#hope this isn't total garbage!

[solbach-colbrock]

Asking if you could write the Hangover story with Seth next? I'd love to see how he would help out with the paranormal hangover!

SUMMARY - You have your first paranormal hangover, and Seth helps you through it WARNINGS - none WORDS - 495

Why now? You had been through so many investigations before, and it had never happened, even on the most intense nights, so why now? You just had to get your first hangover on a minor, single ghost investigation. You were almost embarrassed.

                  Seth, of course, was the first to notice something was up. You had been spacey since you went under for the Estes session, and he had been keeping a close eye on you ever since.

                  “Hey, you doin’ alright?” he asked as he picked up his backpack from the floor. Chase was out at the car loading up the equipment, so it was just the two of you in the tiny, run down house. It took you a moment to shift your attention to him.

                  “Yea, yea, just… incredibly drained. Think I’ve got my first hangover,” you chuckled, slouching further into the chair you were in. You ran a tired hand over your face, hoping to wipe off some of the exhaustion. A hand was extended in front of you, Seth’s silent offer to help you up and into the car.

                  “Come on. The quicker we get you out of here, the sooner you’ll feel better. I’ve been through this before. I know what helps.” Your heart all but melted at the mixture of the gesture and the soft smile on his face. You took his hand wordlessly, thanking your lucky stars that you landed the coolest boyfriend ever.

                  You spent the ride home using every ounce of energy you had trying to focus on Seth’s words and keep yourself awake. At some point, you half registered something about fries and milkshakes, but you weren’t quite sure until you got back home. As soon as you were through the front door, you were all but babied. Seth grabbed you your coziest sweats and some fuzzy socks, insisting you change in the bathroom and not the bedroom because there were less chances of you just knocking out that way. You settled on the couch once you were changed, taking note of the show playing on the TV. Your favorite show. Good lord, he was spoiling you.

                  “Cozy?” he asked as he popped in from around the corner, fries and milkshakes in hand (so that’s what that was). You nodded, once again rubbing at your eyes. He sat down next to you and handed you your share of the food. A blanket was thrown over the two of you, and Seth proceeded to pull you into his lap. You laughed a bit to yourself as you settled in.

                  “Something funny?”

                  “You know you don’t have to go overboard here. It’s just a paranormal hangover. It’s not like I’m sick or anything.”

                  “What, you expect me not to spoil my wonderful partner during their first ever hangover? These can suck. I wanna make sure you get through your first one as spoiled and comfortable as possible.”

                  “You’re ridiculous. I love you.”

                  “I love you too, baby.”

[buttercuparry]

Urgent: Extremely low funds!!

I am writing to you on behalf of Abdulsalam Al-Anqur ( @aboodanqar20 ), whose family has managed to raise a mere 3% of evacuation/survival funds. At this point, it would soon be one year of bombing and destruction of Gaza and I request you to take this in consideration while reading the post. For almost one year, the family has tried to get by, before finally reaching out to all of us for help. I am going to keep this short in hopes that this would be an easier read and would take only a few minutes of your day. 

Abdulsalam is only 26 years old and is father to one year old Iman. He hopes to save his daughter who is currently suffering from malnutrition and offer her a better life by evacuating to Egypt.

However as the borders are currently closed, the Al-Anqur family needs your help to collect funds for survival. There are 7 members in total, including an elderly couple.

Abdulsalam’s father (Ahmed Al-Anqur), is 54 years old and has recently been diagnosed with cancer. He has been advised to undergo surgery every three months, but with how things are in Gaza, the family isn't sure if it is possible. They are also worried that even if by some miracle it becomes so, they might not be able to bear the cost of it

What Ahmed, hence needs is access to medicines to get by. He also has a weak heart and already has 4 stents in place.  

The Al-Anqur family has been displaced several times and because they couldn't bear the cost of transportation, they once had to travel from the North to Deir Al-Balah in the South ON FOOT ! They have also been subjected to terror and humiliation when they crossed military checkpoints.  

Currently the family is living in a camp surrounded by waste and garbage and would like access to a decent tent before winter sets in.

For a long time, Abdulsalam refused to share his burden with anyone. But after almost a year of surviving through this genocide, he has grown tired and now fears for his daughter’s life. He is also close to tears about his father’s condition and requests  your help in  raising funds for survival. Please help him in whatever way you can. He has come onto  tumblr with a lot of hope. Please donate if you can. Boost and share if you can't. 

Currently at €1,703 / €50,000. Only €797 till €2,500.

Vetting #4 by @gazavetters ( this blog is run by Gazans themselves whom you have helped and still continue to help. Please, a lot of hope is riding on your participation).

[asha-mage]

BingLiuShen au where Shen Qingqiu's fevered heteronormativity poisoned brain decides that the best way to avoid dying for the crime of being a heterosexual male in a stallion novel is to pretend not to be heterosexual and thus not a threat to the protagonist's harem. He figures if he can hit that sweet spot where his (supposed! Not real at all!) sexuality is just a quirk of the beloved mentor then the narrative will have no choice but to keep him alive. Airplane might be a hack, but he's exactly the sort of hack who would put in a token gay character, then shunt them off to the background, only to be trotted out again when he's getting flack in the comments for sexist, homophobic, and/or generally shitty writing decisions.

And for Shen Yuan, whose stated life goal is to idle away the hours in luxury and occasionally bask in Binghe's protagonisty coolness (in a very heterosexual way of course!) that would be the perfect out. There's just one problem- how does he demonstrate his (definitely fake!) homosexuality without playing into homophobic tropes and getting himself killed for offending the genre's aggressively het sensibilities?

