#go write fanfic. its fun

[shitty-davesprite-daily]

OOC

dont know how polite this is gonna sound and to be real i dont really care it's like 1 am I'm tired but just throwing it out there now that (in the nicest way possible) I don't owe yall anything? Like I'm just doing this for fun. Sometimes I don't answer asks because I dont really vibe with it or the direction it's trying to go or i can't think of a response or i just straight up forget, but sending more asks getting pissed about me not responding or asking if I'm going to respond to your ask is (surprisingly) not gonna make me respond. Odds are ill just ignore any asks that feel like they're from you so. Yk.

It's not all of you - most of yall are chill as hell you're great - but it is some of you, and this is just for that some of you. Im pretending to be a webcomic character online. I get like. A shit ton of asks and im not gonna be able to respond to all of them even if I wanted to (and if I dont want to who really cares). It isn't that serious. Chill.

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[ikeasharksss]

hey im curious

feel free to rb & explain your answer in the tags!

[re-colligere]

FINE PRINT [AO3]

In which Disgust goes through Fear's nonsensical paperwork out of dream duty boredom, only to accidentally stumble upon his true feelings written within.

As promised, I've reposted an old fanfic of mine on AO3! Simple, but sweet.

[tiptoethewordsgo]

hello gravity falls tumblr, someone write a fanfic where the pines family have to break bill out of rehab to help defeat a greater evil and my life is yours

[toxintouch]

how do you think the lis would respond if mc sheepishly asked if they could fondle their tiddies? (even mhin, even though i KNOW they'd shank a bitch.)

Here ya go, Anon!! :3 They pronouns & non-specific language/MC used. Suggestive, but no other warnings.

AIS:

Pretends he doesn’t hear them.

“Hmm?”  He holds a hand to his ear, a toothy little smirk on his face, his scarred eyebrow raised.  The way he’s making direct eye contact is an unmistakable challenge.

“You wanna what now, Sparrow?” 

He knows exactly what MC said and they can tell.  He just wants to see if they'll say it again.  They didn’t sound so sure about whatever that request was just now…

His smirk grows when– (if?? But c’mon he’s so clearly saying yes, please) –

His smirk grows when they don’t back down.  He spreads his arms out in invitation, haori splaying open.

He’s patient for as long as he can stand once they get their hands on him but it isn’t long before he finds himself grabbing them by the wrists, pulling them closer.  Pressing his palms against the back of their hands to encourage them to make full, firm contact.  Haven’t they been warned?  He’s awfully greedy.

(And: if he purposely presses their touch against his heart for a moment, no one needs to know but him.)

VERE:

He gives them a blank look– a look unsettlingly similar to his hungry, flat eyed stare.  Though, it’s gone in an instant–so quick they might even be able to convince themself that they imagined it.  One blink and his entire expression is different, his tail swishing elegantly and with a flourish that can only be described as pleased.

“Well,” he purrs, “aren’t you just adorable?  I did tell you to ask next time you wanted to touch…  Very well then.  I’ll reward your ability to follow simple instructions.”  He relaxes luxuriously into the cushions of the divan that he’s resting on.  “Come along, then.  Fondle to your heart's content.  Don’t leave me waiting.”  He beckons to them with a crooked finger, tempting them closer, a haunting echo of their first meeting. 

Survival instincts be damned…he did give them permission…

He breathes a chuckle out as they touch him, his mouth hot against their ear as he buries a grin into their neck.

In the space of another breath, he’s flipped the two of them, leaving them pinned against the divan.

“You didn't think you were getting a single thing for free from me anymore, did you?  Tut tut.  After you treated my generosity so callously before?  From now on, I’ll be expecting payment in kind.  Quid pro quo, darling.”

KURAS:

He looks at them, eyes crinkled with amusement.  “Am I to take it that your interest is academic?  Studying anatomy, perhaps?  I do have a few select texts I could offer you which you might find quite beneficial.”

The embarrassed look on their face seems to amuse him further, the corners of his lips tugging up as he takes in their expression.

“Of course, the benefits of a more hands-on method of scholarship should not be overlooked.”  He takes pity on them, beckoning them over as he takes a seat on the doctor’s stool, right next to the cot where they first met him.  He neatly removes his coat, folding it and laying it to rest beside him.  Despite their fears, he doesn’t start listing out the anatomical names for things as they lay their hands on him.  His eyes slip shut as they rest their hands on his  shoulders–he’s still so tall, even sitting on the low stool–sliding their hands down, admiring the sturdy form and shape of him.

