#(​no promises about my ability to answer given. whatever the fuck is wrong with my brain. but)

[hiruzensux]

.

[corkinavoid]

Fiance to a Star News

I have given up on trying to force myself to keep working on it. But, hold on, it doesn't mean I'm abandoning it.

I'm looking for a beta/editor/co-author, I'm really not sure what to call it. Let me explain this a bit.

[Update: help found! Thank you!]

I've written that fic in its entirety almost six months ago, in my native language. Then, when I decided to post it, I ran it all through Google Translate. Which is great at translating things word for word in their literal meaning, but not great for sentence structure, idioms, and some minor grammar mishaps. So, since I've posted the first chapter, I've been tideously going through every sentence and either correcting or rewriting it while keeping the meaning.

I am now in the middle of chapter four, and I'm officially so done with it that I'm starting to think about just deleting it all. Which would be a great waste since I do still love that fic.

So I'm looking for someone to help me out here.

More explanations and stuff under the cut.

Let me first show you what I mean by helping me out:

Example of what the text is now:

Tim is silent for a while. The prospects are clearly not rosy, and he, to be honest, doesn’t really understand what to do next. Until now, all he had thought about was how to get out of here, so now that that possibility was gone, he just...

While it is understandable enough, it is not exactly good sentence-structure and grammar wise. Also, it's as plain as white bread.

Example of what the text should (to my best abilities) look like:

Tim pauses, taken aback. The situation does not look very promising, and, if he is being honest, he has no idea of what to do now. Until this moment, all he had thought about was how to get out of the woods. But now that it was not happening and the last chances of escape have all slipped through his fingers, he just...

You see what I mean?

It's extra confusing for myself since when I see the unedited text, my brain automatically reads it in another language and making myself switch manually is draining as fuck, and I'm at my limit.

There's also the issue of some names that translated wrong/did not translate properly/translated as a wrong word. For example, the head of the Academy would be called Headmaster in English, but it translated to Director, or the fact Google Translate keeps translating Sam's pronouns to he/him for some unknown reason, and many more little details.

So I desperately need help.

Perks: co-authoring, access to all the chapters, naturally, as well as all the random notes, pieces of lore that I have, but that have not made it into the fic, any question regarding the fic answered, random thoughts, permission to rewrite literally anything how you see fit (while keeping the general line of plot). Is it co-authoring or adoption at this point? I have no idea, really, but whatever you prefer.

If you're interested, just message me for any other details <3

P.S. Please understand that there are 10 (maybe 9.5) chapters to be edited. And also that I will be giving you a sort of test piece of text to try it out. If, at any point later, you decide it's not your cup of tea anymore, that's totally fine, I'll understand. I just really, really want to post this fic, but I don't want to throw the plain unedited version there.

Thanks in advance!

[dirtwatchman]

PARTIES: @loftylockjaw and @dirtwatchman TIMING: Early January LOCATION: Grimm Family Lodge SUMMARY: Wyatt asks Caleb to go to the Grimm Family Lodge with him for a weekend away together. When Caleb realizes how cold Wyatt is and why the two come up with a plan to try and get him warmed up. They end up in the mountains and come across something neither of them was expecting. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

He’d certainly been surprised when Wyatt had invited him on a weekend getaway to the Grimm Family Lodge and it had probably taken him way too long to give the man an answer. But it wasn’t like they were far away from home if something happened and now that Wyatt knew his secret the zombie was more comfortable bringing…provisions along to make sure he was well fed so Caleb had eventually given a yes. Even if he was nervous as hell. Why, he wasn’t sure. Wyatt had been nothing but accepting of him, no heartbeat and all, and no matter how awkward he was the lamia had never been put off by it. Still, a trip was an interesting turn of events after they’d learned what they had about each other.

The lodge was nice though, certainly nicer than anywhere he had ever stayed before. “How did you swing reservations for this place?” He placed his bag on the bed as he asked, looking around the place cautiously as if one wrong move would be the end of this. By what means, he wasn’t sure. Even for someone who hadn’t been in town long, Caleb wouldn’t be surprised if the charmer had smooth talked his way in. 

Looking over at the gator, his brows furrowed with concern. Caleb knew he couldn’t feel the cold anymore and, yes, Wyatt was from the south, but he seemed off. “Are you okay? I can get the fireplace going if you need it.”

“Oh, y’know… met a guy who knows a guy, who knows a guy… made some good impressions. The usual.” Wyatt laughed. Truthfully, there’d been a cancellation, and the lamia had wormed his way to the top of the waiting list with methods he’d be a little less willing to admit to Caleb—seeing as how this had been before their dinner date. Even though he wasn’t a fan of the cold, Wyatt was very interested in trying out the local experiences, and figured he could just bundle up, quit being a baby, and be fine. Which would have been true, had he not had a run in with that fucking mobile snowman. Whatever infernal magic had given that thing movement had also apparently bestowed it with the ability to freeze people from the inside out, so to speak. Wyatt had never felt so cold, but this little getaway was months in the making, and he wasn’t going to back out now. 

Besides, with the promise of company, he figured it’d be all the better! Only he couldn’t stop shivering, even with the thick sweater and thermal socks he was wearing. Caleb’s offer had him shaking his head though, and he tried to shrug off the outward manifestations of his cold, cold bones. 

“No, I’m—” Why was he lying? What purpose did that even serve? He stopped, closed his eyes, and dropped his bag on the foot of the bed. “Well, okay. So there was this… don’t laugh… I saw this fuckin’ weird snowman outside my place that I hadn’t put there, right? So I went up to see what the deal was, and it… I dunno, it did somethin’ to me. Ain’t been able to get warm since. The fuckin’ thing was alive and it ran off into the woods after I took off one of its arms, towards the mountains.” He shrugged, annoyed by how tense being perpetually cold made him feel. “I’m… hopin’ it’ll pass with the season, at least. Maybe when the damn thing melts in spring, wherever the hell it got off to. That said… if we’re goin’ outside, I am absolutely takin’ precautions along. Of the wireless blow dryer and lighter-plus-hairspray variety.”

“Of course you did.” Joining Wyatt in laughter, his head shook a little. Sometimes he wondered why someone like Wyatt would even glance twice at someone like Caleb, the polar opposite of who he was. But he wasn’t complaining, not in the least. As Wyatt stopped himself and continued with his explanation, his bright smile dipped slightly. “A snowman?” Hadn’t he heard about people mentioning those around town? Was that what they did? Tortured people by giving them the chill that they lived with? For a split second, he considered how weird it was to talk about a sentient snowman but he waved it off quickly, knowing it could have been worse.

“So…you’re perpetually cold and you shack up with the dead guy?” The playful quip wasn’t to make fun of the other, Caleb just couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t feel the cold anymore, it was a feeling he hadn’t quite understood in a few years so Wyatt’s misery was a little foreign. He almost considered wrapping the lamia in his arms but he knew it could have made the other’s situation that much worse so he stayed where he was. “Why am I not surprised that this town can’t even have a normal snowman?”

The idea of the hairdryer did make him laugh again but after really thinking it over the zombie was wondering if that would help. Why should Wyatt have to suffer if there was something Caleb could be good for? “Do you think melting your arch nemesis would help get you warmer?” He looked towards the bathroom door and then the window. If it was something he could do to help he wouldn’t object to a little hunt. “You said it ran towards the mountains, right? What are the odds of us finding it around here?”

For a moment, Wyatt was worried Caleb was going to think he was losing his grip on reality. Sure… Wyatt himself was an alligator monster, and Caleb was dead, but living snowmen? That was a little too Christmas Special, even for this town. But those concerns were quickly snuffed out as the man took his story in stride, even making a joke at Wyatt’s expense. It made a grin stretch across his face and he huffed out a chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “Couldn’t get much colder, I figured…” he teased right back. 

He was just happy to have made Caleb laugh, but when the zombie started seriously considering his half-cocked suggestion, his eyebrows slowly rose. “I mean… maybe? It couldn’t hurt, right? If it’s some… some weird magic crap, if you get rid of the source, logic dictates…” He let the sentence quietly trail off before getting caught up in another shiver, which seemed to annoy him as it vibrated its way from head to toe.

His gaze followed Caleb’s to the window, and Wyatt nodded. “Yeah… in this general direction, too. Seems like slim odds, but I mean, stranger things have happened… living snowmen, for example…” He smirked at Caleb. “Why, you wanna join me on a hunt, firebug?”

He didn’t know a lot about magic but he was willing to bet that Wyatt’s train of thought was correct. If the source was gone how could it linger? It might have been a wild goose chase, sure, but the shiver alone was enough to help Caleb’s decision along. “I think a hunt might be fun…let's hope you can keep up.” He raised his eyebrows in a challenging manner, wondering if the playful banter would be what was needed to distract the gator long enough to get a break from the chills. “If we can find it I can lure it back here where you can get your sweet revenge that you deserve.”

Another thought came to mind, Caleb frowning before he brought it up. “Might want to stick with the blow dryer though. Fire and I don’t usually get along. It’s uh…” Should he really tell him this? Yea, he liked Wyatt and could tell that he wasn’t a bad guy, but that didn’t mean he really knew the guy, right? He’d just found out that his buddy knew of the undead and in this town coincidences weren’t really a thing. He’d learned that over the years. In the end, he wanted to trust him, to enjoy the man’s company without his paranoia getting in the way, so he continued. “It’s one of the only things that can kill me. A fireplace is a little different than a can that can explode at any second.”

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Wyatt snickered, sidling up beside Caleb and snaking an arm around his waist. “I’ll keep up plenty easy, thank you very much.” At least he hoped so, provided his cold ass bones didn’t slow him down. Fuck, they might. Maybe not if he was shifted—or maybe that would make it even worse. He couldn’t help but recall the colder evenings where he’d had to go on a hunt, and how lethargic it had made him feel. 

Ugh.

“I do deserve some revenge, though, you’re right. So you’re on.” He quieted to listen as Caleb went on, explaining his apprehension around an open, explosive flame. Made sense. “Well hey, that’s one thing you n’ I got in common,” he offered with a wink, trying to keep the conversation light. After all, the list of things that could kill Wyatt might be a lot longer than Caleb’s, but fire was most assuredly present. “C’mon, let’s go look for an evil snowman. Maybe I’ll show you what a crackshot I am with a snowball along the way.” 

It was about two hours later, and the pair were wandering through the trees of Seven Peaks, following the strange tracks of what he’d made a guess had to be snow… creatures. Snowmen seemed both diminishing and inaccurate, because some of these tracks were for sure not modeled after anything human. 

“Where the hell d’you think they’re all goin’?” he asked Caleb, hands stuffed in his coat pockets and shoulders hunched to press his scarf up underneath his jaw. His long curls spilled out from beneath a wool cap that was tugged low on his head, the vain creature deciding that function outweighed fashion, at least in this scenario. “Snowbeast convention?”

“Oh, yea, that’s how it’s gonna be.” He nodded his head as he spoke, the zombie leaning into Wyatt’s touch. Funny how he could do that comfortably now that the truth of what he is was out there. “If I remember correctly, reptiles are cold blooded so I think the trash talk is warranted. I guess we’ll find out.” 

Glad that the fire talk didn’t go on too long, Caleb grabbed his coat and scarf (that was mostly for aesthetic purposes) and made his way across the mountain with Wyatt. As fun as this adventure sounded he was worried about the other as they trudged through the snow for hours. This internal cold was new, they had no clue how it worked or if it could be potentially fatal. Wyatt didn’t seem to want to show any outward weaknesses either which had Caleb wondering if he was okay being out in the winter wonderland this long. The way he was bundled didn’t inspire any confidence. 

“I have no clue…a homebase? Maybe they all came from the same place and they’re plotting against us? I think Erin mentioned one a while back…I should check on her after this.” It wouldn’t be too far-fetched. They were talking about live snowmen after all, how much more absurd could it get? “I must piss them off.” Seeing as he didn’t really get cold. Which reminded Caleb of something else and prompted the zombie to take off the scarf he had wrapped loosely around his neck. “Do you think an extra scarf would help? You wouldn’t have to hunch your shoulders as much. I’d even give you my jacket.”

He felt bad but Caleb knew that he couldn’t do this alone. He was not a hunter, there was no way for him to find these tracks the way Wyatt had, he just wished the other didn’t have to suffer so much while they were out there. “Wait, how many do you think there are? There’s a lot of tracks here.”

Should have moved to Florida, Wyatt thought to himself as a particularly violent shiver wracked his broad frame, even though he knew he couldn’t have. His extended family was spread far and wide across the southeastern coast, and he didn’t dare run the risk of running into one of them and blowing his cover. They were gossipers, after all. North had been his only option, though he was beginning to think maybe he should’ve stopped a few states before Maine. 

A sidelong glance at Caleb quelled some of that disquiet, and a small smile found its way onto his face. “Evil snowmen with a home base… sounds about right,” he laughed. His grip on the wireless hair dryer in his large coat pocket tightened, and he just hoped he saw his one-armed nemesis somewhere in what was looking to be a pretty big collection of snowdemons. Weresnowcreatures. Whatever. “Hah, you must! I wonder if they know. Probably too stupid, I mean what do they got for brains, anyway? Dirt and rocks?” His smile only broadened when Caleb offered his scarf and coat, a funny sort of feeling of endearment making the lamia forget his discomfort for a few moments. “What, and ruin that perfectly cute ensemble you got goin’ on? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He angled himself closer to Caleb, bringing their shoulders together with just a few steps and hooking arms with him, taking a closer look at the tracks they were following in an earnest attempt to answer the question as accurately as possible. “Hm… a dozen, maybe? But looks like some of ‘em are older, so maybe we won’t have to deal with that many.” 

They were climbing a small hill now, and cresting the top of it, Wyatt had to eat his words. Before them lay a small valley that was absolutely full of the things… for what purpose, he couldn’t say. Collecting more mountain snow to stay alive? It had been a bit warmer down in the town the last couple of days, so a migration to higher elevations made sense. But.. they were all stock still. Not a single one flinched as the pair came into view, and Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “Mais! I take it back, firebug.”

“Should have been a Doctor Who episode. Or a terrible movie.” It probably was now that he thought about it. He wasn’t knowledgeable enough on the subject of film to know. What did he know? “That sounds about right, actually. Or maybe the carrot nose is its source of power. Lets pit the reindeer against them and see who wins.” Grinning at Wyatt’s words, Caleb turned his blue eyes on him, catching Wyatt’s own. The look being sent his way was enough to ignite that nervous energy he was now so used to having around the other man, the zombie pretty much forgetting what had been said. The scarf went back on quickly when Wyatt’s approval was registered though.

“That shouldn’t be too bad, rig-” He was cut off in the middle of his word as they came over the hill, Caleb’s eyes going wide when he took in the sight before them. He lowered his voice, not knowing if they were sleeping (did evil snowmen sleep) or if something was wrong with them all. “It’s like a snowman cult…they actually have a homebase.” At least that’s what it looked like. What the hell was going on here? What were they doing? Was that a snow Shrek?

One thing was for certain though, and Caleb’s stomach dropped when he realized it. There were way too many of them for the handheld that Wyatt had brought along. If they all came back to life at once there was going to be some sort of epic battle between a bone cold alligator and a man who was useless without a shovel. Maybe he could find a big tree branch or something. 

Before he could come up with a solution, he saw one of the snowmen start to shiver to life, snow cascading around it. Another one next to it started to shake, and then another, but he wasn’t sure whether they were all coming to life or only a select few. “Uh…Wyatt…I think we’re going to need a bigger hairdryer.”

“You know, I bet the reindeer would decimate those things,” Wyatt agreed, not knowing exactly how right he was—or how much he was about to suddenly wish that they’d been followed up here by the hungry, hairy beasts. 

Staring at the small army of snowthings, the lamia was at a loss. All he could do was shake his head, blown away by the sight. Caleb was right—one hairdryer was not going to cut it. “Okay… okay. Hang on. Here, take this,” He fished out the hairdryer, passing it to Caleb. The snow creatures continued stirring to life, shaking off the blanket of recent snowfall to expose their true forms—whatever they’d been designed to look like by probably human hands. “My guy was a little on the short side, had these weird animal legs and big branches for arms—missin’ one of those, now. Red scarf. Um… baby carrot nose.” He frowned, then scoffed. “Basically an evil Mr. Tumnus. Whoever made it is a C. S. Lewis fan, apparently.” More of the creatures were waking from their hibernation, and Wyatt sensed a fight in his future. Such was his lot in life. He turned to Caleb, unhooking their arms to brace his hands against the other’s shoulders. “You find Mr. Tumnus. Melt his stupid head. I’ll keep the rest of these goons away from you.” He gave a resolute nod and started removing his clothing, dumping the hat and scarf into the snowbank, followed shortly by the coat and sweater. 

“... beggin’ your pardon, but I’d rather not be stuck up here with shredded clothes, once this is all said n’ done,” he explained as he pulled his shirt off over his head, dropping it on top of the pile. Next were the boots, the thermal socks, and finally, the pants and underwear. Jesus fucking christ it was cold. The lamia wasted no time shifting into his more natural state of being, thankful for the slight protection his thick, scaled skin brought him, though it did little for the chill that had settled in his marrow. The snowcreatures were moving now, moving toward them, though not especially fast. He scanned the herd, looking for a one-armed, red-scarf-wearing pile of powder, but didn’t see one just yet. Maybe it was still half-buried. Or maybe this was all for naught. Either way… Wyatt released an irritated huff and charged down the hill at them, swiping with his claws and tail and trying to obliterate as many of them as best he could, holding their attention and giving Caleb an opportunity to sneak around the edge of the valley. 

He had been ready to run. Everything in Caleb was telling him that they needed to turn and get as far away from these things as possible. It may have been snowmen but there were too many of them for this to be a fair fight and these bastards were angry when alive. His eyes were locked on the snowmen when the hairdryer was placed in his hand, Wyatt’s words falling on deaf ears, but he realized what the other wanted them to do he came to his senses. “Wait, Wyatt, we need to-”

His words were cut off when he looked over and saw the other undressing, the man’s shirt coming off just as his sights landed on the lamia. It took him a beat longer than it should have to avert his eyes back to the incoming snowmen, his jumbled thoughts slowly going back to the horde instead of where they had been leading him. “Yea, no, y-you’re hot- good! You’re good.” Caleb swallowed thickly, cursing his inability to act like a normal freaking human being. “This isn’t a good idea.” 

But he was already shifted, Caleb peaking for a second to make sure and grateful to see that he hadn’t just invaded the guys right to privacy. “Okay so we’re doing this….Wyatt smash, I guess.” He watched the gator tear into the front line of them, shaking his head but for some reason he was…smiling. Maybe he needed to enjoy this life he’d been given more, give in to what he was and have fun with it the way Wyatt seemed to. It was a thought. But right now, he had work to do.

God, why was he clumsy? The first step he took towards the outer edge of these things had him slipping but he caught himself before he was fully down, glad that Wyatt was busy with the majority of these things. Most of them were too caught up in the giant alligator a few were noticing the lanky undead slipping by and at least two were on his tail. He turned, quickly using the hairdryer to melt their heads before knocking over their bodies, a test to see if it would get rid of them indefinitely. It seemed to work. They were staying down so Caleb moved along again as quickly as he could without drawing too much attention, eyes scanning the crowd of them. There was no Mr. Tumnus yet but that Shrek was coming towards him. 

“Why don’t you go find Donkey or something?” There had to be one, right? His finger was pressed to the button, ready to put pressure on it if the thing came too close. It was slow though, Caleb’s long legs carrying him past quickly despite another slip, and he kept looking for a telltale red scarf. 

For Wyatt, running had never been an option. Even if his snowman wasn’t here, and even if melting the damn thing didn’t rid him of this aching forever-cold, the lamia had never turned down a fight and wasn’t about to start now. He never stopped to think about what that might say about him or how that might affect the people around him—he’d been on his own for over a decade now, who else did he have to care about but himself? Still, his gaze was briefly drawn to Caleb as he scurried down the bank, a smile on his face, and it sparked a fresh surge of enthusiasm in the lamia’s chest. 

The beast let out a loud bellow, slapping snow creatures this way and that, cutting through them like a hot knife through butter. A flash of red caught his eye and he rose onto his feet, towering over even the tallest of the frosty abominations. 

“There!” he shouted to Caleb, finding the zombie on the opposite side of a particularly thick swathe of snowmen. Tumnus was between them, taunting him with that stupid scarf and that stupid, shit-eating grin. With his attention fixed on the miracle that was finding his mortal enemy, Wyatt plowed through the rest of the creatures indiscriminately, headed right for Tumnus. As he closed in on the thing he pounced, knocking it to the ground and pinning it there. “You fuckin’ bastard,” he snarled, shivering violently while the creature struggled beneath him, its limbs falling apart and trying to reassemble themselves as Wyatt kept it from making much progress. Other snowmen were surrounding him, a few even climbing up onto his back. But he could see Caleb coming his way with the hair dryer, and knew this would be over sooner rather than later.

If Caleb thought watching Wyatt fight a crystal monster was ludicrous, it had nothing on watching him barrel through a group of snowmen at least twelve deep. After getting his attention, an incredulous laugh rang out as a towering gator ran, snow flying around him on all sides. One day he would get used to this stuff, right?

As soon as Wyatt had the thing pinned, he snapped out his daze. There were too many of them for the hairdryer, Caleb looking around the ground frantically before spotting a large stick sticking out of white fluffy snow. He grabbed it and took off running towards the snowmen closing in on Wyatt, stick in one hand, hairdryer hanging on in the other while he dodge as many of the things as he could. He must’ve looked like a wild man.

He came in swinging, both hands enclosed around the stick, the hairdryer somehow hanging on in between. One snowman, five snowmen, one off of Wyatt’s back, they all went down with the wild swings he was throwing around but when he got close enough to the Tumnus Caleb switched to the hairdryer. He was holding it towards Wyatt, expecting the man to take it, before he realized that it would be an impossible feat for the gator. “Right, yea, I’ll do it. It’s fine.” Even if he wished that the other man could have the honors of melting the face off the one who had caused him so much misery. It almost wasn’t fair that he didn’t get his poetic justice.

He flipped the switch, pointed the device towards Tumnus, and waited to see if destroying the thing would bring on some semblance of warmth into the lamia.

Eviscerating the body of Tumnus didn’t relieve the cold, but Wyatt made sure to leave the head intact for Caleb to melt (slowly, unfortunately) with the hairdryer. He kept one eye on his antagonist, the other on all the other snowmen that seemed to be having second thoughts about attacking them, though a few did still try. 

Tumnus let out a shrill screech as his dumb face melted into the snow around them, and Wyatt could feel the warmth slowly returning to his limbs. Of course he was still cold, he was a gator in the nude up in the snowy mountains, but the body heat created by battling these snowdemons was finally able to be felt. The lamia let out a whoop of celebration, smearing Tumnus’ head into the frozen grass that’d been beneath the layer of snow, delighted to see it all dissolving. “Fuck yeah, baby!” he hollered, nosing at Caleb’s legs to knock him off his feet, lifting the zombie up on his head and giving his snout a quick bounce, guiding the man in a quick slip down to his neck. “Hold on!” They were done here—the rest of these fuckers weren’t their problem, and Wyatt just wanted to get the hell out of here and get warm again. He leaped through the snow on all fours, opening his jaws to scoop up the pile of neatly folded clothes into his mouth as he barrelled past, wanting to put some distance between them and the field of wintery creatures before stopping to change. 

Once they were a safe distance away, back in the trees where the snow hadn’t collected on the ground in such a thick blanket, Wyatt came to a stop and dropped his clothes back onto the forest floor, then lowered himself down to let Caleb climb off of him. He wasted no time shifting back to his human form and getting dressed faster than he probably ever had in his life, and a sigh of relief was quick to follow. “My god… that is the stuff,” he laughed as he pulled on his gloves and tugged the hat down over his mop of curls once more. His gaze then fell to Caleb and he was beaming from ear to ear, unceremoniously wrapping the other up in a hug and lifting his feet off the ground, planting an overjoyed kiss on his forehead. “I owe you, big time!” 

As he held the hair dryer out, Caleb could see some of the sneakier snowmen of the group trying to get closer to the two of them. Lucky that he had the stick and a nine foot alligator next to him. He would brandish his makeshift weapon when they got too close but it didn’t take long for him to hear the celebratory shout, making the zombie look up. The sheer joy shining through the thick skin of the alligator had him grinning as the hairdryer died with the press of a button but the question of how they were going to get out of the mass of snowmen slowly curved his lips down. 

For a split second, he’d thought that one of the snowy bastards had knocked him off of his feet. This was it. They were all going to swarm and not even the gigantic animal next to them would be able to stop the bunch. But Caleb should have had more faith. He knew better than to underestimate the man he’d come here with but who would expect to be carried around on a very large alligator’s back?

It was a thrilling ride, if not a terrifying one, and he found himself holding on for dear life while still looking back at the snowmen left behind and laughing at how angry they all were. He even saw a few sticks raised in the air, vibrating as if they were shaking their fists at the two who had gotten away. It was all done in a blur, Caleb on his feet and not even having time to be embarrassed that Wyatt was naked once again. He was too busy letting the delight of this whole experience course through him, almost like what he would call an adrenaline rush. But he couldn’t get those anymore…right? Wyatt almost made the little high worse when he picked Caleb up, his laughter echoing despite the snow surrounding them. “I didn’t do anything, I wanted to run, remember?” It didn’t matter though. He hadn’t run, he’d stuck around and actually had fun for once. If Wyatt wanted to owe him for that, well, maybe just this once he wouldn’t protest. After he was back on the ground, his hands went to rest on Wyatt’s shoulder and Caleb leaned closer. “You know what? I’m gonna cash in the favor already.” He pressed a light kiss to the other’s lips, his grin slowly turning into a smirk. “All I want is to go back to the room and make sure you stay warm for the rest of the weekend.”

[grymmnox]

weekly fic recs #30 + #31

weeee it's just gonna be like if i didn't miss it. all one post. not separating them by week it's just all going together. ok anyways

fandom(s): bungo stray dogs

ship(s): soukoku, kunikidazai, fyozai, fyolai, odango, and ofc some gen fics

Oneshots

let me in if i break, and be quiet if i shatter; lenasgaylaxy - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 1.7k words | dazai & kunikida, dazai & yosano, ADA & dazai | READ TAGS

summary:

"They say breaking a mirror brings you seven years of bad luck. Dazai must've been born amidst the shards of a hundred shattered mirrors, because terrible luck has been following him around since he was young, and he's sure that it will stick around until his death."

About breaking down and needing help picking up the pieces.

