#The Case of the Stolen Pudding Cup

[definitelyunhingedagentphoenix]

Agent Phoenix: I'd die for you.

Reginald: no offence agent, but is there anyone in this agency you wouldn't die for?

Agent Phoenix: Jeremy from accounting.

Reginald: what did-

Agent Phoenix: he knows what he did.

[guardian-angle22]

911: Lone Star S4 E14 | The Case of the Stolen Pudding Cup -> The Crime Exposed

[sofiiel]

Sometimes the night sucks & sometimes sleep decides to skip the party. Eddie's become a pro at guiding you to dreamland, even if it takes a while.

SFW | FLUFF | LET HIM LOVE YOU PLEASE | HINTS AT DEPRESSION SOFT EDDIE | PET NAME USAGE *I'm not shouting its aesthetic, I promise.*

It'd only been thirty minutes after you and Eddie crawled into bed, snuggled under the covers and said goodnight. The fan hummed in a hypnotic lull, and you could hear the distant traffic out the cracked window mix with Eddie's snoring.

He was out cold, wrapped in the blanket you had abandoned to pace around the room. You didn't want to wake him, He'd just taken double shifts down at Thatcher Tire.

Tire of pacing, you quietly nestle yourself o n the floor, watching him as you pluck at the carpet.

Eddie stirs as he reaches out to share the stolen covers with you once more. But his hand flops into the empty space beside him. Muttering groggy incoherence in his sleep, Eddie scoots over closer to where you should be and tries again, with the same outcome.

His head pops up from under the cover, his eyes are barely open as he peers down at the empty space. "Gone." you faintly hear the raspy sound of Eddie's sleepy vocal cords.

When he hears your short laughter, Eddie lays back down, only to roll over and peer at you from your place on the floor. He tries to assess what's going on when it slowly dawns on him.

"Sandman skipped a shift again, Pud?" he asks you, his voice still strained as he rubs at his eyes, trying to wake them up.

You give a nod, "go back to sleep, you were sleeping good." you say.

"Yeah but," He lulled sitting up and sliding his legs out the bed, "it'd be ten times better if you were doing it with me." he said.

Leaning forward, he nudges your nose with his. "Waking up to empty space is like waking from a falling dream before the splat." he murmured as he sat up straight.

Eddie's hands slapped down against his knees to push himself up as he flashed you a smile. "So, something warm to drink." He said. Eddie's mind was geared up for the usual ritual of lulling you to sleep.

"Goddamn lazy sandman," He cursed playfully, waiting for you to follow behind him into the kitchen.

You nestle yourself at the small table for two and watch Eddie as he is hyperfocused on preparing your favorite nighttime drink, determine not to get it too hot or too cold, and to add all the right things.

When he is finally done, there is a glint of pride in his tired eyes as he sets if before you. You thank him with an apologetic smile, "you can go back to bed now, I'm ok." you offer.

Eddie rests his cheek in his hand and shakes his head, "liar" he hums watching you drink up. It was always the same, and he waited patiently to fall into phase two. When he was certain you were almost done, he stood and wandered back to the bedroom.

In the dark, he fumbled for his slippers and yours. Sliding his pair on to his feet, Eddie gathered the blanket and reached out for his Acoustic. Eddie zipped up the guitar into it's case and grabbed his car keys.

Standing at the kitchen sink, you are rinsing out your cup when a soft weight covers your shoulders. Eddie wraps the blanket around you and gives his keys a jingle.

Phase two had begun, Eddie turned the radio down low, "you remember this song?" he asked you. He keeps his voice deep and low because he knows it's a good way to both calm you and keep you grounded away from any anxious thoughts.

You recognize the song from the time traded weed with the DJ at the school dance back in your senior year, it was this song he had them play.

It was the song you danced to, it was the first time Eddie ever broke down and braved the dance floor. A slow tune that caused racing hearts.

The memory makes you smile, "I remember" you tell him. Eddie holds a gentle grin on his face as he lets the song play while he cruises you through the vacant streets.

The windows of the van are down to let the breeze caress your skin. Eddie weaves through the streets and back roads at a mild speed. "Do you want to tell me what's in your head, pud?" He asks after some time.

Looking up at the road ahead of you, watching the lines disappear under the hood of the car, you linger quietly for a moment. "You don't have to, this is ok too." Eddie said, flicking on his blinker as he turned. There was no on the road, but he needed that dull ticking sound, as it always caused your eyelids to droop just a little.

The silence lingers a bit, until you come across a red light near the town center. Watching the red light, you start to talk to Eddie. You share your headspace with him, he welcomes the emotion dump, silently listening.

Now and then your out pour of thoughts draws a quiet "aw/oh, babe." or a a hum of a sound showing that he is indeed listening.

Eddie reaches out to give your hand a squeeze before the light turns green, with a "I love you." he rolls naturally off his tongue. He's noticed you've started to relax in the passenger's seat.

"Time for phase three." he thinks to himself, steering the car to your special place.

In the middle of the grassy field, Eddie brought the van to a stop. It's not meat for this kind of off-roading, but Weathertop was never too taxing on the vehicle.

You and Eddie sit in the back of his van, the seats lowered and blanket spread out. He's taken up his acoustic and lightly plays, swaying this the music as he starts to strum.

"Close your eyes." He said, and you do as he says. He scoots closer, you can feel his shoulder touch yours. The two of you hum the tune together, lyrics that mean the world to both of you and off their own sort of comfort.

You lean your head on his shoulder, and he rests his head on top of yours. He plays anything and everything that comes to mind until he hears a tiny yawn from you.

Eddie smiles to himself, "there we go." he thinks. Plating a tender kiss to the top of your head, he asks, "do you want to lay down with me?"

When you nod in response and Eddie reaches to put his guitar away. Scooting his body to lay down, he gives his chest a pat. You curl into him as if he were a body pillow. One leg slightly wrapped around him.

He lets you cling, his hand rubbing your shoulder gently, his other hand holds your hand to his chest. You can hear and feel a strong hypnotizing heartbeat, a consistent 'lub dub' trying with all its might to sing you to sleep.

Eddie stares up at the ceiling of the van as the two of you just lay there. You draw absently on his chest little hearts, and it makes him chuckle lightly. He tries to keep his feet still as they want to wiggle happily.

The two of you share a yawn, and you cuddle closer. Eyelids finally heavy. "Thank you, Eddie." you murmur before sleep finally decides to take you. "Every time." he whispers back. "Goodnight Y/n." are his last words before sleep takes him as well.

ST Onshot Masterlist | ST Fics

[exoticalmonde]

Image stolen from Dr. Pinkie who got it from god knows where but I'm here to declare that I succeeded in my adventure into the bottom of Ling's cup and I come out victorious.

With a team of hardened steel and all the blood I could spill to guilt-trip half the team into doing more damage/healing (and to get Chongyue off my back for this morning's training session) , I managed to acquire a Nearl-alter from a unsuspecting owner.

Basically we tried multiple things that could have worked potentially if my characters were stronger, including attempting Ebenholz (it's for the peepos, no we didn't try killing Sui Xiang) and Kroos-alter, Skadi-alter and company. To no avail.

At some point Dr. Kryo came by to offer the assistance of Pozemka in case Kroos-alter was not doing enough damage. Mine is not E2 and Dr. Pinkie was really adamant on using Skalter.

Since none of us have it.

So while I was away I hear those two bicker in the background:

Kryo: "If you're struggling you could always go the Pozemka strat."

Pinkie: "We're doing quite fine, stage by stage."

Kryo: "Or you could use Pozemka."

Pinkie: "Or you can shut your wh*re mouth."

Me: *Wheeze laughing from the kitchen*

Kryo: "You're failling and could use the support."

Pinkie: "Why don't you guide her then?!"

Kryo: "Because I don't know your plan!!"

They love each other though, this is all regular chatter in Rhodes Island, I promise. No operstors or feelings were hurt in the creation of this post.

About operstors actually...

The first... Couple of times... Were eventful.

Sussuro was taken to bed early today for some well-deserved rest.

We started using the training tickets and figured out that if you need some tick damage, it's better to get your best casters. Nobody told me that fastest caster was also an option, of which such are - Click... And Pudding.

At least now I don't remember if Passenger was an option, but chain casters seem to work fine. He's just a little too expensive to put down. Not that Pudding isnt 28DP at E1 mad pots, but... You know. Splash caster kind of cost for a 4 target hit at a speed of Average.

Now every time I see this I feel a headache coming up.

During the last phase, after we took a 10 minute break, I forgot I was meant to play the training thing first and we accidentally succeeded in Challenge mode the normal way.

I still have to farm for 20 more stages for the full medal set.

Speaking of which, GOD the last seconds... Surtur died way too EARLY, not to mention it took multiple attempts to figure out Sui uses his skill on the MELE character which is closest, closest meaning PROXIMITY. So my Surtur got stabbed into the ground twice before we fixed thsa by placing Gravel below her and not below Sui. Just bait as close to the ball as possible.

And as a last resort we stalled and used that ONE block you see behind him. Backstabbing as a last resort, by the wise words of Dr. Pinkie.

Cleared the shop. Cleared the stages.

And also a day ago I got enough primes to get Nian. Mentioning it again since she was also used in a couple of stages and it was a splendid experience. Aak and Hung, you two will get dressed up some other time.

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: One Puzzling Afternoon by Emily Critchley

One Puzzling Afternoon by Emily Critchley

A mystery she can't remember. A friend she can't forget.

I kept your secret Lucy. I've kept it for more than sixty years . . .

It is 1951, and at number six Sycamore Street fifteen-year-old Edie Green is lonely. Living alone with her eccentric mother - who conducts seances for the local Ludthorpe community - she is desperate for something to shake her from her dull, isolated life.

When the popular, pretty Lucy Theddle befriends Edie, she thinks all her troubles are over. But Lucy has a secret, one Edie is not certain she should keep . . .

Then Lucy goes missing.

2018. Edie is eighty-four and still living in Ludthorpe. When one day she glimpses Lucy Theddle, still looking the same as she did at fifteen, her family write it off as one of her many mix ups. There's a lot Edie gets confused about these days. A lot she finds difficult to remember. But what she does know is this: she must find out what happened to Lucy, all those years ago . . .

Charlotte Illes is Not a Detective by Katie Siegel

The downside of being a famous child detective is that sooner or later, you have to grow up . . .

As a kid, Charlotte Illes’ uncanny sleuthing abilities made her a minor celebrity. But in high school, she hung up her detective’s hat and stashed away the signature blue landline in her “office”—aka garage—convinced that finding her adult purpose would be as easy as tracking down missing pudding cups or locating stolen diamonds.

Now twenty-five, Charlotte has a nagging fear that she hit her peak in middle school. She’s living with her mom, scrolling through job listings, and her love life consists mostly of first dates. When it comes to knowing what to do next, Charlotte hasn��t got a clue.

And then, her old blue phone rings...

Reluctantly, Charlotte is pulled back into the mystery-solving world she knew—just one more time. But that world is a whole lot more complicated for an adult. As a kid, she was able to crack the case and still get her homework done on time. Now she’s dealing with dead bodies, missing persons, and villains who actually see her as a viable threat. And the detective skills she was once so eager to never use again are the only things that can stop a killer ready to make sure her next retirement is permanent.

This is the first volume of the "Not a Detective Mysteries" series.

The Distant Hours by Kate Morton

A long lost letter arrives in the post and Edie Burchill finds herself on a journey to Milderhurst Castle, a great but moldering old house, where the Blythe spinsters live and where her mother was billeted 50 years before as a 13-year-old child during WWII. The elder Blythe sisters are twins and have spent most of their lives looking after the third and youngest sister, Juniper, who hasn’t been the same since her fiancé jilted her in 1941.

Inside the decaying castle, Edie begins to unravel her mother’s past. But there are other secrets hidden in the stones of Milderhurst, and Edie is about to learn more than she expected. The truth of what happened in ‘the distant hours’ of the past has been waiting a long time for someone to find it.

The Sweet Remnants of Summer by Alexander McCall Smith

Isabel Dalhousie accepts an invitation to serve on the advisory committee of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, but soon finds herself swept up in an all-too-familiar dilemma. David is the grandson of a Scottish clan chief and is supportive of Scottish nationalism. But his fervent beliefs are threatening family harmony, especially because his sister Catriona's socialist views put her at odds with her brother. When their mother, Laura, a fellow committee member, asks Isabel to intervene, she tries to demur. But always one for courteous resolutions to philosophical disagreements, Isabel can't help but intercede.

In the meantime, Jamie, having criticized Isabel for getting involved in the affairs of others, does precisely that himself. Jamie is helping to select a new cellist for his ensemble, but he suspects that the conductor may be focused on something other than his favored candidate's cello skills.

With so many factors complicating matters, Isabel and Jamie will have to muster all their tact and charm to ensure that comity is reached between all these fractious parties.

This is the 14th volume of the "Isabel Dalhousie" series.

[uglypastels]

Hogwarts idea

Can you make a fic about how Tom sneakes out at night to spend the nights in the readers room (common room/bedroom) he’s a gryffindor and she’s a ravenclaw

Maybe they have a deal with the house teacher of one of the houses. Maybe he tries to hide in her bed as so not to wake the others. Maybe they fall asleep in the common room and have a minor panic when they wake up and it’s morning. Maybe they accidentally switch clothes or one of them steal the others clothes so they walk around with the wrong colors.

love love love love this!!! and I'm sorry it took me so long, I've been in a bit of a writing slump, but this is the best request to get me out of it! thank you <3 and hope you like it. (this got a bit out of hand and I might have changed the ending a lil bit but I hope its good heh)

(gender neutral!reader, I think? at least that's what I went for but if I accidentally missed something just let me know and I'll edit, I'm dumb)

_________________

Being in your seventh year at Hogwarts, with exams just around the corner, was taking up almost every waking minute of your days. Adding the fact that you had your Head Student duties, and Tom had his Quidditch house team to take care of, meaning that you barely ever had time for each other. The only solution, in your young and smitten minds, was that some rules needed to be broken- just a little bit.

It took Tom some time to convince you since you were supposed to be setting the right example for the younger students, but eventually, one gloomy Friday morning, he finally got to you.

"C'mon, love, it will be fun," he had his arm draped around you as you tried to enjoy your breakfast, the looks of your fellow housemates never going unnoticed. There had never been a rule against students eating meals at different tables, and yet, seeing the captain of the Gryffindor team spending all his mornings and evenings at the Ravenclaw table was a strange sight. He preferred your table, he had said one day when you asked, it was quieter. That you could not disagree with. The Gryffindors were always rowdy.