His own hands come up, clutching around their waist with surprising strength.  His eyes are bright and intense as he looks up at them.  They expect him to say something but he merely squeezes them–Possessively?–

Like he might be able to trap them in this moment with him forever, through will alone.

He closes his eyes again; his grip loosens. His self-control back is back in its necessary place, and he finds himself repentant.

“Forgive me.  You are quite endearing.  I simply find you…difficult to resist.”  He admits.

MHIN:

You are so correct anon.  Shanked immediately.  But MC bonks their head into Mhin’s chest on their way to the ground, so…  Achievement Unlocked? Or, for MC’s sake, I’ll assume that they have earned a level of trust/intimacy with Mhin that makes Mhin a lil' less likely to get stabby.

Mhin’s eyebrows furrow as Mhin crosses their arms, physically creating distance between MC and their…

Mhin’s cheeks go a little red as they realize how obvious their body language is, their pale eyes darting to the side as they worry about what other things they’ve accidentally telegraphed to MC. How many of Mhin's true thoughts and feelings are they privy to...?  Shaking themself mentally, they quickly snap out of it, pinning MC with a pointed glare.

“If you value your life at all, you’ll never ask me that again.”  Mhin marches away.  “Staying at the Wet Wick–around Leander–has ruined your brain.  You need to get out of that place while you still have some grey matter left.”

. . .

Later, escorting MC back to said Wet Wick, ducking through the lesser known and narrower streets after a long day of following dead ends together, Mhin finds the thought ruining their own brain.  It must be the heat of MC pressed against them in the alleyway, the comforting, all-consuming scent of them, the memory of MC’s flushed face while they were asking Mhin’s permission...  MC’s much braver than them, Mhin thinks bitterly, so much more willing to let themself have what they want, despite their cursed hands.  Mhin sighs, stopping abruptly.  Turning.  Pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Look–you can–”

Mhin feels themself blushing all the way down to their chest.  They open their mouth and close it a couple of times, attempting to articulate what they want.  They make a noise of aggravated frustration.  Carefully–very carefully, and very slowly, so that MC knows exactly what they are doing, they reach for the bandaged hands at MC’s side.  They rest MC’s hands lightly on their chest, shivering as they feel the brush of fingers against their clothed ribs, thumbs pressing into their sternum.  They bite down a noise that would surely make them perish where they stand.  Stars above, how long since–

“...Does your heart always beat this fast, Mhin?”

“Quiet.”  They snap.

Wow Mhin.  Right there in the alleyway huh?  Well ok then. I see what ur about.

LEANDER:

The two of them are alone in the room at the Wet Wick, just sitting together innocently on the bed when MC asks.

Well–they try to ask.

He hears them start the question and his coat and shirt (and tiddie belt) are coming off before they can even finish.  He gives them a quiet chuckle, blushing as his shirt(s) get caught at his shoulders. 

Though the perfect way it frames his boobs might convince them he did it on purpose…

“You meant skin to skin, right?”  He laughs again, leaning back on his hands and looking entirely too appetizing–is he arching his back a little more than necessary? 

“I don’t mind at all! Though, if you could help me with…”  His eyes crinkle as he smiles at them, head tilted like a puppy, waiting expectantly.

They get up from the bed to help him discard his remaining topmost layers of clothing, standing above him in order to better assist.  His eyes are pinned to theirs the moment the fabric barrier is fully cast aside.  “I…can’t say this is a bad view,” he admits, eyes roving along their form, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  Then, more sincerely: “I’m glad that you asked me for this.  Don’t be afraid to touch, all right?  Nothing bad will happen to me, promise. Remember: whatever you want.”

They find themself feeling along the edges of his scar, tracing the line of it across his pectoral…  His breath catching when they accidentally scratch him a little with their nails (MC is just a little clumsy–that was completely unintentionally, really) is dangerously addictive.

“Ah... Anywhere else you’d like to touch?  It would be a shame to waste this opportunity…”

If they're feeling shy, he could offer a few suggestions.  He really, really wants to help in any way he can. :)

BONUS!ELYON:   “You can, but I will have to charge.”

[aloonaram]

Here’s an edited wip of my Birdflash oneshot.

