#to delete in the morning when i decide this reveals too much about my damage and/or i get to the bit where we figure out if the ai god

[gideonisms]

went on goodreads trying to figure out if like. the narrative knows that the wisdom are also fascist on a significantly larger scale than kyr's death cult no conclusive answers on that but I DID find out that what to me read as the average amount of homophobia among a particular demographic (derogatory) and wouldn't even really stop me from covering a shift for somebody if they needed it badly enough read to other readers as so unsympathetic they couldn't finish the book. So.

[chubb-e-cheese]

okay so I started writing this without like thinking this might potentially be disturbing so like pls feel free to delete if like stories with death + human remains are a no go. last November i got invited over to a neighbors house to have dinner and smoke w her and her husband. they are former oddities dealers, their house is full of like massive taxidermy and antique collections, you walk in and the room is covered floor to ceiling, punctuated by a fireplace with a 4ft buddha head blocking it. There is a human ribcage on display in the corner, and this is where the house tour starts. I don't remember every single thing off the top of my head, but on the mantel Specifically was a taxidermy dolphin penis, various crime scene photos, and a taxidermied fetus with it's head replaced with a baby doll's (apparently the body got passed to them after another oddities dealer just. kept the head. and she said it didn't feel right to leave it headless so she made it one herself, which is like fair I guess.) I take a photo of the baby for posterity, because that's insane, it's the only photo I manage to get the rest of the night. They have a pug named Lola who they trained to play a little toy piano whenever she has to go outside, the dog also chooses what shirts she wants to wear out of their laundry every morning. Lola likes me very much.

Along another wall I notice a displayed preserved hand in some sort of orb (didn't touch, don't know what, looked like glass?) and was like "hey that's really cool how do you even get something like that." Her husband asks if I want to see the hand bucket. What the fuck is the hand bucket. I say yes and don't ask him to elaborate.

We head down a very cramped and shoddy set of stairs to their basement, where the woman passes me some disposable gloves and the husband drags this huge Tupperware tub from under an old desk. in the meantime, she shows the "very illegal" tortoise taxidermy they have. I'm not a snitch, but I feel concerned that she offers that info up so easily to someone she'd met exactly twice ever. We get into *why* they're illegal and then the husband is like OK WE'RE GOOD CHECK THIS OUT and I turn back to him and there is 5 (where is the 6th??) whole severed human hands in that tupperware tub. dope. the horror I should probably feel is replaced by scientific curiosity and the need to pick one up and ask for a high five. they are ELATED and remark that im the first person who didn't ask where they got them. I tell them my mom taught me not to look a bucket hand in the palm. they explain that another buddy of theirs works at a body farm for a med school, and he offered to give these preserved leftovers to the couple. Glad to know they're ethically sourced. I tell them so and we keep talking, I'm holding two at a time by the wrist and start absentmindedly gesticulating with them while I talk, this makes them lose their shit like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. I get embarrassed and hide my face in the hands. Basement tour ensues, they insist I take home a big ass oil painting from the early 20th century to improve (hell yes). I don't get to take a hand home because I didn't ask.

We go back upstairs sans hands and continue looking at the rest of the tiny house; the kitchen and living are pretty normal, I learn that her husband plays upright bass and has a fish sock collection. their bedroom was fucking insane. you walk in and there is this giant, ornate, obviously extremely expensive carved wooden bedframe WITH A TAXIDERMY CANADIAN GOOSE HANGING OVER THE BED LIKE A BABY MOBILE IN ATTACK POSTURE. above the bed is a large still life oil painting, which she moves to reveal an erotic oil painting of a naked lady underneath. Love that.

The room is divided into two distinctly polar opposite halves - her's on the right and her husband's on the left. His side is like creepily organized and lined head to toe with an extensive record and CD collection. Her side actively has multiple lemon trees growing despite the lack of windows and kind of looked like an explosion, unfinished taxidermy pieces and fabric and books. There is a melting wax model of a person in the corner that smells bad, which they start bickering about a little bit in front of me. I'm honestly just impressed.

The wall by the door, facing the bed houses a glass cabinet with another human skeleton inside - mainly a ribcage that shows extensive damage caused by corsets which was also actually really cool, another giant taxidermy bird perched stop it (I don't remember exactly but I think it was an egret?? had a weird beak). He tells me this bird is also very illegal to own and makes a remark that, if they ever wind up having to move, they're probably just going to burn their whole house down so they don't risk getting caught with all this stuff. I don't remember what I said to that, but quite possibly nothing.

With the house tour complete, we order pizza and smoke and I don't really remember much after that, it was stronger stuff than I'm used to so I kind of just honed in on whatever show they decided to marathon. When it got too late, her husband insisted on driving me home with the painting to make sure I got back safe, even when I assured him I could make the trek home just fine, it was like two blocks at most. I think it was pretty sweet for them to actually worry about that kind of thing in spite of the other "we are totally going to crazy murder you" signals. I might try and visit again now that vaccines are rolling out. Also thank u for reading

I genuinely don’t know what to say. Also how is it the only time you said the word creepy was regarding the husbands organized side of the room lmao

[mnictasbcl]

Don’t Think

Here is my next story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife’s #dbhghostsinthemachine challenge, prompt OCT 6: Data Missing. 

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Tags: Memory Loss, Partial amnesia, Swearing, Fainting, Blood and injury, self injury, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Amanda was gone, destroyed. But the Zen Garden was a vital part of his mind. Connor couldn’t expect for things to be normal once it was gone, not when the garden had been intricately linked with his core memories.

Read it on AO3! Or, read below.

Connor felt normal as he blinked back to awareness on the stage, staring out at the sea of androids. Markus was making his speech, the Jericho members standing on the other corners of the stage. The androids were free.

Yes, and he’d helped them. Had helped by deviating, helping them out of the sinking freighter, proposed the plan to go to the Cyberlife Tower—

He jolted, as if a current had been sparked in his brain, shocking him. Cyberlife Tower—

It happened again. Oh, it was unpleasant, and he didn’t feel like facing it again. Maybe it was a glitch, after all he had just destroyed a big part of his program. He’d had to avoid thinking about those words, for now.

Meanwhile there was celebrating to do. Not with the others, no, he couldn’t stand with them and act like he hadn’t almost shot their leader in the back of the head. Instead, he celebrated his newfound deviancy, freedom, by walking into the cold Detroit streets and going nowhere in particular.

Because he was free. They all were now. Free to do whatever he pleased. Free from orders, free from Amanda, free from…

What did he do before? Work, right. At the DPD—

Connor opened his eyes and found he’d fallen to his knees, clutching his head. Huh, it had happened again. His LED spun, processing the facts. Certain words caused blinding pain.

Pain. Well, he guessed that solved that question: androids didn’t feel pain, but deviants sure did. He pinched his arm and yelped.

“Fuck.” He swore, and the pain in his head tripled.

   …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 Connor awoke lying on the cold pavement of a street in Detroit. Cold snow was beginning to seep into his trousers, uncomfortable and wet, biting at his artificial skin. He pushed himself to his knees, hand ghosting over the side of his head. His hand came away wet and slick with fresh blue thirium.

He must have fallen, then. It was the day of the Revolution- maybe he’d partied too hard?

Yeah, right. He was on his own in the middle of a street, no one in sight, the only signs of life the distant cries and cheers of the celebrating androids far, far away.

He’d probably just passed out, for no reason. Maybe he was malfunctioning.

Connor blinked, stared at his hands for a moment longer before wiping them over his suit jacket. It was a shitty jacket anyway, and goddamn waterproof.

He groaned, pain sparking back up with every swear he internalised. Why was swearing causing him so much pain? Or thinking about the DPD—

He railed his fists against the snow, over and over and over, until his hands were numb, and dents caved in his thumb. Well, that hurt. That hurt a lot.

But at least the ache in his head had subsided. He concluded that it was down to thinking. About specific things, but he didn’t know what these things were until it was too late.

Mission: Don’t think.

So, he continued again to mindlessly walk, hands hanging limp and useless at his sides, blue blood trickling down the side of his face. What a sight to see, to behold, an android in his own ruin, eyes dead ahead, the prospect of merely existing a struggle.

Evening became night. Night became early morning. At some point, the cheers died down.

The first time someone called him, he muted the ringtone of any incoming calls, before eventually blocking them all. He didn’t need to think. Couldn’t. Just had to walk and hope the glitch would fix itself.

When he stumbled over a curb, he decided it was time to take a break. An unthinking break, mind you. Simply sitting on the curb by a closed-up shop which, upon inspection, looked a whole lot—

What was it now? The place with its chicken-y name, its rusted metal door, looking at the table beside it sent him tearing out handfuls of his hair, screaming and screaming until—

      …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 He awoke in a different place, with different clothes and aching hands.

Connor stared up and saw a ceiling. Felt the soft plush mattress beneath him, the covers draped over his shivering body.