The answer? Pretend to be pinning away silently in unrequited love for another man. It's perfect! All he has to do is drop a few extremely subtle hints in Binghe's hearing implying having feelings he would never act on for say, Liu Qingge, and he'll be golden. After all, what person attracted to men (which he isn't!) wouldn't fall immediately in love with the Bai Zhan War God? It has the added benefit of proving what a good Token Gay he is by the fact that he saved Liu Qingge's life without any expectations or hopes and without ever even revealing his (supposed!) feelings.

Shen Qingqiu gets about a week of feeling like a genius after putting this plot into motion before Liu Qingge starts showing up at Qing Jing with small gifts and pastries and asking to spar, and well. In between melting down (because how on earth did he put it together from the grand total of three entirely ambiguous hints he dropped!) and trying to stay composed (because even the straightest guy- which he is!- would get flustered by having Liu Qingge smiling at him Like That) he figures the only rational thing to do is just Commit To the Bit, resign himself to one day becoming cultivation partners with Liu Qingge and retiring together into the background of future plot shenanigans. Their are clearly no other possible ways of dealing with this situation, and hey being with Liu Qingge of all people isn't bad. That's a fan favorite character and he's stupidly handsome and brave and kind! Shen Qingqiu could do a lot worse, especially in a world like PIDW. In fact given the alternatives, Shen Qingqiu's could probably consider himself incredibly lucky. Objectively that is. From a purely 'guy trying to survive this dumb novel' point of view. It would be an honor to have Liu Qingge's arms wrapped around him. If he where into men of course.

Meanwhile you have Luo Binghe in the background of every scene the two are in with a forced smile, internally speed running the '*fork in garbage disposal noises*' to 'I just want my Shizun to be happy! I swear!' to 'actually Liu-shishu is really nice I can see what Shizun sees in him' to 'oh no I think I want to be in the Middle Of Whatever That Is' arc.

(And of course, Binghe at the end of the day IS the protagonist, and after much trial and tribulation, is supposed to get exactly what he wants...)

And all the while you have Liu Qingge, utterly oblivious to the mental anguish and gymnastics of his shidi and shizi, who just keeps turning up at Qing Jing, because he really does like Shen Qingqiu and even if that first date was his sister's idea he's found he really does enjoy spending time with Shen Qingqiu, and also Shen Qingqiu's sticky first disciple who despite the crocodile tears is actually clearly pretty strong. He has no idea that Shen Qingqiu is silently picking out drapery for the future house while Luo Binghe tries to rationalize his out of control heartbeat as a completely normal side effect of the sparring match they just fought (Which he only keeps challenging Liu-shishu to make sure he's strong enough to protect Shizun! He swears!).

WIll the three of them ever figure it out and get their act together? Sure. Will they do it before the Conference/Abyss arc upends everything? Absolutely not.

[icedemi]

ᡣ𐭩 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗 !

FEATURING: dazai !

SYNOPSIS: dazai almost forgot his birthday?! might as well give him a night to remember forever . . .

CONTENT WARNING(S): NSFW content , MDNI , DOM! READER , SUB! DAZAI!! overstimulation , orgasm denial , kinky sex , gender neutral reader. NOT proofread..

ᡣ𐭩

" 'samu, guess what day ittttt issss! " you cheered, eagerly awaiting his response with your hands hidden behind your back.

— " i dunno, garbage day? shit! don't tell me we forgot to take out the bin again.. " he sighed as he retrieved his phone from his coat pocket.

" ill call atsushi, im sure he wouldn't mind emptying it for us " —

" ah.. not quite.. c'mon silly, take a look at the calendar! "

he turned his head to look at the calendar and noticed the 19th marked with "BIRTHDAY" in pink pen, underlined twice with a bunch of hearts around it.

— " ah so today we celebrate the unfortunate day i was involuntarily brought into this dreadful world..." he joked, his eyes lingering on the calendar before turning his gaze to you with his beautiful brown eyes... how could he look so good talking about depressing shit?? —

" oh, stop sulking and open your gift! " you huff, shoving the wrapped present in his face with a pout.

— he chuckled as he opened his gift, a smile spreading across his face. "awh darling, you shouldn't have..."

as he opened the gift his eyes widened at what he saw inside, he picked it up to reveal a vibrator.. —

" surpriseeee! I was thinking we could pass the time before your surprise party at the agency tonight. " you giggled, hugging his waist while teasingly rubbing your knee over his bulge.

— " my mmfph– s.. surprise party huh..? god 'donna you're so bad at keeping secrets... " —

ᡣ𐭩 —————————————

you two had been at it for hours now, dazai is a complete whimpering, whiny teary-eyed mess! god how cute and pathetic he looks

he's practically shooting blanks at this point, however you don't plan on stopping one bit! infact you even brought in a blindfold and a ball-gag just for him! how sweet of you!!

ever so sweetly dragging the vibrator over his flushed pink tip, occasionally pumping his dick just to watch his gasp and beg for more, desperately thrusting into your hand for release..

... just for you to remove your hand and vibrator

— " fuck! mngh-ph.. 'd-..ah!..donna.. c-cmon don't be so mean... " —

... " y'know, naughty boys who aren't grateful, don't deserve to cum... it's a privilege, not a right.. understand me 'samu? you won't be cumming until i allow you to.. "

he desperately whined, nodding his head ever so slowly before shooting it back as you grab ahold of his cock.

— a-augh!~ nmph~ !