It Would be a Hundred Times Easier; Gigglemite - bungo stray dogs

mature | 4.4k words | chuuya/dazai, chuuya & dazai, atsushi & dazai, dazai & kunikida, ADA & dazai | READ TAGS

summary:

On the worst of the bad days they start out just like the easier ones. They’re deceptive like that, lulling him into a false sense of security before one thing sets him off and he spirals. There is no real trigger for these days unlike the other ones, these days are just bad simply to be bad. His senses are heightened to the point of overwhelming overstimulation; his brain is foggy but coherent enough to send him down a dark and a very deep tunnel if given the chance; his fingers twitch and itch to grab something, anything that could be used to inflict harm on himself; despite his half working mind for everything else, it works 100% just for paranoia to the point he has to keep checking behind himself because the feeling of eyes on his back is achingly uncomfortable. These days also tend to include bouts of an inability to speak that always come out of nowhere. It’s rather disconcerting to be asked a question and yet when you open your mouth to answer absolutely nothing comes out.

Or: Dazai is used to bad days. He’s used to pain, and the weakness, and the anxiety that comes with them. But they’re getting easier to manage.

The Emperor's New Clothes; ScarletRequiem - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 4.3k words | chuuya & dazai, dazai & oda, ADA & dazai | READ TAGS

summary:

dazai gets hit with a truth-serum ability. ranpo thinks it's fucking hilarious, but ranpo isn't there when he unintentionally tells the whole office the reason he's suicidal.

point of injection; quitepossiblyjanuary - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 3.1k words | chuuya/dazai | READ NOTES (additional warnings r in there)

summary:

Dazai wouldn’t call himself an honest man – lying used to be half his job, and now that he’s out of the Mafia it feels like lying is half his life.

incandescent (and it's your fault); Colourful_skies - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 2.2k words | chuuya/dazai

summary:

An ability makes Dazai’s hair glow whenever he feels embarrassing (read: romantic) feelings. It’s temporary, so he thinks he’ll get away with keeping it a secret—but then a certain slug pays the Agency a visit. What could go wrong?

Introspection (of idiots and ideals); gev_ao3 - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 4.9k words | dazai & kunikida, dazai/kunikida | READ TAGS

summary:

------------------------------------------------------ “Kunikida-kun despises me,” he wails. “No, I don’t.” “Kuni-chan hates me.” “I don’t, Dazai.” “Kunikida--” “Stop.” ------------------------------------------------------

A look at Kunikida and Dazai’s relationship through the years. (can be read as platonic or romantic)

where we're from, there's no sun; codhya - bungo stray dogs

not rated | 15.8k words | dazai & yosano, dazai & fukuzawa | READ TAGS (additional warnings in notes)

summary:

"-I’m not asking you to trust that I’m a good person or whatever. Just trust that I won’t kill you, at least not here. And in return, you have to promise not to kill me. And set my cleaver in between us both, you have a clear advantage. You can keep the gun, though.”

He narrows his eyes, “You’re not really in the place to make demands right now.”

She shrugs, leaning back, “We’re stuck in an elevator and my co-worker is trying to kill me because he’s convinced I’m an assassin. I’m trying to make the best of the situation.”

(On Dazai Osamu, Dahmer, and Yosano Akiko)

spine chilling; kuroissant - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 3.6k words | fyodor/nikolai

summary:

Fyodor pauses, staring down at the small bird in his hands.

Nikolai folds his arms behind his back. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” Fyodor parrots.

Over the course of a month, Nikolai had graced him with many other small trinkets and gifts. He never provided an explanation as to why—nor did he ever give his gifts in person. He always extended them towards Fyodor by using his ability.

grim's notes: some gore; it's. nikolai and fyodor. there's an organ involved.

the kitty confusion; Deca_Suffrage - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 3k words | chuuya & atsushi, akutagawa & atsushi, atsushi & kyouka, dazai/kunikida

summary:

Chuuya's cat has gone missing, so in a last bid effort he sends a mafioso down to the ADA to ask around.

When Atsushi is told that the Port Mafia is looking for a "big white and black cat" he assumes that he's being mocked and goes with them.

He is not being mocked.

Complete Fics

bet against the odds; advanced_fanatic - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 10 chapters, 15k words | ango & dazai & oda, dazai & yosano, ango/oda, ADA & dazai, akutagawa & atsushi, ayatsuji & tsujimura, dazai & kunikida

summary:

At ten years old, Dazai Osamu meets Yosano Akiko. At eleven years old, he starts spying for the Armed Detective Agency in the Port Mafia. At eighteen years old, he thinks there's no way things can go wrong. He's wrong, of course, but why on earth wouldn't he be?

The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger; Seito - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 11 chapters, 19.3k words | chuuya/dazai, ADA & dazai

summary:

“Dazai-san doesn’t like the Port Mafia,” Tanizaki explained.

“That’s too nice, Tanizaki-kun,” Dazai said as he tied up the woman with some rope. He looked over his shoulder at Tanizaki.

Atsushi suppressed a shudder at the sparkle of anger in Dazai’s eyes. Despite only knowing Dazai for three days now, there was something deeply wrong about seeing that kind of anger in Dazai. It gleamed so bright, an ill-contained rage that seemed just seconds away from exploding into an inferno that would consume everything.

“To say I hate them would be more accurate,” Dazai said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Masters of Pretense; vividder - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 9 chapters, 12.7k words | dazai & kunikida & yosano, ranpo & tanizaki, ADA & dazai | READ TAGS

summary:

Dazai is kidnapped and taken to a hospital. The problem is, no one knows he's been kidnapped, except for Dazai himself.

5 Things Dazai Still Does For Port Mafia ...; YunaYamiMouto - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 6 chapters, 11.8k words | chuuya/dazai, chuuya & dazai, dazai & elise & Q, dazai & hirotsu, akutagawa & dazai & gin, dazai & kouyou, ADA & dazai, atsushi & dazai, dazai & oda

summary:

... that he doesn't do for the Armed Detective Agency, and the 1 thing he won't do for anyone.

Incomplete Fics

tell me we do not live in vain; yuki_MXIVo - bungo stray dogs

teen and up | 8/14 chapters, 32.3k words | dazai/fyodor, dazai & fyodor | READ TAGS (additional warnings in notes)

summary:

Fyodor’s weak heart thuds violently within its cage of flesh and bone, ba-thump. Dazai’s knife kisses cold on the skin of their throat. They swallow, and the bob of their Adam’s apple against it draws blood.

“Alright,” Fyodor decides, “let's find a way to die.”

// In the Decay’s aftermath, Fyodor and Dazai quietly slip through the cracks, and set on a journey

[softlyapocalytpic]

Hey! I’m diving into the deep end and posting something from my drafts since I’m tired of living under a rock about my OC’s ;; This is from an arc way later on after MUCH had happened, but I think the best context I could give is that this is post Blind Betrayal, Danse is with the Minutemen (kind of) for now, and that he’s on a kind of… “rescue mission” of sorts. Rescue mission means infiltrating the nuka world raiders.

Characters: Danse & Porter Gage

How did he find himself here?

Danse sat in a dusty, dark, windowless room covered in Nuka World memorabilia which in itself was at the center of a Nuka World theme park. A rusting monument to everything wrong with the capitalistic system that ruled Pre-War America and brought ruin to an irresponsible world. It was extremely fitting then that wastelander raider scum had overtaken this blight on society, and were using it to exploit innocents. At least they had the dignity to not pretend they were anything more than greedy leeches that stole from the more deserving, if Danse could even call it dignity.

It was surreal, really, to be sitting across from one of their own. A man that Deacon had pegged as the “brains” of this operation, but Danse was hesitant to afford Porter Gage that much intelligence. Raiders typically didn’t have much more than the ability to shoot, and this man made his money in enslavement of human beings, and horrifying battles to the death. There was also the fact that unlike Deacon and Half Pint who had faith in her, Danse wasn’t going to pass over responsibility of these monstrous acts off of her and on to Gage. If he thought about that too much his blood would boil and he'd compromise this mission.

Not that this was a real mission. He wasn't a soldier. A fact that felt harder and harder to wrap his mind around as he descended into this surrealist nightmare. The only thing that was keeping him from teetering off the edge and spiraling downwards was Half Pint, and even if not for that Danse owed them for all that they had done for him. He wouldn’t back down on his promise to them.

Still, he couldn’t help but ruminate on how less than a month ago he was regarded as one of the Brotherhood's most elite. Both he and Half Pint had been commanding the most respected squad in the army, and they both were being considered for promotions into Star Paladin. An honor that hadn’t been given in nearly a decade, and was held by someone that Danse knew, respected, Danse had never considered himself to be especially prideful, but before he would've never have had to answer to a degenerate like this. He wouldn't have even known Gage's name.

And now? And now...

He was even less human then this trash. That made his stomach curl.

Danse knew what Half Pint would argue to him, but without them hear it was hallow pathetic platitudes that didn't change the ultimate truth: that he wasn't human, and this raider was. Even if Danse wasn't going to end it all and thought he at least deserved a chance at living, it didn't make this any less hard to swallow.

"So, big guy," the man across from him took a long drag from his cigar, "what do I call you?" and blew the smoke out into the open air. It wasn't directly into Danse's face, which he supposed was at least some kind of courtesy, even if Danse still despised the smell. "Because it sure as hell ain't whatever that chuckle fuck, [Insert Deacon Raider Name Here], called you.”

Danse was on edge, but this didn't send him into a panic. Yes, he didn't have the silver tongue and mind for politics either Half Pint or Deacon had, but he was far from unintelligent.

He knew how to play a situation.

Obviously, the plan to pass Danse off as a dumb brute didn't work. Maybe for the common drugged raider, but anyone with a discerning eye would've found him out eventually. They had planned for this, but Danse could tell that the careful and intrigued look in Gage's eyes meant that lying couldn't be easy. Danse knew what it looked like when someone wanted something from him-

Immediately the ugly seed of doubt reared its head as Danse called upon memories of Rivet City, of hocking wares in the marketplace, and that heavy sinking feeling returned in his stomach. He felt himself peering down the rabbit hole of self-doubt and slipping, and so he hesitated.

First mistake.

Gage raised a brow, but quickly and calmly Danse attempted to recover, "[DRN] has a penchant for nick names that I was never found of, but was a negligible price to pay for his partnership." He paused, considering, and then decided to go with his gut, "Danse. I go by Danse."

Should he have said 'my name is'? His name didn't feel like it belonged to him anymore. Was it his, or the person he replaced? Was it his, or just the name given to him by a stranger? If Danse could've slapped himself back in to the present he would've. He needed laser focus on this. There wasn't room for an existential crisis in the midst of this crisis situation.

The other man nodded, appreciatively, "Well, good to finally meet you, Danse. I saw the way you fought back there in the arena, and I'll admit I like what I saw. Not sure how a man of your skill ended up in the raiding business and not falling with people like the Gunners, but I'm not going to say no to well-armed man."

"You seem to be the only one to think so."

Gage shrugged and gestured lazily to the outside, "The Operators showed a little interest in you, but ultimately you fight to clean to fit into any of their merry bands of degenerates. However, I can tell that when it comes down to you'll be the last man standing."

There was little fanfare to his tone. It wasn't a pitch or a compliment so much as a fact on Danse's performance.

Danse considered Gage carefully, "You have something in mind for me."

The other man nodded appreciatively, "I can appreciate someone who's quick on the up take. See, there's a lot I like about you," he began counting on his fingers. "Clearly capable to work with others who you don't like, well-trained both in combat and in taking orders, clearly smarter than you've been given credit for, but have all the height and brute of someone who isn't to be fucked with. Turns out, you're the perfect body guard."

It was unnerving to read so well by a complete stranger, and it was with confidence that Danse realized that Deacon's assertion had been right from the beginning: Porter Gage was the real brains behind Nuka World, and Danse was in a much more dangerous position than he'd realized.

"Is your life being threatened?"

Gage chuckled, "Hah, no, no, no. You wouldn't be for me. No, you'd be protecting the Overboss."

It was like a record scratch in Danse's mind, but that didn't stop Gage from continuing.

"How do I put this? Lucky's great. She's got vision, spunk, and is a tougher bitch than anyone I've ever had the pleasure of working under before, but she's a little... divisive. Not everyone likes the changes she's making around here- hell, sometimes I'm not even sure where the grand plan is going-," there was an edge to his voice that Danse made not of, "and those enemies she's making might want to make a move. Now, as much of an oddball as she is, she's what Nuka World needs. I can tell. No one's been able to quell a band of idiots quite like how she does, so I have a vested interest in making sure she doesn't kick the bucket."

"If she's so strong why does she need a bodyguard?"

"She might think she's unkillable, but unless I start seeing some miracles the she's still a god damn human. And people, no matter how tough, can be killed."

Danse had to finally confront the elephant in the room, and he had to make the decision now. He didn't have time to debate and drag his heels on doing something that he truly didn't want to do, because this was it. This was the exact kind of opportunity they'd been looking for, but it was for the wrong person. Half Pint, hell, even Deacon should be here. They were the ones that cared about Sunshine, and they were the ones risking it all to bring her back home. A decision that he was understanding less by the day.

If this had been the Lone Wanderer, then yes he'd understand, but then again she would never do something like this. Become the Queen of raider scum. That was, of course, a moot point. Amelia Lockhart was long "dead" a barely a remnant of the former hero remained. Half Pint loved Sunshine, even if they hadn't said it aloud, and Danse trusted them. For them, he'd do anything, so he'd bring her home kicking and screaming if he had to. Danse only hoped that his friend hadn't been outplayed and given their trust to someone they shouldn't.

"So, Danse, what do you think? You'll get a generous size of caps every week and cut of any loot from the Overboss's expeditions. You won't make many friends, but something tells me that won't be a problem."

"When do I start?"

[robinofgothamcity]

♡ prompt: your relationship with Damian isn’t what is seems like.

♡ pairing: damian wayne (robin), bart allen (impulse) x fem reader

♡ lyric inspiration: “it’s just a little too late, you say you dream about me but you don’t like me, you just like the chase so be real, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes 

you were blasting music into your headphones as you were trying to finish everything you needed to get done for the week. graduation was coming in just a few weeks and you had been neck deep in homework with essays and exams coming in from left and right. 

you had even been putting off even hanging out or going on dates with Damian because your lack of time. he kept telling you that it was okay but in the back of your head, you felt wrong for denying him every time he asked you out. 

Jon and Billy had been in the lair’s living room, lazying around until Nightwing or even Batman came in to give all of you times and coordinates for your patrolling tonight. you hadn’t even been hearing their conversation since your music was drowning out their conversations. 

when you realized that your coffee had ran out and everything that you needed in order to make a new cup was in the kitchen, you took off your headphones and grabbed your cup, walking slowly to living room. 

“where’s Damian?” Billy asked, kicking his shoes off, “oh, he’s training. ever since graduation for Gotham Academy came closer, ( your name ) has been putting him off to study so he’s been training to kill time.” 

your eyebrows fluttered in confusion, not knowing if what Jon was saying was rude or not. “I have to give Damian props though,” Jon continued, “he’s been with her for two months now! we even had a small bet going to see how long he would be able to date her and he’s clearly won since he’s been with her longer than the month we bet on. even a few of the titans had placed bets that it wouldn’t last as long as it did. Raven put in a measly two weeks,” Jon laughed. 

your eyes stared down at the ground, completely watery and stinging, “hey, that just shows Damian can commit to things that aren’t training although it’s like you said, it’s surprising they’re even together if she keeps putting him off,” Billy added on. 

not realizing that your cup had slipped your grasp, the metal collided with the ground, making Jon and Billy turn around. they could see the hurt in your eyes as you remained frozen in place. 

“hey ( your name ),” Jon murmured, “did you hear what we were talking about?” Billy asked, afraid at the answer. 

your eyes turned into rage as you picked up your cup off the floor, “tell Damian that since our month is over, we’re done,” Jon immediately sprang up, “hey! please, don’t say that! you’re completely not understanding what we’re saying!” Jon said frantically. 

Damian walked out of the solo training room, seeing Jon and Billy’s expressions as the tears ran down your face, “what’s going on?” Damian asked. you laughed, not wanting to even look at him, “great! you’re here! since our relationship was based on a bet that you had money on that would only last a month, you can count it as we’re over now!” you exclaimed.

you slammed your laptop and grabbed your backpack as Damian ran towards you. in a fit of complete rage, you turned around and punched him square in the stomach, making him fall onto Jon. 

“go fuck yourself! as a matter of fact, you can find another member for the Titans! I quit!” you screamed, slamming your mask down onto the table and leaving the lair, “wait! please, this isn’t how you think it went down, please!” Damian begged. 

you gave him the finger, “I hope you, right along with Jon and Billy, enjoy sitting on the shame that is playing with people’s emotions,” you said as Nightwing walked into the hallway, clearly lost on what was happening, “the next time you, Jon, Billy, hell! even the Titan’s decide to play with people’s emotion for the sake of getting money, make sure it’s someone who’s not on the same team as you,” you whispered. 

“don’t leave, please don’t leave. Nightwing, stop her!” Damian said in panic as you got onto your bike, “Nightwing, since the Titan’s are now down a member, you can tell whoever was fighting a place that my spot is now vacant,” you managed to say before revving your bike and riding onto the street. 

“what is going on?” Nightwing asked the three. he had never saw Damian so hurt, meanwhile Billy and Jon were left speechless, “my girlfriend just broke up with me!” Damian murmured, a feeling in his heart that he had never felt before, “she overheard a conversation Billy and I were having but I think she only heard a piece of it,” Jon tried to rationalize. 

Damian looked at the two, pure rage coming over his body, “it’s both your fault?” he screamed, charging them with his sword. Nightwing quickly grabbed his brother, taking the sword away from his grasp, “she only heard some of the conversation! we never meant for her to actually get upset.” 

Nightwing stood in between the three, “listen, whatever happened, all of you need to apologize. now, I can’t promise that she’ll rejoin the team,” he warned Damian, “if she decides to come back, that’ll be her decision....AND HER DECISION only,” Nightwing said, “but if she decides not too, I can’t force her to overturn her decision,” he added on, “no matter who you’re related too.”

Damian knew he was hinting at Bruce when he added in the last part. there was no way any of them could actually convince you to come back if you didn’t want too. they could try and persuade you but it was ultimately your decision if you wanted to rejoin the team. 

+

once you got back home, you felt as though your heart hadn’t completely accepted what happened. a part of you felt like it was some sort of sick joke and you needed to wake up from it. 

alas, it wasn’t and you knew that what Damian and you had was something that wasn’t going to happen again. it stung knowing that Jon, the one who seemed so innocent all the time, was actually in on the joke and was sitting there and laughing at you. 

you hadn’t known Billy for that long. the two of you became acquainted not long after you got with Damian and while you thought of him as a friend, it still hurt that he too was in on the joke. 

your mom was working late as she was helping Gotham Academy with situating for graduation planning. your mom didn’t know about you and Damian thankfully so even though you were completely heartbroken, it’s not like she knew about what you were going through. 

you flopped onto your bed, trying to control your breathing when the doorbell rang. tiptoeing to the front door, hoping it wasn’t any of the three idiots, you were stricken with relief when you saw that it was Bart of all people.

“hey Allen, what are you up too? wait a minute, what you doing here in Gotham?” you asked, welcoming him inside. Bart chuckled softly, “I’m here for some stuff on the behalf of my family. don’t worry about it,” he murmured, “I went to the lair looking for you and you were gone.” 

you hummed, not knowing if you were willing to tell him the actual story of why you weren’t there, “you okay? you look like you were crying!” he exclaimed, seeing the puffyness under your eye and the redness around it. you sighed shakily, “truthfully? I’m not but it’s nothing to worry about,” you tried to say calmly. 

Bart gave you a look, not fully convinced, “seriously? I can’t talk to you about the real reason on why I’m here if you’re upset. tell me!” he restated, looking at you dead in the eye. you dragged him inside, not wanting anyone to heart, especially if Damian was on his bullshit and spying on you.

you got Bart up to your room, locking the door and leaning up against the door. your back against it as you tried to contain your tears and running your hands through your hair, “I broke up with my boyfriend recently and I’ve been having a lot of issues with it since I found out,” you finally confessed. 

Bart’s eyes twitched in annoyance, “you were dating someone?” he asked, a bit hurt that the girl he had been crushing on not only had a boyfriend but you were now heartbroken over it. you nodded, “not that my identity was ever a secret but I was dating Robin,” your eye twitched this time, annoyed at mentioning Damian.

Bart stood in disbelief, not believing that Robin, the one everyone thought was perfect, had broken up with you. a part of him wanted to strangle the boy but he knew that Robin was a lot more stronger than he was.

“if you don’t mind me asking, can I ask what happened?” Bart played with his fingers nervously. you stared at the ground, scared if you looked at Bart, you would bawl your eyes out, “he started dating me as a joke. he had made a bet with a few other sidekicks about being able to date me for a month and the longer he dated me, the more money he made,” your tears fell almost immediately at the confession. 

Bart’s anger immediately rose as he tried to not say anything irrational, “are you kidding?” he asked. you shook your head no, not knowing what to say, “can I kick his ass?” he asked again, making you laugh for the first time in a while. 

“sorry Allen but you know I won’t let you...especially because you and I both know how that would end,” you giggled, making Bart agree. you sat down on the bed next to him, “now why are you here? although I think I might know why,” you murmured. 

The Flash family, especially Bart and Barry had taken an interest in you when you first joined the Titans. your powers had given you the ability to be as fast as the Flashes were. you weren’t exactly as speedy as Flash but your powers did let you have competition with Bart’s speed. 

“you know Central city has been calling your name,” Bart whispered, looking at you. “you know you’d have a position with us and you wouldn’t be around Robin if you weren’t comfortable being around him,” Bart added in the last part. 

you bit your lip, “come on, you know better than anyone that Gotham has nothing for you,” he tried to rationalize, “yeah, you have potential with the Bats but you know that joining us would make you an even bigger hero than you are here,” he said. 

“Bart, is this really the reason why you want me to join all of you?” you asked. Bart nodded, hoping that you were actually considering it, “of course! you can join us out for patrol tonight and if you like it, you can join us over in Central City when you graduate,” he exclaimed. 

“tonight? with who?” you asked. Bart pointed to himself with confidence, “with the one and only, Bart Allen!” he boasted. you laughed, “just tonight and if I don’t like it, I get to stay here!” you said, pointing your finger at his chest. 

“SERIOUSLY?” he asked surprised. you nodded as you saw the time, “sure but remember what I said!” you yelled as he ran around your room in excitement. 

the time you had ever went to Central City was when you went with Damian and Bruce on the behalf of Bat business so the feeling that you were now no longer going there with them felt a bit out of place. you looked at the time as Bart had told you that it wouldn’t take to long to get there with both your speeds. 

you grabbed you uniform out of your closet and looked at the time, sensing that both you and Bart should get to Central City before both of your patrol times started. you could see the excitement coming from Bart as he was basically talking your ear off the entire way back to Central City. 

-

through the following few days, you had actively ignored Jon, Damian, and Billy. it was harder for you to ignore Jon and Damian as they had known your home address but every time Raven had informed you on one of the boys coming and paying you a visit, Bart always seemed to come over and get you out of the house before they could. 

this time was no different but today, you couldn’t ignore Damian even if you wanted too. today was Gotham’s graduation and with both you and Damian graduating at the top of the class, you both had to sat on the stage, right next to each other. 

you had worn a plain neutral yellow dress with black shoes as you tried to follow Gotham’s school colors. the actual cap and gowns were not as cute as they had the tacky yellow cap and gown with black lining that made all of you look like bee’s. 

up until this moment, you still hadn’t decided on what your plans were for after graduation. you had a bunch of unanswered acceptance letters from different University’s around the U.S. and one of them was from Central City State University. 

they had personally reached out to you in order to attend their school. you had been thinking about actually accepting their letter for a while now and with Bart now offering to be your partner, you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. you hadn’t told anyone besides your mother about the move to Central City and while she was upset to see you leave, she knew it was best to let you finally be on your own. 

you had gotten to Gotham Academy, a bit early and tired as you had stayed up late with being on Face Time with Bart. the two of you had gotten closer over the course of the last few weeks and while you were still extremely heartbroken over Damian’s actions, a part of your heart was starting to fix itself with Bart now mending that piece. 

you, on a very sporadic thought, had invited Bart and Barry to your graduation as you didn’t want to run into the chance of actually having to be alone with Damian. you wanted to make sure that you were either around your mom or Bart when everything was finished. 

the stage had been set by the time you got to the Auditorium as you had saw your mom along with Bart and Barry in the front. since you were moving to Central City, partially for college and partially to continue doing hero work there, your mom had to introduce and get familiar with the family that was soon taking you in. 

everyone knew that everyone who were connected to the Flash family had this flamboyant personality to them so when Barry and Bart introduced themselves to your mom, she was quite taken back. nevertheless, she did end up getting along well with them and felt safe with you moving there. 

Damian had saw you sitting in the chair, on your phone as everyone sat in their seats. what he hadn’t realized was that Bart and Barry were right next to your mom. he had heard about your endeavors with going over to Central City to ‘intern’ with the Flash family and while he didn’t want to believe it, a part of him felt as though that might’ve been actually true now. 

Damian looked at you with guilt crossing his face. you hadn’t been face to face with him since that fateful night and although it took every ounce of power to not scream at him, for the sake of his identity and the fact that all of you had to be professional, you gave him the side eye and turned to your headmaster who was approaching the stand. 

Gotham Academy’s graduation had felt like centuries before it finally came to your turn to speak on the behalf of your class. you smiled at the crowd, waving at your family and the Allen’s before looking down at your paper. you gulped in nervousness as you began your speech. 

“and although I have been keeping my college acceptance a secret, within the last few weeks, I’ve had the privilege of being scouted by a few schools and finally came down to the decision last week on which university I would attend. it is my honor and with grace to finally announce that I will be attending Central City State University in the fall! go Falcons!” you told the crowd as you opened up your gown to show off the school sweater. 

you saw Bart’s face light up with excitement as he realized that you had accepted the Flash’s invitation to work with them. Damian had also realized that the rumors surrounding you actually leaving the Titan’s to work with the Flash was actually true and he felt his heart break realizing that you were no longer a part of his life. 

you sat back down in your seat with a smirk playing on your face as you could basically feel Damian’s stare coming down on you. it wasn’t until after graduation when all of you got the chance to join your families again when you saw Bart and everyone else. 

