#so what is normal functioning. what am i supposed to be able to accomplish. is something wrong with me or

[compulsiveobsessing]

looking at my class schedule for next semester and i do not know how i can structure job hours around this lmao

the only way to get me to 32 hours is if i work every day except for sunday and tuesday (which i will have three classes on)

sure i could do it but i feel like id be kinda miserable lmao

[vodika-vibes]

can you do kix x reader where kix sees reader talking with keeli and gets jealous but reader is actually asking keeli about his twin kix?

Jaloux

Summary: Jealousy is not the best look for a man of his temperament, but when he catches the woman he’s been crushing on for months flirting with Keeli, there’s no stopping the burn of jealousy.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 1352

Warnings: Reader is described as having long hair, reader is described as getting a perm

A/N: This was fun to write! My sun lamp is working and I can focus a little better.

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“I’m so glad to be back on Coruscant!” 

Kix tosses a grin towards the woman lounged, dramatically, on one of the beds in his medbay, “What’s wrong? You didn’t enjoy the swamp?”

She sits up and points at him, “I am far too young to enter my swamp witch phase.” She drops her hand, and pulls her hair out of the strict knot she normally keeps it in while she’s working, “Besides, that place was awful. I’ve never seen so many men get so sick from pollen before. I thought you all were immune to allergies.”

“So did I,” Kix replies with a laugh, “Guess the long necks didn’t cover everything.”

“Guess not.” She combs her fingers through her hair, and Kix can’t help but watch the way her hair tumbles around her shoulders. She might be the most stunning woman he’s ever met.

She should wear her hair down more often…but also, he’s glad she doesn’t. He’d never accomplish anything if she did.

“Anyway,” Kix shakes himself from his daydream (which involves her in his bunk, her hair spread like a halo around her head-) “What are your plans back on Coruscant? Bar hopping? Clubbing?”

She laughs, and Kix falls a little harder for her, “Do you really take me for the bar hopping type?”

He laughs softly, “No, not really. Especially since you shy away from Hardcases’...uh…chemical genius.”

“I’m fairly sure that what he brewed should be classified as a chemical weapon, rather than a drink. I can’t believe you drank it.” She folds her arms, “You deserved that hangover.”

“Yeah, but you’re a paragon of kindness and mercy and nursed us all back to health.” 

“You’re lucky that Rex begged me to help.”

“Rex was just as hungover as we were.” Kix points out.

“Ugh. I work with a bunch of children.”

Kix laughs again, “We’re not so bad.”

The look she shoots him is slightly exasperated, though it quickly morphs to a grin, “I suppose you could be worse.” She finally hops off the bed, and stretches her arms in front of her, “Are you all packed?”

“Are you? I keep most of my stuff here.”

She makes a face, “Oh yeah.” She pauses, “But I do have everything packed.” 

The familiar feeling of the Resolute settling in drydock rattles across the ship, and Kix smothers a quiet sigh. He’s going to miss seeing her everyday. Sure, he’ll still see her at the base, but it’s not the same. 

He likes eating breakfast with her. She isn’t able to function without a cup of caf, it’s hilarious. He also likes needling her about her breakfast habits.

As the ship comes to a stop, and the announcement comes over the intercom announcing that all of the civilian employees can disembark, she grins at him and grabs her bag from the floor, “I’ll see you in a few days?”

“Yeah, of course.” Kix wants to say more to her. He wants to confess, or to ask her out on a date, but the words seem to stick in his throat. So, instead, he offers her a small smile and an absent wave, as she leaves the medbay.

It’s only a few days. 

Maybe he’ll work up the nerve to ask her out the next time he sees her.

The next time Kix sees her, it’s a whole week later. 

He almost doesn’t recognize her when he sees her across the massive room. Her long hair has been cropped to her shoulders, and dyed a deep blue that is the same shade as the blue on his armor. And, as he moves closer, he sees that she has a new tattoo on her left shoulder. 

It looks like an array of flowers wrapped around the medic symbol.

It suits her.

He weaves through the throng of his brothers, there are several battalions here, so he’s able to get to her, though he slows when he sees her talking to Keeli.

He slows his walk and he just watches them interact.

She looks…delighted. Laughter written clearly on her face, leaning in so she’s able to hear him better, reaching out to lightly touch his forearm when he says something.

And Kix burns.

He’s never been the jealous type, at least he never has been in the past.

But watching this, Kix realizes that maybe he just never had reason to be properly jealous before.

He takes a deep breath and swallows his jealousy, before he continues walking over to the pair. 

“There you are,” Keeli folds his arms, “You’re late, vod’ika.”

“Come off it, we were decanted at the same time.” Kix counters, “And I wasn’t late, anyway. I was just on the other side of the room.”

“Hey Kix!” She grins at him, “Did you really dare one of your batchmates to jump into the ocean when you were a cadet?”

Kix blinks at her, and then turns an accusing glare on his twin, “Really?”

“Really.” Keeli agrees with a grin, “Anyway, my General is calling. See you later vod, Doc.”

Keeli saunters off, with Kix glaring at his back, and then he turns to look at her, “You shouldn’t believe anything he said about me as a cadet, he’s a horrible liar.”

She laughs, “I’d believe that if you weren’t blushing, Kix.” She brushes a blue curl off her cheek, and favors him with a grin, “It’s alright, everyone does dumb things as kids. It’s a side effect of being a kid, you know?”

Kix flashes a tiny smile, “Yeah? What did you do?”

She shrugs, “I tried to sell my brother for a handful of credits. And then mom found out and I was grounded for three years.”

That makes him laugh, “Well, I suppose I’m less embarrassed now.” He reaches out and tugs on one of her curls, “This is new.”

“Yeah, I wanted something new, so I got a perm and a dye.”

“And a new tattoo.”

“Yeah,” she pauses, “What do you think?” If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that she sounded a little self-conscious.

“Well, you look like you belong with the 501st now,” He teases, though then his smile softens, “I think you look great. But I always think you look great.” A blush rises on her cheeks, so Kix continues, “You make the rest of us look bad.”

“You’re exaggerating. You and your brothers are very handsome,”

It’s the first time Kix has ever heard her make a comment about his appearance, she normally sidesteps the question when someone asks, so he inches a little closer, “You think I’m handsome?” He asks with a grin.

“Are you going to make this a thing?”

“Am I more handsome than Keeli?”

She stares at him and then she sighs, “I know you better than I know Keeli, so yeah. Stop being jealous, it’s silly.”

“...I’m not jealous.”

“You are. It’s kind of cute, and totally ridiculous.” She stretches her arms over her head, and then, without looking at him, continues, “After all, everyone knows you’re my favorite.”

Unlike the way that he burned earlier, at the thought of Keeli flirting with her, now he just feels pleasantly warm. “That right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

He hesitates for a moment, and then bumps her gently, “You know, there’s a botanical garden not far from here, it’s home to the most poisonous flowers in the galaxy. You wanna go?”

“Kix, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, I am. If you want.”

A bright grin crosses her face, “It’s about time,” She finally turns to look at him, “Yes, please. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

The pair fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, and then Kix glances at her, “You know, you could have asked me on a date.”

“Jesse said that you would prefer a more…traditional relationship.” She shrugs, “I just trusted his word.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Kix grumbles and then her words fully register, “Wait, relationship?”

“Yeah, Kix. Relationship.”

“Huh.” He stares at the side of her head, “I can work with that.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

[proxyoddo]

The Right Approach

One-shot: Tech x gn!reader

Words: 2K

Summary: Tech hasn't slept for a few days, and you're worried about him. No one has been able to convince him to a bunk, but Hunter thinks you might be able to get through to the goggled trooper.

AN: This week has been kicking my ass, and I've not had much time to focus on Derecho. Part 4 is almost done and will come soon, but I felt bad because I haven't posted in a while. So, have this kinda cute fluff with Tech that I wrote trying to get my mind into writing.

(I am also shite at titling things 😅 )

Warnings: None, only fluff and snuggles.

It had been four days, and Tech had not slept. With the repairs needed for the console in the cockpit, he had been working endlessly to be sure that the Havoc Marauder would be at 100% working capacity before they next took off from Kamino. The rest of the Batch did what they could to help, but much of it was intricate - more than one hand would not help.

Currently you were standing outside the ship, staring up the steps ready to stomp inside and give Tech a piece of your mind. How did he think he would get you all off the ground if he ran headlong into it himself?

You heard a clunk and a curse from inside, coming from Tech. You frowned, and were about to take the first step into the Marauder when a hand firmly grasped your shoulder.

“Y/N,” came Hunter's voice, and you sighed heavily before turning your head to face him. “You know he won’t stop. Especially if you’re just going to just tell him outright ‘get your ass to bed’.”

“Well what the kriff are we supposed to do then?” you asked with a slight hiss, frustration getting the best of you.

Hunter fixed you with a sympathetic gaze, and shrugged sadly. “Eventually he’ll just pass out in there-”

“And break something while he’s at it? Hurt himself?”

“There was a 'but' in that sentence, Y/N,” Hunter said, smiling a little and giving you a push towards the steps. “You might be able to get through to him.”

You looked at him incredulously, causing him to actually chuckle.

“Tech likes having you around. He’d probably listen to you if you approach it the right way. And based on how much you also seem to care about him, I figure you’re stubborn enough to get him to a bunk,” he said, as if he were just talking about the clouds passing through the sky. You could feel heat rising up your cheeks. “And yes, before you ask, I’ve known for a bit. Heightened senses, remember?”

You cursed internally. When you had joined the squad as their combat medic, you had taken an immediate liking to Tech. And with time, it just grew. Certainly he could talk for hours, and sometimes it was difficult to keep up with his excited chatter, but he was an amazing man. Strong, insatiably curious - and even with his oftentimes hard, matter-of-fact tone - incredibly caring. You had flirted with him from time to time, sometimes not even recognizing it yourself until afterwards. But the trooper seemed to be none the wiser to your actions. Never stopped your heart from racing whenever your hands accidentally touched though, or if he gave you one of those rare Tech smiles. That must be how Hunter knew; he could literally hear the thunder of your heart when the two of you were together.

“You really think I can get through to him?” you asked quietly.

“Worth a try,” Hunter said. “Besides, the rest of the squad are also getting antsy. If I have to listen to Crosshair go on about knocking Tech out with Gonky anymore, I might have to hide the droid.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Crosshair likes to sleep in his bunk,” Hunter replied. “At this point he’d go to whatever lengths, I would imagine.”

You laughed, and nodded to the sergeant. He waved you on before turning away, likely to head back to the others. Turning and looking into the ship, you steeled yourself before going up the steps and stopping outside the cockpit.

“Tech?” you called.

“Yes, Y/N?” came his voice, seemingly bright as if he was actually still getting a regular amount of sleep.

“How… How’s it going in there?”

Another loud clunking sound and dropping equipment had you stepping inside, looking to find Tech on the ground under the console. The plastoid that normally covered his chest and back was gone, propped up against the wall next to the console.

“It’s going fine!” Tech growled, tossing something out of the compartment he was in giving you just enough time to skirt out of the way before it clanged against the wall opposite of him.

“Hmm, sounds it…” you muttered, before squatting down. He continued on whatever he was working with while you thought for a moment. “Hey Tech-”

“Y/N, please, I am attempting to get the comm frequencies on this damnedable thing working in proper order,” he said, and you could see him turn to look at you for a moment with a reflection of his goggles. “While the Marauder still has functional comm capabilities, the extensive damage from our last encounter with the Separatists has weakened the signal strength, which poses a threat to us while in the field which as you can understand-”

“I have a question,” you interrupted. He stuttered to a halt, and there was silence for a few moments before his hands appeared at the lip of the console and he pulled himself out. The words “sleep deprivation” practically screamed at you from the features of his face.

“Yes?” He seemed intent to answer whatever it was that you were going to ask, even if he had been frustrated a moment ago. Maybe Hunter had been right, and you could get through to him.

You swallowed a little, his tired face filling you with resolve. “What happens to someone when they do not sleep for 4 or more days?”

Tech frowned a little, before going into his answer. “Typically after 3 days of no rest, a person’s urge to sleep will get worse and they will begin to experience microsleeps. Perception is also significantly impaired, and reaching 4 days without adequate rest will continue to distort it. In some, the urge to sleep will become unbearable. It can result in sleep deprivation psychosis.”

You nodded along throughout his entire explanation without saying anything. When he finished, the two of you stared at one another for a few moments of silence.

“Oh,” Tech said with quiet understanding.

“C’mon,” you said warmly, standing up and holding a hand out to him.

Tech shook his head, and you briefly considered going to find Gonky. “I understand your concern, and though it is appreciated, I just need to complete one last thing with the comms before I believe they will be properly functional,” he said. Tech began looking around before his eyes fell on his datapad behind you on one of the seats, and pointed to it. “Could you pass that to me?”

You took the datapad in your hand, but didn’t hand it to Tech. He looked at you with confusion as you began to step away.

“If you want the datapad, Tech,” you began, stepping out of the cockpit, “you’re going to need to come and get it.”

You smiled a little when you heard him getting up from the cockpit floor behind you. “Please, Y/N, I need to calibrate it.” You ignored him, continuing to the bunks before crawling up into the one you usually slept in. You sat back on the bunk, back leaning against the wall, holding the datapad up next to your head.

Tech entered the room, looking even more tired as he stared up at you. “I’m unsure what you are attempting to accomplish here other than getting on my nerves.” You just smiled in response, waving the datapad at him. With a big sigh from him, you watched as Tech pulled himself slowly up to the bunk, and then knelt in front of you between your feet.

“Give it,” he said, losing any formality. You shook your head, waving the datapad again.

In any other circumstance, Tech literally crawling into your lap with a determined expression like he currently had, would have left you breathless. But your intent to get him exactly where he was now, reaching for the datapad and face so very close to your own, helped you keep focus. When Tech’s fingers firmly grasped around the datapad, you let go and leaned forward. Your arms wrapped around his torso and your legs around his, pulling him directly into your embrace, his chin hitting your shoulder.

“Y/N?” Tech tentatively asked, a bit breathless against you.

“You need to sleep, Tech,” you whispered against his ear, arms squeezing just a little tighter as he tried to move. You felt his sharp intake of breath and he completely stilled in your arms, tensely holding himself up. “Relax.”

“I… I need to-” he began, but his sentence was broken by a soft groan as one of your hands began to run up and down his back. A soothing motion, fingertips ghosting over his side as your palm ran along his spine. Your other arm moved under his, your hand reaching up to the back of his neck and gently running through the short hair found at the base of his skull.

You leaned your head gently to the side, pressing against his. “Please, Tech,” you pleaded, and you felt him begin to relax in your arms.

“Cyar’ika...” he sighed, and his voice was thick with sleep. His resolve gone due to your ministrations, he finally let his whole body slump against you, and he turned his face into your neck. You could feel his warm breath and cool goggles against your skin and you couldn’t help the small shiver that spread through your body.

“That’s it, Tech,” you cooed, loosening the grip of your legs so he could settle more between them. In doing so he slid down your chest a little, making you glad that at some point he had decided to discard his chest plate. You heard the datapad hit the bunk’s thin mattress as Tech's arms wrapped around you, pressing his face more firmly into your chest with a deep breath.

You felt a gentle warmth spread through you as you both embraced one another. You couldn’t help but smile down at Tech, and you gently reached up to carefully slide the goggles from his face before setting them down on the bunk near the datapad. It was mere moments before you could tell Tech was asleep against you. Moving carefully, you pressed your lips against the top of his head and leaned back again.

“Comms will still be there when you get up,” you said to his sleeping form, before closing your eyes and feeling a bit drowsy yourself.

It was a while later that you woke to the sound of someone entering the Marauder. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, and you opened your eyes slowly, looking about the compartment to find Crosshair standing there. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking at you with a smirk. He just nodded when he saw your attention was on him, and climbed into the bunk below the one you currently occupied with Tech.

Speaking of, the usually goggled clone was still sleeping soundly against you. You smiled before gently running your fingers through his hair, feeling him sigh and snuggle more into your body.

“Hey Cross?” you called out, careful not to be too loud.

A grunt of acknowledgement was the sniper’s response.

“...what does ‘cyar’ika�� mean?” you asked after a moment’s pause. Tech had said it earlier, but you didn’t know what it was.

You were met with silence, and you were beginning to wonder if Crosshair was actually going to answer you. You resigned yourself to mystery when he finally spoke:

“It’s Mando’an. It means ‘darling,’ ‘beloved,’ or ‘sweetheart’.”

You froze. Tech had called you that? A blush creeped up your skin, and you knew if Crosshair had been looking at you he’d see just how red you were in the semi-darkness of the Marauder.

“Th-thanks,” you said back, before looking down at Tech. You didn’t think you had ever seen the trooper look as relaxed as peaceful as you did right now, and you couldn’t help but smile. Leaning down just a little, you hugged him a little tighter.

“Cyar’ika,” you soothed, and smiled more as Tech’s arms squeezed you tighter as well in response.

[marjansmarwani]

maybe, I’m afraid 

3.8k || ao3

Episode 2x06, but with Carlos (as it should have been)

Just me here again to give Carlos the screen time he should have had. 

A little late to the party maybe (I have no idea how you all manage to get fics up within 24 hours of the episode, I am in awe of that ability) but I still felt the need to make my contribution.

--------

Most days Carlos was pretty sure that after 7 years on the force he had seen everything there was to see. 

Other days he got a call to respond to two teenagers trapped in a homemade minefield and he was forced to reevaluate that sentiment. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out all there is to know, including just how bad it really is, and by the time the familiar ladder truck pulled up (because of course it was the 126) he was waiting outside the passenger door to give Owen the rundown. 

“Officer Reyes,” he greeted when he saw him, “I’m surprised to see you. I thought this would be a little out of your jurisdiction.” 

Carlos shook his head, “Just barely within it, another half-mile and the sheriffs would be handling the call.”

“But you managed to snag it, lucky you.”

“Can’t say I would have been too upset if I had missed out on this one,” Carlos agreed drily. 

Owen hummed in agreement as he surveyed the scene, “What are we looking at, exactly?”  

It was a bleak picture: two brothers, trapped. One injured, both scared and stuck in an active minefield without a map. And the bomb squad was at least 40 minutes out. He saw his concern reflected on Owen’s face as he considered the situation and all the implications. If they waited, the boy would die. If they went in, he would be possibly sending some of his people to die too. 