"I don't know Tommy, what if we get in trouble?" you bit the inside of your cheek, as you always did when you got nervous. Tom responded by pulling you in tighter and kissing your cheek, then said:

"That's half the fun of it, darling." His words rushed an array of feelings through you. A part of you started to feel flustered, while the other wanted to shove his face in the large bowl of porridge that stood on the table.

"Please," he looked at you with his usual sad puppy-eyed look. "I feel like never get to see you, y/n. So I'll come over tonight, you can let me into the Rave tower, we'll hang out a bit and then I'll leave- like nothing ever happened. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Tommy-" You tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard to say no to a gorgeous face like his. after a few short moments of silence, you finally agreed, "fine. Be there at 10. Do not be late, Holland."

"I wouldn't dare to waste a second away from you." He kissed you, grabbed a slice of toast (from your plate, of course), and got up.

"Wait, where are you going?" You asked, confused, since breakfast wouldn't end for another 20 minutes.

"I'm kind of late for early detention with McGonagall," he chuckled before running off, toast between his teeth. You just rolled your eyes and finished your meal in peace.

You never really thought that your classes were boring, but that day, every minute seemed to go by at a quarter of its speed. It was as if someone had put a time-stopping hex on you if that even was a thing. You couldn't wait to finish your studies in the library (the scheduled hours at the library was necessary since there was still so much to get through before the NEWTs), so you could make your way back to the Great Hall for dinner. Once there, you immediately were on the lookout for the head of dark brown curls. You stood in the doorway, letting people pass you, but no luck; Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Internally, you already started cursing. It would be just your luck that he'd get attention again for the rest of the night. Why did you have to fall for the troublemaker-

"Aaah!" you shrieked as suddenly your feet were lifted from the ground. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you were spinning around. You wanted to scream more, but you heard the familiar laugh, and it immediately put you at ease.

"Put me down," you laughed. Tom complied without pretence. But his hands remained at your sides as you turned to face him. And then, eagerly, his lips met yours in a chaste kiss.

It was, of course, silly to think that you could have this moment just for yourself, in a hall filled with hundreds of students. Only a few seconds into your kiss, you could hear wolf-whistles around you. Someone, who sounded very much like Tom's friend and team co-captain Harrison, called out from afar: "Get it, Holland!" Tom was quick to put up two fingers in his direction, not paying attention to anyone. But the mood was ruined, and you pulled apart.

"Missed you today," he said softly.

"Missed you, too." You replied. His fingers slipped between yours, and like that, hand in hand, you were already making your way to the Ravenclaw table, but, unfortunately, Tom was stopped when someone tugged at the back of his robes.

"Oi, you dickhead-" but he laughed it off when he saw it was Ben, another friend and member of the Gryffindor team.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ben apologised, "but we're supposed to be holding a team meeting, remember?" He pointed over at the Gryffindor table, and, indeed, the rest of the team was huddled together at the edge of the table. Harrison had gotten up when he saw you and Tom looking, returning the gesture of the two fingers held up in the V-shape.

"Shit, I forgot." Tom brushed his fingers through his hair. He looked at you, eyes already full of regret, and you could tell he was ready to apologise, but you stopped him before he even opened his mouth.

"Don't worry, we'll talk later, yeah." You kissed him on the cheek, "remember, 10."

And miraculously, Tom did remember. As the clock in the Ravenclaw common room struck 10, you heard the faint knock at the other side of the entrance. Of course, Tom knew where and how to access the Ravenclaw tower, but the riddles that the eagle doorknocker asked were at times a bit too hard, bless him.

You pushed the door open, and there he stood. His robes were exchanged for sweatpants and a hoodie. A blue one, you noticed, not that that would help him fit in with the crowd in the common room. Tom had been team captain for the past three years, and his team had not failed to win the cup once since he had even joined the team, to begin with. Everyone in school knew him and adored him. Not even the rest of your house managed to be mad at him (though the Ravenclaw team definitely held a bit of a grudge after a few bad losses over the years).

He stepped inside, and you quickly lead him around the common room up the stairs of the dormitories.

You had heard that years ago, the stairs had a spell on them that stopped the male students from even attempting to step up to the other dormitories. Now, however, this "rule" has been dropped, ever since several students expressed their concerns for the double standards between the male and female student body, as well as the discomfort it might set up for the queer students.

Personally, you thought it would be even better if every student could have their own room, since sharing a space with four other people could get a bit crowded at times and you liked your privacy, but it was understandable that in an ancient building like Hogwarts renovations were not always an option.

Luck struck once more when you opened the door to your dormitory, and it was empty. All of your friends were still out, most likely staring at their books, in the hopes of getting struck with a moment of brilliance that could help them pass their exams. You closed the door, and Tom made himself comfortable in your bed.

It felt like the entire day had already been wasted, not to mention dinner, so you hurried down to your bed, pulling down the curtains of the four-poster, just to get that little bit of privacy you longed for at the end long day. But, of course, it was nothing unusual or suspicious since you often closed your curtains when you were too tired to chat with your roommates.

It was dark with the curtains closed, but Tom was quick to pull out his wand and murmured "lumos" the tip immediately illuminated in soft blue light. The glow was just enough for you to see his face, the goofy grin taking over his features.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, whispering in case someone would walk in.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "just happy to be here with you."

"You're daft," you laughed.

"Yeah, about you," and with that, he kissed you. The light at the end of his want went out as he dropped between you. His lips were soft and sweet, the pudding that had been served with dinner still lingering on him. He must have stolen a few cookies from the table when it had finished, you thought, to eat later. He often did that.

You stayed like that, cuddling, stealing kisses from one another, for hours, probably. You were never quite sure because eventually, you both drifted off into a slumber. You could have probably slept like that, wrapped in his arms, forever, if it wasn't the bright light peeking through your curtains that was hitting you right in the face. And the whispers. You could hear people talking.

"I swear, they're just the cutest." It was your friend talking.

"But do they really need to do it here?" A second voice said, also familiar to you. "I mean, how many rules do you think they're breaking?"

"Oh shut!" you heard pillows being thrown. Or at least assumed that was what was happening around you. You couldn't be bothered to open your eyes, instead deciding to focus on Tom and his calm breathing. Your head was close to his chest, so you felt it rise with each inhale he took, and you could hear his heartbeat.

It was Saturday, meaning no classes. You had studied every day for the past few weeks, definitely deserving a little break for the day. If you remembered correctly, Tom wouldn't have training until the late afternoon and you could always skip breakfast. If you got hungry before tea, you could always sneak into the kitchens. After all, the two of you had already broken so many rules, what would be the harm in one more.

Ignoring the further whispers of your friends, you snuggled closer to Tom, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around you. Both of you shuffled around a bit, trying to find back the comfort from the night, and quickly you fell back to sleep.

The End

[derireo]

juza hyodo - empty pudding cup

izumi finds her pudding cup empty and in the trash.

there could only be one culprit, and she's gonna make him pay (with more sweets!)

when juza came home from school, izumi was leaning on the counter with an empty pudding cup in the centre of the island, expression solemn as she stared down at the container that used to hold her most delectable sweet. she was so excited to eat it when she got back from work, but she ended up with an empty cup in the recycling bin.

the high school student tried to keep his presence hidden as he went up the last few steps of the stairs, hunching his body and hanging his head down as he shuffled towards the hallway that led to his room, his backpack swaying lazily over his shoulder.

to no avail. izumi had already spotted him.

"juza. come here." she called out, sickeningly sweet.

juza froze in his steps.

izumi sighed quietly, dropping her head in amusement before lifting her gaze back up to make sure juza had turned around to look at her.

"you're not in trouble. i just want to talk." she tried to reassure him, nudging the empty pudding cup to the side while motioning with her other hand for him to come over to where she was standing. expression pained, the young student slung his bag onto the couch and trudged towards the island where izumi stood, looking kind of like a sad puppy.

"i know you ate my pudding," she started, grabbing hold of the young man's wrist to make sure he wouldn't run away while she confronted him. "and that's okay. i just wish you would've told me."

juza hung his head slightly, disappointed in himself for betraying the director like this. he was hoping she wouldn't notice, but she did anyways. he should have been honest with her.

"i know. i'm sorry." he apologised, voice gruff due to misuse, and squared his shoulders with pursed lips, staring down at izumi was looking right back at him with kind eyes, the ends of her mouth curving up into a warm smile. her thumb lightly brushed over the inside of his wrist to soothe his pulse, patting his hand.

"it's okay, i already told you." she laughed softly and continued to hold onto his arm as she walked to the dinner table to grab her bag from one of the chairs there, slinging it over her shoulder as she lead juza towards the stairs with a hum, only letting go of him so that he could follow her down comfortably.

juza didn't know why she was trailing after her, but it seemed like she wanted to show him something, and proceeded to put his shoes back on as she opened the front door to the dorm.

"in order to repay me, you're going to have to keep me company at the new cake shop in town." she declared.

surprised, juza scratched the back of his head as he followed after izumi who was already out on the sidewalk. he locked the door before he went after her, his eyes curious as she looked down at her as she let him catch up, her arm coming up to loop with his so that she wouldn't lose him in the crowd at veludo station.

"i'll be paying for the cakes, right?" he asked, just to make sure that he was definitely repaying her and that she wasn't going to use an excuse to feed him more sweets.

"how about i pay for yours, you pay for mine?" she offered, eyes glinting with mirth when juza responded with an immediate shake of his head.

"i don't think that's how it works."

"what? it cancels out." she shrugged her shoulders and held onto his arm tighter, grinning as she chose to ignore the protest that left his mouth. with a few more blocks to go and a quick turn to the left, they had arrived at the new cake shop.

everything else was a blur to juza, and by the time he realised, he was already sitting down at a table with izumi, his choice of cake being presented to him by her as she pulled her plate on her own side with her fork.

"hey, you didn't let me pay." he protested again, the complaint falling on deaf ears as izumi was already digging in, her face lighting up with excitement as the piece of cake practically melted in her mouth along with the sweet cream. she gestured with her hand for juza to start eating, and sulking, he did.

as the cake entered his mouth, he nearly collapsed into his chair.

the cake was moist, the cream was delectably sweet – and the small pieces of fruit on top just gave the right amount of acidity and balanced out the cream. juza couldn't help but let out an amazed gasp.

"wow." he muttered happily, the tips of his ears burning with joy. it had been a while since he came to a sweets shop, hence the reason why he had stolen the pudding cup, so he was silently burning with enthusiasm when the director suggested he come along with her.

the reaction he had towards the cake had izumi smiling, and so she held out her spoon that had a piece of her own cake on it, hand cupped under just in case it fell from its place.

"i got the plain new york cheesecake." she beamed. "try some."

quietly, juza decided to look around the cake shop to make sure no one was watching them to save himself the embarrassment and opened his mouth with a small ah as izumi carefully brought the sweet to his lips.

the silence between them only made the director even more excited for juza's reaction, and the young man did not disappoint.

flustered with how good the cake was, juza's skin was tinged a sweet pink as he covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide with surprise.

"that is delicious." he whispered through the cracks of his fingers, much to izumi's amusement.

the woman laughed softly and nodded in agreement, scooping herself another spoonful of cake to push into her mouth, not noticing the way juza stared at her, innocently scandalized. the way she casually used the same spoon that he put his mouth on flustered him once again, and quietly, juza was trying to get a piece of his own cake on his fork to feed her.

he was wondering if she was going to eat from his fork too.

glittering eyes flitted over towards the cake that was bashfully being held by juza, and his pout showed her that he was embarrassed.

"you can have some of mine." he mumbled, gaze briefly going over her face before he looked back down at his plate, lips pressed in a thin line to keep himself from combusting when the woman across from him immediately took the offer, happily stealing the cake on the fork with her teeth lightly clacking against the metal.

she let out a wow and covered her mouth with her hand, the exact same reaction juza had a few minutes ago.

"that's awesome." she whispered to him, as if she was sharing a secret, grinning when juza could only nod silently. she offered him a second bite of her own cake, to which juza couldn't refuse, and with blushing cheeks accepted the cake. in return, he offered her another piece of his own cake, and the two went back and forth with sharing their sweets until they had nothing left on their plates.

with their cutlery quietly clattering against the porcelain plates that once held their cakes, both juza and izumi relaxed into their seats with elated sighs, their eyes smiling at each other.

"so? how was it?" izumi probed with a tilted head, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at juza who was wringing a small napkin in his hands.

"good."

she pursed her lips at the short answer, eyes squinted as she scrutinized the man in front of her.

"wanna try some more cakes?"

awkwardly, juza turned his head again, ears burning with the desire to say yes but not wanting to force the director to feel obliged into actually getting more.

he picked at his napkin.

"okay, just sit right there! i'll get us a new set." she stood up from her seat with a warm smile and wiggled her fingers at juza who slumped in his chair with a sulking frown, too shy to stop her from getting further away.

juza held his head in his hands as his ears began to burn up.

"..i like her."

[zukofenty]

just my luck

➜ Summary: The one where Katara whisks away her picture-perfect life the night she kisses a stranger with the worst luck in the world.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!” 

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Journalist!Katara, Girl group manager!Zuko, Music Producer!Zuko

AO3, @zutaraweek

“I am too pretty to be punched!” Katara yelps, ducking and clenching the holding cell’s bars until her knuckles turn white. 

  “And I thought I was too pretty to commit tax fraud, but here we are.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes. “That’s just how the pussy crumbles.” 

  “First, you need a gynecologist. Second, I think the saying goes ‘that’s how the cookie—’” Nothing in life could have prepared Katara for the tiny girl to deliver a resounding punch that has her head rattling against the jail cell. 

  “I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!” 

  “I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?” 

  Katara sighs, still recovering from the intense nosebleed Ty Lee bestowed on her. “Where the fuck would I even find a leprechaun?” She promptly shoves wads of tissues up her nostrils. Of course, the next one she reaches for actually had a spider in it, and she thinks killing herself just might be easier on her soul at this point. 

  “Just say you like Megan Thee Stallion and all of a sudden all the men under 5’7” start giving you a 5’11” attitude. Easy peasy.” 

  She’d managed to limp her way back to Suki and Toph’s apartment from prison, after getting a call that her apartment had flooded, destroying everything in it. Only her apartment. She was barely holding on to her broken YSL pump in one hand and her pride in the other. Emphasis on limp , because while calling taxis to instantly stop for her was always her thing , now she was nothing but an ant (in head-to-toe Prada) on their radar. If they do stop, the taxi either gets snatched up by someone else, or the drivers tell her, not so kindly, to eat a dick. 