" yeah... you’re a dirty slut, aren’t you? but you’re my dirty slut, isn't that right 'samu..? "

... " im gonna have so much fun breaking you tonight! "

ᡣ𐭩 —————————————

AUTHORS NOTES

— yea ur getting edged !! totally not me just running out of ideas 💔

.. sigh, tysm for voting on this !! it was rlly fun to write and i hope you enjoy it 😓😓

stockholm syndrome w fyodor is coming out tomorrow or friday, just a teeny warning it contains like medical / drug kinks??? idfk he drugs you and youre supposed to like it 😭😭

also should i start writing for other fandoms like hsr?? idk about genshin since i haven't been active since fontaines release 😓. 100% inlove w lyney though.. and fremi omg he's so cute

THANK U FOR READING ILYSM

© icedemi please don't steal, re-upload or translate my work ill cry and sob my eyes out!! reblogs r appreciated and ill literally let you makeout w me /pos

[thelilypit]

Lily Orchard doesn't understand File Explorer

(or she does, but she's hoping that you don't)

Content warning for discussions of abuse and incest. Also, this post is long as balls.

Okay, I wasn't going to make a post about this. I agree with Crim right now: there's no point interacting with Lily or her posts. She's shown herself to be completely full of garbage, and isn't convincing anyone outside of her inner circle with her recent posts.

Still, there seems to be a lot of misunderstanding as to why her recent explanations don't hold up to scrutiny, so I'm making this post to help people understand exactly why her evidence is bunk. If you're reading this, please don't bother Lily about it further. At this point, any further antagonism towards Lily only serves to convince her remaining fanbase that she's a helpless victim, and not the dangerous manipulator she truly is. With that out of the way, here's the sitch:

BACKGROUND: On September 5th, 2024, Lily Orchard briefly showed the contents of her Downloads folder during an editing stream. Keen observers noted a handful of peculiar filenames, including a .rar file with the exact name of a RWBY incest-themed fancomic, and a .zip folder with the name "aslutphone-0.22-pc.zip", which corresponds to a mobile phone-themed visual novel that is also incest-themed.

The presence of fantasy adult material on Lily's computer is in of itself no concern - private kinks are private kinks, after all. However, some commentators noted similarities between the scenarios highlighted in "A Slut Phone" and statements made by Courtney Peet, Lily's sister, in regards to alleged abuse she experienced as a child at the hands of Lily.

Almost immediately, anonymous asks were sent to Lily Orchard querying her about the contents of her folder. Rather than provide a relevant answer, she pretended those asks were related to a different game:

It's reasonable to say that Lily didn't have an explanation handy at the time, at least, not one that would fit with her current public image. Still, the anon asks were piling up behind the scenes, and people on Lily's patreon discord were beginning to ask questions as well. On September 8th, three days after the initial discovery, Lily posted her explanation for one of the two files highlighted:

According to Lily, "Sisters - Ruby&Yang.rar" is a full archive of the RWBY series, and she intended to mention Ruby and Yang in her "Sibling relationships" video, back in June. The fact that it shared its filename uniquely with an incest porn comic was totally a coincidence, and anyone who accused her of owning said porn comic was just a pervert themselves.

(what Lily, who frequently complains about disk space issues, was still doing with an alleged rip of RWBY that she had no intention of watching, I have no idea. But I digress) And finally on September 12th, after a week of anticipation, Lily had finally come up with her explanation for "A Slut Phone":

It was all a trick to make her critics look stupid! She had downloaded a different game for an upcoming video, and had renamed the filename to, in her words, the "worst possible game I could find", just to catch out the trolls!

This is, to put it mildly, a little difficult to believe. Still, it's the explanation Lily provided, and the following day Lily provided evidence that proves the contents of that folder pertains to sexadvicesuccubus.exe, and that said contents had not been recently edited:

This is where some of Lily's critics start to falter, accusing Lily of fabricating the contents of the above folder or changing around the other files. Personally, I'm willing to accept that the folder displayed *does in fact* contain the game data for "Sex Advice Succubus." However, there's still some glaring issues. For one, Lily is showing us a Windows File Folder here (with compressed data inside)

Meanwhile, the file spotted on September 5th was a .zip

Another (minor) issue is that the filename for "A Slut Phone" looks different on its itch.io download page, compared to the name of the actual file (as demonstrated above). If Lily had simply copied the filename based on the itch.io page, her "decoy" folder would have been named differently As for the issues with the file's modification date... more on that after the break. And now, a brief intermission. The Lily Pit presents:

HOW TO GET AWAY WITH YOUR WEIRD PORN GAMES GETTING SPOTTED IN YOUR DOWNLOADS FOLDER

So, you're a reasonably successful youtube creator and occasional streamer, and one day someone spots a suspiciously named .zip file in your cluttered downloads folder:

Worry not! Just follow these simple steps to exonerate yourself of any signs of pervertedness!

First, you're going to download a scapegoat game - don't worry about this game's raunchy title, it's far more tame than whatever wild stuff you're surely into:

Now, go to your computer's date and time settings, and set it back far enough to avoid culpability:

(In this case, we've adjusted it to the exact time of the original .zip's modification, but if nobody saw that part then you don't even have to worry!) While your PC's time is adjusted, extract the contents of the new game's .zip, and compress it while you're there:

Rename the folder to match the filename of the .zip, and there you go!

And if you're thinking "That's an awful lot of effort to go to to hide the fact that you've got weird porn on your computer",

You would be absolutely right.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled Lily Crit

... Shoot, where was I? Oh yeah, falsifying the "date modified" part of a file or folder is trivial. The evidence Lily provided proves nothing, and arguably, it makes her look even more suspicious than she was before.

Still, I do have to acknowledge that there is no definitive proof of those files' contents being what we suspected. Lily's explanations, however outlandish they are, could well be the honest truth...

... but let's be real, they're not.

Stop lying, Lily.