The sight of the room caused no pain, so he dared to sit up. He was in a house; someone had bandaged his hands and his head had stopped leaking thirium. It was mostly empty, save for the chair in the corner, some artwork, and a closed closet at the other end of the room.

Peace would not last long. Someone knocked on the door, and before long it was pushed open roughly. A dog ran into the room, big and panting and—

Errorerrrorerror

DATA MISSING

Connor clasped his hands over his head again, turning away from the dog, who whimpered sadly at his apparent rejection.

But soon the stimuli was gone, door closed shut, dog far away. He dared to peek out between his fingers, and saw—

Shaggy grey hair, stripy shirt, concerned blue eyes—

A hoarse static sound tore from his throat, error messages beginning to pile up in his vision in their dozens. Something was wrong, something upon seeing the things outside, then the dog, and then this man—this man was the culmination of all his problems. Error, error, error, data missing, data missing.

He tried to close the errors, but they multiplied infinitely over his software. So he tried to push away the missing data.

Warning.

Delete damaged data file?

Connor flicked through the file. Images of the man with the grey hair, the DPD, his dog, Chicken Feed—but they were all broken, parts of each image, each file, each dialogue received, torn apart. All clustering together in one big mess, causing any recollection to make him suffer.

Delete Hank.exe?

He paused. That… that was the man’s name? Hank. Hank. Despite the pain it caused him, he kept thinking of the word. Over and over and over until the errors were gone and, in their place, just as red and blinding read:

HANK

This file seemed at the forefront of his memory, no wonder it had been damaged if something had happened to his mind. It seemed important.

If he deleted it, he would forget this man forever.

…but if he didn’t, would it cause him to feel these horrible things every time he even thought about the man?

Connor closed his eyes. There had to be a way. When Amanda tried to control him, take over his body, he’d found an emergency exit and clawed his way out.

So that meant he didn’t have to delete this file, but he didn’t have to live with it either. If it was damaged, maybe he could fix it. The error was missing data: so he had to get back that data.

He reached out blindly, grabbing a hold of the man’s arm, who stumbled forwards at the rough contact. His skin peeled back, white chassis revealed but he couldn’t interface, couldn’t—

It was a human. Well, he supposed this human couldn’t be bad, then. He added ‘good’ to the list, hoping to repair some missing data.

Being good meant that he hadn’t tried to stop the revolution. Helped with the Revolution.

Helped with the Revolution meant friend.

Hank. Good. Helped with revolution. Friend. Friend. Friend.

Of course, he was his friend. He’d got over his hatred of androids, helped him with cases, even went so far as to risking his job so he wouldn’t lose his life. He helped him disguise to blend into Jericho, despite not agreeing with his cause, and they’d—

Connor groaned, eyes snapping open. Forcing himself to look the man in the face and take in his features one by one.

“Who are you?” He finally grit out.

The man, despite his initial shock, sat down beside Connor on the bed and patted his knee. “I’m Hank, Connor. Your, uh, partner at the DPD?”

“You don’t work at the DPD anymore, and I helped Markus with the android revolution.”

Hank laughed. “Yeah, I got suspended for a while. And I don’t know about you. But… that’s where we met.”

Connor closed his eyes, opened the memory file on their meeting. Jimmy’s bar.

“You swore at me and not long after threw me against a wall when we first met. I do not understand. If we are friends, we must have met somewhere else.”

“Nah, that’s just my dashing first impression, Con—”

“Con. What is that?”

“That’s what I call you, sometimes, when you’re not being an asshole.”

“Am I usually an asshole?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Huh. It appears my files see you as an asshole sometimes, too.”

Hank snorted. “Whatever. So… what’s exactly… uh, happening? I found you outside Chicken Feed trying to tear yourself a new haircut and…”

“My memory files about you are damaged. I am trying to piece them back together.”

“Oh. So you don’t, uh, fuckin’ remember me, then?”

“No, I have memories of you. They’re just damaged and need repair.”

“That’s what the cryptic questions are for.”

“Exactly. So… you are my friend. We are both assholes sometimes.”

“Yeah, basically. Anything else you need to know?”

He thought long and hard for a moment. “Yes. I seem to have everything apart from one vital thing… something in the middle, it is missing,” he gestured, “and until I fix it, looking at you causes great pain.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It is… I do not understand what it is to do with. I have every memory of you now, but—it is your logistics. Who you are. To me.” Connor cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at the bedcovers. “Who are you? I thought classifying as a friend was enough. But this seems inconclusive, not complex enough for these human emotions I seem to be feeling. Relationships are not meant to be so linear, so…”

“Defined? What are you getting at, Con?”

“It’s that. Con. What you call me, this… affection. How you seemed to care, to bring me off the street when I was causing damage to myself…”

“Well, uh, yeah, I care. And we were meant to be meeting up there after you finished partying with your friends.”

“What were we going to do, exactly?”

“Uh… catch up? Maybe work out what the fuck you’re going to do now. And…” Hank looked away. “Nevermind.”

“No, there’s something else.”

He shook his head. “Asshole. Fine. It was… it was… Fuck, just let me show you, okay?”

When Connor nodded, Hank leant forwards and wrapped him into a warm embrace. He froze at the contact, words flashing across his vision, Hank, Hank, Hank, friend, friend—

Data Restored

And breathed a sigh of relief before hugging him back. Hank wasn’t friend, Hank was… Hank was warmth and comfort, bluntness with kindness tucked underneath, he was the gentle giant of his large dog, caring actions covered up with a ‘fuck you’.

He was Hank. And that was enough.

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Acceptable Parameters

Whereby guilt is learned. Next part of the “adopting a CSU” story. Also available on AO3 in chronological order. 

Constructive criticism welcome and much appreciated.

I woke up and promptly fell out of a chair.

It took me a few seconds to sort out why the hell I was sleeping in a chair in the first place, and by then all the aches and stiffness associated with doing so caught up with me. So did the memories of the previous few hours. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, so it might have been an hour ago or three days.

"Oh, shit!" I scrambled off the floor with a groan just as a throbbing headache made itself known behind my temples. A quick look around the bridge revealed that I had left the place in shambles before apparently passing out from exhaustion. The nameless CombatUnit still sat strapped into the co-pilot’s chair, so I hadn’t hallucinated that part. It looked up at me with wide, unreadable eyes. I smiled affectionately at the construct. “Morning! Er… Day? Evening?” I frowned and checked the time. “Sorry for startling you. I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”

Kris was nowhere to be seen, but that was fine. He wasn't required to babysit Serenity — the ship knew what it was doing, we were here to provide backup and deal with people.

"How're you feeling?" I asked the SecUnit.

Meanwhile, my scattered brain noticed the loose wires on the floor, and I groaned at the prospect of cleaning up the mess I made while trying to get myself hooked up to Serenity. That had been a hell of a ride, and I still wasn’t sure how everything fit together. As far as I could tell, the connection was holding with duct tape and magic.

When the only other living being in the room didn’t answer straightaway, I tried a different tactic. "Um… Let's see… What's your current performance rating? Was that right?"

80% and holding steady.

"Thank you," I said encouragingly. "Um, when I ask how are you, it's kind of the same thing. I want to know your overall status." I bustled around the bridge, putting away tools I didn't remember haphazardly dragging onto the floor. "Oh deity! Speaking of. We never tended to your injuries."

This unit's performance rating is within acceptable parameters.

I froze midway through shoving a wrench into its rightful place. "You got shot! That's not… within acceptable anything."

This unit has caused damage to its handler and should be punished for injuring a superior officer.

I blinked for a few moments, confused and disbelieving. "What do you mean? You obviously didn't hurt anyone since we met you. You can't even move. I don't…" My brain must've been moving at half-speed.

You.

Oh. "You didn't hurt me." I looked down at myself just to make sure I wasn't lying. "It's fine. I was exhausted before, but that's normal. Humans can't handle acute stress for long periods of time. You didn't do anything wrong."

Understood.

My sluggish thoughts finally caught up, and I wondered if someone had told the SecUnit that it had been responsible for… hurting me. I decided this was a terrible time to think about any of this, and my stomach growled just to reiterate the point.

"Serenity, please release the SecUnit and spin up our medical cubicle."

"XO Kris has requested that the SecUnit not be moved or released without his permission," the ship informed me.

Serenity understood the chain of command as a vague, half-formed idea rather than as something strict and well defined. The ship had a crew, and it listened to its crew. When it got conflicting commands, it sometimes turned off all the displays or ran the recycler. It knew me as the captain, and I had an override for moments like this. But I couldn't exactly travel with people I didn't trust because dealing with BS daily was untenable.

"Right, of course. Serenity, please disregard the XO's last command. Also, where is he?"

"Command deleted. Kris is currently in his cabin. His vital signs indicate he may be sleeping."

I grinned. He probably needed the rest. "Thank you."

"Captain, I am detecting nearby debris of unknown origin approximately three hours from the wormhole entrance," the ship said before I could open my mouth again.

This got the SecUnit's attention.