And yet Carlos knew what choice he was going to make before he even opened his mouth. He had learned so many things during his time with TK, and one of them was that in so many ways he and his dad were a lot alike. If it were his call, TK wouldn’t have been able to leave those boys in there either. So when the instruction came, he wasn’t surprised. 

“We’re going to need the heaviest duffel we can find and spray paint - the brighter the better.”

Carlos locked eyes with TK briefly as he and the rest of his team turned to start gathering supplies, giving him a smile and hoping that it conveyed everything he wanted him to know: it would be alright, no matter what. 

He almost believed it too. 

All was calm at the start, the 126 functioning like the well-oiled machine they were. In no time they were prepped and Owen was striding back towards the ambulance, asking the new guy if he was ready to go. The discussion quickly transformed into an argument and Carlos couldn’t help but glance back over at the minefield and the brothers. Every moment they argued was one less moment these boys had. Carlos was considering stepping in when a new voice entered the discussion, effectively bringing the escalating argument to a halt. 

“I’ll go.” 

And Carlos froze because he knew that voice. He would know it anywhere, it drew him like a moth to a flame in any room. He turned slowly to find TK standing slightly apart from his crew, stance relaxed but jaw set in determination. 

“I was a dual function FD medic in New York,” he explained, voice calm and firm, “all my certifications are up to date. I can do this.” 

Carlos didn’t need to be looking at him, didn’t need to see where his gaze shifted to know that those last words were directed at his dad. The knowledge made Carlos’s heart ache. The fact that his boyfriend still felt the need to prove himself to his dad after all this time and all he had accomplished killed him, but the thought of TK willingly walking into the minefield killed him even more. 

But it wasn’t his choice to make and when Owen nodded, he felt a cold dread spread throughout his body. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. Today was not supposed to be the day he watched his boyfriend walk into an active minefield. That day was never supposed to come, and yet here it was. 

He walked over to where TK was switching out his gear, struggling with a strap that was twisting over his shoulder. He reached out for the strap without a word, smoothing it out and snapping it in place. They didn’t speak as Carlos stepped back, surveying the harness and gear for any other twists or issues. 

“It’s going to be fine, Carlos.” 

TK’s voice, soft and reassuring, broke the silence and Carlos met his eyes sharply. He wanted so desperately to believe him, but there was a field filled with explosives that had already claimed one life today behind them and he was finding it hard to be optimistic. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked instead. 

TK pulled his helmet on, his steady gaze never leaving Carlos, “Of course I’m sure, the kid’s going to die if we don’t go out there, Carlos. I need to help if I can.” 

Carlos reached down to grab his medical bag and held it out to him. He didn’t like the thought of the man he loved purposefully putting himself in harm’s way, but he also knew TK. As much as he might hate it sometimes, this was TK: always ready to help, always willing to put himself at risk if it meant saving someone else, and there was nothing Carlos could do to change that. And he wouldn’t want to - it was a part of TK that made him who he was: someone that Carlos loved with all his heart. 

When TK reached out to take the bag from him, he didn’t release it immediately. He let his grip linger for an extra moment as he studied TK, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Just, be careful,” he told him softly. TK gave him a small smile, and Carlos released his grip on the bag, allowing TK to walk away, towards the minefield. He was still watching as he ascended the ladder that would drop him out onto the minefield when he felt the presence of others appearing at his side. 

“He’ll be okay kid,” Judd said quietly, eyes never leaving the sight of the two Strands climbing to the end of the ladder. 

“You don’t know that Judd,” Carlos responded just as quietly, already feeling his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his hands at his side. 

“No,” the older man agreed softly, “I don’t. But I do know they’ll be as careful as they can.” 

Carlos nodded, eyes tracking every movement desperately. They had reached the edge of the ladder now and he watched as Owen tossed down the duffel, as they both reeled back in preparation for an explosion. He could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat as they waited, but there was only silence and after a moment, he allowed himself to breathe again. 

“I don’t know if my heart can take this,” Paul lamented from his left, “that was nerve-wracking and they still have a long way to go.” 

Carlos nodded wearily, but caught his retort before it slipped out of his mouth: if they made it that far. He didn’t need to release that idea into the universe and the others didn’t need to hear it. So he swallowed it and continued watching. Each and every movement they made was agonizing to watch, but each and every thud of them landing unharmed gave him a moment to catch his breath, a brief reprieve for his heart to beat normally. They had settled into a rhythm, and everything was going smoothly. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The sound of the mine exploding filled the air around them and worked its way into Carlos’s soul. It sent shockwaves through his body as he watched, desperately trying to see through the haze of smoke and debris. He couldn’t see him, he didn’t know if he was okay. 

That fact was more than enough to bring on the fear. It attacked him with a vengeance, freezing him to the spot. He felt as if the whole world froze in that moment; suspending him in the terror of not knowing, trapping him with doubt and fear. 

And then he heard TK’s voice, and he could breathe again. It might just be the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. 

When Owen’s voice sounded across the radios, confirming that they were both in one piece, time picked back up at its usual pace. He felt himself sag in relief, grateful for the knowing and supportive hand on his shoulder from Judd. He spared a glance at the others, seeing his relief reflected on their faces and in their stances. 

Marjan let out a long breath, “That was…” 

“Intense,” Paul agreed grimly, “let’s never do that again.” 

They all nodded, and Carlos couldn’t agree more. 

If there was an upside to that moment it was that the path forward was now clear and the two Strands made quick work of the rest of the journey, closing the distance between them and the boys in seconds. Carlos watched in awe as TK slipped into medic mode the moment he reached the boys’ sides, calmly managing the scene and taking care of the patient. It was a wonder to watch. He handled it all with focus and compassion, quietly reassuring the boys even as he gave instructions to his dad and administered care. He was cool and steady even as he delivered the lifesaving compressions, forcing the teen’s blood to pump through his veins with his own hands. It was only minutes before his voice sounded over the radio, announcing that the injured boy was stable and no amount of fear or worry could have stopped the intense pride Carlos felt in that moment. 

“Kid’s got some skills,” Judd observed with a fond smile and Carlos could only grin. 

Paul nodded, “Looks like someone’s been holding out on us, that was pretty impressive I must admit.” 

“Badass is more like it!” Mateo exclaimed and Marjan, standing next to him, laughed even as she placed a hand on his arm. 

“Steady Probie,” she reminded him, “they still have to get out of there. Let’s not jinx anything.”

Her words tempered the celebratory mood of the group, but even though Carlos had never let go of that fear (he knew he wouldn’t until TK was out of the minefield and at least 2 miles away) it felt different from before. It was wrapped in that pride now, and even as Carlos watched them prep to move and the bomb squad moved out to locate and detonate any mines along the path, he couldn’t shake that. It was almost stronger than the fear now, this pride he felt for TK. That was his boyfriend; the person who had just saved two young brothers in the middle of a minefield was the man he loved. Just when he thought that he had come to know every bit of his body and soul, he managed to surprise him all over again. 

It took every ounce of restraint and professionalism Carlos had to not rush over to TK the moment he cleared the edge of the minefield. He forced himself to wait, focusing on his own job while keeping a watchful eye on TK as he reported back to Captain Vega, as he got an exam from the new paramedic. It wasn’t until he headed back to the ladder truck that Carlos broke away from the crowd, meeting him at the side of the engine. TK looked up as he approached, a smile on his face and a greeting on his lips, but Carlos pulled him into his arms before he even had a chance to speak. 

He held him tightly, savoring the feeling of his breath on his collar and the faint sound of the beating of his heart. His familiar scent filled Carlos’s head with each breath and he closed his eyes. He would have been happy to stand there forever, feeling this and just being them and while he knew they couldn’t, he was determined to have at least a few moments more before the world interrupted. If nothing else, the universe at least owed him this. 

“I’m okay Carlos,” TK said evenly, his voice muffled against Carlos’s shoulder. 

But you almost weren’t. The words rang through his head, but he didn’t speak them. Instead he pulled away just enough to see TK’s face as he asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” TK assured him firmly, placing a steady hand on his chest, “the new medic looked me over but I could have told you anyway, I’m fine. Not injured, my dad and I both made it out and so did the boys. This was a win Carlos, I’m more than okay.” 

And he was, Carlos saw as he studied him. He was beaming; enthusiasm pouring out of him. His eyes were alight with something Carlos couldn’t name and he was practically vibrating. Despite everything, Carlos couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still worried, still terrified by all the ‘what ifs,” but seeing TK like this gave him a lightness he couldn’t have imagined feeling even a few minutes before. 

He shook his head, trying to mask his smile with little success, “I am glad you’re so pleased with yourself, considering you almost gave the rest of us a heart attack.” 

He had been going for a joke but he instantly regretted it when TK dimmed, “I’m sorry,” he told him sincerely, “I didn’t mean to scare you guys, especially you. I just knew I could help…” 

Carlos interrupted him, moving his hands so they were on each of TK’s shoulders, “You have nothing to apologize for Ty,” he assured him firmly, “you did the right thing. You saved a kid’s life and you did amazing. I am so proud of you.” 

TK’s smile returned, softer than before but still glowing with pride, “You are, are you?” 

Carlos leaned down to place a soft and tender kiss on his forehead, “I am. So incredibly proud. You’re a pretty impressive guy, you know that?”

TK’s smile could have lit up the world and Carlos would have been happy to let it. But they were both still on the job and decidedly not alone, as they were suddenly reminded when Paul peaked around the side of the engine. He smirked at them before calling over his shoulder, “Yeah, they’re decent back here, you guys can come around.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes at his friend while TK casually flipped him off. Paul crossed towards them, completely unfazed before reaching out and pulling TK into a hug of his own. “You can’t keep scaring me like that man,” he told TK when they pulled apart, “I’m getting too old for that crap.” 

TK rolled his eyes at his teammate and Carlos chuckled. He looked behind him to see the rest of the team materializing. 

“That’s my cue,” he told TK, “I need to get back to work and get this scene wrapped up anyways. I’ll see you at home later?” 

TK nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “I’ll be there right after my shift.” 

“Think you can make it until then without nearly dying on me again?” 

“I’ll do my best,” TK assured him and Carlos smiled. 

“That’s all I ask,” he responded, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, Carlos.” 

Carlos smiled at that, the warmth he felt every time he heard those words from TK rushing through him. With one last squeeze of the hand holding his own, he stepped away, letting TK’s team get in their time. As he reached the corner of the engine he looked back, still feeling the whirlwind of emotions deep in his chest. 

But TK was safe and happy - he couldn’t ask for anything more. So he turned the corner and returned to the task at hand. 

----------

“You know, that call today? It felt good, really good.” 

Carlos looked up from his dinner sharply to see TK idly playing with his, his focus clearly elsewhere. “Please don’t tell me this means you have decided to become a real-life minesweeper, I am going to have some objections to that,” Carlos deadpanned. 

TK laughed lightly, shaking his head, “No, not quite.” 

“Thank god, I don’t think my heart could handle that.” 

TK shook his head fondly at Carlos before his expression grew more pensive, “I didn’t mean the minefield, or even the danger or adrenaline. I meant the saving the boy part. I know I do that all the time as a firefighter, but there’s something different about doing it as a medic. I haven’t had the chance to really do any medical calls since moving to Austin, with the way the department is structured.” 

“You’ve never really talked about it before,” Carlos noted, “I’ve seen you do medical stuff in the field, but before today I didn’t even know you were dual certified.” 

TK shrugged, “It just never really came up, I guess. It’s pretty typical in New York, but their firehouses are structured differently. I guess once I made my peace with being down here I never really thought about it again. It’s not like I could do both the same way I used to.” 

His tone was almost wistful as he turned his gaze down to his plate, but Carlos had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing the food on it. “Sounds like you miss it,” he ventured after a few more moments of silence. 

“Sometimes I do.” 

“So why not go for it?” 

TK looked at him sharply, but Carlos just shrugged, “What? You’ve spent most of the past hour talking about it and you mentioned how the new guy quit and there’s an opening on the paramedic team within your first 10 minutes of showing up tonight. I know you and I know you’re already thinking about it, so why not try it?” 

“Even if I applied, there are so many other candidates. There’s no saying she’d pick me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She knows you and how dedicated you are to your job. She saw you in action today, willing to take the risk that someone else wasn’t in order to save a patient. You did the job well and you did it under insane pressure after months of not doing it. If I were her, I’d be wondering what you’d be capable of on an average day.”  

TK looked startled at the efficient takedown of his doubts, but Carlos just raised an eyebrow, “Next?” 

He would dismantle his boyfriend’s doubts with logic one by one if need be. Whatever it took for him to start believing in himself the way Carlos did. 

“I’d have to leave the team,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be working with them anymore. We’re like a family, I can’t just leave them.” 

Carlos reached across the table to take TK’s hand in his own, “It’s not like you’d be leaving the station,” he reminded him, “you’d still be in the same building and on the same schedule. And they’re not going to feel like you abandoned them, Ty, they’ll still be right there. And right here,” he added with a laugh, gesturing towards his living room, “we’ve fed them, I don’t think we are ever going to get rid of them now.” 

That pulled a smile out of TK, but there was still so much doubt in his eyes that it hurt Carlos to see it. 

“What do you think they would say, if you told them it was something you wanted?” he asked instead, “Do you think they would tell you to forget about it? To stay with them because it was more comfortable?” 

“No,” TK said quickly, “of course they wouldn’t.” 

“So why are you worried about them? They want what’s best for you and they always will. Unless,” he hedged when TK’s expression didn’t clear, “they’re not the ones you’re worried about.” TK pulled his gaze up from the table and Carlos saw all the confirmation in them that he needed, “Your dad?” 

TK nodded, and Carlos sighed. “TK…”

“It would be a big change Carlos,” he said softly. “Except for my probationary period, I have always worked with my dad. I don’t want him to take it personally.” 

“But it is a little personal, isn’t it?” 

He was careful to keep his tone even, non-judgemental and he watched TK closely, waiting for his response. 

“Maybe a little, yeah,” TK admitted. “I feel like this would be a way for me to really see who I am without him right there. It’s not like this is a reaction to him or any news he may have shared recently,” he added hastily, “I would hope I’m past the ‘blowing my life up to piss off my dad’ point, but it is something to consider. And…” 

He trailed off, but Carlos had a feeling he knew what was going to come next, “And you’re worried he might take it personally?” he suggested. 

TK nodded and Carlos sighed and set down his fork, reaching across the table again to pull both of TK’s hands into his own, “Look,” he began, “what’s important is why you’re thinking about this. So, what is it? Why are you thinking about becoming a paramedic?” 

“Because I think I’d love it,” TK said without any hesitation, “because I feel like it’s the best way I can help people.” 

Carlos smiled at him, squeezing the hands in his grasp softly, “Then I think you have your answer. You should do this because it is what you want and because it is right for you. That’s all that matters. Everything else - and everyone else - will fall into place.” 

“And if they don’t?” TK asked softly, and Carlos felt a pang in his heart at the sound of so much doubt in the other man’s voice. 

“They will,” Carlos assured him. “Nothing ever stays the same, remember? And your dad knows that. We all know that. And,” he added, leaning forward in his seat to close some of the distance between them, “I will be here for you, every step of the way. No matter what.”  

The smile TK gave him warmed every inch of his body. They sat in companionable silence for a while, intertwined hands connecting them across the table until TK spoke again. 

“If you really mean that,” he began with a grin, “I could probably use some help with my resume.” 

“Anything for you,” Carlos quipped back, but even as he said the words he squeezed their clasped hands. He meant that, in every way possible. He would be here for resumes and job interviews and everything in between, as long as TK wanted him to be. 

Judging by the way TK met his eyes, and the soft ‘thank you’ that fell from his lips, he had a feeling he felt the same way too. 

[nol-an]

it was good until it wasn’t || n. patrick

inspired by the prompt, “please don’t make me choose.”

2k worth of A N G S T!! um yea haven’t written in over two years and this is my first hockey fic so bear with me. feedback is always appreciated! (this is not proofread and im sure there are probs some plot holes- oops)

__________

For so long, everything had felt too good to be true. Nolan finally accomplished his dream of playing in the NHL, and you had gotten into your dream school in Philadelphia. To you, there was nothing more important than pursuing a career in the medical field and being able to do that with Nolan on your side.

At times, the long study nights, missed plans, and occasional stressed-induced breakdowns made you question if you were ever going to meet your end goals. That feeling was definitely not foreign to you, but it didn’t necessarily make coping with the thought any easier. It was a weird feeling — four years of undergraduate school almost felt like too much yet not enough time. There was so much you wanted to accomplish, and you sometimes wished you weren’t so ambitious because the days where you felt incapable of being successful were the days that you wanted nothing more than to wallow in your fears alone.

Luckily for you, Nolan was incredibly understanding of your fears. While he knew his life as an athlete was drastically different from your life as a student, he tried his best to understand your thoughts and always told you how much he admired your drive to reach your goals. No matter how often you tried to internalize your emotions, Nolan knew better and never hesitated to be your rock. Be it in the form of verbal or physical reassurance, his presence radiated a sense of comfort that always brought you out of any illusion of doubt you may have conjured. 

He doesn’t tell you enough, but you have a similar effect on him. Your gentle touches, cute pre-game texts, and warm hugs never fail to bring a smile to his face. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not quite sure what he would do without you. It’s not really a thought he has to worry about, though, because for what felt like a blissful eternity, the stars aligned for you two. There were undoubtedly times when Nolan and you would run into disagreements, but the desire to make things work seemingly mended any issues in the relationship.

That was, however, until everything seem to come to a head. With your MCAT exam date approaching very soon and Nolan’s season with the Flyers starting just as quickly, it was hard for the two of you to bask in each other’s presence like usual. It wasn’t something either of you really noticed, as you both understood how important the other’s career was. You knew how important this comeback season for Nolan would be, and you tried your best to let him know that you would support him no matter what. He didn’t have to say it, but you knew a lot of doubts were rushing through your boyfriend’s head and you almost mistook his increasingly reserved demeanor as nerves. 

In fact, you didn’t really give it much thought until Nolan came home from his fourth game of the season. As badly as you wished you could have attended, the remaining hours you had to prepare for the MCAT were previous and you reassured Nolan that you would be his number one cheerleader again as soon as you got the dreaded test out of the way.

