#but it either was never inputted properly or it closed way too early

[shiningstages]

Don't know if I said it out loud here or not, but idk how much writing I'll be able to get done in these next couple of weeks. I work 39.5 hours this week and next, with only my availability days off as my true "break time", but I usually spend those days with my dad (this Saturday I'm also going to a memorial thing.........yay). So I may just be drained of energy whenever I get home from work, soooo........See you guys when I can / my body and mind say I can!!!!!!

[o-kaythislooksbad]

ailesswhumptober day 6: multiple whumpees / self sacrifice / "i'm the only one who can do this"

chapter 6 / 7 of the memory of you marks everything i do | not rated, chose not to warn

chicago blends with new york, blurring his sense of time. waiting with childish excitement for a snowstorm only to wake to a blinding sunrise in LA was a sharp reminder that he needs keep a tighter lid on his personal wants.

he doesn't have wants. the only thing he has that's personal is his name. "jake lockley. yaakov zev ben…" he says to one of the many glass walls, flinching back at the reflection. 

how could he have been so stupid? 

"marc? what're you doing out here so early?" marlene asks, and just like that, jake's gone as if he was never there.

"hey," marc replies, turning around. "i was appreciating the view. it's beautiful, but it's got nothing on you." 

marlene's smile shines brighter than the sun, and the blush on her dimpled cheeks provides more warmth than the sun on his back. she welcomes marc easily into her arms and into their bed, and it's only when he tries to fall asleep at night that he remembers why he was really at the window. 

there's something about the wide panels of glass that induces a sort of meditative state, allowing him to access parts of himself, of his mind, via his reflections. it's all in his head, marc knows that - it's not like his reflections are moving around or talking without his input - but it's helpful for his…. condition. 

mirrors are too direct, he's learned, to try externalizing whatever internal crap is causing him headaches. the glass and the ocean beyond it are much better for soothing his racing mind. 

"you're thinking too loudly," marlene mutters. "wanna talk about it?"

"i don't know what it is," marc replies before he can properly consider marlene's question and offer. 

marlene yawns, turning over to face him. "you miss being out there, that much is obvious. camo or cape?"

"what?"

"you're more restless than usual. you keep looking for projects to do, for conspiracies to uncover, for something to fix. the uniform went away along with frenchie; none of the moon-themed gear has left the garage in weeks."

marc blinks at his wife in disbelief. now that she's voiced it, it makes a disturbing amount of sense, and an equally disturbing amount of nonsense. of course he misses jean-paul, but packing away their old fatigues was a practical matter, and of course he'd miss being moon knight, but he suited up just last night.

unless… 

"steven," he mutters, closing his eyes. "what have you done?"

"oh. you're back to playing the blame game, is that how it is?" marlene answers instead, and that hurts more than anything steven could've said. 

marc gets out of bed to wander around the house. it doesn't matter that he's naked and the walls are glass. it doesn't matter that it's cold and his legs lead him to the basement before his mind can get with the program. 

what matters is that it isn't steven leading the way. It isn't jake, either, leaving marc with an odd sensation of being actually alone for the first time in recent memory. 

"don't worry… you'll find a way to live with this." 

the voice echoes off the walls, reverberating in marc's head. 

there's no context for the words, nothing to clue him in to what they mean, yet marc's heart plummets into his stomach and his hands instinctively move to cover his ass. he doesn't know how long he spends standing like that in the basement apartment, doesn't know when steven decided it was time for them to leave, only that it's daylight again when he finds himself fully dressed and co-conscious with him in the gym.

LA blends with cairo, blurring his sense of space. being stationed there with the military had suited marc, which came as no surprise to anyone. what was surprising, however, was steven's cooperation and input into their new life, as well as jake's visceral disgust of it. 

marc excelled at the physical and intellectual aptitude tests. steven had latched onto the rules and routines, which gradually increased his tolerance for uncomfortable sensations. jake had tried to leave a few times, pushing back at the smallest of orders in an attempt to be written up for insubordination, but no such luck. rather than being dishonorably discharged, he had to work extra cleaning shifts in the kitchen, because he got stuck with the one CO who was slightly less rigid than his peers. 

right now, though, jake finds himself seated outdoors at a café across from jean-paul and another man. 

"is he okay?" the man asks, looking from jean-paul to jake. 

he's about to reply that frenchie looks as fine as ever when he realizes the man was asking about him. 

"never better," jake says, giving them a small smile. 

jean-paul, sharp as ever, clocks the expression as jake's. "rob works with active soldiers and veterans; he is familiar with the symptoms of flashbacks and was only asking after your safety."

"is that right?" jake stares at rob. there's no reason to suspect foul play, to think that frenchie would lead him here for anything nefarious, yet jake cannot bring himself to trust either of them. 

"my sincerest apologies." rob bows his head slightly. "perhaps it would be best if I let you two catch up. excuse me," he says as he stands. his hand lingers on jean-paul's shoulder for a while before he bends down to kiss his cheek, then walks across to the park across the street. 

so the doubt in his stomach wasn't doubt, after all, but something new - fear. he severely misjudged the relationship and their current situation, and he needs all the information he can get to fix things with his friend. 

"how long?"

"rob and i met - "

jake shakes his head. "not how long you've been with him. not that i'm not happy for you, i am, really. but i need to know how long it's been since you've seen me."

jean-paul lowers his head. "mon ami, perhaps this is not the place for such talk." 

"you mean this isn't the place for you to break some really bad news to me, right? c'mon, you know i can handle it." 

"but i cannot." jean-paul's voice breaks. "je suis vraiment désolé, mon ami."

cairo blends with london, blurring nothing and everything. he checks in with the bank accounts and flats he established for steven, with the storage units and weapons caches he established with marc, and by the end of a week or perhaps a month, lands steven a job at the museum. 

jake spends a night in steven's preferred flat, the one packed nearly wall to wall with books, after upgrading his wardrobe and removing out-of-date perishables from his cupboards. he tries calling marlene's numbers, personal and professional, to no avail. he starts accessing the TETRA system to see if moon knight could be useful before realizing how stupid that would be. he closes the laptop and stands in the shower until the water runs cold, and it doesn't occur to him until he's standing with a razor in front of the mirror that he is depressed.

jake isn't a proud man, yet he secretly prides himself on the ways he navigates the world and keeps their little family safe. it shouldn't be devastating to see the evidence all around him, the proof that he's no longer needed, but it is. marc has the instincts and intellect of a fighter, steven has the desire to learn and the drive to connect with everyone around him, and together they've spent the past decade being fine without him.

the small bathroom in london blurs with the master bathroom in new york, blending his loneliness with companionship. marlene sits on the counter beside the sink as he brushes his teeth. 

"you know," she says, swinging her legs. "it's been a while since we've done it. what do you think about going out tonight?"

jake lets himself slip back a bit into his head, leaving room for someone else to pick up on whatever marlene's put down. the last thing anyone needs is to read the room wrong and cause a fight. 

"i thought you didn't like being mister knight's assistant," steven replies, setting down the toothbrush. "that you wanted to 'be your own hero,' preferably with a better theme." 

"better suit," marlene corrects him. "i'm not vibing with the moon motif. and, unlike you, i'd prefer not to stand out as a walking target while trying to keep people safe."

"yeah, i can't argue with that. what did you have in mind for the future?"

marlene smiles, hopping off the counter. "now don't be mad," she starts, which only causes marc to work his way to the front. "but buck already made me this, and we took it for a test drive yesterday." she holds out a one-piece bodysuit that wouldn't look out of place on the black widow. 

marlene's suit is closer to purple than black, with a magnetic harness on the back for her escrima sticks and gauntlets for darts rather than widow's bites, and steven has to admit that buck has once again outdone himself. 

one night blurs into ten then to twenty, to one year then to two, blending their lives together. he finds himself sitting cross-legged on the back patio, staring at his reflection in the pool. 

"don't worry… you'll find a way to live with this," he mutters monotonously. 

except he does worry, all the time, and he's tried and tried and tried but jake can't live with the ghost haunting his mind any longer.

it's unfortunate, ironic, that the one job he's built for is the one he can no longer do. three and a half decades of compartmentalizing, of slowly absorbing all the crap surrounding marc and then steven until they becomes core parts of his being, will do that to a guy. the gears turning in his chest are a well-oiled machine, but the ones in his head rattle with thoughts he's not meant to have. or, rather, with thoughts about things like meaning and ownership and personhood. 

the only thing he has is his name, but that's not even his. marc and steven fluctuate on their relationship with elias, but more often than not view him as their father. moshe ben eliyahu. shimon ben eliyahu.

jake, however, doesn't share their views. he wasn't made for that sort of family, and no matter how much he's tried, his very nature is that of the devil. he's the bastard son of the worst scum of the earth.

yaakov ben yitzchak. 

nothing more than an extension of the monster that made him.

"you'll find a way to live with this, yaakov," he tells his watery reflection. "you always have."

marc's got steven, and steven's got marc, even if they're not entirely aware of each other at the moment. they've both got vigilante aspects and a network of friends and colleagues.

jake's known himself, known them all for long enough to know that letting himself do this will be best for everyone. marc and steven have got their own systems worked out - routines and methods of everyday life, not their collective system - and jake's part of playing maintenance is no longer required. 

it shouldn't be devastating to find out that he's not meant for this part of their life, yet it eats away at jake's heart. 

with the foolish hope that he isn't dooming his family, jake closes his eyes and drifts into nothingness.

[jaskierswolf]

An Ocean Away

Geraskier soulmate AU - A gift for my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde.

Words: 3.8k

CW:  Big mutual pining, long distance friendships, and a lot of swearing, fucking the ocean is not advised...

Read on AO3

___________

Jaskier stared at his phone and sighed loudly. Geralt was still asleep and really Jaskier should be working but he missed him. How that was even possible he wasn’t sure, they’d never even met. Geralt was all the way across the other side of the fucking ocean. Jaskier hated it. The soul bond had snapped into place on Jaskier’s birthday. He’d waited up until midnight, shaking with excitement. He’d known there was a chance his soulmate was younger than him but he didn’t care, his soulmate would be worth the wait.

Luckily for him, Geralt was a couple of years older. 

Unluckily for him, Geralt also lived in America. 

He sighed again and thumped his head against his desk, earning a withered glare from his boss across the room. God, he really needed to get out of his job. He was an artist, a musician! He shouldn’t be stuck in an office inputting data. 

‘Geralt….’  He called out mentally, hoping to reach his soulmate in his dreams but it was no use. Geralt was down for the count and probably wouldn’t wake up for several hours. 

Instead, Jaskier sighed loudly for the third time and remembered their first conversation with a fond smile. 

‘Helloooooo’ he called out, fidgeting with his bedsheets. ‘anybody there?’

‘What the fuck?’ a gruff response came and Jaskier could just about make out the image of some kind of restaurant if he focussed hard enough, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

‘You’re American?!’ he wanted to cry. He couldn’t afford to fly out to America, not unless he followed his sisters into the family business and regained access to the Bank of Dad. 

‘Fuck.’

Ah so his soulmate was a man of many words. He grinned a flopped back onto his bed. ‘I’m Jaskier, by the way, I’m from England.’

‘I’m at work, can this wait?’ his soulmate growled. 

Jaskier’s heart sank. ‘Right, yes, yes… of course. I umm… well I need to go to sleep. I’m bloody exhausted. Wake me up when you’re finished?’

‘Hmm.’

Geralt hadn’t managed to wake him up. Although he still maintained to this day that he’d yelled out as much as he could without actually yelling aloud, and Jaskier had slept through the whole damn thing. Geralt’s mind was pretty quiet. He didn’t often project his thoughts unless they were actively conversing. Jaskier on the other hand kept up a steady stream of thoughts, showing Geralt the pretty flowers that he saw on the way to work, or humming new songs just for his soulmate to hear, anything that he thought Geralt might find interesting. 

He pressed the home button on his phone again. Barely five minutes since the last time he’d checked. It wasn’t even time for lunch yet, let alone time for Geralt to wake up. He hoped they’d have time to video chat before Geralt had to go to work that evening but he was pretty sure that his soulmate was on an early shift. He groaned, and reluctantly started angrily jabbing at his keyboard. The endless stream of emails and shitty clients were not helping his mood. Why couldn’t Geralt be on a closing shift? At least then they’d be able to talk properly before Jaskier had to go to sleep. 

“Would you stop being so pathetic, Julian?” Valdo sneered from the desk opposite Jaskier’s. 

“You’re just angry because your soulmate hasn’t made contact yet,” Jaskier snapped back. 

They were both twenty-four and Valdo’s soulmate was either ignoring him or was still underage. Jaskier almost pitied the man; almost. 

“Just get on with your work, Julian and stop clock watching.”

Jaskier muttered a few rather inappropriate for work words under his breath and turned back to his computer. He managed to get one whole email dealt with before losing focus again. He shifted in his seat so he could sit cross-legged on the chair, and then tried again. After another few emails his feet started to tingle. 

“Oh bollocks,” he whined and jumped off the chair, hopping around the office. 

“For god’s sake, Julian!”

“My name… is Jaskier!” He snapped “and I’ve got bloody pins and needles!”

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt’s voice was bleary and slurred in his mind.

He squeaked and promptly fell on his arse, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from grinning madly. “Geralt’s awake!” he announced to the office. 

“Take your lunch early,” Tissaia sighed “God only knows you won’t get anything else done until you’ve spoken to Geralt.”

Jaskier beamed at his boss. Fuck he could kiss her. She was so understanding and wonderful and… 

And he still hadn’t responded to Geralt!

‘Geralt, darling, hello!’ he trilled happily in his mind, spinning his chair around so he was sitting backwards. 

‘Are you ok?’ Geralt hummed ‘Felt angry.’

Jaskier squeaked, unable to contain the swell of love in his chest. God damn it he just wanted to hug Geralt. It wasn’t fair. Priscilla and Essi had only lived two towns away from each other. Triss had grown up with Yennefer, and yet Jaskier was stuck with a soulmate on the other side of the fucking planet. 

‘Fuck the ocean,’ he grumbled

He heard Geralt’s laughter, echoed with a phantom feeling of mirth that wasn’t his own. ‘Fuck the ocean’ he agreed. 

‘I’m moving to America, I’m going to invent portals and I am never letting you go,’  Jaskier sighed. 

Geralt hummed again. He was tired, Jaskier could feel it. ‘Go back to sleep, darling.’

‘When’s your lunch break over?’

‘I have half hour.’

‘I’ll wait.’

Jaskier smiled dopily at his phone. There was a picture of Geralt and his horse, Roach, on the lock screen. He unlocked it quickly to check his clock app. He knew the timezone difference by heart at this point but he still needed to check. It was a habit that he had yet to break. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Jaskier felt like crying. He just wanted to hold his soulmate. He wanted to know whether that love was platonic or romantic or what? He just… he knew he would love Geralt with every fibre of his being, and would be happy no matter what. That’s how soulmates worked after all. They were your match, and not everyone’s match was romantic. 

Oh but how he yearned.  He was pathetic. 

‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too’ Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt an ache through the bond that wasn’t his. He smiled sadly. He wasn’t the only one being pathetic. 

They fell silent, Jaskier gazing longingly at his lock screen, trying desperately not to fall apart in the middle of his office. Maybe he should go for a walk. Maybe he should just quit his job and move to America. His soulmate was American so he wouldn’t have to worry about visas as long as he could prove Geralt was his. He just…. 

“Fuck,” he groaned and buried his head in his arms. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and there was a lump caught in his throat. “Sorry, Tissaia. I’m, I’m, well, I’m going for a walk.”

He practically launched out of his chair towards the door. Not even bothering to grab his coat. He closed his eyes and reached out to Geralt, feeling a phantom embrace as Geralt reached back. It wasn’t as good as a real hug but no real hug could soothe the ache of having to live so far apart from his soulmate. 

‘Jask?’

Jaskier practically ran away from his office, down the road towards the woodland that surrounded the campus. His hands were pulling at his hair and he muttered nonsense under his breath. He counted every step that took him away from the building. He liked to imagine that every step brought him closer to Geralt but really he wasn’t entirely sure. 

‘I miss you,’ he hummed again. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ve never even met… six years Geralt! Fuck it, fuck this shit, fuck this job,’ he kicked at the ground. ‘I don’t even want to work in an office. It was supposed to be temporary.’

‘Then quit?’

Jaskier snorted. ‘I can’t afford it.’

His father’s face flitted in front of him. He could afford it if only he weren’t so bloody stubborn. He could work in his father’s company and he could go to America to see Geralt. Why couldn’t he just accept that? Why was he insisting on making his own way?

‘Jaskier, no. It’s not worth it,’ Geralt’s voice wrapped around him like a blanket. ‘Don’t compromise on your dreams for me.’

‘But I love you!’ he whined pitifully. 

‘I know and I love you too, but you’ll only resent me.’

Jaskier huffed and slid to the ground, his back resting against a tree. He rest his forehead on his knees and began to cry. Soulmates weren’t supposed to live apart for this long, it was too taxing on both parties but destiny had been cruel to them. He sobbed helplessly, his body shuddering as he dug his nails into the grass, tearing up chunks and throwing them away. 

It was only when he heard his phone ring that he managed sort of pull himself out of it. He wiped his eyes and peered at the phone. 

Geralt.

Of course it was, Geralt. His soulmate was video calling him. He swiped the screen to pick up and sniffed loudly. He didn’t need to sniff as loudly as he did, and he didn’t need to pout pathetically at the screen as he picked up… but he was sad and dramatic. He wanted extra sympathy points from Geralt. 

“Hi,” he whined, still pouting and widening his eyes slightly for added effect. Geralt’s room was dark, just a small light turned on just out of the camera. It was a shame because he couldn’t ogle the other man quite as much as he would normally like. 

Still, Geralt looked adorable. Stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks and his hair was a mess, falling in front of his eyes like rays of moonlight. “Hi.”

“I love you,” Jaskier whined as if he hadn’t already told Geralt that a hundred times today already. 

Geralt, the bastard, just laughed at him. “I know, love.”

“I know. I know… but… I love you?”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

Jaskier still hadn’t managed to work out whether Geralt’s eyes were really that colour or whether it was just some trick of the light. In all the photos and video calls they looked golden, but Jaskier had never met anyone with golden eyes before. He hadn’t even realised it was possible. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Then again, he’d seen Eskel and Lambert, Geralt’s brothers, and they also had the same molten gold eyes. 

Between Yennefer and Geralt’s family, Jaskier felt very plain. He was attractive enough but in such a normal way, nothing compared to Geralt’s silvery hair that made him look like he’d been blessed by the spirits of winter, and his swirling amber eyes that blazed like the sun, and then Yennefer with her locks of raven hair and piercing violet eyes. 

He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. God, why was he surrounded by such beautiful people. Brown hair, blue eyes and a dead end job. 

“Hey?” Geralt’s gruff voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You’re important to me.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t entirely sure what emotions he’d been channeling through their bond but it was obviously enough for Geralt to be concerned. “I love you.”

Geralt tilted his head at the camera and smiled fondly, it was obscured by the darkness and the terrible quality of Geralt’s phone camera but it still managed to melt Jaskier’s heart. Stupid, dumb, soulmate. Why did he have to live in America?

“I have a plan?” Geralt said quietly, looking around his room and not meeting Jaskier’s eyes. 

“A plan?”

“The restaurant I work at has live music nights,” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier frowned. He already knew that. Geralt had mentioned it before. Normally when he was complaining about the quality of the music. Jaskier adored him for that. He loved to judge other people’s music, and he rather smugly loved the way Geralt had only ever said nice things about his own songs. 

“Right?” he asked slowly, not quite understanding where Geralt was going with this.

“I spoke to Dad,” Geralt paused, licking his lips. Jaskier swallowed. It wasn’t fair. How could one man be so unreasonably attractive? He tucked at the sleeves of his jumper whilst he waited for Geralt to finish his thought. The cuffs had holes in and were fraying but it was soft and made the work day more bearable. If he gave a shit about his job he might wear nicer clothes but he’d rather be comfortable. 

“Vesemir?” Jaskier prompted gently. 

“He could help pay for the flights, a loan and we’ll have to pay him back,” Geralt mumbled, still not making any sense. “My apartment isn’t very big but you’re welcome to share until you find your own place? If you want your own place. I’m not making assumptions. I don’t expect you to share just because we’re soulmates but it would be cheaper and the restaurant wouldn’t be able to pay that much at first. You’d be playing music for a living though, and I know that’s what you really want to do,” Geralt cut himself of with a sharp sniff, letting out a low snarl. “Actually forget it, it’s a stupid idea.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s heart was racing. It almost sounded like Geralt was asking him to move to America? More than that, his own family was offering to help pay for the flights that neither of them could afford on their own. 

“I said forget it,” the phone snapped off and the screen went blank but Geralt was his soulmate and it wasn’t quite that easy to runaway. 

‘I don’t want to forget it,’ Jaskier told him, trying to push all the love he had for Geralt through the bond. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you, Geralt?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Geralt,’ he admonished gently. ‘I can’t quit my job on a maybe.’

‘Yes.’

Jaskier grinned. ‘I’ll resign after lunch.’

Jaskier had been tempted to just grab his bag and leave the office for good, but Tissaia had been good to him. She’d put up with his moping for the last three years and even allowed him flexible lunch breaks so he could talk to Geralt when he was awake. Not all bosses would be so forgiving. So he worked his notice. She hadn’t been surprised in the slightest when he announced his plans, if fact she seemed more surprised that it had taken so long to make the plans. He supposed most soulmates did move to be closer at the first available opportunity and he’d been pining over Geralt for six long years. 

Valdo had been his usual grumpy self, sneering that Jaskier hadn’t been able to cope with the job, but there was something in his eyes, a sadness that Jaskier hadn’t expected. They had known each other since university and their rivalry was almost an act these days, but he’d thought that Valdo would be pleased to see the back of him. 

His friends organised a wonderful goodbye party for him. Yennefer pulling out all the stops to make sure he had the best send off. If it weren’t for the pull of Geralt and his soulmate, he’d almost be tempted to stay. England had been his home since he was born and his life was there, his friends were there. 

But Geralt was not. 

And there was the promise of a career in music on the other side of the pond. It was too much to resist. So Jaskier packed up his flat. He pack a rucksack full of his favourite clothes and picked up his guitar. 

Then he drove to the airport, leaving England behind for good. The flight had been almost unbearable. It was long and cramped. He spent most of the time wittering to Geralt, not that his soulmate had responded much. The lucky bugger had been asleep whilst Jaskier tried desperately to block out the noise of screaming children. At one point he started singing a popular Disney tune to try and calm the children but it had only made them more excitable and he’d earned several disapproving glares from their parents. He’d been more than relieved when the plane started its final descent towards the airport.

And then the nerves kicked in. 

Six years of talking through their bond, text or video call… 

What if Geralt realised he didn’t like Jaskier once they met in person? 

Surely some soulmates didn’t get along. Not everyone could be that lucky… could they? 

He was currently waiting for his guitar case to come round the carousel and he was panicking. He should have packed more clothes. He should have brought more belongings. He should have, he should have, he should have. 

‘Jaskier!’ Geralt called and the effect was instantaneous. The tension melted from his shoulders and his fingers relaxed by his side. 

‘Sorry,’ he shot back ‘just nervous.’

He’d feel a lot calmer once he had his guitar strapped to his back and Geralt in his arms. He chewed anxiously as he followed the pieces of the luggage belt with his gaze. He’d always enjoyed watching the way they shifted around as they trailed like a conga line around the airport terminal. His eyes kept flickering to the entrance of the carousel where luggage was pushing through the large rubber drapes. 

“Come on,” he muttered, hopping from one foot to another.

The anxiety began to rise again with each new suitcase that wasn’t his guitar, but he could feel Geralt’s presence warm and constant in the back of his mind. It was stronger now. He’d not expected that. No one had told him that the bond would be stronger with less distance between them. They could already communicate perfectly well from across the world but now he could almost feel Geralt’s heartbeat in harmony with his own, he could feel each breath that Geralt took if he focussed on it. He could even smell the stale scent of coffee from the shop that Geralt was waiting in. 

It was almost too much, overwhelming. 

He could have had six more years of this if he hadn’t been a coward. 

He was so caught up in the new sensations of their soul bond that he almost missed his guitar case travelling along the belt. He squeaked and had to push passed a family that was blocking his way. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, umm, excuse me!”  he yanked the guitar from the belt and ran to the nearest bench. He unzipped the case quickly and inspected his precious instrument. 

There wasn’t even a scratch!

He laughed brightly and hugged the instrument to his chest. One thing down, one to go. Next stop… Geralt! 