“are you really joining us in Central City?” he asked excitedly. you nodded, giving Bart a hug. the hug didn’t feel friendly. not in the slightest. it felt almost romantic as the two of you remained in an embrace longer than you had realized, “than I’m so glad our plan actually worked out!” Barry said in relief. 

your eyebrows fluttered in confusion but he told you it was a surprise that you wouldn’t see until you got to Central City tonight. you nodded as all you had decided to take pictures before heading to eat. you had noticed Damian approaching you, a determined stare on his face but Bart quickly realized it and grabbed you by the wrist, making you join Barry and your mom again. 

the night finally entered as you had made your way to Central City in order to get settled into your new apartment by signing the final papers over to the apartment. Barry and Bart had offered to show you around your new home, as if you hadn’t already recognized Central City already but nevertheless, you complied and let them show you. 

you got into the core of the city, the lights twinkling and the noises of cars making you feel as though you were in a movie. Bart had covered your eyes with his hands as he told you your secret was coming up. a nervous feeling crept up to your stomach as you had no idea what was going on. 

finally, all of you stopped and that was when Bart took his hands off your eyes. you stared at the large billboard that was high up in the sky as you felt tears spring your eyes. 

“welcoming Central City’s newest superhero.” 

the billboard read as it had a picture of you right next to the lettering. you looked to Barry and Bart before engulfing them into a hug as you thanked them profusely. Barry shrugged you off, “we should be thanking you. you’re going to help us so much! it’s the least we could do,” he said as Bart agreed. 

Barry had mentioned that all of you were going to catch dinner at a restaurant and your reservation should be coming up soon. he had gotten the head start, whispering to Bart that he’d leave the two of you alone for a moment. 

“seriously, thank you so much Bart,” you whispered, giving him another hug. he chuckled nervously, trying to wave you off, “you have no idea how much this means to me,” you added on. 

you looked to Bart and got on your toes, hoping that your next action wasn’t a mistake. you gave him a quick peck on the cheek, making Bart go red in the face. it hadn’t fully set in that you kissed him until he realized that he hadn’t said anything back yet. 

Bart grabbed your hand, giving it a soft kiss before doing the same to your cheek. you smiled at him shyly, grabbing his hand before telling him that you were going to be late for the reservation with Barry. 

-

months had passed since you had started your new life in Central City. you hadn’t spared anyone in Gotham a second thought unless you were visiting your mom so you hadn’t contacted Damian or any of the Titan’s since then. 

however, you had to go with Bart to the Titan’s tower today. you had to meet up with Nightwing there to get information Barry needed for a case. you were hoping that you didn’t run into any of the idiots while you were there with Bart but luck was not on your side that day and upon reaching the Titan’s tower, you were met with not only Damian but with Jon and Billy. 

“where’s Nightwing?” you asked them. Jon gave you a sheepish smile, “he’ll be here soon,” he responded. you nodded, grabbing Bart’s hand and heading to the couch to say hello to Raven and Beast Boy. 

the four of you got into conversation until Damian walked in, basically dragging you into the kitchen as Bart immediately stood up, running to where you were. 

“what the fuck is your issue?” you yelled, snatching your hand back. Bart knew you could hold your own but he still wanted to make sure you were okay, “we need to talk,” he stated, looking to Bart. you laughed, “yeah, whatever you have to say you can say right now. I refuse to talk to you alone,” you said back. 

Damian growled as Jon and Billy stood up, “that night when everything went down, we want to say that it was all a mistake. you had only heard a portion of what we were saying. we never intentionally made a bet on the two of you. we had made a bet that was basically us telling Da-Robin that he couldn’t do anything besides train and fight. Robin had actual feelings for you and the bet was never intentionally set on you. we swear,” Jon explained. 

you looked to Damian and Billy as they both agreed. you rolled your eyes annoyed, “you think I’d actually believe that?” you looked to Bart and laughed before taking his hand, “the next time you actually want to make up lies, make sure they’re actually fucking believable!” you exclaimed laughing. 

Bart laughed along with you, “you think we’re lying?” Damian yelled, “yeah because why should I ever believe what any of you three have to say. all of you are a bunch of pricks that are so far up your own asses that no one with an actual working brain would believe that lie.” 

Bart’s mouth, along with everyone else, hung in disbelief and surprise. “seriously, the next time we see each other, make up a better lie and for the record, working with and in Central City has been actually been so refreshing! no offense,” you said looking over to the rest of the Titan’s, “especially since he’s been making it a lot easier,” you gave Bart a wink as he blushed slightly. 

“so unless we actually have to speak to each other on professional terms, don’t bank on me ever contacting any of you again.” 

you grabbed Bart’s hand as Nightwing had walked into the tower and the three of you walked into a solo conference room to actually do what Barry had sent you two for. 

[sweetea-rosey]

Ooo hi I saw you take requests? I have a writing request if you want to :))

So here is my idea:

Remus has a notebook given to him by the other sides to write his thoughts down in. See, Remus has clear impulse control problems so this notebook of for him to write his thoughts down instead of just doing and saying whatever comes to mind. It gives him a chance to think about it. Sometimes, maybe like once a week give or take a few days one of the other sides will sit down with him and read his thoughts with him just to make him feel validated and heard. Well this particular time one of the sides (of your choice) sat down with the notebook and found some rather interesting things.

Now, you can take this one of two ways (it’s really all up to you!)- You can make this something angsty (hurt comfort), or you can make it something shippy! It can be any Remus ship you want but I personally am more partial to intrulogical hehe 💙💚

Take your time and have fun with it!! Have a good day :)

Ah! Ty for the request! I started writing it on the day you submitted it, but Tumblr deleted it after a while of not saving :') so now my motivation to do this is deterred

Anyway, this'll be my first time not writing something Roman centric =w=""

Remus held the book in his hands. He remembered the day Roman gave it to him, when he risked traveling into the dark scape because he knew his brother needed this. Because he did, too.

An outlet.

A place for his monstrosities to be, other than inside his head, allowed to torture him to their best abilities. The illusions his mind creates are no longer just in his eyes. It's no longer insanity- it's creativity. The journal isn't the first one. But he and Roman make sure to keep eachother stocked up; they get filled rather quickly. The Imagination holds an entire library dedicated to their filled journals from over the years.

The journals have also become sort of diaries to them. So, imagine what were to happen if one of them got lost? The possibility of their secrets being seen by unbidden eyes.

Remus burst into Roman's room, "Ro!"

Roman jumped from his spot at his desk, "Jeez- ! What is it?"

Oddly, for Remus, he seemed almost anxious, "Have you seen my latest journal?"

Ah, that explains it. Roman understands the severity of losing something that holds your private thoughts. He stood up from his desk chair, turning to face Remus better, "No, I haven't. Is it missing?"

Remus nodded, unable to speak through the panic coursing through his veins, the hormone mixing with the feeling of the plasma we call blood rushing through veins and arteries, rest in his heart, which is thumping with vigor, the- Remus shook himself. The imagery coming on its own with nothing to do with it, "Thoughts, thoughts thoughts, thoughts, blood, where? Everywhere? It is me, I am thoughts and blood and gore and death and slime, and..."

Roman pulled his brother in, the physical touch of his second half grounding him, finally balanced out with his brother there to help him.

"Breathe, Ree...I get it...I'll help you look for it, okay? Do you have any spare journals?"

Remus shook his head. He had just started this one, he was too busy brainstorming on the pages to remember to restock.

"Okay, do you have the focus to conjur any, right now?"

Remus shook his head again. No no, of course not! He's too focused on the one that's missing!

"Alright, that's okay, Ree. I get it. Here, use this for now," As Roman spoke, he pressed a plain black book in the unstable man's hands, "Get some thoughts out on that, then we can start looking, okay?"

Instead of answering, he made the rest of the way into the prince's room and started letting the thoughts out.

.

.

.

"Feel better?"

Remus let out a breath and nodded, "A lot, thanks. Can we go look, now?"

"Of course, let's go."

It took hours. The sun was gone in Thomas' living room and they were still tearing the place apart, searching absolutely everywhere. Remus was tempted to just dismantle the mind palace and look through the stuff that gets left behind. The fear was boiling in his gut in the ocean of acid.

"What if we don't find it? My blood, sweat, and tears went into that book! Pieces of my heart are in there, I can't lose it, what if someone else finds it and reads it?"

Roman shuddered, because he didn't believe that Remus was being metaphorical, "I understand the severity of the situation, Ree. We should go look in the Lightside, now..."

Remus shrugged as much as his slumped posture will allow, "Sure..."

"We'll find it, Ree..."

"That's not what I'm worried about. If I lose it? Fine, I have others, I can start a new one. I'm scared of someone else finding it and reading it... there's things in there I don't want others seeing..."

"I get it, you know I do. We'll get it back before anyone else can even know it exists, alright?"

Remus just shrugged off his comforting hand, "Stupid prince, always making promises you don't even know if you can keep. Don't do that to yourself and don't do it to me. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that shit."

Roman recoiled, almost physically, "Sometime, people just need reassurance."

"And then, when you're wrong? I know you don't like breaking promises, Princey."

"...Then hopefully we'll figure it out."

"You're such a fucking optimist, it's gross."

Roman rolled his eyes, "I'm helping you look, be nice, you doofus."

"Oh wow, "doofus", I'm so offended," Remus said without much effort.

Roman ignored him.

.

.

.

"It's not HERE!" Remus screamed, a pot crashing through the wall.

Roman manged to muffle the noise and quickly put it back together, "We will, this was only the first room in the Lightside. You need to calm down."

"I can't! What if someone else already found it and read it? What if they hate me? What if they never wanna talk to me again because nothing in there makes sense, what-"

Roman caught his hands, "Woah! Woah...Remus, when did you start caring so much about what the others think of you?"

"I don't!"

"But...-"

"I don't care about what Logan and the other think of me."

"Of what...Logan and the...? Remus...is this about Logan?"

Remus hesitated just long enough.

"Oh great Aphrodite, it is..."

"Aphro-? NO! No, I don't!"

"Remus, is there something about Logan on that book?"

Remus said fuck it in his mind and sighed, "Yes... I...some fantasies...that he might not approve of..."

"Oh, Remus..."

"What if he finds out, and he...? He just doesn't...?"

Roman hit his brother on the head, "This is why you're a doofus. It doesn't matter if he finds it, you have nothing to worry about."

Remus rolled his eyes. Literally. He rolled them like dice and Roman had to look away, but got the message.

"How would you know?"

It was Roman's turn to roll his eyes (PROPERLY).

"I'm leaving you to figure that out. But, I do."

"Sure. Whatever. Asshole."

Roman moved on to look in the next room.

.

.

.

A flash of green leaped onto him and he was tumbling over, the item in his hands flying out.

"Remus!"

The man scrambled over and snatched the book up, "Did you read it?"

"I- no, Remus what is it?"

"It's mine. Roman, I found it!"

Roman? Since when do those two talk? But, as Remus said, Roman walked in.

"Oh, thank Hades."

"Logan had it."

Roman sucked in a breath, "Did he read it?"

Remus shook his head, relief is a weird expression on the man's face.

Logan wouldn't mind seeing it more.

"What is this about?"

Roman took the liberty of answering, "The book is Remus' and it's private. Reading it would be invasive."

"Oh, my apologies, then. But, I had just picked it up, it was left over from Remus' running through the room and into the Imagination, along with some other debris I cleaned up."

"It's alright, nerd."

Logan's gaze lingered on Remus a bit, before he bid his farewells, reminded Roman of some work he needs to do by Friday, then left.

"Y'know," Roman said as they turned to walk back, "You could tell him how you feel."

Remus scoffed, "I'm not self destructive, like you, RoRo."

Ignoring Remus' jabs is difficult for the prince, nevertheless, "And do, pray tell, how it's self destructive?"

"Because he'll say no and that will hurt. I don't like when things actually hurt. I'm not risking him hating me even more."

"Woah, woah, he doesn't hate you."

"Doesn't he? I'm chaotic, irrational, vile, ik everything he fights to keep under control."

Roman digested this and thought hard on how best to explain this, "But that's exactly why you two are perfect for each other. You help him let loose when he's being a stick in the mud and he helps you keep in control of yourself and stay organized.

"You're delusional. He doesn't like me, he can't Ro. It goes against our very beings! Go ahead and fool yourself, but you can't do that to me. That's just cruel." Remus disappeared and Roman sighed as he tried to brush off his brother's words.

As the embodiment of romance, he thinks he'd know when a couple will work out or not. How will he convince his brother and Logan of that? He supposes he can't blame them for that, who would listen to the love advice of someone who loves someone that loves someone else? Kinda hypocritical.

.

.

.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Remus! Would calm down? Just listen to me!"

"No! You're a liar and I hate you! Do you want me to get hurt? You're an asshole you good for nothing prince!" He screamed. Why won't his brother let this go? Doesn't he see that everyone is better this way?

"Fine! You're right! Is that what you want to hear? Call me an asshole, call me stupid, call me evil or whatever! But I'm not wrong! Why don't you believe me? Ha! Why am I trying to reason with the self proclaimed unreasonable?"

Remus looked down from his perch on the guillotine, "Wait, RoRo-!" But he was gone.

"Fuck."

He rushed out, hoping to Loki that he didn't do too much damage.

"Roman!"

But he found who he wants looking for.

"Why are you screaming in the middle of the common room?" Came that cool and sexy voice.

"Looking for my brother, duh."

"Funny, I just spoke to him."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not sure, but he told me to stop being a robotic fake and confess to you."

"He- ? ROMAN!" Remus summoned a hammer and maybe there's a new hole in the wall.

"He was right, surprisingly."

Remus was not expecting that, "Come again?"

"I have noticed, over the course of our interactions, that I have developed feelings that I didn't recognized until Roman brought them to my attention. Remus...I have romantic feelings for you."

And it was the last casual and calculated confession Remus ever heard. He imagined something with ropes. But it was the best thing he ever heard. He didn't expect to be crying.

"Remus?"

"I like you, too..."

Logan brightened and stood up, his heart beating unnaturally, yet pleasently, as he moved closer, "Then... perhaps we...?"

But before he could finish, Remus pulled him in and there was no need for words.

Part 2 with what happened with Roman afterwards?

Ty so much for the request and I apologies for the long wait.

@fireflyjunkie

[jyndor]

I’m rewatching the Puppetmaster for ~research~ and ugh.This is such a good episode but I cannot stand the treatment of Hama and also Katara’s special bending ability. And I’m gonna talk about it because I can’t help myself. But I also want to offer a solution maybe something that the writers could have done instead. Granted I’m a white US American so while I am about to talk about imperialism, anti-indigenous racism and racialized misogyny, I am coming from a position of privilege here and ymmv. It’s important that we as fans (especially white fans) acknowledge the things that our favorite stories can do better so that we can make our fandoms safer for everyone.

And btw fans of color have been talking about this so I definitely am going to be quoting some phenomenal bits of critique I have read on here. Also you should follow @shewhotellsstories and @visibilityofcolor for anti-racist fandom commentary.

I am also going to talk about grooming, so just be aware if that is a trigger for you.

I. Hama as a Campfire Horror Story Monster

The episode starts out with the Gaang camping in a creepy forest telling ghost stories to each other. Set to spooky music, Katara tells a story about something that happened to Kya, a friend named Nini (likely) dying in a snowstorm and then haunting her family’s home as a ghost. Immediately after, Toph hears people screaming under the ground - and then Hama finds them and invites them to her inn.

Every so often, Hama says something spooky with the spooky music playing. Katara immediately takes to Hama, but the others (especially Sokka) find her pretty unnerving. Katara says she reminds her of Gran Gran before Sokka starts snooping around and finds a bunch of puppets and a comb from the Southern Water Tribe. It’s the standard horror movie fakeout.

Every so often we get an artfully placed hint about Hama’s agenda - pulling water out of thin air, showing Katara that “plants - and all living things” are made of water. And oh yeah, she makes herself ice claws. Cool skill, but in the context of the episode, a little more unnerving.

The “moon monster” that Old Man Ding mentions, the alleged Moon spirit, turns out to be Hama (of course) and the tension builds to a peak as the Gaang rush to save Katara from the “dark puppetmaster” that has imprisoned the villagers.

Meanwhile Hama and Katara stand under the full moon washed in spooky cool lighting with an ominous breeze around them. You see Hama practically transform into a monster in a way sort of reminiscent to a werewolf - her fingers become claw-like, her veins pop out. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it’s a coincidence that as she reveals her true agenda, she becomes less human in appearance. Which... okay I’ll get to that later.

While I can’t say that Katara fits the Final Girl trope very well, I do think it’s interesting to note that horror movies often do feature women as heroes who defeat the monster/killer/whatever and usually the Final Girl is used to allow audiences to experience the full horror of the villain, which absolutely is how Katara is used here. Yes, her friends come to help, but she saves everyone in the end (my queen).

So here’s why that’s bullshit.

Framing Hama as a horror story monster make sense when you don’t think about the Implications of framing the indigenous woman POW living surrounded by people who have benefited from Fire Nation imperialism. It does - it’s a common trope: the reclusive witch who first seems kindly to some lost/wandering children before revealing her true intention - to use them for her own purposes. Yeah, I know they’re playing on Hansel and Gretel. But yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too - drawing on a c*nnabalistic witch for inspiration when you’re writing an indigenous woman character is probably not the way to go.

II. Hama the Puppetmaster* and Groomer

A puppet master is obviously a puppeteer, and Hama has puppets (creepy though they may be). But in terms of the underlying meaning, she’s a chessmaster, an Emperor Palpatine/Dick Cheney kind of master manipulator who works mostly through other people. What most people would consider a psychopath (in layman’s terms). When her friendly mask falls, she is terrifying.

She is cold, calculating, manipulative as fuck - she isolates Katara almost immediately. Hama uses Katara’s desire to connect with her culture to groom her to become a weapon. It’s actually such a good example of grooming that it has to be purposeful:

Targeting a victim - Hama hears that Katara and Sokka are from the SWT. She also hears Katara tell a story about Kya. To Hama, a waterbender from her own culture is a hell of a target.

Gaining trust - Hama reaches out to Katara in particular, is especially kind to her, gives her individual attention that the others don’t get. She prepares a SWT feast for them and tells the Gaang about her heritage when they go snooping.

Filling a need - so once Hama has given Katara reason to trust her about waterbending, she promises Katara to pass on SWT waterbending heritage that only Hama knows. She fills a unique need of Katara’s.

Isolation - From then on out, we don’t see Katara with the rest of the Gaang until the end of the episode. Hama seems like a normal teacher but she does start to drop little hints, pushing Katara very gently to see how she will react to her real agenda and desensitizing Katara to what would otherwise seem unacceptable coming from someone else who hasn’t established that unique trust. “You’ve got to keep an open mind, Katara.”

So this would be the point at which Hama would make sexual contact but this is metaphorical so that obviously doesn’t happen. What does happen is Hama pushes Katara’s limits. She makes her pretty uncomfortable with the idea of killing the fire lilies for water, but when Hama appeals to their shared history of marginalization she gets over it.

Maintaining control: Hama makes her final move, which is obviously bloodbending, and reveals her true agenda - and when Katara refuses to manipulative living beings’ blood, Hama violates her bodily agency. And not only this, but she pushes Katara into bloodbending when she victimizes the Gaang, fully realizing her control. 

Hama sees it as a victory, and telling Katara breaks down at the end in one of the most emotional scenes in the show. She feels like so many of us have felt at some point: violated, betrayed by someone we trusted. And then they never really deal with that.

I actually think that’s the point of The Puppetmaster, especially given ATLA being a show for children. I think it’s supposed to be a metaphor for csa.

And... okay.

Undoubtedly it is important to send these messages to kids. And yes, people usually are victimized by those closest to them, by those in their own communities. But not indigenous women. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but according to the National Congress of American Indians, Native American women  and girls are more likely to be sexually assaulted by non-NA men. 57% of cases are perpetrated by white men. Not the people in their communities.

Choosing to tell this story with an indigenous woman POW (who very likely would have been victimized herself lbr) is a choice that I find really aggravating. When writers tell stories with a Point, it is incredibly important for those writers to understand the implications of what they are saying about the characters who they are using to make that point.

Like I’m not saying don’t make that point, or don’t use Katara (who would in real life be at a higher risk of sexual violence than the others) to make it, but why make the perpetrator someone who is statistically unlikely to be Katara’s abuser? I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. My guess is, like with making Hama animalistic and about as unsympathetic as it gets, the writers just had blinders on about the cultural implications of what they were saying.

Not even considering the whole victimizing-the-“innocents”-of-the-Fire-Nation-town plot, Hama’s not a good person. This is probably because she was driven mad by the need for revenge, which, eurgh okay, but still it’s very apparent that she is not interested in winning over Katara’s support directly or honestly.

* also the antisemitic history of this trope hmm.

III. Hama and The Victims of Genocide Victimizing Oppressors #NotAllFireNation

Okay. So this is the part that I think annoys me the most because it’s so bad. Like, imagine for a minute that you’re a white guy and you’re gonna tell a story about a victim of genocide who is completely divorced from her culture and homeland, and furthermore is an escaped prisoner of war who has radicalized in prison - okay it just hit me, I know what they MIGHT have been going for, like maybe some kind of anti-Gitmo statement? But that didn’t happen. People who were stolen away from Iraq and imprisoned illegally in Guantanamo Bay, and who were released after being detained illegally, haven’t really shown any real radicalization. They’re pissed at the US for victimizing them, but like that seems pretty fair considering so many of them did nothing wrong.

That’s been the US government’s excuse for not releasing innocent people who were detained illegally. The idea that prisoners of war radicalized in Gitmo so they can’t be released because they’ll attack the US is propaganda. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but that’s where it comes from.

Considering the time period ATLA was written, considering how much of it was inspired by the US wars of aggression and imperialism, considering how political ATLA is (and why it was so popular during its initial run - during the years that Bush lost a ton of popularity) I think if that’s what they were thinking about, that’s not great.

But for all of Avatar’s good messaging on imperialism and war, it’s still written from a white US American mindset. Well surely I’m not responsible, surely you shouldn’t imprison and abuse me, a random white girl in the States. It’s my government, which I cannot control because of two-party politics or some shit.

So first off, that’s shitty because oppression is often about systems, not individuals. Sure we need to always consider the individual experiences of people who are victimized, but the people who are benefiting from imperialism? Me? Fuck if I care if someone in El Salvador or Iraq or Chile or idk any of the countries we have meddled in, let alone from a marginalized community in the United States, hates white US Americans for what our government has done - and that’s even silly because white US citizens support our government. Like we think the institutions are sound, although sometimes we don’t support the guy in charge. We think the cops are going to help us, even though that isn’t really the case.

Why frame it about what she’s doing to the Fire Nation civilians at all? Why make Hama the villain? I don’t think they wanted her to be unsympathetic, I mean they tell her story and I don’t think anyone would conclude that it doesn’t justify her desire for revenge, but why tell this story through a victim of genocide?

Recently I saw a post by @sunkin-akh where they point out that Hama basically quotes Malcolm X:

I was literally just watching the Hama episode again and I just noticed for the first time that while forcing Katara to bloodbend she says that they must fight back against the Fire Nation (and she used this exact phrase) “by any means necessary”, which is Frantz Fanon’s phrase popularized by Malcolm X during the Civil Rights Movement (iirc). They directly compared Black liberation to Hama’s evil acts and it disgusted me.

The full context:

Hama: The choice [to use bloodbending] is not yours. The power exists. And it’s your duty to use the gifts you’ve been given to win this war. Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother.

Katara: I know.

Hama: Then you should understand what I’m talking about. We’re the last waterbenders of the Southern Tribe, we have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary.

I find that so appalling because it is framing resistance, specifically anti-racist resistance, as barbaric and monstrous. And given the way that Hama is portrayed at this point, about as inhuman as anyone in ATLA, that is extra gross.

Finally, after Katara defeats Hama, she is lead away by the authorities in CHAINS.

So now the FN cops are the good authorities who we’re gonna trust a SWT waterbender with? I mean she’s a villain so we’re probably not supposed to feel bad for her, like yeah sure the FN is usually bad but she’s a criminal so it’s okay that they take a POW back into custody.

No, no, no.

I know I am reading into this far more than the writers intended - but that’s kind of the point of critically engaging with media. Because shockingly writers don’t always question their choices - they are people and have implicit biases just like all of us. When those writers come from a privileged culture that has colonized the culture they are using as “inspiration” for their story, they need to be extra mindful of how they represent those people.

IV: How To Write Hama

Well, I’m not gonna talk over indigenous fans on this one on specifics, and you should read this rewrite by @kispesan​  but my thoughts generally are:

lose the horror framing it’s just not right for this context and this character

don’t frame Malcolm X as a villain because that’s nasty and racist

have Katara learn to use bloodbending in ways that she is comfortable with (and not just like once in one episode where she’s extra vengeful and the hero of the show doesn’t approve of her actions JFC) and don’t make the dark-skinned girl the only character whose special bending skill is dubious (I know she also has healing but still)

bring Hama home

have indigenous people in the writers room

Anyway, I’ve gone on wayyy too long. Let me know if I am speaking out of turn please if you feel that I am. and I’m sure I had other thoughts but if you want to read some other good pieces of Hama meta, I’ve listed some below:

post and another post by @marsreds​

this post and this post by @visibilityofcolor​

this post by @shewhotellsstories​

anyway katara is a queen and should have been allowed to heal, and hama never should have been irredeemable because if you can make iroh redeemable, if the show was going to redeem AZULA, you can make hama redeemable.

[touchmycoat]

qijiu bingqiu (bingliushen??) fix-it fic planning blabber

so i think i gotta keep it tight on SJ’s POV. Right before his death, he makes a deal with Xin Mo (who’s kind of a lone operator bc LBH too has to fight its power) to create this alternate timeline in exchange for his cultivation. Xin Mo can open up new dimensions no problem, and with SJ’s cultivation, it even manages to rewind the timeline. That’s not enough though—Xin Mo’s goal is only consumption, so it takes the deal but reveals there’s nothing that will actually change. The price SJ paid only opened the door.

But that’s fine, ‘cause SJ saw it coming. He also strikes another deal, this time with Death itself? Some sort of large cosmic force. The only thing he wants changed is Qi-ge’s death, and in exchange...the universe takes him. SJ will not get to exist in that second universe. SJ takes the deal.

And that’s the start of canon. SJ-as-SQQ can no longer exist. Instead, SY-as-SQQ is brought in. In order to stay cohered though, YQY’s memories and personality get a little glitched—he is physically incapable of recognizing all the ways SQQ is now not SJ. That’s why, despite SY-as-SQQ clearly being OOC, YQY never seems to see it.

Canon happens, now we’re in the post-canon world where bingqiu are married and settling down, but SQQ still kicks it with his buddies LQG and YQY every now and then. YQY still firmly believes SQQ is SJ, to SY’s increasing consternation. Is it just delusions and wishful thinking? The more YQY treats him as SJ though, the worse SY feels—he shouldn’t be stealing all this affection that doesn’t belong to him.