Your nose was stuffed into a psychology textbook until your trance was broken with the slam of the front door to you and Nolan’s shared apartment.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted as you got out of your seat to hug your freshly-showered boyfriend. If the sound of the front door was any indication, you had a feeling that the game didn’t go as desired, and you didn’t want to push any touchy subjects. On more than one occasion, Nolan had told you how much he liked how he could escape from hockey in your presence. He loved that he could escape from that part of his life, loved how you made him feel like a normal guy. You thought this would be one of those nights where even the word “hockey” wouldn’t be uttered, but you were wrong. So wrong.

“You’re not gonna ask how the game went?” Your boyfriend pressed, his tone bitter. Pulling away from your hug, he turned his back to you all too soon and he walked towards the kitchen.

“I-I mean, you know I’m always here to listen about your games, but I just thought you wouldn’t want to talk about it?” you meekly replied, unsure of where he was going with the conversation. 

You weren’t entirely sure what the outcome of the game was, but you were definitely confused. Nolan usually didn’t like talking about the Flyers’ losses, but you were so sure something went wrong based on his dramatic entrance into your shared home.

Prompted by his silence, you continued, “Um, so was it a win?” you uttered, regretting your words as soon as they slipped off your tongue.

Slamming his water bottle on the countertop, Nolan’s actions caused your words to dissipate. Silence filled the room, the tension almost palpable.

“Well you would know if you were there, wouldn’t you?” he replied, clearly annoyed by your seemingly stupid question.

Alright, so definitely not a win.

“Nols,” you tried to reason, “You know I wanted to be there so badly, but I couldn’t. The MCAT is almo-” you were abruptly cut off.

“I know. The MCAT is only two weeks away and it’s super important for you. It’s been the same thing for weeks now, you don’t have to remind me,” Nolan finished your sentence, his monotonous and resentful tone making it clear that he had already heard the same words from you numerous times before.

Had it not been for this same tone, you would have brushed off his comment. You would have instead attributed his harshness to tonight’s loss, which would have been the third one in a row. However, his response felt condescending — like he was downplaying how important the MCAT actually was to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you quipped. It felt like you just recited the most cliche line in the book, but your brain and heart had already started functioning at two different rates. If you attempted to say any more, your stress from the upcoming exam mixed with the rising argument you sensed would have surely sent you into a pool of tears.

“It’s just exhausting you, know?” Nolan started, “I know you’re busy with your own things, but it sucks seeing all of the other guys getting to hug their girlfriends and wives at the tunnel at the end of games while I know I can’t have the same with you. I mean, is it so much to ask of you to just be there for me? How am I supposed to believe that you want the best for me when you aren’t even acting like it?” he argued.

“‘So was it a win?’” he bitterly recited your earlier question, scoffing at it. “You could have at least Googled the score and pretended like you were keeping up.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your confusion immediately turned into anger and shock — you thought Nolan, out of all people, would have understood your situation. Not being able to wrap your head around his current state of irrationality, it felt like hours passed before you willed yourself to reply.

“I've attend almost every game of yours. I’m sorry I haven’t been so good at that recently, but you know how much I want to do well on this exam,” you seethed. 

You were trying to stay level-headed, but anger consumed any possibility of making the discourse calm. “My life does not revolve solely around your career, and I’m sure as hell not going to always be able to put my life on hold to make sure I know what the scoreboard of every game is.” You couldn’t help but let every one of your words become coated in frustration. You thought everything you were saying was so obvious, and you couldn’t help but become more upset with the fact that you even had to reiterate these points to Nolan.

“Sometimes it feels like I’m not even dating someone,” Nolan dryly responded. “Feels like all you do nowadays is drone on and on about this test. Is this what the rest of our relationship it gonna be like? I mean, I can’t imagine what things are gonna be like once you’re in med school,” he hastily commented, pacing around the kitchen.

Every one of his words felt like a punch to your gut. His words hurt more than your face let on, every instinct in your body asking —no, begging— you to flee your current predicament.

“I don’t know what to say,” you truthfully replied.

“Is there even room for me in your life anymore?” he questioned, adding fuel to the fire. “It feels like I’m always second to your fantasy life as a doctor.”

This was your last straw. Sure, you could have tried to see the validity in his initial argument if you gave yourself time to cool down. But now, it felt like he was mocking you. The same person that made your goals feel attainable was starting to break down your confidence. The confidence that he helped you construct was now crumbling, brick by brick.

“Nolan, you mean so much more to me than that. Please, I would never want you to feel this way, and I know we can work this out we just need to tal-” you were cut off once more.

“I don't know if I can do this anymore,” he cryptically stated, letting your worst fears fester around the kitchen that felt way too cramped now.

“Nol, please,” you pleaded. Your anger immediately shifted to dread.

“I want you to achieve your dreams more than anything, but I don’t know if I see myself in these future plans if this is what the rest of your career is supposed to be like. Do I even have a place in your future plans?” Nolan sighed.

Your stomach dropped. Even though he didn’t explicitly state it, you knew what he was hinting at. It was your career or him, and he was making it clear that having both in your life wouldn’t be feasible. As if he pulled out the last brick, you finally let all of your walls down. Tears freely flowed down your face, as you tried to convince yourself that you were hearing wrong. You wanted to scream it at the top of your lungs. Of course you saw Nolan as part of your future. Hell, he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. However, his seeming disregard for your career aspirations was off-putting and made you reconsider everything.

Your eyesight, blurry from your tears, tried to focus on the hockey player. Your dejected state urged you to reason with him, but you were unsure of what to do.

“Please, Nolan. Please don’t make me choose,” you pleaded. In comparison to your vulnerable state, Nolan was composed. It was as if he rehearsed this, his blank stare void of emotion. You tried to come closer to him, but his body language told you that your touch wasn’t welcome.

“I don’t have to,” Nolan pushed himself off the counter, “The fact that you don’t already know your answer already tells me what I need to know,” he stated. Grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, he headed to the front door before you could gather your emotions and form words.

Your anger, confusion, and hurt seemed to weigh you down, gluing your feet to the ground. As much as you wanted to stop his exit from the apartment, your body kept you in place. With a second slam of the front door, the gust of wind from the heavy door whiffled through your long-forgotten textbook, the sound of the pages ruffling mocking you. The silence following Nolan’s exit was deafening. You never thought Nolan would make you choose between your relationship with him and your career. You thought you knew a lot of things about life, really, but this was certainly something you were not prepared for.

Your world was spinning, orbiting into a field of anguish and heartbreak. As if your brain hadn’t quite registered the turn of events, you almost thought about calling for Nolan until you were cruelly reminded that reaching for him was no longer an option. Your rock was gone, and you were lost.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Repeating the Cycle

I thought I’d write a little story about ink infection, as well as Sammy’s role after he was transformed. It’s inspired by Shazzbaa’s theories (I’d say which, but we don’t want spoilers, now do we?)!

I’ll tell you guys later tonight about the future writing projects I have planned.

---

Sammy awoke in his sanctuary, as he had many times before. He hadn’t been to his apartment in... well, days anyhow. He felt better when he was near the ink. He tried the door to exit his private sanctuary, and it was locked. “Is this a sign?” he asked his lord. “Is it time?”

Yes, his lord spoke back.

Sammy smiled- smiled rather weakly, as the pain from his ink infection had been wearing on him heavily. “Finally.”

All the waiting. All the sickness. All the fear. It was time to see what it was all for. And his lord had assured him, with the comforting voice of a father to a young son, that it would be worth it.

Sammy dragged himself over to the leaking pipe that hung from the ceiling of his sanctuary and turned on the ink supply. Ink sputtered down onto Sammy’s face and clothes, and he fell to his knees, hands outstretched and mouth open as though he was staring into heaven itself. His heart was pounding. He was shaking from adrenaline, and not even being surrounded with, covered in, and consuming the ink that normally numbed his symptoms seemed to be helping. This had to be fear instead of withdrawal.

Do not be afraid, the voice comforted, you will have ascended in mere hours. I promise, you will be safe and healthy. I promise, it will be better than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Thank you! Bendy, hear my praise! I want what you have for me! I crave your embrace!”

Sammy took a long suck of ink from the pipe, then laid down on the floor. He was weak. so weak.

That’s it. You’ve made it. You need only wait now.

Sammy trusted Bendy. Bendy told him that everything he’d done and experienced in his life- even the nightmarish last few years- was leading to something. It told him that everything was okay.

Sammy didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt Joey tying up his ankles. With some struggle, he sat up and tried to push Joey off of him, but it had little effect. Before long, Joey had finished on Sammy’s ankles and was straddling his chest to tie up his hands. The last thing he saw with his biological eyes was Joey’s knife slitting his throat.

When Sammy woke up, the voice of his lord was gone. By trying to make a toon out of him, Joey had robbed him of his ascension and severed his connection to him.

---

Grant awoke in his office to the horrid ticking of his Bendy clock and the array of whispering voices that had plagued him since early in his infection. The clock’s small hand pointed to six, but Grant had no idea whether it was morning or evening. Months of ink infection had ruined his sense of time. He tried the door to his office and found that it had been locked from the outside by chain and padlock. Grant laughed at the absurdity of it all- his life had spiralled into a nightmarish fever dream.

“Does this mean it’s time?” Grant asked.

Yes. Your time is almost up, the voice answered, and for once, Grant trusted it. He felt almost too tired from illness to care.

“I’ll do anything you ask to stop it.”

No response, except for those muttered voices. Grant hadn’t expected one- the voice rarely had his best interests in mind. He shuffled over to his desk and pushed aside some papers to go back to sleep- possibly for the last time.

And then he saw it- a report from Joey that he’d received mere days before his symptoms had started- ending with the words “Fix this or I’ll have your head!” angrily scrawled at the bottom.

That was it. Joey had done this to motivate him. He just had to figure out how to keep the studio from bankruptcy and he’d be cured!

Yes! Yes! You’re right. Fix it! the voice yelled.

Adrenaline flooded Grant’s system as he jerked open his filing cabinet with shaking hands in search of the necessary files to fix the budget. This was his one chance to survive. The muttering voices were screaming in his head- ear-piercing. His head felt ready to explode.

“Shut up and let me focus!” he screamed.

Ink will soothe your symptoms.

That was something that the voice had told him frequently. He hadn’t given in to it yet- not much, anyhow- because common sense told him that ink was inedible. It was also his sincere belief that the voice wanted to kill him. The voice had told him, back before the physical symptoms had become obvious, that he was merely losing his mind and needed to hide it from everyone, lest he be institutionalized. Then, as soon as the physical symptoms had taken root, it had changed its tune- he was losing his mind, because he was ill with an incurable, supernatural disease, and no hospital could help him, and going to one would only guarantee that he would be a test subject for the limited time he had left. Listening to it then had gotten him into this position, and he wasn’t eager to listen to it again.

But this was life or death. He opened the supply on the ink pipe that Thomas- for some reason he didn’t understand- had installed in his office, and drank deeply.

The voice- the muttering- the headache- it all stopped. Silence. Finally.

Grant’s hands were covered in ink now, and were sure to soak any paper he used. I can’t let that stop me. He dropped to his knees and started painting calculations on the floor.

The numbers didn’t add up. Not a single one. Was his mind was too frayed to do basic mathematical functions?! How could he fix anything, let alone this insurmountable debt, while he could barely think straight?! Calm down. Stay calm. Try again. Life or death. Time is money. What will Joey say?!

From the cracks within the wall, Sammy watched as Grant spiralled into panic and tears, and turned his office inside out trying to find anything that could help, expressing his fears through wall-writing, and attempting escape the room. Poor thing, Sammy thought, remembering the pain and uncertainty of his own ink infection, but soon I’ll be able to teach him the truth.

It had been years since Sammy’s sacrifice. Not only did Sammy still work for Joey now that he was a failed toon, Joey had him on a schedule. Every day at 11:00 AM, Sammy would ooze through the walls of Joey’s office for their morning meeting. Sammy wasn’t particularly happy about doing anything for the man who had turned him into a failed Boris just as he was about to fulfill a higher destiny, but the voice had once told him that to follow Joey was to follow his lord, and now those previous words (which Sammy had recorded and studied every day) were all he had left as a doctrine to follow. Sammy hoped that with enough obedience and service, his lord would see past his ruined body and grant him his destiny.

Joey’s demands were often difficult, but they were simple: sacrificing specific people into specific toons, and looking after the infected. Joey rarely sacrificed people on his own anymore, and instead relied on Sammy to do the dirty work of knocking people out, killing them on pentagrams, and then dealing with the resulting dead body, blood and ink-stains on the floor, and whatever abomination came out of the ink machine. Looking after the ink-infected was easier: keep an eye on them, and once they become too infected to be useful, lock them in their offices or in infirmary rooms and take them to their prison in the basement come night. Sammy had overseen the infection of nearly thirty people by now and had sacrificed dozens.

Thankfully, Joey’s demands were not very time-intensive, and he had plenty of time for his passion: teaching the lost ones about their lord and saviour, Bendy.

The lost ones lived in a prison in the very basement of Joey Drew Studios, along with the failed toons. Sammy’s sermons were some of the only times they were allowed out of their cages, and so they were always happy to see him.

Some agreed with him. Often, these were the same ones who had heard a comforting voice as they were infected- generally those with a religious background. Others thought him insane. Their voice had been different- wrong- hallucinatory- and quite often threatening. Sammy had these lost ones do penance in order to find their way to Bendy. Some found him, leaving Sammy feeling accomplished, but also jealous that he could never have what they had. Hopefully, his lord would see the wonderful work he was doing and one day ascend him along with the rest of them- because surely, that was not their final form.

Today’s meeting was like any other. Sammy waited in the walls until Joey’s 10:30 client left, and then slithered out before him.

“Anything to report?” Joey asked casually, as he looked over some paperwork. These meetings were usually uneventful.

“Two people are currently under quarantine. Three more are infected but still able to work for now. Everything is fine- except for one small detail. One of the people under quarantine is destroying his office out of fear. If you’d like, I could tie him up snug until he transforms, or force-feed him ink to speed the process along.”

Joey considered this. "Hmm... well, I do need an Edgar. He would work as well as any. Are you sure he’s close to transforming?” All ink-infected people had strange beliefs and delusions (except for Sammy, of course- his visions were absolute truth), but by this point in their infection, they were generally too tired to do anything destructive- especially ones like this one, who had increased the duration of their infection by resisting the urge to drink ink.

“It will be a matter of hours,” Sammy assured.

“Well, that’s not convenient, but I do have lunch right after this. I’ll get the Charley down to the basement, and you get the Barley and Edgar. The Barley’s name is Lacie Benton, and I’d suggest you knock her out before taking her anywhere- she’s a tough one. But the Edgar shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“No... I suppose not.” Severely ink-infected people were, without exception, very weak, and Sammy was stronger now than he’d ever been as a human.

“Alright! See you down there as soon as possible.”

Sammy nodded, slunk back into the walls, and cursed everything, especially his order to obey Joey Drew. A severely ink infected person had never, and would never, produce a good toon- part of their souls had already been connected to the other lost ones. Joey must have known that, but he still insisted on stealing the people that were meant to be Sammy’s to guide, probably because in Joey’s mind, killing a person was murder but killing a lost one (or someone who soon would be a lost one) was not. Joey didn’t see his people as equally human, and it sickened Sammy. Nonetheless, he slithered through the walls until he came upon Grant’s office.

The office looked like a madhouse. The floors and walls were coated with repetitive writing. Furniture had been strewn about. Grant himself was curled against the ink pipe in his office, covered in so much ink that Sammy had thought he was already transformed before he realized he still had hair. The poor thing had tried so hard, while so sick, at something so futile. Sammy had his orders, but he wasn’t going to lay a hand on his sheep-that-wouldn’t-be until he had to.

Sammy slithered out of the wall- slowly, so as not to scare him.

“Who are you?” Grant asked. He sounded so tired of all the supernatural surprises that he barely cared.

“I’m here on behalf of Joey Drew,” Sammy began.

“I’m so sorry. I tried... but I couldn’t. I suppose you’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m here to give you congratulations. The others in your department were able to use these brilliant calculations,” Sammy gestured widely at the messily scrawled gibberish on a wall, “to make a plan. The studio is going to avoid bankruptcy, and you’re going to be cured. Come with me.” Sammy offered Grant his hand. Grant took it, and Sammy helped him up.

“I-I don’t understand. I don’t understand how-” All of those calculations... Grant would have guessed that they were worthless.

“Shh... you’ll be clearer-headed soon. Just come with me, now. I can’t be out there where everyone can see me, but go to the elevator, go to the bottom floor, and I will be there. I promise- you will be fine.”

“Thank you so much. But, my door-”

Sammy slithered back into the wall. Grant heard the click of a door unlocking, followed by the clink of chains falling limp. His office door was unlocked. Do I trust him? Grant asked himself. This day kept getting stranger. If I don’t, I’m guaranteed to die. I have nothing to lose.

Sammy slithered into the wooden floor of the elevator and only reappeared once the elevator hit the very bottom.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy lamented “I want to lead you to Bendy. I want you to find peace as one of my followers. But it is not in the cards.”

The two made brief eye contact- or would have, if Sammy’s face weren’t covered in mask. Grant, obviously, had no idea what Sammy was talking about. Then, Sammy grabbed Grant’s hair, slammed his head against the wall a few times to knock him out, tied him up for sacrifice, and left to find Lacie Benton.

[emilx311]

Life Update

Hey all, so I pretty much vanished off the internet for the past few months (whoops sorry about that) but things have been crazy irl! Here’s a bit of a summary for those who were wondering what happened to me:

So, for context sake a few fun facts about me. I work as a night auditor at a hotel and have done so since August 2019, I graduated Uni with a degree in Justice Studies in 2018, and I have several minor but chronic health issues that lead to me being very low energy-ie having less spoons than a normal person and needing more sleep.

Aside from the issues already inherent with 2020′s....everything we had several more personal issues at my (I say my because I work there) motel. Mainly around staffing, and especially around night audit staffing.

Since I was hired we’ve gone through 5 or 6 other night auditors (I think? maybe more). And they often.....quit with barely any notice. So, being our only consistent night auditor I’ve been called in last minute several times over the past year leading to 6 or even 7 day weeks. (Not Fun!)