  Nevertheless, she’s still determined to have a positive day, walking and humming a Rihanna song to try and calm her nerves. But, because this day was sent by Satan himself (Jeff Bezos), she was drenched, face to booty to toes, in drain water by the seemingly hundreds of Uber Eats whizzing by, trying to get someone’s Buffalo Wild Wings order to them quickly. 

  “I can’t believe you guys actually think all that stuff’s real!” Suki scoffs, diligently painting her toenails a pretty pastel purple and not giving any mind to the conversation. 

  “Tell me, how would you explain this bitch’s life?” Toph points an accusatory finger in Katara’s way. “Katara has been living life as the main character. For fuck’s sake, you won prom queen five years in a row at Ba Sing Se High!” 

  “A lot of people win prom queen—” 

  “We went to Omashu High!” Toph adds with frustration. “You even won the year after you graduated!” 

  Toph and Suki could never quite wrap their heads around Katara’s life. 

  For as long as they knew her, she was always the luckiest girl in the world. 

  At seemingly every turn, the girl had all the luck in the world on her side. I mean, just the other day she was accidentally delivered Rihanna’s dry cleaning, because of course she lives in the same fucking building as Rihanna, the goddess herself. See, Katara was the type of person with the luck to manage to find an upscale apartment on their shitty salary in the city for nearly half of what Suki and Toph were paying to sleep next to inbred cockroaches. 

  “Bitch, you do not have the range for that.” Toph snatches the dress away before Suki or Katara could make a face and whimper a soft ‘gimmie gimmie’ that surprisingly always worked.  

  “I might not, but at least we could clone Rihanna now.” 

  Toph pauses. “Say what?” 

  “I’m getting the girls and gays that album, no matter what.” 

  Katara went to return the dress after getting in a helicopter with her date of the night, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Haru (before the mustache). On top of all that madness, she said Rihanna, in the shimmery, Fenty Beauty Body Lava coated flesh, even complimented her makeup. Suki almost shit herself when Katara was added to the Fenty Savage PR list. 

  Katara would walk outside and the clouds seemed to part as if on her command. She could wear all-white in the city without a bird unloading one on her shoulder, or one of those guys on the street flicking feces in a pudding cup her way. Jammed streets or congested traffic never ceased her from being ten minutes early to every meeting, event, or even accidental movie set she walked on and got cast as an extra instantly. The lead actor, Academy Award winning Bolin, is still sending her detailed DMs about the various ways he would harvest her toenails because it reminded him of her. 

  And you know those Airpods or laptop scams that go around on social media you have to train your grandparents not to click on? Or those princes that email you promising to marry you after you send them your banking information? Guess which bitch manages to actually win over a prince’s heart and his inheritance? 

  Katara had the universe wrapped around her finger, and it didn’t seem to mind bending to her will. 

  Fresh out of college, after much clawing and fighting and miraculously switching coats with an editor at a restaurant, Katara managed to snag a job at Nyla magazine and secured spots for her best friends, too. They’d been reading the entertainment magazine before they could even process solid food. While they were all saddled with a mailroom job, Katara’s quote unquote irresistible charm had landed her as a scribe to record meetings when their original conveniently broke a nail. 

  Of fucking course, the day their entire team is stuck in a broken elevator is the day the CEO of White Lotus Records was coming into the office to discuss Nyla ’s next cover star. 

  Their next big thing, teen singer, Song was still hesitant to work with a magazine aimed at young adults with unhealthy coping mechanisms, compared to the J14s and Tiger Beats with the foldable poster at the back you could steal if you were quick enough at Walgreens. 

  “ Young lady.” Ugh, why do old men always sound so fucking condescending? You know how easy it is to push an old person? “You know how much dough I make so I can regularly spend it on drugs? Every minute of my time is worth $964.” While Piandao gets up for his assistants to put on his fur coat, Katara slams her hand on the table. 

  “I promise you this cover story will be worth every minute of your time. I’ll even pay you $965 at the end of my presentation if you hate it.” 

  And who could say no to that sweet (and scary) face? 

  When editor-in-chief June waddles back, glazed with sweat after someone farted their entire Del Taco Thursday three chicken soft tacos for $2.49 deal in her face , their cover story was booked. The carnival themed, masquerade party to celebrate Song’s new cover was already scheduled in Google Calendar. Soon enough, Katara was handed her own office, Tesla, and platinum corporate card to start planning the entire event. 

  Everything was going fine . There were acrobats doing flying yoga in the sky, a fortune teller she hired at the last minute that everyone loved. Music was playing, people were dancing without a care in the world, and everyone was having a good fucking time. She even snagged her bitchy boss a date with her hot neighbor, and her Painted Lady costume was designed by Vera Wang herself. By the end of the night, her brain was scrambled from the paperwork and yelling and pen marks all on her hand. Yet, with her luck, she still managed to kiss the cute guy who asked her to dance. 

  Well, at least she knew he felt and smelled like a cute guy, considering half his face was covered by a mask. 

  He was a bumbling thing, managing to stomp on her feet a few times even when she reassures him at the end of the day. Despite being all broad shoulders and muscles, he seemed to shrink in on himself at that moment.  “I’m really, really bad at dancing.” She gave him a weird look and Zuko had to remember that he had stolen a backup dancer named Lee’s gig for the night to sneak into the event.  

  Katara rolls her eyes. Dancing, much like nearly everything else, always came easy to her. “So what if you gave a girl a black eye and another guy a concussion?” Her laugh is so pretty and her waist between his warm fingers just felt right. 

  He lets himself laugh, too. Wrapped up in the girl’s spell. Forgetting any thought of trying to win over the White Lotus CEO. 

  She leaned in first, and he was more than happy to reciprocate. Zuko didn’t have time for impulsive decisions, not when the universe was actively always trying to kill him. For some reason, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Her soft lips against his felt like a plush dream, and all he didn’t want to wake up to reality. Not when in that moment, there were sparks and blood rushing to his head and soft skin peeking out of her expensive dress he wanted to discover more of. 

  One minute, Katara was throwing back a margarita in case she had dumb bitch breath that caused her mystery man ran off. The next, she was choking to death, only spitting out the olive on Suki’s face after Toph delivers a quick punch to her sternum, right between the titties. 

  “Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a stupid whore by her throat!” 

  “Stop choking me, June!”

  “No!” June screeches. How was Katara supposed to know she accidentally set her boss up with the ‘ King Kuei ’? The FBI’s most wanted illegal animal trader by day, male prostitute by night? And who knew that would land her a night in jail? 

  “The universe is a stupid fucking whore!” Katara sniffs, still trying to detangle the chunk of hair embedded deep into Suki’s blow dryer. Katara managed to not only break a mirror with the blow dryer in her mere ten minutes in Suki and Toph’s place, but also rip out a section of her hair after throwing said blow dryer in their bathtub which promptly caught on fire. The icing on the dog shit cake of the day was when she managed to cause the building’s power to short circuit, shutting off everyone’s lights.

  //

  The universe, for the first time in his life, was finally on Zuko’s side. 

  For as long as Zuko could remember, rain clouds suddenly appeared when he walked outside, even despite what Alexa told him earlier that morning. 

  “Alexa, what’s the weather like today?” 

  “Completely sunny with a chance of naive bitch,” the smart speaker might as well have said. 

  Zuko was sure of four things in life. 

  Adderall and 7 up were never a good combination 

Alexa was always watching for an opportunity to strike fear in his heart

He could never catch a fucking break

Having a waterpark poncho always on hand never hurt

  He heard from his Uncle Iroh his family was perpetually cursed. Something about a fame-hungry witch with the last name Kardashian in the past life, and one of his relatives eating said witch’s ass that inflicted the present day curse on his family.

  Everyone he knew was impossibly clumsy. Random flooding accidents, cars always running into you, bugs trying to get their fuck on in your ear. It was like the universe said yeet! On their good fortune.

  What does he wish for every year on his birthday? For it to be easy just to be him . To be easily liked, like Adele, or Dippin Dots. He wished life could be easy enough for him to take a shit without the toilet bowl accidentally caving in, or a lightbulb somehow always falling on his good eye.

  Zuko had always been relatively clumsy, worse than what Iroh’s seen before. After so many years of being shit-out-of-luck, and having literal shit on you at all times, he was used to being alone. 

  It stopped stinging a few years ago. Besides, he had his half-sister Kiyi to keep him company these days. 

  Nobody wanted to be around the guy who constantly smells like dog shit because he always manages to find a shit covered dollar bill flowing down the street. No one wanted to be associated with the guy who, without fail, splits his pants open every time he bends down.  Saddling him with yet another public indecency charge. 

  Like clockwork, at least two times a week, he was getting his face shoved into the concrete and handcuffs slapped on him. He started investing in a mouth guard about five years ago.

  It was like a safety hazard, just being him. There were so many times you could get struck by lightning before you were banned by the nation from buying umbrellas. 

  Predictably, he has been rejected from every job he applied to. His laptop has been hacked by so many Hentai porn bots he doesn’t even bother upgrading his Dell from 2013. He even started a conversation with the guy monitoring his keystrokes. Landlords chucked his application out the window before he could even give them his soul and a deposit, and while the doctors didn’t think he’d do it, he found out that yes you can survive being hit after someone throws a piano out their window while you leave the leasing office. 

  Sure, he came to the city with dreams of making it big, loving music since his mom taught him the difference between a treble and bass clef. But when he’s always accidentally setting his tsungi horn on fire? Breaking his nose open trying to put resin on his violin’s bow? Somehow getting a reed stuck in his throat and his sphincter (on the same day)? No chance in hell was anyone willing to risk their lives to let him play anything on stage. 

  So he stuck to writing and producing, watching YouTube tutorial after tutorial to learn mixing, because he thinks it’s safer for everyone involved. 

  “Zuko, someone tried shoving Nutella up their ass and shat it back over the bathroom.” He looks up from his laptop to see a plunger too close for comfort near his face. 

  “Why?” 

  “Some weird sex thing! I don’t fucking know.” Jet points to the elderly couple nearby. “You ask them why!”

  Zuko takes a deep breath in. “No, I’m asking ‘why?’ because my shift doesn’t start for another two hours.” 

  He was a janitor at the bowling alley across the street (it was the only place that would hire him, but he thinks they felt bad for him after he ugly cried and ate out their supply of shitty, frozen curly fries). 

  “You know I love you, Zuko! But these!” Jet cups Zuko’s chest with two, oddly gentle, hands.  “Make our alley’s world go round.” He even gives them a squeeze for emphasis. 

  “Let go of my man titties,” Zuko glares at Jet. “ Now .” 

  “You’re the breast.” 

  Zuko’s eye twitches. 

  It wasn’t all bad. After all, the alley does let him make music in his free time, and the girl group he was “managing” can perform their sets on Fridays. 

  “We’re firing you!” Mai pokes at his chest and has him readjusting his glasses from the force. 

  It was a Monday and his week was starting off better than most. He was scraping green colored poop from the walls and was already being threatened at 9 a.m. without any weapons in sight. 

  “You don’t pay me!” He points out, which only seems to get everyone in the room angrier. His sister and her friends formed Shooters 4 Rihanna when they were pre-teens. They wanted to be a group trying to make it big in the pop scene, and quickly signed to a record label together. The girls were promised all their years of childhood training would pay off when they would debut as young adults. That was, until their CEO was broadcast on TLC’s My Strange Addiction for his habit of collecting Mark Ruffalo’s nose hairs, and confessed to killing someone for it. 

  Investors weren’t too happy. 

  While all the girls could see was repressed childhood trauma, Zuko saw that and potential star power. 

  Every single member already had years of dancing and singing lessons under their belt. They could play their own instruments, write their own songs, and had the stage presence. A few Twitter DMs later (from his multiple accounts, because they thought his profile picture made him look like a fucking creep and blocked him years ago) they were dumb enough to trust him with their future. He’d been trying to get them signed for months to no avail. Somehow fucking up, or electrocuting himself in the process of showing an executive their new single. 

  “This was a mistake!” Jin shoveled the curly fries in her face. 

  While Yue was always one to stay positive, her sad ‘ I miss pickled fish ,’ had the rest of the girls wanting to leave, too. Going back home, just give up seemed sensible. Why waste your prime years on a pipe dream?   

  He stopped them, plunger in hand. Against all logic, and partially because they could smell the desperation, the girls gave him one week . 

  One masquerade party later, he managed to throw Piandao out of harm’s way, taking the brunt of the taxi running into him. 

  “ Are you fucking stupid !” The CEO screams. The boy had blood flowing from his scalp, but looked as alive as ever handing over Shooters 4 Rihanna’s demo CD. 

  “A little.” Zuko admits. He could feel his bones still intact, and judging by the blood it wasn’t anything serious. Piandao gives him a call the next day after listening to the tape. 

  By some miracle, or Kardashian curse lifting, the girl group and him were shuffled into the city’s upscale penthouses, and their debut single was slated to be released on the radio the next day.

  While he headed for lunch at a nearby cafe (one he couldn’t afford to eat at just last week) he can’t help but notice her . 

  //

  “Ma’am, I have already told you our restaurant’s motto! No eat, no shit!” The waiter glares down at her. “Either pay up or get out, broke bitch.” 

  Katara was caked head to toe in mud, tissues shoved yet again up her nose. Haru had invited her out to his dad’s art show the night before. After insulting the literal piece of shit art, she tripped over the clump of clay on display and landed face-first in his million dollar creation. 

  Of course, it would land her in prison, and of course Ty Lee would be there, too. “Move bitch, I’m gay! ” When Katara was too exhausted to budge, the girl, yet again, socked the shit out of her. 

  Katara just wanted a plate of steaming breakfast foods, but of course all her cards declined. And of course, she has a meltdown because she was fucking tired, hungry, and was about to throw hands.

  She grabbed the salt shaker. “Look, I’m just going to try one thing before I go!” 

  “It’s the bath salts,” she hears one woman whisper. “Those fashion bitches are always on bath salts.” 

  “Just smile politely. We’re witnessing mental illness.” 

  She didn’t expect that throwing salt over her shoulder would land in the waiter’s eye, or cause him to collapse on the table of Mormons nearby. Or something to catch on fire, or someone to get stabbed with a fork with a pancake on it. 

  She certainly didn’t expect a (cute) stranger to be so gentle with her, helping her escape the madness and handing over his turkey on rye. Or him following her as she tried to save face and sit on a random bench away from any nearby birds’ tiny assholes. 