It all comes to head when SQQ overhears public opinion on YQY, how he’s perfect in everything but his crazy devotion to SQQ. SY thinks enough is enough. He can’t bring SJ back but he sure can tell YQY that his Xiao Jiu is dead, right? The System warns him he’ll be punished but that’s fine, it’s just not fair, SQQ can take another little mental horror trip down to BinggeLand if it means YQY can have some closure.

Except that’s not what happens. He gets YQY in private and says, “no, you don’t understand, Shen Jiu is dead.” He sees the recognition in YQY’s eyes, but he also sees the moment that recognition gets wiped. The sad smile that had fallen off of YQY’s face returns, eerily happy, as YQY says, “my apologies, Qingqiu-shidi, I must have spaced out just now, what did you say?”

Right before the System kicks him into another punishment phase, SY tries again: “Shen Jiu is dead!” He sees the recognition disappear once again from YQY’s eyes.

Inside the punishment world, Bingge has him again. “I’ve been searching for an answer to why the sniveling pathetic version of me gets you as his Shizun, and I think I figured it out.” For a moment, SY’s horrified by the possibility that Bingge has figured out his transmigrator status—if his punishment figures it out, would he be trapped inside the punishment forever? But instead, Bingge says, “Liu Qingge is still alive, meaning Shizun didn’t kill him in the spirit caves. Did his survival render such a dramatic change?” SQQ”s like “yup, yup that’s definitely it. We’re such good friends, he really changed my outlook on life, so I treated you better, mhm.”

“Shizun’s very clever then to save his own life this way. Xin Mo’s already told me about your little bargain.”

That’s how SY learns that SJ had made a deal. Holy shit, he’d thought it was just random phenomenon this whole time, but the original goods had made it all possible? He didn’t know whether to thank SJ or curse him.

But that can’t be the whole story—Xin Mo opened up a timeline, that doesn’t explain why SY is here. Bingge doesn’t know this part, but it sure feels like SJ made a second deal, paying with his life.

What would motivate the original goods to do all this? Sacrifice his hard-won cultivation and his entire existence in this last-ditch effort?

The memory of YQY’s glitching came to mind.

Holy shit. SY owns the two of them more than he’d ever thought.

After the punishment, SY goes back home. He’s with Binghe, and LBH can tell there’s something troubling him.

“Binghe, there’s something this husband wants to do, and I need your help to do it.”

“Shizun, anything.”

“...But there’s a risk it might hurt you. There’s a risk it might ruin everything. It might be straight-forward, but it also might not be. It’s safer for all of us—but especially you, Binghe—if I just let things be.”

“But it’s not something that Shizun can just let be, is it? Otherwise Shizun wouldn’t have said anything. Binghe is honored to help. Anything to ease Shizun’s mind.”

“...I promised I wouldn’t let you come to harm again, and I meant that. Whatever happens, remember that I am your husband, this is my call, and you must do whatever you need to do to protect yourself, okay? Swear to me, Binghe.”

SQQ begins figuring out how to use Xin Mo to go fetch SJ from the other timeline. He figures that if Bingge could exist in this dimension without destroying the space-time continuum, the same ought to be true for SJ. Only trouble is, he can only go get SJ after SJ’s made the deals, because otherwise it’s a paradox, and he wouldn’t exist.

So SQQ brings home limbless, post-torture!SJ. That’s where the fic starts.

By all accounts, the deals are squared: SJ no longer has cultivation and SJ died in SY’s dimension, so SY successfully exists. SJ and SY can exist in the same space totally fine, and SJ begins healing.

(Currently, the fic is completely from SJ’s POV, and very much about coming to terms with being saved and what the hell is going on in this better world.)

The trouble is, SY doesn’t know what’s going to happen when SJ meets YQY again. SJ very thoroughly declines the offer to go see YQY because part of SJ still believes this whole thing is a trick, and if he goes to see YQY he’ll ruin his end of the bargain and YQY will die again. For SY’s part, he’s afraid of SJ going to see YQY too for similar but opposite reasons—if SJ going to see YQY ruins SJ’s end of the bargain, then wouldn’t that mean SY can no longer exist? Would SY just disappear from this universe?

So we get ragtag group therapy fun times. SJ thinks this is probably all an illusion Xin Mo is tricking him with, so treats everything with scorn but also existential apathy. This actually works to his benefit because he’s not clinging to things as hard, and it’s easier for him to admit, for example, that he was definitely in the wrong for abusing LBH, and yeah he was being a spiteful bitch when he did not need to be.

SY tries to keep LBH away from SJ mostly, because c’mon, he’s not about to make his darling husband face his childhood abuser. He does explain the situation to LBH though, in the same terms that Bingge had (mis)understood it lmfao—that the act of saving LQG’s life had prompted an entire 180 on his personality so he came out of the spirit caves a better man. LBH’s jealous as fuck of course, but damn if that doesn’t explain some things. Given the opportunity to see his old and new Shizun side-by-side, LBH takes it, and really gets a moment to see how horribly he’s been treated by SQQ.

So it actually prompts some therapy between SY and LBH too. LBH used to figure that getting pushed into the Abyss was squared by SQQ sacrificing himself to save him. But ofc it turned out SQQ came back and kept on, in his perspective, trying to get away from him. Trying to leave him behind. SQQ’s tried to treat his abandonment issues by going “okay sorry about that I’ll never leave you behind again” but he’s never really explained it.

SJ’s presence gives Binghe the ability to ask the question again and gives SY an answer: shame and cowardice. They’re able to put SJ’s mistreatment of Binghe right in front of them and SY-as-SQQ gets to explain how much it hurt to look back on that bit of their past, but also how much he feared LBH's retaliation. LBH is a little hurt, but also he remembers how he’d raped SQQ under Xin Mo’s control and, looking at what’s left of SJ now, he sees his own darkest possibilities. He really did destroy the man he loves now in another timeline. That helps him contextualize SY’s fears and why SY chose to push him off the cliff.

LQG crashlands into the middle of this whole party as is his wont. He gets a little fix-it too maybe. SY very staunchly repeats the reason for his personality swap—saving LQG in that cave made him a Better Person™. Meeting the original goods again, LQG is forced to believe it. Or like, it doesn’t really matter to him either way, but now he really does see pre-cave SQQ and post-cave SQQ as two completely different people.

SJ though, has to swallow this really weird pill. He remembers trying to save LQG inside the cave but failing, and then getting blamed for LQG’s death. If he’d succeeded, he and LQG would’ve become...this close?? A life debt between them would’ve changed his outlook on life so much???

Well whatever. Now that he’s put down all his old posturing, he more readily gives his reasons for why LQG gets on his nerves so much: the insufferable confidence (arrogant prick), the skills to back it up (privileged bastard), and a flawless cultivator family with all the money and the training and the pedigree. (Meanwhile SY’s like “oh shit that’s me too hahahahah awkward, good thing he still thinks i’m him so he doesn’t just murder me immediately.)

LQG’s a little weirded out too. SY-as-SQQ is his favorite person in the world, so it’s hard to get angry at SJ-as-SQQ since they’re “the same person.” He’s more willing to talk all this out with SJ and brings up all their old beef on his side too: high-handed snootiness coupled with underhanded dick moves, also the whole sleeping-with-prostitutes thing hurting Cang Qiong’s reputation. Ofc they’re snapping at each other this whole time. “There’s no reason for you to do all that!”

SY intervenes if needed. “Actually there is.” Considering the fact that SJ gets indicted for so many things that actually turn out to be not his fault, SY figures he’ll just get it out there. “Remember Qiu Haitang’s accusations against me? I grew up a slave in that household. I grew up believing it was kill or be killed—it doesn’t make sabotaging others right, but...that’s why the Spirit Caves made such an impression on me. I learned it wasn’t just kill or be killed, I can also save people. It opened my eyes to everything I already had, and everything I should be grateful for.”

This is for both LQG and SJ. And it works, to some degree. SJ knows he managed to claw to the top of privilege, but he still felt horribly insecure there. That’s because, he realizes, he never got the thing that would actually grant him security. It's not power or money or reputation—it’s Qi-ge. Holy hell he misses Qi-ge. In anger and betrayal, he’d pushed YQY continuously out of his life, but when faced with certain death the only regret he actually had was bringing Qi-ge down with him. YQY was meant to have survived, and in this world, he did.

So now, after all that, SJ really, really wants to go see his Qi-ge. It’s nice to have survived (and gotten part of his power back—at the very beginning, SY gives one of SQQ’s eyes to SJ as a bit of his golden core in order to save SJ’s life), but it’s so damn hard to live on in this world knowing YQY is only so far away, still very deeply attached to Xiao Jiu.

They try to Cyrano it at first. SY-as-SQQ goes to YQY with SJ’s voice in his ear, telling SY how to treat YQY as him. YQY is so fucking touched and hopeful, and SY is damn uncomfortable. He goes running back to SJ and says it’s not going to work—it’s not going to work because he’s no longer Qi-ge’s Xiao Jiu. He’s Luo Binghe’s husband, okay? He can’t go back to YQY as SJ.

SJ’s fucking furious at first (what kind of shitty variation of himself saves LQG’s life and then falls out of love with Qi-ge???? bitch?????) but what can he do? LQG tells them YQY’s on his way here and SJ hides for now. They still don’t know what will happen if SJ meets YQY, so SY continues to front as SJ for now.

But during this conversation, something changes. Maybe YQY says something, but SJ realizes he’s actually a little willing to take this chance. If Qi-ge does disappear—easy, he’d just kill himself right after. He’d already experienced Qi-ge’s death twice before, and at least this time, he can follow, knowing he’s at least reconciled with Qi-ge through SY.

And if he disappears on his own, then at least he knows there’s a world in which Qi-ge does not die horribly. That’s enough for him.

That, however, leaves the very last possibility—that SY will disappear. At this point both LQG and LBH have figured this out, and are very, very reluctant to let this be the scenario. They don’t see it as two people, they see it as their version of SQQ vs. YQY’s version of SQQ.

So there’s a little tension, but in the end, SY gets the final choice. As soon as he learns SJ is willing to go see YQY, he chooses that path. He simply owes qijiu too much to deny them the possibility of reconciliation. So despite knowing he might disappear from Binghe and LQG’s life, he makes it happen.

(They should get a very painful goodbye scene.)

SY goes out to explain things. “Zhangmen-shixiong may have noticed my change since my qi deviation and the spirit caves.” “I’m happy Xiao Jiu has a brighter outlook on life.” “Yes, but I think Qi-ge, of all people, might actually prefer how I was before, right?” “If Xiao Jiu’s happy, I’m happy.” “Yes, but Shen Jiu wants you. Is that alright?” “—of course. I want Xiao Jiu too—”

SJ comes out. Everyone holds their breath.

Scene cut.

It’s said that Cang Qiong’s Sect Leader Yue Qingyuan disappeared suddenly one afternoon...

But jk, YQY just ran away with SJ, they’re recuperating in the mountains and everybody’s fine and it’s a happy ending.

[crazy-loca-blog]

Hello hello! Are you ready for a change? Here we go with:

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Hey Bree!!!

Oh... my... God (read it in Janice's voice, of course)... this is brilliant!!

In my head, there was a time where they both were trying to figure out whether their feelings were real or if everything was just a consequence of spending so much time together (nope, it's canon that Casey has a lot of doubts about herself and her abilities to be a doctor, so given the fact that she lacks of confidence, there is no way in my head that Ethan was the only one having doubts about them and their feelings for each other). So this is before Miami, somewhere around chapter 8, but before chapter 9. The interview takes place at the diagnostics team office... and Bree herself is the one in charge of asking the questions this time!

Masterlist

Ethan: Please remind me why are we doing this instead of taking care of our patients...

Casey: Because you deserve to do things for fun... and our shifts ended an hour ago... now stop complaining, Bree is already here to ask us some questions...

~~*~~*~~

For Both:

Bree: When I first saw them, I thought __________

Casey: I didn't think anything... I was freaking out because the patient was dying! I was only fully aware that he was next to me when he held my hand because I was shaking. The whole situation is a little blurry in my head.

Ethan: I thought she was the only one in the room with the minimal knowledge to help me save that woman. I couldn't understand why she was just standing there instead of helping.

Bree: What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Both, in unison: fuck!

*Laughs*

Ethan: She also says "dammit" when things don't go the way she wants, but you know that she is really mad when she begins to swear in German. Or what she says is German.

Casey: An exchange student at medical school taught me a few things, so yes, it's German. He also says "Christ" and "Jesus" quite a lot. Weird for a non-religious guy, if you ask me...

Bree: Quick: What color are their eyes?

Casey: Blue

Ethan: Green

*They look in the eyes and smile to each other ... maybe longer than expected*

Bree: *thinking to herself* Why am I suddenly feeling like the third wheel here?

Bree: Three people at work your coworker hates?

Casey: Not fair! He hates everyone at work!

Ethan: I don't hate you

Casey: Now I do feel special

Ethan: You should

*Casey wide-opens her eyes and tries not to blush*

Ethan: *realizing what he just said* I... I mean... what I'm trying to say is that you're not as the other interns, so working with you is very enjoyable, even though you're still stubborn and a pain in my ass... don't let it go to your head...

Casey: Too late... I feel honored... but going back to the question, I don't think it's that hard... Dr. Cyrus, Dr. Thorne...

Ethan: *under his breath* ...assholes...

Casey: ...and even though you don't hate her as a person, you've made Dr. Emery's job a hell this year, so I'm not so sure if you actually like working with her...

Ethan: It's equally hard for me because you seem to like everyone and everyone seems to like you... but... even if you don't seem to hate them, I know at least three interns that you'd prefer not to work with: Dr. Emery, she left you dealing with your first patient by yourself and she only takes the cases that she finds interesting and challenging... Dr. Varma, she is a very good doctor, but I have no doubt that she'd throw you under the bus to win the competition... and the other one is your roommate...

Casey: Sienna? I mean... Dr. Trinh?

Ethan: No, no, the guy...

Casey: Dr. Greene?

Ethan: No, the other one...

Casey: Dr. Olsen?

Ethan: Him! I always forget his name... You both are like oil and water. The way you envision patient care is very different to his, so you don't feel comfortable working with him.

Casey: How do you know that?

Ethan: Simple observation... don't forget that I'm constantly evaluating you all.

Bree: What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Casey: He pinches the bridge of his nose more times than I can count in a day.

Ethan: She unconsciously fidgets with her hands when she's nervous and she bites her lip when she's too concentrated thinking about something or when she knows she did something wrong.

Bree: If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

Ethan: Don't deny it, I've seen you with the paramedic... and the surgeon...

Casey: Your people watching abilities must be failing, Dr. Ramsey... I adore them, but they're just friends...

Ethan: I'm very convinced that they don't see you "as a friend"...

Casey: *blushing* Do you think so?

Ethan: I don't "think so", I know it

Casey: What about Dr. Emery? I might have seen things, too...

Ethan: I don't know what was I thinking when I told you we used to date...

~~*~~*~~

Never have I Ever:

Casey: Yay! Bring the drinks!

Ethan: Rookie, we're at a hospital.

Casey: Who said anything about alcohol? I was thinking about the coffee...

Ethan: *Pinching the bridge of his nose* Interns...

Bree: come into work hungover

*They both drink coffee*

Casey: How many times?

Ethan: Once, in my intern year... I learned my lesson the hard way... what about you?

Casey: Same...

Ethan: So, here is the deal... you don't tell my secret and I don't tell yours...

Casey: Deal!

Bree: had a fistfight

*They both drink coffee*

Ethan: *surprised* You?!

Casey: It wasn't a fistfight, but I might have punched a girl back in high school... she was bullying me... I tried talking to her, but apparently she didn't get the message... there is a part of me that regrets it, but there is also a part of me that tells me I did the right thing.

Ethan: Did she keep bullying you after that?

Casey: Nope

Ethan: Then you did the right thing, Rookie

Casey: *smiling* What about you?

Ethan: Same, actually... never been on a fight, but I punched an ass once

Casey: *laughing* Do you expect me to believe that?

Ethan: What?

Casey: None of what you said! There is no way that you punched a person just once...

Bree: been kicked out of a bar

*Casey drinks coffee*

Ethan: Again?

Casey: One of my friends fell asleep at the bar...

Ethan: No comments...

Bree: gotten a tattoo

*None of them drink coffee*

Casey: ...nope...

Ethan: ...not my type of thing...

Bree: broken someone’s heart

*None of them drink coffee*

Casey: Not that I know...

Ethan: I have no idea...

Casey: Come on... I'm sure you have... look at that face!

*Casey points at Ethan's face*

*Ethan drinks coffee*

Ethan: Maybe in my teen years...

Casey: I knew it!

Bree: been in love

*None of them drink coffee*

Casey: I thought I had, but I've been thinking a lot about it lately... and I'd say no.

Ethan: Intimate feelings are just neurochemical responses, I don't even think that "being in love" is a thing.

~~*~~*~~

For Casey (Ethan is not there)

Bree: For this part of the interview, I want you to know that your answers will remain confidential... everything will stay between us.

Casey: Okay...

Bree: Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Casey: This is Ethan Ramsey we're talking about. He could do whatever he wants to and he'll succeed. He's driven and a perfectionist, so he'll always find a way to achieve his goals. I don't see him leaving Edenbrook, he would have left forever ago if he had wanted, so I guess he feels comfortable here. An admin? I don't think so, his passion is working with patients. But you never know.

Bree: What about his personal life?

Casey: I just want him to be happy. He has a tough exterior and I know he seems to be an ass at first, but he's one of the most caring people I've met. And even though I don't know what exactly happened, after you get to know him, you can tell he's gone through a lot, so he deserves the best in life.

Bree: What do you find the most impressive about him?

Casey: The most logical answer would be his mind. He is a brilliant doctor. But above all, he is an amazing human being. He has morals, he is noble and he'll always go the extra mile for the people he cares, in his very Ethan Ramsey's way that is. Most of the time, he is not conscious of what a good guy he is.

Bree: Last thing he texted you?

Casey: His address... we are treating a patient who asked us to keep things private, so there are some things about this case we can't discuss at the hospital.

Bree: If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

Casey: He won't know these answers, right?

Bree: Nope.

Casey: Pinky promise?

Bree: Pinky promise

Casey: *blushing* Okay, so... thinking about this as a very hypothetical situation where he asks me out... because we know that's not going to happen because he is my boss and I'm an intern... not that you can't do it, but it just wouldn't be okay... I think I'd say yes. I mean... look at him! He is incredibly handsome and he could have any woman he wanted! Just add his mind to the mixture and you have the full package... yes, he is the type of person that I'd want to get to know better.

Bree: *smiling* Thank you, Dr. Valentine!

~~*~~*~~

For Ethan (Casey is not there)

Bree: Okay, Dr. Ramsey, for this part of the interview, I want you to know that your answers will remain confidential... everything will stay between us.

Ethan: This is scary...

Bree: Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

Ethan: She'll take over the world by storm. I know she is supposed to be at Edenbrook for three years, but if she wants to stay and I have to do it, I will fight every person on the board to retain her here, losing her as an attending would be an irreparable loss for this hospital. But she'll always shine, wherever she decides to go after her residency.

Bree: What about her personal life?

Ethan: I don't care about what my coworkers do outside the hospital, so I don't think it's correct for me to talk about it. But of course I want her to be happy, she is a good person, so she deserves the best... I really hope that she manages to find the balance between her personal life and her professional development... *shows some sadness in his eyes* ...being a doctor is not easy.

Bree: What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan: *coughs* I don't know if it's appropriate to answer that, she is my intern after all.

Bree: She did answer...

Ethan: *visibly uncomfortable* Did she? Of course she did... she is brutally honest... and she is the best secret keeper I've ever known... she is also gentle, caring and an amazing doctor... and her eyes and her smile say a lot... *realizing that he's telling more than he's actually willing to say* next question?

Bree: Last thing she texted you?

Ethan: That she was coming late to the place we had agreed to meet because she had a last minute problem on her shift.

Bree: If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Ethan: I assume she answered this one, too...

*Bree smiles and nods at him*

Ethan: *blushing and visibly uncomfortable* Okay, so... I'm going to give you two answers. As a doctor, I would have to decline her invitation. Not only we are colleagues, I'm also her boss. My mission as her boss is to push her to be the best doctor she can be, she has the potential for it, I can see it. Also, she is participating on a competition to earn a spot in my team. So any type of relationship outside the work between us not only is inappropriate, it's unfair for the rest of the interns. As a man... you promise me that this conversation stays between us?

Bree: Yes

Ethan: Then... as a man... not only she is a beautiful woman, she is also smart and caring... she is incredible, and I don't understand how in the world she's been single for so long. No one would dare to say "no" to her.

Bree: Thanks a lot for your time, Dr. Ramsey...

*Bree starts to leave the room, but she suddenly turns back*

Bree: Dr. Ramsey, can I give you one piece of advise?

Ethan: I don't think I need it, but go ahead, Ms. Bree...

Bree: You should ask her out...

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 2

Chapter 2: Shine Like Stolen Gold

Stories aren't meant to be lost and forgotten.

When a timid bird comes knocking at his den, the dragon seizes the rare opportunity presented.

(Smut this chapter: Zhongli/Reader)

So, really, come on. When Aether is cooking some minty meat rolls or sticky honey roast, is it so hard to believe that he thaws their frozen meat to make up for when they lack the ingredients otherwise? Paimon really can’t complain, her mouth waters at the thought of it and a childish smile creeps on her face as her eyes glaze over.

Behind her, Aether is throwing his face in his hands in mortification at the realization that they ran out of chilled meat for goulash. Paimon vaguely registers your voice laugh-crying at Aether that now, they must go fight some unreasonably angry grandpa boars for their next meal.

Yep, the fairy rubs her belly completely content. The sticky honey roast was totally worth it.

She yelps when Aether grabs her ankle to pull her down to their level of reality. “Alright Paimon, think you can handle the cold without that goulash? We ran out of Frostshield Potion a while ago too, which reminds me, can you ask Lisa if she can make more?” Aether turns to you, and you take out your journal to note the next task with a little side note, circled twice: ‘Check all inventories before walking into deadly weather. Obviously.’

Paimon nods, though she puts on a big show of rubbing her arms with a cheeky grin. “Paimon will be okay! The sooner we get off this mountain though, the better.” Nobody disagrees with her, but some hours into climbing the mountain and Paimon is grumbling once again. This time though, it’s not about the cold, oh no.

Aether gave her the golden Seelie to hold and act as a firefly while she scouts for the next torch.

You would laugh harder, really, you would, but every breath you take in this frozen wasteland seems to burn your lungs even more. The sensation reminds you of how Venti once spoke sparkly-eyed about a Snezhnayan drink called Fire-Water that ignites the body while freezing their breath. If not for your collective appearances seeming to be ruefully young for this world, you’re certain that Aether and Venti would have somehow convinced Diluc at this point to import the drink just for them.

Though, come to think of it, you’re not entirely sure if you want to see the havoc that would indubitably follow the drunken duo. After all, you already remember how Aether was shy of throwing a dumpling at Zhongli when he enthusiastically ordered wine-soaked rice balls instead, and that was when Aether was sober.

Your commission involves collecting some of the old books left behind in the libraries littered throughout Dragonspine for the researchers at the base of the mountain. While normally not a difficult task, the blizzard appears to be picking up just to spite you three. If only there was… Aha! “Aether! Paimon!” The two turn at your calls and frantic waving, pointing to the cave just to your right. All three of you missed this hidden entrance – that’s it, time to go inside and wait out the weather. If none of you caught this, then most definitely the visual conditions were progressing from bad to fucked. Stars, you can’t even think beyond trying to get warm.

While Aether kneels to light a cooking fire, you shuffle forward and take stock of your surroundings. All in all, the walls certainly saw better days, but there is no shortage of old books to rifle through for information. Paimon is a step ahead of you though as she floats (wobbles) towards you, carrying two books that are double her size at least. Through your combined efforts, you manage to find a decent number of books to ferry back for the researchers while Aether finishes cooking some jewelry soup.

Gods, the speed Paimon dive bombs for her bowl rivals the hawks over the Liyuen mountains. Magpies are cute and dive too, right? Maybe Paimon is part magpie, with her big eyes and penchant for swooping the unfortunate souls who wander too close to her food.

You shake the thoughts out as you consume your own dish. The silence among you three is not unwelcoming, though you can tell Paimon is itching to say something. Bracing yourself, you take in a deep breath and –

“Do you and Aether ever visit old worlds again?”

Choke on your food. You choke on your food, all elegance and style gone as Aether is clearly not expecting such a question either. Paimon huffs, though she looks more concerned about the wasted food Aether spat out rather than Aether himself.

“We, uh…” Aether coughs, hitting his chest a bit before going silent. There is a shift in the atmosphere, even the embers in the fire long ago dying to merely whispers of warmth. Golden eyes mellow as Aether looks hazy, distant all of a sudden. “We don’t go back usually, no. Why do you ask?”

Paimon scratches her head. “Well, Paimon noticed that every time we come here, there seems to be more to the story of an old kingdom here. The paintings and the books… It’s like they wanted to be remembered, but they weren’t.”

You close your eyes, ears straining as Aether attempts to formulate a proper response. “It’s… We,” he gestures between you two, “We don’t belong to any world. We never did.”

The wind picks up, nearly deafening. What a confession, the wind whispers. What a blessing of freedom.

What a burden.

“You remember how I told you that we were travelers? Well, our people are tasked with, ah, watching those we encounter. We try to learn all of the stories and knowledge of our charges; to our people, that is worth more than all the golden Mora in Teyvat.”

“Oh! Oh! Is that why you’re so glowy and yellow?”

Aether laughs, shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, I just took all the wealth of our old worlds and made it a part of my outfit. That way I’ll always be rich.”

“Ehhh? But why waste treasure like that?”

“Because I’m the real treasured cutie here,” he deadpans, proudly puffing out his chest, only to duck when you and Paimon immediately throw your spoons at him. The atmosphere is lighter now, happier.

You don’t hear the wind anymore, just Paimon and Aether. Only them, always them.

“Anyway… That’s the great paradox of our duty, though. We learn best by walking among them, but never with them. But we try not to visit the same place twice. Stories, once ended, always make way for another chapter. Each new world we walk into, we carry with us the knowledge of all worlds past and try to understand why people act the way they do. We were never mortal, so it’s…” He trails off, unable to complete that sentence.

“Paimon doesn’t get it though. Why do your people watch, if they never actually participate? Isn’t that the whole point of reading a book versus building a library?”

Aether stops, stunned into silence. You close your eyes tightly. Sometimes, Paimon’s naiveté can really hit the mark on all things wrong in a system.