Even when we have had another trained night auditor with us they often also do day shifts since we only need them for 2 nights a week. Turn over for day-shift people has been barely lower than turn over for night shift, which has led to them having to be called in last minute to cover day shifts when people left which means I also had to be called in last minute to cover the night shifts they were no longer able to do, leading to us all working 6 or even 7 day weeks (Super Not Fun!)

In summary: I’ve worked more overtime days than I have had vacation days in this last year. Heck, the last time I tried to go on vacation for like 5 days I got called in every other day and my boss (our regional manager) paid me double for the shifts I worked and refused to touch my vacation pay because even he acknowledged that was in no way a real vacation at that point (this was at the beginning of September btw...)

This was all compounded when our general manager (gm) left in late July. Her reason for leaving was super fair since she got a better job offer, similar pay to what she was making, less work since she would no longer have to do all the duties our boss should have been doing but was instead pushing off unto her. Super sad to see her go but wished her the best (still miss her) :(

This left our under manager (gsm) and me as the main people in the hotel (ie those who have been there the longest, only the gsm and housekeepers had been there longer than I had at that point-and I had not even reached my 1 year yet). Which, not super great, but the other people we had were okay so we would manage. So the gsm and I held things together and started basically running the hotel (shout out to the gsm here because I love her and she is actually like 5 years younger than me but has accomplished so much more, I am in constant awe of her tbh). Our boss (who is....kind of dumb sometimes) realized this. We became his golden girls (he plays favorites hard).

It is at that point that someone above our boss’s level in the company (he’s in charge locally, but we do belong to a large corporation, ah capitalism) hired disaster #1 as our first new gm. Disaster #1 was creepily cheerful and utterly dismayed to find out his job actually involved him doing work! Like working at the front desk during his shifts and doing manager stuff instead of it just being him sitting in the back looking important and giving us encouragement occasionally. He payed no attention to his training. He did very little of his basic work let alone the manager stuff. He took credit and praised “the team” whenever something went right and pushed blame off him unto everyone else as hard as he could when something went wrong (I once pointed out he forgot to do something and he legit said to me “can you prove it was me?” I said “yes” very firmly.)

Now, as the auditor my job is to spot, point out, and fix errors. He hated coming in to to work after me because I spotted and pointed out everything he missed or did incorrectly. At first just because I happened to notice them. Then it became personal, he cornered me one morning at shift change and told me that he dreaded coming in to work after me because I was always so critical, and he had so much to do during his shifts other than just front desk stuff (he did not, most of the “manager” stuff he was even trained in doing at this point he shoved off unto the gsm) he then disparaged the gsm. I was done, I was pissed (you do not say mean things about my gsm, nope, not okay, I will cut and slab you*) and kind of hurt (why are you taking my corrections as personal attacks? Why are you saying I’m mean for doing my job?) So, if he wanted to make it personal I decided to make it personal and made it my mission to find and point out everything he did wrong, no more overlooking small things as I had been. The pressure of actually having to work made him quit (shocking, not!).

It was also around this time that I signed up for an LSAT prep course. Because I hate myself and now that I’ve been working for a couple years and have some money saved up I want to follow through on my plan to get either a Law Degree or a Masters Degree and so am working on taking the LSAT and applying to law schools. No, studying has not been going well, time and energy have also been preventing that.

Fast forward a couple months and 2 of our best employees went on holiday (one they had scheduled months before). It’s the start of January, they will be gone for two months. In that time our boss had hired our next gm, idiot #2. Just as these two leave the other front desk person we’d been training quits with no notice. We are short staffed....again (yay more 6 and 7 day weeks, ack). To fill in this gap our boss brings in idiot #3 from one of the other 2 hotels in the area our company owns.

Idiot #2 is semi okay, he is not manager material, even months after he was hired to be gm he does not have the training and is basically just a front desk agent. He is bad about doing things himself unless you specifically direct him to with very clear instructions, but he can do the minimum (although he failed the coffee test. After idiot #1 I wrote out very, VERY specific instructions for how to clean our coffee station....he is not able to follow them. The gsm and I joked about the coffee test after I first wrote the instructions, that someone actually failed it....we despair). So, he does not think ahead, do any extra, or solve many problems but at least he rarely creates problems.

This brings us to idiot #3. I do not know what goes on in his head (very little likely) but man oh man. Some examples: the time he-after being asked like 4 times-actually sign off on the checklist after cleaning the laundry room (as everyone is supposed to once a shift) but did so in sharpie instead of one of the many dry-erase markers left around the front desk for no other reason than the clearly laminated sign off sheet. Or the time he decided on his own to give someone a satisfaction refund, far larger than it should have been (which only managers and those with special permission can do in any of the hotels, so he should know better but somehow....)

We have a book for front desk to write messages on about issues for the next people. Usually we have a note or two on any given day. Pretty much every day he worked it was full and even going onto the next page. Idk how, it’s like he touched something and issues sprung up. and Guess who got to be the one to fix all of them (woooo).

For the past few weeks I have had 2 days a week where the only people who worked were me and idiots #2 and #3. It’s been horrible. In addition, my days off were changed for these months so I haven’t been able to meet my one bubble inclusive friend to vent like we usually do once a week, because that time no longer fit in my schedule. I have been living in exhaustive hell for the past couple months, and even before that as I tried to lighten the gsm’s load as much as I could as she took on a lot of the gm stuff. My house is a mess, tbh my life is a mess because work has left me so tired and stressed that I basically get home, shower, collapse onto bed, read a bit, sleep, wake-up, find some sort of food, get ready for work, go to work, and repeat. Even on my days off I’m sleeping 75% of the time and resting to try and shore up my spoons (of which I already have fewer than most people) to get through the work week.

tl;dr Due to ridiculousness I ended up unofficially co-running a hotel and it’s sucked up so much of my energy that all my free time is pretty much spent sleeping just to ensure I’m able to get through my work weeks semi-functionally. Everything about my life has been a mess, to the point where I’m legit not sure how I’ve been keeping myself fed, clean, on meds and just generally....alive.

[theredraccoon]

A Desperate Proposal - Ch 5

The morning of his wedding day, Jace rolled over in a familiar bed and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. One of the more exhaustive battles back and forth between Alec and Lydia and the Downworlders had been over living arrangements, with the final outcome being that Jace and Izzy would continue to live at the Institute with their spouses and Alec and Maryse would live with Magnus and Luke in their respective houses. 

It had been a major concession to the Seelie Queen to have one of her subjects live inside of the Institute’s walls and Lydia had almost blown a gasket about the potential secrets that he might pick up and pass back to the Queen. Finally, Alec had called in Magnus to see if he could work some magic and make sure Meliorn couldn’t access anything he shouldn’t. Alec and Lydia’s relationship had been pretty volatile at that point but when Alec had mentioned Magnus coming in, Lydia had gotten very excited about meeting him and gushed about the warlock’s accomplishments. Alec had melted like butter in a hot sun. Jace smiled to remember it. Soon after, Alec and Lydia decided it was easier to join bureaucratic forces and the wedding negotiations ever since had gone much smoother. They were actually quite scary together but Jace would never tell them that. 

The room Jace had occupied for his entire adult life was different now, redesigned and transformed by his brother’s fiancé, with two bedrooms, a living room and small kitchenette. And only one bathroom. Jace had been completely nonplussed when Magnus had waltzed out and declared the rooms done and he’d realized that he would be sharing a bathroom with his future husband, who was, actually, a complete stranger. 

When Jace had started to say something, Magnus had patted him on the shoulder and declared that that was the design that ‘the Institute’ wanted and he couldn’t change it. The warlock had then leaned forward and said, “Trust me, Jace. I know your groom-to-be and Simon Lewis is actually a secret beefcake. He is adorable. This shared bathroom situation is a blessing in disguise, don’t waste it.” 

Simon. Simon Lewis. Jace brushed his teeth in his stupid soon-to-be shared bathroom and thought about that name and the person it was attached to. Alec had quietly told him that the vampire had declined to meet him before the wedding and Jace still didn’t really know what to think about that decision. Did it mean that Simon wasn’t happy about the wedding? Was he avoiding Jace for a reason? Was he scared that Jace would back out after meeting him? Or vice versa? Jace scowled into the mirror. 

His ablutions finally done, he walked back into his room and pulled out his normal leathers. The weddings weren’t until that evening, when the vampires and werewolves could attend and be comfortable, and so he had a lot of time to kill. Alec had taken their whole family off the schedule and announced that they would all be training for the first half of the day and then they would be allowed to rest and get ready. 

After months of not sparring together, Jace and Alec had spent a significant amount of time in the cavernous training hall in the last week. The wedding negotiations had been long, intense and full of emotion and both of them had needed to get rid of the pent-up energy. They were fairly evenly matched, as most parabatai usually were, but Jace was Battle Master for a reason and Alec had been spending most of his time behind a desk. Jace spent the first three days beating the absolute crap out of his brother, chasing him all around the huge room, to the point where the other Shadowhunters fled when they saw the two of them coming in so they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

It had finally peaked the day that they discussed how binding the marriages would be and how any outside sexual contact would be taken for disloyalty and would void the contracts, as dictated by both vampire and werewolf custom. The realization that Jace would be functionally celibate for the rest of his life unless he and Simon came to some sort of arrangement had driven him from the room. Alec had come after him and the fight that followed had been vicious. Jace had lost himself in it, consumed with the reality of what was happening and the emotions pressing to get out, and then his sticks were suddenly at Alec’s throat and his brother was pressed up against the stone wall of the Institute.    

Jace paused with his hand on the door of the mini-fridge in his new kitchenette as he remembered the conversation that followed.

“Alec, I know you’re a self-sacrificing asshole but you can’t keep letting me beat you up like this.” 

“I am trapping you in a loveless marriage with a male vampire you’ve never met and you can’t even sleep around. You can beat me up every day for the next fifty years if it makes you feel better. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to find another solution. Maybe this isn’t actually as bad as I think and it’s really just a string of awful luck and things will be fine.”

“This is the only way and you know it. I’ve been studying more of the reports from the last year and asking some of the other Institutes for theirs. We are being hunted and we need the Downworld’s numbers and they won’t just offer them up out of the goodness of their hearts. I’ll marry Simon Lewis and we’ll make it work somehow. Although I might come and beat you up anyway, you are way out of shape.”

“Fuck off. Come on, we need to go back before Lydia finds a new way to piss off the Downworld by accident.”

Jace shook off the memory and tossed the empty protein shake bottle in the recycling. He glanced at the time— still a half hour before he was supposed to meet his family— - and was just contemplating making something else to eat when there was a firm knock on his door. 

Maryse stood on the other side, also dressed in training gear, her hair in a simple ponytail and her makeup barely there. He blinked. “Mom. I thought we were meeting at the Hall. What are you doing here?”

She brushed by him on the way into the room, looking around with interest at the living area. It was still fairly empty, as he wasn’t sure what Simon would be bringing with him, but there were a few chairs, his couch, and the display case in the corner with some of his father’s weapons in it. Jace closed the door behind him and waited. Maryse usually didn’t just stop by to say hi, even if she had mellowed a bit in the last few years. 

“Yes, we’re meeting Alec and Isabelle soon but I wanted a chance to talk with you alone.” Jace watched her survey the room once more before walking over to the couch. She sat down at one end, angling herself towards the other side. Jace took the hint and settled on the far end, sinking down into the soft leather. There was silence for a minute.

“You know that Robert and I had an arranged marriage, right?” The words were abrupt. Jace nodded. “I grew up knowing that my husband would be picked for me and it mostly didn’t bother me. What did concern me was being a good Shadowhunter, someone who could hold their own against the politics of the Clave. I would carry the name of someone else when I married but we would be powerful together, not just him and his name. And I did and we were. We made… some mistakes but we learned and we were good together. We had three— four— beautiful children.” His mom’s eyes, which had been flitting around the room as she spoke, now centered on his. “But I never really loved him. When he was killed, I mourned but I was not destroyed by it.” 

Jace shifted on the couch, remembering the news of Robert’s death three years before, in a freak demon battle, and thinking about what they knew now. What if it hadn’t been quite an accident? The half thought was still forming when Maryse spoke again and the idea disappeared as fast as it had come.

“And now I’m here again, with another marriage being dictated by others, and three of my children as well, all to powerful, well-connected people that can make the Lightwood name, the name I took and made my own, mean something again. This is such a great opportunity for our family and I won’t waste it and I don’t want you to either.” Maryse’s eyes were lit up and her voice was the passionate one she had when talking about her ambitions for herself and for them. Jace had heard it often growing up. There was a lump in his throat.

Maryse paused and then she reached for Jace’s hands. Her hands were warm around his cold ones and he made himself look into her face. “But Jace, I want you to listen to me. There are many ways to go into a marriage like this. You can aim for a relationship like the one that Robert and I had. It worked for a long time and you and this Simon can go far, as far as you want together. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Luke and I were never able to be in the right time and the right place together and I knew that my path was elsewhere. But now here we are and I want to try. I want to try a different way and see if I can have both, a political match and a love match. I went into marriage with Robert with a set of expectations and never let myself alter them. I don’t want to do that this time. And I don’t want you to either.

“I asked Magnus about Simon, because I am your mother, and he told me that Simon was a good man, that he was a good Second to Raphael, honest and honorable, for a vampire. I know he’s not what you might have wanted for yourself but there’s a chance he could be. Shadowhunters know that their work is dangerous and, by the Angel, we know it can be cut short at any minute. But life can also be long, with many years to get to know someone. If Simon is as good as Magnus swears he is— if you can, try. Promise me?” 

Jace’s head was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. It was honestly just like Maryse to show up on the day of the wedding and drop all of this on him. He wondered idly if she’d spoken to Alec and Izzy about any of this. Or what she’d said to Izzy, marrying a Seelie. He couldn’t think about the implications of her words, the idea that he could fall in love with Simon if he let himself, with a vampire that he was marrying just because they desperately needed Downworlders to save them. He had no expectations for this marriage beyond using it to stop them all from dying.

But she was his mom, the one who insisted that he call her that when he was 11 and the papers were finalized, and she maybe knew what she was talking about. So he just said, “I’ll try,” and saw her smile, the soft one that they rarely saw except when she deigned to bestow it on them. 

And then it was gone, and she was gathering herself up and making her way to the door, saying, “All right, we need to get going. I’m sure Alec and Isabelle are at the training room already and we have a long day and night ahead of us. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She opened the door and was gone a second later. 

Jace rolled his eyes. Yep, that tracks. Drop emotional bombshells and run away. Probably where Alec gets it. He let himself sit there for another minute, thinking about the promise he had just made, and then got up, gathered his things, and left. As Maryse had said, it was going to be a long day and night ahead.

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

Six hours later, Jace was tugging gently on the sleeves of his black tuxedo, straightening the silver horseshoe cufflinks, when there was another knock on his door. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “It’s not like it’s an important day or anything and I might want some peace and quiet.”

Still, he opened the door and was glad he did. Izzy stood there, and she was beyond beautiful. Her dress was a lovely pale gold, deep enough that it was no longer just ‘yellow’ but soft enough that it wasn’t overwhelming. A full gauzy skirt shimmered as she moved closer but the bodice was form fitting, with a sweetheart neckline and delicate beaded spaghetti straps. There were tiny embroidered leaves all over and it only took Jace a minute to realize that they matched the shape of the leaf on Meliorn’s face. Her hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, except for a crown of braids, interwoven with flowers and more leaves, and her makeup was subtle, just a hint of color on her cheekbones and lips.

All together she was gorgeous but Jace couldn’t help seeing the change from her usual style. Some of it was still there but this was a different Izzy than the one who experimented with heavy makeup on him and Alec when they were teenagers and the leather outfits that had gotten progressively skimpier as she got older. It was yet another reminder of how fast things were changing and the new phase of their lives that they were entering. 

“I’m here to collect you. Magnus wants to go over the wedding entrances one more time to make sure that we don’t fuck them up. And then we get to wait around like useless idiots until things get started.” Izzy’s words shook Jace out of his daze and he cracked a smile. At least her sass hadn’t changed. He hoped Meliorn knew what he was getting into, but probably not. Izzy was a wonderful mystery. 

Jace turned and took one last glance at his suite, knowing that the next time he was there it would be as a married man, with a vampire in tow. He took a deep breath and shut the door behind him, gesturing for Izzy to walk in front. “Let’s go then, so Magnus doesn’t turn us into toads or something. He’s been practically vibrating for the last two days, I don’t want to test him.” 

Izzy smirked, “At least we have a few days off after the wedding to adjust, I’m pretty sure Alec will straighten him out.” Jace snorted. She turned to walk back down the hall and Jace saw that her dress was almost entirely backless, just a thin strip connecting the sides of her dress, and he grinned. There she was. This whole situation might be fucked up but Izzy would still be Izzy and Alec would still be Alec, the same asshole he bound himself to so long ago. They were in it together and it would be okay.

Jace was still clinging to that hope an hour later as he surveyed the massive field of the wedding venue. Alec had prevailed in the fight to not have the wedding at the Institute, arguing about the different customs that had to be followed from each culture, and they were at a farm in upstate New York instead, near the Finger Lakes. Magnus had scouted it out and determined that it had the right amount of space to hold everyone and was remote enough that they would be able to keep it safe. As part of the wedding contract, each contingent had to provide people for security. From the tent Jace was standing in with his family he could see some glares being exchanged between the werewolf and vampire guards but as of yet there wasn’t any bloodshed. Jace tried to remember if alcohol was going to be involved at the short reception after the ceremony.

Looking around, he could admit that there were worse places to get married. Apparently this farm was known for its sunflowers and even though it was too late in the season for them to be in bloom, Magnus had snapped his fingers and waved his hands, and suddenly the field had been awash in yellow and black. The flowers surrounded a large open space with a wooden gazebo in the middle, and chairs facing the structure spread out in a circle like a wagon wheel. Each faction of the Alliance had been allowed to invite up to fifty people, but that still meant that there were going to be two hundred people there, not including security. As a Lightwood, Jace had always known that he’d be getting married in front of a crowd, but this was still a bit much. He sighed.

“Jace, stop moping and get over here.” Alec’s voice was tight with tension but he could hear some excitement running underneath the stress. His brother’s tuxedo matched his, black tails with a gold vest, and the red of his pocket square a bit of fire on his chest. The last week had taken a toll on all of them but Alec’s face was lighter and happier than he’d seen it in a while and Jace remembered that while the circumstances weren't ideal, Alec was actually marrying the love of his life today. He smiled back at his parabatai and went over to where Alec, Izzy, and his mom were standing. 