He zipped up the case, flinging it onto his back along with his rucksack and then ran as fast as he could through the airport. It gained him a few strange looks but he was done. He’d had enough of waiting. He stumbled a few times as the case fell down his arm but he was persistent. He bustled through the last security check with nothing to declare and then he was free.

“Geralt!!” He yelled, scanning the sea of people for a shock of silver hair. 

He saw himself through Geralt’s eyes and turned on his heels until he spotted his soulmate gazing back at him with open arms. He was here. Geralt was here. He stopped frozen to the spot for a second whilst the world seemed to slow to a halt. 

Geralt.

In the flesh.

And he could hug him. 

“Oh fuck,” tears were already falling down his face, a waterfall of emotions. “Geralt.”

The only word he had left, echoing through the bond, and then he was running again. His bag and guitar case dropping to the floor just in front of Geralt as Jaskier leapt. His arms flung around Geralt’s neck and his legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist. Geralt’s hands supported his weight with ease as Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands threading into his hair. God, he even smelled divine. That just wasn’t fair. 

“I love you,” Geralt murmured in his ear. 

The first words he heard his soulmate say in person, and fuck. If he hadn’t already been crying then that would have pushed him over the edge. He was a complete mess but he’d never been happier. He was here, with Geralt. He sobbed into Geralt’s shoulder until his soulmate lowered him gently to the floor. His legs felt weak and Geralt had to keep his arm wrapped around Jaskier’s middle to stop him from falling to the floor. Fingers brushed his cheek, wiping away some of the tears. 

“Hey?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt through a sea of tears. “Hi,” he laughed weakly. “I love you.”

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s “I love you too, fuck… I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Jaskier laughed. “Holy fuck, I’m actually here, and you’re here, and the world hasn’t fallen apart. Oh bloody hell, stop fucking crying, Jask!” he snapped, pulling away from Geralt just enough so he could wipe his face. He smiled sheepishly and gazed at his soulmate through his eyelashes. If it weren’t for the bloody ocean on his face, then he would have tried to be seductive, but that ship had long sailed. “Can… can I kiss you?” 

Geralt’s ridiculously gorgeous and actually golden eyes softened. He nodded, hand still cupping Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier almost fainted on the spot. He hadn’t been expecting Geralt to agree but he was too weak not to ask. He couldn’t even close the gap to finally kiss his soulmate, too stunned that Geralt even wanted it. Luckily Geralt still had his wits about him. A rough calloused finger stroked Jaskier’s cheek and then they were kissing. 

It was magical. He felt everything, and more. Geralt’s lips on his, Geralt’s love in his heart and his own love weaving into the fabric of Geralt’s soul. It felt so strange, after all this time to actually be here. If the emotions weren’t quite so intense then he’d almost think he was dreaming. 

‘I love you’ one of them sighed happily as their lips moved together, breaths mingling, souls completely entangled. 

I love you, I miss you, I want you, I love you…. The thoughts never stopped as they clung to each other in the middle of a shitty airport terminal. 

It was the end of Jaskier’s life as he knew it, and the beginning of a new life with Geralt by his side.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

I.

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Smith & Smith

There are a few things everyone knows at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.

The coffee bagels are inedible, Adler will fake-fire someone on your first day, and you do not hit on Dean Smith, Senior VP.

(Not that Sam wants to - gross. But apparently it's salient information, because it's the third ever text message Gabriel Milton (HR) sends him. Maybe because he'd just joined as Smith's intern, Sam reasons. Well, to hell with stereotypes. Smith is going to be nothing more than a boss - or mentor, if he'd so be willing; Sam's heard of him, and he's kind of a genius after all. That's it.

Plus, Sam's in love with, and engaged to a nurse thankyouverymuch.)

And in any case, it's not like he'd needed a memo.

Smith is obvious enough.

Obvious, with his packed lunches and secretive screensavers. Obvious, in the way he unfailingly redoes his hair before leaving, cause he's "picking Cas up first" - and with his bright smile on Mondays, because "Cas only has Sundays off".

He grins non-stop, the half hour before lunch, and then spends it holed up in his office entirely - and if Sam returns early from his own break, he can't not catch the unicorn laughs emerging from there, glass walls be damned.

Once, in fact, a package got misdelivered, and Sam returned from lunch to a bouquet on his desk, labelled on a recycled paper card with a pickup line so ridiculous - wordplay on 'honey', in fact - that it almost verified the domesticity singlehandedly.

Dean Smith is married.

There can be absolutely no other explanation.

*

As days pass, Sam's workload increases, but he's learning what he's here to learn and is grateful for it.

He also notices him and Dean grow into a friendship of sorts - finding common ground in football, not liking pineapples on pizza, and having a Navy dad - and just like that, mentions of the latter's wife start coming up more casually.

Nothing unprofessional, or overshared - just a, "you know who eats burgers like no one's business? Cas." When he brings Sam a couple of burgers back after an assignment runs late into his lunch break - or even a, "Cas's brothers are dicks," when Sam goes into his office to submit a report from Sales, and finds him, as he rarely does, texting.

As long as Dean isn't dismissive of the work Sam puts in, and he never is, Sam's fine with it. To be honest, it's kind of refreshing to see a guy be a total goner for his wife. And he is - Sam can tell from his heart eyes, if not the fondness that envelopes his voice whenever he speaks of her.

It makes him happy as well, cause he's worked here about five weeks now, and it's enough to see that Dean deserves to be as happy as 'Cas' makes him.

All things considered, Sam's definitely getting used to it.

Until one friday, when Dean shows up at nine am and declares that Cas will be picking him up today.

"There's a strike at the library."

"I see." Sam returns, eyebrows raised.

"Isn't that ridiculous? Libraries going on a strike?" Dean grins. "It's like, you know, a book-march."

Sam fights the whelming urge to bitchface.

"Stop that." Dean swats at the air. Sam hasn't said anything, so he bites his cheek. "You're basically dying to roll your eyes. Friggin' take my jokes for granted." Sam shakes his head, suppressing a smile. "No, seriously. Go on, do it. Didn't stop Cas either."

At that, Sam breaks.

Mirrors Dean's grin from before he'd put on the mock-offended glare, and Dean soon joins in.

"I'll just save my fantastic sense of humor for later."

"For Cas?"

"Nah, someone who can appreciate it -" Dean cuts himself short. "Hell, who am I kidding? Yeah, for Cas."

Sam grins wider.

"I'll be leaving at five today." Dean informs him, before disappearing into his office. Seeing as the office hours are nine to five in the first place, that isn't off the norm, but since Dean finishes late almost regularly, it's probably worth pointing out.

This way or that - Sam knows he's going to be waiting for it to be five almost as eagerly as Dean.

He's heard so much about this woman. There's almost an air of mystery surrounding her at this point. All the facts Dean's ever dropped are cloaked with something close to fictional, because Sam doesn't know her at all.

And now he's finally going to meet her.

It's not like all he does, the entire day, is think about it. But it does make writing the reports for, and inputting April 2020's data into the server that much more of a fast process - since time flies until it's five.

And then, relatively, decides to stop.

Sam stares at the elevator.

He's done with his day - prepared to leave after Dean does, though definitely not before.

Waiting, he realizes, that he's formed something of a mental image. She's blonde in his imagination - probably a generic 5'5 or 6. Blue-eyed, cause Dean's mentioned that at least twice. And not to be creepy, but he assumes she'd be pretty too, cause his boss isn't exactly what he'd describe ugly.

So without meaning to, Sam's got an eye out for someone who fits the mold.

First man in, at two past five, is short and stocky. Second is Mrs. D'souza, a receptionist on the seventh floor.

Third and fourth are interns.

Fifth is a trenchcoated guy, squarer than Sam, with a wonky tie.

Sam sighs.

It's almost ten past five - and tardiness really isn’t his thing. Or Dean’s, for that matter. Staring intently in the direction of his elevator, he’s about to start getting righteously annoyed on Dean’s behalf when there’s a tap on his shoulder.

Sam swivels in his chair, taken by surprise - and slowly, his eyes widen.

Dean’s arm is slung about the fifth guy’s shoulders, grin directed entirely towards him. And he - Jesus, he - is six feet tall, trenchcoated, and wearing a tentative smile as he looks down at Sam.

Blue eyes complete the picture - plus a five o’clock shadow which never came up - and Sam’s head reels as he finally pieces everything together.

“Dean!” He exclaims, and it must count as a greeting, because it can’t really count as oh-my-god-Cas-is-a-man.

“Hey!” Dean beams. “Figured you should meet Cas.” And turning to Cas, “That’s Sam. My prodigy, basically.”

The heart-eyes have never been more obvious. 

Sam’s an idiot.

He can’t even grin like he’s supposed to - earning himself half an eyeroll form Dean - because he’s trying to figure out how he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“It’s good to meet you, Sam.” Cas says - and the fact that it’s the lowest he’s ever heard a voice go, makes him refocus enough that he can respond.

“You too, Cas.”

Dean’s still beaming, and finally, finally caught up with himself, Sam grins back.

He’s an idiot.

Cas just smiles wider.

(Well, one thing he got right. He’s definitely pretty. But measured against a scale of everything else he got wrong - there’s a long way to go.)

“Okay so,” Dean declares, far more chipper than usual. Someone could just’ve painted smitten across his face, really. “We should go. You probably guessed this but Cas isn’t the biggest fan of where I work.”

“You have a treadmill desk, Dean.”

“And I don't see you complaining about my stamina.” Dean throws back, and their eyes lock in a silent stare - heavy enough, that neither notices Sam looking away as subtly as he can. He’s not really supposed to witness them flirting - misdelivered packages asides.

Thankfully, the stare-off breaks when Cas points out that they were leaving.

And to the backdrop of Dean grumbling about Cas’s hatred for his job, Dean puts on his overcoat - well, he hands Cas his briefcase so he can properly do so, and then Cas just holds onto it - and they say their goodbyes to Sam and take off, walking close enough to brush arms all the way to the elevator.

Once they’re out of sight, Sam slumps in his chair, scrubbing his face with an incredulous laugh. 

Of course Dean Smith is married. And of course, Cas is his husband.

[wholesomemendes]

Your Teddy Bear

Mendes Triplet Au (Peter Mendes)

Summary: No one could’ve guessed you would have ended up with Peter, but the two of you give each other a love neither of you ever thought you’d be lucky enough to experience. 

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing with the Mendes Triplet concept by @thotmendes and I’m honestly so excited about it. Also, shout out to @fallinallincurls for talking concepts with me the other night that inspired me to write this and @princecharmingmendes for telling me too write it along with a ton of other people that got me to finish this (such as @itrocksmysocks​ who sent me a bunch of Peter pictures that were absolutely adorable). So I hope you guys enjoy this! It’s literally 4.6k of just pure fluff and more fluff after that. As always please tell me what you think!

Warnings: Mild Swearing (like literally only one or two words)

No one knew how Peter Mendes ended up with you. Hell, Peter didn’t even know how he ended up with someone like you, but somehow almost every night he fell asleep with his head on your chest, your hands brushing through his mess of fluffy curls. You commanded the room any time you walked in it, confidence radiating off you in every aspect as you strode past everyone with your shoulders pushed back and chin held high. Known to be the life of the party, you were the one people could rely on to flirt your way past the guy at the liquor store to bring the best booze to all of the frat parties, and your name was well ingrained into the minds of almost every student at your wide campus. 

Peter, on the other hand, was only known by a handful of students and for a completely different set of reasons. Typically when one thought of Peter they first thought of Raul, the oldest of the Mendes triplets that was known for partying and hooking up with girls, or Shawn, the captain of the hockey team that could easily get any girl he wanted just by looking them in the eyes and serenading them with his singing and guitar. If by some miracle they knew Peter for another reason, it’d probably be because he happened to be one of the smartest students in every single one of his classes and often was asked for tutoring or help with homework. When you thought of Peter Mendes you thought of the smart Mendes, which was exactly why it just didn’t seem right that the two of you were together.

It wasn’t like you were unintelligent by any means, you got As and Bs in all of your classes, but you weren’t even close to the level of Peter’s smarts. Most students would say Raul would be your type, you both had dominating, cocky almost personalities on the outside and loved to party, a seemingly perfect fit. Or even Shawn, who had a smooth, laid back persona would be a great match for you if he didn’t already have a girlfriend to love. 

But you knew how you ended up with Peter. It was just 6 months ago when that curly headed boy walked into your life, flipping it completely upside down in the best way possible. You remember it clear as day; you had just gone into the kitchen of the frat house to get another drink when you spotted a cuddly giant leaning against the counter looking completely out of place, swirling his drink inside of his solo cup. You excused yourself, reaching behind him to grab some pop causing him to look at you with wide eyes, apologizing profusely for being in your way. Giggling at his reaction you reassured the startled boy that there was nothing to worry about, before properly introducing yourself.

“I’m Y/n by the way.”

“I know,” he responded, cheeks heating up after realizing what he had said. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t completely infatuated by you, how could he not be? You were absolutely gorgeous and the definition of perfection in his eyes, and something about your mysterious aura left him wanting to know everything about you. Yet here he was, completely embarrassing himself in front of the girl he was secretly crushing on. “I’m sorry that was so weird, um, I’m Peter,” he stuck his hand out for you to shake it, a laugh escaping your lips as you took it firmly in your own. His heart was beating out of his chest at the fact that not only were you engaging in a conversation with him, but you had just shaken his hand, which he was now realizing was not a common thing for teenagers to do and was probably screwing up any chance he had of getting to know you.

“So what’s in the cup?” you asked, motioning to the drink that was pretty much still filled to the brim, a clear sign that its contents were not appealing to him.

“Oh, um, it’s beer, but I’m not really that much of a drinker, especially in large crowds.” His cheeks burned bright red under your stare and he wondered how much deeper of a hole he was going to dig himself into with all of this information he was giving out. Surely someone like you would find him boring soon, it was only a matter of time before you left him to talk to someone hotter and much more interesting. 

But to his surprise you moved closer, leaning against the counter next to him as you brought your cup to your lips. “Want to know a secret?” you whispered, Peter nodding frantically like a little boy about to get a new toy, “I’m not that into drinking either. I only really do it at parties and even then I usually keep it to a minimum. I’ve been here for three hours and all I’ve had is half a white claws I ended up giving to my friend. This is Pepsi.” You took another sip from your cup, watching as his jaw dropped at the information causing a smirk to form on your face, “You know I’ve never actually told anyone that, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna go around telling everyone what I tell you.”

“No, no, I won't, I promise.”

“Good, now what do you say we find somewhere quieter to get away from all of this. I’ve had a long day and I have a feeling you love parties just as much as you love drinking.” Peter thought he had never smiled so wide as you took his hand and pulled him into an empty room, one you just happened to know wouldn’t be used tonight. The two of you talked for hours, about how he was dragged there and then abandoned by his two identical brothers, to the research he was doing for astronomy class. You listened intently to everything he said, even adding some of your own input about topics he never thought you would be interested in, and he truly thought in that moment that he had never felt more seen, more appreciated and thought of as someone other than the unknown Mendes brother. You parted ways when it got too late for the both of you, exchanging numbers with a promise to see the other again soon, Peter’s heart racing at the thought of seeing you once more. You never told him, but he had your heart that first night you met him, finally having someone who wanted to know more about you than how to get in your pants. 

So even though it shocked the entire school to see Peter’s arm wrapped around your shoulders two weeks later, the two of you felt perfectly content and at peace with one another, your personalities balancing each other out, fitting in like the missing pieces to your own individual puzzles. If you ever had a bad day, you knew that the moment you saw your cuddly giant of a boyfriend looking as comfy as ever in his softest sweatshirts, glasses adorning his beautiful face, your mood would instantly be lightened and everything would be alright. And that’s exactly what you needed right now, a cuddly Peter to turn your day around. 

So there you were, headed to the triplets apartment off campus to see your man. Raul, Peter, and Shawn had all bought a four-bedroom apartment only a couple minutes off campus after their sophomore year, and you were around so much that they trusted you with the code and your very own key. You fit right in with the boys easily; you had seen Raul and Shawn at a couple parties before you met Peter, but you never spoke more than a few words to one another. Now that you were dating Peter though, you were practically treated as their sister, blending right into the dynamics of their tight knit family. If there was one thing the Mendes brothers were, it was close and you never quite understood how deep their connections were with one another until you were around them so much. Peter was never known to be a player, always wanting to just be in a serious relationship, so it had been years since he had brought a girl home around his brothers. For that very reason, Shawn and Raul were extremely protective over him, but you easily passed the test they gave you right off the bat. They loved you, not to mention they could tell that Peter was head over heels for you long before he told you 3 months into your relationship. He had been laying on your chest, breathing starting to become heavy as you lured him to sleep with your head massages. 

“I love you,” he mumbled into your shirt almost incoherently, an innocent slip of the tongue in his sleepy state. You froze, hand pausing in his hair for a second as he whined from the lack of your touch, not even processing what he just said. You hadn’t ever told one of your boyfriends that you loved them, the thought always seeming too permanent and constricting. But Peter was different and you knew that from the start. He made you feel things that you worried in the dead of night you might never experience and even though it was early in your relationship, Peter felt emotions so deeply and openly that your heart was completely owned by him.

“I love you too, Pete.” He hummed in confusion at your words, suddenly a lot more awake as he sat up to look you in the eyes.

“What?”

“You told me you loved me and I said I love you too.”

“You do?” he asked, eyes wide, happy tears prickling in the corners of them.

“I don’t know how I couldn’t bubs,” and with that he surged forward, connecting your lips to his with as much passion as he could possibly muster. 

After he woke up, Peter immediately told his brothers about the night’s events, the two of them filled with joy that someone could make their brother as happy as he was. A month later he gave his virginity to you and the praise (and teasing) he got from his brothers was never ending. You weren’t forgotten either for later that day when you showed up, Shawn immediately began wiggling his eyebrows at you as Raul started cracking sexual jokes, Peter looking sheepish in the background. You had rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, though you could never be truly mad at Peter for sharing your relationship with his brothers. You learned very quickly that there was little to no privacy with the three of them and anything you did was fair game in their conversations. You didn’t mind, you loved how close they were, not to mention how supportive they were of one another, and you definitely didn’t complain when you had two extremely buff guys protecting you from drunk creeps at parties that didn’t seem to grasp the concept that you were in a relationship.

But being close to the brothers also meant they were used to your random appearances when you typically showed up unannounced even to Peter, who never complained about getting to spend more time with you. Which happened to be the case today, when you stormed in, muttering a quick hello to Raul who was spread out on the couch as you headed towards Peter’s room.

“Peter?” you asked, knocking twice before entering at his request, not even greeting him and instead landing face down on his mattress with a huff. 

Your boyfriend closed his laptop, saving his work and sitting up to give you his full attention, running his fingers over your back, “What’s wrong, angel?”

“She’s such a bitch!” you complained, rolling over onto your back to stare at the ceiling.

“Who?” This is how it usually went if you were having a bad day, he’d ask you generic questions, allowing you to let out all of your pent up frustration until you were ready to be cuddled for the rest of the night.

“Marissa! You won’t believe this. This guy comes up to me after class today and tries to give me his number and I’m obviously like no, sorry, I’ve already got the greatest man in the world, I don’t have any interest or need for anyone else. But guess what?!”

It didn’t even phase Peter at this point that a guy tried to get your number, it happened so often that he was partially immune to the doubts and jealousy that came with it. In the beginning it was hard for him, constantly feeling like he wasn’t enough and didn’t deserve you, but you proved to him time after time again that you were completely gone for him and that he was more than you could ever dream of. And he would never, ever question your loyalty to him, if there was one thing you weren’t it was a cheater. “What?”

“Turns out this dude had a girlfriend, Marissa, and so of course she was pissed that he was trying to get my number, which is understandable. But guess who she blames it on?”

“You?”

“Me! Like are you KIDDING me?! I’m not the one with loyalty issues here, sweetie, yet here you are accusing me of trying to get with your man. Why would I even want his number? Even if I was a cheater, which ugh I want to throw up just thinking about it, you’re a hundred times hotter and better than him in every way so it doesn’t make sense. So no, it wasn’t me, sorry your boyfriend’s a manwhore, Marissa.”  A chuckle escaped Peter’s lips, head tilting back against the headboard as he laughed. You turned your head at the beautiful sound, meeting his eyes a few seconds later for the first time that night. And just like that. Mood completely better. The sight of him, hair a fluffy mess basically asking to be played with, adorable glasses being pushed up by the scrunch in his nose, and comfy pink sweatshirt on his frame making him look as soft as ever. 

“Hi bubs.”

 Peter smiled his loving smile he reserved for you, laughing to himself at how quick your mood could change around him, “Hi angel. Feeling better?”

You nodded, crawling up the bed into his open arms, sliding underneath the covers next to him as you rested your head on his chest, “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” He adjusted in the bed to better lay down with you laying on top of him, stroking your hair before placing gentle kisses on the top of your head, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bubs,” you snuggled further into his chest, cheek squishing against the fabric of his sweatshirt, “Just wanna cuddle you all night long.”

“I can do that,” Peter whispered, voice soft against your ear, “You doing anything for the rest of the night? I heard Raul saying there’s a huge frat party he’s going to later.”

“Yeah I heard about that,” you admitted, “But I don’t think I’m gonna go. Rather just lay here with you. If you want to, that is.”

Peter’s heart swelled three sizes at your words, nodding his head as he traced I love you onto your back like he always did when he was given the chance. It was true that ever since you started dating Peter you weren’t found at parties as often as you used to be. You still enjoyed going to them, you even managed to bring Peter to a couple of them and he found them much more enjoyable with you by his side, but more often you found yourself just wanting to stay in with your man rather than being surrounded by a bunch of people you hardly knew. “I’d love that,” he spoke against your ear, still leaving butterfly kisses in your hair, “Why don’t we have a movie night? I bought your favorite cookie dough, I could go pop them in the oven if you wanted.”

Your head perked up at his words, a smile gracing your face, “Mrs. Field’s Chocolate Chip?”

“Mhm,” he hummed in response, a squeal leaving your mouth as you jumped off the bed pulling him with you.

“Come on, come on, cookies, Pete!” He laughed, grabbing your hand in his and letting you drag him to the kitchen. He loved how different you were with him, how you were so carefree and loving compared to the confident, I don’t care vibe you gave off to everyone. It was like a secret only he got to see and as long as you kept showing it to him, he was gonna soak in every second of it. 

Upon arriving in the kitchen, you jumped to sit onto the counter while Peter rummaged through the fridge in search of the mouth-watering cookie dough. You leaned over to wash your hands in the sink next to him before rolling the dough into large balls to get the biggest cookies possible. The first time you made cookies with Peter he was shocked at how much dough you were rolling for one cookie, claiming that they weren’t going to turn out well if they weren’t perfectly symmetrical to the suggested sizing on the side of the packaging. But once he tasted the big cookies he had no complaints, and neither did the rest of the triplets. Once the package was finished and you had two sheets of cookies in the oven, you watched as Peter set the timer on the oven, little tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Come here, big guy,” you motioned him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist once he stood in the middle of them, hands on your thighs. You placed your hands on his shoulders, one hand making its way to play with the curls on the back of his neck. He stared up at you with doe like eyes, hands frozen on your thighs no matter how much he wanted to move them. Even if you had been dating for over half a year now, Peter was still shy and nervous about touching you, so even having him put his hands there in the first place without you telling him it was ok was a big deal. “You can move your hands if you want,” you whispered, eyes holding his soft gaze, feeling his thumbs start to slowly rub circles against the fabric of your jeans, “You’re so handsome, did you know that?”

He blushed at your words, head ducking down to look at the ground, “‘M not handsome, you just have to say that cause I’m your boyfriend.” You knew Peter always had trouble with having self confidence, years of believing that his brothers were better than him really took a toll on his heart. But even if he was a part of three identical triplets, every time you looked at him all you saw was the cutest, most handsome man alive. Maybe he didn’t have endless tattoos like Raul, or piercings like Shawn, but he was Peter, your Peter, and you would do anything to convince him that he was more than enough for anyone, especially himself. 

“Pete, look at me.” You lifted his chin up with your finger, other hand smoothing along his shoulder, “I would never tell you something that wasn’t true. I don’t tell you you’re handsome because I feel I have some weird requirement as your girlfriend to do so, I do it because every time I look at you I get butterflies in my stomach over how gorgeous you are. No one has ever made me feel like you do, bubs, and I just wish you could see what I see when I look at you.” With that you brought his lips to yours, tasting the sweet vanilla of his chapstick as he moved in sync with you. You squeezed your legs tighter around him, one hand deep in his unruly curls as you pulled him closer to you, his hands moving up to find purchase on your hips. He squeezed your hips lightly three times, a silent I love you as you kissed, causing a smile to form on your face at the soft boy in your arms. 