[indigos-stardust]

Violet and Blue Bruises: Catfight

part 1 / part 2/ part 3/ part 4

Expectation:

(used a base found online made by AlexBaxtheDarkness on DeviantArt)

Reality:

Click for higher quality^^ Reblogs appreciated <3

The Tea:

The second that the two made contact, any hope of a somewhat peaceful resolution was lost. Blue immediately tackled Vio.

It was no duel. There's only nasty scraps, pushing, hard hits, and a pathetic scramble for leverage over the other, each barely managing to shift the tides before the other makes another move.

The bruises blossom, painting their skin with every forceful hit against furniture, floor, and bone. Fingers dig into soft skin, deep and piercing. Not as piercing as their f*cking screeching though. Shadow's been a bit bored recently just, sitting there being a shadow, so this? This is glorious.

He isn't quite rooting for Blue even though he still sees Vio as the traitor he is (okay, he understands why Vio betrayed him but still!! it hurt a lot okay?!), but honestly? He was gonna reevaluate all his feelings, because this? This was beautiful.

Sure, the losers spent several minutes practically rolling around like pigs trying to get any easy marks they could, but the second Blue got the upper ground (literally, Blue took a lot better care of himself than Vio and his strength definitely showed it, with how he was able to pin Vio down despite Vio's erratic squirming and clawing) - Oh man, Vio seemed trapped. How nice.

Blah blah blah, " What pissed you?!" blah blah blah garbage from Vio about, "Just giving what's due you dull headed-" and more blah blah blah something about, "YOU"RE SUCH A GREEDY COWARD, you aren't and never were there when we needed you!"

Honestly, where was the real drama? No ironic wordplays?

Blue clearly wanted to get this situation under control. So, he decided to very calmly and reasonably inquire, "WHAT 'S YOUR DAMN PROBLEM YOU STUPID *SS PIECE OF NERD?"

Honestly, Shadow hadn't ever known Blue could be so eloquent! It would be upsetting though if the fight ended this early, so for the first time he offered a small prayer to Hylia. Perhaps she could influence and spur on her pathetic little light worlders to keep the scrap going? And oh did she answer his prayers-

Like poetry in motion, Vio practically pierced Blue's shoulder with a fierce and rapid bite. A perfect twist of the head, just the perfect amount of force- and at the most perfect spot to induce the most pain without any real injury! Shadow had taught him that... He remembered.

F*ck Blue, Vio might suck but this was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen!

Of course, now they were both standing again! And in a new bigger territory! THE LIVING ROOM!!! Shadow hadn't been this thrilled since he died!!

A whirling heavy book smashing against Vio's skull followed a war cry of, "MAYBE THIS"LL TEACH YOU A LESSON ON HOW TO NOT BE A TOTAL D*CK!??" Pure poetry, if Shadow had a mortal form, he'd be wiping tears! Though he doesn't know if it be from laughter or pure joy!

OOH PERFECT THEY SMASHED RED'S NEW MUG? Ohohoho more dangers on the battlefield~~~(not to mention it could spur on another fight for whose fault it was later! this was like what? Red's third "new favorite best mug!" because all his favorite mugs always break?)

Shadow was just enjoying the show, excited for the grand finale- Someone was going to throw a chair!! He had to see how this would end-

The front door slams open. Green busts in, eyes panicked, face flushed. Red anxiously trying to look inside behind the frozen Green.

They freeze.

Oh.

Oh no.

lmso I might make part 4 later today or tomorrow lol

[triaelf9]

hey folks who interact with creative works online! just a tiny PSA

If you don't like a character, that's totally fine! If you have a different reading of a situation in a show & have issues with stuff that's going on, that's also fine.

What is NOT fine is to ACTIVELY SEEK OUT fans of the characters you don't like and talk shit about them, the characters they have feelings about, or the content they've posted b/c you, Freddy McHatesalot really needs to tell everyone how much you dislike a...fictional character.

You are totally welcome to consume content in your own space in whatever way you see fit. It is disrespectful of the fandom space to try to drag other people into your space and interact with you if they don't want to. And dunking on a character in writings or art of them is fucking rude as hell to the person who put work into into the creation they made out of some feelings they were having.

Also. side note, it is possible to enjoy a character who is Wrong About Some Things or Isn't Doing The Right Stuff In The Right Situation. Sometimes it's possible to like a character and disagree with them, and shitting on people b/c you can't see what they see in a character is pretty trash garbage and is 90% of why I just make silly little art for me and my own silly feels and hope folks get a chuckle or some enjoyment out of it too.

[kimkaitual]

Just in case anyone needed to see me to say this, I will not be supporting taeil going forward. Or anyone else who remains close with him for that matter. The news about him is absolutely abhorrent and vile. Anyone who defends him, I'm blocking.

If you're shocked, hurt, angry, disappointed, it's okay. It's not your fault you didn't know. It's totally normal and okay to assume your fave is a good person until proven otherwise. Remember that idols are just random people none of us actually know. And how you respond to their actions is the real reflection of who you are. And not that you ever supported them in the first place.

If you want to take a break, please do it. Engaging in fandom should be a thing that you do for fun and the moment it isn't fun anymore, please stop and step away. Taking care of yourself should be your first concern when it comes to fandom spaces.

I also want to say that just because taeil is a trash human, it's okay to believe in the goodness of others. I think holding onto the hope that there are decent people out there is so vital.

To everyone asking if I'm okay, I am. I'm pissed and disgusted. But I'm okay. Despite how I talk on here, moon taeil wasn't my whole world. Him turning out to be a horrible and detestable human being doesn't change anything about who I am or what matters to me. I hate him. And throwing my support for him in the garbage came without a second thought on my end. I don't love any of my faves that much and would drop them in a heartbeat if similar news came out about any them. I don't know if that sounds callous or not, but it's the truth and it's been the truth for a really long time.