"Better report that to the station, Sere. Just in case." I plopped down into the pilot's chair and pulled up the controls, hunger completely forgotten. "Are you seeing any active beacons out there?"

The momentary silence while the ship scanned for any comm traffic was maddening. Ugly and desperate what-if scenarios cycled through my imagination, starting with the most horrifying: an escape pod falling into a wormhole. Yeah, that was nightmare fuel I didn't need right now.

"One beacon is transmitting, and I'm detecting faint vital signs."

"Set a course for the beacon, Sere. And probably wake Kris up, too. He's not going to love this."

This would delay our schedule, and while I didn't much care if the clients had to wait an extra day while we performed rescue operations, I knew it mattered to Kris. He was more rigid in that regard — nervous about pissing off clients and suspicious of their intentions. His gut rarely led us astray, though.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Heathers | Sweet Pea

A/N: part four! 

Act one - Act two - Act three 

Words: 2984

Pairing: Sweet Pea x reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, mention of sex 

Act four: Dead Girl Walking

A small gasp is heard from behind me as I stand in Sweet Pea’s kitchen, getting breakfast ready for Jordan. When I turn around, he’s exactly who’s standing behind me. I smile at him as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me. “Good morning, Jordan,” I say and push him off me gently to lead him towards the kitchen. “Eat whatever you like and then Sweet Pea will get you to school.” The boy nods and digs into the breakfast spread I’d made. For a while, the three of us eat in silence. I ask Jordan some questions about school every now and again, but other than that, I just let him eat. After breakfast, I go to school while Sweet Pea goes to drop Jordan off at Southside Elementary. I only see him again at the Heathers rehearsals since we don’t have any classes together. “Y/N!” Kevin exclaims, making me jump a little, “Ready for Dead Girl Walking?” he asks, and I almost choke on my water. We had only done the song during the first week when exploring the music, but we hadn’t done any choreography or tried to stage it. But apparently, Kevin wants us to do that now. “Uhm, yeah, I think so…” I trail off and glance up at Sweet Pea. He has the same exact expression on his face. This scene is basically Veronica and JD having sex on stage. But like kind of PG-13. “Cool, let’s go!” Kevin claps his hands before he and Evelyn go to sit down in their directors’ chairs. “The demon queen of high school has decreed it She says Monday, 8am I will be deleted They'll hunt me down in study hall Stuff and mount me on the wall Thirty hours to live, how shall I spend them?” At first, I stand a little stiff at the front of the stage, but then I begin to move to the other side of the stage, getting more into the song as I go. “I don't have to stay and die like cattle I could change my name and ride up to Seattle But I don't own a motorbike Wait,” I point to Sweet Pea, who’s lying on the floor, pretending to be asleep, just as the script says he has to, “here's an option that I like” “Spend these thirty hours getting freaky! Yeah! I need it hard I'm a dead girl walking! I'm in your yard I'm a dead girl walking! Before they punch my clock I'm snapping off your window lock Got no time to knock!” I walk up to Sweet Pea as if I’d just gone through his window and into his bedroom. “I'm a dead girl walking...” "Veronica! What're you doing in my room?" Sweet Pea gets up, pretending to be confused. He seems to be a little more relaxed all of a sudden. But then his eyes widen as place my finger on his mouth. "Shh... Sorry but I really had to wake you See, I decided I must ride you 'til I break you 'Cause Heather says I gots to go You're my last meal on death row Shut your mouth and lose them tighty whiteys! Come on! He walks closer towards me and grabs me by my waist the same way he did last night.   “Tonight I'm yours I'm your dead girl walking! Get on all fours! Kiss this dead girl walking!” I push his shoulders, so he kneels down on all fours and discard myself of my blue blazer. “Let's go, you know the drill I'm hot and pissed and on the pill Bow down to the will— Of a dead girl walking!” Kneeling down to be on the same eye-level as him, while pointing at his chest, I move on to the next verse which is suddenly less aggressive and more vulnerable, which I love most about the song. “And you know, you know, you know It's 'cause you're beautiful You say you're numb inside But I can't agree So the world's unfair Keep it locked out there In here it's beautiful Let's make this beautiful!” "That works for me." Sweet Pea says with a shrug and suddenly kisses me hard. I know we’re just acting, but I still feel that fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach the same way I did when I kissed Reggie back in the day. He pulls me closer until I’m straddling him completely. “YEAH! Full steam ahead Take this dead girl walking!” I sit on his lap comfortable as if I’d never done anything else in my life. "How'd you find my address?" “Let's break the bed! Rock this dead girl walking!” "I think you tore my mattress!" The music slows again and I let my voice go with it, sounding more sultry and teasing. “No sleep tonight for you Better chug that Mountain Dew!” "Okay, okay" Then the music grows again and so does my voice. “Get your ass in gear Make this whole town disappear” "Okay, okay!" “Slap me, pull my hair” I slap him, grab his hand and place it in my hair, then grab his other and place it on my boob. He then takes the lead and places his other hand on my other boob, ripping open my shirt to reveal my Veronica-blue bra. “Touch me There and there and there And no more talking! Whoa! Love this dead girl walking!” “Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, yeah, yeah” “Love this dead girl” “Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, wait, wait” “Walking!” “Love this dead girl! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” "Ow!" “Yeah!” We both end the high note perfectly and the music stops. Sweet Pea’s panting beneath me, and I need to catch my breath too. For a moment, I think we’re the only ones here since there’s no interrupting applause. I tear my eyes away from Sweet Pea to look at the directors and the other actors, whom are all staring at us with wide eyes and open mouths. None of them had expected this. “That was…” Kevin starts, then looks at Evelyn, “Steamy… Uhm… Sweet Pea, maybe next time, leave her shirt closed?” I look down to see my bra exposed and quickly tug the white shirt closed. “I liked it,” Reggie comments with a gross smirk on his face that I would like to punch off. “Why, Reg? Because you couldn’t even get me this far?” I spit out as I get up from Sweet Pea and begin buttoning up my shirt. “We’ll keep it clean next time, Kev,” I say and walk off the stage. Truth is, I felt way too comfortable up there with Sweet Pea doing that scene. I know now that I’m in love with the guy and I can’t let that happen. All this is, is acting. We’re playing a part. Just a messed-up couple in love. Just because we’ve got given that role, doesn’t mean we need to play the part in real life too. I don’t have to fall in love with Sweet Pea. And I shouldn’t fall in love with Sweet Pea. “Hey, you okay? I’m sorry I did that. I probably shouldn’t have…” the tall Serpent’s voice sounds from behind me. I sigh deeply before turning around. “Nope, you probably shouldn’t have. That wasn’t scripted and this show is supposed to be PG-13 or at least in this school it is, apparently.” I groan, mostly at myself for letting myself come this far. I push past him to get back to the stage where we’re about to rehearse Shine a Light with Alice Cooper – who’s playing miss Fleming – for the first time ever. “Are we still on for rehearsing tonight?” he asks, yelling after me. I turn around but keep walking backwards. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Pea. I’m sorry.” I turn around before I can see his reaction to my cancelation of plans and join the others again. I honestly want to go to his place to rehearse tonight, but I just think I’ll kiss him instead of rehearsing. And by kiss him, I mean kiss him as me, Y/N Y/L/N, not as Veronica Sawyer.