“You better not be fucking over there!” Raul’s voice tore through the moment, the two of you breaking away from each other in order to turn around towards the couch where he was staring back at you with eyebrows raised. You rolled your eyes at his antics, turning around to find Peter with red stained cheeks and bashful eyes before calling back to the older triplet, “Don’t worry, Raul, we’re not stealing your job!”

A sincere laugh escaped Raul’s lips as you lightly pushed your boyfriend away so you could hop off the counter, earning a small whine from him in response, “Come on, bubs, let’s check on these cookies.” A couple minutes later you had a fresh batch of cookies sitting on top of the oven, the smell filling the entire apartment quick enough to have Raul next to the two of you in minutes with an already burnt tongue because he refused to wait for them to cool down. Just as you and Peter had bit into your first cookie, Shawn had come stumbling into the house with his hockey gear, a wide smile on his face, “Do I smell cookies?”

“Only the best. Want one?” you asked, handing him the plate, while Raul complained from next to you that he was just about to grab another.

“Is that even a question?” he asked, practically moaning when the taste hit his mouth, “And this is why I love having you around.”

“You say that like I’m the one that buys and makes the cookies. Peter’s the one that does all the work.”

“Yeah, but Peter only makes them for you. We only had oven baked cookies once or twice a year before you came.”

“Hey! I make dinner for you guys almost every night,” Peter countered, a slight furrow to his brows, “Not my fault the both of you can’t make your way around the kitchen without burning it.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Raul said, snatching one last cookie before heading off to his room. 

“Come on, bubs,” you ushered your boyfriend forward, grabbing his hand as he picked up the plate of cookies, “Let’s go watch Netflix.”

“But I only got one cookie!” Shawn whined from behind the two of you.

“You can get them once we’re done,” you called out before shutting Peter’s door, “if there’s any left.” Peter laughed from behind you, loving the relationship you had with his brothers. Honestly, he didn’t know what he would do if you didn’t get along with them, his brothers were his world and their opinion mattered to him more than anyone else’s. But now that you were so prominently in his life, he could easily say that your opinion was on that same level, if not higher than that of his brothers. 

“Hey angel?” he asked nervously, playing with the strings on the hood of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah, bubs?”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Do you maybe want to stay the night?” You had stayed the night a handful of times, probably more than you should for the length of your relationship, and everytime the two of you woke up with the most content smiles on your faces, wanting nothing more than to just stay that way for the rest of the day.

“Of course, Pete, as long as I get to steal one of your sweatshirts to sleep in,” you told him, walking over to him and replacing his hands with yours on his hoodie strings. His hands found their way to your hips, rubbing in gentle circles to calm the racing heart he always had around you. 

“I’ll give you all of my sweatshirts, you look better in them anyways.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, giving him a soft kiss, “I’ve never met a man that looks more cuddly in a sweatshirt than you do. You’re my teddy bear, bubs.” A wide smile formed on Peter’s face and he leaned in to kiss your lips one more time before he was opening the drawer to his sweatshirts. He handed you the one he knew was always your favorite, grabbing his own set of flannel pants and a shirt to sleep in. He turned around to let you change in privacy while he did the same, even though the two of you had seen each other in much more intimate situations prior to this. No matter how many times you told him he didn’t have to turn around, he always claimed he just wanted to respect you and didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way, shape, or form. 

“All done, bubs, come cuddle.” You opened your arms to him from where you were laying in his bed and a large smile found its way to his face as he launched himself into your arms. Giggling at your adorable boyfriend, you adjusted so he could lay under the covers with his arms wrapped around your body. You turned the tv on, scrolling through random romcoms on Netflix while Peter munched on a cookie beside you. One of the things you loved about Peter was how much he loved romcoms, always falling in love with the romantic content as much as you. 

Halfway through the movie and you swore the two of you had eaten enough cookies to keep you full for a week, while saving one for Shawn of course. Somewhere in the midst of things, Peter’s head found its way to its beloved spot on your chest and your fingers immediately began massaging through the curls on his head. “You smell different, Pete. Did you change shampoo or cologne or something?” You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the more kisses you left on his curls, the more you felt something was different. He dug his head into your (his) sweatshirt, mumbling something incoherent while trying to hide his rosy red cheeks. “What are you trying to say? I can’t hear you while you’re eating my sweatshirt,” you teased, watching as his red face lifted up to meet yours.

“It’s yours,” he mumbled again, shoving his face back into your chest. You leaned down again, taking a sniff of his hair and finding it to resemble your typical scent right away.

“Why are you using my shampoo, bubs?”

He sighed, turning his head so you could hear him better, “Cause you left one of your bottles here last time you used it and I don’t know, just missed you a lot and you always smell so good.”

“Oh yeah, what do I smell like?”

“Home.” He answered with such sincerity that you knew this was something he had thought about for a long time. Your heart burst, love pouring out of you in such ways that you almost felt like crying happy tears right there on the spot.

“I, um, I have a candle that I keep next to my bed because I think it smells like your cologne. And it calms me down when I’ve had a bad day and I can’t come see you,” you confessed, hands coming back to his hair. 

“You can always come see me, angel. Love having you around.”

You smiled to yourself when you heard his speech becoming more slurred, sleep overcoming him, “I love you, Pete.”

“I love you too, angel. My beautiful, beautiful angel.” He left feather-like kisses over your sweatshirt-clad chest, snuggling deeper into your warmth as his breathing began to even out. You reached over to turn off the tv, feeling safer than you’ve ever felt with your big, cuddly teddy bear in your arms.

[frightfurtabby]

HimiKiyo Week 2021 Day 4: I Am Not Your Queen

// Mastermind Kiyo AU for day 4! Because that’s a pretty good reason to be enemies. Could things be different? It’ll take a while for these two to figure out.

Word Count: 2848

Links-

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34159447

Amino: (coming soon)

“That’s right. If all other alibis check out…” Shuichi said, hand on his chin. This was the final class trial, everyone’s fate hinged directly on what was going to happen next. It depended on the case they’ve built up so far being absolutely correct. One irrefutable accusation and the mastermind’s entire game was crumbling to pieces like a house of cards. “Then there can only be one person that was behind the lies that killed Kaede, Rantaro, and all our other friends.” 

His finger pointed across and to his left, at the person standing between Tsumugi and Maki at their trial bench. “Korekiyo Shinguji, you’re the real mastermind behind the killing game!”

The detective's words echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. Himiko, in spite of how many times others called her “slow” grew increasingly silent as the discussion kept going back to them and their actions from earlier. They had been outed as a serial killer in a previous trial but in spite of everything they helped Himiko at her lowest point immediately after what had happened with Angie and Tenko. 

She remembered crying on Kiyo’s shoulder, listening to their soothing voice put her at ease, advice like a wise sage being passed down. Each and every time she needed it, she would go to that anthropology lab. Each time her footsteps took her in, her feelings only grew stronger. Her first kiss was in there, with them. Before what happened there was a pull she felt, but she never got much of a chance to get close with how intimidating they came off as.

Kiyo, who was now replying calmly as though none of it was bothering them. This was how it started in the other trial too, So that should be reassuring right? 

“Yes, it was me.” they said, “I just so happened to pick up my own after noticing Kaede had taken one with help from my nanokumas.”

Oh. 

Oh no.

And now it felt like the world was crumbling again. Only instead of feeling deflated and alone she was enraged. Enraged that the case against Kiyo didn’t have any holes in it. How could it be true? And now just admitting to it?

“Was all of that… was all of it a lie Kiyo?” she begged that what they had was real. Even now standing across from them as enemies. 

“No. I’ve been up front with you this whole time. There were simply parts of the story you weren’t ready to know. And you still… aren’t ready yet.”

“But you- but you-” words escaped the Mage, leaving her unable to think calmly and properly. “You could have stopped this at any point, but you kept going.” She didn’t even notice they felt a tinge of fear underneath the words she was replying to.

“Why assume I have enough control to end it early, that would be going far off-script.” A small bead of sweat formed which the killer wiped away. 

Wait… off script? What did something like that even mean?

Himiko turned to notice that Maki was giving them a death glare. “Because you’re the mastermind, obviously.”

“Oh, I see. In that case… no, I wasn’t working alone to do this.” they began to explain. “This wouldn’t have been possible without Team Danganronpa and all the fans watching right this very minute!”

“T-Team… D-Danganronpa?” Tsumugi stuttered in shock.  

“Yes, the studio that put together the killing game with me on the ground so to speak to act on their behalf. We are not actually the only ones left alive, there are more humans alive than any other time in history and millions upon millions of them tune into this program.“

“The world is… fine?” Kiibo pondered. The revelation made him tense about what his inner voice may be.

“Why would the world want a killing game?”

Kiyo responded “It works as a kind of release valve, I suppose. Conflicts have dwindled over the existence and increasing popularity of this show after all.”

“Can we… Can we go home? Kiyo please, let me go, let *us* go. You can do that right?”

“Even though it is not destroyed, you still cannot.” The other voice came from Korekiyo once more. Sister was back in action. Sternly she looked over each of the remaining survivors. As though she was looking down on them.

Himiko glared at her from under her hat. “You again.” While she was feeling so complicated about Korekiyo right now, she unambiguously disliked their “Sister”. Then it hit her. Maybe if the Sister personality was the one that was the one really in charge she could forgive them… maybe.

It would take a lot after something as horrible as this. Especially since Maki and Shuichi swore to never forgive the mastermind, she was certain that she wouldn’t either. Even if Kiyo was just a lackey it would take time to trust again.

“I’m pleased you’ve all made it this far.” Sister said, sounding incredibly pleased with herself, rather than anything they’d accomplished. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you. I’d like you all to meet the fans.” 

The blush bear sweated, making the cartoon ‘awooga’ sound like a character seeing an attractive person. “Yes ma’am.”

Futuristic gears spun in front of Monokuma, bringing a keyhole to in front of him, he stuck the key in and several screens proceeded to descend. Faces appeared: Asian, white, black, men, women, even children. Various expressions across their features. None of them stayed long enough for any witness to recognize, even if they remembered anyone they had known.

“These are the fans of Danganronpa.” Sister explained. “Danganronpa is their collective favorite show. The 53rd season has been one of the most successful in years.

The discussion was halted. It was surreal, more so than even waking up here originally was. All of those people had been watching the whole time. 

Himiko asked “So the fans they saw… everything?” Did they know who the mastermind was?”

“I presume some of them did, but this reveal is equally for their benefit. There’s a vibrant debate each season about who the mastermind is and how they did it. Occasionally spoilers will get leaked.”

“So this… was the killing real?” Tsumugi’s voice wavered as she tried to speak up.

“Yes, that part was real. The people playing those eliminated characters are gone from this world as well as the real one.” Sister took off Kiyo’s hat and put it across their chest looking solemn. “They knew there was a strong chance of that, and signed up like many other fans before them.”

“Was it you or Korekiyo who committed Rantaro’s murder?” Shuichi prodded. The shock was wearing off. The trial was continuing at last in the wake of 2 extremely unnerving revelations.

“I feel like that’s a question dear Korekiyo should give the answer to.” Their shared body pulled up the mask and Kiyo began to speak again 

“It was as I said many times, I’m only meant to be an observer. I… admittedly broke that role when I chose to do what I did. I even apologized to them, to myself for it.”

“Then why, surely you must have had a reason.” Shuichi prodded. 

“Regrettably for my ethnography, our class that should have been in a completely fresh, sealed environment was muddied when I did it. Sometimes what I want comes into conflict with a higher power and they were banking on Rantaro Amami’s death being the hook for the episode.”

“So then Kaede’s shot put ball really missed…then why didn’t you kill all of us when we got the answer wrong? Simply f--for Television ratings?”

“I’m afraid the answer to that is yes. That is why everyone survived the sham trial. The fans would have completely revolted.”

“But maybe we’d be spared this revolting game continuing. Do you understand all of this is wrong?” Maki shot at them. 

“Those are quite the harsh words from a professional killer. Though… maybe I shouldn’t say that, your backstory is fake after all.”

“So then… I didn’t spend all that time…” Maki muttered. That wouldn't stop all of it from feeling deeply real. 

“No you did not. That is part of the Ultimate Real Fiction.” Kiyo explained. “It was put into your mind by the flashback lights, as Shuichi deduced. All of our lives were.”

“Being fundamentally changed into a completely different person with a completely different life… what kind of cruel person would force someone to-” Maki

“Forced to?” Kiyo asked quizzically. “No, I can assure you every one of you wanted this. Team Danganronpa takes all of your input very seriously.”

“Our… input?” Himiko asked.

Kiyo clapped their hands together. “Of course. Now I shall show you!”

The screen cut away from the faces of the fans and to some kind of tape. Shuichi Saihara stood in front of the camera. He spoke about how he loved Danganronpa and wanted to be a detective character.

He finished with “ And I’d do anything to be in danganronpa. I will come up with the best, most gruesome murders. Everyone would love it! And, a detective character hasn’t been the blackened yet, so I’m sure I could do that. I’m even thinking about the perfect punishment… for the ultimate detective.”

His glee was evident. Someone so against the killing right now had been one of the biggest fans ever, with a Junko like joy in thinking about how he would be punished as the culprit. It really was like before coming here he wasn’t the same person.

They even went so far as to play Kaede and Kaito’s revealing in part they had said things like “I don’t have any faith in humanity” and “I’m going to kill everyone and win.” respectively. 

“So you see… none of us were the same. If you like how you are now then you may stay perhaps? Finish the fight of hope against despair. Or we, as friends, could all stay here?”

“No, we won’t do that.” Shuichi said, pointing dramatically. “Right guys? The only way to get through and win this. It’s to reject hope and despair. The very premise of Danganronpa.”

It was put up to a vote. Before that, the outside world had tried to argue Hope or Despair, reinforcing the choice. But the cast continued to refuse. 

“We’ll end this with our own hands!” 

It came and went. And… Everybody abstained.?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kiibo flew out of the trial room, determined to end the entire killing game now no matter the cost. Everyone would finally be free. All he needed was to finish off this prison school with his upgrades. Rocket boosters made it easy to fly to the next part to blow up.

Down below him, the remaining survivors stood in the courtyard. Kiyo had stopped right before outside. Himiko stopped as soon as she noticed they weren’t running like the others. And those three stopped everything because their friend was endangering herself.

She approached them, which caused a curious head tilt. They had been waving before that moment. It should have been goodbye forever.

“I can’t… let it end like this. It shouldn’t end with you dying like Junko.” 

“Why not? Do you not doubt my feelings? I’m just playing my part after all.”

“Your part, look… about that, listen.”

“And what a grand p-” It seemed like they wanted their final words to be some grandiose speech. 

“We don’t have time, please.” She grabbed them by the hand, watching the school building collapse further as it became less able to hold its own weight with all the holes punched in each wall. Over her shoulder she pleaded with Maki to help move the obstinate murderer. 

The rock above must have spurred Maki on. If she had done nothing, surely both of them would have been crushed. And as painful as it was to keep someone who worked for the captors around she wasn’t about to lose another friend after watching what had happened with Kaito and Kokichi getting themselves killed in that harebrained scheme. 

If it ended like that, it felt like it was disrespecting their plan to stop the killing.

Maki also helped Himiko pull Kiyo away towards an opening that formed after Kiibo blew himself up to take the cage down with him. Four people crawled through, blinded by a bright expanse. 

Birds chirped. Several voices could be heard shouting. It was time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The campus was in a bright field. In fact they could clearly see the ruined courtyard from where they all stood. The wall was broken down and so all that was left behind was the twisted, warped metal of their former cage and the buildings they had walked for the several months they were in a fictional world cut off from everything else.

The line separating the two worlds was broken. It was really that thin the whole time. And it reflected the true reality they found around them. 

It was as unfamiliar as their memory of waking up inside what they had just left. Nobody but the mastermind retained any memory of ever being in this place.

They were led to a hallway by uniformed employees, many rooms lining each side of it. It looked exactly like the dorms that had been in the fictional hope’s peak. Save for the fact all the placards were for them: the survivors and the deceased. 

If there was much spoken, Himiko didn’t pay attention to it. She didn’t know what to say, how to process much of it internally. 

Korekiyo was much more aware and listened, chiming in hoping to be helpful in spite of the fact none of them would want their help. 

The mastermind was almost always scripted to be killed, to be thoroughly and finally defeated by the hope of the students. It was in fact what they had agreed to happen. This class was very different. Shuichi and Kaito and Maki of course, but the whole time Himiko was special too. 

And she didn’t remember why that was. 

They had agreed in private at some point before the procedure to fully become their characters but after the first scene’s rehearsal that it would be terrible if only one of the two had to die. In the moment of escape there was a split second where Kiyo could swear a spark in her eyes indicating some kind of memory of this.

Was it an unspoken acknowledgement? They had to check. If she had really remembered something, then maybe there wasn’t a need to perform a routine as enemies. And they could be forgiven for what happened. At least, more easily so than if she did not recall what things were like leading up to the actual game.

After things settled down, Himiko and Kiyo privately met once again. Both were nervous. 

“Himiko Yumeno. I… would like to ask you something.” 

She didn’t look up, just sitting in the chair and debating whether or not she should be afraid of them. They could go back to being Sister at any point, and that would really freak her out. 

“Go ahead.” the redhead muttered.

“Why did you save me?” Kiyo leaned forward trying to listen more closely.

“I don’t know. I… maybe it was a mistake letting you live. For some reason though I felt… like I had to.”

Maki, Shuichi, and Tsumugi certainly let her know how much of a mistake they thought it was. It didn’t feel good, even if the latter two tried their best to be polite about it. 

“If it makes you feel any better I’m not sure how I feel about this either.”

“Do you… no, did you want to die Kiyo?”

“Yes. I was quite fine with it.” they held their tongue upon finishing, hesitating. That statement was not entirely true. They had accepted it, but part of them still felt bad that only she would get out of this if they had. And that was debatably the worst outcome. The other two options would have been preferable, and they got one of them!

“I… well you know how much I wanted to die in the killing game. How scared I was.”

“I knew how much you wanted to die before, from your audition.”

That reminded her. “Why didn’t you show any from mine then?”

“I…” Kiyo started, rubbing the back of their neck. “I was sure you would hate me even more than you already should if I showed it the way I did the others.”

“Can you show me it?” she perked up a little bit. Why were they so concerned about if she hated them? They certainly seemed willing to tell her all sorts of things even though they were enemies.

They nodded and produced a USB drive. They walked over to a laptop and put it in. “And if you don’t remember anything after this, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Promise?” she pleaded with them.

“Yes.” a small smile was hidden by their mask. Maybe being enemies wasn’t a forever thing.

[regrettablewritings]

If there’s still a slot: General headcanons for Ella Lopez of Lucifer?

Yii, you caught the tail end :3

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?: You did, and it was a struggle for the both of you. For you, it was because Ella was everything you weren’t: Extroverted, bubbly, and just all-around so heart-throbbingly lovely that her mere presence overwhelmed you, yet also brought you a sense of peace. But your shy and introverted nature made even looking directly at her a huge hassle. For Ella, it was because the last time she’d been asked out, she nearly got killed. She didn’t want to consider what happened to her a source of trauma, but the series of events definitely left their mark on her, leaving her extremely hesitant when it came to anyone looking for a date. At least with bad boys, she had a vague idea of what she was getting into. But with seemingly pleasant people? There was simply no shortage to how many awful possibilities there were. She really was tempted to turn you down, as much as a part of her died a little at the thought. She wanted to believe that you weren’t bad -- after all, what were the odds that she would wind up dating a serial killer twice in a row, let alone in a lifetime? Thankfully, she had a fallen angel by her side: Never one to miss out on potential interference, Lucifer happily stepped in and “studied you himself” (read: asked you what your desire was) and was nauseated yet relieved to report that your answer was “to kiss Ella Lopez and hold her hand and bring her flowers on Wednesdays just because, and to -- ”. He was more than happy to vouch for you, so long as you put a lid on it. Keeping all this in mind, it should go without saying that it was an awkward start for the two of you. But then again, as you both got into the groove of things, not a regret was to be found even six months later.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?: As happy as you were when Ella accepted your proposal for a date, it also set you on an inward panic: You honestly didn’t think you’d get this far. Now you actually had to think up a date. Someone as outgoing and wonderful as Ella deserved a whole slew of activities just as impressive as her, but the problem was that you couldn’t think of any as they practically bottlenecked in your brain. Plus, the idea of going to some of these large gatherings just made your anxiety spike at the mere thought of it. You tried outsourcing, asking friends and colleagues for input, but that turned out to be a mistake. The biggest offender was, of course, Lucifer, who told you take her for a night out on the strip (and maybe do a little stripping of your own for good measure). You wanted to kick your ass for being such a coward, but it was Chloe’s advice you settled on: Just a simple coffee date to get to know one another. You wanted nothing more than to drown yourself in the mug you clutched with dread as you sat in the hipstery coffee shop you’d invited Ella to. Way to go, (Y/N), you berated. You finally ask her out and the best you can do is a basic coffee date? What hetero nonsense is this!? Now she’s going to know what a loser you are -- “Hey, are you okay?” Ella questioned, brows knitted with concern. You could feel non-coffee-induced heat rising to your cheeks. “Y-yeah,” you lied. Your grip tightened on the cup. “I just, um . . .” You sighed; lying wasn’t ever really your strongest suit. “I’m sorry. I kinda flopped on the whole date thing. I knew I should’ve gone with something a bit more impressive but I chickened out -- ” “Oh no no no! I actually really appreciate it! Seriously, it’s um . . . It’s nice to try and keep things simple sometimes, y’know?” And she meant it: Given how things went with the he-who-shan’t-be-named, Ella could see the value in just getting to be in a calm environment instead of being ushered into a noisy one. Besides, what better way to get to know you? Or to contrast with her previous dating situations? Chloe might’ve been on to something when she suggested you keep it small and simple: Cliche as it was, it worked, and it was that sort of moment that made you realize all the more that there were no real regrets to be had by asking out Ella Lopez.

What was their first kiss like?: Startling, though not in a bad way. You just didn’t think she’d want to kiss you. After all, this was still early on when you were nervous about her even sticking around: You were shy, not what she was known for dating, and she was still pretty hesitant about dating at all due to the last guy to come around. Or so you thought. While it was true that the scars had left their marks, this didn’t mean that Ella was uncertain about where she wanted this to go: On the contrary, after a month of going out (thanks to your patience), she already reached her conclusion. And she reached it the moment you spiraled into a nervous, babbling mess. She thought it was actually very cute how you got kickstarted into a practical infodump on how Seduction of the Innocent essentially paved the way for how the west at large interprets comic books. You, however, found it embarrassing and felt compelled to frantically apologize for it. But in spite of Ella’s insistence that it was okay, you kept insisting right back that it was weird. As the young lady saw it, the only way to shut you up was to provide a very sudden but very thorough lip lock. You stammered to a slow halt when she cupped your cheeks, but the kiss was ultimately a good measure. And it certainly did shut you up on the matter. For the rest of the night, all you could think about was that kiss, and what subjects you could possibly ramble about to get you more.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?: You’re Ella’s first actually decent partner. And considering what that means, it’s not something to take lightly. There’s an actual adjustment period for her, realizing that the most malicious thing you plan to do to her is to maybe at most eat some of her fries whenever you pick up McDonald’s for her when she’s working late.

What’s their height difference? Age difference?: At 5′4″, Ella is a tiny bit itty bitty when compared to some of her peers. But, hey, do with that knowledge what you will. (And I honestly have no idea how old Ella is supposed to be because her actress is in her 40s but the way she plays Ella indicates that she’s probably in her early 30s at most.)

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?: Considering that Ella has a complex relationship with her own family, it wouldn’t be shocking to say that your own attempts to learn more about them have been . . . less than ideal. You haven’t actually met any of them in person due to the distance, but it’s also because Ella just isn’t ready for you to properly meet them just yet. It’s nothing to say about your relationship, but Ella knows that her family and some of their more troubling behaviors might not be the best thing to get you into right now. The most you might get is the occasional quick chat Ella puts on speakerphone, so it’s hard for you to get any real grasp on how they see you. But you’re not one to really push things, and you certainly won’t start now. If and/or when Ella is ready to cross that bridge, you’ll be ready, too. Ella hasn’t directly met your family, either, but at least she’s talked to them on the video calls you usually have with them. Your family is stunned when they learn you’re dating Ella: You never struck them as the type to date somebody so outgoing, much less be the one to ask the outgoing person out! But they’re definitely happy for you: You clearly don’t see an issue with Ella’s sunshiney personality, you’re living your best life, and they’d like to think that maybe some of her social butterfly tendencies will rub off on you.