Fair warning, this will probably change in the final product as I try to figure out at what point in the timeline I want this fic to take place.

—

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks, Walls. You’re such a loving boyfriend,” Dick retorted. He tried for a smile, but Wally watched sadly as it twitched and fell before it could become what it once was–what Dick’s smile used to be.

Dick opened his door wider in invitation and Wally rushed in and examined the place. Gotham wasn’t ever known for its beauty, but even with that in mind, Dick’s apartment looked pretty rough. Empty containers of takeout and miscellaneous trash littered the floor and countertops. His couch was sprinkled with brown spots that he almost assumed were polka dots before he realized they were most definitely patches of dried blood. Clothes were strewn across every surface, their musk permeating his senses. Dick brushed past his side and made his way to the kitchen, opening his rickety fridge to expose the meager amount of food he had. Wally would bet his life savings that each of the five items had gone bad too, based on the state of the place.

Dick turned to toss Wally a water, “So…what, uh, brings you here?” Dick’s awkward tone hangs heavy between the two. Now that Wally could get a good look, his lover was in rough shape. Even worse than his apartment; which was a feat, his mind whispered. His hair laid limp and greasy along his neck and his bags seemed to have bags of their own. A couple of dark bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt, some leading down to his left arm if the strange way he seemed to carry it was anything to go by. Dick clutched his own water bottle, doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” Wally started, “I texted the other Robin, uh Tim, I think? But he never got back to me either, so I got worried, you know? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I don’t have super speed for nothing.” He waved his hands around, doing his best to lighten the mood. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to talk, let alone seen each other in person, but, you know, if this isn’t the best time, I can totally leave. I know this is kinda spur of the moment.” Wally wished he could slap himself the moment his lips stopped moving. Some of the younger heroes had started calling him a professional yapper and he wished it didn’t fit so damn well.

Wally watched as Dick took a breath and rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. He winced. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best time to show up out of the blue.

“No, I…You don’t need to leave, “ Dick sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been responding, Walls. Everything’s just been… a lot, to put it simply. I’ve been so busy trying to balance my day job, Bludhaven, and…and being Batman. I just haven’t had much time to myself lately, if you can’t tell by the state of my apartment.” Dick laughed pitifully and winced when it shook his aching arm.

He couldn’t help moving forward into the kitchen and enveloping Dick in a hug, something he definitely should’ve done the moment he’d arrived. His partner sighed shakily and moved to wrap his arms around Wally’s middle. He felt Dick’s face pressed against his chest and hooked his chin to the top of his greasy head. Dick had always been one for physical comfort, a miracle considering who he’d grown up with and the environment he’d been forced into at the ripe age of nine. Wally would be lying if he didn’t say Dick’s need for physical affection didn’t bring him relief and make him feel needed. Sometimes, he felt powerless amidst his lover's strife–Batman’s rule against metas in Gotham limiting his ability to help. Providing Dick a simple hug; feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen and his breath hit Wally’s neck as he sighed in relief, was Wally’s respite from his perpetual guilt.

Wally knew about Batman’s…death. He’d been there when Dick hosted Bruce’s funeral, letting Dick squeeze the life from his hand as he listened to the speech from Alfred. With Bruce gone, the natural order of Dick’s family had seemed to fall apart. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, a title Wally knew he had never wanted–never felt right for him. He’d be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of such a change–that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma had grown to separate Dick and his siblings. And yet despite that, he knew one thing for a fact. Dick, his lover and the man he’s known for well over a decade now was not the type of person to let others shoulder pain on their own. He took and took and took until he knew only he carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders, letting his muscles feel relief only when his family no longer felt pain. And he’d continue to carry that weight with a smile as long as he knew his family would smile back, unaware of the sky creeping in on Dick’s tense shoulders.

Wally squeezed his arms tighter around Dick’s back, supporting him as his breaths became ragged in their silent embrace. As Wally did so, a sick thought entered his mind, fueled by the anger and pain he felt for his partner; a small part of him–microscopic even–was glad Bruce wasn’t here. Not because he reveled in the effects his passing had on Dick, nor because he wanted Dick to be forced into the role of Batman, but because despite his struggles, Bruce had never been good for Dick. Yes, he played the parental figure Dick needed when he was younger and yes, he provided the necessities for Dick to survive, but he never provided what Wally knew Dick needed most.