When you were born into the universe, you were simply given one duty: to watch and record. The blinding brilliance a new star is meant to guide, acting as the light in the night sky. However, the only answer your elders gave was that it was the will of the primordial force guiding you all. Your family promised you then that you would find more explanations in the mortal realms, for no star is truly alone.

These answers still elude you, though, as they do Aether. How long have you been lost like this?

Did you stop counting your age because of your immortality, or because you refused to face another year no closer to the truth?

Nobody remembers who came before. Nobody talks of the distant, quiet stars above your own people, separate from their arrogant claims.

“There is a saying from one world we traveled to,” you begin carefully, “that says ‘you can never go home.’ It means that when you leave a place, you can never come back to the memories you made there. Nothing will be the same, because you will have changed in your journey.”

Paimon floats gently down between you and Aether. It is then you notice she still cradles the Seelie, her wide eyes reflecting the golden light that pulses. She kindly reaches for Aether’s hand and gives him back their newest companion before softly smiling. “Not all journeys are bad ones though, right?”

“Paimon,” Aether breathes, “I – “

“Like our next journey to get the heck outta here! Paimon’s hungry.”

“And there it is,” you laugh. Standing up, you offer your hand to Aether as you pull out the map. He leans forward before tapping a point near the camp full of adventurers. Paimon squints and nods, then disappears in a show of light. It’s beautiful, you admit to yourself. All the light, the warp of space-time, the blessed departure of squeaky Paimon. Really brings a tear to your eye sometimes.

“Hey,” Aether says, grabbing your arm. “Are you okay?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who answered her question. Are you?”

He laughs and looks away. “Yeah, I am. Just shocked that Paimon used up her daily brain power allowance in one go.”

 ---

 Later, when you three stop by Wangshu Inn, Aether strides to the edge of a balcony from one of the many layers and can’t help his wandering thoughts to Paimon. He never cared much for deeper probing and purposes to his journey, he left that to you and Lumine. Adventure and fun always drew him instead, the promise of being chainless. He saw the ability to travel between worlds as a blessing, one where he can be untethered to nearly everything. No, he’s sure his sudden obsession with Paimon’s question is just because he didn’t expect Paimon to be so insightful. That’s it, it has to be.

He thinks of Lumine, of how she would have thoroughly enjoyed this view.

She is always the one reaching out to the locals, to guide and let them follow her back to the path of righteousness – or whatever was deemed lawful during that time, at least. Different worlds, different definitions. At least here, he tries to do what’s right by the people and helping with their (endless) errands. That’s what Lumine would have wanted. What does he want, though?

Well, for starters, he wants to find his sister, his other half, his twin star. Aether smiles to himself as he counts off all the nicknames he has for his little sister, how he plans on releasing Paimon on Lumine to see what the little fairy’s new nickname for her would be. A frown graces his lips though as he follows that thought, of names and designation and purpose.

It’s no secret that the Vigilant Yaksha established here his… home? Home, Aether decides, if only to avoid the sadder options. He remembers Xiao’s long conversation with him beneath the floating lanterns, of how Rex Lapis gifted him his name to give him renewed meaning and life. To protect those he once consumed.

Aether hopes that the adeptus can find that peace one day; as someone who travels worlds, who has seen that darkness between the stars, he knows the shadows are no welcoming place. Still, his heart warms when he remembers Xiao’s tireless watch, knowing that the spirit will come to his aid should Aether ever call his name. He never had someone do that for him, if he was being honest, that level of attentive care. It was always his people helping others.

It’s nice, he thinks. Real nice.

That’s why he resolved long ago to offer the same protection to the adeptus, much to the latter’s scorn, but Aether really didn’t care to listen to his grumbling, he was going to help, damn it. Aether thinks back to Venti, to the bard’s soulful flute and insistence on freedom from chains.

When he goes back inside, he muses, he’ll ask you to write a new quest: ‘Introduce Xiao to Venti.’ Somehow, someway, he plans on helping Xiao out of that darkness that Lumine fell into. Maybe this is his own redemption. Penance for lifetimes of no responsibilities, no cares, no duty to uphold for a singular cause. Look at where it got him now. He’s lost without Lumine as a tether.

He’s not going to give up on Xiao, damn all the others that did. Xiao never gave up on Liyue, so why should Aether?

The blonde turns when he hears your approaching steps and smiles. You return it, bringing him a bowl of sweet almond tofu. Not your own cooking – Aether would have heard the commotion first – but he’s grateful, nonetheless.

“There’s some jerk bullying a kid!” Both of your ears piqued at that, but you don’t bother trying to contain the fit of giggles at the ridiculous statement. You’re sure that someone would have dealt with the jerk by now, anyway.

“Who bullies a kid anyway? It’s like kicking puppies,” you mumble around the food in your mouth. Come on now, that’s a new low, even for Hilichurls.

Aether looks down and spies Paimon with two bowls of sweet almond tofu, full speed ahead like the devil himself is on her heels. Only, when he discovers the figure behind her, the flash of green and smoke and a spear trying to turn Paimon into a kebab, he nearly chokes again on his food.

Hey. Hey, wait, that’s –

“Shit,” he grumbles, “that’s my idiot.”

 ---

 The sun is kissing the horizon by the time you three make it back to Liyue Harbor. Your daily commissions complete and with enough Mora for the week, you nearly make it back to your inn before you catch the unmistakable lilt of a deep voice in the air. Zhongli?

Aether and Paimon catch on, and after a second, make their way to the source of the sound. The former Archon spots you three and his eyes crinkle before he stands. “Oh? I didn’t think I would see you here.”

Be still, beating heart, and thank the stars for the fading light casting everyone with a soft glow to hide your flush. You close your eyes, listening to Aether and the archaeologists ramble about Lord of Geo this, God of Wealth and Commerce that, something about the catalytic power of Mora.

When you open your eyes, you find Zhongli’s own on you instead. Huh?

Aether kicks your foot lightly and you turn to him, blinking again. “Hey, saddle up. We’re going on another adventure.” You deflate slightly; to be honest, you were hoping for a chance to rest and reflect on the conversation with Paimon. Stars, you can’t handle more of this right now, not in this… state. Mentally you’re flailing, trying to keep thoughts buried while you open your journal to mark the next task, because with thinking came emotion and with emotion came trying to understand why Paimon’s question stung you. You always believed these idle thoughts to be private questions, private sins about your loneliness in your duty. How far from the path have you two strayed for even an outlander to notice?

Still, you bite your trembling lip and nod. Back to work like always.

 ---

 You grab Zhongli’s hand as he hoists you up the cliff, your own arms quick to turn to jello. In front of you, you can hear the Fatui agent and archaeologist bickering over something, but you’re frankly too tired to care. Aether’s voice cuts through, trying to make peace. Or, really, trying not to pummel them both, but who cares about nuances? You say tomato and Aether says ‘gimme a sword.’

As you sigh and stretch your back, Zhongli smiles at you before observing the ocean once more.

Your throat is parched, but that’s not the first thing you think of. “I miss him,” you say, “Tartaglia.”

He nods. “I do as well. Are we selfish in desiring his company over his duty?”

You hum. “Well, it’s only natural to want to see your friend again, right?”

Zhongli blinks. “Indeed. Friend.”

Curious. The old god wanted Tartaglia to stay, to study him, thrilled in discovering a mortal so foolish for the first time in many millennia to challenge the Lord of Geo. A selfish want, yes, but present nonetheless.

He thinks he hears Guizhong. “Morax,” she chides, “you cannot hoard people.”

Did you want Tartaglia to stay for something else? He was certain you understood his own desire for the man with your gift mirroring his symbolic chopsticks, even if the Harbinger did not. Is Zhongli’s courting too old-fashioned?

“Ye-ap,” you smile. “He was a good partner-in-crime.”

Not for the first time, Zhongli thinks that perhaps, something is lost in translation.

“Indeed.”

 ---

 Forget Dragonspine. Things have somehow gone from fucked to holy stars keep it together don’t cry don’t cry –

“Your legacy? Your legacy,” you begin, voice shaky. Zhongli turns to stare at you, like… Like… “No. No, you do not get to look at me like that, like you’re Morax. Morax wouldn’t do this.”

Aether and Paimon whip their heads to look at you then. You stop and turn upwards, eyes searching, and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

Clouds cover the night sky. Cowards.

“We are tasked with remembering, yes. You know this. But don’t you dare imply your legacy was for naught.”

Zhongli’s lips tighten. A single tear falls when you look back at him.

“Mora transforms, yes? Maybe then,” you start and begin waving your arm around, gesturing to the ocean before you all. “Maybe this is a transformation. No god that passes is ever truly gone in Teyvat, so don’t you dare say that something so sacred has departed Liyue. She lives on in her ideals, her beliefs.”

The old god turns to look at the ocean. He thinks back to Ningguang and Guizhong. “Like a cycle? Is this what you have learned on your travels?”

You nod. “Morax knew there was power in mortals, there was potential. As the God of Wealth, does it not logically follow that he would understand that mankind is divinity transmuted? When these men come and go, their souls return to the divine. Nothing is ever truly gone.”

He scoffs at that, but nothing infuriating. It sounds more disbelieving. Still, he turns to you, though you don’t see it. “Rain that rejoins the river into the great ocean is no different than the clouds that made it.” His heart aches. Why does his heart ache? “Perhaps, when the clouds form once more, we shall see the revival and birth of gods anew.”

When you look at him, Zhongli is already gazing back out at the see, a distant memory washing across his eyes. You know of his connection to Guizhong, know of his pride to discover that her tablets still stand strong when you and Aether stumbled across them.

Suddenly, your heart falls in your stomach and you feel sick. “Come on,” you mumble to the other two present. They nod and you open the map, once again deciding that tonight is just too much.

Zhongli stares long and hard at the spot you three stood in, then turns to the stars above as they emerge from cover. The ring in his hand is gently twisted, around and around. He thinks of Aether, of Paimon, of you. Of how, no matter how close to the heavens a mountain dares to try and touch, it can only wait for the light to warm its barren earth and the rain to form once more.

The stars only twinkle back.

 ---

 All right, well, the plan to stay in your inn and once again contemplate Teyvat’s frankly depressing history just went out the window. Literally.

You jump from the bedroom and open your glider to land in a hidden corner to not attract too much attention. Moments like this, Mondstadt is perfect for you; the drunkards leaving the tavern at this hour would just look at you glide by and raise their mugs in understanding. Life is like that sometimes.

Aether and Paimon long ago fell asleep, you made sure of that. It’s annoying that your exhaustion is now to the point where you can’t even fall asleep, thoughts dance just out of your reach, and even the ocean breeze as you shuffle close to the docks no longer tickles your senses.

When you hear your name called, you stop and turn around to find Zhongli ten paces behind you. Ah  shit, here we go again.

“I was hoping, though not expecting, to find you out. You appeared distraught when you left, so I went to Bubu Pharmacy to retrieve some medicine.” As he walks closer, you stand up straight and look at the bag in hand. He holds it out to you and you smile at his amber eyes, pupils in slits as he presents his gift to you with all the grandeur of a cat dragging a mouse to its master.

However, when you open the bag, you stop and look back at him. “Chamomile,” you say, voice flat.

“Yes.”

“You got me tea.”

“Yes. Is something the matter?”

You sigh and rub your eyes. “You could have gotten this at a regular herb shop and not been robbed blind.” He winces as realization dawns on him, nodding along, but then.

Then you start giggling.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid and your mind is tired beyond reason and here you are laughing at the God of Wealth spending his money for you and got robbed for it. You cover your mouth, but you feel your wrist gently pried from your mouth and you gasp as Zhongli examines at you inquisitively. He smiles too. “Would you care for me to brew this tonight?”

You nod and babble what you hope to be a thank you, incapable beyond reason of any coherent thought, save for one. Food. Flipping him around, you instead take him towards the nearest food stands still open at this hour – at least feeding drunkards is universal – and lead him to the most appetizing.

It doesn’t escape you that his hand glides down your wrist to grasp your fingers gently.

 ---

 Some hours passed and you both settled long ago in front of Wanmin Restaurant for a gamble of Xiangling’s choice of mystery dish. When you first discovered this new weekly option, the three of you had widely ranging reactions: you politely tried to hide your shudder, Aether more openly grimaced, and Paimon was dragging you both by the collars as you desperately dug your heels in.

Conversation flows easy between you two, and you click your chopsticks at Zhongli as you take another bite from a perfectly cooked chunk of meat. “I think you would benefit from some hobbies other than work, you know.”

He arches an eyebrow and puts down his cup of baijiu. “I am attempting to integrate a mortal life. Is it not logical to work within Liyue as one?”

“Well, yes, but actually no,” you drawl and smile behind your cup at Zhongli’s expression. “You should do other things, too! Enjoy life, take long walks, play some xiangqi, meditate – “

“Dear Celestia,” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am not some grandfather you need to care for. I am old, not dying.” Vaguely, you register a quiet grumble and a why do I even bother.

“What was that, hmm?” You raise your hands to cup your ears, hoping to draw out more of his frustration. Instead, Zhongli’s lips curve up at you with a combined expression of haughtiness and mirth.

“Apparently, I am not the one who requires hearing aids.”

“Touché.” You swipe the bottle of baijiu and pour a small shot for yourself. “D’ya remember in the immediate aftermath of it all, Childe kept bowing and calling you zu fu? I personally think he was on to something.”

The ancient god only grouses as he pours himself another drink. “My temptation to indulge his battle lust then has never been so appetizing. The argumentative fool.”

You shrug. “He was looking to get a reaction out of you. It worked, didn’t it? The great Rex Lapis irritated by an incessant fly! Oh, the scandal that would cause, the humiliation.” Dramatically, you throw your hand over your forehead and lean back, the spitting image of a damsel-in-distress in one of Lady Ying’er’s lustier novels.

Zhongli smirks then and laughs low, a purr more than anything, before gathering his empty dishes to leave a bag of Mora in the center of the table. You’re proud, you really are, though you bite your tongue from any more comments on the old god remembering his money for once.

It’s a while before you both speak again, a silent agreement between the two of you to finish your bottle before moving on. He is the first to break, though you don’t expect the next words. “When I took the seat of Geo Archon offered by Celestia, I never thought this day would come.”

Tilting your head, you scoot a bit closer. He glances at you, posture pristine and relaxed, though you feel rather than see the tension in his taut body. “Why?”

“Because,” he begins, pursing his lips as he thinks. “I am – we are – immortal. Therefore, I suppose I simply did not see an end to my duty.”

“How sad,” you murmur. His eyes dim, so you put your hand on his shoulder to ground him before he sinks further into his memories. “Duties should only be taken when you see a future for it, rather than a lack of an ending. When the day came, I am glad you recognized the need to put down the mantle.”

Zhongli’s eyes burn into you, and realization dawns on you as you think of the potential reason for his intensity. Is it because of - ?

“I’m really sorry for my behavior at Wangsheng, really, I am. You were burdened with a seemingly never-ending duty, it wasn’t fair for my anger to cloud my judgment.” You try to look away, but Zhongli’s hand placed over yours keeps you still.

“Your frustration was reasonable.” He pauses for a second. What was that look in his eye? “You observe those around you just as I once did, though I have stepped into the story. Are you and Aether able to put down your duties as well?”

You quickly withdraw your hand and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. Not him too. “I don’t know,” you breathe. If Zhongli wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard you. He takes a deep breath before offering his hand. Taking it, you both stand, and he releases you as he begins walking away from the restaurant.

“I believe we still have some tea to brew, yes?” You grin at his question, warmth settling in your stomach. Tea. That sounds nice.

As you travel with him, the silence stretching once again, you can’t help but think of Zhongli’s eyes once more. Bah, damn your crush, he only looked at you as a god would a pleading mortal, he’s beyond your realm of comprehension and –

You try to stamp the disappointment before that thought keeps going further. Exhaustion begins to creep in your bones, you’re certain the late night is the cause for your distress, but that doesn’t stop your cynicism.

How could a god understand the burden of stories, of keeping records tirelessly? He’s the God of Contracts, but your contract doesn’t end.

Damn the pity in his eyes.

 ---

 (It wasn’t pity, something whispers. Compassion. Tenderness. Wrath.

All things must be fair, Zhongli thinks. Your contract never was.)

 ---

 By the time you’re in his apartment and sitting at his table, you’re sure you’ve spent the better part of ten minutes gaping like a fish at the luxury of it all. Each item’s quality is beyond description, truly, but you still fumble about in your mind trying to find the words anyway. Rich? Decadent? Unnecessary but very nice? Paper lamps are littered around you, both hanging in the air and on side tables, and you can’t help but notice the soft, hazy golden glow the light casts over the room. Somehow, you’re sure you smell incense burning somewhere…

The colors are earthy in tone, but what surprises you is the abundance of plants – mostly silk flowers and glaze lilies - along the windows and corners carefully placed, following the patterns of feng shui. Stone walls curve around, and the plants appear to rest in the embrace of the circular patterns carved within, perfectly matching the decorations. As the hand-carved furniture, laced with golden accents and filigree, weave into the background, you can’t help but appreciate the apartment’s forest-like ambiance. His den is warm, welcoming, and soft, a far cry from the image of a Geo Archon. All that’s missing is some art and –

There it is. That tapestry Childe bought the day you received your own token.

Before you can stop it, the quiet voice in your mind croons at the memory of him.

You’re only snapped out of your thoughts when Zhongli returns with a tea set and places one cup before you to carefully pour before joining your side. He blows the tea before sipping it, all the serenity afforded to an ancient god.

You pause, smile lost now. “I’m sorry.”

Amber eyes open and scrutinize you. “For what? You have already apologized before for nothing, starlight.”

Rolling your head side to side, you lower your gaze and find solace instead at the steam rising from the tea. There goes that damn nickname again. “For disrespecting your wishes. Your legacy is important to me, but what’s important to you is that you… You…”

It doesn’t have to be said. Zhongli pauses and puts his own teacup down. “You and Aether once informed me of your people’s duties in recording stories. My hope is that my time as Zhongli marks the end of Liyue’s need of me, to close that chapter in Morax’s story.” You frown at that.

“As Zhongli?”

“Yes,” he breathes, smile small but distant, “you were right on the cliff. Morax would not have made the decision Zhongli did. I am no longer that god.”

You reach over and grab his hand, his eyes meeting yours again. “If you are no longer him, then why is Zhongli the end of Morax’s story and not the beginning of his own?” He only makes a soft rumble in response, and not for the first time do you marvel at how lost he appears. “Your journey as Zhongli is not another contract. You shouldn’t start this journey the same way you started your duties as the Geo Archon.”

“Oh?”

Suddenly, Paimon’s question rings clear in your head. “As immortals, we naturally process things slower, we have more time to. Time is given to us to see the future and learn, not to dwell on the past. Otherwise, we waste this gift,” you murmur. Gods help you; you think this next statement is going to kill you but it needs to be said. “I’m sorry about all those you’ve lost.”

Great, just great, way to bring up his old friends. Still, you felt the need to blurt it out, if only so someone could say it to him once. Just once.

Zhongli’s hand turns so that his palm faces yours and his fingers entwine in your own. It’s a long time before he speaks, and if it wasn’t for his gentle grasp, you were sure that the former Archon was furious.

He must be using his elemental powers, he has to be. Why else are you petrified?

His eyes move, looking through your hands. Beyond, beyond. What does he see?

“They would have wanted me to move forward. I honor their memory through remembrance, and hopefully now, movement. All things must return to dust, though I do not rush the journey,” he eventually replies. Only, you look closer, and his eyebrows are barely furrowed, the only sign on his otherwise perfectly composed face of the emotion lurking underneath. “I do not know how she saw fit to be my mentor, to guide such a bloody god out of the battlefield. She saw a nurturer, where I saw only the destruction my hands have wrought eons ago.”

You don’t have to ask to know who he refers to.

It’s stupid, it’s bold, it’s desperate, but you’ve already gone this far, haven’t you? You bite your lip and ask gently, selfishly, “May I remove your gloves?”

He looks to you and nods, relaxing his grip and not bothering to hide the confusion carved all over his face. As you slowly peel off his gloves, you see his dark hands lined with geometric patterns glow dimly, the shade matching his own amber eyes. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, the statues and paintings of him do him no justice; the muscles along his arm flex in reaction when you begin to trace his fingers, inch-by-inch, from the tips to the palm. Reverence fills your eyes as you suddenly understand why so many mortals threw themselves to the floor beneath him in worship.

These are just his hands, though. Should you ever be blessed to see him fully, by the stars, you think you would die and ascend to Celestia right there.

You feel his steady gaze on you, but you don’t care. Home stretch, here we go, how much further can you test these boundaries?

“Do you ever wish you could have changed the outcome?”

He scoffs. “Wish? A god does not wish. What Celestia commands, we obey. Seven seats there were, and so the fighting began until seven victors remained.”

“Sure, but I mean, that’s in the past now. A name both defines a purpose and limits it.” A sentiment both you and Aether share, for those who traveled countless worlds surely held countless names. Zhongli fondly remembers his first encounter with Alatus, but he frowns, nonetheless.

“I will forever carry the scars as the former Geo Archon. I may leave Morax behind, but I can never forget that I am still him, buried beneath this visage and burdened with the weight of that knowledge.” He clenches his hand again, but you spread them out and begin slowly tracing the golden lines along his palm and forearm.

“Hm,” you hum, “that’s odd.”

“What do you see?” Zhongli says, voice pitched an octave lower than before. Subtly, you feel your core heat and you rub your thighs together, though not enough to draw attention.

“Your hands… I don’t see any blood, just these flowers you’ve cultivated,” you beam, eyes flicking to the silk flowers and glaze lilies permeating the room. Maybe it’s the scent, or the lingering baijiu in your system, or the fact that Zhongli’s eyes are on you, but you feel drunk and bold and stupid so you bring his hand up to your face to snuggle. The anxiety in your stomach melts when you feel his rough hands against your cheek. “Warm too. They’re no different than a man’s. Than Zhongli’s.”

When his lips part, your eyes follow the movement and he stares at you for a long time. Those eyes flicker between yours, fully present and watching you now as they pierce your own.

Are you leaning in, or is he? Fuck it. “Kiss me,” you rasp, pleading and hopeful.

You groan when he moves forward and finishes that thought, deftly moving his other hand to your hip to rub small circles with his thumb. How are his lips so soft? All you can feel is his movements against yours, though you register him eventually breaking apart. His pants mingle with yours, and gods if he doesn’t come back you’re going to throw a bitch fit.

“Was that alright?” he murmurs. Ever the gentleman, you bemoan. Instead, you opt to whine lightly as you drag your unoccupied hand up his chest, cooing at his own gasps as you creep farther up.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “Please, again, let me –“ You reach over and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Zhongli leans back slightly to allow you more access – though the cheeky god turns his head and peppers your forehead with kisses along the way -  and you move both hands to wrangle off his garments. After a few minutes of fumbling, you manage to bare his upper chest, but you pause in appreciation.

Oh, oh stars, you thought you were going crazy for his hands. Truly, you feel like a debauched Sister to Barbatos when you took all of Zhongli in; his hair tussled, lips mumbling something, and his eyes – fuck they are following your every motion. It’s almost predatory. You register somewhere that he’s still rumbling something, but you raise your eyebrows and dig your hands into his chest again, twisting the silken fabric. “I d-don’t, I don’t speak Liyuean, what was that?”

He laughs, solid and rich and you’re in deep. Zhongli takes one of your hands to kiss the palm, then the wrist. His eyes flutter open and look at you again, all mischief and pride still lacing his perfectly composed features.

It’s not fair, you think. Some stupid divine gift of being perfect all the time.

“I spoke Common, dear,” he replies and slowly kisses up your arm before moving to your shoulder. You tense as he leans forward, all but nuzzling your cheek as he whispers, “I asked if you would prefer to take this to the bedroom?” He says something else after, and this time you’re sure it’s Liyuean as he concludes by gently, playfully grazing his teeth over your cheeks and jaw and neck. 

Two can play that game.

You mumble something in response with your own native tongue, all chirps and purrs and light tones. Zhongli pauses and turns back to look at you inquisitively, single eyebrow arched. It’s endearing. “I said that tonight, you’re mine.”

He smiles and you suddenly feel the world spin as – oh fuck are you being lifted? You were trying to be smooth with your earlier statement, corny as it sounded, but this. This fucker literally swept you off your feet.

Yeah, not fair at all.

“Then, dear starlight, allow this old adeptus to humbly offer himself to your whims.”

“Hmm,” you purr, “You offer? Sounds awfully sacrilegious coming from a former Archon.”

As you’re taken to his bedroom, Cor Lapis eyes make a show of inspecting your body he carries before eventually meeting your own. “I am no longer that Archon.” His voices dips even lower, sultry and husky and possessive. “Tonight, I am Zhongli. I am yours.” You gasp as he sits down on his bed and pulls you back in with another kiss, light nips and moans. The debilitating arousal that hits you soaks your undergarments as you realize that this god, Prime of the Adepti, is begging for more on his proverbial knees.

Yeah, you think as you open your mouth and welcome him, this works. His tongue is warm and silky; somewhere, you feel his hands making quick work of your clothing, so you try to return the favor. After you unceremoniously toss his clothes – and ignore his offended puffs – you lean back, admiring the now shirtless Morax as he spread his legs further, nearly coy if not for that devilish smirk. His brown and gold marks extend all the way to his shoulders, reminding you once more of all that those hands have achieved.

Maybe… Maybe will do to you later too, you think, suddenly shy. When you feel cold air strike your core, you shiver, only now realizing that the god stripped you quickly without your notice.

Seeing him spread out like this, legs apart and chest bare, you can’t help but wonder how the statues littering Liyue do him no justice, not by a long shot. You sink to your knees before him, and he makes a confused sound, leaning forward only to halt when you place a hand beneath his naval.

“I thought you were the one to be worshipped tonight,” he mumbles, though clearly not opposed.

“Mm, my whims, right? I just – “ You lean forward and trail your lips up his thighs. “ – really – “ Another kiss, closer, closer. “ – want to taste you.” His breath stutters as you kiss his bulge, relishing in his earthy scent. Somehow, he always still smells of silk flowers, an undercurrent to what you experience now. You glance up at him and undo his pants; as you reach forward, you let just enough of his cock through before you shift forward and let him slide into your hot mouth.

Morax growls at you, and oh fuck that’s doing something to you as another wave floods you, settling low and deep to soak your thighs. He bucks his hips slightly to reach further into your hot mouth and you rush to keep your hands on his thighs. Not that it would help, really, but it reassures you that somehow, you’re still in control. As you move forward to further take him in your mouth, you simultaneously strip him of his last clothing and pull it down to his ankles before he kicks it away somewhere. Truth be told, you’re torn between making this as slow and reverent as possible or drink from him like he’s a fountain in a desert.