“I want one last picture of all of us before we have to take our places around the circle.” Maryse was resplendent in another gold gown, this one smooth satin, with three quarter length sleeves, a square neckline, and an empire waist skirt. Her necklace caught the lights strung up everywhere in the tent; the gold disks tracked the phases of the moon, waxing and waning around her neck. She looked happy. 

Jace clustered close, his arm around his brother and sister, familiar and warm, and smiled at the camera that Maryse had bullied one of the security guards into holding. One last picture of them all as Lightwoods. He breathed in his family and let it settle him. Izzy leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “You look wonderful, big brother, I don’t think I said that earlier. Simon is a lucky man. Vampire. Whatever. You’ll be fine. Let’s go get married.”

He laughed and kissed her back. “Meliorn won’t know what hit him. Let’s do this, Lightwood.” Jace turned to Alec and they clasped hands and hugged. He pounded him on the back once and said, “Go get your Warlock, Alec,” and was gifted with one of his brother’s rare soft smiles.

There was a short chime, three ascending notes, signaling that it was time. As he left the holding tent, Jace saw that the seats around the wagon wheel had filled in. Dusk had tipped over into full night and the only illumination now came from the witchlights hovering in the air, creating a dome of light over the field. It was beautiful and unearthly and the crowd knew it; a sea of different faces, Shadowhunter and Seelie and vampire and werewolf all solemn and staring. 

Jace saw movement from the identical tent exactly opposite from theirs and he watched as four figures emerged at the same time as they were, taking their places around the circle, finding the pathways between the rows of chairs. This was first and foremost an Alliance, a meeting of equal powers, and instead of one party standing at the altar waiting for the other, all eight of them would advance down the aisles as one. 

Taking a deep breath, Jace found his place between his two assigned aisles, deliberately not looking at the people on either side, their vibrant dresses and suits blurring in his peripheral vision. There was another sound that rang out, a clear bell that struck once and then lingered and rippled out through the crowd, leaving silence in its wake. 

Jace glanced to either side, where Alec and Isabelle stood, and then they all stepped forward together, keeping pace and aware of each other in a way that only people that fought next to each other could do. The Downworlders across from them approached as well and the man in the black tuxedo, red vest, and gold pocket square kept getting bigger and bigger in Jace’s vision, white face and dark hair and dark eyes.

Then Jace was under the gazebo and the man was in front of him and everything else faded away. It was a handsome face. Wavy hair and thick brows. A slight dusting of pink high on the cheekbones and deeper red in full lips, like they’d been bitten in nervousness. Or maybe they were naturally that way. Straight long nose and ears that were slightly too big. And eyes, eyes that were deep and dark, boring into Jace’s soul and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, standing frozen in front of this man, this vampire, who would be his husband in a few short minutes.

“Welcome and well come.” Brother Zachariah’s voice was low but easily carried over the hushed audience. Jace watched Simon startle and was relieved that he wasn’t the only one affected by… whatever that was, and then he focused on the Silent Brother in the center of the gazebo. He was flanked by representatives of the Seelie Court, the New York Clan, the Warlocks of the Northeast, and the New York Pack, each turned towards a different couple around the circle. They were a tight knot in the center, standing shoulder to shoulder. Jace had known their names at one point but they were gone from his head now, and were just faces, formal and dignified. 

Brother Zacharariah took a step out of the cluster, breaking away from the others as he said, “Every marriage is an alliance, a blending of individuals into something new. When we come to our sacred places with the intent to marry, we not only bring ourselves but we also bring our pasts, our cultures, our customs, our people, and we are bound together according to our own laws.” 

There was a short pause and then he continued. “This binding is unprecedented in our history and the merging that we do here is unique. The ceremony that you will witness tonight takes elements of each part of the Shadow World, the best each faction has to offer, and combines them in a new way that fits the importance of the alliances made here, both between the individuals and the people they represent. While they are not the traditional vows that are normally conducted, all parties here have agreed that they are no less binding.” Jace saw the Silent Brother’s eyes flick towards the Seelie standing beside him as he said that last sentence and his tone was iron. 

The audience was motionless and quiet. After another moment, Brother Zachariah spoke again. 

“Let us begin.” His words were slow and ritualistic, with a cadence that had weight and meaning. “We are the Shadowhunters, Nephilim, children of the Angel, defenders of the helpless. We offer protection. Repeat after me: I promise to protect you and keep you, to be both sword and shield against anything that would harm you, until the end of my days.” 

Jace repeated the words easily and strongly, hearing the familiar voices of his family in the background, the burr of the Downworld grooms a low counterpoint. He could barely hear Simon’s voice and Jace clenched his fists.

The Seelie representative then moved forward, an easy glide up to where Brother Zachariah was standing. She was tall and willowy, dressed in soft greens and browns. “We are the Seelie, the Fair Folk, the Fae, the Eternal. We offer the patience of growing things. Repeat after me: I promise to be patient with you, to never rush to judgement but to wait and be calm, to listen first and talk second.”

These words caught in Jace’s mouth, as he thought of his tendency to run headlong into situations, but he said them steadily. Simon’s voice was louder now, Jace could hear it over the others, a musical tenor that sent a slight shiver down Jace’s spine.

The warlock representative was stepping forward next, a woman with deep brown skin that glowed next to the ocean blue of her dress. “We are the warlocks, possessors of magic and immortality. We offer curiosity and knowledge. Repeat after me: I promise to learn from you and about you, to open my mind to new ideas and new experiences.”

Simon now overpowered Jace, eagerness and earnestness evident in his bright voice as he said the words and Jace felt something small inside himself unfurl and relax. For the first time, he let himself smile, just a quick upturn of his lips, and he was rewarded by Simon smiling back, and Jace was blinded by the sight of it. 

Only the vampire and the werewolf representatives were in the center now and Jace tore himself away from Simon’s face to watch as the vampire slid soundlessly up next to the warlock who had just spoken. His voice was a whisper that carried. “We are the Night Children, the vampires, the undead. We leave behind our former lives and create new ones, much like you will. We offer family and new beginnings. Repeat after me: I promise to be your family, to take your people as my people, to treat them as my own.”

The Lightwood voices dominated, ringing out into the night; family bonds that meant everything to them coming through in the vows they now made to others. Simon looked taken aback for a second and then thoughtful. Jace wondered what he was thinking.  

Then the werewolf was moving and what used to be a tight knot was now a loose ring. There was a quick flash of deep distaste and then the brawny man dressed in black leather reached out and took the hand of the vampire and then the hand of Brother Zachariah, and soon the members of each faction were holding hands, a complete circle. Jace inhaled slowly and reached forward, clasping Simon’s hands in his own, watching as all of the other couples did the same. The long fingers he held were cool to the touch, but they warmed quickly. 

“We are the werewolves, shapeshifters, keepers of the Moon. We offer self-control and strength. Repeat after me: I promise to hold fast to these vows, with all the strength I possess. I promise to forge an unbreakable bond between us with an indomitable force of will. I bind myself to you, now and for always.” By the end the werewolf was almost shouting and the hands of those in the circle were white-knuckled. 

Jace found himself gripping Simon’s hands tightly and then there was equal pressure and more from Simon, until Jace could feel the bones in his hands compressing. He looked deep into those dark brown eyes, the ones that kept staring ever further inside of him, and repeated the last vow with as much intensity as he could, hearing and feeling Simon do the same. 

There was a small impact to the air that Jace felt in his sternum and he gasped, hearing Simon do the same. They looked at each other wide eyed.

And with that, Jace Lightwood and Simon Lewis were married.

END OF PART ONE.

[starvonnie]

By The Light Of The Fireworks

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Fandoms: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime Characters: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Drift | Deadlock, Megatron Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Fireworks, Flashbacks

Also on AO3

He should be celebrating. All of Cybertron was celebrating. And there were places he'd be... well, perhaps not welcomed, but at the very least he would be understood.

No. No one would understand. Of all the millions of Cybertronians cheering for the end of an era, he was alone. Mourning what was the beginning of his own era. Their era. Ending before it could even begin.

Rodimus hugged his knees to his chest. His room was dark, but every so often a firework would light up his frame in shimmering colour. If he weren't so tired, and if he felt like he deserved the comfort the darkness brought, he would have drawn the blinds. But he needed the reminder that he should be happy. That this was a good thing. That, less than a decade ago, he would have been out there celebrating with the masses.

What had changed was a matter of spark.

And that spark felt tight. Confined. And yet, incomplete. Empty. The initial pain had long since faded, but Rodimus found the ache worse. Because it lingered.

"Do not grieve for me, Rodimus," Megatron whispered. He'd been whispering all day since Rodimus had been holding him close since they'd awoken. "You have so much more life to live."

"How am I not supposed to grieve?" Rodimus said through tears. He was amazed he still had any left to shed.

Megatron gave no response. He just hugged him tighter.

“Let’s just leave,” Rodimus said.  “We’ll steal a ship and—”

“No.”  Megatron cupped his wet cheek.  “Rodimus… my love… I can’t just let you become an accomplice.  If we’re caught—”

“At least we’d get to be together, still.”

“I doubt you’d be executed.  They’d likely just lock you up.  And I can’t have you spending the rest of your life behind bars just for more time with me.  I’m sorry, Rodimus.  I’m so sorry. But we knew this was coming.”

Rodimus sobbed.  

Megatron did his best to curl around his Prime, though not his for much longer.  Everything was slipping through his fingers.  His spark still beat, but it felt the touch of death.  Counting down the beats.  The bite Rodimus’ love had given him was losing its hold.

“I do need to ask a selfish request of you.”

“Anything.”

Megatron touched his helm to Rodimus’.  "Will you remember me, Rodimus? The way I am now?"

Rodimus nodded fervently. "I don't have a choice."

“I almost wish you would.”

Rodimus shook his helm.  “You freed Cybertron.”

Megatron sighed.  “Sometimes I wish you had been there, fighting at my side.  You wouldn’t have let me tread down this path.  You would have knocked some sense into me, or at the very least left and made me realize how far I had strayed from my ideals.”

Rodimus kissed him, tasting his own tears on his lips. He pressed himself as close as he could without merging.  And his spark yearned for it.  He wanted to know Megatron.  Know him.  He’d always wanted to.  He’d begged and pleaded and reasoned with him, but every time he shut the idea down.  His reasoning would come to pass that evening.  He wouldn’t feel him die.  Not really.

Not how he wanted to.

"Rodimus?"

Rodimus didn’t acknowledge him, but he felt the sympathy in his field as Drift approached.

"Here."

Rodimus spared a glance at the drink Drift offered him. Fizzy, bright magenta, and sure to be way too sweet. Exactly how Rodimus liked it.

"No."

"Please Roddy? It's from a celebration of life for him. Some people were even asking about you. I know you said you didn't want to go, but I think it would be good if..."

Drift trailed off as Rodimus hid his face. He could hide the twin streams flowing from his optics, but he couldn't hide his shaking spoiler and shoulders. He cried into his knees and was vaguely aware of Drift rubbing his back.  He didn’t want to seek his comfort because he knew the next time he’d need someone comforting him he’d find an empty berth.  But he fell against him, despite his better judgement, sobbing into his amica’s shoulder.

“Megatron wouldn’t want you to neglect your health.”

“He can’t want anything!  He’s dead!”

Drift didn’t react.  He just soothed him and said that he was here.  

After Rodimus’ current bout of crying ceased, Drift spoke up.  "I remember the way he looked at you. I remember being so frustrated watching you two be so oblivious to the others' feelings. Half the crew was making bets on how long it would be until one of you just confessed."

"And the other half hated me for it."

"Frag them. You love who you love."

"Yep. And who I loved left me alone and miserable. Sounds about right."

“Do you think I’m deserving of love?” Drift asked.

“What kind of question is that?  Of course you are!”

“Then Megatron is, too.”

Rodimus looked away.  “That’s different.”

“How?  We were both ex-Decepticons.”

“You know why.  Because it’s not about whether he deserves it or not, it’s about what everyone else thinks.  And they’ve clearly made their choice!”  Rodimus gestured to the fireworks display.  “So can you just leave me alone so I can be miserable in peace?”

“Nope.  I’m staying right here.”

“Hmph.  Fine.”

After a lengthy silence, Drift said, “You know he asked me for my blessing, right?”

“What?”

Drift chuckled.  “Well, it was more like him asking if I would kill him if he went for you. I told him I made no promises either way, and that in the end it was your decision and that I would support you either way.”

Rodimus tried to smile.  He nearly managed to, imagining a hunched and humble Megatron before Drift, glancing at his swords as he asked for his blessing.  But then he remembered.  The almost-smile wobbled and fell, and more tears came.  It was all he was good for anymore.

“You know no one would judge you for crying, right?”

“I don’t want to go to a party with a bunch of Decepticons!” Rodimus spat.

“Alright, alright…”  Drift pet his spoiler.  “Then we can have our own celebration of life.”

“No.”

“It helps, you know.”

“No, it doesn’t.”  Rodimus pushed him away.  “He’s dead and no amount of stories or praising his accomplishments is going to bring him back!  You have no idea what it’s like to lose your conjunx and watch the world celebrate.”

Drift sighed.  “You’re right.  On both counts.  I will never understand.  But I also know that holing yourself up in your room crying your optics out won’t bring him back, either.  I know what you’re doing.  You’re punishing yourself.  You hate that you loved him and you’re regretting it among all the grief, but it’s okay that you did, Roddy.  It’s okay that you loved him.  But you need to open yourself up to recounting your happy memories with him.  I don’t want you to bottle anything up or fake how you’re feeling, but if you only let yourself feel sorrow, that’s all your life will be.”

“You don’t know anything!” Rodimus screamed.  He gripped Drift’s shoulders hard enough to leave dents.

“It’s okay, Roddy,” Drift whispered, embracing him once more. “It’s okay.”

The real tears came then.  What he had thought to be a torrent before was just a light shower. This was a hurricane of sorrow that messily spilled from his optics as his vents hitched and caught.  His whole frame shook.  He felt out of touch with reality and all that existed was the yawning hole Megatron had left in his spark.

He needed his comfort.  Drift could try, but he would never make him feel as safe. Megatron had been a formidable grey wall that could shield him from the world, and would have been able to fight off any threat.  

He was exposed.  Vulnerable.  Exactly how he had presented himself to Megatron, hoping he would do the same and finally show him his spark.

He’d hesitated.

He’d regretfully refused.

Despite his need to protect him, his spark still burned. All he had done was deprive Rodimus of a piece of himself that he could always carry with him.  He had to rely on his memories, now.  Memories already greying at the edges.

Rodimus fell into his second state of being since the execution.

Numbness.  

He didn’t cry.  Didn’t move.  Didn’t feel.  He just existed.  His only function was to take up space, and even then, he tried to make himself as small as possible.

Drift was there all the while.  In the present, he wished he would just leave him to wallow, but in hindsight he would be glad that he was there with him.  He wanted to show how grateful he was to have him as an amica, but the only feeling his frame would allow besides sorrow, was anger.

“You don’t have to go to one of the parties,” Drift broke the silence, “but I want you to try and share a nice memory or two with me. Do you think you can do that?”

No.

“I’ll try.”  His voice croaked as if he hadn’t spoken in years.

“That’s all I ask.”

Rodimus swallowed a few times, then tested his voicebox a few more times.  He got half-words and finally actual words, but he couldn’t manage to string any of them into a sentence.  Every recollection felt too painful.  Even the recent memories.  Especially the recent memories.  So he went back, back, way back, to the beginning.  Their love had kindled, but it hadn’t yet taken a full hold of him in frame, spark, and processor.  Megatron was special, important… but had his execution date been set then, it would have been a little easier to move on.

“Did I… ever tell you about our rites?” Rodimus asked quietly.

“No.  I honestly wondered about it.”

“That bastard made me do all the work,” Rodimus said. He managed a miniscule smile.  “And he made it nearly impossible for me to even start the ritus.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.  We kept going to Swerve’s—his idea, mind you—and sitting in our booth. And since, y’know, he’s not one to just go to Swerve’s, I figured he was finally gonna do the Act of Intimacy.  And then he would hold my hand and my spark would stop, but he’d just keep going on as if it was a normal night.  Because it was, to him.  So, you know me, impatient as ever, I cornered him in our office after hours, straddled him, and told him about, y’know… stuff.”

Drift chuckled.  “I bet you caught him completely off-guard.”

Rodimus managed a little laugh.  “Yeah.  He had his hands up like this.”  He held them up and away from his body as though he were surprised.  He exaggerated his shocked expression, too.  “And he didn’t say a word for like a whole twenty seconds after I finished.”

“What did he say?”

Rodimus laughed.  “He said ‘where’s my gift?’”

“He did not!”

“Well, he was joking.  Mostly.  Only hitch was, y’know, I didn’t actually remember the gift part.”

“Roddy.  There’s four steps and you only have to do three.”

“Hey, I was betting on only having to remember one! By my logic I remembered double what I needed to.”

Drift laughed, shaking his helm.  “Oh, Roddy.”

“I made good on it, though.  Built him a little room on one of the lower decks that was completely shielded and had no cameras.  He got so little privacy, and I just wanted to give him some peace.  Even from me.”  He glanced at Drift.  “I know giving Megatron a room where we couldn’t see what he’s doing wasn’t the greatest idea, but… I trusted him.  I needed him to see that.”

Rodimus’ face fell.

Drift resumed rubbing Rodimus’ back.

“I know he didn’t deserve a second chance,” Rodimus said. “Some days I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with him, but…”  He swallowed around the lump in his throat.  “He made me a better person.”

“You brought out the best in him, too,” Drift said gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that happy.  And the way he looked at you… he looked at you like someone seeing the stars for the first time.”

“Yeah?”  Rodimus attempted a smile, but his lower lip wobbled.  “Do you… think I’ll ever see the stars again?”

Drift’s field embraced Rodimus with love, while he physically held him, too.  Rodimus cried, but quietly.  His tears dripped down Drift’s plating while his shoulders shivered.

