers with Buck, leaving him speechless because damn, his boyfriend is really a beast.

Buck stares in awe as Tommy keeps walking like he's not carrying five heavy bags on one hand, and suddenly his throat goes dry. "I– I meant let me hold some of the bags, you really are something else. Fuck, you're so strong."

Tommy giggles, ducking his head. "Oh, sorry for the misunderstanding, but I really wanted to hold your hand."

Buck swats his bicep, and right after they finish loading their groceries in the car, he pushes his boyfriend against the side door and kisses him stupid, his fingers digging in his ripped arms and squeezing.

(Yeah, he has a thing with Tommy's muscles, sue him.)

[diazsdimples]

What are the feelings here guys do I write a Bucktommy bringing their baby home from the hospital fic or will I be taken out by an assassin

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[bbcphile]

MLC Amnesia Fic (What's Sealed Away)

It was one thing to know what his qi felt like in his meridians–although he didn’t know what his neili was called, only that it had a name–and to know that, if he started running his sword forms, his arms and legs would guide him where his mind couldn’t. Muscle memory felt familiar. Reliable. But this? This free-floating knowledge, not connected with any event, any memory, any movement or motion? Just facts appearing in his mind? Assertions he was supposed to accept unquestioningly as truth? With no memory of how he learned them? Nothing to prove their validity? He clenched his hand around his dao’s scabbard. There had to be a better way than this.

NOTES:

I had a ton of feels about the differences between DFS and a-Fei, different types of memory and what is and isn’t lost in the sheer mindfuckery that is amnesia (very loosely inspired by my own experiences with amnesia), and a desire to explain some of the weird behaviors in the amnesia arc (why a-Fei spends so much time away from everyone else in the Mountains Red arc–-which LLH justifies with a lie about a-Fei sleeping instead, why LLH never tells FDB that it’s dangerous and painful for a-Fei to get his memories back, etc.), and thus this fic was born.

TW/CW: amnesia, body horror (finding the mind control bug), panic attack (to skip the panic attack, stop at “he pressed his shaking hands against the sheets” and start again at “His pulse finally started to slow.”)

Thanks to @momosandlemonsoda for being an amazing beta reader!!

Relationship: Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua (with hints of future difanghua)

[badasscoffeemug]

i know it's bad form to argue with word of god, but i just- i don't agree with this? did 7x05 not make it clear that, yeah, buck was figuring some stuff out then, but he knew he wanted tommy. and now he's had six months to settle into that - and by all accounts seemed pretty secure as of last episode. even this episode - abby hurdle notwithstanding - he was very clear about what he wanted with tommy. sure, maybe the moving in was a bit of a knee-jerk response to the previous spiral, but he seems very settled with himself and his wants.

from tommy's character's perspective i can understand it. he's probably been burned before. he's protecting himself, and buck, well, both of them really, end up as collateral. i actually think that's an interesting conflict. but to say tommy was accurate in his assessment of buck? the scene very much read to me as tommy being in the wrong here, making a decision for buck. which, again, could've been something really interesting that i'd have liked to see. but, going off all these interviews, this really was it so, i guess not lol.