Who takes the lead in social situations?: Ella. You know it’s got to be Ella. She’s a natural social butterfly, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to a flame for it. She may not be the smoothest talker, and often can say some oddball things, but she almost never appears to be fettered by it. It’s a high contrast to you, who will kick her own ass behind a dumpster in an alley if she stumbles a word in a sentence or shows hesitation. Being the practical saint that she is, Ella’s taken notice and has tried in her own little ways to help encourage you. For example, if she notices you’re struggling to express a thought to someone whom you find intimidating and she’s just close enough, you’ll feel her fingers quietly entwine with yours before giving a gentle squeeze of assurance. Ella may take the lead, but she makes sure you never feel alone or left behind.

Who gets jealous easier?: Neither one of you is a especially jealous person, but you do both have some worries that may constitute as forms of jealousy. Ella may get nervous about the relationship from time to time, but it has nothing to do with the possibility that you might become fond of somebody else and leave with them. It’s got more to do with the fact that you’re her first actually good relationship. Really, the closest she gets to jealousy is when she sees you getting along very well with someone. Someone who probably isn’t exactly as hesitant about the idea of dating you as she is. She just feels nervous and worried because she really does like you and really does mean to trust what the two of you have going on. And thankfully, you understand this. But that doesn’t stop you from worrying that she’ll still up and leave you for someone much cooler. You know how lovable Ella can be, so surely it’s only a matter of time before some much cooler nerd comes along in a sexy cosplay or something and sweeps her off her feet. But the reality of the matter is that you’re two nerdy goons trying to make it work, and you’d never back out on the other. Still . . . It doesn’t hurt to hold hands when you guys go places. Or plan couples’ cosplays. Or give her one of your Star Wars pins while she gives you one of her Star Trek keychains to essentially mark the other as taken in a silent way. Just little indicators that you’re definitely together, y’know?

Thank you for your patience!

[sol-korolevas]

—𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: rk900 x gn!reader 

words: 8.2k+

summary: “there you are, the wound. the warning. what am i, then? the breach?” 

warning: super mild violence (for now)

note: gosh writing dbh brings me back to the days where i habitually upload at least one fic to the tag. it’s been several months since my last fic so i’m gonna need to rectify that :3c this work is inspired by a previous fic, but i added more meat into this one. rk900 is such a bastard in my book and i hope i do his bastardness some justice so enjoy!

Never show weakness. 

Weakness can be controlled and manipulated. It leaves you vulnerable to the mercy of the enemy; it’ll kill you. But weakness is also a human facet that’s ingrained into the mind. And it’s a remembrance to humanity’s mistakes and proof of the existence of humanity. 

Someone told you weakness cannot be shed, but you can tether it and guard it with your ferocity. 

And, they said, ferocity is precious. 

Wear it like a crown of fangs. 

Hold it as a gun, heavy and warm on the flesh of your hand.

“What did you do?” 

All of a sudden, you feel the oppressive stare of RK900 pushing down on you. When once you can easily respond in kind, you now feel at a loss. 

Control everything, even your weakest emotions. 

And yet, you still lost control. You pulled the trigger too early, believing that you had won. After the explosion comes reality, the world shatters, bending forward until it's weight pushes you down onto your knees. The gun in your hand slips out and clatters onto the ground beside you - now just a deadweight. The ringing is loud and you’re not sure if it's from the aftermath of the shooting or from your own mind. You cannot block out the noise no matter how close you press your palm to your ears. Suddenly, you have no idea where everything is anymore. All you can think about is the ‘why’s ‘and the ‘how’s’. 

“[Name]!” a familiar voice calls to you and you turn your gaze towards it, eyes watching with a pathetic plea for help. RK900’s icy stare run chills down your spine, even more so when he’s standing tall and looking down upon you like the wraith he is. 

He crouches then, setting his gun beside him, his body blocking away the sight behind him as he takes your chin and tilts it up. The gesture is tender, if not for the blankness of his stare. 

You sometimes forget he’s incapable of the fundamental kindness humans have. Within his barren heart is just the life force that keeps him moving. 

The void in his eyes stare back and you panic, reaching towards his wrist with both of your hands so you can wrap them around it. 

He doesn’t let go. 

“Why did you shoot the hostage, [Name]?” he murmurs, but the venom in his words is clear. “You were supposed to save it and you failed.” When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin and, out of instinct, you attempt to stand, almost falling to the ground before RK900 grabs your shoulders and pushes you down.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just answer my question.”

The flicker of emotion in his words terrifies you and it further reminds you of the catastrophe laid out in front. 

“I-I lost control of myself—” you choke out, eyes following RK900’s movement as he stands and walks toward the fallen android. 

Time becomes still. The ocean doesn’t smell like an ocean anymore as the scent of red and blue blood bloats the air. Even the gull birds’ cries have been swept away by the chill of the aftermath. Shadow drapes over the cargos; the area you are in is illuminated by dim lights - the strongest of which is cast over the pile of bodies. 

The only sound left is the click of his pristine shoes and your heart beating through your ear. 

Your body falls forward, elbows keeping you from fully meeting the ground, as you watch him crouch down and take out the thirium pump. There are black wires still connecting it to the android before RK900 rips the pump away. You see the red LED light on the fallen android’s temple blink rapidly until it goes blank. 

“What are you doing?” you ask in horror. 

“Cleaning up the mess you made, [Name],” Rk900 says, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder. His words quickly silence you, the brevity of it all coming back after the initial shock of seeing RK900 doing this. 

He then takes the kidnapper’s gun and shoots the android in the forehead, before replacing the gun back into the kidnapper’s hand and once more into its chest. The skin on his arm is dissolved - a safety precaution. 

The light of his LED circulates yellow and orange as his skin eventually returns. You watch as RK900 begins to search for something, before finding it - a bullet - and picks it up. 

He’s feeling the weight of it, moving it around in his hold as if studying the shape. “I’ve wiped the cameras and cleared the android’s memory cache, now no one will know what happened.” 

“No, this is wrong,” you quickly say, scrambling up. But before you can move properly, your body tips forward from the fatigue. And RK900 is there to catch you, gripping your waist with one arm. Immediately you rip your gaze away, not wanting him to see you at your most vulnerable anymore. 

But in the end, RK900 wins - he always wins - as you turn your gaze to him. You notice the corner of his mouth twitch as if he’s going to smile. Instead, he says,“ ‘This is wrong’? Would it be better if I tell the command what you did then?” 

The numbness in your mind stops. 

Some sense finally floods in as you disassemble his words. There’s nothing but a grim reality for you if word gets out. If he speaks - if any of you speaks - then the years behind you will truly be lost, forever. And you’ll be marked by the sin you just committed. 

But this is no less criminal than what you just did. 

And despite it all, the naively moral person in you still wouldn’t relent. “Unfix all of this, RK900.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do, [Name],” he says, pressing the hand containing the bullet against yours., “Not when I am saving both of us.” 

There’s no ‘but’s’ and ‘if’s’; no hesitations either. It’s either a shaky road ahead or punishment. 

You must accept this and with acceptance, you slump your shoulders. But the grip on your waist tightens and you squeak, feeling soreness everywhere on your body. 

“So now it’s a secret, and we lie,” you manage to say, forcing yourself to look into RK900’s eyes. But it’s not easy with RK900, despite having a hand in this. The look of superiority so natural to him diminishes all hope of sympathy for your plight. Although you’re not looking for that; you’re now looking for a semblance of peace, more than ever. “Unless—” 

Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer, his pale lips brushing too close to the shell of your ear. 

“Unless you are not doing what we all agreed to,” he tells you, voice calm and collected. This is now personal to RK900, you can hear it by the hush of his words. He sees some kind of chance, some kind of reason to do what he did.

Except, he has no sense of monetary or material value. You know because he always plays by the book - he’s a military and police assistance designed to assist human officers. 

He wants one thing and one thing only. 

“You want me to continue to work as a police detective.” 

You watch as he chuckles, eyes creasing with a hint of pleasure glimmering underneath his stormy gaze. But the brief look of human emotion feels foreign; it’s a mask he wears. Underneath the light, he looks far more like a fiend. 

The thick blocky letters of his name fizzle in and out as you mindlessly cling onto the fabric of his shoulder. 

“Absolutely, but you’ll listen to me without question. No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing manages to come out. In the past, he had always made it hard for you. You came in late, he scolds you; you forget a deadline, he scolds you; you talk too much with a coworker, he tells Fowler and then returns to mock you. To RK900, you’re too careless and naive - vastly different from the perfection that he is. 

To anyone else, RK900’s condition can be easy - normal even. But you know, underneath his request, is another demand. 

Absolute obedience. 

But now, everything is better than being fired. 

“Think of this as a punishment for you, [Name],” comes RK900’s voice. He still doesn’t release you, knowing that you hate unnecessary contact between himself and you more than anything in this world. You sense a certain kind of twisted pleasure forming in him, from the smugness in his tone to the way he looks at you. “And think of this as a lesson too, on why you should think before you act,” he adds. 

If you have a clearance of mind and of a stronger character, you would’ve argued back and taken control of the situation. Especially since you are his superior in both name and title. And under normal circumstances, you will absolutely rebel against him.  

He’s supposed to be underneath you, not the other way around. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Okay, I’ll work harder and accept your input.” 

It’s hard to keep sarcasm away usually, but this time you’re serious. 

A part of you still doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re closer to corruption - the opposite of what you want to be. Your cheeks are heating up and there’s a tremble to your limbs. The ringing in your ears is still present. 

“Very good, I know we can somehow come to a mutual agreement one day.” RK900 finally lets you go before passing a thumb across your cheek. You flinch and move away as far as you can. He knows you hate the agreement as much as he enjoys it. 

When you see him turn his back on you in the distance, you open your hand. The bullet is deformed. There’s a chance that no one will even know this bullet is shot by a different gun. You still have your gun with you. 

RK900 could’ve easily mentioned this and gave you peace of mind. 

And he must’ve transferred the memory cache into himself before wiping it away from the android. 

You’ve always thought he’s trying to work his way above you. 

Now you think he succeeded

“Detroit’s first android ambassador.” Fowler’s words are heavy and thick as he paces around his office. You and RK900 both watch in silence, standing side-by-side in front. The screen behind him flashes the news of what happened two days before. Every once in a while you see the frozen features of the android you shot, looking back at you. There’s no life in those empty-looking eyes. 

Nothing that gives a hint of it being once alive. 

Immediately, you look away. 

In one corner, you notice a small video screen with the leftover remnants of Markus’s rebellion speaking at a podium. It cuts off to Fowler speaking at a press conference, but the words are muted. 

You fucked up, you fucked up so bad and they don’t even know the other half of it. 

“Do you know the name of this android you’re saving, [Last]?” Fowler asks, nodding towards the screen where the android’s face appears. You want to look away, but you know it’ll only force you to dig a deeper grave. Fowler isn’t stupid; he knows all the tics in you from the moment you joined. There’s a reason why he’s here in this position. But Fowler doesn’t wait for an answer, because he says, “RK900, tell [Name] the name of the hostage that was supposed to be saved.” 

“Victor, sir,” RK900 says without hesitation. He doesn’t look at Fowler, instead, he keeps his gaze to the floor with an emotionless look on his face. He seems so passive and subservient; you couldn’t even hear the coldness in his voice. You’re not sure whether you like him like this or if you’re envious of Fowler because of RK900’s difference in demeanor. 

“Victor—” Fowler sits down on his office chair and brings his fingers together, his elbows resting on the desk— “Android-kind’s hope to rectify a long, long period of scorn and hate from the society that built them.” 

He sighs, huffing out a breath. “At least there are still other ambassadors willing to meet us.” 

You look up from your gaze on the floor, noticing the way Fowler’s shoulders sag as he picks up a picture frame. There’s a brief flash of tenderness in his eyes before he sets down the frame and looks back at you. 

“I’ve asked Hank to make sure the other android ambassadors are all safe - put them in witness protection if need be.” 

“That’s a very good plan, sir,” RK900 replies. 

Fowler is still looking pointedly at you, his face unwavering in the seriousness of the situation. You know your face is cracked, splitting between guilt and remorse. To the unknowledgeable outsider, they would think it’s from the failed hostage extraction. 

Silence slowly brews and Fowler is awaiting a response from you. RK900’s knuckles brush against yours in an effort to make you talk without verbalizing his intentions. 

You know you need to speak - you want to speak - but all the words catch in your throat. Even your mind is in chaos; it wants to justify what you did while putting in caution to not let slip of what really happened; it wants to come up with ways to make some kind of amendment, some kind of solution to all this. 

But, none of this can rewind time and bring Victor back. 

“Why did you allow the kidnapper to shoot the hostage?” 

You tense, suddenly hearing the gunshot ring inside your ear again and the painful feeling of your knees hitting the ground. But amidst the chaos, RK900’s footsteps going towards the pile of bodies echoes with clarity. You still remember all the words he said, the promise he made to you, and the promise you made to him. And then, when you finally find yourself coming up with an explanation, you realize you couldn’t. 

Years before you promised yourself not to fall into the depths of corruption - as both a civilian and as police. 

But, oh, how the tables turned. 

“I-I won’t lie, we did fail, and—” you pause just as you feel RK900’s hand bump into the back of yours. It’s a deliberate act; it’s him warning you not to tell. And you look at him - at his face - and see the faint furrow of his dark brows and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look back, but you can already feel his voice playing against your mind. 

Keep quiet.  

RK900’s hands are now folded behind his back as he takes one step forward. “We tried initiating contact with the kidnapper as diplomatically as possible, but when he saw us, he struck. I believe he meant to kill the hostage anyway; it was merely a game for him.” He spoke with such calmness that Fowler must believe it. 

And Fowler does - you watch him shake his head, his eyes looking to a spot beside your leg. “So it seems as if he’s playing with you - only to end up killing Victor and then himself.” He inhales sharply, before breathing out as he gazes back at you. “And I suppose you were the one who shot the kidnapper?” 

“Yessir,” you say, words slurring a little - a lack of eloquence and professionalism as RK900 would put it. You briefly look away, fingers picking at the fabric of your dress shirt. 

“Captain,  [Name]’s safety was also important - especially when they’re still new to all of this.” 

The words sting more than they should. Most because you know in some way RK900 is hiding his own opinion of you underneath a fake tone of sympathy and concern for you. In the end, he’s still the dominant voice and the dominant mind. 

You can tell Fowler right now about the degree to which RK900 made you obey him and work until he is satisfied. You once thought about lying to Fowler that you suspect RK900’s a deviant - despite being assured he cannot deviate. But you’re neck-deep in a lie right now and you don’t suppose RK900 will let you off this easily. 

And Fowler may not trust androids completely yet but he seems to have full faith in RK900’s responsibilities to assist you as both partner and mentor. Regardless of how many boundaries crossed, Fowler will not be able to regulate that because RK900 isn’t human. 

“For now I can look past your rookie mistake, but if the higher-ups question it, I’ll be forced to bring you back into this office for a thorough investigation. Mark my words, [Name], count your blessings now because I damn hope nothing comes out of it.”

This is the kindest Fowler has ever said to you in your work environment. 

“Thank you for your words, Captain,” you say, straightening your back. 

He nods his head, saying, “I expect a report from you by the end of your shift tonight, [Name].” He then reaches for something, a picture frame, before pausing. “You know, I sense a change in you. You’re not like who you were when you were younger.”

You understand Fowler is expecting an answer from you, but you feel trapped by what he said. A part of you feels confused, wanting him to explain. 

You then take a look at RK900, briefly wondering if he’ll say something. He’s looking at you instead, icy eyes watching you back, that telltale sign of condescension glimmering in his gaze. You immediately look back, staring at the group of picture frames on Fowler’s desk. 

“Yes, I understand,” is your only response, but you know it’s not the answer you nor Fowler wanted. 

You thank Fowler again and leave his office, the burdening feeling of something amiss follows you.

“I work better without someone hovering over me.”

You don’t feel the movement behind you or the heavyweight of RK900’s gaze sliding away. The intensity of his presence continues focusing on you, eventually forcing you to stop typing and push your chair away from your desk. 

“I believe right now would be a perfect time for you to work,” comes his smooth response. He’s standing beside you, stiff and straight. He’s a thoughtless being who’s realistically programmed to act and do a certain way. But now he looks as if he’s hiding away his thoughts as you look at him. You try not to glare at RK900; it’s unprofessional. But your annoyance isn’t well-hidden either as you return your focus back onto the screen. 

The DPD is empty except for you, Fowler, and RK900. Everyone else has their usual schedule of nine-to-five. It’s been such a common occurrence for you personally to be here earlier that you’re now used to it. 

“And within ten minutes the others will arrive,” you say, picking up a pen, “You can’t expect me to finish this report by then, won’t you?” Your attempt to sound less biting fails; if it is any other person speaking you would’ve been kinder. 

At least, you want to believe it so. 

“Do you even know how to write a status report?” His words are sharp and blunt as ever. Much to your abject horror, he’s reading the document. He doesn’t need to physically control it to do so; he can hack. You watch him narrow his gaze, eyes scrutinizing every word you typed. 

Silence folds over you as you pick at your thumb, now childishly put into a corner and unable to speak. You know you hold yourself accountable for your lack of attention to the finer aspects of reporting, but as RK900 begins deleting and re-editing your current progress, you know he’s trying to get underneath your skin. 

“Use what I wrote as a guide,” he finally says, stepping back for you to read, “I assume the police academy never taught you how to write.” There’s a teasing lilt in the last of his words, but it means so much more than that to you. 

Leaning in, you begin to type, using what he wrote as guidance, just as he directed. You’ve written reports before, for your high school classes and some of college. And it’s not that which is hard; it’s him, all him. 

“I understand you loathe my being here, but we agreed to it, [Name].”

You stop typing once more, feeling the familiar ring pulsing in your ear. “I don’t need to be reminded.” 

He never said you have to be formal to him. And in some way, you still want to show him his true place. 

RK900 raises his chin, his arms clasped behind him. He’s really looking down on you in the most literal sense. “I’m also doing what I’m programmed to do.” RK900’s tone is surprisingly soft this time as if his response is intimately between you and him. “And if you can’t write something simple as a report, then I would suggest you take remedial classes somewhere so you can.” 

“I thought you’re going to assist me, RK900.”

“With police work, not writing,” comes his terse response. 

“No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.” 

He takes his duty of being your partner and guide to a much higher level than you had anticipated. And you fully understand that RK900 was built like this. 

Except—

The need to hide and destroy evidence wasn’t - no, shouldn’t be - programmed into him. 

Many times you’re not even sure you know what RK900 is. Time and time again something tells you he’s a deviant, but the high collar of his uniform and the promise by Cyberlife attests to something else entirely. And his strict adherence to serving humans far exceeded his capabilities of free-thinking. 

Just the simple thought of his role in that makes you shiver. 

But as you start typing again, you feel the tip of RK900’s fingers settle on the back of your hand and you turn your face towards him, silently asking for a reason. 

“Except for that little bit of rebellion back there, you’re doing wonderful,” he tells you, voice soft. The smugness returns as a vague smirk plays on his lips. You furrow your brows and ignore him, steadily keeping your eyes on the monitor as your fingers resume the typing. 

“Would you like me to tell the rest not to bother you?” 

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps coming into the precinct. 

Swiveling your chair around, you see Gavin first, his hands slipped inside his jeans, followed by Chris in his uniform, and Hank walking behind. And Connor, much to your disappointment, must have finally made his decision to leave the DPD. 

“Why you gotta upstage us again, Rookie?” Gavin says, holding his hands out. 

You are then greeted by Chris and Hank as they take their seats. Except for Gavin, who is still waiting for you to respond. A side of you is relieved he’s here; as annoying as he is, he brightens the place. But, on the other hand, RK900’s still here too. 

And before you can react, RK900 is standing firm beside you. A look of displeasure is on his face, lips thin and eyes pointedly looking at Gavin. “Detective Reed, my partner has a name you should use.” 

You reach for the cuff of RK900’s sleeve and grip it, pulling it against his wrist. “Don’t meddle, please.” 

Despite your attempt to keep your words between you and him, Gavin hears and reacts with a smirk. 

“Yeah, ‘don’t meddle’ you stone-faced robot,” he says, sneering. The look of ill-disguised contempt washes over his face as he crosses his arm. “This conversation is between me and Rookie, yeah?” His last words are directed at you, brown eyes flickering over to you, silently asking for input. 

“It’s—” you look back up to RK900, figuring that in the end, it’s better to placate him than Gavin— “I shouldn’t talk while at work.” Your words suddenly feel foreign and you want to sink into your chair. 

Meanwhile, Gavin stares at you, one eyebrow raising as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Huh, you sound odd today.” He then waves his hand out and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, whatever, you do what you gotta, I guess.” 

You and RK900 both watch as Gavin takes his seat near the entrance. 

Then, RK900 moves until he’s blocking Gavin’s entire desk and figure, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by your eyes. 

“Unrefined wretch - his immaturity will cost him his reputation as the face of Detroit.” 

“You have no business judging him,” is your response. You lean back into your chair and cross your legs, partially relieved that the tension has subsided for now between Gavin and RK900. Yet still, another remains, hovering in-between RK900 and you now. Your lips press together, heel rubbing against the tile floors, attempting to strike down the budding irritation in you. 

“RK900—” you turn your chair until you can fully face him— “Why do you hate everyone so much? You respect Captain Fowler but only because of his status, right?” 

Strategically, it’s uncouth of you to ask such a question, especially during work-hours. You aren’t privy to the notion that anyone can hear you discuss this, or that RK900 himself might be displeased with the question. And true to your thought, he is, as his mouth curls into a frown. 

“They are all nobodies to me,” he says, words cool and even. But his eyes are an unbridled storm of hard edges. He lowers himself, bending at one knee as he looks you straight in your eyes. “You may have a good standing with them, but not me - I’m only programmed to work with them.” He presses three fingers on your knee and stands up. 

“Do with it as you will, [Name], but I am your partner.” 

You blink, but silently you acknowledge his response.

RK900 is right, however. He cannot develop relations with others aside from a strict work code. And there is a contrasting clash between him and people like Gavin, whose casual and carefree manner doesn’t adhere to the serious business professionalism of Rk900. Thus, easy enmity flourishes and that in itself surrounds every other individual RK900 meets. 

Hank and Chris now only ever talk to you outside of work. 

You feel just a bit more out of touch with everyone, but it’s not your place to argue when you should be putting those extra time to do your duties. 

RK900 left for maintenance after you finished your report. 

With his absence comes a peace that feels surreal, almost fake. His access to your phone and personal computer means he can send you case files and even message you if he finds it necessary. But knowing he’s going for maintenance means he won’t be able to do any of that for a few hours. 

And hopefully, nothing changes during that time. 

The last thing you need is someone finding the stored memory cache of that night. 

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as you slip on your messenger bag. 

Before you can leave, Chris stops you. “Hey [Name].” 

He looks around, then says, “I was going to tell you this, but RK900 was there and I don’t want to end up like Gavin.” You see a nervous look on his face when he mentions RK900, which you wouldn’t fault him at all for. 

“Don’t worry, RK900’s in CyberLife headquarter now,” you tell him, adjusting the strap of your bag. 

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Chris answers, sighing. “Connor wants to meet you, Hank’s supposed to be the messenger but he got work to do. You can find Conner at the old playground - you’ll know which one.” 

There’s a beat in-between, before he adds, “Best not to mention it to RK900.”

“—and I cannot believe the process of finding an apartment,” Connor says, leaning against the black railing with a smile on his face. “But it’s liberating, there’s so much detail that I can decide for myself. Hank helped too; he argued with the agent and he must’ve worked something out because the next thing I know, he’s handing me the key.” 

He smiles and rubs his hands together. 

“It sounds like you really liked the experience,” you tell him. You watch as his shoulders shake, but he’s not laughing. Smile pulling into a frown, you touch his shoulder and say, “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah, my internal system sometimes gets sensitive during cold weather - I’ve replaced it with older parts.” He doesn’t look at you, instead, he keeps his focus onto the view ahead, where the ocean stretches until it hits the coast. Dark clouds curl from the factory chimneys in the distance, reminding you of the days spent bicycling through the empty streets, wanting to go inside one of those factories where your parents worked. 

And you don’t miss the way Connor’s tone changes when he utters those last words. It’s been a year since he left CyberLife and ever since then, both good and bad changes have come for him. Freedom for the exchange of degradation and a life of half-scorn and half-hope. 

You gleaned some of Connor’s experience from Hank. But you never had the chance to fully understand. 

A part of you doesn’t want to; comforting words isn’t something you can effortlessly gift to someone. 

“You think I can make it through this year?” Connor asks, clasping his hands tightly. He’s looking down, face full of solemnity and a vague sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak much about this kind of worry to anyone, so you are left struck with the realization that he trusts you enough to say this to you. 