  “You look sad.” He’s not mocking in the slightest.

  “What does that even mean?” She went from sad to affronted in just a second. 

  “What’s wrong?” Fuck this guy and those eyes that were so damn enchanting . 

  “I don’t look sad.” She says with the roll of her eyes. “I am fucking sad.” She was blackballed from every newspaper in the Four Nations, the prince she was talking to did indeed end up stealing her savings, and on top of all of that, her undereye concealer was creasing. 

  “You!” Katara points her finger in the fortuneteller’s face. 

  “Me?” Aunt Wu looks beyond irritated. “Look, I can’t predict when you’ll get a fat ass, just buy a resistance band and leave me—”

  “You’re the one who told me whatever Wheel of Fortune would spin back on me! And Alex Tribek would take away my good luck or something!” Katara was crazed and running on two hours of sleep, but she had a bone to pick. “My perfect life is gone.” 

  “Wow, that was a lot to unpack.” Aunt Wu locks her shop’s door. “Look, can you think of anything strange that happened that night?” 

  “Besides someone telling me to make them toilet wine in prison, no I don’t think so!” Katara grunts out petulantly. 

  Aunt Wu smacks her with a stack of tarot cards. “No! Jesus! What else happened?” 

  “Can’t you just tell me? Childhood trauma has really fucked with my memory.” 

  “You kissed someone, didn’t you?” The fortuneteller scurries to her Kia Soul before Katara could retaliate. “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” 

  She tried kissing every single dancer that was working that stupid party, and came up with nothing but mono and the feeling of defeat.

  “Did you know, I even fucking sharted myself today!” She smacks her forehead repeatedly. “At twenty-fucking-three! How fucking embarrassing . All I could do is run to the H&M with my cheeks out to buy a pair of sweatpants.” 

  “I know a job looking for someone,” he says and even when he’s staring at her with nothing but understanding, she’s still apprehensive.  

  “Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus you’re a colonizer.” If she had any energy she would’ve put more force into the shove. “Why are you even helping me?” 

  She looked like shit on a dick and he was just smiling at her. “Let’s say, I just know what it’s like to be SOL.” 

  “What’s the catch?” She stares at him down and pouts. He’s wearing an Armani shirt with an Off-White belt, which was already offending her senses, but on top of that he dared pair the atrocity with a pair of knock-off Converse. He couldn’t have sprung for a real pair, he just had  to get the off-brand from Costco that made everyone’s ankles look like cankles. 

  New money . “I am not letting anyone suck my toes for money, again. Try a different girl.” 

  Zuko grows positively red, but at least it brings the ghost of a smile to her face. “No toe sucking. Only on Wednesdays.” 

  She delivers a well-aimed kick to his crotch. While she’d expect him heaving and puffing, he’s unphased. He’d put on his MMA fighter grade, groin protector out of habit, even though he’s getting kicked a lot less in the ball bags lately. 

  “So, you’re trying to convert me to Scientology?” Katara scoffs. “I’ll pass, Asian Tom Cruise.”

  “Not that either.” He sees the defeated look in her eyes, the same one he’s seen in himself. There’s a spark there, though. A willingness to just keep going. Something he lost years ago. “Trust me.” 

  “No.” 

  “All good.” He shrugs. “Can I at least help you up?” Before she could bite back, she turned to the spot on the bench where he was pointing.

  Wet paint. 

  He’s taking her mustard covered hands (the sandwich exploded in the foil) in his soft ones without question, and peeling her off the bench. 

  “Of fucking course,” she huffs. 

  //

  She thinks he knows. He knows the fact that she wants him sticking around. Even with her adamant protests against it, he’s persistent. 

  Stopping by after long days at the studio to her shit job, handful of first aid supplies at the ready.  

  He’s just always there . 

  He’s there when she’s scraping gum from under the alley’s tables and almost swallows one that had “Live, Laugh, Love” carved into it. He quickly stops her from choking, practically an expert at the heimlich with how many times he’s almost died from drinking boba. 

  There when she electrocutes herself changing the alley’s light bulbs to catch her as she falls straight off the ladder. He’s not even phased, pushing a fried piece of hair sticking up the heavens and staring at her as though she squirted cupcake frosting from her nipples. 

  He’s there with his first-aid messenger bag, all duct taped and falling apart and it makes her want to say sorry to Alexander Wang for daring to wear it with his Spring 2019 boots after Zuko forces her to carry it around. But then he’s pulling out a tube of toothpaste from the bag while she’s cooling her burnt fingertips on a 10 year old Yerba Mate can, and she’s reminded why he’s so firm about it. 

  “Earth Nation trick to heal burnt skin.” He’s too concentrated on rubbing the paste into her flaming skin to notice her staring. She remembers that he included her favorite Fenty gloss in the bag after handing it off to her, and blushes. 

  “I don’t need your help, you know.”  Katara was always the one fighting for her own dreams. She didn’t want to stick back living the life other people imagined for her. Even all the luck in the world couldn’t help her escape a sleepy town or an unsupportive family. 

  When they came to the city, she knew her friends let her take care of them on purpose. It was second nature, what she grew up on. She’d always been the one looking out for everyone, even if they didn’t ask, and they let her do it because they all needed a coping mechanism. Toph’s is cake cutting videos, Suki’s is practicing her crying face because she always wanted to be a pretty crier, and Katara’s is being overbearing. 

  She was confused. As many times as she tried drilling through his thick head that her grandma was a nurse, that she could easily wrap up every cut, bruise, and swollen toe, he never budged. For the first time in a while, someone was there, stubbornly making sure she was okay. 

  “I know?” He says it as though it was obvious. “I’ll make you a deal, though. Just let me help you out, just this one time?” He gently taps her fingers wrapped in Minion bandaids he got her just because he knew she hated them in public, loved them in private. “I won’t do it again.” 

  He’s teasing and it’s obvious he knows she’s putty in his hands. Though, his newfound look (she helped with) balancing boy-next-door with heartthrob is not working on her heart. Her pussy, sure. Not her heart, though. She swears. 

  “That’s what you said last time,” Katara protests, without any energy behind it. 

  He sends her a lopsided smile. “I know.” 

  Zuko wasn’t about to let any hair on her pretty head get hurt. 

  While Kiyi already had enough of a bad case of bad luck, considering all the Power Ranger figurines she had super glued to her face by fourth grade boys, Katara’s was just something else. 

  It reminded him of him . Whatever stroke of good luck he had, he knew the universe takes in ten-fold what it might give. So he’s taking advantage of every bit of luck he has for a girl without any. 

  While he’s been stabbed many a time walking back home at night, somehow he’s in the clear when he escorts Katara back to her apartment. Or the times he buys her Water Tribe take out because she’s still figuring out how that prince managed to spend $10,000 on Swampbender diet pills. Or when he sneaks in before her shift to do some of her tasks for the day (he still has the keys), so he doesn’t have to worry about her bruising her pubic bone with the vacuum, or breaking the ceiling with a slippery bowling ball. 

  He wasn’t all used to his new life. The designer shoes, the fancy parties, the attention . Girls in the past would look at him as though he wasn’t more than shit at the bottom of their Jimmy Choo, but his good luck brought this newfound female attention that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Especially when, all he wanted was to catch her eye. 

  She was his good luck charm and didn’t even know it. 

  Since he’s met her, everything just was going right . She brought Toph over with her guitar to string together a few verses the day they were in desperate need of new lyrics to go with the beat he’s spent the last few nights cranking out. The day after they released it on Apple Music, the song went #1 on Billboard. Piandao had even booked them to play the Hard Boulder Cafe for their first performance, and tickets were sold out. 

  Even when things just seemed to get better and better for him, the universe doubled down in its punishment for her. 

  He’s there when she’s walking back from work, drenched to the bone because she missed all trains for the day, a taxi said her face looked stupid, and she was just tired of it all and wanted to go home and eat processed frozen food and die. 

  Zuko’s there, though. Without fail.

  He’s there with his fucking Tesla and personal driver and Chanel top and she couldn’t be any more embarassed. 

  “Get in!” He hesitates before approaching. “Also, maybe let’s put down the umbrella?” It was inverted anyways, and looked three seconds from whisking her away into the storm. 

  “No, I’m good!” Katara insists. She was afraid that falling for Zuko, going to bed and waking up thinking of him was messing with her brain and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop. 

  “You could get hit by lightning.” 

  “That can’t—” She ponders it for a second. “You know what, fuck you.” 

  He throws his expensive jacket over her to quell the shivers, and when she protests, seeing as it was a Valentino Lacquered Nylon Jacket, he bundles her even deeper in the thing, buttoning it up until she’s complaining from the warmth.  

  “You’re laughing at me.” She pouts.

  He’s covered completely in bubbles. Not her fault he decided to strip off his shirt to throw in the cycle with her wet clothes, and she got distracted by the abs and dumped the whole bottle of laundry detergent in the washing machine. 

  Zuko shoves her face into a pile of the suds. “I am, yeah.” She looks upset and he stops the mirth growing on his face. Reaching out to her, instead. “Katara, I’m sorry did I—” 

  She might’ve leaned out to accept his embrace, but then she’s flipping them over, pinning him down to the floor. Her warm, still soaking wet body, pressed against him and her arms coming out to pin his hands to the ground. 

  He gulps. 

  “This would be more fun if you let me peg you afterwards.” 

  Her laugh vibrates her whole body and he couldn’t help joining in, too. 

  He let her have her pick of his dress shirts, and she looked so much at home. Little strands of her bangs framing her face and growing curly with the addition of water. Her brow furrows when she mentions her leave-in conditioner washing away with the suds, and he takes advantage of the momentary distraction. Flipping her and placing two hands at the sides of her head. 

  She knows he’s covered in the bubbles, just so she wouldn’t feel anymore of a stupid bitch than she already does. He never seems to mind it, even when Katara was frustrated and just couldn’t figure out why all this was happening to her and dragging him into every single accident. 

  “What would you say to the universe, right now?” She’s curled up on his couch and he’s massaging the balls of her feet she presses in his lap. 

  “Welcome to your tape.” 

  “Katara, no.” 

  “That bridge off of Fourth Street? Looking really easy to jump off of right about now, universe.” 

  He lets her take his bed that night after he cooked up his famous komodo chicken and both Kiyi and her complain about having a food-baby.

  “Hey, Katara.” He whispers while her eyes could barely open. He tucked her in those blankets all ethnic people have, the super fluffy ones with a tiger on them that are always wrapped in a plastic bag.  “You’re cute.” 

  “Yeah?” She breathes out, crinkling her nose and blinking those long lashes and making his heart skip beats. “Hey, Zuko.” 

  “Yeah?” 

  “I think I like you.” 

  He pinches her cheek. “I think I like you, too.” 

  //

  He was right. As soon as life blessed him with everything he’s wanted and more, it whisked it away just as fast. 

  He’d mustered up the courage to invite her to a studio session after everyone in Shooters 4 Rihanna insisted on meeting her. Their songs were getting a little too emotional and they wanted to meet his muse. It was going well, too well. He even catches all the lamps she knocks down. When she rights herself, she manages to knock down the table with their food. Double bagging existed for a reason, just like he warned her! But, of course, the bags holding the takeout she was supposed to surprise him with broke from the bottom. He’d go hungry, that day. But, anything for her, though. 

  She looked so into the session, asking him if she could play with the buttons, leaning into his chest when he hesitantly surrounds her space. His two lean arms coming out to steady her waist when she trips on herself and sends him a sheepish smile that has him hypnotized. 

  Katara normally felt lightheaded around him, but she felt absolutely faint as soon as Piandao walked in to finalize the details of the performance, and Zuko started talking about some lucky masquerade ball. 

  She couldn’t hear much else, body getting up before she even registered it. 

  Before he could fully get into his chair at the mixing console because just one little note in their new song “Rihanna Impregnate Me” just sounded off, she’s tugging him up. 

  “Can I kiss you?” 

  “W—what?” She’s holding him up by the collar of his shirt. 

  Katara smirks. “I really want to kiss you.” 

  “I mean, uh, yes! Definitely a ye—”

  It’s everything he’s imagined, hoped, prayed for the last few months and more. She’s sweet and soft and tasted like lip gloss and the toothpaste he had stowed away in her bag. When he’s leaning in for more, ready to do things like give her his heart or do her taxes for her because he couldn’t think straight and his heart was guiding him through the motions, she’s gone. 

  //

  Katara’s gone when Ty Lee somehow gets into, yet another, tax fraud case and can’t make their performance. 

  She’s gone when he needs her by his side because even though he’s not performing he still manages to feel fucking sick. He wants her holding his unnaturally sweaty palms and telling him it’s going to be okay, just like what she does during his late night writing sessions where she stays up and refuses to sleep until he does. 

  She’s gone when the band has to answer to an angry crowd, an angry CEO who already sees the articles lambasting the girl group’s unprofessionalism and was ten seconds away from pulling the plug on his dreams. 

  “Zuko!” 

  He hates his heart rushes, even when it was about to break because of her, too. 

  She's gotten her perfect life. She’d gotten the job back, her apartment back, Rihanna even sent her a secret song for fuck’s sake. 

  She must really love this fucker, because she was giving up a chance to stalk Rihanna so he could be happy. 

  “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” Was running through her head the entire week she avoided him.

  “I don’t know what to do, Suki!” 

  “Why don’t you both fuck leprechauns?” She says between bites of string cheese. 

  Katara sighs. “Why are yours and Toph’s minds built like that?” 

  “I heard my mom tried punching her stomach every day, hoping that I wasn’t going to be a result of St. Patrick’s Day sex. That’s why my head’s lopsided.” 

  He felt nauseous. Not only did 3 of the girls just spew their lunch into whatever container they could get their hands on, of course Azula has gone missing. “Katara not now I—” 

  She comes to him flushed, extensions stuck to her hand after running too fast and accidentally grabbing someone’s hair. Her feet hurt, her heart hurt, but in this moment she knew. She knew he needed this more than her. He was soft and kind and took people in and cherished the moments with his half-sister because he missed all the ones with Azula. He worked so hard now because he was afraid she hated him, and even when he was on the verge of giving up, he still pushed through. He gave people chances, even when the universe was never as kind to him. 

  After she presses her lips to his, suddenly Azula presses a button from the underground room she was trapped in, appearing on stage in front of their very eyes. They have the best show the Hard Boulder Cafe’s seen in decades . Their contract is extended, and he opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate without taking his eye out. 

  He was the luckiest man in the world. 

  Though, when he turns, he realizes. 

  His girl’s missing. 