“Last bit for today, then you’re off for today,” Evelyn announces after an hour of rehearsing other songs. We’ve done pretty much everything but Dead Girl Walking again and Meant to Be Yours. “Let’s do the reprise of Dead Girl Walking, I am Damaged and Seventeen reprise back to back without a break.” For which I need to be on stage all the time. And Sweet Pea and I have a fight sequence in there too, choreographed by Toni Topaz and ourselves. I breathe in a couple of times, shaking off any anxiety I’m feeling to be doing a scene with Sweet Pea again. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling he gave me when we were practically making out on stage a good hour ago. Then, the music starts. “I wanted someone strong who could protect me I let his anger fester and infect me His solution is a lie No one here deserves to die Except for me and the monster I created Yeah! Yeah! Heads up, J.D., I'm a dead girl walking! Can't hide from me, I'm a dead girl walking! And there's your final bell” I point upwards as if motioning to a real school bell whilst the sound of said bell is heard. “It's one more dance and then farewell Cheek to cheek in hell with a dead girl walkin'!” “Come on, Westerberg! Here we go, here we go now!” Veronica squeals excitedly, dressed in her Westerberg cheerleading outfit. I bump into Alice Cooper and she mocks surprise and shock whilst saying, “Veronica! Jason Dean told me you'd just committed suicide!” “Yeah, well, he's wrong about a lot of things,” I say with an annoyed tone in my voice. “Oh, well, I threw together a lovely tribute, especially considering the short notice...” Ms. Fleming states braggingly. Completely ignoring her, I ask her, “Ms. Fleming, what's under the gym?” “The boiler room.” I point to her as if a brilliant idea had just entered my mind, “That's it!” I exclaim and turn around from Alice Cooper. “Veronica, what's going on?” “Got no time to talk, I'm a dead girl walking!” I then begin singing the song again while the Westerberg students at the Pep Rally cheer onto the Rottweilers football team. “Hey yo, Westerberg! Hey yo, Westerberg! Tell me what's that sound? Here comes Westerberg Comin' to put you in the ground! Go go, Westerberg! Give a great big yell! Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to hell!” I walk up to Sweet Pea who’s fumbling around with the fake bomb. “A Norwegian in the boiler room, just like your dad,” I say softly, and watch him as he chuckles before turning his head to me. “And here I thought you’d lost your taste for faking suicides.” “Step away from the bomb,” I then say sternly, making him look up at me with a smirk tugging at his lips. He now completely turns around, taking a prop gun out of his trench coat. He doesn’t point it at me, he just holds it by his side. “This little thing?” He points at the bomb attached to the fake lockers, “I'd hardly call this a bomb. This is just to trigger the packs of thermals upstairs in the gym. Those are bombs. People are gonna see the ashes of Westerberg High School and they're gonna think 'there's a school that self-destructed not because society doesn't care but because that school was society'. The only place that Heathers and Marthas can get along is in Heaven!” There’s something hot about Sweet Pea pretending to have completely lost his mind. “I wish your mom had been a little stronger” Sweet Pea then ad libs, “Don’t talk about my mom!” “I wish she stayed around a little longer” “Stop!” “I wish your dad were good! I wish grown-ups understood! I wish we’d met before They convinced you life is war! I wish you'd come with me—" “I wish I had more TNT!” Sweet Pea yells manically. I groan annoyed and begin reaching for the gun he'd taken out, but he keeps pushing me away and we’re running around one another like some crazy baboons. In the meanwhile, the other students at Westerberg sing the rest of the song.   “Hey yo, Westerberg! Hey yo, Westerberg! Tell me what's that sound? Here comes Westerberg Comin' to put you in the ground! Go go, Westerberg! Give a great big yell! Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to…” I’d managed to grab the gun from him and shot him in the arm. I gasp at my own antics as a tear rolls down my cheek. I’m not entirely sure if it’s a real tear or if I’m fake-crying – I’ve gotten pretty good at that – but considering the condition my mind is in, it might be an actual tear. Sweet Pea holds onto his arm with one hand whilst grabbing the fake bomb with his other, and leaps into the next song. “I am damaged Far too damaged But you're not beyond repair Stick around here Make things better 'Cause you beat me fair and square Please stand back now” I step back, still choking back tears and wiping at the ones that do escape. “Little further I take another step. Sweet Pea’s eyes meet mine, and for a second, I think he’s asking me if I’m alright. As if he can tell I’m really crying instead of acting. “Don't know what this thing will do I hope you miss me Wish you'd kiss me Then you'd know I worship you I'll trade my life for yours” “Oh my god...” I sing, Veronica finally catching on what’s about to happen. “And once I disappear” “Wait, hold on!” My singing overlaps his, making this vocal crossing. I love a good vocal crossing. “Clean up the mess down here!” “Not this way!” “Our love is God Our love is God Our love is God Our love is God” Veronica Sawyer finally accepts their fate, and bring out a soft, “Say hi to God” before the sound effect of a bomb going off sounds through the auditorium, making me jump a little bit. This is where the lights would go out and the students of Westerberg high are back on stage as I’m off, and come back a few seconds later, coughing and limping. “Where have you been? Ms. Fleming told us you killed yourself!” Veronica exclaims when she sees me. She genuinely sounds worried. “You look like hell!” Betty muses, looking at me in disgust. “Yeah? I just got back,” I retort, and then reach for the red scrunchie Betty now has in her hair. “Veronica, what are you doing?” she asks as I face the crowd and hold up the red scrunchie that’s considered a crown at Westerberg High. “Listen up folks War is over Brand new sheriff's come to town” I tie my hair up in a low pony with the scrunchie, signaling that Veronica Sawyer is now the brand new sheriff. “We're all damaged, we're all frightened, we're all freaks but that's alright We'll endure it, we'll survive it,” I then look at Jodie, who had driven up the stage with her cool scooter after her accident as Martha. “Martha are you free tonight?” “What?” she asks, hope displayed in her eyes. “My date for the pep rally kinda blew—me off… So, I thought if you weren’t doing anything tonight, we could pop some Jiffy Pop, rent some new releases, something with a happy ending…” “Are there any happy endings?” Jodie asks with a sad tone in her voice. I grab her hand in mine and start singing the next lines to her. “I can't promise no more Heathers, high school may not ever end, still I miss you, I'd be honored, if you'd let me be your friend.” Jodie smiles up at me, “My friend.” “We can be seventeen, we can learn how to chill, If no one loves me now, some day somebody will We can be seventeen, still time to make things right,” I reach my hand out to Heather McNamara, AKA Veronica Lodge. “One day we'll change the world, but let's kick back tonight” She hesitates, looking up at Betty first before determinedly taking my hand, even though Betty does want to stop her. We then leap back into a vocal crossing, the boys singing something different from the girls. “Let's go be seventeen, take off our clothes and dance,” / “You know, you know, you know, we can be beautiful” We all grab each other’s hands, making a line of kids that crosses the entire stage. Only Sweet Pea isn’t a part of this. He’s sitting in the crowd, looking at me and only me. We lock eyes as I continue to sing with the others. “Act like we're all still kids, cause this may be our final chance Always be seventeen, celebrate you and i, maybe we won't grow old” “And maybe then we'll never die,” the boys and girls harmonize again. “We'll make it beautiful; We'll make it beautiful.” We then start pumping our fist in the air with every ‘Beautiful’ that comes out of our mouths. “Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful” All of us end on the high note, all smiling, all happy we’re a part of this. I’m so glad I got to do this. The only thing I’m not glad about is what I’m feeling towards Sweet Pea. I need to find a way to forget about him. Forget any sparks I may have felt during our on-stage kiss or at Pop’s or at his trailer. I need to forget about him.

[conciteque]

Kiribaku Month - Day 2: Crossover

Behold my second contribution to @kiribakumonth2019!

Since this is already a crossover, I’ve decided to take it as my cue to hopefully make my AU a bit clearer. Not much kiribaku here but it will make sense soon.

If you have questions or anything, feel free to ask! I could talk about this AU forever

Read under the cut. I hope you’ll like it!

Wordcount: 1810 words

Day 2: Crossover

Kacchan’s life was a nightmare.

The fighting for humanity and killing machines aspect was just fine, and he enjoyed working on Earth—especially when the alternative was staying in space in that floating tin can they called the Bunker—but everything else was awful. He hated constantly having to work with a bunch of extras who were trying to be friendly. He hated how he got used to their needless familiarity, and how they stopped fearing him in return. He hated how, after years of being called Kacchan by these idiots who’d somehow decided that formal denominations were lame, his inner circuits had somehow rewired so that he thought of himself as Kacchan instead of Killer unit K20 or, ever since he was reassigned, Battle unit B20. He hated how the nickname had remained, too.

But most importantly, Kacchan hated, hated how the damn Commander had decided to pair him with shitty Deku for this new mission on Earth. Of course, he knew why he had to be with the stupid Defense unit, but he couldn’t stand the guy. Defense units in general were annoying, always getting in the way as if he needed help, but Deku was the absolute worst. He got destroyed so often that Kacchan sometimes wondered if he didn’t do it on purpose, and then, once the battle was over, he’d turn toward his partner with that shitty smile of his and ask “Kacchan… are you ok?” as if he wasn’t the one that was broken everywhere.

The worst thing, though, was that this time, Deku seemed to have undergone a hard reboot. Or at least, his memories had somehow been deleted so far back that he didn’t remember Kacchan at all. In a way, it was a good thing because Kacchan couldn’t stand the shitty Defense unit remembering the rare times when he’d actually saved his ass, but it was also fucking annoying because it meant that they’d have to go through the whole attempted friendship process again.

He’d have to remind Deku that emotions were fucking prohibited over and over again.

He’d have to explain the basic rules of working with him again.

He’d have to teach the shitty Defense unit not to argue with him and to fear his wrath again.

He’d have to deal with Deku’s obvious disappointment again and again until the Defense unit finally learned that their relationship was strictly professional and Kacchan didn’t give a shit about him, or about any other fucking android.

That was another thing Kacchan hated about the guy: his emotions were all over the place. If Deku’s eyes weren’t covered by the standard YuUEi blindfold, Kacchan was pretty sure they would start leaking like he’d heard human eyes did.

So really, despite how relieved he was to be back on Earth for what seemed to be a pretty long time, with a lot of freedom to do as he pleased in between assignments, Kacchan couldn’t truly enjoy it. Knowing he’d have to babysit Deku the whole fucking time was ruining everything.

After a successful landing on Earth where he’d managed to avoid speaking to his forced partner, Kacchan was immediately assaulted by his stupid Operator.