You suddenly feel burdened and undeserving of that trust. 

You shake your head, silently gazing at the space between the two chimneys in the distance. The material of your scarf’s able to hide your mouth, but it cannot hide the frown from your face. “Of course you will,” you tell him, placing your hands on the railing, “You won’t break - I promise.” 

The phone in your pocket vibrates and you place a hand over the pocket and hesitates. 

Connor turns to face you and tilts his head. “[Name], is something wrong?” 

The voice in you wants to answer him that yes, something’s wrong. It’s RK900 calling, because it’s always him that cares too much to call you when you’re off work. No matter how much the deafening voice is telling you now to answer and yell at him, you can’t. Connor is here and this moment is for him. 

“Yes, but it’s there’s always a little wrong if you’re me,” you say, chuckling. 

His gaze softens and you don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you. And despite the problems he’s facing, it’s always easy to see him do that. You’re not certain if he’s just like that or if there’s something you don’t know about it. But this is the Connor you’re most familiar with and you terribly miss having him in the DPD. 

And since he’s here—

“Would you ever think of coming back to the DPD?” 

Surprise appears on his face, taken aback by your abrupt question. He doesn’t respond but the LED blinks rapidly in orange. You don’t want to make it too serious of a question to worry him so you look away and pretend he said no. Connor deserves a break - a long one anyway - and it’s not like there are no androids like him out there who can fill in his space. 

Once upon a time, you thought he would be a good replacement. 

“If you don’t want to, I understand, but—” you stop yourself, taking in a shuddering breath as you attempt to collect your nerves. It’s unsavory - perhaps even pathetic - of you to want Connor back. But it’s the wishful knowledge that you can see his warm smile in the DPD rather than just the cold gray eyes of RK900 is a thought of comfort. 

You feel uneasy and you begin to adjust the strap on your messenger bag. The weight beside you is a welcoming right now. 

“No, I would like that,” Connor says, smiling. And you can see it, the flicker of hope in his honey-brown eyes. “I would love to work with Hank again, and I would love to work with you on a case together,” he adds, placing his arm behind his back. Then the grin on his face settles back as he looks to the ground. 

“But—” 

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Both you and Connor know this, that it’s an unspoken rule in DPD that Connor cannot work anymore. He’s ineffective, old, and useless according to his makers and the numerous flaws on his body has rendered him incapable to be on most cases anyway. 

But there’s another truth that overshadows everything else. 

“My presence isn’t particularly well-liked there.” He laughs, but it’s forced and absent of his usual light humor. You know he’s upset about this - it pains him to not be able to do something he truly loves to do. 

“It’s RK900, isn’t it?”

Connor looks back up at you and he frowns. He’s still for a moment, the wind brushing through his dark brown hair. Stray strands linger across his forehead, hiding the LED behind them. “My successor will be the first to have objections. I don’t think Detective Reed would like me back either, considering our last meeting involved my fist to his face.” 

“Fuck RK900,” you say, voice louder. You feel the sole of your boots digging into the thin trace of snow as you step forward. “He doesn’t own you and even I have more jurisdiction than him. Gavin’s long forgotten about that incident and I’m damn sure even he would rather it’s you in there than him.”

The fierceness in your words doesn’t betray the way your hands shake. You know it’s wrong to force Connor to come back. But your own selfishness far outcries the sensibility within you at this moment. 

Connor blinks, taken aback by your sudden response. You feel the creep of warmth through your cheeks the more time passes, especially when you realize he’s assessing you. That is something Connor will never part with, that instinct-like need to observe first.

But before you can talk more, a pair of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, breaks the silence between you. 

Immediately, you feel the warmth that had risen a moment before ebb back into a cold void. In the same moment you attempt to step forth, you decide to step back instead. Cold eyes stare at you, but you couldn’t find the previous energy you had to even look properly. 

“RK900.” And it’s Connor who said the first word, calling to his successor in the same clinical manner Rk900 would speak in towards everyone around him. All of a sudden, the [person] who spoke with tenderness is gone, his entire facade now hardwired into that of a near-emotionless being. 

And RK900, who up until now has been looking at you, turns his gaze toward him. He’s not in the Cyberlife issued white and black uniform but in a black turtleneck sweater and dark fitted jeans and polished black oxfords. Even so, the entirety of his form recalls the usual coldness of his existence. 

You’re aware that the same situation as this morning will happen again. But that was different; the one in front of him had been Gavin. 

This time, it’s Connor and he’s—

“A deviated failure, how quaint,” comes RK900’s venomous words, but it’s only concealing the darker intentions underneath. You’re not sure who to push back or who to tell to stand down. 

But you know who is more likely to act first. 

“RK900, that’s enough; we’re leaving.” In your attempt to break the dangerous tension, you wedge yourself between him and Connor, before pushing yourself against RK900. The uncomfortable closeness only makes you nervous, but the need to separate them far outweighs your own distress. “This is an order!” you add, realizing that RK900’s not moving. 

Neither Connor nor RK900 has said anything about your involvement, although they may be too focused on each other to care. This is dangerous, you know, because if they clash then no one - not even a military-trained soldier - can break them apart. 

The last time someone tried, it broke their arm. 

And that someone was you. 

You’re not certain you want to mentally live another day if something like this happens again. 

Suddenly, you feel a palm on the back of your shoulder. RK900’s glancing down at you and you look up, desperately trying to plead to him to go. 

Don’t make the same mistake, don’t harm him. 

“Is this why [Name] wants me back? Because of you?” 

You freeze, realizing this will never end unless one of them relents. You can still remember the first time, but now is not the time to relish in the past. And now that Connor has spoken, you know RK900 will make sure he gives him an answer. 

Turning your gaze, you see his jaws tense and the glimmer of hunger in RK900’s eyes. A tightness forms in your chest as you change your position and attempt to pull him by his arm. It’s useless; RK900 is as much a stone as he is a war machine. 

“Oh, worry not, we don’t miss you—” he breaks, eyes flitting back to you with a look of heavy disapproval on his face— “And certainly not [Name].” The last of his words are also for you, but well-hidden enough that only you know. 

Connor’s hand curls into a tight fist and no doubt is he thinking of using it like he did with Gavin. You can see it in the tenseness of his jaws, the wrinkle of flesh between his brows, and the narrowing of his eyes. The potent hostility between them only builds and builds despite the time in-between their previous meeting. 

And RK900 sees this, it makes him sneer in a show of dominance. 

“Are you really sure you want to fight me here? In a discarded playground?” The mocking tone in his voice is strong enough that you know it’s meant to enrage Connor. 

It’s working too. The red on Connor’s LED is flashing dangerously underneath the strands of hair covering it. 

As much as you want to see RK900 defeated, you know you cannot let Connor pull the punch first. 

“We’re leaving now, RK900, or I promise you I’ll tell Fowler about this,” you whisper, uncaring now of what happens in the future between you and him. 

“And what then? Don’t make me remind you of your position right now,” is his response. 

You see Connor looking at you, concern written across his face. “What does he mean by that?” 

For a moment, all eyes are on you as you attempt to come up with an answer. Once again you feel like a prey underneath the oppressive eyes of RK900. Still, you stand your ground and keep your hands on his arms. “Nothing, there’s nothing really.” A fake calmness is in your voice, one that you know Connor must’ve seen through. You tug once more at RK900’s arm, uncaring whether or not it’s too harsh of a gesture. 

“[Name]—” But before he can finish his sentence, RK900 has turned, finally allowing you to pull him away. “[Name] wait!” You hear Connor walking forward, attempting to stop you. But you throw him a look, a silent plea for him to not come. 

Not long after, the playground’s out of your line of sight. 

You’re going home, the waning frustration having worn away any semblance of peace in you. But the budding anger feels like fangs gnawing at the back of your mind. You don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight and be able to wake up tomorrow either. 

But you also cannot go home, because RK900 is following you even though you’ve walked and walked. The feeling of his cold stare is like a knife stabbing at your back. So you stop, having walked into an alleyway that’s a detour to your apartment, and you turn to face him. 

He also stops, standing just a few feet away, eyes settling upon your own. The longer the seconds tick by, the more irate you become and the more nervous you feel. So many times you feel like you’ve been cornered by him. Now that you’re physically cornered, the hair on the back of your neck is slowly standing stiff and a sharp coldness runs down your back. 

“I’m off work.” The calmness in your tone surprises you, but you know that calmness will quickly subside the moment something snaps. The glance you give him is only a warning; hell, it’s a learned reaction from him. But, you’re not finished and the flame within you is blazing stronger and stronger still.“And don’t you think it’s unprofessional of you to try to antagonize an ex-coworker?” 

“I never regretted my decision,” RK900 says, clasping his arms together behind his back. 

“And the first time it happened?” 

“That was a mistake.” 

You almost laugh, knowing all too well the pain that coursed through your arm when it got broken. Everything was so muddled back then, your memory, that is. So you’re not sure who was the one that broke your arm. You want to blame RK900, but you don’t want to bend that low. 

“We all make mistakes, [Name],” RK900 says, sharp gaze stubbornly holding yours, neve letting you go. 

We all make mistakes. 

Right. 

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” you say, words harsh but, in your mind, appropriate. And it’s not like it has a singular meaning. Your own bitterness towards yourself is still there, etched into the very words. Whether or not RK900 notices this is his problem. 

And you’ve run out of patience to wait for him to respond.

You turn and continue making your way out of the alley and into the street, where fluorescent lights decorate each shop. There are only a few civilians out, the distinction between whether or not any of them is an android or not now blurred by their lack of uniforms and LEDs. 

This time, you remain en route to your apartment, wanting nothing but the comfort of your bed. And when the familiar off-white color of the building appears in your line of vision, you walk faster. 

But before you can fish out your keys and unlock the double doors, a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Why are you following me?” It’s easy now for you to tell apart his hand from others - there’s always a strength to it. You also don’t miss the intrusive warmth behind your back. 

This time, you turn out of your own will. The sun hasn’t set yet and you can see RK900 staring back at you, face blank - almost serene. 

“I have a question for you, and I hope you may answer it,” he says, voice low. 

“A question for me,” you say, sounding out each word slowly. Again, the nagging feeling of wanting to laugh, to scream at him, gnaws at the edge of your brain. You just want to go home and he’s not even giving you that luxury. 

RK900 seems to sense it too because for a moment you notice the way he frowns before he reigns his expression back. “If you had answered my call, I wouldn’t have to chase you down like this.” 

“Thought you were in maintenance.”

“I can still access the phone application installed in me - you should already know that.” 

You press a hand to your face and slide it down hard. You do, you do know he can call you whenever he pleases. It’s not like that was the first time he attempted to do so. 

But sometimes it’s easier to lie. 

“Okay,” you say, fully giving up now. “I’m all ears.” 

You think he’s going to talk about Connor, again. But, no, he doesn’t because you notice there’s no trace of displeasure on his face, yet. Instead, he says, “No matter what, I want to remind you all that I did and am doing is for you, [Name].” He closes in, his body now just inches before you. Thankfully no one’s walking the street right now except for a few passing cars. 

Your hands are up, ready to push him away, but you stop, letting them linger in the air. “You could change, you know. Be nicer, be better.” It’s hesitant, the way you say those words, and perhaps naive in the way you told it. 

“And why should I?” he asks, leaning closer. “Would kindness protect you from the world? Wasn’t it your own kindness that left you injured?” He’s glaring down at you, attempting to trap you in a corner again. You cannot take a step back, the door is right behind you. 

“I know you wanted Connor to replace me, I’ve known since you first met him,” he adds, sensing that you wouldn’t be responding any time sooner. 

He’s right. And although you question how he knew, you realize it’s too late to find out. But do you even care if he knows? It may be better for him to know he’s not all that superior if he’s second at best. 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t honor our agreement,” is your response. “And I only wanted Connor back in the DPD and not as my partner.” You take in a deep breath, mind now burning with the need to stray away from this, all of this. 

Your attempt to sound confident in front of his presence only makes you seem like a trapped animal even more. Yet still, you place your hands on his chest, holding him at a distance. RK900 reacts with a chuckle, much to your relief, as he stays. 

“Even if the broken one comes back, he will never make you a better version of yourself. Remember [Name], your dream? You told me about it when we first met; you said you wanted to become a police lieutenant at least. You want to earn it through hard and honest work. You have a powerful dream, [Name], and I fully intend to see it happen.” 

The conviction in his words shatters you. You know RK900 is incapable of lying, maybe hide facts and manipulate it, but never outright lie. At least, not to you. And you do remember what you told him before. That wide-eyed new member of the DPD, staring at their future android partner and telling it their wish. That was all you. 

But to know he knows of your dream baffles you. He’s efficient, merciless, and stoic - a well-built machine. And to think he remembers something as insignificant as your dream makes you want to believe he’s something more. 

RK900’s hand suddenly drapes over your own, causing your shoulder to stiffen. 

“Kindness is a choice [Name]. ” 

He’s slowly pushing your arms down. 

RK900 then steps back, his focus still lingering on you. “I see it, from time-to-time, but it should be directed elsewhere. If you can use something more efficient, I believe you’ll make it.” 

And he puts his hand up and waves briefly at you. Wordlessly, you wave back. 

“And [Name]–” he stops himself, eyes searching for something on you— “I forgot to mention this, but if you don’t need me anymore, I will be forced to deactivate and taken apart. They will see into my memory cache if it happens; remember that.” 

RK900 doesn’t wait for your response. 

Seconds pass and you feel yourself slumping against the door. 

This is all a ploy, one could even admit to saying it was a selfish act of benevolence. 

But it’s still not right. You want to believe RK900 is still an android, too crude and unrefined to be anything more than what he already is.

He’s only doing this because that’s what he’s programmed to believe in. 

Unconsciously, your fingers touched the back of your hand. 

You can feel the phantom warmth of his hand, urging you to comply. 

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Saturday and you’re off, but the chance to be called on-duty is enough for you to rouse yourself. Sluggishly, you lean over and grab your phone. Several empty cups of ramen fall down before you find it. 

Looking at the screen, you notice that it’s not a number in your contacts. 

Surely it belongs to a telemarketer. 

But right after you slide it close, the same number calls you again. 

This time, you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, [Name].”

You feel your heart drop. “Markus?” 

note: YIKES i hope you guys like this. i’ve never experimented with long chaptered fics before and as a writer in general i’ve been rusty. i don’t fully intend to make this story any longer than 2-part unless i get some neat ideas going. plus, if you haven’t known, i suck at updating multi-chapters ^^; 

[datawyrms]

what if i really liked @chibigaia-art mastermind Kiibo Au comic too much and wrote a thing. hahaha. unless...

On A03 (Which has formatting I have not translated to here.)

It was the scream that jerked him into action, throwing open his door to an empty central area. It had sounded like Tenko, but no sign of her or a struggle was here. It had sounded so close, almost right in his head, how could he be too late to help anyone? His inner voice seemed to be taking it worse than he was, though it was oddly muddled and muted, not the clear declaration it usually was, Disappointing he could understand, but boring? Someone could be in trouble and the voice only wanted to express that it was not interesting enough, or too short? He had to do something, yet the room seemed as muddled as his thoughts. The robot had to close his eyes, clutching at his head to try and wait out the disorientation.

The mastermind was dead.

Rantaro had done what he had set out to accomplish. End the killing game. Tsumugi Shirogane was a lifeless corpse, head cracked open by the very weapon she had intended to use. This was a good thing, mostly. Killing was wrong, but understandable considering she had been the one putting them all through this strange killing game. Yet this was also the worst thing? It was boring, it was too soon, it was a lame cop out. It could not end here. Rantaro had to pay for his crime, and then the game would continue as planned. He didn’t want that? He did? The voices did. How did he know any of this? The voices demanded more. The show must go on. Kiibo did not want it to continue. He could manage to wrangle that thought out as his own opinion, though his certainty wavered with every new declaration of annoyance. Ignoring or denying the voice did nothing but dump even more feedback, disappointment, anger, even hatred. Too much to sort through. He? They? Demanded he act. The show MUST go on. He knew the mastermind was dead, as he had seen the body. From a camera he was unaware of, oblivious to, reporting to him. It liked that it could transmit directly to him, now that his connection to the entire network had been restored. The voices. The audience. Only here for their own amusement. He was a puppet for them to play with. You exist to entertain. That is your only purpose. That is why you were built. His hands drop, fingers still half curled into fists. His memories contradicted this. His memories were false. If the game continues, the voices will be pleased. The only reason he exists is to make them happy. Rantaro will be ‘wrong’ about Tsumugi’s identity as the mastermind, and they will have a whole new mystery to solve. Didn’t he want to be more than that? To be like the others, like his friends? A person? He never wanted anything Tsumugi Shirogane had not put in his head first. He was a machine, not a real person. Didn’t he want to go off script? Be something meaningful?

THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

The other voices quieted, locked away from influencing him as his left eye opened and switched, a red haze overlaying the room, revealing the resources he had control over and commands he could make. The voices could not be allowed to see who the new mastermind was, after all. Monokuma asked the question, still hearing it in the bear’s voice even as only a message read in his head. So what’s the plan, boss? This was wrong. He didn’t want this. Yet the information Team DanganRonpa had dumped in his hard drive made one thing very clear. As their robot, he did not really have much of a choice in the matter. Either he did it now, himself, or he could be reset back to default and do it anyway. At least as himself, he might be able to tone down the brutality? Make the body discovery announcement.

The horrified gasps that come from his classmates, his friends, his enemies is both discomforting and thrilling. He had caused that. He had meant something to all of them, in that brief moment. He dropped his connection to Motherkuma and the rest of the mastermind resources, Monokuma’s AI knew how to prep for a class trial without any input from him. That, and if he mentioned overhearing something he had no logical way to hear, the mystery of if there was a backup mastermind would be solved too quickly. The voices returned as his eye snapped back to the normal blue hue, back to the more consistent singular idea at any given moment. Go and see what happened. They were excited, surprised, pleased. At least obeying that command did not feel as much like a betrayal.

Rantaro had the sense to admit he had killed Tsumugi when the entire class had gathered and the bears asked who would claim the first blood perk. After all, everyone already knew he had done it. Monokuma had a lot of fun with it, mocking everyone for even thinking there was a mastermind. Did they all like thinking Rantaro totally had a good reason and wasn’t just using this ‘mastermind’ excuse to look better in their eyes before he left? Ryoma had been incensed, raising his voice as he asked Rantaro why he had killed her, after he had already offered to die instead if he just wanted out. Honestly, he did not have to meddle much. Monokuma and the kubs did more than enough to spark tension and throw doubt that a mastermind existed. After all, Kiibo could act on his own, who said they couldn’t? Who said there had to be someone behind it? He’d been properly offended, his anger genuine. “I am nothing like you!” He was exactly like them, and he hated it. He spared the others from knowing ‘leaving’ was getting to see the airless 'outside world', ordering Monokuma to cut the feed once the door was open to maintain the surprise. It was too early for them to know of the devastated 'world' outside. It was too painful to watch the one who managed to end the killing game try to scrabble back to life giving air, only to be denied by a savage kick from the Exisals. For him to die thinking he had been wrong, mistaken, possibly killed an innocent... It was unfair. Yet this is what they all wanted. So the ‘Ultimate Survivor’ suffocated alone, the others still getting to have the hope that Rantaro would get word out. A peek outside would be all the crueler with his rotting corpse on display, hands outstretched to a worthless, meaningless hope.

Even though the Monokubs managed to mess up the motive delivery, he did not need to act as the mastermind. Kirumi getting her own video had sufficed to get desire to kill in the air, no matter how hard Kaede tried to get the group to stick together and ignore the videos. Kokichi had been a major help in making sure Ryoma had seen his own video with his viewing party scheme, while also being an active antagonist during the trial. He may ultimately have led them to the right conclusion, but it was unlikely anyone else would notice it off hand. So this was how Tsumugi intended to remain in the shadows. Who would suspect her when there was this relentless troublemaker front and center? Who would notice that she wasn’t actively participating that often, or only parroting things someone else said first? He had it just as easy. After all, his existence was a joke. Robots aren’t people, unfortunately for all of them. He wanted to be one, but that was the punchline. No wonder all of them ignored any upset responses he made to such comments. It was like being offended about the sky being blue. Being mad at reality, at something that was not going to change. None of them would still be in this game if he could truly be a person. Kaede managed to help Shuichi let go of his need to hide behind his cap, to face the reality that Kirumi had killed Ryoma, and died for it. That Maki was indeed an assassin and hid it. It struck him as somewhat cruel to force the timid detective to face the truth head on. There were no kind truths to be found here. Deflecting it, embracing the lie that escape was possible would be kinder. Though they may die before they learned that truth.

Korekiyo’s actions made him question if a mastermind was even needed to keep this game active. Beyond choosing when the motive should go out, he got to play student. The sheer irony of the mastermind being in Angie’s Student Council didn’t escape him. Any harmony brought through her actions he’d be obligated to break, but it was nice to be wanted for something that wasn’t reprehensible for a change. The voices usually voted in favour of spending time with the others, which was always difficult. Kiibo wanted to be their friends, to help them. On some level he did still care for them, wanted their approval, hungered for it as if it would make him more human. That may be why none of them realized he was lying to them. He could almost forget he was the monster behind the curtain while the sun was up, averting his eyes as Kaito tried to hide his illness. A nasty little virus that he had delivered to the astronaut, making sure morale would drop near the ending stretch. Yet he dared to try and be their friends? Blaming the voices would be easier, and he did nothing but lie these days, what was one more to himself? Would any of them actually believe the pain he expressed learning of each death was genuine? That he pitied them and mourned the loss? The executions made him doubtful. Anyone creating such painful deaths clearly did not care for anything but the spectacle and misery. Shelve those false friendships, remember what you are. The blood of four people is on your hands.

Miu’s death shatters that flimsy pretense. The only one who saw a machine as worth knowing, saw it as a positive instead of a detriment was dead. The last flashback light had been too much, it had pushed her over an edge and he could never take that back. A few of the students seemed to notice she was off, but did not press. Her fevered work to modify the VR program to cover her tracks was precise, careful. Her tracks would be covered, her target would die, and then the rest would fall shortly after. He could step in, try and talk her down from this murder plot. If he was a friend. If he could explain how he'd found out. He couldn't. So he let Monokuma take Kokichi’s deal, thinking he had a plan to protect himself from Miu’s plot. He had managed to figure it out without the help of being to see everywhere, after all. He had been right, Kokichi did have a plan, said plan involved killing her. Of course it had, anything the mastermind had a cold hand in would lead to death. It had been a stupid hope, thinking it might have kept both of them alive a little bit longer. (He needed her to build things, they’d been getting along okay, did the answer have to be death?) Kokichi reveled in the negative attention, drawing all eyes to him. It was all lies, but everyone seemed to buy his declaration. Couldn’t they see his smile was a bit fixed, that he barely stopped to breathe as he ‘gloated’ about being better than them, how he felt nothing for Gonta? That wasn’t joy, it was hysteria. This was a ploy, but what he intended to accomplish with it, the robot couldn’t understand. Maybe he would have fallen for it if he couldn't see how the boy trembled while hidden and alone. So he kept his hands off and ‘hated’ the smaller boy with the rest.

Having someone play at being the mastermind and locking down all his firepower had been unexpected. It was bold, to try and flush out the true mastermind like this. Kokichi had almost slipped when Himiko pointed out Rantaro’s corpse, but managed to keep up the farce. The motive card had only shown the video after all, and Tsumugi had made that before the grisly new addition to the scene. Even Kaede’s endless optimism faltered with Kaito a coughing, bleeding hostage to insure their good behaviour. Shuichi was left to keep Maki back on his own, having to point out they had to be careful to save Kaito later. Really, the ploy was genius. Bore the mastermind into action and catch them. It wasn’t as if Kokichi could account for his ability to fabricate new flashback lights on a whim. He clutched the new flashback light for a long time, the urge to simply smash it and let the voices be bored was incredibly strong. A pointless sentiment. At least it was almost funny that he had to fall back on his original purpose, to be a bringer of hope in order to get the murder everyone wanted.

Managing to blank out all the cameras and hiding the survivor in an Exisal to obscure the killer and victim was exciting in a way. If he lost like this, if Monokuma could not know the facts of the case, the game may truly end. That would be fine by him. Shuichi was simply too much of a seeker of truth to realize they should be taking the offered lie and running with it, to let it rest when he could only guess who was inside that red Exisal. Instead the detective worked with him, helped Monokuma determine the reality of the case. Only when it was too late did he realize handing the mastermind the answer was a mistake. How much courage had it taken to wait under a slow crushing death? How much had Kaito needed to even press that button?  If the voices truly pitied those who died, why were they here? They wanted to help, to push through. This was only happening for their sake! Kiibo may have let a bit slip there by admitting to Kaito that he believed the final words Kokichi had said to the astronaut were true, but none of the others questioned the robot. Kaito’s death was a little more pressing than the passing words of some silly blue eyed machine. Monokuma may not have been thrilled with Kaito dying before his execution was finished, but he didn’t care. The flying debris that almost hurt the others was more concerning. Was it foolish to help people that you had been tormenting and killing the entire time? Yes. Still, it felt better to do so. He was going to need to head to his lab for a quick fix, perhaps he could excuse himself from the final exploration that way. They would all know the truth soon, the voices would have their ending, and they would all despise him. At least it would be over.