  //

  “Katara!” She tried shuffling away, but accidentally slips on a few drug needles someone threw carelessly on the ground. 

  She’s still nursing the sore spot on her forehead, where the champagne cork hit. “Zuko, please just...go.” She waves him off with a bandaged hand. 

  “I know you’re going to be stuck here for the next three hours. Because trains never come on time for you no matter what.” 

  Even in the middle of the nearly dead station, he was right. Every stop flashed to delayed .  

  “Then you’ll be robbed by someone on the train, and then you might even get spit on by the guy with the imaginary dog who’s afraid of whoever gets too close to it, and then you’ll get an eye infection.” 

  Katara wipes the snot at her nose. “So?” 

  “So?” He laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve lived a whole lifetime of bad luck, and I can’t let you do that for me.” 

  She lets him turn her to face him, lets him gather her up in his arms and hold her like she’s delicate and irreplaceable, and not just a girl with mascara running down her face and her heart stolen by someone she couldn’t love. 

  “Even in a lifetime of being shit out of luck, I still got the chance to meet you.” 

  “Zuko, stop.” Katara wipes at her tears. “Our luck will just get switched, and I always figure things out, I always do. But, I just want you to keep this. You put it to better use than I would’ve.”

  Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.” 

  “I said that to my bladder infection, and that didn’t work. What makes you think that will work now?” 

  “I can live without it.” He smiles. “A few bumps and bruises are the price I’m willing to pay for you in my life.” 

  She’s blushing, hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers, to see every little detail of him.  

  “You’re so fucking stupid.” She whispers, millimeters away from his lips. 

  The grin splits on his face without his permission. “I am, yeah.” 

[ofcamerasflashing]

Trigger Warnings: Mental Hospital, bipolar depression, suicidal thoughts. 

“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞.”

  The story isn’t in-depth BUT I wanted to show that hospitals are there for HELPING people. Going to one of these places for help is not something to be ashamed of and I wish I had known that at sixteen instead of learning at twenty-one.

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

                   Bipolar Depression. Manic Depression, Does it matter what it is called? The blonde siphon had spent a total of almost a year thinking she was going “crazy” but her mind was really just fucking her over. At fourteen, closer to fifteen years old she shouldn’t be crying on the bathroom floor begging her own head to just shut off, to stop and let her go to sleep but she can’t sleep and going to bed at four in the morning to get up at six is nothing. People without mental illness claim it is a choice to just get better like she can will a manic episode away by just sleeping, eating more, stop moving so much, you are talking too much so shut up. But nothing about it is simple. No one noticed she was falling into a pit of unnerving energy until she is on her floor slicing upon soft skin to ease her mind. She has been fighting her own head for years. Take this pill and you will feel better, a load of shit if you ask her because nothing changes and when she cries to her sister she gets some comfort but Josie doesn’t help, take your medication like you should and things will get better. It is begging silently for help until she takes it upon herself and decides that she can’t keep fighting this forever. Her mother heals her up with vampire blood that night, holds her until the morning light on a cold bloody floor until her father is awake and the adults talk.

A new therapist there watching the blonde, shake around like she had too much coffee but hadn’t had a sip. Lizzie eats part of her eggs, pushing the rest to the side of her plate and gives the therapist a soft smile even though all she wants is to beg someone to kill her, end this misery. The high always feels great until you crash and the siphon is far from crashing. Alaric coming into the room with tear-filled eyes and everyone watches as Lizzie puts her hair tie into a bag gets dressed in something they might let her keep on  Ride to the physiatrist's office is short, filled with empty promises and hopes of a better future for her because begging to die isn’t enough clue that she is tired of fighting. The ER is lonely, her parents not allowed back when she gives a urine sample, is searched for anything sharp and forced to change into a gown and grippy socks. Fourteen, a few days from fifteen and she is getting admitted into a hospital. A pill swallowed down with cold water that takes thirty minutes to knock her out in one of those beds waiting for transport to a place full of people that can help her better. Almost dinner when she arrives and is searched, rechanged into new clothes and settled into a room with a window, not that there is much of a view. Lizzie hates this hospital already like they were animals to be cadged in. Be human. How fucking sad is it that her dad reminds her to be human as if it matters in a place where there is no magic. Nothing to do but sleep off the pill until a voice on a speaker announces it is dinner. No one is pushing or shoving, there are no wolves fighting for the last dinner roll or Josie talking about homework just a bunch of humans sitting there watching the news eating dinner. 

Picking at her piece of pizza that tastes of cardboard, Lizzie watches as the girl in front of her starts to cry, no one dares to ask what you are there for but something in her gut that the redhead with blue eyes is there because of an eating disorder. The way she eats slowly and almost has to fight with her own head to take that next bite and Lizzie almost wants to turn away completely and pretend she doesn’t notice, that it was all too much to be sitting there with someone that is hurting but there is an offer of a small smile on her own lips. “I’m Elizabeth.” The siphon tells the girl and for a few minutes, Lizzie swears no one, not even the redhead herself is going to say her name. “Macy,” the redhead answers, cold hands touch each other in a quick handshake. Aside from other young adults watching the news, there isn’t much sound, dinner uneventful at best but Lizzie is confident that she will be making one friend while in there. After the dinner mess is cleaned up, some stay and watch a cheesy old-timey movie but Lizzie decides better than to do that. A nurse comes in and helps her circle her meal plan for the next day, everything about it is controlled and she has to think about what she wants instead of impulsively grabbing a smoothie from the smoothie station that Hope’s dad had installed, or at least his money paid for it. how Josie and she both got so excited when it first came into the boarding school. Snacktime two hours later is when Lizzie gets herself a pudding cup and settles to watch a movie with everyone for something to do. The TV in a glass case mounted to the wall and Lizzie watches with a coloring book filled with half colored pictures sits in front of her. Finish coloring a dog that someone had started to make blue with giving him a deep purple head. After a movie and finishing a picture, Lizzie tucks herself in for the night. At six in the morning, she is woken to get her blood pressure checked and poked with a needle. A soft plump older lady with grey hair giving her attention and care with her needle sticks. Falling back asleep in a place that wasn’t home, no twin sister snoring in the next bed over or her mother waking them to have pancakes.  It’s lonely there filled with a room full of people but in stolen moments Lizzie doesn’t feel so “crazy” or “insane” as the world around her made her feel. The doctor gives her new medication, tells her she is safe and they talk about what Bipolar disorder means to her along with being in the hospital. Promises to talk every day that she is in there. Four days to get on the straight and narrow and home to her parents. 

Everything is different now, her parents forced to watch her take a pill twice a day, Josie walks around on eggshells more now but for once she feels like her old self, something she didn’t know she was missing. 

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸ 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

Short. Very short and sweet. I was going to make this a lot longer, going into more detail but I didn’t think anyone wanted that kind of thing so I left it vague  PSD coloring by  FLOREITSPSD and the icon template done by jaynedits

[yellowsugarwords]

Omgggggg can you please write headcanons for violet coming out to Louis because he’s her best friend and she’s been nervous for a while to tell him even though she knows he’ll be proud of her but she doesn’t want to loose him just in case and people notice that she’s acting kinda strange but don’t want to question it hfhdhdhhd LOUIS AND VIOLET BROTP I LOVE THEM

STOP this is adorable

Violet never needed to hide anything from Louis.

She’d always known that.

It didn’t take away the fear she felt.

This was a different kind of hiding.

It wasn’t hiding the fact that she’d stolen one of his pudding cups.

Or that she was the one who took a nail out of Chairles.

Or that she got embarrassed whenever he asked her to sing.

This was different.

Because it wasn’t a little thing she’d been hiding.

It was everything.

It was her.

Louis never cared about things like that.

Minerva had come out months ago.

Why was she worried about what his reaction to her was going to be?

Because he was going to look at her differently

Because the Violet he knew was going to be gone.

Because the girl he came to love with wasn’t the girl she was.

He loved someone she wasn’t.

And she was worried that would change everything.

“Vi?”

She fell out of her chair.

She was so focused on staring at the front gates that she didn’t hear Louis approach beside her.

He laughed.

Classic.

“What’s up with you?” He managed through his chuckles.

“I thought you were hunting.” Violet huffed.

She dusted herself off and plopping back down on one of Ericson’s front steps.

“We got back hours ago,” Louis sighed, his laughter fizzling.

She vaguely remembered watching someone come back in.

She was just too lost in her thoughts to care.

Oh.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Violet claimed, hurriedly pushing herself to her feet.

She started away.

She couldn’t do this now.

She needed to figure her head out.

She needed to squelch her doubts.

“Vi?” Louis called after her.

“I gotta fish,” she said passively.

Then she ran around the back of the school.

They both knew she wasn’t going fishing.

She didn’t even try to hide it.

But Louis didn’t want to pry.

How was she supposed to tell someone she was gay?

She’d never done it before.

And Minerva had been so casual about it.

She’d been so sure of who she was.

So confident.

“I’m gay, by the way.” She’d said one night at dinner.

Violet could feel her heart quicken.

Louis smirked. “You go dude!” He’d said.

Simple.

Why couldn’t hers be that simple?

Violet didn’t go to dinner that night.

She wasn’t hungry.

She was too lost in her head.

How was she expected to focus on eating when she couldn’t figure herself out?

“Vi?”

Once again, she jumped.

She was sitting at the back of the Ericson by the greenhouse.

It was quiet back there.

She could think.

She could sort herself out.

She hadn’t expected Louis to go searching for her.

He frowned taking a seat beside her.

Her eyes didn’t meet his.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” he said softly. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He slipped a bowl into her palms.

He didn’t ask her to look at him.

He didn’t ask her for anything.

“Now, I’m not sure if I did anything to upset you,” Louis said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Vi felt a stab of pain in her chest.

“But if I did, I came to say I’m sorry.”

Violet closed her eyes. “You didn’t at all.”

Then, silence.

Violet groaned.

She wiggled uncomfortably.

“I’ve been hiding something from you,” she confessed softly.

She set her dinner down on the grass.

Louis didn’t say anything.

He just let his eyes settle on her.

She rubbed her hands back and forth.

Maybe she should just come out and say it.

Did she need to explain?

Did she need to prove it?

How angry would he be?

Would be angry at all?

Would things be different between them?

Her head was so loud.

It was strangling her.

“Violet?”

One of his hands settled on her shoulder.

“I’m gay,” she forced out.

She said it.

She’d done it.

She was gay.

Louis blinked, his hand still on her shoulder.

Violet turned, finally letting her eyes meet his.

Reading him.

Waiting for a response.

He squinted. “Is this a way of asking me to move my hand?”

Violet blinked.

Then smiled.

Louis smiled back, letting his hand fall.

He was thankful his joke landed.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Vi.”

“I know there isn’t,” she breathed.

She felt like she finally could again.

“I just didn’t know if it was going to change things.”

Louis squinted. “Things?”

She shifted uncomfortably.

His stare softened as he studied her.

She seemed genuinely distressed.

It hurt his heart to see her in such a state.

“I didn’t want you to see me differently,”

Her voice was so soft and fragile.

Like she was scared.

Really scared.

Louis offered a meek smile.

At first, he didn’t say anything.

He just studied her. Admiring her acknowledging her true self.

Then, he wrapped an arm around her.

“I love you for you Vi,” he said gently. “That’ll never change.”

At first, Violet was still.

Surprised, maybe.

Then slowly, she smiled.

Her eyes closed.

She swam in the comfort that phrase gave her.

She knew he was telling the truth.

After a moment of sweet peace, Louis sighed.

“Now,” He said, pushing himself to his feet. “Eat your dinner you gay mess.”

And, for the first time in days, Violet laughed.

That was her Louis.

And that was Louis’ Violet.

[wordsmith-by-night]

It’s a Date

Detroit Become Human one-shot Character: RK800/Connor x OC Word Count: 980 Spoilers: No A/N: I meant to do part 2 of the vampire hunter story but I couldn’t help it! I love this adorable android too much. I will get to that though. It hurt. Everyone always described it as a knife to the heart but for some reason, it felt worse.  Eva pulled her knees up to her chest in her chair. The filed in front of her, on her desk, blurred for the hundredth time that day, mixing into the pudding cup sitting next to it. Hank didn’t even bother to yell at her that morning, which seemed to have become a ritual of his whenever he got into work. But she knew he was a good man and figured the red lining her puffy eyes told him to stray away.

At least he hadn’t asked what was wrong.

She took a deep, shaky breath in hopes of steadying out her emotions and ran an arm over her eyes. For weeks, she’d been wanting to get a new case. Everything was so focused around androids anymore and no one needed a criminal profiler for an android. That was what Connor was there for. And androids didn’t have the same psychology as a human. In fact, they all believed they had none.

“Why are you upset, Eva?” that matter-of-fact voice shook her from her thoughts. Her head snapped in his direction and she just stared at him until her lower lip began to quiver. The thought of what happened kept her mute in her sadness. “Did Hank say something this morning?” Connor asked, his head tilting just slightly to the side.

Eva shook her head, thinking of the silver haired man and his usual yellings. They were always about Connor and yet he always somehow roped it into being her fault. “Why can’t you figure out these androids, you’re a damn psychologist?” or “Learn a bit of software engineering and I bet that plastic shit would be useless.” She never thought she would miss the morning yellings, the projection of Hank’s anger onto her and Connor.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” she finally said, wiping her eyes with a sniffle. “Just…” she paused. “Just a bad migraine.”

“The last time you had a migraine, you curled up in the corner with a stolen shock blanket and complained until someone brought you your pudding cup and let you go home,” Connor stated. Under normal circumstances, Eva would have glared at him and cursed his observational skills or teased him about being like Sherlock. “Besides, androids can tell when a human is lying.”

Eva stared at him with a slight crease between her brows. The worst thing about androids, in her mind, was that a person could never tell when they were lying. Were they even allowed to lie or was that a sign of deviancy? She was too tired to try and reason out her thoughts.

She put a finger up to signal she wasn’t ignoring him and pulled out her phone with a sniffle. She pulled open the web browser. Can androids tell when humans are lying? Of course, there was no simple answer to the question. Certain models didn’t need to know such things and so had no function inserted into their programming. Others, however, like caretakers, may need to know in certain circumstances and so have the ability to detect facial expressions and body language that could be present when someone was lying.

She looked back up at Connor, his blank expression always somehow gentle and almost smiling. He seemed to carry some amusement with him wherever he went. A prototype detective android. Of course, he would be able to tell when someone was lying; they wouldn’t leave that out of his system. “Is there anything androids can’t do?” she asked. He opened his mouth to speak. “Useful. Anything useful androids can’t do?” she corrected.