One last thing: Believe victims. Believe them when they tell you what happened to them. Their safety and peace should always be the priority.

[swearingcactus]

borrowing showers past bedtimes

remember the little thing i wrote the other day about v borrowing kerry's shower? yeah i finished it, somewhat, decided it was still relatively short (2k) and too plotless for an ao3 post. so woe, fic be upon ye. (under the cut)

It seemed like it took forever until V’s incessant knocking on Villa Eurodyne’s front door got it to swing open.

Speaking of the door, when the fuck did Kerry even get his front door fixed anyway? They had tried to fix it on a random weekend when V came over, but it kept opening stubbornly no matter what they did. And then Kerry had gotten so mad and tried to rip the door of its hinges, so they dropped the effort altogether. And–

“Oh, shit.” Kerry’s voice brought him back to the present and V blinks to realize Kerry’s looking at him with wide eyes. He pulls down his headphones he had on to his neck. His previous annoyance at being bothered in his house at this hour slipping rapidly into shocked worry at the sight of a merc covered in blood and mud and who knows what else, standing with his arms and feet a shoulder apart.

“Hey Ker, wha‘sup, sorry for bargin’ in so late at night,” V says, words stumbling over the other like a trainwreck, then he gets to the point, “Can I please borrow your shower?”

“Jesus, of course,” Kerry says, and then jerkily opens the door wider like he just remembered he could do that.

“‘m not Jesus, I’m V.” V mumbled out absent-mindedly. He whacks his arm before he gets in, some blood and bits of flesh fell off the sleeves of his jacket, squelching to the floor.

“Do you need a ripper?” Kerry asked. V drags his feet onto the concrete in hopes it’ll lessen the blood stains when he walks in the house.

“Oh, nah, I’m fine. This isn’t mine.” V says, just realizing how this must’ve looked. “I’ve been out the whole day in the rain, went from the badlands then back, got a gig near here.” V walked further into the house, avoiding the items still strewn about the floor. “Got messy. Normal shootout stuff, grenades, the like, then just–” he makes a psh-SHOOO noise with his mouth as he creates an over-exaggerated motion of an explosion with his hands.

“Gonk had a grenade on him and pulled the wrong pin.”

Kerry lets out an amused, morbid chuckle. V thinks that’s nice; he’d probably laugh about it too. If he hadn’t spent the entire day being scorched and sweating under the Badlands sun, hit by dust and dirt. Then got whacked with a storm that came out of nowhere. Then trekked his way up here just to get blasted in the face with someone’s guts. He smelled like garbage and felt so grossed out, but he was still ready to spend the entire ride back to Watson feeling like complete shit… only to find that the earlier shootout had blown off his Yaiba’s fuel tank.

But yeah, he’s fine! He’s totally not gonna lose it if he can’t claw his way out of his clothes within the next 5 minutes. But just in case, he excuses himself to the shower and practically ran in.

–

V's buck-ass naked in Kerry's shower. It's a huge shower, taking up 30% of the entire bathroom and the bathroom itself is bigger than his apartment. And now the large space and the great ventilation is getting him cold. He rubs a foot on top of the other, trying to warm the palms of his feet. He goes to pick up another soap from the rows and rows of product that Kerry had, all lined up.

It took less time to decide on a shampoo to use earlier because there were only two options, and even though he should probably peruse the purple shampoo dedicated to keep hair dye to shine and all that... he had decided to use the one Kerry probably forgot at the back. It had dust on its lid but smelled powdery.

Johnny crackles, all blue pixels and blurs of light, leaning on the glass window next to him. "Occupied, asshole." V says, gesturing to himself. "Also, ever heard of privacy?"

"You lost your privacy rights the second you took longer than 10 minutes to decide on a soap to use. At least start the water. This isn't your megabuilding, Kerry can pay the hot water bills."

Johnny made a good point, but V opted to ignore Johnny for now, as he often does. Instead, he opens another soap bottle and sniffs it experimentally. He could tell this was Kerry's go-to soap. Smelled like mint and perfumed musk. He reads the name of the scent. Gold Desire.

"Oh fucking... his pretentious ass needs a beating." Johnny grumbles. V snorts and closes the bottle. It's a scent reminiscent of Kerry, which V doesn't hate, of course. But the idea of smelling like Kerry didn't sit right with him.

A little too domestic. A little like he's playing pretend as someone's cute little input who's enjoying the high life for years by now. A little too much like wearing a costume. He's already had enough of the idea of turning into someone he's not without a stupid soap doing it for him.

He goes to sniff the next soap and dry-heaves. It smelled overwhelmingly like burning plastic that's vaguely presented with artificial strawberry and vanilla. He coughs and puts it away.

“At this point your clothes are gonna finish being washed before you do.” Johnny complains, glitching away and popping up, squatting on top of the washing machine dramatically.

V picks up another soap, “Oh Johnny, gross, you cummed in this one.”

“I what.”

“Look, ‘Rockerboy’s Wet Dream.’” V says, grinning and showing off a green bottle. Johnny rolls his eyes and pretend-flicked his cigarette’s ash onto the floor.

V continues to read the bottle, “’Citrus and Red Chili.’ Wonder how that smells combined.” V sniffs it, “Spicy!” he announced to Johnny who has now resorted to softly banging his head on the wall behind him. V decided he could just use this one and goes to turn the water on.

He enjoys how it immediately produced the perfect temperature without him even needing to fiddle with the settings or wait. Some fancy tech that detects his temperature and automatically sets the most suitable one for him once his feet hit the shower tiles.