“Do you wanna move to the couch, babe?” Wally whispered, cheek pressed against Dick’s head. He feels Dick nod silently and Wally zipped them to the couch in less than half a second. Wally sat and patted the spot next to him, watching as Dick laid his head on his lap, pressing his cheek to Wally’s stomach while letting his legs hang off the side of the couch.

Never one comfortable with silence, Wally broke it first. “If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t push. We can chill, watch the Office, eat popcorn–whatever you want. I just worry…you know? Not being able to be here to help and hearing on the news, Batman and Robin this and Joker and Two-Face that…I just wish I could do more for you.”

Wally looks down to meet Dick’s pained stare and internally winces as Dick opens and closes his mouth, struggling to respond.

“Me and the bats have it handled over here, okay?” Dick starts quietly, aimlessly running his hand over Wally’s knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey. I know you have more than enough to deal with back at Central and I don’t want to stress you out with problems I have handled.”

Wally lets his free hand run through Dick’s hair, quickly relishing in the way Dick warms to his touch. “I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be stressed, you know me too well for that, but I’m here to support you, Dick. To be your listener when you’re stressed.” He paused for only a moment before speaking again, “I know you, Dick. I’ve known you for almost every era of your life as you have, mine. I knew you when you were my scrawny, baby leader-”

“Hey-” Dick tried to interject, but Wally kept going.

“I knew you when you wore that god awful blue and yellow disco Nightwing suit-”

“It really wasn’t that bad-”

“And I know what it looks like when you don’t have things handled. You don’t need to soften the blow for me Dickie and you don’t need to play the perfect soldier.” Wally paused. Let it be known even the Flash is out of breath from time to time. “You were always there for me during rough times, so please let me be there for you.”

[unforth]

Prefacing this TGCF post with: people can draw and write however they want forever and I support them and this is about my personal view of these characters.

Anyway.

I saw a post today that had Xie Lian singing "when will my life begin" from Tangled and it drove home what really bugs me about a lot of fan casts of Hualian onto popular media (see also my Howl's Moving Castle take). It's this idea that Xie Lian is, well, waiting for his life to begin, and Hua Cheng swoops in and makes it exciting, when this is imo so utterly antithetical, and in fact opposite, to canon.

Xie Lian has lived and lived and lived. He was a prince, he fought in wars, even during his 800 years fallen the whole book is an exercise in showing that he WASN'T just waiting around, he kept doing things the whole time - Fang Xin Guoshi and General Hua and and and. AND he also cultivated to the point of ascending again. Xie Lian is a fucking bad ass idealistic martyr who doesn't know when to quit and at least to me that's the whole point of his character and I love that about and for him so to see him inserted into existing franchise AUs as the wilting flower waiting for a moment to shine is utter character erasure and it makes me insane enough that I'm writing this post about it even though I think I shouldn't and even though I genuinely don't want to rain on anyone's fandom parade. But like. That's not him!

You know who it is?

It's Hua Cheng!

Hong Hong'er lives in Xianle, a kingdom where all this stuff is happening, and he just watches from the sidelines. He's an observer at the parade. He's just some kid. And then he falls (or jumps, or is pushed, you pick your interpretation) and he's caught by literally the coolest guy in the entire kingdom. He's the nobody who gets swept off his feet! And it changes his whole life! Like I think it wouldn't irk me so much to see Xie Lian get typecast that way if Hua Cheng wasn't right there literally living his "I met God and it changed my whole life for the better" fantasy. He seriously deserves to get recognized for this. I get that he's the loud flamboyant one so that makes it seem like he should get cast as a Howl or a Flynn or whoever, but like. He was waiting for his life to begin, and it does, when he meets Xie Lian.

And like. I get that these are kinda competing interpretations that depend on when you look at canon - I'm looking at the original 800 years ago events, others are looking at Hua Cheng coming in 800 years later - but still the "present" in TGCF isn't imo about Xie Lian having waited to be saved, he hasn't been in a hat shop for his whole life boredly making hats, he's never stopped moving and never stopped adventuring and never stopped striving to change the world. Hua Cheng is living out his "you saved me now I save you" fantasies but fundamentally they save each other over and over and over again and that's beautiful and I hate seeing it erased to make Xie Lian into the wilting flower. Like. The one who basically hasn't done anything that whole 800 years is ALSO Hua Cheng. We don't hear about him going off and having idealistic adventures. Everything we know of that he's done was directly related to Xie Lian (ie burning the temples). Other than that he seems to sit around in Ghost City chilling with his ghoulies. So again, finding Xie Lian is what pulls him out of his funk and prompts him to start acting for good, whereas Xie Lian has been acting for good the whole time.