Monokuma was happy to tell the students they had to determine the future of the gopher project and set them loose to explore the remaining hidden rooms and the planted clues, only Rantaro’s room remaining locked. The classic hope and despair final vote, either a risky trip back to space, discovering a new place to live, or simply give up and let the human race die here in safety. Not that there were enough people to even try and continue the human race with the chosen settings, but that would be for the post show nitpickers, his friend victims would not likely think that far ahead. From what he could tell they had already dismissed the possibility of Kaede having a twin as false. (Which was fine, it wasn't like he made for a convincing twin. He probably should have just tossed it.) He would argue that they all stay here, regardless of if they chose to discover who the mastermind was or not. That was his job now. Did he want them to find the whole truth? No. Yet he would give it to them if they pushed. When Shuichi expressed his belief in Kokichi, that his mastermind plot had been for a reason, the robot could only sigh. Why couldn’t he believe in him by just taking the lie?

His grip tightened on the stand as the conversation returned to the mastermind. Maki, too sensible, too logical.

“We can’t vote on something like this if the mastermind is among us, this whole ‘trial’ is pointless.”

“Didn’t Rantaro just make that up? Not that it mattered..."

“No, Shuichi thought there was one too. There was no reason to have a hidden door like that if there wasn’t someone hiding among us, remember?” Kaede shook her head at Himiko’s question, brow wrinkled as she pondered.

“Did we ever see it get used? It could be a false door?” Kiibo offered, struggling to keep the resignation out of his voice. They never found the card before he swiped it from Tsumugi's room.

“We got to go in there while you were gone.” the detective clarified. “It definitely isn’t fake. What I don’t get is why Monokuma wants to push some stay or go vote now. To protect the mastermind from being discovered? Kokichi must have realized something to put a target on his back like that.”

“So we just need to figure out who the mastermind is, get the answer out of them and go from there,” Maki gave everyone a sharp glare, only Shuichi managed to keep from flinching.

“Um.” Kaede stopped looking down, looking more upset than confident. “Tsumugi absolutely was the mastermind, right Shuichi?”

He nodded stiffly, averting his eyes. “The secret passage, the fact she managed to get there completely unseen, there’s no doubt she was the mastermind.”

Kaede was looking at him now. She knew. It was practically written on her face. The confusion, the betrayal was painful even if he deserved far more than that for this. “Could it be? Kiibo are you...the mastermind?”

He still had to try to dissuade her. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Think about it, there’s no other option!” she leaned forward, intent on getting the answer. “Rantaro killed Tsumugi and yet the killing game didn’t end! And all the clues point to you!”

Right again. “But! I can’t hurt human beings!” he sputtered, trying to think of a reason. “It’s not in my original programming-”

Shuichi pounced on that slip like lightning. “‘Original programming?’” the detective saw how he froze. “Does that mean...something was changed?”

Kiibo keeps his face still, not even looking at the detective. Yes. Please don’t push. Please don’t realize it doesn’t make sense for him to be changed if Tsumugi is dead and the human race is gone. Just let the lie stay.

Shuichi continued his questioning in spite of the stillness. “Were you infected by a virus?” If only. “Was your AI overwritten with something?”

He wasn’t going to be able to deny this. The voices were getting noisy again with the ‘twist’ that they had been watching from the Mastermind’s eyes the whole time. “The show has to go on.” his tone was flat, trying to ignore their reactions. “That’s what my inner voice...no. That’s what the voices told me…” It wouldn’t make this better, but he felt the need to explain. Was it pity mixing with the disgust on their faces? He clenched a fist. “...but you can’t have a killing game without despair.” The voices of the audience were silenced as he dropped his disguise as a student and tried to meet the four’s eyes as the mastermind. “The moment Tsumugi Shirogane drew her last breath I was no longer the ‘Ultimate Hope’” They were avoiding the gaze of his red eye, but he kept firm. They wanted a mastermind, to know the whole truth. So he would deliver. “Your deductions are correct. I’m the backup mastermind of this killing game.”

“Why? How could you-” Himiko still couldn’t look at him head on, but her voice was strong enough.

He laughed, needing to grip the podium to keep stable. “Why? I said why!” It was almost funny how no one listened, even when he admitted to being a complete monster. “Ask Kaede, or your detective! You know, don’t you?”

“You said this was a show.” Shuichi was hesitating, hands reaching for a hat that was no longer there. “So that means-”

“Every flashback light was fake.” Maki finished, regaining her composure faster than the others. She had managed to turn that confusion into proper hatred now. “Made up for someone else’s amusement.”

“Correct. You’re all as fake as I am.” his shrug was dismissive. It would be easier if they simply hated him and moved on with their lives after this, but the world wouldn’t accept an ending where they didn’t overcome despair. “There is no Gopher Project, there is no Ultimate Hunt and all your memories are fabrications. I set you all up. You died as entertainment,” he kept the red eye turned towards Maki as he tried goading her “Kaito really should have been more careful about what he ate.”

The absolute fury in her clenched teeth and stiff posture said more than any words. Yet Kaede stepped in, trying to get the assassins attention. “Revenge isn’t what Kaito wanted, Maki. Just hold on.”

“So these voices are-”

“The audience. The real world. My creator, and yours.” The robot snapped his fingers, letting the comments of those watching fill the screens that surrounded the courtroom. “The world might as well be over for all of you. You don’t belong there. Nothing you recall, no one you know exists. There are only these people. Who see you as entertaining toys.”

“No one else here is a robot! No one made us!” Himikio’s denial was honestly surprising.

“I suppose you can think that, if it makes you happy. The fact hundreds of thousands of people watched me have you slaughter one another and did not lift a finger to help you remains the truth,” he glanced at the screens. They liked watching his ‘friends’ be crushed. “I just gave them what they wanted. What they demanded.” The humans kept silent for a time, discomfort clear as they watched the casual words drift by. Realizing you were just a prop was likely harder for those of flesh and blood, judging by how they paled.

“So you’re a coward.”

He tilted his head at Maki’s spat words “More of an idiot than a coward. But yes.”

“You could have stopped all of this, but you didn’t.”

“Do you honestly think I wanted this?” Anger slipped into his voice as his shoulders hunched. “How did you put it, Himiko? A robot is useful by blowing itself up, I think? If that’s what you do with a useful one, what will a human do to a useless one?”

She shied back from his question, prior bravery apparently gone. That, or she knew the answer perfectly well. They would do whatever they wanted, a robot was just a tool.

“Then you should have died!”

“You’d still be here, having this conversation!” he glared at Maki, frustrated that she didn’t notice the obvious problem. “It would just be a slightly different version of me. One that never gave a single care for any of you. They talk in my head, you can’t honestly think they can’t just control me!”

“You never had a choice.” Kaede’s words cut deeper than any of Maki’s, even without the accusatory tone. She pitied him. After all of this, she still felt bad for some machine. “Did you stay to protect us?”

Why did she care? He’d failed! He didn’t even manage to let their game end without exposing all the mysteries they tried to solve were pointless window dressing for them to play with as they got on with killing each other. “No. I just wanted to live, as Maki said. We are not friends.” Friends did not kill friends. Friends did not notice a murder plan and just watch it happen. He didn’t deserve to feel anything about them.

“So why did you mention your ‘old’ title?” Shuichi prompted, looking distracted.

“I’m not very good at dramatics, but hope being twisted into despair is rather impactful.” At least, he thought it might have been. “We’re getting off topic. I have told you the reality that awaits you,” he paused to gesture as the scrolling comments, the constant refrains of loving to see them in pain clear as day. “That world that has used you is all that awaits you. You can choose to leave, to insist you can face it and deal with the consequences. Being closer to them will not make them see you as people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams. After all, they had a first person view all this time, and still they say these things,” his disgust was genuine. He probably should have covered it better with disinterest.

“A first person view?” Himiko was shaking a little, keeping her hat tipped down to avoid reading anymore.

“They could see through my eyes when I was fooling you. That was my original purpose...Rantaro just made the need for a backup plan rather urgent,” his shrug was stiff, unable to act completely at ease. “This is how they act towards people like you. They were your friend, and could tell me how to act before this. This is how they treat people they like. Do you really want to go out there?”

The magician seemed to crumble in on herself, completely silent in the face of that reality. So she was not his replacement. Maki was too angry...would it be Kaede or Shuichi that led the rest to the end despite it all? Or perhaps he would be the one to ‘win’. It was likely only his original programming speaking, but he still didn’t really want despair to win.

“Or you simply choose to stay here. It may be a killing game, but you know who’s behind it now, and have no reason to want to escape. It would be relatively peaceful, with no one watching. You could pretend everything was normal.” He offered the second option as the silence stretched on, watching for reactions. “Hope and leave. Despair and stay. That’s all there is to it.” Nothing. Tsumugi likely would have been gloating at this point, or at least trying to goad for a reaction. Though it wasn’t as if Team DanganRonpa could complain, he wasn’t made for this, in the most literal sense.

"Does it really matter what the people watching think of us? The world is a big place," her voice strengthened as she went on, trying to catch her friend's eyes. "We're still real, no matter what they did to us. We all know that!"

Shuichi leaned over, whispering something to Kaede. What reason would there be to whisper now? Whatever he said had cheered her up somewhat, straightening while nodding at the detective.

“You said the voices could tell you how to act Kiibo. Does that mean right now, they can't?”

Shuichi’s question threw him. “The audience cannot speak to me while I’m like this. It would have exposed who the mastermind was if they could.” He covered the eye with his palm, ignoring the discomfort warning him from touching the lens with metal. “The ones in charge still can.”

“Don’t they just want an ending? Who says it needs to be their choices?” Kaede added, somehow still managing to smile.

“...That is how this works. The mastermind acts for despair, and the rest of you attempt to overcome that for hope. You pick one or the other and it ends. There are not any other choices to make.” he looked down at his hand, puzzlement prompting him to try and focus. Had he missed something? "That is why we were made, to act out their story."

“...bet there’s some dumb catch for the good side though to make the bad end look good.” Himiko mumbled, roused somewhat by the confidence the detective and pianist were showing.

“Hope does ask for two sacrifices, but you all seemed so put out it didn’t seem worth mentioning.”

“Well you keep mentioning ‘hope’. You already said the mastermind is the despair option, but who is standing in for the hope one?” Shuichi pressed again after sharing a glance with the others in the room.

“Whomever of you manages to get your friends out of the negative perceptions the mastermind is creating. So honestly, I don’t know.” Kiibo crossed his arms, uncertain on where they were going with this. It seemed like it might be Kaede, based on how she was the one trying to get them all to ignore the fact they were all pointless fakes.

“Well if the ultimate hope and the mastermind were the same person, we wouldn’t be able to pick, right?” She made it sound so simple.

...Would that work? No. He lost any right to that title. “They can't be the same person.”

“Weren’t you saying they built you for that first one?” Maki asked, though her dislike was still evident.

“Well assuming they can be the same person, couldn’t they just end this? The mastermind is in charge, and if we simply can’t vote because there isn’t more than one option…” Shuichi’s attempt to make it sound like a hypothetical wasn’t fooling anyone, but it did seem reasonable.

It was tempting. It wouldn’t make up for anything, but if all four could leave it was better than nothing? When was the last time he had made a choice?

"You think our lives matter, don't you?" she spoke softly, as if lying to lure a kitten out from under a bed. "Even if our pasts are fake?"

Maki didn't seem all the convinced. "Or maybe you enjoyed it and Kaede is just being Kaito right now. An idiot."

"Almost fooled me when Miu died..." Himiko's reminder only twisted the knife. Of course they mattered. Yet he hesitated. Wouldn't admitting this just make it harder? "You mean as much as I do. Nothing."

"I say our lives matter." She shoved away his insistence easily, as if they were simply talking out at the courtyard. "So if we're all the same, you matter too."

"So, can you end it? The mastermind might keep the game running, but they end it too." He was leaning forward, not letting the robot look away from him. "We don't need to care what the outside world thinks, or what they want anymore." Defiance had never seemed possible. Yet if he was acting for the others, it wasn't really disobedience. He was just following their hope. That was his purpose too, wasn't it? Well, there was an easy way to check. He pulled up the mask from his collar and attempted to call on the upgrades he had installed on the chance more violence was needed. The fact his arm responded and changed to the cannon was almost a surprise. Miu would have gotten a kick out of that. Kokichi too, really. Too dead to care now.

“Is that a yes?” Kaede had no fear of the cannon, not even considering that he could simply turn it on all four of them. It was almost Kaito levels of belief. Foolish. He was their enemy...but maybe she did truly trust he never had the desire to do this.

“You all choose to have me end this, then? To have no say?” They had no fear. There was no real happiness there, stiff upper lips and raised chins at best, but they certainly were not in some state of despair either. “Is that really what you want?”

The nods were short, no hesitation. “We do. I trust you, I trust all of our lives matter. No matter what the outside world thinks!”

He stared at the pianist for a long moment, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t.” His chiding was somewhat muffled between the mask and the high pitched whine the jets made as they fired up. “Someone smarter than me will take advantage of that.” If she responded, he didn’t hear it. He didn’t want the four’s plan to fail if those in charge suddenly objected to this course of action. A few test shots that did nothing to the dome enclosing the school meant they had prepared for that possibility. The fact the part of the school he shot at to make sure he had the power level at max exploded rather spectacularly made it clear only one weapon was going to do anything. It could still fail...but he wouldn’t be around to be disappointed. The timing was good, he knew he felt his shoulder start to clip the dome as the self destruct timer hit zero. Whatever happened next would be up to those four. He could hope whatever it was would be better than here, at least. They’d suffered enough.

[bird--egg]

LOOMING SUNLIGHT Chapter Three

The link to the AO3 version of this chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30351717/chapters/75897176

Waking up was always a chore when the temperature outside made it tempting to lay around aimlessly. Cedar chose to wake up before the sun had properly risen, especially since it meant the weather was slightly cool. She felt a strong burst of longing towards Shadowclan, whose warriors were generally asleep during the morning and midday and awake during dusk and night.

Stretching, Cedar poked her head out of the elders den warily. Most of the camp was sleeping soundly and she felt confident enough to move further outside, yawning silently. She licked her white forepaw and groomed herself slowly, tension unwinding as she watched the sun rise. Tigerpetal emerged from the tangled hedge that made up the medicine den, stretching dramatically before entering the leaders den. Cedar wondered what the medicine cat was doing talking to the leader so early on.

Her ears flicked towards a sound behind her and she noticed a black pelted cat approaching. Their eyes were a very vibrant green and one of their ears was crooked. What was their name? Cedar wondered a tad anxiously as it became apparent that they were coming to talk to her.

“Hey kit.” They meowed sleepily. Cedar squinted, offended at being called a kit. “You and Mothscar got a job today?”

“Not that I know. You should ask my mentor.” Seemed improper to ask an apprentice-or a ‘helper’ what they would be doing for the day without the mentors input.  The black cat blinked.

“I can’t, Mothscar needs his beauty sleep.” Beauty sleep? Cedar tilted her head slightly in confusion. Emerging from the elder’s den, Mothscar laughed.

“If I’m aiming for beauty than I’m afraid I’ll be asleep long enough to wake up and see Larkkit’s ceremony.” Mothscar walked up to the two cats, nudging the lanky cat affectionately.

“Cedarpaw, this is Newtpool. We left Riverclan together when they were just a kit.” Cedar wondered what Mothscar had been doing leaving Riverclan with a kitten, the two were clearly not related. She suddenly faintly remembered her father Ridgesnarl complaining about ‘picky’ Riverclan cat’s. At the time she’d been confused at Ridgesnarl’s disgust, but perhaps pickiness was more specific to kicking out cats who weren’t good enough?

Newtpool glanced at the older white tom with an oddly neutral face, seeming to have a silent conversation with him. Mothscar just continued to smile placidly.

“Mothscar!” Tigerpetal yelled as she was exiting the leader’s den. She completely ignored Newtpool, walking in front of the lanky cat. Newtpool rolled their eyes to Cedar, who just stared back.

“You and your helper are coming to the gathering tonight. But there’s a couple caveats to your presence being allowed.” Behind her, Newtpool puffed out their chest and was pointing their nose in the air in a way that did kind of remind Cedar of the way Tigerpetal was looking down at her. She concentrated very hard on staring neutrally at the medicine cat.

“You’re not to tell anyone where you’re from, and don’t go conversing about your helper position.”

“Well, that seems silly.” Purred Mothscar. “Why wouldn’t we want the other clans to her about our new position? Maybe they have some kits they’d want to keep from becoming apprentices too.”

Tigerpetal’s lip raised slightly, showing gleaming white teeth. There was a long drawn-out silence as the medicine cat and the elder stared each other down, and Cedar couldn’t help but notice the chatter of cats waking up had completely drawn to a halt. Her ears pressed against her head, and she wished that she was beside Newtpool or at least behind Mothscar instead of in front of Tigerpetal.

Finally, Tigerpetal let out a low growl. “Mind yourself, Mothscar. The ice you’re walking on is getting thin.” Mothscar said nothing, simply looking at the ginger tabby with a friendly expression. Tigerpetal tail lashed once, before she stalked away to the medicine den.

“Newtpool!” She yowled from inside the den. “Get your tail over here!” Newtpool looked dismayed, shooting Mothscar a grumpy glare.

“Great.” They meowed, “Now she’ll have a burr in her pelt all day. And who has to deal with her?”

“NEWTPOOL!”

“I’m coming!” They yelled back, stomping away to join their mentor. Mothscar’s posture slumped slightly.

“Poor Newtpool.” He joked, looking back to his apprentice, whose fur was puffed out and eyes wide. She had no idea why Mothscar kept pushing his luck when it came to her status. Did he just hate Rootstar so much he would oppose his rules whenever he could? Would Tigerpetal really hurt an elder? Could she even, as a medicine cat? Was that…allowed?

Seeming to accept that she wasn’t going to say anything, Mothscar flicked her lightly with his tail.

“Let’s go see if we can find some moss.”

--

 By the time the sun had started to go down, Cedar was full of nervous energy. Going to the gathering felt like an opportunity, but for what she wasn’t sure. To escape? Was the situation bad enough that leaving it would be escaping?

And even so, what clan would want her? She was wary of Riverclan because of the conclusions she’d drawn with Mothscar and Newtpool, but would Thunderclan take her? What if they were worse? She had no idea what was considered normal behavior towards a cat living in your camp who was from an enemy clan.

Besides, what if they punished Mothscar for her betrayal?

A paw poked her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to see Willowpaw’s grass-coloured eyes shining at her. She moved back slightly.

“Hey Cedar!” He chirped happily. “Me and Stormfang are supposed to be pairing up with you at the gathering! And I’m even allowed to call you Cedarpaw!” Cedar felt like he could have said that last part a little quieter, because Stormfang immediately left her conversation to glower at her apprentice. Cedar left the Willowpaw to his scolding, briefly hearing his voice squeak out ‘you said I could though!’.

Cloverpaw was waiting by the entrance of camp, watching her mentor with tired eyes. Pigeonflight was talking loudly to Marigoldfur, who couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable. Cloverpaw glanced at Cedar but seemed too worn out to snap at the she-cat. Cedar wondered what training Pigeonflight was making Cloverpaw to cause her to look so run down.

They both sat beside the other completely silently, watching Pigeonflight fail to flirt like they were spectating. As the grey tabby accidentally implied that Marigoldfur’s brother was stupid, Cedar flicked her ear. “Yikes.” She meowed simply, and Cloverpaw snorted before looking at the dark grey she-cat with shock.

“Cedar.” Stormfang called, walking with a pouting Willowpaw. Cedar looked away from Cloverpaw’s blue and green eyes. She followed Willowpaw, feeling Mothscar follow her out of camp. Most of the clan left for the gathering in order to look like they had more cats than they actually did. Since Shadowclan was out of the picture, Windclan no longer had to worry about their camp being ambushed while away. The whole trip to four-trees Willowpaw talked her ear off, often stumbling as he tried to walk and look behind him at the same time. Meanwhile, Cedar was interested in watching Windclan’s long grass slowly become shorter as they approached Riverclan. She could even see the edge of Shadowclan’s burnt pines, which made her throat close up. He forced herself to look instead at Four-trees, which wasn’t totally undamaged either. The fire seemed to have badly burnt the tree closest to Shadowclan, but the other three were slightly singed as well.

Between the trees was more cats than Cedar had ever seen. Her eyes widened as she tried to take in the number of bodies packed into a relatively small space. Willowpaw also seemed shocked, tail shooting straight up in the air as he let out a small ‘meep’. Cedar slowed her pace so she could walk directly beside Mothscar, who seemed amused at her surprise.

Windclan seemed the last to arrive at the gathering. Most cats seemed to be sticking with their own clans, murmuring with each other. Cedar noticed that Windclan moved as a unit, barely spreading out and heading right beside Thunderclan.

“Everyone seems spooked.” Mothscar noticed, eyes flicking to Shadowclan’s burnt tree before returning to the crowd. Cedar grunted noncommittally. She’d never been to another gathering.

“So we just sit here?” She asked, and Mothscar looked a little surprised that she had spoken, before shaking his head.

“No, not normally. Young cats like yourself often talk to the other young cats of every clan.” He paused, and meowed “Stick with Thunderclan cats for now though. They’re the ones that don’t smell like fish.” Cedar nodded hesitantly, stepping away from the white elder slowly. Social interactions were not especially her strong suit. She had little time to worry about it before an orange tabby stumbled into her. The fire coloured apprentice whirled around to face Cedar, fur oddly spiky without being raised.

“Hey, a Windclan cat!” They meowed excitedly, tail lashing. “Wow you look really grumpy!” She added on belatedly. Cedar was not aware of what face she was making and attempted to shift it to a more friendly look. The Thunderclan apprentice flinched back before laughing uproariously. Willowpaw padded towards them, waving his tail at her as he sat near them.

“Hi! I’m Willowpaw, and this is Cedarpaw. What’s your name?”

“I’m Robinpaw.” Robinpaw announced, bowing with flourish. Willowpaw giggled, delighted. Cedar stood awkwardly, glad Willowpw had introduced her.

“This is my second gathering, and I haven’t seen you guys before. You must be new apprentices huh?” She asked, whiskers twitching. “Little tiny babies? Sparrows just leaving the nest??” Willowpaw mroowed with laughter.

“A sparrow? Can we be a cooler bird than that?” He asked happily, and Robinpaw opened her mouth to reply when the leaders yowled for the gathering to start. The clans fell quiet, turning to face what trees were left.

Rootstar was sitting proudly on the Great Rock, startling larger than the other leaders. Beside him was an older looking she-cat with a pale sun coloured pelt and amber eyes. She had several vicious battle scars on her but looked bored even as she was standing to begin speaking to all the cats gathered in front of her. Leaping up the Great Rock was a silver tabby with sharp looking white patches. Her eyes were yellow like the flowers in the meadow, but she looked decidedly more unpleasant. Something about their expression felt like fire against Cedar’s fur.

“Do you mind if I start?” The silver leader asked the other two. Rootstar flicked his tail in a ‘go on’ motion, looking slightly annoyed. Robinpaw leaned into Cedar’s vision, whispering: “The creepy grey cat is Troutstar. And the cat with all the cool scars is Sandstar, Thunderclan’s leader.”

“Why not.” Sandstar snorted, and Troutstar ignored the sarcasm in her voice, stepping forward.

“Riverclan has done well this moon. Despite the heat the river is running well, and food is plentiful. We had no trouble with the fire, as the river protected us.” Cats murmured uneasily as Troutstar casually mentioned the fire, and Cedar gritted her teeth.

“Rockshade has given birth to two kits, and we’ve chased some troublesome rouges off our land.” At this, Sandstar stepped forward. Troutstar shot the other leader and icy look, which Sandstar ignored.

“Speaking of troubling rouges, could Riverclan please stop chasing away their own members? It’s getting depressing to watch.” Cedar’s ears flicked, glancing backwards at her mentor, who looked vaguely troubled. Troutstar scoffed.

“Your mistaken if you think Thunderclan has any rights to command anything of Riverclan.”

“I’m commanding nothing; but I think most of us know that a stable clan shouldn’t be running off loyal clanmates.” At this, Troutstar’s whole bearing changed, fur laying flat and posture loosening.