You settle for somewhere in between as you slowly move your head back and forth, swallowing around him when you can’t take any more, and you lift your hands to stroke what’s left. Stars, he’s thick and long, your jaws ache just from taking him this much.

As you pull back, a trail of spit connecting his leaking head to your lips, and you flush when you realize – “Only halfway?”

Zhongli chuckles above you and cards his hand through your hair. “It’s okay, starlight, we can – “

“No.” You interrupt him to take his throbbing cock again, but you begin tracing a warm and wet line down his shaft instead, and he groans low. You’ve wanted to taste him for so long and you’re sure there’s some bullshit adeptus aphrodisiac in his precum, because gods above he tastes exquisite everywhere. Somewhere above you, Zhongli is writhing and panting as you take his head again to swallow around it, drunk on his noises. The saltiness in your mouth only encourages your efforts, determined to give him the best performance he’s ever had.

You lay your tongue flat against his frenulum and he jumps, barely incoherent as he tugs incessantly. “Wai – nnngh – wait, I-I’m close, I’m… Haah.”

Warmth blooms within as you release his cock with a pop and look at him, eyes hooded. “I want to taste you,” you slur. “All of you.” He looks stricken as you resume your ministrations, and soon you feel him throb more insistently. Zhongli is a God of War, right? Maybe… Maybe if you do this –

You drag your nails fierce and unexpected down his hips and thighs and he cums, hard. Suddenly you’re forced to hold his legs for purchase as you swallow, it’s all you can really do as you feel his tight grip hold you in place to face-fuck you and you milk him for all he’s worth. Which, y’know, you’re fine with too. Your eyes flutter closed as you hear soft coos and praises tumble from his lips, and you release his cock to look back up as it twitches lightly, already missing your wet mouth. Between the two of you, you’re not sure who looks more drunk.

 No, actually, you’re sure that you look more drunk, because even though Zhongli’s eyes are deep in reverie as watches you stand up, he looks like the perfect image of serenity. His bed is vast, linen sheets with a ridiculously high thread count and shimmering amber patterns over the black base, and his headboard is a deep grey with Cor Lapis geometric decorations littering it almost haphazardly. You realize that the design mimics his throne in the Geo Archon statues.

Around the room, you suddenly notice more silk flowers and glaze lilies, with a window spanning nearly  the entire wall to your right with a view of Liyue only afforded to royalty. There are jade statues and crimson tapestries framing a weapon rack hanging on the wall to your left with multiple spears adorning it, each likely worth a king’s ransom.

And here you are, standing in front of Rex Lapis as he moans your name and nearly pouts for more attention. How many have seen this great emperor laid so low?

Suddenly, you yelp as the man grows impatient and grabs your hand to pull you to him before rolling over you. His glowing eyes narrow as he growls, though it isn’t threatening so much as restless, and you keen when he lowers his mouth to your neck. Ah, there it is, that dominating Archon present once more.

Zhongli’s lips trail kisses as he travels down the curve of your throat to your sternum, before shifting to one breast and flicking his tongue over your nipple. You jolt and moan again, louder when he bites, then nurses it again with kisses to sooth. Then, you feel it, those skillful and calloused hands as one traces your hips before reaching your core. You whine and lift your hips, grabbing a fistful of Zhongli’s hair as he moves to your other breast. “Please, please, please.”

He smiles against your skin as one tickles around your folds, suddenly in the mood to go slowly and tease. Right when you are about to complain, a digit touches your clit and you whine as you jerk your hips again. Only, the sly fucker moves his hand back with your hips so you never feel that pressure tending to your need. You moan out his name, an absolute mess as he massages you idly like he has all the time in the world.

Well, technically, you both do, but you want it now, damn it.

When he moves his head back up to your neck to begin kissing again, you snake your hand around his throat to pull him in close and seethe, “If you keep playing with me, so help me I will – “ The words die in your mouth as he suddenly plunges a finger in and moans at how tight and silky you are, the wet noises drowned out by your cry. Zhongli never breaks eye contact as he watches exactly how you come undone from just one finger.

You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily he calls your bluff with the overwhelming relief that comes from him stoking that fire deep within. He twists his hand around and a lazy smile graces his lips, the pristine image of composure while you’re twitching and mumbling underneath. You claw at his back and moan incoherently, desperately looking at him and hoping he understands.

Oh, oh he does, but Zhongli purrs regardless when he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “Words, darling, use your words.” Right when you begin forming them, though, he slides another finger to join the first to cut you off. Cheeky bastard. A third quickly joins, and you throw your head back, noises growing in your throat when you feel yourself getting closer, closer, yes there -

The god looks at you and frowns lightly as he tuts. “So loud,” he says, and you feel his fingers leave you as you clamp around nothing, right at the precipice. Zhongli laughs, silvery in sound, when he spies your frustrated bearing, about a threatening as a kitten’s, and he nips your jaw with a quiet, “Open wide.” When you oblige, you feel him slide his fingers in your mouth, and you move your tongue between them to taste yourself. He moans appreciatively and you smile as you lick again. You never thought you could be into this, but with him? Fuck yes you can be.

“How do you taste, little one?” You sigh at him and smile but pause again when you spot that glint in his eye, the one that spells all sorts of trouble for you. When Zhongli withdraws his fingers, you watch as he gracefully climbs down your body, all slow movements and muscles flexing like an elegant beast.

A dragon, really.

His eyes flick up to yours as you watch, thighs twitching around his head when he leans in closer to kiss your velvety folds. You close your own as you squeak and feel his laugh, before you throw your body up when you feel his tongue slide deep into your pussy without hesitation, the top of his mouth wrapping your bud in a furnace. God of the Stove? Something, something, something –

Your hips struggle to meet his lips, but you feel one hand hold you down with his growling. Stay put. “Ohhh, f-fuck, please – “ You try again and this time, his nails dig deep into your skin and you hiss with pleasure. His other hand creeps up and slides a finger in to match his tongue, and stars you suddenly can’t breathe.

When you look down again and see his golden eyes just fucking watching you, intense and concentrated, you realize the inevitable. “Nnngh, f-fuck I-I’m – “ you stutter, barely having enough wherewithal to warn him, “I’m g-going to –“

The devil smirks wickedly and he sucks on your clit, and you’re tumbling. Gods above, something tears through you as you cum with a ragged, hoarse cry of his name as euphoria streaks through you unforgivingly. Your muscles spasm and you grip the sheets harder, all too aware of your limited mobility and it’s like your body made your orgasm all the more intense, knowing it can only express itself there. White-hot pleasure concentrates around the god’s head, and you can’t figure out if the heat is from you or him.

Each spasm has you releasing more wetness from your cunt to Zhongli’s mouth and he groans deeply, lapping it all the while he finger-fucks you through your orgasm. When it gets to be too much, your oversensitive bud begging for a gods-deserved break, you lightly swat at his head to stop drinking you; he only purrs softly into your folds before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

When the former Archon sits back up and slowly, deliberately licks each of his fingers as he makes eye contact with you, your throat seizes. “Fuck,” you breathe. Oh, oh gods, if you were native Teyvaten, it’s him you would worship, you would throw yourself down and suck him dry all day if he would let you, ride his thighs on his throne, fuck he’s so sexy, so handsome, so fucking good to you –

Only when his eyes crinkle with pleasure did you realize you… You were saying those things out loud, each one of those statements tumbling and traitorous.

You quickly look away, mortified and all too aware suddenly of your current situation, the fact that you’re in bed with him. You’ve harbored a cru- fondness for him for so long, you lost yourself to the ecstasy before being brought back to reality.

Zhongli frowns and crawls forward, gently taking hold of your chin to turn you to him. His eyes. Stars, they’re so warm and welcoming and… Tender. “Starlight,” he rumbles, “Was that… All right?” Stupefied. You’re stupefied as you realize this ancient god thought you were embarrassed of him, of his performance somehow and not your own childish blunderings.

“Y-Yes!” you squeal and immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falls forward with an oof as your legs find purchase around his hips, and you begin trailing kisses down his cheek and jaw to his neck in an attempt to rectify this. “Y-yes, that was so good, I-I just… I can’t believe you… We…”

Zhongli chuckles and you can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Well, perhaps we can keep proving you wrong?” When he bucks his hips, your pussy feels electric as you realize the angle you’re hanging off of him allows his cock to slide just outside of your slit. Again, you’re sure you would’ve been more embarrassed at the fact that you’re practically a sloth hanging off of him, but, well, come on. Who doesn’t want to climb this tree?

As he’s slowly rocking and coating his cock with your slick, back and forth and whispering sweet nothings between kisses along your temple, you realize belatedly that he’s asking for permission. “Please,” you mumble.

He doesn’t need anything more as you feel his hips angle, the tip poking just the entrance. When he slides in, slowly at first and barely the head inside you, you wheeze. “B-Big,” you huff unceremoniously and Zhongli pauses, waiting for you to adjust.

You both stay like that for a moment, breaths mingling, and you feel his back muscles flex under your nails. Eventually, your eyes open and you see how his are tightly shut and he’s painfully biting his lip. All those centuries carefully cultivating a strong discipline is being tested, here and now, and stars he looks to be in terrible pain as he holds, waiting for you to adjust.

Hm. A thought strikes you, lighting in your head with a faint ping.

Slowly, to not startle him – though his eyes snap open anyway when you touch his shoulder – you creep your hand up and go to the back of his head. He looks at you, curious and distracted for a moment while you reach for his ribbon. When you pull it undone, eyes scrutinizing his every movement to see if he enjoys this, you card your hand through his waves as they cascade around you two.

Then, you tug. Hard.

Shit, that does it as Zhongli sinks his head to your neck and groans, low and open and raw as he thrust his hips further, suddenly sinking in half of his length into you. You gasp and hold on to his hair tighter when he pauses, but you only tug again – lighter, this time – and he gets the hint. Slowly, the god begins rocking his hips once more; this time, he works inch-by-agonizing-inch into you.

You have a hard time breathing as his girth practically splits you open and glides along, your hips already aching from how wide you spread them to accommodate his size. Nothing about him is soft, it’s all hard planes of muscles and jagged edges, and yet. And yet. When he leans forward to capture your lips again, it’s all you can think of when you think of him. Soft.

The obscene noises your pussy makes around him is silenced as he slows, finally reaching the base and hips meet your own. You have to give him credit, those gentle kisses were excellent distractions, because you’re not sure if you could have survived otherwise. When you lean forward to nip his bottom lip, he hums and begins to draw back before rocking back in.

It’s torturous, really, it is, the way his cock rolls along your velvet walls hitting every nerve point with deliberation. He wants to drag this out as long as he can, and impatient as you are, you want him to instead be going faster. Amber eyes meet yours, and neither of you have to say it. It’s now a fight for control, for who can direct the pace of this little skirmish.

For every whine and lift of your hips, his own draws back to match you. “I… Have raised – urgh,” Zhongli starts, grunting when you nip at a spot on his collarbone, “Liyue meticulously… L-little one, let me b-b-hhuild – “ You lap at another spot as you claw his back. “ – you, worship you.”

“Mmmno,” you reply, huffing in protest when Zhongli captures your mouth again and begins exploring it with the same vigor he did your cunt. When you realize that, you squeeze at the memory, but he only groans and shifts for a deeper angle. You let out a noise somewhere between a chirp and a squeal as he begins hitting that one spot. “I-I a-a-am not… Hah… Not a sta-tuueee to worship and erect, Zhongli.”

He laughs. “Interesting choice of words.” You barely hear him though as he begins thrusting with greater power, and you keen as you feel yourself approaching the edge again while you clamp harder around him. Each thrust from his hips punches a slight gasp out of you, and feel teeth drag along your jugular until you’re meeting his piercing eyes. His golden pupils are slits now, absolutely proud and feral. Thank all the gods in all the worlds above because Zhongli doesn’t stop, doesn’t tease you this time. Instead, he guides you to that precipice with the same slow determination he promised.

“Hh-haah, oh fuck,” you whimper, “I-I’m - !”

He kisses your temple and murmurs, “I know.”

Any annoyance you feel at his haughtiness is swept away when another orgasm is drawn from you, and you gasp, tugging his hair needily. His rhythm doesn’t change, only the intensity, but that’s all you need as you feel your pleasure building in waves. You knew this was coming, but you don’t expect how quickly it arrives nor the duration.

No, while your first orgasm was passionate and blazing, striking you like lightning, this one made you feel as though you are in a boat on a turbulent ocean. Each wave you crest over only gets higher, your euphoria growing as you bite his shoulder in an attempt to hide at least some of your cries, but you fail utterly. The noises coming from your core as it floods are downright obscene, and… Shit, is he talking?

“ – lovely, perfect little one, pretty thing just squeezing around my cock, aren’t you? Good girl, you are perfect -”

You sob and nod vigorously, yes you are a good little girl, just keep pounding Zhongli and you’ll be good for him all night. “I – I,” you start, quite uselessly if you’re honest, and he looks at you curiously but doesn’t stop his movements. “I – I… Am still… I-iiiiiin cont-rhhhol.”

“Yes, you are,” he coos and leans forward to kiss you, his hips finally, finally moving slightly faster. Only slightly, though.

Are you, though? Are you really? Because as Zhongli smirks at your debauched expression, drool coming out slightly and covered in blooming bruises, you wonder if this is another one of his games to make the other think they were the victor all along. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“T-then,” you croon, “f-fuck me harder, Zhongli.”

“Mm?”

“H-Harder, faster, oh stars,” you whine, “I need it, p-please, I can take it!”

His eyes become hooded, and suddenly, you feel him pull out. Hey, hey wait, that’s the exact opposite of what you want. It isn’t long, though, and you’re flipped on your stomach with a stone grip yanking your hips up for him. Instinctually you arch your back and mewl as you present yourself, and you hear a string of Liyuen curses fall from his mouth as he palms one of your cheeks before you feel a slap. Oh, that one drew a loud moan.

You feel brave and look over your shoulder, only to be devastatingly aroused at the sight of him inspecting your dripping hole. “Filthy,” he murmurs, clearly pleased with his handwork as his other hand strokes his cock. Zhongli’s eyes meet you then and he smiles, shifting closer, clearly not wanting to waste time.

In a single thrust he’s sheathed fully inside you again, and you cry out as you feel both hands move to your hips in a bruising grip. He begins pounding in earnest, mumbling more praises under his breath, but you don’t register it, all you feel is him, just him.

However, it isn’t long before you’re frustrated. Not with him or his divine cock, but you feel like you’re missing something. You grumble, wanting some of the icy pain you gave him inflicted on you too. “Z-Zhongli!” you cry, turning around again and determination written on your face.

He doesn’t miss a beat in his movements as he meets your stare again, perfect eyebrow arched. “I can take it,” you grouse. “I can take you, don’t hold back, please. Stop treating me so gently. Be rough with me, I’m begging you, be a beast and use me. It’s you and me tonight, remember?”

The god suddenly freezes, eyes wide as saucers at your demand, and you barely stop an embarrassed wince from creeping on your face. Shit, was that too much? Except, when he smiles, all teeth and eyes glowing with pleasure and long eyelashes fluttering, your heart suddenly shoots into your throat with anticipation and no small amount of fear. “Very well.”

He leans forward to kiss the small of your back as he pulls out, your pussy clenching around emptiness once again. Before your very eyes, you watch scales erupt from his shoulders and you feel claws pricking your hips, sure to draw blood if they pressed any further. You vaguely register a sudden weight to your right; gasping, you watch a long, draconic tail wrap around your hand, flicking with all the excitement of a pleased cat. However, when you look back, his whole being seems to have grown larger and you feel small; the dark brown coloring of his shoulders bleeds now to his pecs and journey – delicate like paint strokes – to his naval. You don’t miss fangs grace his open smile and Cor Lapis antlers rising from his head, shy of scraping the ceiling. They glow rhythmically with the markings on his arms, pulsing like a primordial heart. Stars, it’s truly a radiant crown befitting the Prime Adeptus, Morax, emperor of Liyue.

You swear to yourself then to never ever ever tell Zhongli your original intent, not on your fucking life. Truth be told, you meant something more along the lines of biting, scratching your back or something, never in your wildest fantasies did you think he would take your dare so literally.

Well, maybe in your wildest fantasies, but that’s a secret between you and the stars.

When your eyes take in all the glory that is Rex Lapis, your breath hitches when you finally spy his cock, practically weeping with pre-cum and twitching to be back inside you. What gives you pause is the fact that, well, every part of him grew with his transformation. Not only the length and girth, but the very appearance shifted, looking more draconic. Ridges line his darkened member and like his arms, there are golden markings glimmering along his shaft that throb in time with every other.

Immediately, you hear two sides inside you war: fuck yes fuck yes fill me completely and can that even fit or will I die first?

What a way to go, you decide, and shyly meet his eyes again. The entire time he sits under your inspection, he is rigid and chest slightly puffed. He preens under your appreciative noises, and when you finally match his eyes again, there is a renewed hunger lurking in those amber depths. “Last warning,” he rumbles.

You feel the vibrations of his voice, deep and shattering like a rockslide, and another wave of arousal practically seeps out as you moan. The leak doesn’t escape his sharp eyes and he smirks, taking this as your approval. Grabbing his cock in one hand and holding you steady with the other, he begins the slow breach, and oh fuck does it hurt in the best way possible. Some of the loudest cries from you yet are quickly silenced as you bury your head into your arms, only to come out again when one of his hands snake around your hips to begin steadily rubbing your clit. You feel a slight jut and you’re pushed forward, but he doesn’t move. Instead, Zhongli’s head rests between your shoulder blades panting hot and wet while he focuses on getting you to relax.

“M-move,” you mumble, and he growls in response and presses just an inch further before stopping again. You whine, an impatient brat, and try to take more of his cock by rolling your hips back. Hissing, you feel his claws pierce skin as his grip tightens to keep you in place; you choose to ignore the warning and try again, only to yelp when you feel a sharp bite to your shoulder.

You’re pretty sure that if you move this time, his fangs will draw blood, so you still. Okay. Okay, yeah, nope. You’re not in charge anymore. You may have won the battle, but it’s only fitting that Rex Lapis won the war.

“H-How far?” you ask, almost scared of the answer.

Eventually he releases his jaws and begins tenderly licking your skin – is his tongue forked? – and he hums. “About a quarter of the way.”

“A-a quarter of the - ?! Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sputter. You grab his tail and tug on it insistently, trying to get his attention. “Hey, pull out a sec.”

He doesn’t move.

“Zhongli.”

Grumbles.

“Zhongli.”

The god pulls out, and when you turn back, you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the expression he wears. Liyue’s denizens will surely kill you if they ever saw how you reduced their once mighty Archon to a pouting mess. “Good boy,” you coo. You hear a deep purr rise from his chest, and you lean forward to kiss before shifting around and grabbing his shoulders. “Now, turn around and lay on the bed.”

You don’t have to repeat yourself as he quickly lifts you again – not fair – and twists around so that you’re straddling his waist while his tail curls around one of your feet. When he settles back against the headboard, watching you intently for your next command, you marvel once again at the failure of the statues to truly capture his glory.

Biting your lip, you dig your hands into the brown scales framing his shoulders, but quickly fumble around for different purchase as some of his scales jut into your hand. When you finally find a good position, you release a long sigh and Zhongli curves his lips up before pulling you close for another kiss.

“We don’t have to,” he says when you break apart.

“No, we do, we have to,” you drawl, somber expression contrasting his amused one. “It’s the law, I demand it.”

He huffs, indignant, but offers no further protest. When you look down, your thighs begin quaking as you realize how close his cock already is. You reach down and take it, giving it a firm squeeze around the head and feel him buck into your hand. Eventually, you balance yourself over the head and begin the slow descent into madness.

Because holllyyyy stars, feeling his cock spear you like that is enough to make you become dizzy with pleasure. Still, you made a promise to yourself, so you sink further and work him in deeper. The ridges brush against every nerve ending and you curl your toes, electricity shooting up your spine as you cry out in raw pleasure. Zhongli digs his claws into your hips again and leans forward, snarling at the sensation of you fluttering around him.

By the time you reach the base, you’re a quivering mess; when the god moves his hips to readjust, you openly sob at his cock resting deep and filling you so completely. “Look at you,” he coos, and you feel one hand drag to your stomach. When you look down, you gasp as you see a thick bulge pushing out, marking you in exactly all the ways that Zhongli is filling you. “Taking me so well.”

His fingers drag along your stomach, idly moving in circles. Or diamonds? They feel almost... Purposeful. Hissing, you move forward as you hear him hum something in a language foreign to you while the skin around your belly burns before slowly soothing.

You kiss him again, allowing his tongue to snake in and explore your mouth anew. Deciding to take a page out of his book, you roll your hips against his instead of moving up and down, though he doesn’t seem to mind if the noises he makes are anything to go by.

You can’t help it, you break the kiss and fall forward against his chest and keen when he grabs your hips to begin moving earnestly himself. It’s clear you’re no more than a cocksleeve, legs gone and you can only hold on for the ride. One of your hands winds up to grapple his antlers for stability, prompting greater speed from him. Your voice begins rising in pitch, and the fire within begins burning anew, quick and merciless once again. Zhongli takes one hand and claws his way down your back, marking you and tearing you apart like you’re his prey and you love it. Soon, all you can hear is your heart hammering in your head; you sink further into that dream of bliss, all sense quickly departing except for full –

“One more,” you hear somewhere distant, beckoning. “Grant me one more. Cum for me.”

And that single word yanks you back to the present, growls and moans ringing loud and clear around you as your orgasm tears through you unexpectedly. Oh, how you obey your lord, because that orgasm somehow reaches new heights the previous one didn’t, and you begin openly crying. You register a forked tongue lapping at the salty streaks down your cheeks, but you don’t care, you’re only focusing on your pleasure burning all other thoughts away and rendering you mute. The vivid energy bleeding through you compels your body to release what little wetness you have left, and just barely, Zhongli’s cock pounding away at you glides easier.

You feel nudging at your head, and you roll it to the side instinctually, bearing your throat in submission to lick a hot stripe along your jugular as his hips move faster, singular focus in seemingly rearranging your insides to make more room for him, for all of his godly power. At his final thrust, he sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck and shoulder in determination, but you long ago lost any serious feeling outside of your oversensitive core. Instead, you lift your hand to card through his hair as you feel his hips roll into your own slowly, hellbent on filling you completely.

Zhongli just keeps cumming and cumming, and a nearly unbearable warmth builds low in your stomach, but the amount is enough that it eventually gushes out of around his cock. When he feels wetness seeping out, he release your shoulder and grumbles, soothing the wound with slow licks. One hand caresses the stretched skin of your stomach around his cock again, handling it with the tender care of a doting lover.

Huh. Lover.

You giggle, stupid and dreamy, and Zhongli smiles with you. “Come on, little one,” he says and begins lifting you off. Oversensitive and raw, you both wheeze at the sensation of the ridges catching again until you’re off and empty and – oops. Mixed cum floods out of you; pink dusts your cheeks, but he merely hums and stands with you. The world spins around you as you are placed on the bed with your legs nudged apart. A few moments pass before you feel a warm, damp cloth wiping at your sensitive core and thighs – ah, there are some bite marks there too – and you sigh, perfectly content with all the stress of the day thoroughly fucked out of you.

Though your eyes are closed, you’re still lucid as you feel yourself gently manhandled and lifted. When you’re placed back down, you whine at the loss of the silky cover, left with the downy blanket underneath. “Forgive me, dear bird,” Zhongli laughs, “But I feel you would not appreciate sleeping in our mess.”

“I forgive you,” you say, and open your eyes when you feel the bed dip. Zhongli settles in next to you back in his human form, and of course, perfect as always. Smiling, you move closer to him, making a pleased sound when he takes this opportunity to begin brushing your hair with his fingers.

“We should go to the pharmacy tomorrow for your wounds.”

“Aw, and cover the marks?” You smirk when you hear his breath hitch.

“You cannot say such things to an adeptus, starlight.”

“Oops.” After some minutes, Zhongli stops and rises out of bed. Your hand shoots out to grab his and you look at him pleadingly. “Where are you going?”

“Ah, I am going to brew some tea. Something to soothe the muscles.”

“Of course you are,” you grin and release him. You’re content to let him fuss over you both. Quietly, you hear soft singing emerge from another room, the words foreign to your ears but pleasant nonetheless.

You feel soft inside.

 ---

 “Will you tell me of your friends one day?”

The former Archon stops and looks at you. “My story is a long and complicated one. Entwined with many others.” A red thread.

You nod. “That’s okay,” you hum. “I have all the time in the world.” A pause. “You remember them, yet choose to not be remembered yourself. Left to be debated and fought over. Why?”

Zhongli pulls the blanket over both of you and wraps an arm around you, whispering into your hair like some dirty confession, some dirty sin. “You remember. Is that not enough?”

“I suppose so,” you mumble. What are friends for?  “I hope, before we leave, I can tell your story again and again. Maybe I can move the heavens, make a constellation for you. Permanent and guiding. Even if you don’t want its name remembered, it will still be there.”

He laughs and closes his eyes. She would defy the heavens?

You close your eyes too. After all, that’s what friends do. They remember each other.

 ---

 (Morax’s heart flutters when he hears we. Can he join? Will Celestia allow it?

Certainly, he can collect the wealth of the heavens to pay back Childe, he muses. A practical decision, of course.

Or perhaps Childe can come collect them himself.)

 ---

 Dust is in the air, clouding his vision. The young god coughs and shuffles forward, hand calloused and tight around his stone spear.

Compassion, he muses. She always preached of love, of tenderness. Where was compassion for her?

Morax keeps walking, dust growing thicker and dark like the night. Obsidian lays around him, shimmering with promises of vengeance. He has failed. Guizhong trusted him to lead without her? They were never his people, they were hers. He was merely the guardian, the infallible stone statue.

And now, their Archon.

When he falls to his knees, he feels warm drops fall on his face, only to realize belatedly why – it is blood. The blood of the countless beings he’s slaughtered for her, as her people watched in horror as he attempted to water the earth with it.

Suddenly, he feels a cool breeze pick up. A rolling storm gathers and relentless rain replaces the blood on his face.

His hands remain stained. Cold. Godly.

The rain doesn’t seem to mind.

Before he stands, the water washes away some of the earth in front of him. Morax leans forward to grasp a shimmering stone. The sun’s warmth floods his hands, but he only grips tighter and cradles it close to his chest as he watches the rain pelt the earth.

 ---

 Zhongli’s eyes blink open, though he still feels the weight of sleep and the taste of dust in his mouth. The sun has not quite risen, but the sky turning brighter tells him the world is still asleep. You are still asleep.

His eyes soften as he looks at you hiding your face in the crook of his neck, hands tucked to his chest. However, the dream lingers in his mind, and he can only move forward to wrap tighter as he settles his arm over your body in a protective stance.