Ugh. I should shut up now, just, I've been in this fandom for four years and this has become such a pet peeve of mine because it reflects such a huge disconnect between how I perceive these characters and how much of the rest of fandom does. And that frustrates me, cause I wish there was more content in line with my perception.

[euripidestrousers]

Look I'm in total agreement that in reality Remus is a soggy, sad piece of white bread, a real limp noodle who would much rather run away from a confrontation and fight, much less be a big Dom alpha with a deep voice, who's soft and quiet but intimidating when he has to be

I'm aware. It's ooc.

But it's still hot. It's hot. You're all correct, it's ooc, but it. is. hot.

And I'm perfectly happy to read my little fics, kicking my feet and giggling, about big, tall alpha Remus and feral powerbottom Sirius when the mood strikes, full well knowing it's not the most canon representation of the characters

[crimmsonflower]

shoutout to the writer of my favourite lawlight fic to ever exist

killing my self because I forgot to save it and they deleted the fic

[rorywritesjunk]

my little tumblr draft fics: fluff, sweet, sprinkle covered ice cream cones and strawberry crepes.

google doc fics: sex. sex. sex. buggy's gettin' it. sex.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on i need to get a thought and emotions out. so with Welcome Home, there seems to be a before and an after. obviously, we're in the after. the website is the after. and if it turns out that the story we see, the one where shit hits the fan and the show is practically erased, then... that already happened. whatever horrors we see, we'll know that there is no saving them. there is no happy ending - it happened, and it's tragic. the show is doomed to end and be scrubbed away. if any of the characters are revealed to be dead/gone by the website, then when/if we see them at an earlier point, we'll Know

and there's a special kind of dread and horror in that for us, the audience.

[kasper7489]

I kinda hopped into the dc fandom by reading fics (I know I know lmao)

But as I've read more comics and looked into different characterization and analysis I now have a more developed idea as to how I view a lot of the characters and have preferences to how their written. I'm def the type to click out a fic if I find myself thinking 'he would not fucking say that'

Anyway this is just to say it's very funny to me when I go thru some of the fics I bookmarked at the begining of my interest and find myself going Uh Oh! I don't think I can read this anymore!

[atanxdoesstuff]

nejisasu doodle! a universe where the hyuuga's slavery bs doesn't get ignored and Neji and Sasuke are better off for it (and also they're married)

[clowningaroundmars]

still suffering from bad motorcity brainrot so my brain conjured up a funny ass scenario where the gang finally learns more about texas' family.

well, more than just "texas has a real big family"

based off of chris p's confirmation that texas was going to have cerebral parents who are the exact opposite of him

Mike is of course the first one to interrupt the conversation and greet him, noticing all the screens his best friend had pulled up. Then, when a semi-preoccupied Chuck didnt immediately answer back, Mike sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Chuck shuffles in on socked feet to the pile of Burners casually lounging in their main living room area and chatting.

"Hey, Chuckles. I said good morning!"

Chuck looked up suddenly, as if just realizing where he was.

"O-OH yeah hey guys, morning ahaha..." Chuck ran a nervous hand through his hair, revealing a furrowed brow that Mike immediately noticed.

"What's with all the screens so early in the day? You're usually halfway through breakfast before pulling one of those up," Mike chided jokingly.

"Uh so, like, late last night--"

"Morning. You mean early in the morning," Mike grinned, and then exclaimed when Chuck reached for a pillow to toss at his face.

"Last night..." Chuck continued, "I noticed something going on with the east gate. It's weird, the battery we found should have been full enough to last us 'til the end of the year but uh... yeah it's totally drained now, guys." By now, Chuck was taking a seat next to Mike and letting his friend lean into his space to study the screens. "And I was lookin' at the new motion sensors we installed recently and it seems like it drained fast right after someone... or something moved near it a couple nights ago."

Julie waggled her head, considering Chuck's words. "Could be a lot of things, honestly. That fusion battery wasn't really meant to last long anyways, it was only a temporary fix at the time."