“There are an infinite number of galaxies, full of billions upon billions of stars, with millions of planets to see constellations you’ve never even heard of.  So yes, Rodimus.  You will see the stars again.  But it won’t be the same stars you can see from Tarn.”  Drift hugged him tighter when his crying became a little more audible. “And you can always stop there, and look up.  It will be bittersweet, and it’s going to hurt, probably for a long time.  But someday, that sky will be something you can remember fondly.”

Fireworks went off right next to the building.  The joyous celebration drowned out Rodimus’ sobbing while the tears falling from his optics glittered in the rainbow of colours outside the window.  The colours that paid no mind to those grieving.  To those left alone.

To those who lost.  

[mental-mona]

On Chronic Illness Part 1

You ask me how I'm doing. I plaster a smile on my face, say "Ok, how are you?" and we make small talk. But what I really want to say is, "I feel like crap. My head is killing me and I'm coming off a bipolar episode. Every day is pain. It's making me irritable, and what I really want to do right now is go home and collapse. Now, unless you want to help me in some way, would you please leave me alone so I can do that?" Except that you would be completely taken aback by that and not know how to respond. Unexpectedly telling someone that life isn't so great is not a socially acceptable thing to do; unless the person is a really close friend I'm supposed to just pretend everything's fine as we exchange the usual pleasantries. Besides, opening up and admitting that I'm having issues leaves me far too vulnerable, and who wants to be vulnerable?

If you are more than a nodding acquaintance, at this point you probably stop me and say, "But I do care! I do really want to hear about what's happening with you!" To which my response is, no, you probably don't. If I were to complain to you about how much pain I'm in as often as I want to, i.e. as much as it hurts, you would soon think that I'm horribly whiny and try to distance yourself. If I were to complain about how much this is killing my life and my ability to do anything, you would think that I'm being lazy and self-centered. Maybe I am being a bit self-centered, but let's see how well you function in this position and then we'll talk.

Let me try to help you understand. Have you ever read about spoon theory? If not, read it here. I'll wait. Do you have a little more perspective now? Good. Would you believe that Christine left out a crucial aspect of how spoons work? She touched on it, but didn't go into it. See, I can start off the day with 20 spoons, and then in the middle of the day when I've already used 8 spoons get a wave of pain or a massive mood swing that knocks off 10. Basically what happens then is that either I "borrow against tomorrow's spoons," as she put it, and guarantee that I'll be nonfunctional the next day, or more likely I ask my husband to help me out because there is no way I'm up to making dinner. Also, in addition to every little item on the day's agenda being broken down into multiple spoon-stealing pieces, some tasks may cost more than one spoon. For example, driving to class or work might be one spoon, but spending a day actually in class or at work is more like 5 spoons.

Christine talks about starting off with 12 spoons and making them last through the day, using a somewhat simplified explanation of how every tiny aspect of every task costs a spoon. Personally, due to the need to break everything down and the reasons I described above, I'd be happy if I could manage self-care on a day when I woke up with just 12 spoons, never mind do anything that you'd consider an accomplishment or even just a routine part of normal life. Imagine a day like that, where you wake up with so few spoons that the most you can expect of yourself is to put food in your stomach a few times and maybe change PJs, and that's assuming that the pain doesn't knock you out even worse than it already has. Now imagine an even worse day, one where you're so depressed that all you can do is curl up in bed and cry, or you're paralyzed by anxiety, or you're in such physical agony that you can barely move. What would you do on a day like that? Ask a loved one to come take care of you? Suffer through it with nothing but a water bottle and the tortilla chips you found in that brief moment when you managed to pull it together enough to go foraging? Now imagine having days like that on a regular basis for weeks, months, or even years. Getting the picture?

It's not just the pain itself; it's the emotions that accompany it. If you're male, you've probably been socialized to be a provider for your family and to be stoic about your physical and emotional pain, correct? If you're female, you've probably been socialized that you're supposed to take care of everyone around you, and though you're allowed to be emotional, you're also supposed to be able to move on after a good cry, right? Well, now you can't fulfill either of those gender roles. You're knocked flat, and until your doctors figure out how to cure you or at least get your symptoms under control, you will continue to be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Good luck being stoic about your pain or quickly moving on from it. If you weren't already depressed, you probably will become so now. Think about it: unrelenting pain and debilitation, inability to function as a normal member of society, needing someone or a rotating group of someones to take care of you...for your average fiercely independent adult, this is an incredibly painful prospect in and of itself.

You'll notice that in addition to pointing out how pain can depress you on its own, I've been treating physical and emotional pain as equal in terms of the definition of chronic pain. That's because to the sufferer, they are equally debilitating and feel equally horrible, even if they affect functioning in different ways. If I'm in constant physical pain then my body's run off with my mind, and no matter what my brain wants to take on, if my body isn't up for it then it's not going to happen. If my mood's gone haywire then my mind has basically run off with my body, and I won't have either the energy or the emotional wherewithal to face my life. Please don't brush off my depression or whatever debilitating thing is going on with my mind as me just being melodramatic and/or lazy. The thought of trying to face life is genuinely exhausting and overwhelming; I just can't do it. The thoughts in my head and my screwed up mental biochemistry won't let me.

Similarly, don't write off my complaints of constant physical pain as malingering or melodramatic. It really does hurt too much for me to function, and it really is a constant thing. If I say I can't do something one day, I mean it. I may have a migraine so bad that my head is throbbing in time with my heartbeat and I can't see straight, or abdominal pain so bad that all I can do is double over with a hot pack and wait for it to disappear, or all-over muscle pain so bad that I can't find any comfortable position whatsoever, or all-over joint pain that makes something protest every time I move...the list goes on. Depending on my condition, I may also be completely exhausted and fog-brained.

Remember, these are things that I feel to some extent even on good days when I can more or less function. On bad days I'm completely incapacitated. I've tried to help you understand what I'm going through, but if you've never been mentally ill or in chronic physical pain, you will never quite be able to fully get where I'm coming from. So, now do you see why you really don't want to listen to me complain about the pain as much as it actually hurts?

[the-cool-tech-kid]

*finger guns* Kara going to Reis for her modification but she Cannot answer any of his questions. She has money and book smarts but absolutely 0 brain cell. I’m here for zany hijinks and zany hijinks only

((OHOHO YESS)) ((reminder that kara might be horribly ooc tho-)) “Hm... alright, I suppose we’re done here! Try blinking your eyes, see if anything’s wrong.” Reis grinned at Kara, rather proud of the job he did... if it is in fact, a job well done. The eyes are a rather sensitive area, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure if he could accomplish what she wanted him to do. Besides, she’s already got quite the amount of cyberoptics as well -and they’re all good quality (not to mention, really expensive)- why would she want more? Well, only one way to find out, I suppose. Kara blinked once, then twice, and she nodded, confirming everything’s fine and dandy. “I’ve got to thank Moray for recommending you to me-- you did one hell of a great job with these.” “Glad ya think so. Whatcha need these for anyways? Aren’t you like some sort of... uh, game developer or somethin’?” he inquired, violet eyes twinkling with mischief. “Don’tcha worry if you’ve got something to hide-- I can keep secrets.” “I-- uh, yeah, I make games! I guess you can call me an indie game developer of sorts.” Kara answered. “And n-no, I don’t have anything to hide, I really am just a a regular human being with no constant source of income!” He slowly nods, pushing back his goggles up to his head. If that isn’t an obvious lie, then why the hell haven’t anyone taken down the corpos at this point? But he can’t really just point that out to her, can he? Can he? Time to push his luck, see what he can dig outta her. Worst case scenario, he’ll just get punched in the face, or get another Solo after his ass like he hasn’t spent too much time improving the security system. No big deal. ”Huh, you sure ‘bout that? You do know that those things I just did for ya-- they’re real expensive. Why would you get ‘em if you’re like, some normal dude with no constant source of income?” ”...” Kara looks terribly, terribly uncomfortable. And maybe slightly annoyed, judging by her curled up fist. Mental reminder to finish this appointment real quick before she decides to run away. ”Uh, fuck, I shouldn’t have asked ya that. Sorry ‘bout that. So, will ya come on let’s say...” His eyebrows furrow, trying his best to remember when he’s free. ”You’re free on next Tuesday, Reis.” chimed in Betelgeuse, his sleek silver body laying on the nearby couch. “Though only from 3 PM.”  ”Thanks, bitch boy. Wouldn’t be able to function without ‘cha. So yeah, can you come back on next Tuesday? Gotta make sure nothing’s fucked up, and if anything happens before that, come over immediately, no excuses. Got that?” His client nodded, clearly very relieved that he changed the subject. Really, what’s up with her? But eh, he’s done poking around. For now. He quietly watches her leave the workshop, wracking his brain to try and find ideas for a new addition to his beloved security system. “... So, whaddaya reckon is her actual job, Betsy?”

“Hopefully, nothing like yours. I don’t think I can stand trying to remind you that once again, you cannot just leave your blowtorch next to a-” “Please shut the fuck up, Geese.” And there goes another night of constant bickering.

[emospritelet]

Sutheracey with Lacey as the Australian ambassador's daughter : “So… apparently we’re in lockdown.” and “Please tell me there’s something edible in there”

I did that second prompt in the first chapter, so here’s the first prompt in the second chapter. I could probably use a third…

Prompt list here

[AO3]

x

Sutherland marched into the function room as though he was about to issue a declaration of war. Perhaps it might come close to that, with some of these fuckers, he thought. Coming up with an approach that everyone agrees to will be a nightmare.

“Prime Minister?”

Sutherland turned with a smile at the familiar voice.

“Madam President,” he said. “I’d like to say I’m delighted to be here, but I think we both know we’d rather be meeting in less urgent circumstances.”

President Regina Mills smiled. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair and full lips, an accomplished, decisive politician, and someone he considered a valuable ally. And the closest thing to a friend that he had amongst the world leaders, he supposed.

“Pleased to have you with us in this, Robert,” she said, and he nodded.

“Well, it’s a pandemic,” he said. “We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.”

“True enough,” she agreed. “I just hope we can all find common purpose.”

“Limiting the number of casualties seems a good place to start,” he remarked, and she nodded, an anxious look in her eyes. He decided to change the subject. 

“How’s your wife?” he asked. “I understand you just had a son.”

Regina beamed.

“Yes, Henry,” she said, a soft look in her eyes. “He’s perfect. Emma’s at the White House, obviously. I’m hoping to get this done quickly so I can get home to them.”

“I was planning on asking you to visit the UK this year,” he said. “I think perhaps it might be next year, at this rate.”

“So it seems,” she sighed. “We’d be delighted, once things go back to normal. Assuming they ever do. And this is Ms Deville, isn’t it?”

“Well remembered, Madam President,” said Carrie. “We met only once, I think.”

Regina smiled, nodding to her. No handshakes. Not now.

“Well, now that you’re here, at least I know I’ll have sense on my side in this thing,” she said to Sutherland. “Some of the leaders are already baulking at the restrictions and the spending we’re proposing.”

Sutherland clicked his tongue.

“Well, they’re gonna have to follow the science,” he said grimly. “I don’t have time for them to want to baby-step their way through this thing.”

“Agreed,” said the President, and glanced over his shoulder, a crease appearing between her eyes. “Ah. the CDC Director’s here. Would you excuse me?”

She walked off, and Sutherland turned to Carrie, raising an eyebrow.

“She looks worried,” murmured Carrie.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly. “I have a feeling whatever news the Director of the CDC is bringing her isn’t gonna be good.”

“Well, I have plenty of contacts here,” she said, glancing around the room. “Let me see what I can find out.”

She slipped away, and he walked over to one of the long tables holding glasses of wine and champagne, silver trays of bite-sized canapes alongside. He ignored the food and alcohol, opting for a glass of water instead. He had a feeling he would need to keep his wits about him.

“Well, if it isn’t Prime Minister Sutherland,” drawled a familiar voice, and Sutherland turned slowly.

The last time he had seen Lacey French, she had been wearing the previous night’s gleaming blue dress, with her hair tousled and her mouth full and red from his kisses. His bed had smelt of her perfume, and he remembered burying his face in the pillows after she had left, breathing her in. That scent was in the air now, making his heart thump a little harder and his cock twitch in memory of her touch. Lacey was wearing a very respectable blue dress and jacket, her hair tied up and simple gold rings in her ears. She looked him up and down very deliberately, fingers tapping the side of her wine glass and her lips curving upward as her eyes gleamed. 

“Miss French,” he said evenly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I bet,” she said, and took a sip of her drink. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Four months, but who’s counting?”

“You, by the sound of it,” she said, grinning at him. “Miss me?”

Yes. Yes, I missed you, fool that I am.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” he said neutrally, and Lacey pouted.

“That’s very - British - of you,” she said. “And I believe Sergeants Knight and Nolan are standing guard behind you. Hi, boys. Remember me?”

Sutherland glanced behind him, and both security officers were staring straight ahead with expressionless faces, although Nolan looked as though he was trying very hard not to think about something. He turned back to Lacey.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “I thought you were still at university.”

She wrinkled her nose, pursing her lips a little.

“I was. Dad managed to get me an internship for a few months, so I took a deferral of my studies until September. It’s all good experience, right?”

He inclined his head, taking a sip of water.

“I don’t suppose watching the progression of a deadly disease was quite what you had in mind when you took the post.”

“True,” she agreed, looking sober. “Maybe you can help to stop it, who knows?”

“I think we’ve gone beyond containment,” he said quietly. “Mitigating our losses may be the best we can hope for.”

Lacey’s eyes widened, and for a moment he saw fear in them. He wished he hadn’t said anything. The thought came to him that she could catch the virus herself. The thought of her sick and suffering, far from home with no family or friends around her, made his hand tighten on the glass, and he took another drink to wash away the sudden burst of fear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the visiting dignitaries start to flow towards the large briefing room that had been set aside for their meeting.

“It seems we’re being summoned,” he said. “Make sure you practice your social distancing, Miss French.”

She gave him a wobbly smile, the spark of mischief back in her eyes.

“Yeah, you too,” she said. “Maybe I’ll bump into you later. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

x

It was hours later that Sutherland made his way back to his suite. He took off his suit jacket and tie as soon as he was inside, rolling up his shirt sleeves, washing his hands thoroughly in the bathroom, and pouring himself a drink. It had been a long day; there had been presentations by medical experts and pharmaceutical firms, followed by heated discussions between heads of state, and he felt as though his brain wanted to shut down. President Mills had called a halt to the whole thing at eight-fifteen after taking an urgent phone call. Her face, when she returned to the briefing room, had been grim. There had been a spike in cases, at the upper end of the estimates given by the experts, and she had taken the decision to lock down the country for an initial period of three weeks. Which meant that everyone at the conference was stuck there too.

There had initially been uproar in the briefing room, but President Mills assured them all that they would only be kept in the hotel as long as it took for them all to be tested to ensure they were clear of the virus. Those who were clear would be able to leave on their respective planes. Sutherland had remarked that since they had planned to be there for three days anyway, it probably wouldn’t take much longer to get through the tests, so they might as well get on with the business of dealing with the global response. His statement had been met with surly resentment, and eventual agreement, and he had been reminded of the fact that dealing with world leaders and their respective egos was like trying to herd cats.

He took a sip of the whisky in his glass, walking past his open laptop on the table and flipping it closed. Work could wait until he’d had a decent night’s sleep. If that was even possible in the circumstances. God alone knew what would be facing them in the morning. He paced slowly back and forth, statistics and projections running through his head, a seemingly unending list of potential calamities waiting to crash over the world. Some of them would happen, no matter what decisions were made in the next few days. No matter what he decided, people would die, and lives would be ruined. The thought was exhausting.

The sound of Sergeant Nolan’s voice outside his rooms made him look around, frowning slightly, and Sergeant Knight cleared his throat, calm and unruffled in his dark suit.

“I’ll check it out, sir,” he said, and headed for the door.

Sutherland sipped at his whisky again, a suspicion starting to form in his mind about who his late-night visitor might be.

“Hey, it’s Lance, isn’t it?” Lacey’s voice floated into the room through the open door. “D’you mind if I call you Lance? Can your boss come out to play?”

“Mr Sutherland is a little busy, Miss French,” said Sergeant Knight.

“Huh. I bet he’s drinking whisky and pacing the room.”

Sutherland sighed, setting down his glass and marching to the door, nodding at the officers to stand aside. Lacey smirked at him, arms folded and eyes sparkling.

“So…,” she said. “Apparently we’re in lockdown. Care for some company?”

“Look, you can’t come in here!” he snapped. “Haven’t you heard of social fucking distancing?”

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Duh. I watch the news.”

“So go back to your own room,” he said. “For all you know I could have the virus.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” she said. “I’ve already had it.”

Sutherland blinked.

“What?”

“Last month,” she added. “I was one of the lucky ones. Pretty mild symptoms. Not like some of the poor buggers suffering out there.”

“Oh.” Sutherland could feel himself wavering. “You’ve had it?”

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head, eyeing him. “So - can I come in?”

[donnerpartyofone]

I know I never sound older than when I complain about the internet, but I cannot deal with the perpetual increase in everything I do being fed back to me as an ad. My gmail account has over 23,000 unread messages in it, because every time I so much as breathe on my phone, my address gets sold to a zillion scammy little lifestyle companies that swarm me every day for the rest of my life. I started a separate account purely for a project I never started, and now that one is full of spam even though I've never used it. I've gone through a few rounds of unsubscribing/blocking/deleting, but it's just not worth it. This is life now, and it cracks me up to think about these legions of parasites who think they're sooo smart for accumulating all these email addresses, because data is the new crude oil, but because they did this, I can't even use the fucking address they stole at all. So good job, suckers, I'll never read any of your emails or sign up for your contests or become aware of your brand or do anything that could affect my engagement or spending habits or whatever, because you guys specifically made it so that I'm totally paralyzed. I imagine like a bunch of cavemen passing the same huge bag of rocks back and forth between themselves forever, with no change or increase in anything, and they think that's "business"...