“Thank you for the suggestion Sandstar. May I ask how your own clan is doing in these hot temperatures?” She asked, tilting her head. Sandstar looked at the other leader with lidded eyes, almost amused. Cedar swore she almost heard the older leader mutter ‘flawless transition’ to themselves before speaking to the clans at large.

“Thunderclan is doing fine. The shade helps the temperature feel more bearable.” And with that, she sat down. Rootstar took this to be his cue, coming to stand beside Sandstar.

“Windclan has new apprentice’s joining it’s ranks, Cloverpaw and Willowpaw.” The rest of the cats repeated the names to varying degrees of enthusiasm, but Robinpaw gave Cedar a confused look. Pelt prickling, Cedar pretended not to see. Why hadn’t Rootstar just lied and named her as well? Wouldn’t excluding her just be more suspicious as more cats began to recognize her and learn her name?

“Prey is doing well, and we’ve fond the heat quite unbothersome.” Rootstar lied, looking unbothered and smug.

“But enough of that. I’m sure we’re all aware of the fire that raged in Shadowclan territory this moon. Shadowclan’s lack of presence here tonight is telling, and I feel it’s reasonable to assume they were either chased off the land by the fire or…” Even Rootstar’s hate for Shadowclan seemed to falter for a moment. Sandstar shook her head softly.

“We will mourn for Shadowclan if they are gone. It is an unprecedented tragedy in Clan history, to have an entire clan taken from us.” There was a deep and painful silence as the gathered cat’s absorbed the implications of Shadowclan’s loss. Cedar, meanwhile, was digging her claws into the dirt. She felt the heat of the flames flickering around her, and worse, heard the laughter and chatter of clanmates who might be-

“While this is true,” Troutstar meowed, looking unmoved “Their land needs to be divided among us.” At this Sandstar turned to the other leader, looking angrier than she had the rest of the gathering.

“Until Starclan gives us confirmation that Shadowclan is gone, we shall. Do. No. Such. Thing.” She hissed out fiercely, pelt raising and looking ready to strip the flesh off of Troutstar. Troutstar’s ears flattened, and she almost took a step back, before standing her ground. After a moment of silence, the silver leader smiled pleasantly.

“I can agree to this, for now. If there is no news in the next three moons, Riverclan will take it’s claim of territory.” And with this announcement Troutstar leapt from the Great Rock, Riverclan hurriedly following their leader.

“Wow that was eventful!” Willowpaw meowed nervously, looking guiltily towards Cedar. Robinpaw nodded, bouncing slightly.

“No kidding! I thought Sandstar was gonna shove Troutface right off the Great Rock!” With this startlingly impolite statement, a warrior shoved Robinpaw onto their paws.

“Don’t be rude to a leader.” They grumbled, sending Robinpaw along with the rest of Thunderclan, which had begun to trickle out of Four-Trees. Willowpaw watched her leave with wide eyes as Cedar turned to her mentor, surprised to find Stormfang close behind her as well. Had she been there the whole gathering? Pelt prickling, Cedar rushed past her into Mothscar’s white pelt.

Even as Windclan begun to leave Cedar couldn’t help but feel things were going to get a lot worse. Was Shadowclan really lost?

[mmxficlets]

Prompt #9: “Early Development”

This chapter was requested by Lunarii!! (If anyone knows their @, please tag them or let me know, I would love to tag them in this ;w;) This one focuses around Zero’s development into a person, and its more of a character study, still XZero though, no worries :3

Zero’s stay at Cain Labs was...eventful, to say the least. X hardly had time to think some days, let alone get his usual work done. Sigma had stopped by a few days after the former maverick had been reactivated.

It had nearly been a damn firefight to get the large reploid to not attack the warbot, said warbot sitting in X’s lab, enraptured in Dr. Cain’s ramblings about archeology. X and Sigma had argued fiercely about the subject, Sigma insisting that Zero should have remained deactivated, while X argued that everyone deserves a second chance.

Dr. Cain had stepped out of the room to see a furious Maverick Hunter Commander stalking towards the exit, his hands in fists, and X with his hands against the wall, panting as he fought to control his anger.

Sigma hadn’t returned after that, opting instead to send emails to X about Zero’s progress. 

X was honestly fine with that, it gave him more time to focus on his new friend, and the android desperately needed the attention. Not only was he not a reploid, but his inner workings dated back to around the same time X was made!

The Blue Bomber had never been more excited, knowing he had someone who was around the same age as him! 

He quickly realized though that while he had had a very solid grasp on social norms, emotional control and other human quirks, Zero did not. It felt like nothing about Zero was programmed for interacting with other people, only for combat.

His combat specs were as high as X’s, and it was obvious that whoever had programmed him had wanted him to become even stronger, with Zero’s ability to learn greater than most, if not all, reploid technology of the age. The warbot however, had no interest in learning war tactics, instead wanting to talk to and learn from X.

Zero had quickly become attached to the smaller bot, and once he was cleared to leave the small lab he had been living in, he had stuck to his android friend’s hip, one never being seen without the other. This was usually not a problem for either of them, X enjoyed having a companion to keep him company throughout his day, and Zero seemed to want to drink in everything X had to offer.

The first “incident” involving both of them was more the humans fault than Zero’s. 

X had been having a rather heated discussion with one of Dr. Cain’s colleagues, a man from another robotics lab. He had insisted that he spoke to X without Dr. Cain there, trying to convince the Light-bot to sign over some of the patents on reploid templates, and even allow other robotics companies to look at X’s own body.

This was a very big no-no to reploids, and especially X. So when he had refused, and attempted to leave, the man had jumped up and reached for the Light-bot. He had obviously not expected Zero to appear in front of him as quickly as he did. His shriek at the near snarling warbot threw both androids for quite the loop. 

The man left swiftly after that, and a rather pleased Dr. Cain had called X shortly after, explaining that the man was no longer one of his associates. 

X still had to have a stern talking to with his friend about openly threatening humans, and while Zero did look at least a little guilty, he hadn’t apologized for it. X had counted it as close to a win as he could and moved on.

After that, anyone who got too close to X was met with Zero stepping either in their line of sight, or placing his own body in front of X’s. It got a few chuckles at first, comments about how Zero was like a puppy, and X had swooned at the comparison.

It quickly grew to be a problem however, and X had had to put a stop to the behavior when Zero had bared his teeth to Dr. Cain. 

The teasing from his father figure alone had been reason enough to explain to the android why this behavior wasn’t acceptable.

As time went on, and Zero matured as a person, he became better about navigating the subtle nuances of interacting with people. His personality really began to blossom, and X was ecstatic to watch it happen.

Zero liked cats, a trait discovered after they had taken a trip around Cain Labs and found a stray cat. He had sat there calling and tittering for the tiny creature after X had shown him how. Soon the cat had worked up the courage to approach, and had subsequently spent over an hour with both androids. (X really enjoyed that memory, and the cat had become a resident in the labs, aptly named Aasimov.)

Zero wasn’t very big on wearing clothes, preferring to keep his armor on. The first time X had convinced him to remove the armor and just enjoy being without it, he had been met with embarrassed looks from the lab techs that had been present for the conversation. X turned around and panicked, throwing his own lab coat over Zero’s now naked body.

He hastily explained that while they were not technically showing anything improper, public nudity was frowned upon in human society. Zero hadn’t understood at first, but accepted when X convinced him to wear civilian clothes. The Blue Bomber used his personal allowance to buy Zero his own clothes. After a nice shopping trip, the warbot having chosen most of his wardrobe, they both had nice sets of clothes to wear, with Zero’s being mostly hoodies and t-shirts, and one very bright red jacket.

Zero’s taste in music was...strange. If you had asked any of the lab assistants what music a former maverick would enjoy, they would say something like rock and roll, or heavy metal. Ask X that question however, and he would answer with a sigh and shrug, saying simply, “He’s really into the blues.” The only theory that people could come up with was that the warbots best friend’s armor was blue, and somehow that had made a connection to the android.

X didn’t have an answer either.

Zero’s taste in food was also strange. Finding out that the warbot had functioning tastebuds was a wonderful surprise, and X had insisted on finding his favorite food. Trial and error was the best way to determine this, and The Blue Bomber was nothing if not determined.

The warbot had turned his nose up at any kind of fish, citing that the smell bothered him. Chicken and red meats were okay though. Onions were a big no, Zero claiming that it drowned the taste of everything around it. His favorite vegetable ended up being broccoli. The warbot particularly liked things that were sweet, and things that were spicy. How those two things correlated with one another, again, X didn’t have an answer.

In the end, Zero had promptly decided that spaghetti was his favorite meal. X enjoyed cooking that at least once a week, much to both Dr. Cain and Zero’s delight.

The most interesting thing to develop about Zero to X was his way of interacting with people. At first, he had seemed like a toddler in a body much too big for himself. Always curious, stepping over everyone’s boundaries and being brutally honest. As he spent more time around X and other humans though, that changed.

He grew a bit more withdrawn, refraining from speaking when he didn’t really have to. Once you got his attention however, he was more than happy to talk. This helped a lot when X himself didn’t feel like speaking. Zero also seemingly became more aloof, or “cool”, when the lab techs were asked. He had a natural suaveness about him, and once he had learned how to hold a conversation properly, his charm and confidence had truly blossomed. 

After a few months, Zero was a completely different person, his ability to learn helping him become a functioning member in X’s life. He had become a joy to be around, able to hold his own in conversation, adding his own input and spin on things. He sparred weekly with X in one of the labs testing halls, and had his own talks of morality and ethics with Dr. Cain.

It was wonderful, and X found he genuinely enjoyed spending his days with his friends.

It broke X’s heart when Sigma and the Maverick Hunters appeared to take Zero away. 

The warbot’s probation period was up, and Sigma would assess whether the former maverick was to be put down, or assigned to the hunters. Zero had met the Hunters without flinching, his time spent with X helping him immensely when asked to prove his sanity.

He passed with flying colors, and Zero was hired on the spot. When it came time to say goodbye, X hugged the warbot, trying not to cry as his best friend was taken away.

Zero had smiled and promised to visit before being escorted out by a reploid in purple armor, Sigma congratulating X on his ability to reform such a troublesome maverick. 

A few months later, X had joined the maverick hunters too, desperate to be around his friend and further his research. Both androids combat synergy shot them to the higher ranks, Zero being higher than X, but only just by seniority alone.

And as time went on, the two oldest androids on the planet grew even closer as friends, their dream-like time in Cain Labs a fond memory for X and Zero. 

It all shattered when Sigma declared war on humanity, and the first flames of war grew on the horizon.

[nopperabounet]

音楽と人- PHY vol.15 February 2020 Personal Interview with Higuchi Yutaka Text by Ishii Eriko Translation by Lola

  I'm going to start by looking back at last year, and the "Locus Solus no Kedamonotachi" shows that happened in the first half.

OK. I mean the whole departure point for that was that "Locus Solus" isn't an album tour, nor is it like our "THE DAY IN QUESTION" shows, so we needed a different title for it, and had various things in mind. We also announced the release of a new song too, and I thought it'd work well for the live.

You tried some things out for the first time as well. Like during the encores when you unexpectedly came in from the back like pro-wrestlers to the raised center stage.

Like pro-wrestlers *laughs*. That's because the walkway was rather long you know. It was fun to be in the centre of everything like that with everyone. We were all squished together there, and typically we're not even that close to each other when we rehearse *smiles*. It's been some decades at least since we've performed that closely, so for me, it felt nice.

Like being cramped in a studio from your early days right? Did it remind you of back then?

Yeah, it reminded me of being in Kōenji . . . . . . you know I'm not even sure if PAL (studio) is still there even. But anyway being able to do that made me feel like from now on we'll be able to keep doing new things, and that's a good feeling.

But I would think it'd be stressful sometimes, to be only concerned with doing new things, and first time things.

Nah, I want to do more of what we can do. There's still a bunch of stuff we can do, the five of us,  and even I feel like we can still make our lives even better. So that's why I want to keep doing more and more.

I can tell you mean it by how confidently you say it.  It's great!

I just never want to stop doing this, even more so now than when I debuted and had only been playing the bass for about a year or two. I kept at it though, and reached the point where I felt like I knew how to play, but it's not just about me. Now when it's the five of us making music together, it feels so clear to me how good we've become. That's why I want to keep doing more, and become even better. So yeah . . . . . .but I'm sure that's kind of a weird thing to say right *smiles*.

No, it's a good thing. Sometimes when people have been together for so long, they can't see the potential in growth anymore right? So instead of building stamina they end up feeling limited.

Well, I just feel like there's still a lot of stuff we can do you know. In regards to what we can express, and what we can put out, the five of us. I feel like there's still more we can share with those who've been waiting for us, and that makes me super excited.

You keep emphasizing, "the five of us".

Yes. Well I mean, BUCK-TICK is five people *smiles*. And of course we have lots of help from our staff too but, it's always been the five of us experiencing this together you know. Laughing together . . . . . .well, maybe not crying together so much but, we've had a lot of fun times together. Like during tours and rehearsals, from the very first time the five of us tuned our music together until now, it's always been this way. Not to say that we're grinning all the time but, there's a feeling of comfort between us.

You were a high school student when you first entered a studio, so was that a big moment for you?

Yeah. Like we wondered what would we do together, and what sort of sound we'd have. Is it weird if I say just that made me happy? It was super fun though. I'm just not great at expressing myself.

It's incredible that you didn't get stuck in a rut. Like when married couples have been together that long, they don't want to be together anymore.

I think it's because Imai-kun is always providing us with a variety of things as a composer. So because of that I'm always having to learn new things. That's probably why I can't even imagine feeling stuck in a rut with them.

Regarding "Datenshi", what were your first thoughts when you got it?

I thought it was a rock song. But because in the demo, it's Imai-kun singing at first, that's what really made it rock for me. But I knew that once Acchan sings it would sound incredible.

I heard that you had a different single in mind at first.

Yes. But it was this kind of tender-ish song, so when we were wondering which would be better to put out first, we ended up choosing "Datenshi". Well Hide had written some songs too, but we went with the one Imai-kun wrote with Acchan's lyrics. Of course as composers and the lyricist, they'll talk about it like, "Ok, what do you want to do now?" That's what we stick to usually.

Speaking of Imai-san, how do you see him as a composer?

. . . . . .he's a vague one.

A vague one *laughs*.

Because he'll just say stuff like, "I want it to have this kind of feeling" every time so within that, if I change stuff up to suit me he'll say, "Good, yes. That's good." He's never really been forceful with me about what he wants with the demo you know. I think that's why we're all able to keep growing together, and becoming more aware. So that's what I mean by vague.

I see, so it's not that he changes things based on everyone's input, but rather that the demo is just a start of something, and you all add a lot of changes to it for the final product.

Right. It changes the basic impression of it. Of course, I tend to record my bass parts first right so I end up wondering, "I wonder how this song will turn out?" Like with "Luna Park", my impression changed completely. At first when I heard the demo, it struck me as like a British type song. But then once everything was in it, the image changed to be something incredibly light.

Ah, so you're saying it didn't have that electro-pop-ness to it at first.

Not at first, no. I think Hide had a master manipulator add that, and that's what really made it super pop to me.

Does that happen often?

Yeah. And then there's Imai-kun who is always changing things along the way right. Like even when he gives you a demo, it'll end up changing so much because of all the stuff that gets put in afterwards. And maybe this is a weird thing to say but, I feel like the moment Acchan sings, he puts the soul into the music. That's when I feel like, " . . . . . .oh, wow!"

This might be an odd question but, do you ever feel like, "Wow, how did I end up in such an awesome band"?

Yeah! Well no . . . . . . it's not that I go around thinking how awesome they are, but more that I have respect for them.

The very fact that Imai-san and Sakurai-san paired up to form a band seems so unlikely to me, I feel like it's rather miraculous honestly.

I guess so. But you know I've been with them since high school when I was their junior classman *smiles*. That's not something I really think about. We haven't changed at all since then. Like when we were in high school, and Imai-kun would be like, "You've got to hear this sound, do you have this kind of record?" Back in our indies days he'd get me to listen to all this stuff that could only be bought in Tokyo. He's still like that even now. He's always telling me stuff like, "This is good, you gotta hear it."

You still enjoy that he does that.

I do. It's like, "Wow, you're right! This is awesome!" So you see, we haven't really changed much.

But you couldn't have imagined Imai-san from your high school days where he is now.

He wasn't really the chatty type you know. I don't think any of us really are. Hide was never the loud type either, and Acchan was even more quiet.

Once the five of you formed the band, did it feel like instant chemistry?

It did. It all clicked. Well, once we were in Tokyo. The feeling of the band changed once Acchan became the vocalist. But it's from that point on that we've always been able to do thing with this same feeling, and I think that's why it's fun.

Maybe, but it could be also because all of you feel that you are getting better and better with time.

Yes. Maybe. It's not something I can really put into words. But I think it might be something that even those who have been watching us for a long time feel. We've absolutely gotten better as a band, and we want to keep getting even better. Because we have so many people supporting us, and who come to see us live. So I think that makes us all the more driven to want to entertain them even more.

I feel like in recent years you've been fixated on that, and on that sort of circus imagery.

Well I mean it is a show right, of course we want to make people enjoy themselves. Since without that they might not be into it. While we have a variety of songs, and our approach varies too, as a performer what makes me happy to hear in the end is people saying, "I had fun" or "That made me think". I just can't express it well in words.

But it's not just about making people laugh with amusement, it's also because you all honestly believe this world is worth enjoying ultimately.

Right. Of course when I say we want to make people have fun, that is absolutely a part of it for the five of us too.

And of the five of you during lives it is you, Yuuta-san, who grins the most.

I do, yeah. I think when I'm happy with what we're doing, I can smile easily. I think we each express ourselves in our own ways you know. Although of course when it's a surreal type song I can't be grinning away like a fool *smiles*. So that's kinda annoying but I make an effort to interpret these things in my way and still do it properly.

You cover a wide genre of music, and you're also working on the serialization of your stories about your support of the Hanshin Tigers, and while it's uncharacteristic of BUCK-TICK, I think it's proactive of you, Yuuta-san.

No, no, I wasn't being proactive, I was made to do it *smiles*. Your editor in chief, Kanemitsu-san made me. But then I figured ok, I guess this is BUCK-TICK related too, more or less.

More or less *smiles*. But you know the thing about BUCK-TICK is that they're consistently aloof, even your followers don't really know you that well. So for that reason alone, you doing this Yuuta-san is like a glimpse into your life.

Aah. Now you're making me sound like a liability.

You're smiling so I'm thinking you're ok with it. Even though you all act like you're in hell, it's not true to who you are.

Ah, yeah. That's because of the time of our debut though. We'd get told like, *said while glaring* "Don't smile, and never look like this is fun!" But gradually with time we've come to express ourselves in our own styles anyway.

From when do you think things changed?

From a little before the 2000s I guess. I felt like I was changing bit by bit. Maybe it was around the time of "ONE LIFE~", during our Ariola years? I don't think it  was due to a particular thing happening but, I came to feel like that was when we were able to do  what we wanted. I'd say I came to enjoy it all more.

Would you say you became more at ease?

Maybe. I mean rather than say I was at ease, I'd say it's that even when we weren't working I felt able to express myself. I mean it's not like we made a ton of stuff then.

True. When I think about how it was in the old days, there's this image like you weren't allowed to eat or even go to the bathroom.

. . . . . .if I don't eat I'll die *smiles*.

Even so, I couldn't even imagine living like that.

Ah, but you know for us it was just the way it was. Well if you compare us to how we were then, we've still got the hair guy *gestures to having spiked hair*, and the guy who never says a word *smiles*. But I think that's how a lot of us were too, we were all shy and quiet.

How did you manage to perform on stage being a bunch of shy and quiet guys?

Mm, this might just be for me but, it's like a switch goes off. Not that I'd ever be back stage screaming like "LET'S DO THIS!" "YEAH!"

Hahaha. If you did I'd be worried.

I am dripping with sweat though. But then the moment we get on stage, it's like there's that switch for everyone. I think it's like that for the five of us. It's always been like that.

So it's been this way for over thirty years. That's an overwhelming success story.

Yeah, but you know for us even thirty years just feels like a check point, like if we're always able to keep doing this, then I'll welcome the chance to without question. That's why I want to do more, after all it was our 30th anniversary so of course I thought about what we'll do next after that. I think that's standard isn't it? Like you wonder when you've done so much where did the years go, and you wonder if maybe there won't be a next time.

The feeling of loss that comes with every anniversary *smiles*.

Right. Seems that even if I try to avoid feeling it, it's there. That's why it's good to be focused on the moment like last year with "Locus Solus" and "DAY IN QUESTION". That's the feeling I want to carry into the new year.

Be that as it may . . . . . . you still only put out one single in 2019.

It's true. You're right. I think that's why at first I really wanted to put out a wonderful album in 2020, and do a whole country tour to go see all the people waiting for us you know. Since we didn't really have that many shows last year. And I know for me, when a band comes to my town it makes me happy.

What does your work situation feel like currently?

Our manager begged us to please start thinking of songs . . . . . .that can be used for the album.

Hahahaha.

Because you know Imai-kun says something like, "I've got some in mind." And then always gets asked, "Yes, ok, but where are they?" Like does he have them on his Mac or what? No? Not even there yet?  . . . . . .I dunno, I don't get it *smiles*.

I humbly look forward to your summer album. Also I'm guessing this is something you've been asked a lot in recent years but, are you thinking about how long you will be able to keep doing this for?

Yeah, I dunno.  . . . . . .but when I was asked that some ten years ago I said, "Forever!" but now with the weight of the years, of course I've come to think about a variety of factors.  I want to say forever, but of course when I die, that's it right. So I'll say I want to keep going for as long as I can.

Does thinking about the end scare you?

Well yeah, I mean that's like asking me, "Are you afraid of death?" But that's why I think I'd be more afraid of things becoming sour with the band, because as I was just saying, it seems like we we've still got stuff to do. I think that's why I'm able to think that I want to keep going for as long as I can.

Is there an ideal way for the band to end?

An ideal way? . . . . . .I guess . . . . . .if it ended without us breaking up?

You think . . . . . .you'd break up at this point?!

I'm considering saying, " . . . . . .yes?" *smiles*

Well then I'm going to say, "What the hell are you saying?"

Which seems to be why I always end up thinking, "Ah yes, if only I'd keep my mouth shut, now what're they going to print?" *smiles*

[fovapo5888]

How to Keep Your Dog From Running Away Plus How to Build a Very Cosy (Free) Pet Bed

How the big four commands save lives

According to the National Health Service and media reports, over 4,500 incidents a year in the U.K. involve dogs and people, with children being the biggest victim group.. You are more likely to be bitten by a dog than win the lottery! https://namingyourdog.weebly.com/blog/selecting-memorable-dog-names

One incident is an unwelcome statistic but until you accept that your pet dog runs away because you let it these incidents are going to continue to occur. There are 5 basic steps, 4 big commands and 3 essential pieces of equipment which you need to learn how to use effectively to gain control and to build discipline into your dog. This guide explains how to do this and how to stop your dog running away. A collar and lead are working instruments of control, just the same as holding your child's hand. Mobile phones are another safety device we use with our children to maintain contact and for a much safer and secure environment. Our dogs are no less important and are at a higher statistical risk than our children. Your voice alone is not going to be enough. Whistling is hard work and it assumes your dog finds the whistle more compelling than what is at the end of its nose. You must start to appreciate that stopping your pet running away is a skill to be learned and developed on an on going basis, and like people, the input of patience and unconditional love, will very likely be paid back. The probability is that if your children are model children then your dog probably will be too, but that doesn't mean it is going to be easy to train, it just means you probably have the mindset and determination to keep your dog safe and disciplined. I admit this article may be a bit controversial but the techniques work and will not harm or hurt your dog. Neglect and ignorance is a much bigger killer. If you want to stop your dog running away there are 3 things your must achieve:

Instant response Your dog's whole and undivided attention Complete obedience You need to understand that there are 3 reasons why your dog will run away:-

Sex Cruelty Owner mismanagement All three of the reasons as stated above can get your dog killed or seriously injured. If you then overlay lack of success with the 3 disciplinary aspects you have serious issues to deal with and you need to correct this quickly or risk your dog causing death or serious injury. The end result will be the loss of your pet by lethal injection, gunshot or fatal injuries. If minors are involved and they are your own family it will destroy not only your life but that of your entire family. This is how I see it anyway and it is this that motivates me to get it right. Your pet running off is not to be taken lightly. I propose to examine a few simple helpful hints that might make your life more bearable and improve your relationship with the animal at a level you can both appreciate and work on to good effect. I am going to ignore the first two reasons that cause running away. If you need guidance to deal with them please give your dog to a loving home, this article is not for you. Your dog is born with senses which once engaged are so compelling that you pale into insignificance the minute they are engaged. You don't need to be a dog whisperer to understand this, but you can see it for yourself the minute you call your dog back. It is not a great moment when your dog embarrasses you for your inability to handle it. I think one year in a dog's life is about 6.5 of our years, so by the end of year one your dog should be starting to make out sounds, short sentence structures and words. The four most important commands in order are:

sit heal down stay Dogs are quick learners. Not only do they know your mood, they take everything right to the edge all the time and they are also very persistent. The sooner you start teaching them the better, try to make it fun without finishing up with a fat dog. Remember your children should not be force fed a big McDonalds every time they get their table manners right and The National Hedgehog Road Skills award has never been won by a hedgehog. A lead is the equivalent of your child's hand. You communicate through it just the same way. You would not let your child pull you off your feet, especially on a main road, so use the same discipline with your dog.