"Yeah but if someone's trying to siphon off battery power from the gates, that could be a real big problem in the future," Dutch put in.

Texas kicked his legs in the air from where he laid on a beanbag at everyone's feet. "Wait, the eastern gate? Isn't that gate the one that was havin' problems that one time Kane busted in like about a year ago?" He crunched on some mystery substance in a plastic container.

Most likely something from Jacob's kitchen.

Mike laughed. "The very same, buddy."

"Tch'aaww that gate's lame. It keeps breakin' all the time! I wouldn't be surprised if it's just old and basically turning into total junk."

Julie turned to Mike and Dutch. "Y'know, he might be right--"

"Duh, Texas is always right!"

"...That gate really does have some history. It was the first offically maintained entrance into Motorcity years ago when Deluxe was first being built. I'm pretty sure Kane abandoned it on purpose after our crazy battle with those Ultra Golems."

Mike shook his head. "So he most likely cut the power from that gate then, huh. Makes sense why the battery's almost dead! That's a lot of heavy lifting for only one battery."

Chuck stopped typing on his screens for a second. "Why didn't we just scavenge for a newer battery after you beat that big robot Kane sent in? We secured that gate after, didnt we?"

Dutch and Julie smirked at each other.

"Someone might've gotten a bit distracted by an opportunity that ended up bein' a little too good to be true," Dutch elbowed Mike.

Mike guffawed and immediately tried to downplay the mistake. "Aw man, I mean yeah-- that, aaannd also we got that distress call from Doc Hudson not long after, too... so I mean--"

"Mmnn yeah, gotcha." Chuck deadpanned, returning back to triple-checking his maps and motion sensor logs.

"Anyways," Texas cuts in, "that gate's old an' dusty. It totally needs an overhaul, Texas-style. Hoo-WAH!!" He kicks his legs in the air in a flurry and uses the hand not holding his container to do a quick karate chop.

Everyone looks at him.

"Texas," Dutch starts patiently, "we're not construction workers, man. That's up to the Motorcity council to decide when the whole thing gets fixed now. I'm pretty sure they'd know about the power being cut off by now."

"Yeah, they should since I just pinged one of the council members about it too," Chuck piped up.

Texas shakes his head like a father explaining something to a child who isn't understanding what he's saying at all. "Yeah duh I know, guys, I'm not dumb!"

Dutch bites back a mean retort. Julie smirks again behind a carefully placed hand.

"I could just go to my mom and tell her everything! Then she can just send her construction worker dudes to tear down the thing and like, I dunno, hook it up to our own power supply or whatever. No effort on our part!" He flexes an arm casually.

A pause.

Mike was the first to speak up. "Wait, what? Your mom?"

"Uh, yeah, you guys didnt know my mom's head of the council?"

Dutch does a double take. "Head of the council?!"

"Yeah, Stretch. Head of the Motorcity council! She's been leadin' it since I was like a tiny Texas baby. She just keeps gettin' re-elected, heh. Makes sense since she's cleaned up and expanded a lot of stuff, I guess."

"...And she gave birth to you?!"

Mike elbowed Dutch back, hissing "dude!" under his breath. Chuck snorted.

Texas, as usual, lets the insult sail right over his head. "I know right? Both my parents are totally lame and boring. Not like Texas, hwa-CHAA!! They don't know anything about martial arts movies, sweet Muay Thai kicks or Texasifyin' stuff! They just wear boring suits and go to like a million meetings! My dad's not like in city council or whatever but he's a uh... a... what's-it-called. An archic-tech. He doesn't even build the stupid buildings and junk, he just designs 'em."

Everyone stares for a couple of seconds, Dutch rubbing his chin in disbelief.

"Wait, your dad's an architect?" Chuck asks incredulously.

Texas shrugs and stuffs his mouth with the mystery food. "Yeah? I thought I told you guys all about this!"

Mike leans forward and asks Texas directly, "does your dad only design buildings? Or does he help your mom with the city planning too?"

Texas munches for a few seconds before answering. "Mnnyeah, he's like... he plans and draws pretty much everything in Motorcity, like where the hotels and shops and stuff can go. He designed the whole downtown area I think. Obviously they're not done fixin' up the place, but the public bathhouse was his idea, so."

"He's an urban planner, Texas! Wow, not just an architect either, he does both!" Julie admires out loud.

Dutch leans back on the couch dramatically and sighs. "The bathhouse, oh damn."