He pours a hefty amount, wincing at how the bottle wheezed and dropped a slimy gel-like substance with beads of scrubs– which hurt when he started to slather it up. Before the contact with skin promptly starts to burn. Granted he has never used a high-end soap with an exfoliator and whatnot, but V doubts it’s supposed to hurt this much.

V picks the bottle up again to inspect it, hoping to see if maybe he’s just using it wrong or something… when he noticed a manufacture date at the top of the cap. He froze in fear. “Holy shit. This was produced before I was even born. Why the hell do Kerry even keep this around.”

He chucks the bottle to the trash bin to the far end of the room. It missed and hit the wall, bouncing onto the floor. V scrubs the rest of the offending soap on him, almost panickedly.

“You can shower with my actual cum, ‘ll hurt less.” Johnny offers mockingly, getting in the stall with him. V elbows him hard, even if he glitches away before it made any believable contact.

“Give it a couple second and you’ll feel the burn too, see if you can joke then.” V grumbles. He takes a long deep breath and spends the next few breaths just watching as the bubbles get washed along with the grime and mud that starts to melt onto the floor along with the hot water. Shoulders slowly slumping as the events of the day start to catch up and some new bruises and cuts make their presence known. He cards his fingers onto his hair and plop goes the pieces of brain matter and what could’ve been an eighth of an eye. He kicks it down the drain, and blindly takes a random bottle.

This one’s still filled to the brim. He opened it to find it still sealed, even. He struggles to open it with his nails and managed to do so... sacrificing some nail paint in the process. He sniffed it almost dejectedly. Before perking up, pleasantly surprised with its unfamiliar but sweet scent.

"Huh.." he says, taking it away to properly read what it was. "Coconut and basil."

"Do you even know what a coconut looks like?" Johnny accused, out of nowhere.

"Sure I do. It's brown, kinda round looking. Floats. Not sure what a basil actually is though." V answers easily, and finally sets the soap next to the shampoo he had picked, and gets to showering in peace.

--

V stepped out of the bathroom feeling like an actual human again for once, shaking his hair onto the towel roughly to dry it.

"Ker?" he calls out. He hears a faint tune being repeatedly played and walks to the far end of the first floor. Kerry sat with his back to V, with his headphones in, frowning at a computer. He had a guitar in one hand while his other hand was covering his mouth, a finger tapping onto his lips.

Kerry glanced over when he noticed V in his peripheral vision and says, "Hey," but his focus quickly turns back to the computer.

V steps next to him to plant a kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the shower." (He could feel Johnny rolling his eyes, making pretend-barfing motions. V made a huge point to tell him to fuck off.)

"No problem," Kerry says, obviously still distracted.

"Busy?" V asks, knowing the answer but thinking he should probably still ask it.

Kerry doesn't really answer, just hums vaguely, somewhat affirmatively.

V spreads his toes out on the floor, feels that it’s dusty, still haven’t been properly vacuumed since god knows when. He shifts his weight. "... Anything I can help with?" He offers. It's a long shot but sometimes Kerry asks his opinion on song lyrics, even though V kinda guessed it's less of asking an opinion and more of showing off an unfinished piece he’s still proud of.

As he expected, the shot fell short of its mark when Kerry replies with a clear, resounding, "No." and by then V knows he's maxed out trying to get a conversation out of Kerry.

He goes to leave Kerry alone.

–

V checks his clothes to see it had finished its spin cycle and is now being dried. Still a couple hours to go. He goes back out and climbs to the second floor, trying to find something to wear in the meantime. Kerry’s a little shorter than him, (“Not by much.” Johnny annoyingly pointed out.) Fine, Kerry’s only a little shorter than him, but his clothes mostly consisted of leather or something so cropped, might as well just go nude.

There were some hoodies, though, large unassuming jackets Kerry bought in bulk to hide from media vultures. Big enough it makes his boxers look shorter than it actually is. V decides to borrow one, goes to bite and suck one of the hood’s strings immediately once he slipped it on.

He leans over the second floor to check up on Kerry from above. Kerry tapped the space bar so hard V swears it’ll crack. He starts grumbling unhappily, then goes to fiddle another tune on the guitar. Yikes. Better leave him alone for now.

“Derivative!” Johnny yells about the tune, over the railing.

If Kerry could actually hear him there would be a bloodbath.

V passed Kerry’s bed and goes back down to the first floor, sitting on the sofa. Kerry stops playing the guitar with an uncomfortable screech and whines loudly.

“Tell him try changing it to a minor tune.” Johnny says. V frowns at him, not sure if he’s actually offering genuine musical help or if he’s just fucking around to try and rile Kerry up. Either way, V knows Kerry wouldn’t appreciate any unwarranted advice at this stage. Johnny clicks his tongue, because he knows it too, he just doesn’t like not letting everyone know what he thinks.

V goes to lean back, only to sit up straight again, looking back and noticing there’s a bong stuck behind him. He pulled it out, then sighs at the mess. Before standing up and picking up empty and half-filled glasses to the kitchen to stick them in the dish washer. He continued to throw out two thongs wedged in the sofa. Wipe the counter from the sticky, spilled alcoholic drinks and their mixers.

It took a while until the sofa and the coffee table in front of it looked nice enough, and V sits and slumps himself onto it in satisfaction, letting the sofa’s crevice swallow him as much as it could.

–

"Hey, what're you doing here?" Kerry asks, gently shaking him to wake him up.

V blinks blearily awake, takes a second to realize where he's at. Then at the question. Wanted to wait up for you sounds too cheesy suddenly and V decides to just shrug.

"You cleaned my place up." Kerry says appreciatively.