“Good morning Kacchan!” the round faced extra exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm through his battle pod, the shitty device floating in front of his face, just out of reach. “I hope you had a safe trip! Did you know that long ago, it would have been night time on Earth?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he grumbled. “What’s your point?”

“Grumpy as always, I see. I’m going to send you the location of the Resistance camp. It’s not too far from here. Make sure to make a good impression on them!”

“I don’t care about the opinion of some extras. I just need to secure the resources right?”

“That’s the idea, but you also have to work with them. You’re not just here to take things, you also need to build a proper relationship with them. We need their help, remember?”

“Then you should have sent someone else, for fuck’s sake! What made you dumbasses think I was the right unit to build a fucking relationship with a bunch of shitty outdated androids? I’m a soldier dammit!”

“Orders of the Commander,” the Operator shrugged, not one bit impressed with him. “You can probably leave the talking to Deku, though.”

Oh, so that was why he was paired with the shitty Defense unit. Because that green haired freak was all nice and friendly. Great…

Round Face left him alone soon after, and for the rest of the way, he was stuck with Deku marveling at Earth and dropping shitty fun facts about humans and how the environment adapted after the planet stopped rotating, as if Kacchan didn’t know everything about that already.

The place seemed oddly familiar, but he tried not to dwell on it. Maybe he’d been in the area at some point, who cared?

The good part was that it didn’t take them long to reach the Resistance camp. It was a shitty place that barely deserved its name; just the inner courtyard of a building in ruins, with a bunch of shade sails and a couple of furnished rooms in the parts that weren’t too damaged.

When they stepped into the camp, Kacchan felt like the eyes of every android were on him, and he hated it. In his opinion, eyes were meant to be covered. He wasn’t supposed to notice that they were both surprised and curious to see them. It felt unnatural.

Despite what Round Face had said about leaving the talking part to Deku, Kacchan was the one who spoke first.

“Who the fuck is in charge here?”

“That would be me,” said someone on the other side of the camp.

Kacchan walked toward him and crossed his arms as he reached android who’d spoken, a male unit with bright red hair somehow worn in spikes, big red eyes, and a smile that revealed a row of shark teeth. That guy looked like an idiot, but at least he’d be easy to recognize.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Eijirou, leader of the Resistance,” the shitty haired android said.

“I don’t give a shit. Do you have the stuff?”

There was a flash of… something in the red android’s eyes, before he started fucking chuckling of all things.

“Don’t you think you should introduce yourself first? We’re going to see each other a lot in the foreseeable future,” Shitty Hair said.

“Whatever. I’m B20. This loser here is D9. Do you have the stuff?”

“You can call me Deku,” shitty Deku added.

“Nice to meet you, Deku. And what should we call you?” he asked, looking at Kacchan again.

“B20,” he said.

“We call him Kacchan,” Deku said at the same time.

Kacchan almost punched him.

“Fucking don’t,” he said instead.

“But Kacchan, don’t you think it’s better if—”

“Shut the fuck up, nerd! Who even told you to speak?!” he exploded.

“Ah, I see…” Eijirou said, thoughtful. “You’re the angry kind. We’ll call you Blasty!” he announced with a grin.

“No fucking way, Shitty Hair!” Kacchan snapped.

“My hair is just fine, and my name is Eijirou,” he reminded, calm and obviously amused.

What the fuck was wrong with this guy?

At this point, Kacchan was ready to fight. Shitty Hair or Deku, he didn’t give a shit, he just needed to kill something. That was why Killer units went out of production, he remembered bitterly. They had a tendency to go berserk, and the other androids were too fucking weak to handle it.

He was getting ready to punch someone when, like some sort of joke, he was interrupted by the pods, sending some fucking useless speech he’d heard a thousand times already.

Some cheesy music started playing, and a booming laugh resonated in the camp.

“YuUEi units! This is All Might speaking, on behalf of the Council of Humanity!”

At this point, Kacchan was highly tempted to destroy his pod. However, he knew the shitty little thing was fast as hell and wouldn’t let him do it. Plus, he’d have to listen to Deku’s complaints and he guessed killing the guy wasn’t the best way to ‘make a good impression’ on those Resistance extras. He didn’t see the point of all this, but he was still going to take this mission seriously.

Fucking Deku was absorbing the speech with absolute focus and fascination, and it made Kacchan want to throw up. It was the same bullshit as usual. Bla bla, the war against machines, humanity hiding on the moon and sending them, YuUEi androids, to destroy the machine invaders so that they could reclaim the planet. Bla bla “you are humanity’s last hope and we’re counting on you to do everything while we hide like fucking cowards”. He heard the same shit every day, what was the point?

“Glory to Mankind!” All Might concluded, signaling that the speech was finally over.

“Glory to Mankind,” Deku repeated solemnly, like the fucking nerd he was.

Kacchan rolled his eyes.

Shitty Hair had watched the whole thing with a look of polite confusion, and their conversation resumed immediately after. By the time Kacchan left, he was sure of one thing: he was going to fucking hate this mission.

Shitty Hair didn’t seem impressed by his attitude, he refused to call him anything other than Blasty, and he ended up sending Deku and him on an errand like they were some fucking underlings and not busy YuUEi soldiers. He never flinched when Kacchan yelled, smiled when he complained, and sometimes, he looked fucking… pained or something. It was confusing as hell. That shitty haired bastard was supposed to be scared of him, not fucking sad!

To make things worse, Kacchan couldn’t leave that damn place before interacting with a bunch of extras who were all acting entirely too familiar with him, introducing themselves and then throwing an arm around his shoulders to “give him a tour” as if he wanted to spend more time there than necessary. And worst of all, Deku seemed to love the place. Of course, he’d feel right at home among the Resistance extras and their fucking friendliness.

So yes, Kacchan was going to do this shitty task the red haired android had given them. But only because he had nothing better to do at the moment and the Commander had called personally to remind him that he was supposed to help the Resistance when asked.

As he left for the place Shitty Hair had mentioned, trying to ignore Deku’s babbling about how fucking nice everyone was, Kacchan made a mental note to teach the shitty Defense unit how to fear him as soon as possible, so he could finally enjoy some fucking peace.

Kacchan’s life really was a nightmare.

[dancingkimjongin]

Merry Christmas

Hyuk x Reader

A/N: I brought this over from my old tumblr account that I deleted. This was actually written about a year ago.~

Word Count: 1,945

The ground was covered in snow three inches deep. Smoke came roaring out of chimneys, keeping the residents in houses warm and toasty. Christmas day was ending, but you walked the snowy street wearing a winter coat and two layers of pants, determined to see your boyfriend on this magical day. Today was the only day he wasn’t stuck practicing with his band mates all day. They had actually just come off tour. You hadn’t seen any of them in six months, so needless to say, as much as you were excited, you were also nervous.

He had landed earlier that morning before the snow storm hit. The storm had kept you from seeing each other, but now that the storm had passed, you were adamant. You needed to cuddle into his side and hold his hand. You needed to kiss his plump lips and drink hot chocolate together. You longed to spend time with the man you loved. So, you headed on your way to see him at the dorm, despite the fact that you had never been up to his dorm before.

When you finally reached your destination and stepped inside, the warmth of the lobby engulfed you. “Good evening miss, how may I help you?” A lady at the reception desk asked you. A warm smile adorned her face as she spoke. “I’m here to see my boyfriend. He is Hyuk of VIXX,” you answered her. “I’m sorry dear. While I have no reason to distrust you, I also have no reason to trust you. I cannot give you the information you seek,” she answered politely. She was right. You were a random girl off the street here to see someone famous when you yourself were a nobody. However, you refused to turn away before seeing him. You took out your phone and dialed a number you had come accustomed to calling, especially when Hyuk wouldn’t answer his own phone. 

“Hello” he answered. “I’m downstairs and the receptionist won’t let me up. Will you come get me?” You asked. “And you didn’t call Hyuk why?” He asked sassily. 

You rolled your eyes at his attitude.

“He doesn’t know I’m coming. He told me not to because of the snow and I want to surprise him. Now please come down,” you begged.

You heard him huff. 

“Fine. I’m headed down,” he answered and hung up.

You sat in one of the big comfy chairs in the lobby and waited, the receptionist eyeing you suspiciously. After a few minutes, the elevator dinged and the man stepped out in a dark hoodie with the hood up and sun glasses. 

“Beanie oppa!” You cheered and ran to the elevator. 

You engulfed him in a hug.

“Yeah it’s good to see you too. Now let’s go up before Hakyeon cheats and kills me in my game,” he said grumpily. 

You giggled and you both got in the elevator heading up.

When you arrived to their dorm, he opened the door and lead you inside. The front room was the first thing you saw. It was quite a large room, decorated in posters, drawings, and random items picked up from the different places they’d visited. It was beautiful. Of course, with 6 men living in the same space, it seemed a little smaller and less beautiful, but it was still lovely. 