The most recent Facebook debacle was extra traumatic for me. I had this moment where I was making fun of a Tumblr ad for some shitty mobile game with a few of my friends; I didn't know the name of the game or anything about it really, but I sent some screenshots around and we all had a laugh. Next thing we knew, all of us were seeing ads for it on Instagram. Then I had this thing happen where I was looking up exercises for a strained elbow using this little indie web browser that's not supposed to sell your shit, and suddenly I had ads on every platform I use for athletic compression sleeves. That type of thing had been happening more and more recently, but my personal worst version of it came when I ordered breakfast on Seamless one morning. My food included a chili crisp dressing, which I had never heard of. It was really good, and my husband and I talked about it as we ate. Within a day, I saw an Instagram ad for some extremely off-brand-looking recipe site telling me how to make this chili crisp dressing. So either the contents of my Seamless order, or our actual voices, had been converted into an advertisement immediately. With each new incident, my friends and I racked our brains to remember if we had truly Googled something or clicked on a link to associate ourselves with the ad we're seeing, or if it could only have been leeched out of personal conversations, financial transactions, or something else you normally think of as relatively private. It created this churn of paranoia and unease, it made me really fucking sick and I hope it was all the fault of the new "off-Facebook activity" function that gives that app the right to your entire life, and not a bunch of other things that I have yet to be unpleasantly surprised by.

Whenever I get ambushed by ads, I fly into a rage and rant to myself about how fucking stupid these incredibly invasive marketing techniques are, because their main effect is to make me not want to use the internet AT ALL. I basically abandoned my email address, and the more I see an ad for something the more angry I get about it, so that there is absolutely no chance I will ever Engage with that Brand even if it's something I could have really used. Basically what's happening is not only creepy and awful, but it's having the exact opposite effect of what's supposed to happen. And like, you don't have to be smart or political or whatever to feel like something bad is happening when "private" chats get turned into ads. Do the people behind this stuff really think that the average user will go, "Oh wow, it seems like I was just THINKING about X, and now I see a link to buy it everywhere I go online! This is extremely convenient and it makes me feel catered to, which sure puts me in the mood to spend money. I am grateful for this and I love the future!" I mean is that how it was sold to the companies who adopt this practice or buy information from virtual spies, do people believe that happens? Probably not, it's probably all exactly the same as the douchebag who tells you to hit on every single girl you see no matter what you think could happen, because it's all just a numbers game.

But yeah, this shit makes me want to leave the internet forever. It makes me want to delete all my user profiles, wipe my phone, and only keep it in case I need to dial 911. You'd think that would be counter to the original purpose of all this spying, but I actually have a personal conspiracy theory about it. It involves the post office, and net neutrality too. On the surface, it seems like the deliberate Republican-backed degradation of the USPS is designed to make the government some money, when they completely defund it and sell it off. On the surface, attacks on net neutrality seem like they're designed to make money by further commodifying internet access as it already exists. On the surface, relentless spying seems designed to make more money by constantly feeding your perceived desires back to you as spending options. But let's say the actual effect of all this is you want to be online less because it's such a creepy, intrusive experience, and because it's becoming too expensive, and also you stop sending and receiving as much mail because that's too expensive now that it's privatized. And let's take the Republican "EARN IT" bill, that would mandate that the government scans every single message sent over the internet--on the surface it seems designed to collect more data than ever, but let's say its actual effect is to make people stop communicating as much, out of fear and disgust. Wouldn't it be a huge accomplishment for a fascist state, to establish a scenario where people just don't talk to each other almost at all, because it's so cumbersome and invasive and costs too much money? Wouldn't it be great for such a government if people had less access to information than ever before, and the people who do have information were less willing and able to transfer it to others? I'm not saying I truly think that everything that's going on is NOT just business as usual for capitalism, but that capitalism is the cover for a conspiracy to prevent civilians from being able to communicate with each other. I mean, nobody's ever NOT trying to make more money. I'm just saying, like, I would not be surprised, at all.

[fandom-necromancer]

907. Of course I kept it.

Shoutout to the lovely anopn who prompted this! I really enjoyed getting back into that story, I like writing no-social-module!Nines.

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

part1   part2

‘Okay, so what can you tell me about this guy?’ Nines looked over, masking his stare not to be too obvious, just as he had learned from Gavin. Clearly focussing the clock at the opposite wall for anyone who might look at him, he watched the person from the corner of his eyes. [Larry Osborne, 36 years old, criminal record: none] He blinked the analysis result out of his view, this wasn’t important now. Gavin wanted something far, far more difficult from him. He accessed the databanks he had saved in that empty void his programming had kept vacant for his social module to be installed. Not that that had ever happened.

He looked back on the table and let the video-footage he collected replay. The human blared his teeth, but the corners of his mouth were turned upwards. ‘He looks happy’, Nines stated, trying to find anything else he could identify. ‘He is with friends. He touched his neighbour on the shoulder. Physical contact is a sign of familiarity.’ ‘Yup. Both are right’, Gavin nodded and took a sip of his drink. ‘But is it real happiness?’ ‘What do you mean?’, the android asked. ‘Well, you said he looks happy. Is he happy?’ ‘I…’ Nines replayed the footage over and over again, but he couldn’t identify anything about what Gavin wanted to know. ‘I can’t tell. This is all I could see.’ ‘Okay. Then look at his eyes. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t mean it.’ ‘But why should he look happy when he isn’t?’, Nines asked confused. ‘To show the others he enjoys their company? To be liked? To avoid questioned about what’s wrong? Not to let them worry? Could be anything.’ ‘How do you know all this?’ ‘It’s assumptions, Nines. But don’t worry, you don’t need to be able to identify that. You already learned a lot.’ ‘But I want to be able to. Connor can identify this better than some humans. I am… I want to have this defect eradicated!’

Nines swiped away all of his self-written protocols and wished he could just hide behind his walls again. Code that would tell him he didn’t need this. That he needed to know what threat someone portrayed, how to break their defences and how to incapacitate them most efficiently. That it didn’t matter whether someone was really happy or not. But these limitations had been long gone and left him to his own devices in a world that didn’t need them anymore. Gavin had been a major help ever since Nines managed to stand up to Connor. He was still trying to mend the wounds caused to the android’s relationship with himself, calling the RK800 brother as he liked that and coming to him for help, he technically didn’t need anymore, as Gavin started to mediate any situation that involved social cues. Ideas from the very human actually. Although the Detective had emphasized, he was much more competent in burning bridges instead of rebuilding them, his advice had helped Nines getting back on terms with Connor.

It had also helped him building up his social protocols. The human had held true on that promise of taking him out to the city with him after work. Mostly it was people-watching in parks, in the streets or now that it was getting colder outside bars and shopping malls. Nines was thankful Gavin knew the only people he could talk to were himself, Connor, Hank and the Captain, and didn’t press him to practise his social skills by talking. This approach was fine with him, although frustrating.

‘Hey, Nines, what did I tell you?’, Gavin asked and as Nines looked up, he knew the man was [sad] and tried to hide [anger]. Somehow it was far easier for him to read his partner than other humans. Maybe because the Detective hid nothing? Most people disliked him because of that. Nines couldn’t say he shared that opinion. ‘Nines, you are not defective. Nothing in you is broken and I absolutely hate it when you say that.’ ‘But I can’t function correctly!’ Nines knew for sure his LED was red again and that Connor would have gotten that notification again. Soon Nines would have to calm his brother again that Gavin didn’t harm him in any way and that his worry was unnecessary. ‘You function absolutely correct, Nines. You function just the way Cyberlife intended. You are just frustrated that you are not more and believe me, I know that feeling.’

‘You do?’ Nines understood the logic in his words but refused to acknowledge it just yet. He had only ever seen Connor, androids and humans around him having no problems communicating or handling normal tasks. To hear Gavin also had some attributes he struggled with was something completely new to him.

‘Yeah, that thing kinda happens when you grow up next to Elijah phcking Kamski. I know I can’t be the same genius level of intelligent he is at, but I always tried and evidently failed to reach my goal.’

‘But you are a remarkably intelligent individual’, Nines reported matter-of-factly. ‘In most cases you recognise the important connections at crime-scenes before any other human.’ ‘Exactly. And that proves my point, Nines.’ Gavin emptied his glass with a few big gulps. ‘I never invented robots and made millions. But I am a good Detective on the force. If I had never struggled trying to become like my brother, I might have ended somewhere else completely. Same with you. You try to become like Connor or humans but you always just see the distance you have in front of you, not the one you already travelled.’ ‘I’m afraid, I don’t understand.’ ‘What I’m saying is you already accomplished so much since you confessed to me what was going on with you. You don’t rely on Connor as much anymore. You go out and make experiences. You came far already. Don’t worry about what you can’t do yet. You’ll get there.’

Nines stared at Gavin for a long time in what other would have maybe described as an eerie, soulless stare, but the human knew what it meant: an intense, prolonged analysis. Normally he would have helped the android by staying still, but this time he turned away. He didn’t want Nines know of his real feelings towards the machine just yet. Not until the android could portray them on his own and learned to take onto these cues. Doing anything but that wouldn’t be… fair.

‘You… You care for me.’ Gavin coughed but nodded swirling the ice in his otherwise empty glass. ‘Why? You are not as thoughtfully towards other people.’ ‘You are my partner. We are supposed to care for each other. Others don’t need it.’ ‘Detective, have we reached the status friends?’ Gavin looked up and was met by those piecing analysing eyes. ‘God, I sure hope we have’, Gavin stumbled. ‘Otherwise this would be a bit awkward. But you tell me.’

Nines thought about that for a while, comparing it to research. One attached to another by affection or esteem. Big words with a lot of meanings. One that is not hostile. Gavin was hostile but never towards him. One that is of the same nation, party or group. Gavin was a member of several groups he had catalogued in his mind: He was in the DPD, in the range of what Nines called trusted people, but there was also something that distinguished Gavin from every other person Nines had met up to now. Although what that was, he couldn’t quite put to words. A favoured companion. That made Nines physically nod. Gavin was his favoured if not favourite companion. ‘Yes. We are friends without doubt’, he reported trying to put on a smile of his own as it was required if one wanted to show happiness. Most people would call his smile terrifying or unsettling, but Gavin just laughed – at and not about it as he had reassured him countless times – and his face changed colour. Nines had yet to understand what that special feature of humans meant.

‘Hey, then as a friend of yours I guess I have tortured you enough with socialising. Should we get a move on?’ ‘Yes, please.’ Gavin paid for his drinks and Nines fetched him his jacket, because that was the polite thing to do according to his research. Also, it was effective. They walked out and to Gavin’s car, the man asking the same question as always as they entered it: ‘So, where do you wanna go? Should I drop you off at the precinct or…’ So far Nines had always said yes at that sentence. Gavin had driven him to the precinct, he had gone back to work and the human off to sleep. Only the last few times he had realised the question might have a different intention. So instead of just confirming, this time Nines asked: ‘What are the options?’ Gavin looked at him in surprise, what made the android question if he had interpreted the sentence wrong. But the human answered: ‘Oh, I mean, I guess I could drive you anywhere… or you could come home with me, like Connor does with Hank.’ ‘If that’s okay for you, I would like to accompany you this time.’ ‘Hey, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want it.’

Nines took his time analysing Gavin as he was preoccupied with staring at the street. He tried to find out whether the human was pleased with his answer. But as he still struggled with detecting the simpler human emotions like happiness, sadness, anger and fear, he had no hope in succeeding. Asking wouldn’t help either as Gavin was a master in disguising his feelings. They drove in silence and Nines was caught in the loop of asking himself whether or not he should break it with conversation. ‘Hey, relax man’, Gavin seemed to sense his despair and clapped his thigh. [Friendly gesture] not [attack], he reminded himself. ‘This is okay. I would have been happy with either decision you made as I know it is what you want.’ The android did manage to relax at that. How could Connor ever think chastising this human and keeping him from interacting with him would be beneficial or necessary? Nines had never met a person this thoughtful and understanding. Nines corrected himself, Connor was understanding too, but was fast to patronise people. Hank was thoughtful too, but lacked the guidance Nines knew he needed. Maybe, Nines concluded, he shouldn’t try to compare the man next to him to others and simply appreciate he had him for a friend. Friend. It was such an easy word but packed to the brink with emotions the android could neither describe nor identify. And there was still more associated with the man that didn’t really fit into that category. Nines sighed, brushing the open problem away to solve some other day. When he was more experienced. Less defective.

‘There we are’, Gavin exclaimed as he unlocked the door and held it open for the android. Nines brushed his shoes on the doormat telling him to “Go away” and stepped in as if he was a foreign object in a perfectly quarantined environment. Gavin followed, removing his shoes and closing the door again. Nines observed him and mimicked him, only disturbed by a sudden [proximity alert]: A black shadow ran past him directly towards the human. Reacting on instinct Nines snatched the [unidentified object, threat: high] from the ground. ‘Holy shit!’ Gavin stood up, one foot still half in his shoe to calm Nines. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you, would you please let her down? She doesn’t like to be picked up by strangers.’ The android answered by scanning the thing in his hands and immediately setting it back down inspecting his scratched outer hull. [Cat, 12-14, female.] The fluffy black to blue-grey cat looked at him in what he could easily detect as fear of the unknown after downloading the according databank.

He crouched, fixing the cat and slowly closing his eyes. ‘I am very sorry for startling you and that I failed to properly introduce myself. My name is Nines, a pleasure to meet you.’ If the cat felt likewise, he would never know as Gavin’s laugh made his cat finally loose all interest in socialising and made for the living room. ‘Okay, you definitely know how to communicate with cats’, he wheezed and Nines tried to figure whether it had been a lie. Failing, he simply stated: ‘Cats are easier to understand. They emote more.’ ‘Yeah, okay, but she won’t understand your formalities.’ ‘I can still try.’ ‘Heh, yeah you can. Make yourself at home, I’ll go take a quick shower and feed Stroy.’

Quickly, the human scurried past him and left Nines to his own devices as he disappeared into a different room. The android stood in the hallway for a moment, unsure what the man expected him to do when “making himself at home”. It was a matter to abstract to understand, so Nines took to investigating. That at least was something he knew and that would calm him. He stayed away from any drawers or closed doors as “sometimes hidden things should not be poked at”, as Gavin had told him. There had been a pin board hung up with keys, a list with groceries crossed out and a picture of Gavin and Tina. Nines was surprised to find one of himself, too: the one from his police file – the only one Nines had ever taken of himself. He couldn’t understand why it was hanging here though. Maybe he should ask. He wandered into the living room, that consisted of a sofa, a television, a table for two and three chairs. To the left was a small open plan kitchen and a huge cat tree. The walls were decorated with more pictures: Several loose ones of Gavin and Tina at various events, one framed of Gavin’s class from the police academy, one of him alone in a suit, several more of three cats, one of them the cat Nines had terrified just minutes back. In a corner behind the TV was a bookcase crammed in between the wall and a plant higher than the detective himself. The android walked up to it and took a look at the books. It surprised him to find a lot of guidebooks. A lot of them centred around meditation practices and how to relax right, but some of them where about how to socialise and it took for him to read the title of one book “How to human” written by one of the few android authors out there, to make the connection. Had Gavin bought some of these to help him? That made some feeling stir in him, he couldn’t quite identify other than that it was linked to the friends-category he had written into existence on their drive.

A noise from what he figured was the bathroom made Nines flinch. Gavin had exited the room dressed in a towel and fled to another room. Nines presumed this was a matter of privacy and didn’t investigate in that direction, instead looking at the sofa, where the cat was sitting, watching him. Maybe another attempt would mend his earlier misstep. He walked up to her, crouching and holding a hand out for her to sniff. ‘Allow me to introduce myself correctly: I am a friend of your human. We work together and he helps me rebuilding myself.’ ‘She still can’t understand you, you know that, right?’ Nines looked up to see Gavin dressed in sweatpants and a loose T-Shirt, hair still a bit damp. ‘Why is there a picture of me at your pin board?’, the android asked instead.

Gavin changed colour again and coughed. ‘Ah, well, to remind me there are not only assholes out there. Call it motivation to leave the house.’ ‘Is Stroy the name of your cat?’ ‘Yeah, short for Destroyer, don’t ask. She pushed everything to the floor in the beginning. A lot of potted plants fell victim to her.’ ‘An apt name’, Nines commented. ‘Really? Most tell me it’s silly and not appropriate at all’, Gavin chuckled. ‘She is… visually pleasing’, Nines said, trying to touch her. The cat allowed it and pressed into his hand. ‘Physically pleasing too’, he added. ‘Yeah, that she is!’

Nines had sat down on the sofa petting Stroy completely fascinated by the soft sensation. In the meantime, Gavin had made himself Dinner and fill the cat's bowl, too. He had joined Nines on the couch afterwards, to watch a movie. The android found he didn't feel as awkward as in the beginning anymore. He also realised watching a movie was an interesting activity as he could analyse the actor's displayed emotions without being socially awkward. As time flew by, Gavin yawned more frequently, and finally he stood up, motioning Nines to follow him. 'Come on, you get the bed, I take the couch', he told him, opening the door to his bedroom. 'Why?' 'Well, I'm tired, I'll try to get some sleep. And you can use the bed. Tomorrow I'll take you back to the precinct with me.' 'Gavin, I don't need a bed to enter sta- to sleep.' 'Yeah, but I would feel better if you did', Gavin yawned. 'Okay then.' Nines eyed the bed and surrounding room. His eyes caught onto something laying on Gavin's nightstand. 'You kept it?' The human needed some time to get what he meant, then nodded and hurriedly said: 'Yeah, Of course I kept it! It was a gift after all. What do you think of me?' It sounded like an accusation, but the human smiled at him, so it should be fine. 'Get to sleep, buddy. See you tomorrow!'

Nines laid down on the bed – completely unnecessary for stasis as he could do that standing, sitting or in any other position. But somehow this was nice… Pretending to be human for once. How was it falling asleep? How was it feeling tired or never wanting to leave the bed? How was it when feelings came so naturally to someone that they never even thought about them, showed them so freely they managed to annoy some. He pulled the blanket over himself, although he emitted no heat to capture. Then he laid there, listening for the human getting comfortable on the couch. He looked towards the door and his eyes caught on the little gemstone he had gifted Gavin a few months back. He scanned it, detecting fingerprints on it. Just as many and just as recent as on the man’s coffee-machine. He must have held it in his hands several times and regular too. It seemed he really valued the little stone and again something stirred in him.

Maybe there was more to Gavin’s status in his catalogue. There was certainly more to it than the word “friend” contained. Nines just had to figure out what word would describe it best. Although he was sure, the human would be more than happy to help him with this matter.