A dragon and his hoard.

He remembers Tartaglia’s question. Do you have a hoard, Rex Lapis? Do you safeguard gold? Maybe I can see it one day in your den. How insolent and forward, he thinks fondly.

Though, eventually, his mind strays to your conversation earlier, of his own misgivings about Celestia.

He remembers the last time he tried to hold something so divine – so fragile – in his mighty grip.

“Please,” he murmurs to the empty room. “Please.” Zhongli, for the first time, feels he understands the mortals on their knees before the gods. But he doesn’t pray to Celestia, he prays to her.

He tries to forget how his heart ached when the Snezhnayan ship breached the horizon, gliding on the calm ocean to take its chaos elsewhere. How the sunset took all the light and warmth from Liyue Harbor that day. How fierce and angry you were with him.

Zhongli closes his eyes, resolved in his conviction that, though you may forgive, you will never forget his manipulations of Childe back then. Tartaglia’s insistence on chipping away his stone armor both infuriated and endeared to him, so he respected the Harbinger as a deserving rival. How could the Warrior God do anything less?

You mumble, and he pulls you in closer.

Despite it all, Zhongli begs to keep this moment to himself, away from the burning and punishing gaze of Celestia. He is thankful that you returned to him, thankful you deemed his presence worthy once more, thankful that his wait for the dawn paid off. This is enough, he thinks, just to hold you. This is to protect you – something he failed to do for the last divine he cared for. It’s safer for you.

(It’s safer for him.)

As he coils tighter around you and exhales a deep breath before closing his eyes, he can only pray that this moment remains hidden.

After all, who could forgive an earthly dragon – a God of Greed  - for the sin of stealing one of heaven’s golden stars?

 ---

 In Dihua Marsh, the cresting dawn’s light dances along the earth. The wind whispers to the flora and carries the dusty earth with it, parting the grass to allow the sun to warm the previous cover. Water from a nearby creek has long since fertilized the earth, and there lies a single green sprout.

It’s a glaze lily, the first in many millennia who once belonged to that rare breed that opened only for her.

-

notes:

y'all ever see that image of a hamster eating a very large banana? yeah

1) Baijiu is a type of liquor that originates in China! Furthemore, "zu fu" is the formal term for paternal grandfather in Standard Mandarin, xiangqi is a type of Chinese chess, and feng shui is the principle of decorating one's living space to allow better harmony of all energies within.

2) Up until the past century give or take, it was traditional in ancient China for the emperor to have multiple wives or concubines in order to ensure a male heir. Since Liyue is essentially China and Zhongli was its emperor for 3700 years, I imagine the concept of monogamy to be very foreign to him whenever he desired a lover. As much as i love headcanoning Zhongli as a himbo, i'm pretty sure he's so old-school he doesn't realize his blatant courtships and desires aren't being recognized lol. old himbo?

3) The exchange of betrothal gifts between the families being married is customary before the ritualistic courtships continued, and any partnership without equal exchange (Liyue) was considered extremely dishonorable

4) I wanted to sneak a reference to the fact that zhongli’s story quest is the first one we got that’s not named after his constellation, so his constellation’s name is not important to him, but recording ancient history is

also i appreciate any tips on my writing because fun fact! this is the first time i ever wrote smut _(:3」∠)_ luv y'all

[365days365movies]

March 16, 2021: Legend (1985) (Part One)

Hi, Tim Curry. How are you doing today?

Yeah, that tracks. Been a while, always good to see you. Man, actually, when is the last time I saw you? Clone Wars? I think so, although I don’t know if that really counts. I think, in person, it was...oof, Criminal Minds in 2012?

Yeah, dude, you were FUCKING TERRIFYING, HOLY SHIT. I feel like people don’t talk about that performance as much, but you were goddamn amazing, buddy. Sorry I didn’t open with this, but...you were my childhood, Ti. Like, from Clue to The Wild Thornberrys to Muppet Treasure Goddamn Island GOD I LOVE YOU IN THAT MOVIE TOO

Amazing. And let’s not forget Ferngully, of course. Look...I love you, OK? You’re beautiful. And I know that recently, you’ve been through a lot of health struggles, and I wish you the absolute best, I sincerely do. You’re the best, man. Hang in there. 

Actually, while I have you...settle a bet for me, I’ve got it with myself. Have I...have I already seen this movie? Because I feel like I might have, but I don’t think so. It’s like the Mandela effect, y’know? I mean, if I’d seen it before...would I not remember you in this get-up?

I mean...come ON, RIGHT? I know FOR A FACT that I’ve attempted to watch this movie with friends before, and that didn’t happen. Then, I tried to watch it on my own, and that didn’t pan out because I’m pretty sure I fell asleep after 15 minutes. It had been a long day, I’m sorry. But...I don’t get it, Tim Curry? What the hell happened?

Well...whatever. I guess we’re going to take care of this ONCE AND FOR ALL. Now, who directed this movie?

Oh shit, REALLY? RIDLEY SCOTT! Kick-ass, he did Alien, and this - 

And then this - 

OOH, and this!

Oh, and we can’t forget this!

And also this!

And...and this...

...And this...

Oh. Fuck, and this.

...

OH GOD STOP I FORGOT ABOUT 1492

...OK, this could either be a very good movie, or a very VERY bad one. I mean...it’s got Tim Curry in it, so it can’t be that bad? And hey, Scott was on a hotstreak at the time, right? What could go wrong? Let’s do this!

SPOILERS AHEADOH FUCK IS THAT TOM CRUISE

Recap (1/2)

...Ahem. Um. OK. Maybe I imagined that image, or it’s from a different movie. Cool. Let’s keep going, nothing to see here.

The opening text scroll tells us that once, long ago, before time was even a concept, the world was shrouded in darkness. But Darkness hid from the light, which brought to the world laughter, love, and...unicorns. Yeah, really. Unicorns harbor the Light in their souls, as the most mytsical of all creatures. They’re safe from Darkness, and can only be found by a pure-hearted mortal, like Jack, a denizen of the forest. He is loved by Lily, and both believe only in goodness. But not for long, as a struggle for the balance between Darkness and Light is about to commence, and in that struggle will be born...Legend (1985), dir. Ridley Scott.

As the opening credits roll and confirm that Tom Cruise is in fact in this movie, I take a brief moment to vomit lightly.

At night, walking through the forest, there is a creature with some...bad-ass makeup and costume design GODDAMN. Like, yeah, that category’s already looking good. Anyway, the creature goes through the forest, and finds a den of fire and torture, all lorded over by a horned man, who speaks Mother Night, asking for her protection.

This is Darkness (Tim Curry), and...fuck me, holy shit, I GET it. Like, this dude began an entire movement and aethestic, and it makes a fuckton of sense. THis dude must have given birth to, like 10,000 goth children, goddamn. Anyway, he commands his goblin henchman Blix (Alice Playten) to find a unicorn and kill it, and to bring its horn back to him. Blix, the rhyming cretin, asks how to find them. And Darkness answers with the perfect lure: innocence.

That innocence is symbolized by Princess Lily (Mia Sara), a maiden cavorting happily about the wood, without a care in the goddamn world. She visits her friend Nell (Tina Martin), and briefly has a vision of winter in the cottage. Nell notes that it’s time for her to grow up a bit, but Lily’s only concerned with finding her sweetheart, Jack.

And Jack is...well, Jack o’ the Green (Tom Cruise) is a young man who lives in the forest, with his animal friends. An innocent himself, he’s basically Peter Pan, with Lily playing his Wendy. Except, well, they’re not THAT innocent, because they, like, IMMEDIATELY make out on the forest floor. Which has to be uncomfortable, real goddamn talk.

Jack teaches Lily to speak with the birds, then takes her to see something wonderful and rare. All the while, they’re being followed by Blix, who believes that their innocence will attract the mystical unicorns. And, uh, yeah, Blix is entirely correct about that, because here they come! And they’re making whale noises?

Apparently, as long as unicorns roam the Earth, evil can never harm the pure of heart. They express only love and laughter, and dark thoughts are unknown to them. Which Lily takes as an opportunity to go hang out with them, despite Jack’s urgings.

But the unicorns seem receptive to her, to Jack’s...frustration? He just kinda leaves her behind for some reason. And Blix takes the opportunity to hit one of the unicorns with a poison dart, causing them to be startled and storm off. Lily flees into the forest, and is immediately scolded by Jack, saying that what she did is forbidden by magic forest law. OK. She’s as confused about that as I am, but she still apologizes to him.

The two kiss, and Lily makes a promise to him and the universe, I guess, and says that whomever finds her ring will have the right to marry her. She throws it, and Jack IMMEDIATELY JUMPS OFF A CLIFF AFTER IT GODDAMN MY MAN! Lily screams hysterically after him for...some reason?

However, this isn’t great timing, because Blix and the goblins have caught up to the poisoned unicorn, and they cut off its horn, immediately plunging the forest into a fierce winter, similar to what Lily saw in her vision. Jack, in the river looking for the ring, is trapped underwater, beneath ice. By the time he breaks out, Lily’s already run away, to Nell’s place. Nell is frozen solid for some reason, and the goblins are also coming off after Lily for...some reason.

Lily hides, as Blix and his two companions Pox (Peter O’Farrell) and Blunder (Kiran Shah) exposit the whole thing so that Lily’s caught up on her fault in all of this, and once they leave, she promises to make it right. No idea how she’s gonna do that, but sure.

Jack, meanwhile has collapsed in the woods and snow. He’s woken up by a spirit of the forest named Honeythorn Gump (David Bennent), who is...interesting. He asks Jack what in the FUCK happened, and Jack admits that Lily, a mortal, touched a unicorn, which is apparently the ultimate no-no. Gump’s pissed, but the ACTUAL SECOND that Jack says that it was for love, Gump’s just...totally cool with it? They have a drink with Brown Tom (Cork Hubbert), and agree to help him find Lily...like, immediately.

They quickly find the dead unicorn, and yeah, the unicorn is FUCKING DEAD after losing its horn, and its mate shows up to mourn. Jack and Gump mourn with the magical creature, which looks REALLY BIG for a horse, Jesus. She stays with her fallen mate, and Jack goes back to the group, delivering the news that they’re cursed? No idea where that came from. 

To lift the curse and get the horn back, they must find a champion bold in heart and spirit. Gump IMMEDIATELY nominates Jack, and takes him to some cave where he can find weapons and armor. He’s guided by Oona (Annabelle Lanyon), a fairy who is LITERALLY NAVI FROM ZELDA, I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH

Oona reveals her true form to him secretly, then notes that she could be anything he wants her to be, even his heart’s desire. COMIN’ ON A LITTLE STRONG THERE OONA. Anyway, in the vault of golden weapons and armor and...gold, Jack grabs a sword.

Meanwhile, Lily follows Blix and his group, where Blix uses the magic of the Unicorn Horn (or the Alicorn) to demonstrate his newly found prowess. But as he’s claiming to take over Darkness’ kingdom. Just then, Darkness shows up and claims the Horn for himself, and kills Blunder when he talks back. Darkness asks whether or not the Unicorns are both dead, and reveals that his power will not be complete until the female Unicorn is also dead.

Lily runs off and makes her way back to the Unicorn and Brown Tom, and warns them of the Goblin’s approach to kill the Mare. Brown Tom, who I think is either a leprechaun or a brownie, fends the Goblins off, while Lily and the Mare...DON’T RUN? FUCKING RUN YOU ASSHOLES!

Tom gets shot by an arrow...in the hat. He immediately falls dead, despite being totally fine, the dick. And Lily and the mare are captured, BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T FUCKING RUN WHEN THEY SHOULD’VE. Jack, Gump, and the leprechaun/gnome/brownie/halfling Screwball (Billy Barty) come to “rescue” him. He tells them that Lily’s alive, and Gump takes Jack to the Great Tree for the next step, accompanied by Screwball and Tom. There, they find...

WOW. THAT SHIT IS COOL. This is Meg Mucklebone *Robert Picardo), and this thing is absolutely my favorite thing in the movie so far...AND THEN JACK KILLS HER IMMEDIATELY. JAAAAAAACK, WHAT THE HELL, she was really cool. Goddamn it.

The group gets to the great tree, then falls into an underground prison, where Blunder is also held. The group is NOT where they want to be, right in Darkness’ lair. Nice job, Gump. In the prison, the guys, now joined by fellow brownie/dwarf/gnome thing Blunder, hide from one of Darkness’ men, as he takes Blunder away to the torture table.

Stuck in the cell, Jack suggests that Oona go and get the keys. However, her ability to transform into a humanoid form was a secret between her and Jack, and she’s upset by him revealing it. Gump’s also upset by the secret in and of itself, but she defends that her secrets are hers to keep. You tell him, Oona!

She then says that she’ll only do what Jack wants if he kisses her, GODDAMN IT OONA. NOW IS NOT THE TIE TO GO ALL TINKERBELL IN HOOK! He gives her a little peck, but she transforms into Lily to make him give her a real kiss, dear lord that is CREEPY, OONA! Jack almost kisses her, but refuses at the last second. He notes that human hearts can’t be won over that way, which greatly upsets Oona. Still, she ends up getting the keys for them regardless, and sets them free.

And at this point, we are halfway through, so FUCK IT. PART TWO! See you there.

[enthusiasticsobrietyabuse]

Re-post from r/MeehanSurvivors Reddit Community. An Enthusiastic Sobriety Counselor Survivor Story.

TW: References to child pornography, conversion therapy, homophobia, masturbation, and sex.

I would love nothing more than to preserve my admiration for the program, if only for the reason that it would be easier to do so, but after years of being deceived, I find it utterly absurd to disregard any contempt on the basis of the misplaced gratitude that it saved my life. While the program undoubtedly contributed to my success in a number of ways, it has nevertheless become clear that I’ve walked away with trauma that, even after all of this time, I fail to wholly understand. What I do know, however, is that my disillusionment with enthusiastic sobriety is heavily rooted in how I was treated, as the people who claimed to love me evidently made it their mission to eradicate who I was and, likewise, transform me into a duller, lesser version of themselves. I will never know who I could’ve been had they honored the parts of myself that needed nurturing, only who I am today and the damage I’ve since been left with.

From the moment I joined the program, I knew exactly what its expectations were. It was made abundantly clear throughout the treatment process, where I was bombarded with endless conversations about what it meant to be a winner - a concept given context far beyond a sober individual working the twelve steps. I was not only told how to behave, but what to believe about every area of my life. It did not matter if those areas were deeply personal, as evidenced by the countless discussions related to sex; in fact, I would not only learn who we could and could not fantasize about while masturbating, but what we could and could not do sexually - as if we could not be trusted to determine for ourselves the actions we take in our own bedrooms. I also found myself on the receiving end of many conversations revolving around whether or not it was acceptable to shave one’s own pubic region, as was a commonly held belief that a shaved pubic region was not only unnecessary, but a product of one’s own vanity that, incidentally, mimics child pornography. Perhaps more disturbing, however, was the ideology surrounding pornography, in general, that we were ordinarily subjected to. We were first told that no self-respecting woman would want to be with a man who’s actively watching porn; then, we were told that it alters a man’s behavior so much that women will be able to recognize whether or not they watch it. The possibility of romance was used as a weapon against us by the counselors, as well as group members, to conform to their principles, rather than allowing us to establish our own and when that didn’t work, personal attacks were their next best option. I remember being asked if I really wanted to be the guy who’s strung out on porn the rest of his life, as if it was some kind of crippling addiction that would keep me from getting anything I ever wanted out of life. Even more importantly, however, it was through these frequent exchanges that I became familiarized with “Pavlov’s Dog Theory,” a scientific study so bastardized by the counselors that it existed solely to explain away the possibility of any non-heterosexual orientation. Being insecure with my own sexuality, it was of course music to my ears to discover that my attraction to the same sex, a perversion as I then recognized it, was the result of watching too much porn and could be easily resolved by the work outlined by the program. For the next few years, I would work endlessly to alter my sexual orientation back to “normal” and apparently did so well enough that I was eventually asked to attend the Meehan Institute of Counselor Training.

When I was in counselor training, most of what we discussed had very little to do with counseling; in fact, the information required to pass the state-mandated test was tossed aside in exchange for the radically inappropriate teachings that came directly from the program itself. Examples of this, of course, include the explanation that non-heterosexual orientations were not only “unnatural” but an expression of one’s perverse desire for instant gratification, usually resulting from either their addiction to porn, as I had already learned in outpatient, or their unresolved childhood trauma. It was also reasoned that an attraction to the same sex was often a natural consequence of being in an abusive relationship with a member of the opposite sex, a belief supported only by the theory that the person, in question, had unlikely resolved their own fear of getting hurt again. Some people were just “pussies” that had decided to seek the “easier, softer way,” an almost comical assumption given that there is nothing “easier” or “softer” about being queer. I would actually be referred to as a “pussy” while sharing to one of the program's many directors that I had sexual thoughts about other men. His solution for me was that since “there is nothing romantic about two men butt fucking each other,” I should spend the time wasted fantasizing about that on where I would like to take a girl on a date. It’s these ways of thinking that we, who’s families spend $5,600 to send us to counselor training, learn for the three months that we’re there. It’s these three months, where we are taught that absurdity is a natural substitute for science, that earn us the right to then counsel others, many of whom are children. I never could've imagined the abuse that would follow, despite the seeds that had been sown throughout the better part of my recovery.

A few weeks after I graduated from counselor training, when I was working the Step One shift, a couple of the program's directors took me away from it to smoke cigars with them. It was there that they talked to me about how I needed to work on developing more masculine qualities, perhaps by engaging in a hobby that was, according to them, “outside of my comfort zone.” Later on, one of my coworkers would lecture me for the way I had reached out to a girl in the group, explaining that she, along with others, might think that I’m gay for agreeing to watch a “chick flick” with her. Another coworker would make fun of me for crying to a song that reminded me of my dead parent, for the reason that it was, according to her, a “gay” thing to do. In one of the monthly purpose meetings, the director made jokes about me being “inside” of another male counselor - something that was received only with laughter. Bob Meehan himself would even tell the training class following my own that while I deserved the upmost respect for taking everyone’s shit, I was probably gay. When I would share how I felt, in reference to these incidents, I was told that my options were either to “change it” or to “own it.” I began to internalize all of this and, due to my own desire to be accepted, I began working even harder to change these qualities that had been deemed unacceptable by those around me. I would later be celebrated in a purpose for denouncing a dramatic television show for the reason that when I watched it, it made me feel like a “faggot;” however, even that wouldn’t satisfy those around me, as my sponsor, who was also my coworker, would suggest that I stop watching Friends, as well, due to the fact that it was the kind of show his wife watched. I would experience similar criticism from yet another coworker who suggested that I only liked “girly shit” for “shock value” and that it was nothing more than my ego attempting to differentiate myself from everyone else. If by now you’re wondering why I even participated in these conversations, all I can say is that it was always in pursuit of becoming a better man and I trusted that the staff had those answers. I couldn't have been more wrong, as I can't help but notice today that what I was subjected to is in direct opposition of the very laws that protect employees from this kind of treatment by their employers; however, in the program, what’s illegal is classified as “spiritual.”

For years, I felt relegated to a subclass of human existence and for what reason? I spent years working on the things that made my life unmanageable primarily because the people around me decided that it was. Furthermore, I was promised that if I stopped watching porn, which I did for years, my brain would rewire itself and I would no longer be attracted to men. As stupid as that sounds now, why wouldn’t I, as an 18 year old, believe what I was hearing from who I only presumed to be trained professionals? I trusted them and really worked hard to take their every suggestion, going as far as becoming a member of Sexaholics Anonymous, despite the fact that I had never even had sex at that point. It was nothing if not incredibly painful to do the same thing over and over again, only to be told to get up and try again by the very people who would describe that as insanity in any other case. I was never once told that what I was doing wasn’t working for me; instead, I was told to try harder. In all of the time I spent in the program, I was never even given the option to try something different until after quitting, when someone told me that my sexual orientation, whatever it may be, was perfectly acceptable and far from a determining factor in my ability to effectively work a program. It took years to hear that, the majority of which were spent somewhere that I definitely should have. That is not only unacceptable but they should be absolutely ashamed of themselves.

Alas, the problem I have with the program is not necessarily that they’ll never apologize to me, but that they lack the self-awareness to even consider it. When I shared my concerns about the program with one of their counselors, he dismissed them with the statement that it’s a perfect program ran by imperfect people and that I should judge them not by their actions, but by their intentions, which coincidentally, contradicts the program’s reliance on a quote from the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous that states exactly the opposite. He also told me that I was angry and resentful, despite the fact that I was neither. When I shared my concerns with another counselor, he dismissed them with the suggestion that perhaps the counseling I received, in regards to my sexual orientation, resulted from how I presented it to the staff. His feedback was not only highly insulting, but a complete bastardization of the facts. Not only was I brutally honest about that area of my life, so much that it's all I spoke of, but I was the client and it was far from my role to ensure that the counselors did their job. I was little more than a child at the time; nevertheless, the implication that my negative experiences were all my fault only served as evidence that any attempt to cooperate with the program, and convince them of the ways in which I was harmed, is futile. Why would I want to, anyway, after years of watching any criticism of the program be rationalized as the delusions of “bailed kids” or “disgruntled ex-staff?” The only answer would be to prevent it from happening again, although to think that outcome is even a possibility appears naïve at best. They’ve made it abundantly clear where they stand, that they’re right, everyone else is wrong, and there’s no reason for them to change anything - lest of course it threatens their credibility, which in that case they only become more insidious in their transgressions.

TLDR: The program not only intrusively dictates the sex lives of their clients, but has proven itself to be particularly unloving toward those who are LGBTQIA+. It is a cultural issue that can not be reduced to a few examples of bad counseling. It is clear that they see no reason whatsoever to change this.

[thefirsthogokage]

Why did you rage quit the rookie?

(this turned out longer then I meant it to be, but I kept remembering reasons why I hate this show now)

The writing went down the drain. Hard. I was so pissed because it started off well in season one. Granted, it had a couple big ridiculous things that happened, but overall it was pretty good. Especially for a freshman show. One of the best I'd seen in years.

Then season two came along and it became progressively/exponentially worse.

Obviously going for shock value over good content with extreme circumstances in most episodes, often not making sense (why the fuck did Nolan's son and his girlfriend go to that trailer park?)

poor plot lines with female characters (Lopez and Wes getting engaged after only being together a few months, Lopez trying out to be pretty damn toxic and "I was poor, you should have been happy you were rich" and "sorry you're embarrassed of me (which is the same abousive shit my mother would pull), Grace going back to her ex because they had a kid even though their marriage sucked and it was outlined earlier in the season that was a bad idea, Jessica killing that one guy and that was never followed through on and her being psycho and following Nolan around and that never being addressed, Chen never given psychological damage she should have absolutely had even of she did self-therapy, Rachel getting her "dream job" in NY and the writers couldn't even take the time to tell us what said dream job was.)

Poorly planned plots in general (stunningly so)

Most characters not feeling like a proper continuation of who they were in season one. Going a ong with that, Chen and Bradford being way too close basically over night when that isn't natural progression from season one

I was for Chenford after season one, but they escalated it in a very cheesy and non true to character way, which also happened way too quickly. So many of their interactions felt too romantically tinted when they shouldn't have been there yet. HEART EYES ALL THE TIME! Like, I stayed watching the show for them until I couldn't tolerate anymore. Then I tried staying for Nyla and just gave up because I hated the rest of the show so much

obvious lack of research (the serial killer with pathology that made no sense, never finding out the connection between him and the lady, the guy apparently also got a job a prison with a stolen social security number from a disabled person - both of which would have been flagged in a background check!!! Such a genuinely poor writing episode and the season just went even more downhill from there)

Nolan being the hero even more in most of the episodes, and his intellect or lack thereof being a plot device

not letting Chen actually suffer from PTSD like she should have and just had her basically quickly move on in an impossible way (I am including this twice, thank you)

throwing her into a relationship with a guy who was a jackass and went all "leave my woman alone" on Bradford when she absolutely didn't need help

Jackson going to a very public premiere with his actor boyfriend even though he was an active cop. What the actual fuck were they thinking with that? Jackson isn't that dumb, he would have never done that.

this show clearly is not keeping a a continuity or character bible of any sort, getting basic facts of their characters wrong (especially Tim, I just can't remember the specific thing that it was, but it could have been inconsistencies in his wounds. Now that I think about it, Chen said something about him getting shot more then once and stabbed and the only time we ever saw evidence of any injury was after he was shot in episode one. Which actually brings me to my next point...)

they never had Tim have a scar from his gunshot wound

Tim getting his 12-year-old-acting girlfriend out of trouble when she bats her eyes at him. He shouldn't have even been dating her in the first place. No way Tim would have ever dated a friend of his rookie. Completely unprofessional of him, in a way that was not believable for his character.

No way Chen could have been an undercover cop after that documentary episode. And if that episode was mean to be a stand alone, it should have never been in the show. That episode also had continuity issues, and that's not including the absolute insanity of whatever the fuck they did to Stirling. (That poor actor, he really wanted to come back and continue the story with his character and Jackson)

THE WHOLE FUCKING BULLSHIT TIMELINE AND PACING OF THE SHOW! examples: They made the stupid thing current to whatever the real world year was. The problem with that was they had an in-universe schedule set up. The first two seasons should have spanned from like October 2018 to October 2019, and yet, in the episode where Wes got stabbed (earlyish season 2), it was November 2019 when it should have been around like May, 2019. They said it was 2021 early in S3 when it should have never been around that time. Infact, it was supposed to be during their last 30 days of their rookie year, meaning THAT should have been October or November 2019. The time pacing of this show is so bad. They should have done a real time skip in season 3, instead, the first NINE FUCKING EPISODES WERE THOSE LAST 30 DAYS! And, according to someone else's math, because of the bullshit with the timeline, Lopez was pregnant for 11 months. Absolutely fucking insane. Timelines and timetables that are so thoroughly screwed up in a show that it's THAT obvious they are flying by the seat of their pants are just impossible for me to stand. That is so dumbfounding to see on any tv show and alone enough for me to rage quit. It's so bizarre they stuck to a timeframe in-universe, then so obviously screwed up what year it was every damn season at least once (in S3 2-3 times).

Just such piss poor writing. No real planning ability. No writing talent left in that writer's room after season one. Just people who throw words down on paper and hope that people will like it. Which so many people still do for some reason?

There are so many other things wrong with this show, but those are the ones I remember off the top of my head. Granted, a couple are second hand because I stopped watching after the rookies did stuff with the DEA. I couldn't watch that. That was such and insane idea. OH AND THEM GOING ON A FUCKING SECRET OP? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

And that's not including what I've heard was their "After School Special"-style take on fighting racism in the police force.