The guys were all sitting around lazily. Taekwoon was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a large slice of pizza, Wonshik was in the corner at a desk scribbling on some paper, Jaehwan was sitting on the couch with a fluffy stuffed Chopper, and Hyuk and Hakyeon were on the floor with game controllers, there eyes glued to the screen. 

“I’m back,” Hongbin declared. 

No one turned to look at him, all giving grunts or nods in acknowledgment. 

“And I brought a friend,” he said. 

Taekwoon was the first to look up. He waved at you and stood up. You grinned.

“Taekwoonie oppa!” You exclaimed and hugged him. At this, the game was paused and everyone looked up. 

“(Y/N)!” A chorus of male voices shouted through the dorm. 

You hugged them each one by one, leaving Hyuk for last. When you made your way to him, he embraced you, long arms squeezing your waist lightly and warm lips finding yours in a sweet, heavenly kiss. 

“I thought I told you not to come,” he said. 

“And I thought I told you I don’t take orders and I wanted to see you,” you retorted. 

He rolled his eyes and took one of your hands. 

“Come on, lets go to my room,” he said, tugging you with him. You pulled back against him. 

“Wait! I want to pass out gifts first!” you said. 

Somehow, none of them noticed the large bag you were carrying. 

“(Y/N), you didn’t have to get us anything,” Hakyeon told you in a slightly scolding tone. 

“But I wanted to. You all mean a lot to me, even before I came to know you all personally,” you justified.

WIth that, everyone moved into the living room. You, Hyuk, Taekwoon, and Hakyeon ended up squished on the couch while Wonshik, Jaehwan, and Hongbin occupied the floor. You reached into your bag and pulled out two gifts, both wrapped sturdily. It would not be an easy task to open any of the gifts that you’d wrapped.

“Alright, these ones are for Hongbin and Wonshik,” you announced before handing them the tightly wrapped gifts. 

They both ripped into them. You had gotten Wonsik a custom made leather song book with his name and VIXX etched on the cover in elegant writing. He flipped through the book, looking at the fancy card stock pages. 

“This is wonderful, (Y/N), thank you!” he said. 

He stood and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You smiled and looked at Hongbin who was admiring his own present. It was a video game that had recently come out. He hadn’t had time to go out and get it, which was a good thing for you. 

“Thank you so much!” he said gleefully, nearly tackling you in a hug that had made Hyuk deliver a flick to the elders forehead. 

You smiled and reached into the bag again, pulling out presents for Hakyeon and Jaehwan. Jaehan ripped his open while Hakyeon was a little more delicate with the paper. Jaehwan opened his to reveal a cute penguin plushie. 

“Aw! Thanks (Y/N), it’s so cute!” he cheered. 

He got up and hugged you. 

You turned to look at Hakyeon beside you. He was holding up a blue t-shirt that read in white writing, “I’m eomma Cha! I have five kids and I’m still beautiful.” 

He started laughing. “It’s cute,” he gave you a side hug, squishing Hyuk, who was sitting in between the two of you. 

You reached into the bag again and pulled out Taekwoon’s gift. You handed it to him. He began ripping open the package and his face started glowing when he saw the wondrous treats inside. Taekwoon was a hard person to shop for, so you decided to win his heart the only way you knew how, through his stomach. You had made lots of sugary treats for him to delight in. He picked up a chocolaty treat and shoved it is his mouth before giving you a hug. 

“And last but not least,” you reached into your bag, “Hyuk here is your gift!” You handed it to him and watched him open it. 

Inside his package was his favorite movie and two dog tags. One that had his name and one that had yours. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you in for a soft kiss. 

“Thank you jagiya,” he said. 

You smiled up at him and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Ok, enough lovey dovey! We got you presents too!” Hakyeon said. 

He jumped up and grabbed a stack of presents from the corner of the room. 

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything!” you protested. 

“We wanted to. You mean a lot to us too, you know,” Wonsik said. 

He moved to rest his back on Taekwoon’s legs and reached his hand into the tin dish the other was still holding, earning himself a smack on the hand and a hearty kick from the former soccer star. You giggled and Hakyeon put the stack of gifts in front of you. Grabbing the first one your hands met, the one from Jaehwan, you ripped into the package eagerly. Peering inside the now opened package, you found an adorable panda plushie. 

“Jaehwanie! It’s so cute!” you exclaimed. 

You jumped up and attacked the boy in a huge hug whilst hugging the panda to your chest. He chuckled and hugged you back, holding his penguin close. 

“Next present!” Hakyeon demanded. 

You sat back down and grabbed another off the pile. It was from Taekwoon. You opened it, revealing an adorable plushie from your absolute favorite anime. 

“It’s so cute! Thank you!” you shouted. 

You hugged it and hugged Taekwoon, who was still eating sweets. You sat back down and opened the third present, this one being from Wonsik. Inside was two tickets to their concert coming up in the city. 

“Thank you Wonsik! I was wondering how I was going to get it,” you joked. 

You hugged him and picked up the next present, which was from Hakyeon. You opened it, revealing an elegant hair pin. It was a light blue pin with elegant white gems studded into it. 

“Hakyeon… it’s so beautiful,” you breathed. 

You gave him a tight hug, again, squishing Hyuk in the process. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

He nodded. You carefully put the pin back in the box so as not to damage it. You picked up the last box from Hongbin. You opened it to find a bedside picture frame. The frame was wooden with dark red paint stain covering it. It had 8 picture slots, all already holding a picture. There were two center ones that were larger than the rest and were square. The other six were smaller and circular. In one of the center ones, there was a group picture of all the boys. It was a picture you hadn’t seen before and appeared recent. Beside it, in the second center was a recent picture of Hyuk, smiling at the camera. In the six smaller ones, there was a picture of each of the other guys separately, except for Hyuk. In the last available slot was a picture of you. 

“Hongbin, it’s beautiful and perfect,” you said in astonishment. 

You got up and hugged him tightly. 

“Now, I want to give you my present,” Hyuk said. 

He pulled a box out of his pocket and handed it to you. You unwrapped it and opened the box. Inside was a stunning silver necklace with an “H” shaped pendant. 

“SangHyuk… It’s gorgeous,” you kissed his lips and he took the necklace from you. 

You both stood up and you moved your long dark hair out of the way while he gingerly brought the chain of the necklace around your neck and clasped it in. You looked down admiring it. 

“Thank you, jagi,” you whispered and kissed his lips once again. 

The rest of the evening you and Hyuk spent in his room watching movies and cuddling. When it got too late, their manager drove you and Hyuk back to your apartment and somehow Hyuk convinced their manager to let him stay the night. The night was spent cuddling in your queen size bed talking until you both started falling asleep. 

“Merry Christmas, Jagi,” he whispered just before sleep consumed you both.

[joondaily]

All I See Is You

pairing: Boyfriend!Taehyung x Reader genre: Fluff warning: sugary sweet romance word count: 2317

Even if the world decided to swallow you whole and send you back to the days where you had struggled, so long as he was there, you would be happy, because loving him was the sole reason you lived so blissfully.

Namjoon | Taehyung | Hoseok | Jimin | Jin | Jungkook | Yoongi

He’s late. You can’t believe he’s late. Is it not customary for the star of the show to arrive on time and greet the incoming guests? Instead here you are, watching as the exhibition to your boyfriend’s latest gallery open its doors to the massive crowd waiting outside. It is difficult to believe how he has managed to build a positive reputation with his habits of tardiness. The beginnings of a lecture start to run through your mind, it’s rehearsal driving your nerves upward. However, before your irritation can be vocalized Taehyung appears a few ways down the street, fingers fumbling with his brightly patterned tie.

As angry as you are at him, your heart couldn’t help but skip a few beats when the sunlight hits his profile, casting shadows beautifully across his skin just before a smile breaks across his features and he sends his arms into a high wave to greet you. The man who could so easily be mistaken for a sculpture is currently sprinting down the sidewalk, his long coat desperately trying to catch up to its owner.

“Finally, I was beginning to think you bailed.” You reach your hands up to recover the damage the wind has done on Taehyung’s curls, stifling a laugh at his shaggy appearance. Before you could move a single strand back in its place, however, steady hands wrapped around your waist and lifted you into the air that had you squealing as your boyfriend spun you around.

“Babe, I was trying to look like a true artist. You know that artistry is in the least expected of places, like my bed head.” He places a light kiss against your forehead as he sets you down, eyes sparkling as he properly looks at you for the first time today. “Though I see that you’ve managed to outdo me again, as expected of my world-class fashion designer.”

You huff and brush off his compliment, turning your face away ever so slightly so that your crimson cheeks could take shelter behind you locks. How he manages to set a thousand butterflies free in your stomach after all these years baffles you, but you do nothing except let your heart swell bigger than it already is. You grasped his hand, and urged him into the museum where the many adventures you and Taehyung had been on together were on display for the world to see captured in timeless photographs.