"Nnno, just the sofa area." V points out, then yawns, putting his hand into a fist and using his knuckles to cover it. Kerry lets out an 'Awww' kind of sound and V stopped yawning immediately, frowning up at him. Kerry stopped cooing, and grinned, "Come on, let's get you to an actual bed, huh?"

He pulls V up and leads him to the second floor onto the bed. V falls into it immediately, rolling so he can plant his face down onto the biggest pillow Kerry had, while Kerry went off to turn off most of the lights on the switch on the wall.

V doesn't need to see to know when Kerry shuffled into bed when the bed dips next to him. He puts a hand out to feel for Kerry and when his fingers found contact on skin, he scoots closer.

"D'aww," Kerry says again cut off harshly when V pokes his ribs, hard. "Hey you don't want me to think you're cute? Stop being cute."

"Thought you said I was a brat?" V coyly asked.

Kerry lets out a huff, "Alright, down, boy. Way past your bedtime for that."

"Sounds like I need some punishi--" V couldn't help a yawn before he could finish that sentence, "Yeah, point taken." He shuffles again, a leg lands on top of Kerry's before settling. “Sorry I bothered you while you were doing your song.” He says to Kerry’s arm.

Kerry lets out a soft laugh again, rubs the point of contact between his fingers and V's upper arm, “Yeah if you were anyone else, I would’ve told you to fuck off. Consider it a privilege that you got me away from my set and I’m still letting you on my bed.”

“Yay, privilege!” V whoops softly. “Always wanted to know what that feels like.”

Kerry snorted again. They went quiet and V thought that was the end of it. Until Kerry adds, “You know you don’t have to…” he stops like he thought better than to say it. V opens his eyes to look up at Kerry, telling him to go on.

Put on the spot, Kerry begrudgingly continues, “I dunno, just… you know I’m here for you, right? So.. I dunno, V, maybe next time, you could just think of coming over in the first place instead of it being an alternative plan? And, ugh, I know how this might sound to– Look, I’m not saying this ‘cus I’m jealous or, or clingy, okay, I know you got your own thing. Look, you don’t have to act all awkward and proper ‘round me, ‘s all. I mean, come on, V, it’s just me.”

“Uh-huh.” V says, though he doesn’t really get what that’s all about. He shuffles and drops his head back to its original position, closing his eyes. He’s falling asleep again, and he fights to hear what Kerry’s saying next, it gets jumbled into one hazy tune. Something about time, and them being friends, sometimes a little more, something about worrying about not hearing something…

He snuggled to Kerry’s arm again, concludes Kerry’s probably just stressed about the piece. So, he sleepily asks, “Didja finish it though? The song.”

“Huh?” Took a few seconds for Kerry to realize what he’s asking, “Oh… Nope. Gave up on it for tonight.”

“Should try changing it to minor key.” V hears himself say without him actually thinking it, then he groans quietly. He kicks the engram mentally, mumbles out, “Oh, shut up, Johnny…”

“Yeah, shut up, Johnny.” Kerry echoes immediately. But there’s a slight moment where V thinks Kerry’s arm had tensed a tiny bit, before relaxing, as he leaned into V’s hair. Then, "You smell nice."

Thanks, it's coconut and basil. V thinks he says, but he's not sure because he conked out within milliseconds. He thinks that for tomorrow, in-between getting home, and doing gigs, and finding leads about the relic, he’ll try to figure out what a basil actually is.

Author's Note: yeah so coconut and basil huh. The coconut that goes around getting bobbed by the sea but floats with the flow. The basil that could mean anything from a token to ward off the devil to a symbol of love. Also smells great together as a body wash. Fun! Maybe Kerry'll think there's poetry in it if V shared it the next day.

[sillystappen]

Broken Melodies Part 2 (part 1 is here) (and here's the AO3 link)

Shit would be an understatement. No, that race was god-fucking-horrifically-awful. You would think with two DNFs that Daniel could at least pull his shitbox from P17 to P15 but nope, he finished in 17th, just barely completing all laps of the race. He's better than this, he knows he is and yet the race he drove was utter garbage.

Daniel declines any invitation to go out after the race. He isn't exactly feeling it, and besides he made a promise, one in which he intends to keep.

Before heading back to the beach, Daniel picks up a bunch of food from a local convenience store that he think Max may like to try. He gets all sorts of things, including bread, chocolate, and just a bit of raw pork in case all else fails, after all they say that it tastes similar to human flesh.

It's just before sunset when Daniel arrives, and there's only a few people left loitering around. Daniel walks as far down as he can to ensure that they remain uninterrupted. He can't risk either of them being spotted, for Max's safety and, in a way, for his own.

He settles down on a rock that's near the shoreline and pulls his bag into his lap. He places his hands around his mouth and calls out softly, "Max!"

In the distance, a head pops up from the waves then ducks back down and Daniel can see the subtle flick of a tail coming towards him. Within seconds Max breaks the surface of the water in front of him and uses his arms to drag himself further forward. "Hi Daniel!"

Now that there's more daylight, Daniel can see Max properly and wow, he's truly gorgeous. His eyes are blue, but they're like the ocean itself and Daniel could find himself getting lost in them. His hair is messy and blonde like wet sand and he really does have well defined arms and chest. Then Daniel sees his tail, which is actually a beautiful cobalt blue that glimmers in the daylight - magical. The fins at the end have a different shade of blue in them, something darker, closer to navy.

Max tail twitches and Daniel realises he must've been staring. "Sorry, it's just my first time seeing you properly, like your tail. I couldn't totally see last night because, you know, it's dark."

Max flushes and ducks his head. "Ah well, I hope you're not disappointed."

"No, you're magnificent. Really, you are," Daniel quickly reassures.