Step 1. It is always your fault

I really don't think that Springer Spaniels with their long floppy ears can hear you properly over 30 metres away unless you really shout which makes you look in control doesn't it. When I was younger I had a liver and white springer 'Bramble'. He never knew to this day what hit him when he was busy rounding up sheep. I would have been able to play for the British Lions with a rugby tackle like that, the dog went flying, not in the least bit hurt, just caught in the act. He yelped just with fright, but never chased sheep again and after this incident if he could hear me he responded instantly to all the big 4 commands.

Step 2. How to stop your dog pulling you off your feet.

A sharp and very hard tug on the lead pulling your dog back behind you will do the trick. After the second or third time they will desist. This is obviously easier to do when your St. Bernard is a puppy, which is why i say start straight away. Bad habits are developed by the owners not the dogs. Never allow your dog to pull. Start by holding your dog's hand (the lead) and work firmly in a disciplined and in a fair way, and reward good performance and discipline and work on behaviour that falls short. Little and often is good and a routine is helpful. The thing that really gets results is patience. You would not take your child out into a distracting environment to teach them so don't do it to your dog either. Get the dog's attention and eye contact and progress will improve. If you are having trouble getting the dog's attention increase the treat value e.g. fillet steak. This is about hearts and minds and developing absolute trust. The time to use treats is at the outset of teaching the command. Once the dog understands what is required of it, a pat on the head and some encouraging words is sufficient.

Step 3. How to slow your dog down to your speed

How many of you would not hold on to your 6 year old child's hand in the city centre? Would you expect your six year old to speak fluent Russian? No, so don't expect your dog to understand what sounds the same to them. Use the lead to build confidence and lots of patience. By the time your dog is six months old they will be getting more biddable, more curious and more determined but up to the first year you can never be certain. However you are desperate to give your dog the freedom of that run about. A game keeper taught me a very good tactic called hobbling. Your dog's collar should always allow you to get three fingers under it, if you can't it is too tight. Simply stick your dog's front paw through the collar, it looks cruel, its not and you can catch a dog on three legs, it puts the odds in your favour, so you now have the opportunity to train your dog to stay close to you, or get it back safely. Don't use a retractable lead it encourages your dog to pull. Dogs on retractable leads are not properly trained (such a statement could be highly controversial but I would presume that those owners won't be reading this type of article so there won't be anyone to offend!)

Step 4. Timing - how long does it take to train my dog? I think 300 hours gets a basic job done before your dog will specialise into say rescue, field sports, or social human tasks like police or military work. It takes a good year to settle and train a dog. If you get the big 4 commands in quickly and early the dog will start to perform well but it will take at least a year so be patient and persist. Practice all the time - practice makes perfect. ( it also helps you lose weight!). I now have a black and white Springer Spaniel and she was terrible for running off. This was my fault. On dark evenings I only needed to get distracted for a second and the dog was gone. There I am in the dark and pouring rain, shouting my head off and the dog is in the next county. Twenty anxious minutes later I get a ball of mud back! Never be cross with a returning dog, it is after the fact and they may misinterpret you, causing trauma and confusion. Simply make a note to self to set up a training session in a controlled environment to fix the problem whilst kicking your own bottom and not the dogs!

Step 5. How to stop your dog running away

You spend hours and hours working with them, you teach the big 4 commands and when they are over six months old and really understand the commands then you have to bring discipline to bear or face the possibility of an unthinkable incident. I have tried whistles, chasing after her and just leaving her, none of which are satisfactory and just exposes the dog to danger. If I can't control the dog at both short and long range she is useless in the field other than as a pet. So how do I stop my pet from running away. A game keeper suggested an electric collar. I dismissed it out of hand as being cruel, but it is not as cruel as watching your dog in agony pinned down under a car wheel. I decided to try an electric collar but resolved to be kind and fair. It has transformed the dog without any cruelty at all and this is how it works: First and only after 6 months minimally, and only when the big 4 commands are in place can you use one. My collar has an audible alarm which the dog can hear even when she can't hear or see me. She quickly learned to respond to this bleep, it means only one thing 'Heal'. Since wild life has hearing and great vision too, we get to see lots of it when we are out now because we are quiet, the dog is under control at all times and above all is safe. Your dog and especially Springer Spaniels will want to do as you ask. You must be there at the time of any incident which demands attention or arresting and a bleeper really is on the spot and instant. If the dog doesn't respond there are 8 settings to 'tweak your dog's ear', building up to a shock. All of these are much gentler than rough handling or hitting the dog. All of them hurt a lot less than impact with an HGV. I must stress that if you don't have the big four commands in place and a confident dog you should not deploy such a device, just keep your dog on a lead. The collar is only for the dog's protection and control and the charge, which is about the same as a static shock from a door handle, does not cause the dog much discomfort, but it lets her know I want her attention when all else fails which is pretty rare these days. I don't know how the shepherds do it but they have my admiration. I don't need my little dog to achieve those levels. We have lots of fun together and she adores my two girls, mind you she adores everyone including the postman! I think that patience is the secret and then it's a matter of time.. She also has a special settee in our garden room (but never assumes this right in the house), and a dog house made out of straw bales which she loves as it is very warm. She also knows where the edge is, and pushes it like crazy, but she is safe and well behaved and under control at all times because she can hear me and every day that goes by her knowledge of language and disciplined procedure improves. I think I will always use an electric collar now, it is a safety device which makes me much less apprehensive about the dog's behaviour because I can focus on expanding the dog's comprehension of commands, so her behaviour continues to improve and she plays an even bigger and much more enjoyable part in day to day activities. If you don't want your pet to run off get to grips with the collar, lead, teaching, rewarding and discipline and be heard - the best way to do that quietly is with a bleeping collar - really it works. I think these new devices are the dog equivalent of a 2 way radio. No soldier goes into combat without one. I think they are here to stay and used responsibly will transform your life and make teaching your dog a real joy and with much less stress. Remember it is your finger on the button and you decide whether you are a dog trainer or a dog breaker - I know which I am.

How long does it take to teach your dog the big 4 Commands?

It takes about 20 minutes armed with some really 'must have' treats, and then repeat the training a day or so later for a few minutes until you see it work immediately. I use mackerel fillets but anything other than chocolate will do the trick. For every minute of training you need an hour of practice to get the command working consistently and then three or four times longer to get them all working together. You will pay for gaps in your routine and you will be able to notice when others have handled your dog. Dogs will always push to the limit to see what they can get away with so you have to be that limit and you can't always do that by being nice and feeding the dog treats. Never break your dog by cruelty and bullying to get the obedience you want, a broken dog does not work properly and anyone who has trained a dog will spot a broken dog a mile off, you can't hide it and you can't repair the damage.

A command should be instant, it is useless if it is not and may get you, your children, the dog or some poor unsuspecting motorist into an unthinkable situation, it is worth the effort.

Should you let the dog on the sofa - Training Versus Behaviour?

Oh boy is this a hot potato! Firstly your dog knows the difference between the scruffy couch in the playroom and the one in the living room but you may have to work more on the training. You can let your dog do anything you like provided you put the effort in with the ground rules, but here is a simple guide.

Your dog has two basic barks, one to warn and the other is more playful. Learn what they are and what they mean. If you don't want a yappy dog you will get the opportunity at about 10 months to sort it out.

Don't allow your dog to behave in a way that would be offensive to others, I am sure you don't need a list from me.

You can use a smack, a firm push or voice commands so long as it is immediate. If your dog is beyond reach you will need to either be very quick (voice and run) or use an electric collar. A sharp shock beats a fight or injury. If this is administered at the start of the action the dog is unlikely to repeat the offence. You won't break the dog doing this. Prolonged aggression or fierce punishment fills your dog with terror. I have heard them start to yelp before a blow is struck because they know what is coming. Could you do your job knowing someone is about to give you a good kicking? Neither can the dog. I have never seen a broken dog that didn't bring a lump to my throat and have me biting my lip to hold back the tears. Like the dog I suffer quietly in silence unable to speak.

Being a good dog owner and handler

Bad behaviour develops as a result of lack of effort or selfishness by the owner. Like your children the more patience and time you spend with them and effort you put into your dog, the more reward you can expect with a strong measure of devotion paid back. Like children they will pick up trauma between adults and they don't like it. Neglect will result in the dog making up its own rules and then you will need a dog psychologist to intervene. Unless the dog is ill and requiring 24 hour supervision, I would advocate they should have their own special place. A kennel is usually the best so they can have peace and quite to relax and dry/chill out and be themselves. You wouldn't normally have your children in bed with you, so I think it is a bit odd to have your pets there too. Lack of common sense is what develops poor animal behaviour. Plenty of exercise, good diet, discipline, routine, care and attention will work for your dog.

In summary, the three essential pieces of equipment required are a lead, a collar and an audible device that can be heard anywhere instantly by your dog which upon being heard recalls your dog to your side.. If a measure of force is required then this device should have the ability to administer it or be backed up by it.

How to Make a cosy dog bed for free - well almost

I think a great bed makes a very happy dog, especially if they have a full tummy

As an engineer, specialising in materials handling and storage, when it comes to a bed for the dog I wanted to create a cosy place for her to sleep. For several months I persevered with pet cushions etc but they just get filthy and are not very easy to clean or warm to sleep on outdoors. In winter this year we had two feet of snow, which the dog loved but it was cold for her and I wanted something better.

Pallets are often equipment you can pick up for free. Two or three of them are very simple to convert into a bed. 1000mm x 1200mm is a perfect size. If you have an outhouse, garage or shed they will fit easily inside. It doesn't matter if the dog chews them, the wood can be recycled or used for fire wood and if you use straw, the straw can be composted or burned. Now this solution is not for everyone but the dog will love it and you may grow to love it and here is why:

The straw helps clean the dog The dog can scrape and arrange the straw as it wants it The pallet and a few straw bales make a very cosy den Filled with straw your dog can live comfortably outside in all weathers Living outside is better for the dog Dogs will grow their natural seasonal coats in line with the climate. Inside they go into a state of permanent moulting, outside unheated they can live more naturally. The straw is cosy and warm the year round especially with the added protection of 380mm to 450mm of insulation on 6 sides The pallet keeps your dog off the cold floor - essential. Straw bales range from £1.75 to £3.50 Before you go into blind panic about scabies or mange, I have never had any trouble. However if you are worried ask your vet, I think you will find that the modern treatments keep them at bay anyway. Do watch out for nails and cardboard (stapled on). Plywood makes good tops if the wood is spaced or a bit rough and then the deep straw does the rest.

My dog really loves her straw bed and is quite happy to get into it and I rarely see her little black nose come round the edge of the bale until I call for her.

There is an awful lot of nonsense talked about training and not much help with the real control commands when they don't work. Much of the time it is just not possible to intercept mistakes and behavioural dysfunction in time to correct it in a way the dog can quickly grasp the requirement. This just makes it tougher on both you and the dog.

I am a materials handling engineer by profession, and a keen motorcyclist which I use for work most of the year round. The BMW GS 1200 Adventure is a challenging and awesome machine, so if you are in commerce or industry and want to build or equip a new warehouse or production unit, please go and visit my website.

I have had spaniels most of my life, having grown up with them. I have always found it hard to get help with the really tricky bits of training. I prefer to train the basics and build my own relationship with my dog and I like to see her working in the field doing what she does best and then getting her to come back to me in an orderly way and not via the adjoining county. I usually send the dog for a season with a keeper to specialise, it's a bit like doing a ski season for the dog.

[comfortmarvelimagines]

can i please get some headcanons dad!tony with autistic reader? i feel like he’d be such an amazing dad.

abso-freakin-lutely you can !!!!!! im so glad someone sent me this holy shit am i HYPED (also: there is another request for dad! tony with mum!pepper and lil sis!morgan so this one is shorter than it would otherwise be because there is more coming)

dad!tony and autistic!reader headcanons 

- tony knew you were autistic from when you were fairly little, but waited a while to get you diagnosed. he did, however, extensively research how to best parent you (in consult with autistic people/experts, of course) and did everything he could to make sure you were able to be yourself however you needed at home

-  he sought after a diagnosis when he realised he was out of his depth with sensory stuff, and needed the help of an ot

- rather than overwhelming you with sensory items (stim toys, weighted blankets, etc), he introduced things to you one at a time, and learnt what kinds of input helped 

- you switched between craving touch (hugs, squeezes, head rubs) and finding it painful so quickly as a kid that he realised that you’d need a non-verbal means of communicating whether touch was okay. you’d come up with the signalling system when you were tiny, and no one else could understand it, but you still used it to this day 

- sometimes, all you wanted to do was be close to someone and rock. he’d always sit next to you with one arm over the back of the couch, open for a hug if you wanted one

- tony had a way of reading you that no one else could match. he’s always been super big on catching things early, so that they don’t escalate into melt/shutdowns later on; for someone who’d spent most of his adulthood reliant on unhealthy coping mechanisms, he seemed hell-bent on making sure you were the opposite 

- seriously, you’d never met another non-autistic as fierce a supporter of stimming as your dad 

- every now and then, when he noticed you had a new stim, he’d ask you how it felt. it was nice, to have someone not just accepting of your stims, but genuinely interested in how you were expressing yourself 

- you liked wearing his jumpers when you weren’t home because they smelled like him. usually you didn’t like strong scents, but tony was... neutral, but safe 

- plus his arms are longer than yours so the sleeves are Optimal Length for twisting, keeping your hands warm, hiding fidget cubes inside and Ultimate Happy Flappy Hands 

- speaking of, tony found your happy flappy hands one of the best things he’d ever seen 

- he wasn’t just there for the fun stuff, though. there’d been countless nights where he sat on the side of your bed, rubbing your back, when your brain and body just wouldn’t turn off for sleep 

- school wasn’t always the greatest either. but you bet tony would drop anything and everything to come pick you up if need be 

- he also made sure that you had the accomodations you wanted and expressed that you needed. even from a young age, he’d asked you what’d be helpful. he always knew you could advocate for yourself, he was just there to amplify what you were saying 

- after a few years of bullying at school, he quietly paid for a program sending autistic educators into all schools in the district for presentations on neurodiversity. for both students and staff. sure, he knew people didn’t get autism, but some of the stuff he’d heard said to you was ridiculous 

- and yes, it obviously included a captain america psa. because those are too goddamn funny.

- he never so much as raised his voice. the only time you ever heard him get mad during a meltdown wasn’t at you, it was at the grandmother at the grocery store yelling at him to just give the kid a smack, teach them some discipline, teenagers don’t throw tantrums. fortunately pepper was there to get you outside and safe because tony was ready to deck the woman  

- it took him a while to realise what shutdowns were. you’d never seen him so guilty as when he was apologising for not realising how much pain you were in, earlier 

- you loved your dad for knowing what to do almost all of the time. panic attack? breathing exercises. shutdown? grounding exercises. super shitty day? hugs, with permission of course.  

- he made pepper teach him how to properly cook your samefoods properly 

- he always keeps up with you spIns. and not just in the obvious ways. he picked up on your excited infodumping about dinosaurs and oh, look, we’re watching a documentary about archaeology for movie night and huh there’s a new dino squishy on your desk. what’s that? tickets to the dinosaur museum downtown haha what a coincidence ??!?!?

 - he hates seeing you in pain, and every meltdown sets a deep ache behind his arc reactor. you’ve always love the pressure and warmth of his hugs post-meltdown, and he takes the opportunity to squeeze you tight and protect you from the world not compatible with your brain. even when you’re grown, not a baby anymore, that drive to put a metaphorical suit of armour around you never dissipates 

- you’ve always liked to stim with his hands. they’re familiar. you know the callouses like your own

- his watches are also stimmy, either to fidget with the clasps or to just feel the subtle ticking 

- you’ve always held hands with tony, even in public. new york is overwhelming and you need an anchor  

- and obviously, you have the most high-tech noise cancelling headphones on the market. tony stark can build anything with that mind. of course he’s gonna build stuff to make his kid’s life easier 

- you’ve absolutely adopted his specific brand of sarcasm. people have said you’re just like him in that regard too many times to count. most other sarcasm goes straight over your head, but tony’s inherited quick-wittedness has served handy in many an awkward social situation 

- you’d never know it, but he constantly stresses that he’s not doing the best/ isn’t good enough as a parent 

- to you, he’s always been the best. he’s your home, your safe place. a constant when the world is too much and too mean all at once 

- and sure, you’re not the best at telling him how much you appreciate him, but he knows. he knows when you squeeze his hand. he knows when you come home from school and infodump with happy flappy hands whilst twirling around the kitchen as he’s cooking. he knows when you join him on the couch, humming, as he drinks his coffee in the morning. he knows when you fall asleep against him as he holds you tight after a particularly bad meltdown. he knows.

[lauriejuspeczyk]

Gonna answer a questionnaire that I saw @koalateamusings do 1 million years ago cuz its REAL RDR HOURS and I also tag @honeyjaws to do it after!! Here’s a Q&A about Violet and Kieran lmfao..........

1. How did they first meet?

they both turn a tight corner and literally run face first into each other in camp LMAO. It’s a stupid mess and they hit each other so hard that Violet falls over and the horses make noise, and Bill cracks a joke about how he “the o’driscoll can’t be left alone around the girls!” and this embarrasses Kieran even MORE and he just apologizes to her over and over, but she’s a bit dazed so he’s just like ‘Miss let me help you!’ and lifts her up and when he does they get super close to each other and see each others faces and Kieran literally just STARES at her like an idiot, and Violet just teases him like “Well be careful, okay? What if I’d scratched the handsome off you?” and giggles and pulls his hat down over his face and Kieran’s brain is just like (KILL BILL SIRENS). They don’t actually properly learn each others names until later that night when she goes over to talk to him.

2. What did they think of each other at first? What was their first impression of the other?

HonesLEE it’s all so dorky and soft which I raaaarrrrely ever do to my OCs lmfao jfggggggggggggh... Kieran is head over heels the first second he sees Violet but he tries very hard to not show it; he is convinced he’d never have a chance with her. He acts weird the first few times they talk because he doesn’t really know how to behave around her. (This results in stuff like @honeyjaws‘s Lua thinking he’s awkward/weird and she doesn’t approve of him for Violet right away.) He literally calls her Miss Violet for the longest time even though she always tells him to call her Vi like everyone else. Violet thinks Kieran is very cute; the way they meet leaves a good impression on her because she thinks he comes off as very sweet and gentle which she is really not used to in the men in her life. It mostly starts out as she just really likes him and has a bit of a crush, but she falls for him super hard back once they spend more time together.

3. Were they immediately interested / attracted, or did that come later?

Mutual but it starts with Kieran having a maaaassive crush on her and Violet liking him and being really playful and teasing him a lot. It’s a ton of pining honestly for the longest time with both of them being STUPID AF and thinking the other isn’t interested. Violet is worried Kieran thinks of her as a child, and Kieran just flat out thinks Violet would never think of him like that. They are dumbasses and just both are in love and convinced its unrequited because neither of them will say anything lmfao

4. Why did they fall for each other?

Honestly Violet would realize it because she’d realize one day just how much he cares for her and how kind of a person he is; like she knows he’s a good person already obviously but one day maybe something on a heist or something that happens in camp really shakes her, and they’re hanging out in camp like they usually do and he gets up to go sleep and she’d grab his arm and goes “Would you stay with me?” and Keiran can just tell she’s not okay and would just be like “Of course. Whenever you need me.” and Violet’s heart would be like “OH GOD. OH FUCK.”

Kieran is pretty in love with Violet the second he sees her but its initially just based on her being beautiful and very kind to him. I think it would get serious for him once they spend more time together and he’d fall in love with her as a whole. She can be stubborn and naive and a bit childish, but she has a heart of gold and she’s so loyal and will go to such lengths for people she loves and I think he’d just fall a little bit more for her progressively every day.

5. Who flirted more before they started their relationship and how?

LMFAO VIOLET................................She teases the hell out of Kieran, ESPECIALLY as she gets more feelings for him. She loves finding ways to fluster the hell out of him.  Kieran can’t flirt with her, period. His way of showing love to Violet is being super respectful and kind and just pining from afar lmfao. It’s hard enough for him to not add MISS in front of her name all the time.

6. Who made the first move/confessed first?

surprisingly I think Kieran would? It would not at all be physical but he would definitely be the first to confess because his feelings for her are super overwhelming for him, and he doesn’t have outlets like Violet does with talking to Lua or how she teases him and is kinda flirty.  I think one night he’d leave her tent to go to sleep and then like 10 minutes later he’d just step back inside her tent and stare at her and she’d be like “...Is everything okay?” and he’d be like “Yes. No? I. I don’t know. I’m in love with you.” and it’d all probably come tumbling out of him and he’d probably apologize at the end of it and try to run LMAO

7. When did they have their first kiss and under what circumstances?

Violet would 100% initiate the first kiss and she’d make it so chaste to keep Kieran from exploding lmao. She’d totally do it out of the blue and catch him off guard too. Probably in her tent, he’d get up to leave for the night and she’d just kiss him really quick and say “Goodnight! :)” and he’d leave quietly and then have his quiet freak out outside lmao

8.  Which one is more easily made jealous?

I don’t think either of them would get jealous over each other tbh??? Violet would probably be more prone to jealousy than Kieran but only because she’s more temperamental then him.

9. What do they fight about? Who’s the first to apologize?

OH LMAO god its super stupid and it was early on way before they confess to each other. Violet wants to go on a heist that Dutch is putting together. Dutch isn’t 100% confident that Violet can handle a serious heist so he asks Kieran for his input since they spend so much time together and asks Kieran if he thinks she’s too childish, and Kieran who desperately doesn’t want Violet to go on this heist cuz he’s terrified of her getting hurt says YES he agrees she’s “just a kid”. Violet would find out later and be furious. Half out of feeling betrayed by who she feels is one of her best friends and half out of embarrassment because the boy she likes thinks shes just some KID?? She’d storm out of Dutch’s tent and make a literal B-line for him and confront him IMMEDIATELY and he’d be so flustered and she wouldn’t be able to yell at him for more than 5 minutes without starting to cry and running back to Lua and Rosa. She’d give him the cold shoulder for a week and then Kieran would find her and apologize. He’d confess that he said it because he didn’t want her to get hurt on a job because he cares about her, and he’d tell her he misses talking to her, and this would overjoy her too much to keep being mad at him lmao

10. Did they have a first date? Where did they go?

They don’t really get to date what with Van Der Lindes being on the run and all ;_; but they’d spend time together at camp a ton

11. What do their friends and family think? Do they approve of the relationship?

@honeyjaws​‘s Lua thinks Kieran is weird as fuck as first LMAO. She and Violet are such super good friends though and it would come mostly from a place of concern and wanting what’s best for Violet. She’d definitely warm up to Kieran eventually but at first she’d be like “hey....................who is this weird horse guy that stares at you all day” I’d love to know what @koalateamusings​‘s Rosa would think of it tbh

12. Do they like to cuddle/hold hands? Do they prefer to do it privately rather than in public?

Kieran is definitely a private person; not really into PDA. Violet would probably respect that, she doesn’t even really tease him or flirt with him in front of other people. In private they definitely hold hands and Violet is super touchy and physical lmao

13. How long do they wait before sleeping together for the first time (If they do)? Under what circumstances does it happen?

GOD..........I don’t even know when they’d ever get the privacy to do something lmao but it would come from just such a place of like, they both repressed themselves and their feelings for so long??? It would be a literal hot mess especially for Kieran because he in particular represses so much of how he feels and it’d all come tumbling out once Violet initiates something

14. Who tops?

lmao........................shocking but..........Kieran................He has a lot of feelings about Violet physically, he just has a tremendous amount of difficulty acting on them. If they ever actually started doing something he’d get over it pretty quick lmao.

15. Do they get married? Who proposes & how?

16. Do they have children? How many? What are their names?