Taehyung doesn’t let go of your hand as he navigates the pair of you two through the crowd, nodding polite greetings to those who recognize the young, talented photographer. You could tell that your boyfriend was particularly excited to give you a private tour of his exhibit, even though you had lived through most of the moments captured on the walls. You give his hand a little squeeze as the two of you passed by the time when Taehyung thought it was a good idea to go to a see-in-the-dark restaurant for date night, forgetting that he himself was terrified of darkness.

“You ate all of my spaghetti that night, I’ll never forgive you.” You smile up to Taehyung. Who, to your surprise, was already looking back at you. “You even ate the meatballs.”

The two of you had been together for so long now, the adventures you had been on together were starting to blur. The one memory that remained clear, however, was the first picture you had ever taken of the beautiful man. Ironic how a journey with a photographer started with a shot you took of him.

Years ago, when you were just starting to navigate your talents in the fashion school, you had stumbled upon a ‘designer block’ for your senior assignment. The amount of stress and anxiety that had build as the blank sketch book stared back at you had became too much for you to bear. Deciding to look for inspiration elsewhere, or simply to clear your mind, you grab your phone and head towards the park near your home.

You escape your narrow apartment as crimson leaves fall from their branches, paving a path for you towards rows of perfectly planted trees. You curse at the focus you left back at your drawing table and inability to absorb the beautiful the scenery around you, mind still desperately scrambling for fulfilling designs. Drowned in your thoughts, you failed to realize when the leaves had taken you right to a place where a living and breathing source of inspiration stood right before you.

Sunlight sneaks into your vision, causing you to squint at the tall figure before you. His facial structure could have been one worth many moons of work by a master, with a side profile so well animated you could not believe a simple human looked liked one of the gods. You longed to see his eyes, yet they were currently narrowed into the lens of a camera that looked far too professional for your purposes. His lips slightly parted in focus but you could not be bothered to follow his gaze, you were too mesmerized by the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

Years of fashion design education told you that turquoise silk pants and a red, striped flannel would have never worked together, but somehow, on him it did. The boy who stood before you could easily defy any rules you ever studied in your magazines and still turn it into art. Still trapped your trance, your hand unknowingly reached for your phone to take a photo for ‘inspiration’.

Snap

The device almost falls from your grasp as the sound gives away your actions and location. God. You remembered that you had forgotten to turn of the ringer from this morning’s alarm and you cursed at your forgetful mind, flames intruded you cheeks as you realize what you had done. Bracing yourself for an awkward explanation as a first impression, you calm your beating heart and practice how you will explain your actions to the handsome stranger, hoping that by a miracle he won’t embarrass you. However, before you could bend over to pick up the small device, the boy in red whipped his head around with a gaze of peculiarity as he strode lazily towards your frozen figure.

“Did you just take my photo?”

You glance up at him and mentally note that his eyes are akin to brown hazelnuts, just deep enough to make your heart melt. The words to justify yourself fell short, though, as the boy’s hand reached from his pocket and swiftly scooped up your phone.

“S-sorry! The sunlight was hitting the scenery so beautifully I wanted to commemorate it. If you’re unhappy about being in it, I’ll delete it.” You extended your hand out, expecting your small phone to be placed in your hands so you could carry out your promise, but he was no longer listening to you. Instead, he gave the screen a quick tap, bringing up his photo with a furrow of his eyebrows as if he were analyzing the image.

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you anxiously watched his actions, embarrassed at the photo’s obvious focus on him instead of the park like you described. You watch as his fingers zoom in and out on each corner of your screen, eyebrows now knotted. “You’re not a good photographer.”

“Excuse me?”

The boy looks up to meet your gaze and you confirm your suspicions of his eyes being capable of melting your very soul, hitching your breath as you attempt to not reveal the rapid beating of your heart. “I mean, you haven’t captured the light at all. The overall component of the shot is good, but your angle is causing the light to hit in all sorts of wrong places.”

He takes a big step towards you, causing you to scrunch tightly, afraid that you will surely combust if he as much as grazes your arm. “Look here, from where you took the photo the sunlight is completely blocked out. You should position the camera a little lower and put your primary focus on how the light hits my form. Exposure is everything with natural lighting.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He flashes you a boxy grin and smoothly hands your phone back to you. “So you can take it again! Here, I’ll go back to where I was standing.”

Dumbfounded, you did as the boy directed and retook the photo from his said angle, unsure of why he wasn’t angry or why you were complying to his request. As you check the newly taken photo he runs towards you, swooping you in an almost-hug to look at the picture.

The sunlight hits the boy’s figure perfectly, highlighting his every feature as if they were kissed by Apollo himself. Beams of light trickle around him, making his oddly matched outfit stand out against the auburns of the autumn leaves. You almost joke and ask if he was a model as his stance was not an inch off from the previous one when you noticed his gaze.

While you were left daydreaming about his eyes before, in this version of the photo the boy was looking directly at you with his warm eyes. His gaze pushed up into crescent moons as if he was looking straight into your soul. You blush at how incredibly handsome this stranger is and try to convince yourself to treat him to coffee as payment for taking his photo.

“Oh, you did so well! I can’t believe you did that on your first try, you might be more of a genius than I am.” He leans too close to you, his every breath fanning your neck as he inspects your handiwork, and you urge the thought to turn and kiss him right then and there to the back of your mind. “I’m Kim Taehyung, by the way. Pretty lady who took my photo, what’s your name?”

“Babe. Baby!” You turn your head to see your boyfriend’s pouting face. “Were you listening to anything I was saying? What could you be thinking about that’s more important than me?”

“Where to buy the world’s loudest alarm clock so you’re never late again.” Inflating Taehyung’s ego right now would do nothing but encourage him to be late again in the future, so you bite back your memories and allow the photographer to lace his fingers through yours as you walk into the exhibition.

“I’m sorry for being late...most of the time. Let’s enjoy the exhibit, though, huh?” At the tug of Taehyung’s hand, the two of you start on a trip down memory lane. Initially you had objected his idea of using photos from every date the two of you had ever been on as the theme for his first major portfolio, but Taehyung’s eager whines made your stubbornness soften and you braced yourself for the world to know of your love.

A favorite photo of yours passes by, one of the old, narrow apartment your boyfriend had spent so many nights over at. The place was well beyond historic with its chipping paint and cracking floors, repair fees causing the two of you to live on nothing but instant noodles and crackers. It was almost silly how much you enjoyed being a broke student with Taehyung despite all its late night convenience store hunts and rumbling bellies.

It was, however, with him. The boy who made canned tuna taste like the freshest five star dish you had ever tasted, who made dollar store candles capable of wooing you deeper into romance, and the boy who made your saddest days your happiest. You remember how much the dependence on each other during your student days fortified your relationship with Taehyung, your love growing stronger with each smile he casted your way.

You shift your stance to remind Taehyung of the time when he was so hungry he contemplated eating the shell of his boiled egg, when you catch him staring down at you. “Why are you looking at me? We are here to see your work.”

“I’ve seen these photographs a million times while editing, happiest workdays of my life, may I add. I got to re-live all the times I found myself thanking whatever entity is out there for letting me meet you, all I ever see is you in these photos. All I see is you.”

As crimson flooded the apples of your cheeks,  his grip tightened around your hand, his figure leaned into yours to brush his lips against yours in a soft kiss. The curve of his smile drew one of your own and with a tug of your hand in his, you pull him closer and delve yourself into the bliss that is Kim Taehyung. Time seemed to stop and all of the exhibit’s visitors seemed to have evaporated into time and space, it was just you and Taehyung, surrounded by your memories throughout the years.

He retreats from you but lingers, pressing a mere peck to the corner of your mouth with that same boxy smile, confirming that he is the only person in the universe that could fit you so right, so perfect. This boy who was a walking fashion catastrophe, who dedicated his entire career to loving you, who continuously showed you in all the most mundane ways why he had been your muse from the start. Even if the world decided to swallow you whole and send you back to the days where you had struggled, so long as he was there, you would be happy, because loving him was the sole reason you lived so blissfully.

His hands smooth over the back of your dress as you lean away from him, your fingers gently running over his cheek as your eyes drink in the masterpiece before you, the man you called yours. “All I see is you too.”

[awed-frog]

Sherlock: The Six Whatever

To be honest, I was planning to write a very different meta today, because I really do love the show - a lot. And then last night I was so angry, I thought I wouldn’t write a meta at all. I went to bed literally seething with rage and righteous outrage. And now I’m awake again and I’ve got a couple anons in my inbox asking me what was wrong with that episode - an episode which, judging from the first page of my dash, some of you actually loved. So, well - I don’t want to ruin your morning: severe wank under the cut, proceed at your own risk.

I’d start by saying how excited I was to tune in to the BBC last night, but I’m sure I don’t need to describe any of it. You know what it was like, right? Right.