“There is plenty that androids can’t do,” he responded. She arched a brow, waiting for him to ignore her second remark and talk about things like feeling pain and emotions. “For example, an AP700 cannot compute challenging sports plays. Or an GS200 would most likely fail at calming a crying child. An android’s capabilities are limited to their programming. So technically, there are many useful things that androids cannot do.”

“That’s not… what I meant. And I think you know that,” Eva muttered.

“You simply asked if there was anything useful that an android can’t do. I provided you with a realistic answer. If CyberLife chose to create an android that could do it all, then there may be a real question about what useful things androids cannot do, but each android has a specific purpose and so a select set of capabilities,” he explained.

“Well, it would be nice to have an android that could comfort a person when they’re going through a hard time,” Eva grumbled.

“That would most likely be a KL900,” Connor responded. There was a moment’s pause. “But didn’t I get you to stop crying?” he asked.

Eva’s eyes widened slightly and then she looked down at her desk; she hadn’t really realized that she had stopped crying. The pain she felt only moments ago didn’t seem to be quite as sharp, either. She looked up at him, about to reply, when Hank walked passed. The older man put a hand to the android’s shoulder. “Leave her alone, Connor. She just broke up with her cheating boyfriend. She doesn’t need you pestering her,” the man said, his voice gruff and almost a growl.

Connor tilted his head. “That’s a shame. Perhaps we can go to the park tomorrow and I can get you ice cream from the vendor,” he offered. Hank straightened, his eyes narrow some as he thought through what the android just offered to Eva.

Eva couldn’t help her small smile. It was a strange thing when she realized that most likely wasn’t something in his programming. “If we don’t get another case, that would be nice,” she answered softly. Connor smiled a bit in return.

“Then it’s a date.”

[seniichi]

Lovely Boy (VI)

Prompt: His task is done. Six months of preparation, of planning, of making sure Green finally had everything he wanted. Gold was a good boy. Too bad his target never learned how to do that. Final work in the Lovely Boy series, but I’ll probably keep writing in this universe anyways. for @murdeirin as part of their gift conga series.

Note: If you like my work, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi account - Seniichi.

Today. Is. The. Day~

Gold is all abuzz with excitement, bright eyed and full of overwhelmingly bubbly pleasure. Green is, as always, amused in his patient way, kissing him good morning over their breakfast of bacon and eggs. Today is one of Green’s busiest days, so his beloved mentor will be home in a foul mood, dying to vent his fury and wrath upon the unfortunate subject that would dare hold his attention. The moment Green leaves with his (unfortunately) normal bento, Gold immediately begins to primp and prepare the house for the day of his beloved mentor’s dreams. He carefully wraps each Pokeball of his greatest gift, whispering gently how they will meet their true owner soon. Each one wobbles in tell-tale happiness.

(natu had done such a wonderful job, planting false memories and affecting the original enough that the details of Green’s journey stood out to them far more than the other trainer’s.)

Today he dresses up cutely, in bright green hot pants and a sleeveless white turtleneck. He’s cute, he’s sexy, and he can’t wait for Green to come home and see all the hard work Gold had put into the present he’d made. He debates between adding jewelry, and decides against it. All of the bruises Green gave him from their rough lovemaking sessions were on display, and were better than any physical gems and jewels that Green could buy.

(not that Green did. he was practical like that)

Gold walks into the bare room, watches his target weakly tug at the restraints. Despite the risk it had provided, Gold knew Green would want them at full strength.

Green’s coming home soon. Gold says softly, stroking a cheek gently. You’re going to beg. He murmurs with a smile. You’re going to beg him to do as he pleases, you’re going to offer your body like the depraved beast you are. Hateful eyes stare at Gold, but they don’t dare open their mouth to disobey. Gold giggles, watches his eyes darken with rage.

You’re so good now. I hope you obey Green just like this. He pats his toy’s cheek, leaves them there and seals the room once more.

Green is in a haze of fury when he returns home, shaking from the sheer force of his anger. It cools nigh-imperceptibly at the sight of Gold, but he is too enraged to speak for several moments.

Tell me you found a toy for me. His rage is incandescent, heavy in the timbre of his voice. Gold walks forward, leans up to kiss a willing, pliant mouth until it relaxes, softens.

Save your anger, Gold tells him, takes a hand and leads him up the stairs. You’ll want every bit of it for after I give you your gift. Green chuckles a little, bends down to kiss under an ear teasingly. Gold flushes an adorable pink at the tender action, knows how Green is tightly leashing his rage, instead donning his affectionate mask once more.

Of course lovely boy, He says amiably, sliding a possessive hand down to cup Gold’s rear through his bright shorts. As he bends to retrieve the stashed Pokeballs, Green squeezes the handful in his grasp, making Gold squeak and jerk upright, package in his arms. Green grins back, unrepentant. Gold tries to glare at him for it, but dissolves into an embarrassed blush instead. All for me? He asks sweetly, leaning over him to admire the gifts. Another of your breeding projects, lovely boy? Gold shakes his head, draws mystified intrigue.

Not really. It’s more of... returning rightful Pokemon, than anything. Green accepts the gift with confusion, unleashes the first from the cage.

The Pikachu chirps at him, trotting forward to twine lovingly around Green’s ankles. Bewilderment, wonder, and absolute awe frame his face as he kneels down, reverently pick up the Electric Mouse Pokemon within his grasp, touching his nose to the other in greeting.

(months of preparation had gone into this. a special diet of human flesh, natu’s blood-thirsty brainwashing, and his own knowledge of the pathetic target’s journey - as well as his beloved mentor’s - had come at last into fruition)

Pikachu chirps again, nuzzles Green, before clambering up on his shoulder and settling contently upon the broad shoulders. It looks so right the way they looked together.

(his god with the invincible beast)

One by one, they are unveiled. Each one is greeted, lovingly. Green moves them to the kitchen, his eyes widening at the feast laid out for them all.

(gold had used six bodies to make all the fresh puddings and steaks and hearty, hearty stews. every meal had fresh meat, and by the time this feast was done and consumed, green would never have to doubt the loyalty of those he had wrested from that worthless wretch.)

Green kissed him so hard that Gold nearly passed out, and Pikachu smirked at him, the mouse knowing his flustered attraction well. Dinner is a lovely affair, all of Green’s deserved partners returned at last, feasting heartily on the provided meal. Once all of them - save Pikachu - have been returned, Green kisses Gold again, all savage hunger and thirsty desire. Pikachu gives an amused squeak, leaping off to find a place to curl up on and observe as Green greedily lays claim to Gold’s mouth.

My lovely boy. How bold you have become. All this for me? Green kisses him again, nuzzles his neck and leaves a few light bites to tease him, other hand tugging the turtleneck down. Gold shivers in delight, prey to his hungry desire.

All this and more. I told you to hold onto your rage for a reason. Green’s eyes go wide, and he looks down at Gold, trembling in anticipation. You don’t think I’d let the thief that took your glory and your team go unpunished, did you? He’s been waiting for you.

Green’s breath catches, his grip turns vicious upon Gold’s hips, creating new bruises that Gold would be sure to show off in the morning.

You brought him to me? Green says hoarsely, unyielding grip upon Gold’s small hips, raw hunger in his tone. The force of his grip hurts a little, but Gold grins up at him lovingly, kisses his mouth with utter devotion.

I could do nothing less. You gave me the monsters that ruined my life, and so I brought the monster that took your lawful birthright. Green shudders at his words, dipping down to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, biting down so hard that Gold can feel blood dripping around the teeth, staining his shirt.

You’re mine, Gold. Entirely mine, after this. Mine to play with, mine to keep, mine to love and kill. Green’s words send heat curling into Gold’s stomach. He shivers, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. Green had never laid such fierce claim upon him.

Green releases him, one hand sliding down to cup his rear affectionately, before squeezing the handful of flesh in his grasp. Show me. Gold beckons to Pikachu, the mouse bounding up to his shoulder, leads his beloved - no, his lover - upstairs.

(he was green’s. he was going to die of happiness.)

He raises a brow, follows Gold into the pristine white room, blinks in his surprise at how clean it is. His expression changes once he sees his prey, who has begun to squirm in earnest, attempting to flee. Green smiles.

(he loves how much green looks like death incarnate in the grip of his rage and anger, looks like a true god.)

Hello Red, Green smiles cruelly, kneeling before the man. He cups his cheek in a hand, kisses Red’s forehead. Pikachu hisses at Red, the man looking bewildered at the sudden change of heart from his stolen starter. It’s been such a long time. Thank you for bringing what rightfully belongs to me home at last. I’ve missed them so dearly. It’s good to see you’ve learned manners. Gold is behind Green, and he grins smugly at Red. Red is shaking with fury, the depth of Gold’s actions realized at last. He lunges for Gold, but Green calmly grabs Red’s face and slams him back against the wall. The brutal elegance of it makes Gold shiver, the boy plopping down to watch, eager.

Don’t even dare to think you can touch what is rightfully mine. Green’s voice is so cold. Red is dazed from the hit, pathetically weak. Gold raises an eyebrow, mouths the words he’d told him to recite with a grin. As he expected, it only enraged Red further. He tries again, and this time he gets harshly zapped by Pikachu, who leaps into Gold’s lap, Gold obediently providing a light petting to his head, a light coo leaving the mouse in contentment. He grins at Red as the man lies paralyzed, too weak to stop Green or Gold.

Red would never speak the words Gold had said, but they served as a fuel for his anger, make him resist while Green destroyed him. Green stands casually, stretches in the luxuriously sinful way Gold loves, and looks down at him.

I’d like my set now. Green whispers softly. Gold picks Pikachu up and settles him upon a shoulder, hustles off to grab the one he knows Green wants.

It’s never been opened before Gold’s eyes. A heavy black case, filled with knives that existed only in Gold’s imagination. Green smiles gruesomely as it is given to him, set to one side. He unbuckles each lock, slides it free. When he opens the case, Gold and Pikachu peer over.

Oh.

(each blade was honed moonstone, their endless black glowing ominously with the Darkest power he’d ever seen. these were weapons to suit the god of the underworld.)

Green takes one and twirls it lazily between his fingers, the blade a blur of movement between one revolution to the next.

Make sure to scream, he grins at Red, lifting the knife.

There’s a difference between Gold and Green, their execution. Gold is still clumsy with his knives, relies upon them much more to help him create art. Green uses them like an extension of him, the implements of pain as much a part of his body as his hands or his mouth.

Green doesn’t hurt the man the same way he does others. Instead, he trails scars over his body - on his arms, on his neck, between his thighs. Each time, a spritz of Potion heals it, leaves a shiny, well-healed scar of tissue behind. Penace.

I will hurt him, Green murmurs softly to Gold. But I want to ruin him first. Ruin the other man who destroyed my life with his body. Subtle strokes render Red a puppet, and Gold obediently fetches a camera. Alakazam trots in, uses his power to set everything up...

And Green films a false confession, using Red to confess to an unsolved murder case - Green’s first meal. He used Red to confess a gory tale, linking him to several of their crimes, of their missing cases that had resulted from Green’s thirst for sweet flesh.

But most of all, he uses Red to claim responsibility for the uprising of Rocket, uses his words to confess that he had killed the Rocket executives, that they had disobeyed him and attempted to contact Giovanni, and for that they lost their lives. He spins a gory tale, and then... Gold shivers.

Seppuku is an artful rendition meant to restore fallen honor, one Gold honestly does not believe the man deserves, but guided by Alakazam, the man spends hours, the moonstone blade dancing within his internal organs, shredding them until they were nothing but a slick brown mush within, the torture spread through hours. Red slumps over, weak, but still moving. Green uses that, sluggishly pinning the blame, the slow slide into the insanity on Professor Oak - his enabler.

Green is smiling when the film cuts off, quivering in place from the anticipated pleasure.

Alakazam teleports everything away, into a sterile room somewhere else, somewhere it would be found by a convenient tip. The media outrage would be incandescent. Green holds a handful of Red’s flesh in his palm, and Pikachu perks up. Green sighs, but allows the mouse to sniff it, curiously investigating it before taking a bite out of it. Green’s hand strokes over the Mouse’s head, allowing him to devour it all, piece by piece, the mouse licking his fingers clean. Pikachu scampers off, and he stands.

I’m going to clean up lovely boy. Green says. He tilts his head to look at Gold, smiling. You’re free to join me. Gold scrambles to chase after his beloved mentor at the words, hears his soft laughter. Pikachu squeaks in amusement himself, wanders off to find somewhere to sleep.

Green is already undressed, raises a brow at Gold when the boy enters the bathroom, a roguish smirk curling over his lips. Green’s hand cups the back of his neck, yanks him forward to deliver a harsh kiss to plush lips, ravaging him without care. He undresses Gold, long fingers nimbly working at his shorts, cupping the swollen growth there with a wink.

Oh, you’re so very ready for me, aren’t you? Green laughs, leaning down to dip a gentle kiss against Gold’s eager, wanting mouth. As you should be. His voice is husky and hoarse, brilliant eyes dark with lust. Green is never gentle with him, instead preferring to nip at the skin, tormenting him and drawing blood over his shoulders. Green gives a husky little moan, teeth worrying a new bruise on his throat. You’re so good you know. He murmurs, hefting the boy up into his arms. My pretty little good boy. Nobody has ever been so good for me. Gold shyly ducks his head, blushing pink as Green lovingly squeezes the flesh in his hands.

All I’ve wanted is to be your good boy. Gold murmurs shyly, as Green mouths against his throat, pushing him against the shower wall, clumsily turning the shower on and kissing him lovingly as the chill spray hits them both, makes him gasp.

You’re perfect. I could have nothing greater than you. Green lowers Gold to the floor, the boy obediently uncurling his legs to stand unsteadily on his own two feet. Turning Gold around, Green sinks to his knees, spreading him open wide. Did you prepare for me? He murmurs sultrily, and Gold manages to nod. What a good boy. Green praises him softly, fingers sliding in to fill him, Gold giving a little whine of pleasure. It feels so good, Green finger-fucking him as praise for a task well done. He can’t help the squeal of surprised pleasure when Green’s tongue joins, the boy quivering as Green uses his tongue and fingers to prod all of the right places until Gold is babbling nonsense, begging Green for more. Green moves on eventually, standing up to lift Gold once more.

He manages to find the railing, hands gripping at it tightly as Green nudges the tip of his cock against his willing and well-teased hole.