[huxandthehound]

On the Evolution of Armin... and Erwin (snk 126)

I’m going to focus on what we got out of chapter 126 and not what we didn’t get, because trust me I could go on for… too long. (Where is my stare down between Annie and Armin with the threat of a titan battle in the middle of this lunch feast? Where is literally anyone making plans with literally anyone else? I need some answers.)

Anyway.  

Was this chapter perfect? Not even freaking close. But we got some little snippets—some very ridiculously quick snippets—of some good stuff that I think is being misconstrued because everything was done so quickly. The story didn’t breathe when it needed to, and by the time the chapter was over, we let out a breath only to say, what the hell was that?

I think it’s great we got some insight into Levi and Hange’s recent happenings, and the team up between them and Magath & Pieck will undoubtedly be the thing to look out for during the conclusion of this arc. Half their muscle might be down for the count, but all the brainpower is functioning at full capacity and this is the first time I’ve truly felt something was going to be done about Zeke. I’m not convinced there won’t be casualties, however.

To add to that, there’s a reason Jean’s with them as well. I think he’s well on his way to having a larger leadership role in the future. We saw some good development from him in this chapter, which a lot of the fandom saw brewing in chapter 125 after his scene with Floch, so that’s panning out. It might actually be the only development in this chapter that seemed timely.

While the entire chapter felt rushed and could have honestly been three well-paced chapters, the main scene that could have benefitted from another handful of pages was the five-second showdown in Ragako. Connie springing into action in 125 felt like a huge set up for an even bigger fallout. But it feels like smoke and mirrors now. It feels like an idea that was half-assed and regretted almost immediately, but it had to be tied up so it was done in the quickest way possible.

Still, I think there was a purpose to that scene.

I’m usually not a fan of EMA (I am staunchly Team Vets), but Armin’s been tugging at my heartstrings these last two months. So, I once again come to you with some Team Armin propaganda.

I don’t think anyone should mistake Armin’s (very stupid) sacrifice as an homage to Erwin in any sense. Armin is smarter than that, and I’m sure he would have never actually believed Erwin would do such a thing. But I think there are multiple factors playing into Armin’s (terrible) decision-making skills this chapter.

Armin is stressed the eff out. Beyond stressed. Let’s not forget that he snapped at Mikasa last chapter. Our little, level-headed, genius strategist is at a loss, for once. I have a feeling he’s probably depressed, too. His best friend is literally ending the world as we speak. Let Armin have a moment.

He’s only thinking of Erwin because—as I said last month—he is still trying to live up to this expectation that’s been on his shoulders for years. And he’s never been able to touch it. In a moment where normal-Armin would have used his level-headedness, he snapped. I can see the thought process on his face. This is it. This is how I can finally prove myself.

This ain’t it, Armin. This wasn’t a gamble. This wasn’t a hasty, yet practical, battle decision. This was a knee jerk reaction that he made because he wasn’t allowing himself to do what he’s good at and be a strategist, a thinker. This is the guy that tried to negotiate with the Colossal Titan. Sure, that’s not what he was really doing, though maybe deep down he wished he could. But that Armin had enough foresight and tact to slow down, to step back and think things through. This person—this doer—is not Armin. He was trying to be Erwin. Self-sacrificing Erwin. Martyr Erwin.

Armin is trying to be Erwin, and he’s being so bad at it because he’s not supposed to be Erwin.

Imagine, if you will, a world where Armin actually succeeds at replacing Erwin. If I may be so bold as to say this would be a completely different story if that were the case. And I think some of us would be pretty miffed.

I think this also says a lot about Armin’s mental state, and we’re getting some character development (whether positive or negative) for once. For a while now I think this story has been about the bigger picture, and now we’re starting to see how it’s affecting people individually, especially Eren’s friends, first with Mikasa’s POV chapter and now with Armin having an identity crisis over the last two months.

Luckily, Armin’s thoughtlessness knocks some sense into an equally stressed out Connie. And then finally (and by finally I mean in no time at all because jesus, what is pacing???) we see Armin have his awakening:

I couldn’t become the commander’s replacement.

Welcome to the party, Armin. Glad you could join us.

Last month, I pointed out that “Armin’s going to need something big to get his feet back under him after being so shaken” in chapter 125. I also figured he would need to have a big moment after his breakdown to finally realize that he is, indeed, not Erwin, but that he still has his own skills to give to humanity.

We had to take the strangest detour to Ragako to get there, but I think that has been accomplished. And I think we can finally put this to rest. He’s currently leading the charge to “save the world,” so I think he’s finally got his ducks in a row. Hopefully.

Do I think Isayama could have probably fleshed this out, let’s say, over the last twenty chapters instead of in two? Yes. The stakes could have been a little higher. We could have had a little more time for Armin’s internal struggle between initial freak out and resolution. But I’m glad we got it. I know most fans of the series are probably over any and all Serum Bow fallout. Well, I think we’ve reached its conclusion.

But don’t think that means we’ve heard the last of Erwin.

I feel like there’s a reason Erwin—who has been dead for 42 chapters (exactly half the time he was even in this series)—keeps being mentioned. We had a full on flashback from Levi in chapter 112. Hange has addressed a nonexistent Erwin a handful of times, has referenced him in speaking with Armin. And Armin’s been clearly haunted by him for four years. Combine that with the fact that, while it is up for debate, Levi is seemingly clinging onto life because of something he promised the commander he would do. To me, it says that Erwin isn’t irrelevant. He’s not gone. He is not inconsequential to this story. We wouldn’t be in this shit show if he were still alive, but regardless, he’s still having an impact on multiple events.

So, let Armin try and fail miserably—bless his heart—to be Erwin. We don’t need another one. He’s still here.

[stubbornness-and-spite]

Remind Me Why I Fell In Love With Happy Endings

It’s Because They Have Happy People

~

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Summary: It hurt. A lot. They felt drained dry and defeated, but there hadn’t been any villain or monster to fight. They were supposed to be a team. They could fight monsters, not deal with this. Emotional vulnerability sucked.

Takes place directly after Learning New Things About Ourselves

Pairing(s): platonic LAMP, romantic if you want to read it that way but I wrote it platonic

Characters: Logan, Patton, Virgil, Roman, Thomas is mentioned

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful/happy ending, angst and fluff

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2420

Notes: kind of an AU? Just timeline-wise. I’m playing fast and loose with the timeline, which is only going to be important and/or relevant if I actually finish the follow-up fic I have planned for this. Since in this story/universe, the sides are real and Sanders Sides videos are not really scripted, there’s much less time between videos(because editing, writing, and directing are figuratively thrown out the window).

“Well, that went well,” Virgil snarked as they sank back down into the common area.

“Our goal was accomplished,” Logan said sharply, avoiding eye contact. “Thomas is feeling better about his chosen lifestyle.”

“His lifestyle you hate, you mean?” Roman grumbled. “Just looking for some extra clarification. Wouldn’t want anyone to be confused.”

“Now, kiddos,” Patton chided, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I think we all came out of that one a little bruised.”

“Metaphorically,” Virgil cut in before Logan could protest. “Emotionally bruised.” Logan nodded with a pinched effort at a smile.

“Is everyone doing okay?” Patton asked softly.

Logan scoffed. “Of course, Patton. No new information was relayed to me and therefore my emotional state, which is negligible, was not significantly impacted.”

“Logan…” Roman grimaced. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean it. I should have said something more when we were up there, but I-”

“You were more concerned for Thomas’s mental state and more concerned by his opinion than you were for or by either of mine,” Logan cut him off. “Perfectly understandable.”

Roman shook his head. “I should have been concerned for both of you. I shouldn’t have put you in a position where hearing an apology from me for something I specifically said to hurt you was a great kindness. I called you a lot more than ‘stupid’ that I should have apologized for.” He lifted his chin and stood even taller. “And I am now,” he declared. “Logan, I am truly and honestly sorry for the hurtful things I said to you and about you and I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me for speaking to you in such a way and treating you as if you were worth less than you are.”

Logan sighed, some of the tension falling from his face. “Thank you, Roman. I forgive you.” Roman smiled weakly and Logan nodded in return. “Also, to be clear,” he said, adjusting his glasses and smirking. “I’m not remotely offended that you called me a bitch.”

“Roman!” Patton cried, affronted. “When was this?”

Roman blushed. “I got carried away.”

Logan huffed, his smirk softening into a smile. “I like to see you so passionate. I like to inspire it, even if it comes in the form of calling me Sanders Claus on Bitchmas and suggesting we build a snowbitch and kiss under the bitchletoe.”

“Roman!”

“Patton,” Logan said, turning to him. “I was much more insulted by being called stupid. Both of which Roman has apologized for. There is no need to berate him further. I believe I have done enough of that for quite a while.”

“But Logan!”

“Hey, Pop-star,” Virgil chimed in, drawing the focus onto him. He shrunk back slightly but kept talking. “If L says he isn’t upset, then getting upset on his behalf is only making everyone feel bad. It’s okay to let it go sometimes.”

Patton sighed. “I guess you’re right, kidd-- Virgil. Sorry.”

Virgil flinched a second after Patton did, at the sound of his name. “Pat, I-” he sighed. “Nevermind.”

Logan reached over, but stopped, his arm hovering near Virgil’s shoulder. “May I touch you?” At Virgil’s nod, he slid his arm across Virgil’s back and squeezed his shoulder. “Have we not made clear that being open with each other is the only way that things can be solved?”

“Guys, I was a real jerk today and I’m sorry,” Virgil said in a quick breath. He tilted his head to rest on Logan. “Logan, I shouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion that everything was your fault. I shouldn’t have blamed you for something that we all knew we were all contributing to.” He looked at Roman. “I shouldn’t have blamed you either. I know how hard you work. I know how much it kills you when we criticize what you do and I know we have to sometimes because that’s our job, but we’ve been taking it too far lately. I’ve been taking it too far lately and especially today.” Virgil looked over at Patton who had tears in his eyes and quickly looked away. He stared at Logan’s shoes for a moment before forcing himself to look back at Patton. “Patton, I love you,” Patton whined as his damp eyes filled a little more. “I love that you call me kiddo. I wouldn’t give you dad-themed nicknames if I didn’t. I like being a dynamic duo with you. I feel like you get me sometimes in a way that someone whose function isn’t emotion isn’t able to.” Logan stiffened, but didn’t move his arm. Virgil kept talking. “What makes me uncomfortable isn’t all that. I like being your ‘dark strange son’.” A small grin crept onto his face and he rolled his eyes fondly. Virgil paused, catching himself and hesitated before taking a breath and blurting out, “I don’t like being called an angel. I don’t like you telling Thomas that I don’t mean the things I say just because they’re negative or because I disagreed with you. It makes me feel like you don’t think I can do my job. It makes me feel like you think I’m less capable than you are.” Virgil winced and looked tentatively at Patton, already waiting for scorn.

“Oh, Virg-- kiddo,” Patton sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

Virgil shrugged, his expression relaxing as he leaned into Logan and pretended he’d never had any doubts. “I know. That’s why I said something. If I thought you were doing it to upset me, I wouldn’t have asked you to stop. I know you didn’t mean anything by it, which is why I felt safe telling you that it upset me.”

“Can I hug you too, kiddo?” Patton asked, fidgeting with his hoodie sleeves.

Logan spoke up before Virgil could respond. “Oh, Virgil and I are not hugging. I am merely ensuring that he feels safe enough to express the feelings that we have previously established are important to share.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “By hugging me. Face it, L, we’re basically cuddling.” Virgil smirked as Logan blushed, but was pleased that Logan’s arm around his shoulders didn’t move at all. “Come hug us, Patt-- Dad. Come hug us, Dad.”

Patton barrelled into them, tackling them into the couch, his arms outstretched to wrap around them. Virgil laughed as he went down, pulling himself into Logan’s side as he curled up on the couch. Logan readjusted until he was seated normally on the couch with one arm draped over Virgil, who had pulled his knees up and was leaning onto him. Patton picked himself up and sat on the other side of Virgil, placing his arm next to Logan’s and gently grabbing Logan’s shoulder. Logan looked over to see Patton smiling at him as he squeezed his shoulder. Logan let out a breath and dropped his head to rest on Patton’s hand.

“Well, this is just absolutely adorable,” Roman stood awkwardly above them, looking down with a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “But I should be going.”

“Come cuddle with us, Princey,” Virgil muttered. “You deserve cuddles, especially after today.”

Roman’s face lightened a bit as he breathed out a soft laugh. “You look very comfortable. I’ll just be off.”

Patton looked up at Roman. “I have another arm, kiddo. There’s a spot right here if you want it.”

Roman took in a sharp breath and let it out shakily, looking at Patton as if he’d just told Roman that he was going to get everything he’d ever wanted right then and there, a mix of disbelief and desperate longing on his face. “Thanks, padre, but I’m good,” he finally managed, a blank smile slapped back on his face.

“Roman, why do you feel the need to lie to us when we are openly offering you affection?” Logan asked, not bothering to look at Roman.

Roman scowled, but quickly regained control of his face and smiled again. “Because I don’t need it. I’m doing just fine. This last video just illustrated to me how much work I have unfinished and I need to stop letting my ego get in the way of productivity.”

“You’re lying,” Virgil mumbled, not looking at Roman. “You sound like Logan when you lie and not in a good way.”

“Do you just know all of our tells?” Roman snapped. “Are you studying us, Virgil? Does it make you feel special to have us all figured out, Emo Nightmare?”

“Now, Roman, kiddo…”

“That’s enough, Roman.”

Ignoring Patton and Logan’s jump to his defense, Virgil started to hum a tune that was still fresh in all of their minds. “Sometimes the problems at play are not all plain to see, so we lash out at our loved ones, disregarding our bond sanctity,” he sang awkwardly.

Roman sighed and flopped down on the couch. “Don’t quote me to me, Panic! at the Everywhere.”

Virgil snorted. “You’re pretty quotable, Princey.”

Roman laughed. “Whatever you say, Hot Topic.”

“You reused that one on purpose,” Virgil taunted. “You think I’m hot.”

Roman huffed a laugh and snuggled into Patton’s side. Patton hummed softly in delight and pulled Roman closer. “I already told you you’re adorable, do you really need me to admit you’re hot too?”

“Children,” Logan groaned.

“Aww, Logan!” Patton chirped. “Have you finally admitted that we are the fathers to two wonderful sons?”

Logan frowned. “No. I was telling Virgil and Roman that they were arguing like children.” Virgil and Roman laughed and squirmed closer into their hugs. Quietly, into Virgil’s hair, almost so soft that no one heard him, Logan mumbled, “And I thought I was one of your kiddos too.” But they did hear him and Patton squealed. Roman and Virgil flinched at the sudden noise and Patton stopped with a sharp intake of breath. He looked back and forth between the two of them, both of whom had relaxed once they realized it was Patton that was squealing, and squealed again, much softer.

“Of course you’re one of my kiddos, Logan!” Patton cried, reaching over to try and hug Logan too. Virgil grunted softly as he was crushed between them. Logan reached over with his free hand and placed it over Patton’s on his shoulder and Patton stilled, settling back between Roman and Virgil. “Of course you’re one of my kiddos,” he repeated softer. “You’re all my kiddos. I love you all so much.”

“Love you too, Pat,” Virgil mumbled.

“The feeling is mutual, Patton.”

“I love you as well, padre.”

“Love all of you!” Patton cried, getting a little weepy. “Now say you love each other!”

Logan blinked. “Was that not abundantly clear? I thought it was rather obvious that I care for you all. I concluded Patton was the only one to require regular reminding. Was my reasoning not sound?” Logan’s panic increased as he went on, his breathing quickening and his volume rising. Virgil tensed under Logan and Patton’s arms. Roman went very still.

“I didn’t want to put you out, L,” Virgil admitted. “I don’t want you to say it just because you think I need to hear it. I’m fine, really.”

Roman nodded. “I feel the same. It is a wholly unnecessary venture. I am not so shallow as to need constant praise and validation.” He turned to Patton. “No offense, Patton.”

Patton smiled. “None taken, kiddo! Remember what Thomas said? ‘Honestly, it didn’t hurt me. It’s clear you’re the one that’s hurting.’ Didn’t you listen to what we said?”

Roman scoffed. “It’s all well and good to say things for a camera. I’m quite familiar with the process myself. I was flattered, of course, that you came up with so much so quickly.”

“Aww, kiddo, we meant it!”

Virgil suddenly sat up ram-rod straight and whipped around to face Roman. “I shouldn’t have said almost,” he blurted out. Everyone turned to look at him, but he barrelled on. “I thought you knew what parts were serious, but Roman, we love you.” he paused and shook his head. “I love you. Nothing you could do would make me or any of us stop.” He scowled. “Dammit, even Deceit and Remus love you and they’re bastards who can stuff it. You’re awesome, Roman. In every case, we’d embrace you. Nothing is ever going to make us stop loving you, let alone hate you, okay?”

“Yeah, Virgil,” Roman choked out, trying valiantly to keep from crying at Virgil’s speech. “I know.”

Virgil went red, suddenly realizing how much he’d said. He settled back down between Patton and Logan. “Yeah, well, good. Don’t be stupid and think we don’t love you again, Princey.”

“I love you all too,” Roman mumbled with his face buried in Patton’s cardigan.

“I love you both as well,” Logan murmured. “I shall endeavor to remind you all more often. I have often spoken against the logic of assuming other’s thoughts and jumping to conclusions. It would be hypocritical of me to continue to do so after it has been brought to my attention that, in this case, actions do not figuratively speak louder than words.”

Virgil snorted. “Love you too, Logan. Now shut up and let me sleep. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained.”

Logan nodded, leaning onto Virgil and resting his head atop his curled up body. Patton lifted his arm to let Logan relax and lay down half on top of Virgil who had tilted to lean on Patton. He set his hand down on Logan’s head, gently running his fingers through the other side’s hair. Roman leaned all the way over, resting his head in Patton’s lap. Virgil and Patton shared a small smile as they both moved a hand to play with Roman’s hair. Roman let out a pleased hum and the quiet attention, leaning into both of their touches. Patton took a final look at his friends, his charges, his family, all curled up and leaning on him, letting him love and support them the way he tried so hard to do, and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He leaned his head back and felt a pillow materialize behind him. He glanced down to see Roman’s smile grow slightly. Patton lifted his hand up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss onto his fingers before pressing it onto Roman’s head. He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes, the comforting weight of the other three on him quickly lulling him to sleep.