Everyone took a quick second to reminisce about their trip to the bathhouse with fond smiles. It was a gorgeous Greek-inspired building as tall and beautiful as it was comforting, a recent addition to the bustle of downtown Motorcity. It had sleek marble walls, cozy alcoves for private meetups, grand staircases seemingly everywhere and polished golden accents gleaming in every corner.

The building was split into two sections with a giant-- and equally beautiful-- indoor garden separating the halves, and a courtyard with a net in the middle stationed out back for friendly games of volleyball or tennis. The bath itself sat like a reigning king in the front, right past the fancy lobby and locker rooms. In the back half, the indoor pool stayed open for swimming only in the summer. During the cold winter months the pool was frozen and turned into a makeshift ice skating rink.

Both pool and bath were massive and alive day after day with Motorcitizens relaxing after a hard day's work, meeting up with friends, or just taking the kids out to a fun day of swimming.

It was everyone's favorite spot to relax and hang out during chilly days thanks to the saunas as well.

Motorcity's gang members have officially sectioned the bathhouse and the immediate area off as a neutral zone, strictly banning violence and disputes from there. That decision was introduced by Julie and quickly adopted after everyone figured it'd be hard to tell which member was from which gang when they were all naked.

Knowing that Texas' father-- of all people-- was the man most likely responsible for that slice of heaven in an otherwise grimy and dark city was... well, it was weird.

"So," Chuck said, scratching his head, "your dad designs things and your mom orders the funds around. For, like, the whole city."

"Yyyup." Texas answers.

"Sooo... what does the rest of your family do?"

Texas takes a minute to think. "My grandma owns a shop downtown. All my sisters are out studying with people, doin' apprenticeships n' stuff. They mostly like to build and program stuff, one of them's over at the Cablers' right now. Oh yeah, my oldest sister is in a band! She's the lead guitarist and everything! She's badass, like Texas."

Dutch nods slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Uh huh. Mhm. This idiot's family is super smart and accomplished. Now I've seen everything."

Mike huffs out a laugh. "Wow, Tex. That's uhm... yeah, that's great! Think we can shoot your parents a quick message and maybe pass along some ideas?"

"I've got tons of ideas for a more efficient electrical wiring system!! With better security in place too! And a failsafe just in case!" Chuck blurts out. He then realizes his excitement and leans back self-consciously. "AHA-- ahem, that is if they're uh, if they're, y'know-- if it's not too much to impose on them, of course!"

Mike smiles warmly at Chuck and turns back to Texas. "No, I think they'd probably love the help, right Tex?"

Texas guffaws, spewing a few crumbs everywhere. "Tchyyyeaah!! Texas' parents are always so dang busy all the time like... ugh. Yeah, Skinny over here would probably be their favorite guy for a while just for takin' on some o' the work."

Chuck grins and opens up a new screen with some schematics, and gets right to work.

[castironnbitch]

Eat It Up

Read the full text on AO3

Summary: Laurent, overwhelmed in a crowded bar, tells Damen to dance. Damen delivers.

Inspiration: This story was inspired by tags from @kybelles on this post and the video from the post itself.

Beta reading, love, and encouragement from the lovely @irregularcollapse <3

Snippet under the cut

“Nikadros has invited us to the opening of his new restaurant. Chtapódi.” Auguste’s flat tone belies his interest. Laurent’s lip curls as he waits for his brother to inevitably continue. “Some fancy Akielon place on Mirabeau.”

Laurent sighs, adjusting his wrist upon his knee. Auguste is watching him, face partially illuminated by his phone screen. “How pedestrian.” Laurent’s boredom is authentic. 

“Will you go?” 

Laurent dislikes the way Auguste smiles at him. 

“When?” 

Silence. And then: “Tonight.”

“Auguste—”

“Damen will be there.” The words come in a rush. Auguste, apparently, has moved past his dramatic pauses. 

Laurent is careful, ascetic in his tone, his posture, every wisp of hair. “And you believe I care about Damianos of Akielos’ whereabouts tonight.”

“I know you do,” Auguste says, thumbs flying across his phone screen. 

Laurent heaves another sigh, uncrossing his legs and standing elegantly from Auguste’s deep-seated navy sofa. 

“We’re taking separate vehicles,” he states, straight-backed and collected as he leaves his brother in the living room.

Read the full text on AO3