And I don't always pick up on these kinds of things specifically. I generally don't pick up on missteps like that in plot or timelines or whatnot or just things that even someone who doesn't have much specified knowledge in certain things should miss (the "job at a prison" thing I mentioned earlier). I'm good at telling the chemistry between actors, - or lack there of, - not the other stuff. When it's so bad I - of all people - am noticing things that are normally pointed out to me, a lot of fucking up is happening. In multiple departments. Like, normally when anything happens in other shows, it isn't as blunt, on the head, painfully obvious, and frequent as it has been in this show.

So, yeah, if you made it though my rant, congrats. If you don't get irritated with the show and bullshit that happens in it now, power to you I guess.

I really wished I could still hate watch this show, but it checked way too many "this is exceptionally poor craftsmanship: tv show edition" boxes for me to put up with it anymore. It was so promising at first, even with it's various hiccups (that I didn't notice until later on all of them) but I hadn't seen a show crash that hard in quality before. I mean, since then I had to experience the travesty that was Supernatural going from 15x18 to 15x19 and 15x20, but that was after I gave up on The Rookie.

Anywho, I would say I hope that answers your question anon, but I have little room for doubt that it didn't.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,800-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, talk of violence, talk of death

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: Well, we are finally at the final chapter. This has been such an incredibly challenging story to work on, but I have learned so much from this process that will no doubt help shape my future stories.

Thank you to all of the readers who have liked, reblogged, commented, messaged, and reached out to me. This has been the best response I’ve gotten on a story and it has filled me with a level of appreciation that I wasn’t expecting. <3 

With the sappy stuff out of the way, please enjoy the final chapter of “Under the Knife.”

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled​ @germansarechill​ @rentheanonymous​ @liadamerondjarin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Taking into account that Henry Urik was left-handed, I was able to throw my head back, causing him to falter, and then lean to my right in order to escape his grasp and not have my throat sliced open. This gave me enough time to get back to the table and get my hands on the gun.” 

“Unfortunately, the gun was empty. It’s common for killers to use unloaded or fake guns as intimidation techniques with their victims. My mistake gave Henry enough time to stabilize himself and grab hold of me again, resulting in a mild concussion and being knocked unconscious until a few hours later. Luckily Dr.Lecter was able to fight, thus saving me until Special Agent Crawford and his team could come.” You looked around and saw a few people taking notes while others just nodded their heads. Checking your watch, you saw that you had a few more minutes left to fill up. “And with that, I have time for one or two questions before we leave.”

The lights faded up a little bit, nothing too harsh for you. You quickly scanned over the larger than the normal crowd in your lecture hall. 

The fact that you, a survivor of the Virginia Scalpel, were giving a lecture on the case had attracted the minds of not only your normal trainees but the higher-ups as well. 

It was a slightly dizzying feeling to see the faces of management in your lecture hall, but that could also be the still healing minor concussion from a serial killer slamming you into a table a little less than a week ago. Either way, you took this time to sit on your desk and drink some water as you pointed to one of the trainees in the first row.

“I don’t want to bring up anything too triggering, ma’am, but I--”

“Kid, if I wasn’t okay enough to jump back into the shitstorm named Henry Urik, I wouldn’t have agreed to be here today.” A scattering of chuckles echoed through the hall. You were glad to hear that your lighthearted comment helped ease the tension in the room. “Please, continue. I’ll be okay, I promise.” The agent nodded and took a breath, whatever they were going to ask must have been weighing on their mind enough to scare them. You could tell that they were trying to hide it, but your ability to read people's subtleties was strong.

“Thank you, ma’am. I wanted to ask for your advice. What should we be aware of if we’re ever in a similar situation with an unstable or unpredictable suspect? What do we do?” 

You nodded and thought for a moment before you responded. You had a feeling that this type of question would come up now or through an email later on. Fiddling with your ring, you spoke.

“To be honest, you have to be able to assess everything at the moment. I may have seemed to have a handle on the situation externally, but internally? I was a quivering, frantic, and terrified mess. With Henry’s focus being solely on me, I knew I couldn’t just sit there. I knew that if I froze, it could have cost not only my life but also Hannibal’s.” You took a deep inhale through your nose before continuing. The thought of losing Hannibal hurt your heart. “My advice: really focus on the suspect. What are they saying? How are they saying it? What are they doing? Are there any mannerisms o-or phrases that hint at any sort of soft spot?” 

You held up a finger and turned to your computer, scrolling back through your presentation until you found the slide you were looking for. It was a diagram showing how all of the victims tied to Henry as well as Henry’s symptoms. You turned back towards your class.

“While I knew a majority of this information before my encounter with Dr.Urik, I only knew the facts at face value. When he and I talked about his experiences with all of these doctors, Henry let his anger and annoyance towards these men out. His voice changed from the seemingly calm and confident man that had just had a gun pointed at me, to a frustrated patient who just wanted answers that he believed in.”

“Now if we want to talk about more physical tells, that is the premise for another lecture entirely. You can tell a lot about a person without either of you having to utter a word.”

You looked at the trainee, they were watching you, truly listening to everything you had to say. From the almost unnoticeably tensed jaw to the stiff posture, this future agent was using all of their power not to tremble in fear at the thought of being in a scenario like this. You saw the fear in their eyes.

“As long as you breathe, remember your training, and let yourself fully assess the situation at hand, you’ll do the best you can do. Trust me, there were two very distinct moments that night where I thought and accepted the possibility that I was going to die. That’s a risk we all take with this job. But I focused on what I could do next and kept going. And that’s what you’ll learn throughout your time in training and in the field. You cannot stop, you have to keep going.”

You ended with a smile directly to the trainee to try to calm their nerves even a little bit. They visibly took a deep breath and nodded, giving you a quiet “thank you” before writing something in their notebook. Your saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Will and Hannibal were now standing off to the side, letting you know that you were almost done. Will was more rigid than usual. You assumed he heard the part about accepting death and he did not like that thought. 

Hannibal caught your eye as he tapped his watch. Nodding, you looked back to the class, prepared to dismiss them. That was until you saw a hand near the back. Before you could say or do anything, the man with the raised hand spoke. 

“How were you able to confirm the Scalpel’s motive? What stood out with him that made him suspect number 1?” You took a slightly larger breath as you realized it was one of the assistant directors speaking. Blinking a few times and gathering your thoughts you tried to sound as professional as you could. 

“Well, we originally were looking for an active doctor. Someone who could have access to the equipment and drugs needed for these killings. But then we realized that it could be a former doctor who was now a patient of these doctors.” You gestured to the slide projected behind you. “As for motive, we could only theorize until we talked to Henry himself. And while talking to him face-to-face last week revealed a lot, we cannot actually confirm anything when it comes to his psyche.”

“But you said it yourself, he was frustrated at the answers that these doctors had given him. So wouldn’t the Virginia Scalpel murders be crimes of passion, making his motive emotional overload?” The man spoke. You were thrown off just a bit, but found your way back to correct wording.

“They actually weren’t crimes of passion. Those are usually impulsive and emotionally driven. The Virginia Scalpel crime scenes, especially that of Dr.Pencalt and his wife, showed us that Henry was methodical and purposeful.” 

“Yes, there could have been an emotionally charged aspect to it. He was upset with these men. I theorized with Dr.Lecter and Special Agent Crawford that these killings could have been some sort of pain relief for his headaches. The act of slaying these men took all of his focus, alleviating the pounding in his head.” 

“At one point, he said that killing was a form of mercy and life could be considered torture. So he could very well have just wanted to spare them from this mortal coil. Or maybe Henry saw these murders as a way of honoring them. Maybe there was even a thrill-seeking aspect that he got a kick from.” You stood up from your spot on your desk, feeling yourself getting a bit weary after so much talking over the last hour or so, and tried to politely wrap this all up.

“Where I’m going with this is the fact that we can theorize all we want-- Hell, we can even settle on what we believe his motive was. But that’s all it’ll be: A belief. We will never truly know because Dr. Urik was found dead in the woods behind his former office building, stabbed a handful of times, and had enough of his own paralytic drug in his system to take down an ostrich.”

They were out of your sightline, but Hannibal and Will both smirked at how well you had handled the situation. It wasn’t often that managerial positions were proven wrong in front of a classroom full of people. However, both of their smiles slowly fell as the assistant director continued.

“I guess his death is a breath of fresh air, right? You can sleep at night knowing that the Virginia Scalpel is no longer out there. No more target on your back.” The assistant director tried to say that as a lighthearted joke. Something to lighten the mood. But you forced a pained smile and spoke your mind.

“Yes. I am thankful that I don’t have to worry about a scalpel cutting into my cheek again, or almost slicing my throat, or finding Dr. Lecter chopped into pieces in his bed or maybe even Henry breaking his pattern and going after the last bit of family that I have left. I guess sleeping should be easier, shouldn’t it?” 

You looked directly at the man as you spoke, the gravity of your situation and the insensitivity of his statements hitting him. You shifted your gaze to the trainees that were in the first few rows and continued, straightfaced. 

“But I am curious as to what he would have to say and how that perspective could have helped us catch others like him. I hope that you all can find that same curiosity as I do. If we can catch them and talk to them, we could learn what makes them tick and get information that could help us catch the next one before it's too late.” You let a beat of silence pass, letting your words sink into the minds of the young ones. “Thank you all for your time. For questions regarding the Virginia Scalpel case, please contact Special Agent Crawford and he will see if you are authorized to view the file notes. If you need to reach me for any reason other than the Virginia Scalpel case, you all have my email. Stay safe out there.” 

You turned away from the class and shut down your computer, trying to gather your things as the room applauded. You raised a hand as a way of saying “thank you but please stop” and they all filed out of the room. 

“I think that went well despite Assistant Director Ass-Hat’s commentary at the end there” Will made his way to you, grabbing your jacket from the chair behind you and holding it in his hands, gripping it tighter than normal as if doing so would solidify in his brain that you were here and safe.

“Thanks. For someone with a shaken brain, I think I did pretty good today.” You joked back at your brother. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the beginnings of his brain spiraling with worry. 

If he was being honest, Will still hasn’t fully gotten over the events of last week. It was his exact fear almost coming true. And while he was forever thankful that you were alive today, he was worried that this near-death experience wouldn’t be enough to stop you from continuing to work active cases. The fact that you wanted to give this presentation so soon after you were released from the hospital validated his worry more and more.

“I still think it’s too soon for you to be back here.” 

“If you had your way, I would never step foot near this building again, Will.” You joke over your shoulder as you slide your laptop into your bag. “But I also think that that is just your way of trying to get me to be a 24/7 dog sitter.” Will huffed out a breath that sounded like a dry chuckle.

“I’m not saying that, but if you ask Winston or the others, I’m sure they would be all for that idea.” 

You finally turn fully to Will and lightly smack his arm. His face fades from a small smile to an unmasked face of worry as he looks down at the jacket in his hands that he is still fiddling with.

“I know this isn’t going to change your decision on whether or not you stay with Jack’s team, but I really don’t like that idea.” 

“You said the same thing the first time we had this conversation.”

“Yes, but that was before you got seriously injured while working a case.”

“I wasn’t seriously injured.” Will was going to interject, but you kept talking. “But I understand. What we do is dangerous. But I’m going to say the same thing I said last time: I have the chance to save lives, and that is a good enough reason for me to stay.” 

Before either of you could continue, Hannibal finally made his way over. His hand landed comfortably on your lower back for a long moment to alert you of his presence. 

You and Hannibal had talked about your mutual feelings for one another and agreed to start exploring a romantic relationship. That being said, you haven't told Will yet. Luckily, the gesture from Hannibal was easily passed as friendly to your unknowing brother.

“The assistant director wanted me to pass along his apology, (Y/N). He didn’t mean to insult you with his statements.” You waved your hand dismissively.

“I know he didn’t mean to. But it was a nice excuse to hand a ‘powerful male’ his ass in front of a whole room. I’m sure his ego will bounce back in no time.” You let a devilish smirk grace your features, earning a smile from Hannibal and a chuckle from Will. 

Hannibal looked to Will and saw how he was holding your jacket. Hannibal just offered his hand.

“I can take that, Will. You should go. You don’t want to be late for your own lecture. I will make sure your sister is safe.” 

The hospital discharged you, but you were still healing. The cut on your cheek was almost healed, but you kept a bandage on it to be safe. A scar would surely form, permanently reminding you of your first case. Most people would associate it with the fear of impending doom by the hands of a serial killer. But you were actually okay with it. You saw it as a reminder of what you were able to survive.

The most inconvenient thing was that you weren’t allowed to drive yourself. Between the healing concussion and the medications you were on, driving was not the safest thing. So Hannibal and Will took it upon themselves to compare schedules and be your drivers. 

When Hannibal had afternoon patients or had to work late on something, you would stay with Will. On days where Will was needed at work, you would stay with Hannibal. Sometimes you would stay in their homes, and sometimes they would crash on your couch. Well, Will would crash on your couch. Hannibal would share the bed with you, protecting you from anything that would try to get you physically or mentally. 

Even when you decided to stay at Hannibal’s home, you felt safe. The dining room was a bit haunting. But you knew that no matter what, if something felt off or if you were in any sort of danger, Hannibal would step up and help the best he could. 

Your boys (and the dogs) made sure you were safe no matter where you were.

 If there was anyone Will trusted to watch over you, it was Hannibal. He was the reason you weren’t the Scalpel’s ninth victim.

Will just nodded and struggled to hand over the jacket. Your heart ached because you knew how easily concerned he got when it came to you. But you could also see that he was trying to let go of some of that worry, letting himself see that Hannibal was a safe man to have in your life. You closed the gap between you and Will and wrapped your arms around him, feeling how tense and distraught he was. 

“I will text you as soon as I get home, alright?” Will nodded his head as he squeezed you just a bit tighter. You squeezed back, knowing he needed the reassurance. He pulled away and you patted his shoulder. “Don’t give your kids too much shit today.” 

You both snorted, knowing there was some truth behind the joke. Will said goodbye to Hannibal and left the room, leaving you and Hannibal alone. 

As much as you wanted to hurry up and get out of here, you had to lean against the desk as you zipped up your bag, really feeling your lack of energy now.

“Are you alright?” Nodding, you took a sip from your water bottle before speaking.

“Yes? Did a lot of talking and thinking today. I think I’m starting to get tired.” You let a chuckle-esque exhale come through your nostrils. “Gotta build my energy back up.”

Hannibal stood in front of you, gently placed your jacket down on the desk, and took one on your hands in his. To any normal person, it just looked like he was holding your hand to comfort you. But you knew him. He was gathering data: Pulse, temperature, if your hands were clammy, and whatever else he could find out. But he was also holding your hand to comfort you a little.

After determining your vitals to be manageable, he lifts his hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek for a moment.

“I think it's time to go home and rest, don’t you?” Hannibal proposed. You nodded and grabbed your jacket from next to you.

“My place or yours?”

“Your choice, my love.” You couldn’t help but smile at the new and special sobriquet that Hannibal had started using more frequently. Hannibal kissed the back of your hand before helping you stand up, putting your hand on his arm to guide you out.

“I think my place tonight. And maybe we can stop at the store on the way and you can finally show me how to cook something worthy of the esteemed food artist, Hannibal Lecter?” Hannibal smirked at your dramatics.

“Do you think you’ll have the energy for that?” 

“No. But I’d still like to try.” You leaned towards Hannibal and felt a pleading smile make its way across your face, knowing Hannibal was already going to agree to your idea. He still pretended to think it over before nodding. 

“That sounds like a lovely evening.” You felt yourself wiggle just a bit out of happiness, Hannibal smiled at the cuteness of the motion.

Hannibal reached out and touched the doorknob, but before he could open the door, you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. When you looked at the caller ID, your feet stopped moving and your heart dropped. You couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or excitement. Maybe a weird mix of both.

Hannibal turned to you, watching your face carefully as you answered.

“(Y/N) speaking.” 

“How you feelin’, (Y/N)?” You hadn’t heard Jack’s happy voice in a while. You weren’t sure if this one was real or fake. So you proceeded with caution.

“I’ve been better, but I’m also doing a lot better compared to a few days ago.” 

“Good. Good...” Crawford trailed off, his mind obviously on something else. 

There was an awkward silence. You knew Jack was trying to figure out how to phrase something without stressing you out after the last couple of weeks. You knew what that something was and you appreciated the effort to try and not overwhelm you, but you didn’t like this small talk part. So you took a deep breath before kick-starting the conversation that you knew Jack was trying to ease into.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a social call, is it, Jack?”

“No. It is not, (Y/N). We have another odd case that we could use your help with.” 

You felt your thumb subconsciously go to wiggle your ring. You knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but even knowing that didn’t lessen the anxiety you felt. Hannibal stepped closer and took your hand in his, lightly running his thumb across your knuckles. You knew he was trying to ease your mind with the small gesture. You mouthed “Thank you” to him and smiled. 

Jack continued before you could say anything. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. But the sooner the better.”

“How about I get back to you tomorrow afternoon?” You stated more than asked. Jack agreed to that and hung up. Hannibal could see that you weren’t stressed but you also weren’t excited. 

“I take it Agent Crawford wants to borrow your mind again?” You nod your head, going back and forth in your mind about whether or not to take him up on his offer again or let yourself rest for a bit longer. “What’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“Not much to be honest.” You look at Hannibal and see him watching you, ready to react to anything you say or do. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Could you be my partner, Hannibal?” You ask and almost fear his response. You didn’t want to be a burden. But very quickly you are met with that lovely rare smile of his. 

“It would be an honor to be your partner, in life and on a case.” You smile as you lean towards him and he meets you halfway, pecking your lips softly, his hand smoothing its way to your back. The two of you pull away and he ushers you out of the room. “After all, someone has to protect that beautiful and reckless mind of yours.” 

You shot Hannibal a look as the two of you walked to his car, ready for one more relaxing night before jumping right back into the chaos.

[thewitcherstan]

Prompt where Geralt leaves Jaskier in charge of Ciri and when he comes back its just... Chaos?

To be fair, Geralt should have known better than to leave Jaskier and Ciri to their own devices for any longer than a day.

But he couldn’t very well have them distracting him while he hunted down a drowner. The last time Jaskier had accompanied him on such a hunt, they’d both nearly died, if only because Jaskier simply can’t seem to shut up, even when faced with what would be most people’s worse nightmares.

So yeah, with Ciri now tagging along with them and as curious as ever, Geralt figured it’d be safer for everyone to leave them both at the inn for a couple of days. He left Jaskier in charge with a stern, “Don’t let her wander off.”

Jaskier had given him a mock-salute. “But of course not.”

“And don’t get anyone knocked up while I’m gone. We have enough to deal with without you buttering the wrong.... biscuits.”

“Aw, Geralt, euphemisms sound so crass when you use them.” At Geralt’s responding glare, Jaskier had given him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Besides, my faith lies with you and you only, my dear.”

“Great,” Geralt had responded, not feeling at all reassured.

A sentiment which he finds is completely justified upon his return, when he hears a mixture of shouting and cheering as he approaches the dingy tavern a couple evenings later.

He walks into the tavern and is somehow entirely unsurprised to find a crowd surrounding Ciri and Jaskier, who are facing off two large men bearing swords, one holding a ridiculously colorful coin bag which Geralt immediately recognizes as Jaskier’s, a purchase Jaskier had insisted was essential.

If they weren’t in immediate danger, the picture before him would be rather amusing. Ciri, with the dagger Geralt had given her to use until they arrive at Kaer Morhen, where he can finally start her formal swordsmanship training, and Jaskier, looking reluctant but ready to swing his lute.

Geralt swiftly pushes his way through the crowd, crossing his arms sternly.

“I believe that doesn’t belong to you,” Geralt grits out to the man holding the bag, and the man laughs.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it you? I think we’re all owed a little compensation after listening to this bloody banshee wail for three days straight,” he sneers, gesturing to Jaskier, and Geralt feels a low growl building in his chest.

“Just because you don’t have any qualities useful enough to earn you money doesn’t mean—”

Geralt closes his eyes for a second. Jesus. “Fiona,” he grits out to Ciri. “Quiet.”

She huffs, but closes her mouth. Her dagger, he notices, is still raised threateningly, just as he’d taught her, and he can’t help but feel a rush of pride. He turns his attention back to the two men.

“Hand over the bag and leave,” he orders, and they laugh.

“Oh no, witcher. That wasn’t part of the deal, you see,” the first man says, and Geralt shoots Jaskier a look.

“Deal?”

“Little Miss Princess and your side bitch here agreed to a duel for the money. We win, we get to keep it.”

Geralt shoots them an incredulous look, and they both shrug sheepishly. This, he thinks exasperatedly. This is why I always traveled alone.

“Great. I’m on their team,” Geralt announces.

“Ah, but three against one isn’t fair play, witcher!” one of the men protests.

Geralt quirks an eyebrow at them before turning to Jaskier and Ciri. “Fiona. Out.”

“What!” she protests, enraged, and Geralt barely resists the urge to sigh. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Fiona, dear heart, why don’t you sit this one out?” Jaskier says soothingly. “I’d rather like to have this all settled quickly.”

“I can handle myself better than you can,” Ciri mutters, too low for anyone but Jaskier and Geralt’s witcher hearing to pick up.

Exactly, Geralt thinks. And no one can know that.

She cringes when she meets Geralt’s stern gaze and sighs, lowering her dagger and stepping out of immediate danger, and Geralt can’t help the wave of relief that washes over him. She, at least, is safe for now.

He turns back to the men. “Great. Now we’re even.” Geralt feels a sense of grim satisfaction at hearing how their heartbeats speed up in fear.

“Whatever. Time to exterminate this witcher scum, yeah?” the man says to their gathered audience. There are a handful of cheers, but for the most part, everyone is waiting with baited breath. Tired of playing, Geralt pushes himself in front of Jaskier, and swiftly makes the first move.

From there, the time passes quickly, Geralt dancing forward and back, swinging his sword in smooth arcs and sharp jabs, opting to disarm the men rather than kill them altogether. As much as he’d admittedly like to, he refuses to commit needless murder in front of Ciri, who has seen way too much of it for a lifetime.

Within minutes, both men are incapacitated, and Geralt snatches up the bag of coin, jabbing the unconscious man viciously despite himself. That, he thinks, is for threatening my bard and my kid.

Geralt straightens up and glares at the people around him. “Get these men out of here,” he growls out to no one in particular. He turns to Ciri and Jaskier. “You two. Upstairs.”

His face must say a lot, because for once, they shuffle out in front of him without protest. Geralt snatches a tankard of ale up before following them. He figures he’ll need it.

They make their way upstairs and Ciri and Jaskier quickly make their way inside, sitting on the edge of Geralt and Jaskier’s bed while Geralt stands in front of them.

“Jaskier, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I see,” Jaskier huffs, offended. “Just assume it’s all my fault, Geralt.”

“You’re the adult,” Geralt says, trying not to roll his eyes. “It is your fault.”

“Actually, it really isn’t his fault,” Ciri cuts in.

“Ciri, he’s right—”

“When those men took his bag, I was the one who challenged them to a duel.”

This time, Geralt really does sigh. “Why.”

It’s more of a statement than a question.

She shrugs. “To be fair, they looked like they’d lose against a gust of wind, so I really wasn’t all that worried,” she tells him.

“You can’t afford to not be worried!” Geralt snaps. “You don’t have the training to not rely on your abilities, and using them in the open could literally mean life or death for you right now.”

Her face falls a bit, and Geralt immediately feels a rush of guilt, though he stands by the sentiment. But looking at these two reckless, beloved idiots sitting before him, his chest aches at the thought of something happening to them.

He takes a deep breath and moves forward, crouching in front of her. He tentatively takes her hands into his, knowing that, just like Jaskier, Ciri responds best to touch and kind words, though not to the same degree as the bard.

It is a softness he’d scorn in anyone else. But he loves these two for it.

“Ciri,” Geralt starts, trying to get his words right this time. “You know as well as anyone that this world does not take kindly to people like us. Powerful people. We cannot afford to be reckless. I know this is difficult, but I made a promise to your grandmother, and to you. We will reach our destination shortly, and then I promise, you will have more freedom. Do you understand?”

She looks down at him and sags, all traces of playfulness leaving her face. For a moment, she looks like a lost, terrified child—and, really, she is—but then her face hardens in an echo of Queen Calanthe’s fierceness and nods.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

He squeezes her hand gently before reaching up to tenderly brush her hair out of her face.

“Go wash up while Jaskier and I talk,” he tells her kindly, getting to his feet again. She gets up and darts around him, grabbing his ale and taking a swig.

He reaches out to swat at her, but she darts away with a laugh, all at once the picture of a playful kid again. Jaskier shakes his head as she disappears into the washroom.

“That’s what you get for always letting her sip from your tankard,” he says pointedly. “She likes the stuff a bit too much, yeah?”

“You really think the daughter of Calanthe has never tasted beer before?” Geralt asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“Good point,” Jaskier admits. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Jaskier slumps. “Alright, go ahead. Lay into me.”

Geralt studies him for a moment, watching him squirm. “I’m not mad,” he says eventually.

“You’re—wait, what?” Jaskier says incredulously.

“Do you want me to be?” Geralt asks, amused.

“Well, no,” Jaskier sputters. “But I thought you were furious, what with the whole grouchy, ‘You. Upstairs,’ bit and the fact that we challenged some big scary men to a duel.”

Geralt tilts his head. “Annoyed, maybe. But not mad. You and Ciri are still healthy and in one piece. You did as I asked. Those men were shitbags, you couldn’t have stopped that.”

Jaskier sighs in relief, happy that Geralt isn’t furious with him. He tugs Geralt down onto the bed next to him, placing his head on the witcher’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ciri. The duel,” he mutters into the crook of Geralt’s neck, listening to Geralt’s answering rumble of laughter.

“It was hardly a duel. You two really probably would have gotten by without my help,” Geralt comments.

“Yes, but I was rather hoping to avoid harm to my lute,” Jaskier admits.

“Shit, I definitely shouldn’t have stepped in then,” Geralt jokes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whines. “Don’t be rude.”

“Can’t help it. It’s my default,” he says as Jaskier falls fully into his lap. “Tired?”

“Mmmm,” Jaskier replies sleepily. “Hard work keeping a child alive.”

“Think of how I must feel. I have to keep two alive.”

“Shhhh,” Jaskier says, too tired to be properly offended. Besides, he knows Geralt loves taking care of them. “Sleepy.”

“Rest, then. Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“‘Night, Geralt,” Jaskier slurs tiredly.

The witcher runs a gentle hand through his hair, sitting back and allowing himself to relax.

Trying to parent his wild Child Surprise alongside his bard, who has just as much of a penchant for mischief as their child, is a lot of work sometimes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.