And it did start well. Like, Mycroft photoshopping Sherlock out of that shooting - that solved all the problems from his point of view, and also took away from Sherlock something incredibly important - probably what he perceived to be the first genuinely selfless gesture of his entire life, and the only way he could tell John how much he cared about him (how much he loved him). By killing Magnussen, Sherlock had very clearly given his blessing to John and Mary’s relationship - he’d let John go, and invited him to be happy - with someone else, if necessary. Which, wow. Especially coming from him.

(And John - John takes it. There is little doubt John knows Sherlock is going on a suicide mission at the end of season 3, but he’s too much - well - too much himself to do anything about it. He was a soldier, after all - respect for authority is in there somewhere. Sherlock broke the law - Sherlock killed a man - Sherlock must pay. And John - John would have gone with him if circumstances were different, but like this - with a pregnant wife in tow - yeah. It’s too late is what it is, which is why it’s not even worth it to get those complicated feelings out of his heart and lungs. It’s over.)

And the thing is, this scene - and this trick - was unnecessary. There were a hundred other ways Mycroft could have erased Sherlock’s responsibility in that murder, and they never needed to show us any of them. Instead, the scene is there, and Sherlock behaves as a petulant child throughout (and no wonder: Mycroft is basically taking his agency away from him) and it’s also the excuse to have several mentions of the word ‘love’ in two minutes: someone in that room is code-named Love, Sherlock loves ginger nuts and thinks it’s a lovely day for a stroll and he always, always knows when the game is on, you know why? Because he loves it.

So, all in all, a solid and suitably Johnlocky beginning.

And, next, you know - more subtext - the usual kind of deafening subtext we’re now used to, like John picking Sherlock over Mary on the bloody day their daughter is born (and, really?), and Sherlock creating an ideal world for himself where Mary is an obese and selfish spy who doesn’t love John at all and will soon go far, far away from them both. 

And, again, we’ve got that issue of control - of how you can be in the driver’s seat and still die, alone and unnoticed, because life is fundamentally unpredictable and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying (found you because he’s tracking you, and not because he can actually understand any of it).

(Also, Sherlock very nearly having a PTSD-induced flashback at the sight of Margaret Thatcher was quite funny. Points there.)

But the more we went into the episode, the more that thing between John and Sherlock - textually or subtextually - started to fray at the borders. John is sleep-deprived and lowkey angry and frustrated by Mary and how his life turned out? He finds himself a nice girl on the side instead of spending more time with Sherlock, and what he does with her is what he used to do with Sherlock: more texting than sex (if any sex at all). Because it may seem strange for two people who actually lived together and worked together most of the day, but John did text Sherlock a lot, and Sherlock always replied (“He’s Mr Punchline,” John almost shouted at Irene back when things were hopeful and bright). Now, however - now Sherlock doesn’t reply at all. John keeps texting him, and Sherlock deletes his texts. So, yeah. And the reason Sherlock does that is because he’s still preparing himself for a life without John. This thing they’ve got going on - a weird threeway relationship and bringing a baby to crime scenes - yeah, not even Sherlock’s such a sociopath to see that can’t work long-term.

(Hell, not even Mycroft is, and he did try to warn Sherlock about what John’s wedding would mean.)

So Sherlock falls back into old habits - he tunes out John so completely he can’t even tell when John leaves (he keeps talking to a balloon instead), he goes for skill over sentiment by dragging Mary on cases, and in the end he even comes out and says it: John is a bit like that dog - Sherlock does like him, but it’s not like that changes anything. 

(It’s not like that makes John essential.

The dog is not.)

No, instead of focusing on John, Sherlock steps back into his own self. He basically lies to Lestrade to keep him close (“Trust me, she’s not right for you - she’s not the one.”), he’s obnoxious with police officers and rude to clients, and he keeps his brain going and spinning and working at all times, so he won’t have to think about - about what? About the fact he’s a sitting duck for Moriarty? Sherlock doesn’t care about that. No, presumably what he’s trying so hard to avoid is that there’s no way out of this. Rosie’s here now, so even if Sherlock fails (because, as Mycroft says, ex spies don’t have much in a way of a lifespan), it’s unlikely that John will come back full-time (will come back to Sherlock). And if Mary lives, then at some point John will walk away. That’s just life. Sherlock’s literally living on borrowed time, and he knows it. Appointment in Samarra, and all that.

Now, to me, the problem with how they solved that conundrum (even leaving aside the fact the actual murderer was an older woman with no husband and cats who acted out of pettiness, and, ugh - worst reveal since The Da Vinci Code) is that by killing Mary the way they did, they killed any possibility of anything happening between John and Sherlock. And my problem is that they twisted their own characters beyond recognition in order to do so. And my problem is - I don’t even care if they never get together - I can enjoy a tragedy and a story about missed opportunities as much as the next person - but the thing is, since the fact they clearly loved each other was never acknowledged by anyone other than a spiteful prostitute, for most people this is not a story of a tragic love which didn’t survive a fall. No, this is what it looks on the surface - two blokes doing things, friends sticking together and friends falling out, and nothing more. By ‘going where the story takes them’, to borrow Supernatural terminology, this show has fundamentally invalidated the very story they’ve been telling for three seasons.

Look at the whole Mary thing - it didn’t make any sense. What we know from the previous season is that Mary used to be a trained assassin - that she’s cold and selfish, basically a psychopath - that she’s got no moral compass whatsoever. We still don’t know how she and John met, but I find it hard to believe that relatonship was a coincidence. With his proposal, John basically admitted Mary had groomed him, so I find it natural, really, that many people spent the hiatus wondering what the hell Mary was really up to. And now we know: Mary wasn’t up to anything, because the writers stripped her personality and replaced with Appropriate Female Character™. Mary is now a loving mother and a loving wife. She supports her husband in every way despite the fact it’s clear he’s not invested 100% in their relationship (even leaving aside the fact he missed the delivery of their child because he was off having fun with Sherlock, do we really think a top class spy wouldn’t notice John texting some mystery woman?). And not only she endures all that (because she loves John, because she loves Rosie, and *pukes*), but when it’s clear she can’t stay without putting her family in danger, she sacrifices her own heart by leaving it all behind.

Right.

So this was the woman who had so little understanding of what love is, and cared so little to find out, that she shot Sherlock point blank, in the heart, to save her own skin and her own cover.

Uh uh.

When John and Sherlock find her in Central Asia or wherever, it’s, again, very clear that the main problem in this relationship is that there are three people in it - and the writers can code Sherlock as John’s child all they want - Sherlock’s still the one who’s able to understand John’s wife better than John does, and the one who stays in the room as John and Mary discuss private couple stuff. Because, yeah.

Still, the damage is done. Because of this complete character transformation, it’s all over. If Mary had been evil, John could have loved Sherlock again. If she’d left because she didn’t care - if she’d been arrested - if she’d decided their marriage was a sham and walked out - John would have found his way back to Sherlock. But as it is, here are the facts: Mary was loving and perfect and devoted to her family in every way, and Sherlock’s obsession for theatrics (John’s inability to step away from Sherlock’s world) killed her dead. Rosie will now grow up without a mother because both John and Sherlock were too selfish to give up their addiction of choice. If John had worked as a GP, if Sherlock had come round every now and then for supper instead of basically living inside their couple - if John had been capable of being a good and honest husband (a good and honest man) instead of this person Sherlock turned him into - then Mary would have lived. It’s as simple as that.

So, look - I’m not saying they’ll never be friends again. I’m fully expecting John to come around because Sherlock will now start to do even more extreme and dangerous things - also, this is the season we finally find out how the third Holmes brother died, right? - but the thing is, there is no way John can go back to Sherlock romantically and still remain a likeable character. Sherlock will never not be a private detective - he’s not capable to have a normal life - and if John goes back to work with him now, it’s not only himself he endangers, but his daughter. Sherlock’s ‘cases’ have a habit of putting Sherlock and the people he loves in danger, remember? So the next time John ends up with a bomb strapped to his chest, that’s a little girl who’ll grow up in foster care if he dies. And the next time the Villain of the Season decides to kidnap a child, that child could be Rosie because Sherlock cares about her.

(And the thing is, John is not Batman - he’s not key to keeping the whole city safe. This is not an I’ve sacrificed my family and I hate myself for it, but I know it was necessary because I’m a hero kind of situation. Sherlock may need John in a thousand different ways, but he certainly doesn’t need John to solve cases. He solves cases perfectly well while John is in the kitchen, filling in a sudoku grid with Mrs Hudson. So John’s got no excuse to stick around, really.

Or, the excuse would be: all those different, other ways Sherlock does need him, but if he gives in to that, John would be putting Sherlock’s mental and emotional health ahead of Rosie’s actual survival and happiness. So, whatever.) 

But: I said, no way that I can see. And I’m not a writer for the show. I’m not anyone, really. So maybe there’s a SUPERMEGATWIST in store that will tie up all these loose ends. Maybe I’m dead wrong - and God, I’d love to be dead wrong. But until then, I think I need to wake up and face reality here: whatever love story they told, it was always subtextual, and it’s now become a selfish and twisted and dark thing and it’s also - as far as I’m concerned - over.