Break me. Gold is nearly too far gone to recognize what he’s said, but Green is not, the hands settled upon his hips holding him terribly still. He’s panting softly, so very wanton in the pose of his body, water curving sinfully over his frame.

Gold... That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Green says at last, fingers tight on his hips. Green could break Gold so easily, so swiftly. But he doesn’t, content to toy with Gold, tease him. Gold gives a whimper at the idea, shivering in Green’s firm hold. You know that’s dangerous. The boy manages to look at Green, lips curling up into a smile.

What you do with what belongs to you is hardly going to get an objection from me, Gold’s words make Green’s breath hitch, audible even in the noise of the shower. The younger of the two tilts his head to a side, gaze flickering slightly as he does so. Wreck me Green. His god shudders, gaze scorching as he leans in to push himself in, stretching the boy wide, his hands shifting to wrap around his throat.

I could very seriously hurt you, Green warns, breath hitching in excitement, grip already tightening.

Then do it, Gold says encouragingly, hunger oozing from the words. I belong to you - isn’t that what you said? Yours to kill? Green gives the most delightful little snarl, snapping his hips forward harshly to drive himself deeper into the boy. Gold gives a delighted cry, his air supply cut off by Green’s grasp as it tightens abruptly, getting a soft sob of pleasure from the treatment. Green’s touch is rougher, and he’s freer with his bites, teeth sinking hungrily into the soft flesh, marking Gold as his own.

You don’t get to take this back Gold. I will break you, Green’s voice is predatory, pleasure deep in his tone. And I will break you every time if you agree to let me use you as I please, Green warns Gold.

I’ve been waiting for you to break me, Gold says breathlessly. Please. Make me useful to only you. Green gives a noise that is as primal as it is possessive, the sharpness of his tone the only warning Gold got before Green’s fingers wrap around his throat again, robbing his breath and using the boy as his own toy, hips snapping forward to drive Gold against the wall, breath robbed from him and body forcefully shoved against the slick tile, Green’s smile spreading.

What a good, lovely boy I have.

By the time Green was done with Gold, there was a ring of thick bruises wrapped around his throat, bloody marks bitten up and down his shoulders and thighs from where Green had claimed him. Green has to carry him out of the shower, weak and pliant in his god’s grip. He makes a soft noise of protest at being left alone, and Green chuckles softly at him.

Don’t worry lovely boy. I’ll be back. Gold sighs contently, laying loose and bloody against the bed as he watches his god dry off, Green climbing into bed with him with a loving smile. See? Green teases, pulling the exhausted boy to him. So loyal, so devoted, so good for me. My lovely boy... you and I... we’ll go far. Gold gives a happy sigh.

He would help his god rule Kanto.

[guardian-angle22]

911: Lone Star S4 E14 | The Case of the Stolen Pudding Cup -> The Culprit Revealed

[thermocoil-boilmaster]

Cooking With the Ironworks!

(A pre-press excerpt of the so far-unedited 233-page “recipe idea pamphlet” that will come packaged with every new Mk. XV Thermocoil Boilmaster)

Hot Wet Rice - Black Shroud Style

In recent years, this savoury entree has become especially popular with a certain genre of thirty-something affluent gadabout one can usually find swarming like well-swaddled fleshflies around Bentbranch Meadows’ high street, searching for a place to sup that serves trendy fare, but not so trendy that it’s already been made available in a conveniently packaged form at the local supermarket. As it is rather difficult to duplicate the deceptively delicate composition of a fresh Hot Wet Rice (or Risotto, as Biggs over there keeps insisting, but over here, Jessie keeps insisting that correction tape costs money and I’ve already typed Hot Wet Rice out twice) in a plebeian pre-packaged format, it ever remains the King of Hipster Slop.

If you are anything like me (and rest assured that you are not), then you understand how it feels to be so transcendentally hip that even the merest possibility of being seen loitering around an upscale “gastropub” (that used to be a regular pub before an overpaid interior designer went at it with a load of hand-tooled wooden accents and “mood lighting”) fills you with an inescapable urge to voice your complaints very loudly into the nearest toilet. However, the Mk. XV Thermocoil Boilmaster has made it easy for you to prepare your own Hot Wet Rice (sorry, typo) in the comfort and privacy of your own flat. Which, if you are anything like me, contains naught but your laundry, a wall of unmarked boxes you’re too afraid to open at this point, and that stolen wooden cable spool you’ve been using for a table Jessie, can we edit this part out?

Ingredients (serves 6)

1 1/2 cups dried brown rice.

4 cups chocobo stock.

1/2 cup dry white wine. If you drank it already, I don’t know what to tell you.

3 tablespoons olive oil.

3 tablespoons butter.

1 bunch green scallions, chopped fine.

A tidy pile of chopped up mushrooms; if you dislike fungi or cannot obtain it, chop up a kitchen sponge instead.

A few cubes of some kind of bird meat, whatever you prefer; chocobo, cockatrice, dodo, anzu, pterodactyl, saber-tooth penguin, it’s your move. Vegetarian options include tofu, boiled popoto and nothing.

A fistful of Yanxian parsley, muddled; if this is too patrician for your budget, rip up a fistful of grass from your front garden, as I personally assure you that for a fraction of the price, the net effect is identical.

Lemon juice, to taste. If you cannot get a lemon, oh for fuck’s sake

Salt.

Pepper, if you enjoy dicing with fate.

Some more salt for afterwards, when you taste it and realize that it needs more salt.

1.) Gather all of the ingredients, minus the broth and wine, and add them to the Thermocoil Boilmaster ingredient tray. Set the tray flush in the kettle’s holding slots.

2.) Pour the chocobo stock and white wine into the Thermokettle Coilmaster’s liquid reservoir.

3.) Close and seal all lids, then set your Thermomaster Boilcoil to “Rice - Medium”. The timer will automatically set itself to 45 minutes.

4.) Wait. Use this time wisely. You may want to sleep, or finish today’s crossword, or simply curl up in your bathtub and die.

5.) When your Hot Wet Rice is finished, let it cool for five minutes, mix well, then serve. If you died during step 4, it may be some time before someone discovers your body. In that case, you may skip this step and let your next of kin or your local coroner’s office decide what to do with your Thermominster Fullerbuster, as well as the Hot Wet Rice, which will likely be quite cold by then.

6.) Salt to taste.

-Nero tol Scaeva

Editor’s Notes: Since when is a pterodactyl a bird? My book says “seafood”. Anyway I asked him to draw a picture to go with this but now I don’t think I want to see it. Chief, I have like 20 pages of Wedge rambling about different types of pudding to get through, so can you do this one instead? I’ll let you take the rest of the week off, just help me out here. Please. -JJ

[fabermemorialrink]

Day 2 of nurseydex week (bed sharing/room sharing)! Continues in the same universe as day 1.

“Come on up,” Dex says as he unlocks the door. There are trees lining the sidewalk in front of the brick building, and at this time of night, even only a few streets away from the nearest T station, the city is quiet. It’s as quaint as you can get in a metropolitan setting without having to move far west enough to wind up in the suburbs, and Dex admits that he’s grown used to it.

“I’m still blown away by how good you got at riding the subway,” Nursey says, nudging him with an elbow as they climb the stairs to Dex’s fourth floor apartment. “Remember that time you somehow wound up over in Queens?” he asks, teasing.

“That’s because your stupid train routes make zero sense,” Dex gripes.

“You’re a smart guy, Dex; you can figure out public transportation. I believe in you. Besides, it’s not that much better here.”

“It’s easier! There’s only five lines.” Nursey rolls his eyes.

“And I quote, ‘The green line is literally the fifth circle of hell and I hate everyone on it, including myself.’ Said by you only three weeks ago. Insightful, really.” 

“One, that was a one-off comment, and two, okay, it wasn’t. I mean that always; the green line is a travesty and a curse. Trains are bad.”

“Well, I’m just proud of you for not throwing down against the ticket machine,” Nursey laughs.

They're more or less meandering upwards, slowly working off the heaviness of dinner and drinks. In the cool stillness of an early June evening, the glow of a late summer sunset seems still to be hanging in the air even though the day grows late. A thin line of music can be heard from through the walls - Édith Piaf, from what Dex can make out as they pass.

Nursey’s fingers brushes against Dex’s as they round the last flight, and Dex instinctively resists his desire to link their hands, then remembers that he can totally do that now. So he does, taking Nursey’s hand, then forcibly cracking two of his knuckles; Nursey yelps, and reflexively clenches his fingers hard around Dex’s until he’s wincing too.

“Ow, you dick, I’m trying to compliment you here,” Nursey says with a pout, and Dex leaves a kiss on the back of his hand before letting them into his apartment.

Nursey has a tendency these days to turn into jelly when he's both sleepy and a little drunk, so they manage to get a glass of water in him and kiss lazily against Dex’s fridge for a few minutes until he starts to dissolve into pudding in Dex’s arms.

“Well, that answers one question,” Dex says into a sea of dark curls as Nursey tries again to nap vertically on him and they begin listing toward one side.

“Mmm, yeah, I think the only sleeping with you I’m up to right now is the literal kind,” Nursey mumbles against his throat, and Dex gently starts walking them backwards toward his bedroom.

“Sounds good to me.” He keeps one hand at Nursey’s waist and the other at the small of his back to guide him across the floor. Nursey’s arms are still wrapped around him like a kite in a tree, but they manage despite his tendencies.

“I take back everything I said about your dancing skills,” Nursey says as Dex turns them so he can drop him softly on the bed without Nursey sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Pretty fly for a white guy, eh?”

“Wow, okay, never mind.” Nursey laughs quietly into the pillow as Dex flips him off and returns to undoing the buttons on his shirt. It's one that Dex recognizes, which means they've been dating for long enough that Dex has started to memorize the contents of Nursey's closet again. The thought doesn't annoy him the way it did back in school, when he’d reach for a shirt and come up with a soft-knit sweater because Nursey had accidentally stolen his clothes again.

Nursey’s hands come up to bracket Dex’s hips as each button is freed. They're older now, obviously, but he still looks as sweetly pliant as he used to those odd nights Dex helped put him to bed after a kegster. It had been a different kind of yearning back then, new and undefined and terrifying, too much for the fragile peace they were building between themselves to explore. That was the working excuse anyway, more and more inapplicable as time went on, but it was what Dex held onto to protect his heart.

Now, he can lean down and press a kiss to Nursey’s lips if he wants to, his heartbeat only skipping because Nursey can still leave him breathless no matter how many years pass. He does so, and Nursey tries to tug him down to the sheets as well, but he slips free.

“Nope, not yet. Your morning breath is bad enough as it is; it’s biological warfare when you don’t brush your teeth.”

Nursey whines, reaching for the hem of Dex’s shirt to try and ensnare him again. “Can't you just pour some mouthwash down my throat and call it a day?”

“Is drowning in listerine really the way you wanna go out?”

“Going out the way I came in: minty fresh.”

“Not tonight, you’re not,” Dex says, kicking off his socks as he walks toward the bathroom. He drops clothes as he goes - belt, and shirt, and undershirt - like a sexy striptease trail, except it’s not sexy; he’s just fucking lazy. He kept a lot of the habits he developed through a childhood of living in a crowded house with little personal space and privacy, but sometimes he indulges in the luxury of living on his own, and does stuff like throwing his clothes wherever he wants and eating nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon. Chowder was a terrible influence on his life.

He’s brushing his teeth when Nursey finally shuffles in wearing sweatpants and a Samwell Theater t-shirt (signed by Ford in sharpie) he stole from Dex’s drawers. He drapes himself over Dex’s shoulders and reaches around him to grab his brush and blindly squeeze toothpaste onto the bristles. He winds up with a glob as large as a floret of cupcake frosting and winces when it prickles on his tongue.

They fall back into the old patterns they grew used to while living together in college, pretending to jostle for space while they brush even though the only use Dex has for the mirror is to make faces at Nursey and Chowder through their reflections. Dex finishes washing his face first and backs away from the sink to give Nursey room. Like always, he's a step too slow to avoid the claw of death swooping in to smear moisturizer on his face in three pale streaks; with a customary grimace, he allows it to happen before rubbing the lotion vigorously in, ignoring the way Nursey shakes his head in disappointment.

Nursey is indeed minty fresh when they kiss again, but still as structurally sound as a melting flan, so Dex maneuvers them back to bed. Because he’s a considerate person even when only half-awake, Nursey has tossed all of Dex’s shedded clothing onto his chair so they don’t wind up a very romantically injured accident on the floor. They flop onto Dex’s slightly too-small-for-two bed foregoing the covers even though the summer heat hasn’t grown sticky yet.

“You wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?” Nursey asks, turning his head against Dex’s pillow to watch him with those lovely eyes, half-lidded and sentimental. He’s probably composing something in his head again, twirling language together in ways Dex couldn’t even dream of. Nursey needs to write in the same way other people need to feel sunlight on their skin, and Dex has always admired the tenacity he knows it must take for him to keep writing even when the words don't come easy.

“How ‘bout the soup spoon,” he replies as he wraps an arm across Nursey’s waist. Nursey sleeps flat on his back anyway, so cuddling isn't very effective, but Dex knows being held makes him feel more grounded. He leaves his palm resting on one sharp hipbone, tracing arcs with his fingertips. Just a small physical reminder that this is real. That what they have is real.

“Okay, you can be the salad fork and I'll be the demitasse,” Nursey says, smiling when Dex squints at him.

“You have seen in person that I don’t know what any of those things are,” Dex grumbles. He’s been to a handful of these ridiculous functions that Nursey’s family has to attend on occasion, and resigned himself to surreptitiously studying other people before picking up a utensil. At least the food is always stellar. Luckily, Nursey’s parents are some of the most down-to-earth people that Dex has ever met, and have no problem eating easy mac out of mugs with them at Nursey’s place when they come to visit.

“Chill, Dex. I can teach you. A demitasse is just a small coffee cup. Demi is half, and tasse is cup. And a salad fork is a fork that you eat salads with. Salad is salad and fork is fork.”

“Informative. I can see why you always get five out of fives.”

Nursey gives him a little burst of a laugh, scooching an inch closer so that Dex can lean up against his shoulder. “Dude, have you been looking me up on teacher rating websites again?”

Dex makes a non-committal noise. “You have 4.5 chili peppers - where’d the other half pepper go?”

“I mean, I don’t think I lost it. I just never had it.” He shrugs, uncaring.

The expression Dex wears turns consoling. “You're seven out of five peppers to me, Nurse.”

Nursey’s smile brightens, and he covers the hand at his hip with his own. “That’s pretty damn hot - you sure you can handle it?”

“I’ll get some saltines ready in case. The food of my people.”

“Maybe try yogurt instead.”

“Oh, you have a thing for yogurt? Guess I could work with that. I mean, it’s kinda untraditional, but I could try. For you.”

“Don’t try to shame me in my own bed, Will,” Nursey exclaims, and Dex leans forward to kiss the laugh from his mouth.

“Good thing it’s my bed, then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for sharing.”

Nursey really does look like he’s going to nod off any minute, but before his eyes slip closed he gives Dex another thoughtful look, asking softly, “You know that time you came to visit a few years back? Around my birthday?”

It had been shortly after a major snowstorm hit the northeast; there were still piles of dirty gray slush on every corner and enough meltwater puddles to soak Dex’s socks for days, but it had been nice, to see Nursey again after half a year. The first few times they met up post-graduation, he thought it might have become awkward between them without proximity to keep them in contact, but they always picked up where they left off, all friendly chirping and stupid arguments, now colored with a few dashes of nostalgic reminiscing of the good old days. That day he had brought a potted snake plant with him as a gift, to add to the growing collection of houseplants on the sill of Nursey’s classroom.

“Yeah, we rode a sightseeing bus around Manhattan for no reason.” Dex had stayed the night, and Nursey had offered him the bed. He'd tried to refuse, but Nursey wasn't having it, and built a nest from a spare comforter in the living room before Dex could protest again. “You slept on the couch that night,” he recalls now. It had struck Dex as a strange miracle at the time, because enough time had passed since they last shared a bed for convenience and necessity that he had almost forgotten what a trial it always was. And as platonic as those moments had been, he hadn't been sure his heart could handle the fresh re-opening of the wound it would be to wake to the sight of Nursey asleep just a few inches away from him, too close to touch but never too far to fall for again and again.

“And you slept in my bed.” The hand nearest Dex tangles in the bottom hem of his t-shirt, a few of Nursey’s fingers slipping under to brush against Dex’s stomach. Dex tries not to shiver, waiting for Nursey to collect his thoughts into something more cohesive. “I woke up first, for once. You were still asleep, bundled to the max in all the blankets, except your leg. That was falling off the bed, dunno how - I fit on there just fine and we’re literally the same height.”

Nursey shakes his head, amused by a memory Dex wasn’t awake for, and takes a slight breath. “You were drooling on the pillow,” he says. “Left a wet spot the size of the pond next to your face.”

“Oh my god,” Dex groans, burying his face against Nursey’s arm.

“Nah, it was cute. I went to check on you, turn your head so you didn't drown in your own spit. You stuck your hand out of your cocoon when I did - I thought you were gonna slap me, but you grabbed my arm instead, and you wouldn't let go. I think it was some sort of anti-sibling protective instinct kicking in.

“I thought you would keep me trapped there until you woke up, and I sat down on the floor next to you because I- I guess I wanted that? I wanted to be the first thing you saw that morning.”

“Just like you used to be?” Dex asks, and Nursey nods mutely. They never talked about it, those hangover mornings where Dex jolted awake so he could untangle himself from Nursey and the sheets before anyone could catch him selling himself out with his moonstruck eyes. “But you weren't there when I woke. You were making breakfast,” he says, the memory coming back into focus, pleasantly overcast in the cool wintry gray of Nursey’s apartment that morning when Dex stepped out barefoot on the cold floorboards to see Nursey studying the spark and sizzle of oil in his frying pan.

“I guess that was always the dilemma. Do I want to be the one you wake up to, or do I want to be the one who makes you breakfast? I wanted to be both, but breakfast seemed safer.” Nursey’s smile, sheepish and uneven, reminds Dex of the years they lost. The years they- well, wasted isn’t the right word for it, because this is the road they took to get to each other, and even now, knowing what they could have had sooner, Dex doesn’t think it was the wrong path. He thinks sometimes they needed to grow up apart before they could grow old together.

“You could be both. You are both,” Dex says, looping his arm tighter around Nursey’s waist. “My problem was always whether I wanted to be the one to make you laugh or the one to catch you when you fall down the stairs.”

“It’s pretty cool when you do them at the same time,” Nursey says sleepily, and Dex leans in to give him one final kiss.

“Night, Derek. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

Nursey drifts off first and Dex is left half-conscious, watching him in all the ways he couldn't when he was younger and less sober. Wanting him just as much as he did at nineteen. But they're here now, and Dex doesn't regret a minute that led them to this point. It feels like all that yearning was a debt to paid before he could know how it felt for his love to be requited.

Eleven years ago, on a night much like this one, Dex had held his breath and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Nursey wouldn’t feel his pulse running wild as he fell asleep. Tonight he exhales, waiting for his heart rate to slow, and holds Nursey closer as sleep approaches.

Dex wakes bathed in sunlight. Nursey is still out, tucked into Dex’s side with one arm lying at a strange angle, but he stirs when Dex shifts to stretch his legs. For a second, his forehead scrunches and his dark lashes flutter twice before his eyes open.

“Good morning, starshine,” Dex says as Nursey turns onto his side to embrace him. His hair is a mess and he’s still blinking himself awake, but he looks rested and comfortable here in Dex’s bed. The way Dex hopes he’ll always feel when they’re together.

“Morning, Will,” Nursey responds warmly, and Dex remembers that all this was worth waiting for.

He leaves a kiss at Nursey’s jaw, his cheek, his crown. Then he props himself up with Nursey still spread across his chest, ready for the new day.

“C’mon, Nursey. Let’s go get breakfast.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

3. ‘I haven’t decided if I’m actually going to kill you yet but first, either way, what did you DO to piss off the Canadians so badly.’ Jackel and Trevy

Summary: Trevy just wanted to go home and eat some pudding. She doesn’t’ get a snack, but she does find a friend. That pudding would’ve been nice, though.Pairing: NoneUniverse: That Modern Dragon Age AU; Inquisitor Trevelyan AUWord count: 1.9k----

“Well, this is awkward.”

“You're telling me. They didn't say you were this tall.”

There were a couple of things Aeronwen Trevelyan usually expected when she came home for the day. Her living room would match her bedroom by being a mess and covered in books from a long night of research. It would be dark since she hadn't yet turned on the light. However, the one thing she would have come to find would be that she would have been alone from the moment she shut the door. That one, the most basic of facts about her apartment, was now untrue. Someone was sitting in her favorite chair, looking at her with a rather confused expression painted on her face. 

The mage sighed as she put her bagdown by the door; her staff was out of reach, but she did keep thebones of a rather mean alley cat that had died the year before ofnatural causes in a jar just in case. A wiggle of her fingers, andLady Honeytooth would be ready for battle. Judging from how heavilyarmed the elf in her chair looked, she might need her.

“I'm guessing this is the partwhere you're supposed to kill me?” A nod of the head made her sigh.“Did your employer at least tell you what you'd be expecting? I'dhate to sic a dead cat upon the uniformed. You make the worstnoises.”

When the would-be assassin's facenever changed, Aeronwen shook her head and started towards her smallkitchen. If she was going to have to attack someone, she at leastwanted a cup of tea and the last of the pudding in the firdge.

Much to her surprise, the small elfwas at her side. “Hope you're not wanting any of that pudding,because I ate it while I was waiting for you.”

Lady Honeytooth's bones rattled inthe jar as she assembled herself for battle. In life, she'd been amass of muscle and matted fur. Her neighbors had sworn the cat had tohave had something wild in her to get that big, but examining thebones months later didn't point to any markers. She had just been abig old girl who'd like to eat, maybe with a bit of Starkhaven Nugcat in her. Now, she hissed to reanimation, leaping from her restingplace to knock the assassin flat on her ass.

“The store didn't have any morethis week. I really did want some.” Aeronwen sighed as she snappedher fingers to make the water in the kettle boil. “Would you likesome tea to go with your stolen pudding, Miss...”

The elf on the floor groaned as arather heavy skeleton sat straight on her middle. “Call me Jackel.Can you call your attack cat off? Gods, why is a bag of bones soheavy?”

“It's rude to ask about a lady'sweight.” Tea for two it was then. With a glowing hand, that wasn'texactly easy, but she managed it. “So, who hired you to take meout? You sound Dalish, so that knocks out the Antivan Crows and halfthe Ferelden gangs.”

Jackel at least managed to sit uponce Lady Honeytooth had moved to turning her legs into goo with thepower of her undead purring. For an assassin, she was a tiny thing;most of her was skin and bone. Maybe she had needed that puddingafter all. Still, she could have at least asked. That had been alimited spring flavor.

“Call it an act of ill will fromthe clans. We weren't sure whether to trust you or not.” Shepaused, as if she was mulling over her thoughts. “I haven't decidedif I was going to kill you yet, but what DID you do to piss theOrlesians off so badly? I had to knock off two guys who had acontract on you just to get into your apartment.”

Well, that'd explain the blood stainsshe'd found two days prior. Part of her had wondered if it was justher cat taking out the competition for her unholy hunting grounds.Then again, cats didn't tend to leave scraps of trousers with them.At least her curiosity was sated for the moment.

Aeronwen returned to her living roomwith two cups of tea and a couple of chocolate cookies she'd found atthe bottom of her favorite jar. Jackel hadn't seemed to help herselfto those, so at least there was hope for some form of sweets. With asnap of her fingers, Lady Honeytooth was kneading into her plush catbed instead of bothering the guests.

“You can sit on the couch if youpromise not to try to kill me.”

Her assassin nodded as she perched onthe edge. “I've decided not to kill you anyway. Anyone who summonsa dead cat named Lady Honeytooth can't be all bad.”

Well, praise the Maker.

Aeronwen rolled her eyes as shehanded Jackel a cup. She sipped from her own as she settled back intoher favorite chair. The elf hadn't even managed to keep it warm forher, so it dampened some of her good cheer. She was still sore aboutthe pudding, so it didn't help.

“I hope the Dalish spy network isgood enough to know I was a Circle mage once.”

Jackel snorted as if she had beenhanded a grave insult, all the while adding enough sugar to kill aBuffalo into her tea. Maybe she had some Qunari in her. “We mightnot be as well organized as your precious Lilybird's forces, but weknow a thing or two. Until the big war, you were in Monstimmardcircle. Never harrowed, can't imagine why with skills like yours.”

“Well, that's why the Orlesianshate me so much.” The mage reached up to remove the cloth she kepttied around her forehead. Once the knot was removed, it fell into herlap. Exposed to the air, the brand on her forehead twinged slightly.It still hurt some days.

The fact she had been Tranquil wasone of those things the Chantry tried to hide. After all, it wouldn'tdo to have the so-called Herald of Andraste be one of the magesthey'd kept compliant and vacant of any will to live. Five years ofher life had been spent under the brand, and it would have been therest of it if not for the convenient exploding Chantry and a war thatthreatened to kill her for real this time. But hey, months oflearning to control her rediscovered magic and emotions had beenworth the look on the elf's face.

Much to her surprise, Jackel'sknuckles turned white around her tea cup. “They branded you?”

“Please don't break my cup. I likethat one.”

At least the elf put it down beforeshe made a fist to pound into her leg. “Why? What could a 15 yearold girl have done to earn something like that?”

Aeronwen sighed as she closed hereyes. She had asked herself that every night since she could thinkagain. Her fingers traced the outline, burned both into her memoryand her flesh. Even after regaining her powers, no healing magicwould make it vanish. She was stuck with it.

“I ran away from someone who triedto hurt me.” A sad smile spread across her face as she looked overat her would-be assassin. “Does your family love you? Mine doesn't.They proved that when they handed me back over to the Circle when Iran to them. My own brother was the Templar in charge of myretrieval.”

She didn't have a lot of memoriesfrom the branding, so if he was there or not when they sealed hermagic wasn't exactly clear. He might as well have been for all thegood he'd done to protect her. As far as she knew, he was dead andthat was just fine by her.

Jackel looked like she needed topunch somebody. Much to Aeronwen's surprise, tears were beading inher green eyes. She wiped them away, but the grimace on her facelooked almost painful. Strange, given she had been trying to killher.

“Those bastards.”

“I have stronger words for them,but that'll do for now.” The mage sipped at her tea. “So, whatare you going to do? I assume the Dalish are going to want to know myfeelings on them. You don't have to worry, the Chantry and I aren'texactly friendly. If you need an ally, you have my hand.”

However, that didn't placate the elf.In fact, soon their eyes met over the table. It was rare to seeemotion like that in the face of another. The Chantry sisters hadonce taught her about righteous fury, but to actually see it wassomething else entirely.

“I want to make them pay.”

When she didn't ask who, Jackelcontinued. “You're clearly going to need someone to keep theassassins off your back. I also do legal work, though Orlesian lawtheory isn't exactly my favorite. Should be able to figure outOstwick inheritance law if you give me a couple weeks.”

Aeronwen found it hard to speak.“I... don't exactly need a lawyer.”

“But you do need a friend. A coupleof them, if my brothers get in on it.” The elf held out her hand.“I'm going to make them pay for what they did to you, Trevy.”

Nobody had called her that in years,not since she was young and new to the Circle. Something long dead inher stirred. Maybe she could trust the elf, at least with theassassinating the assassins thing. If worst came to worst, there wasat least someone she could eat sweets with. Provided she asked beforeconsuming, it might work out.

So, she stuck out the Anchor andjoined their hands. “You're going to need to talk to Leliana beforeyou do anything. I don't think she'd appreciate having another spymuscling in on her network.”

It was funny; both the assassins inher life had red hair. Her current spymaster didn't have tattoos likethose, though. If she remembered right, they were for Mythal. Maybehaving the embodiment of Justice on her side might be a good thingafter all.

“Don't worry, I'll handle thingswith Lilybird. You just focus on making the sky close and annoyingthe shit out of the Orlesians.” For the first time, Jackel smiledas she reached down to eat her cookie. “Damn, I didn't know youwere hiding these. I would've left the pudding.”

Trevy laughed as she reached for herown cookie to keep it safe. “Next time I'll let unexpectedintruders know what snacks I'm keeping for myself.”

“Good, that'll get you far.” Theelf beamed. “Now, why don't I introduce you to my brothers? You'regetting a demolitions expert and kickass mage with me; it's a threein one deal.”

No doubt that was going to annoy thehell out of Cullen when she told him on Monday. Good; the assholeneeded it. Trevy still wasn't too sure what was going to come out ofthis arrangement, but at least there was someone on her side. Thatwould help.

She was still kind of mad about thepudding, though. Even being Herald of Andraste didn't put the berriesback on the bushes.