Max giggles and his tail makes a small flick in the water. That's something Daniel has noticed: Max's tail often reacts with his emotions, creating little flicks, twitches and splashes amongst the shallow waves.

"I, uh, I bought you food?" Daniel gestures to the bag in his lap. "Just like a bunch of different things."

Max grins, pushing himself as high as he can, "Thank you! What did you get?"

Daniel shows him all the foods and let's Max try different things to see what he likes. Turns out, he's a big fan of bread, any type of meat, cooked or raw, and tomatoes. He's not a huge fan of sweet things and fruit but really hates dairy stuff. It ends up being like a picnic date, with the sun setting and the mindless chatter flowing between them.

Eventually, Daniel puts away all the rubbish back into his bag and tucks it behind the rock and out of the way as Max asks, "do you want to talk about the race?"

Daniel sighs, "not really. It was bad, and I don't think I will even keep my seat next season if it continues. I overheard some people talk about replacing me and cutting my contract."

"That seems unfair," Max frowns.

"Formula One is unfair. Life is unfair. You just have to hope that things will get better." Daniel shrugs, feeling a little hopeless but if he just tells himself that often enough, maybe it will actually happen.

"You made things better for me," Max admits.

"I did?"

"Sirens work in pods of about 10 or so to catch prey. Think of it like a pack or a family. As soon as my father broke my songbox, I was forced out, deemed useless. I mean, what good is a siren who can't sing?" Max chuckles dryly before continuing to explain, "I've been swimming solo for the past year and a bit. Then one night, I saw this beautiful human who was so alone and sad and I didn't have much to lose so I talked to him, tried to make him feel less upset. However, he ended up making the past two days some of the happiest for me in the past couple of years."

Shit, those words are like an arrow to the chest. He made Max feel cared for when he hasn't been for so long and Max has done the same for him, just by being someone who has no expectations and accepts Daniel for Daniel. Something spurs him into action as he gets up, pulling his shoes and socks off and yanking his t-shirt and hoodie over his head in one go.

"Daniel...?" Max questions cautiously as Daniel finally strips to just his boxers and makes his way into the ocean.

It's fucking cold, and Daniel has no idea how Max puts up with it but chalks it up to siren biology. Max has started swimming around him, still maintaining a bit of distance, his eyes wide in shock. "Daniel what are you doing?"

When the water is up to his shoulders, toes barely touching the sea floor, he finally turns to face Max. "Max, you have made the past two days better for me too. Fuck, Max, I just-"

Daniel pulls Max towards him and hugs him, a complete and total display of trust and affection by allowing himself to be totally at Max's mercy. Max melts into it instantly, arms wrapping around Daniels torso but fingers careful not to scratch him. He rests his head on Daniel's shoulder and Daniel can feel Max's tail moving in gentle back and forth motions, helping to keep both of them afloat as Daniel kicks. One of Daniel's hands carefully holds the back of Max's neck, mindful of the gills there, thumb stroking in a soft caress where Max's hair ends.

This feels like everything, and yet it has to be nothing but a fleeting weekend, a brief respite to their suffering. Daniel wishes they had more time, wishes that Max was a human so he could bring him everywhere, show him the world, give him everything he could and then hold him in bed at the end of every day. Or, he wishes he could be a siren like Max, swimming around the world and catching prey together, with absolutely no weight on his shoulders or expectations from his team and the fans.

But it's simply not possible.

"Is it bad I don't want you to go?" Max whispers against the skin on Daniel's shoulder.

"No more as bad as how I don't want to leave," Daniel replies just as quiet, letting the ocean breeze carry his words away.

"You have to though."

"I do," Daniel exhales, feeling nothing but bittersweet melancholy.

They stay like that for as long as they can, Max's body heat providing enough warmth for Daniel to not start shivering. There's a sense of desperation, as if the moment they let go it's all over and it becomes nothing more than a memory, one they might forget. As if Daniel would ever forget Max, the kindest siren on Earth with his ocean eyes, sandy hair and shimmering tail.

Max raises his head and looks at Daniel, their faces so close their noses are almost touching. All Daniel can see is Max, his eyes, the slope of his nose, the slight blush to his cheeks, the freckle on his upper lip, his lips.

Perhaps the magnetic pull between them should startle Daniel, it could be some siren magic after all, but the second his lips touch Max's he can tell that it's no magic at all and that Max is feeling the exact same way as him. The need for the other person, the anguish that it will be over in a few hours (if not less), the craving of a comfort that neither have felt in so long but they have found in each other. It's just a shame that this is all they can have.

They kiss and kiss until neither of them can breathe any more and Daniel's legs tire out from kicking in the water. Max holds him up as he slowly swims them back to shore, the two of them so lost in each other that they were unaware of how far they drifted out. He gently lays Daniel against the rock he was previously sat on and carefully brings himself up so he can lie his head on Daniel's lap, the end of his tail making small splashes in the waves that reach the shoreline.

"I guess this is goodbye," Max says, crestfallen.

"I guess so..." Daniel starts carding his fingers through Max's hair, feeling the softness as it dries out.

"Will I ever see you again?" Max asks, the tiniest, most miniscule amount of hope in his voice.

It kills Daniel to reply with "I don't know," shooting that hope down.

Max doesn't reply, just lies there and lets the moment last as long as possible. Daniel's skin dries quickly, excepts for where the waves kiss his feet. The sun has gone below the horizon and Daniel has to go. He has a flight in the morning to take him to Italy and cannot risk oversleeping for it.

"Max," he whispers hoarsely. Max gets the message, lifting himself up and pushing himself back into the sea to give Daniel the space to get dressed and leave. Daniel can feel Max's eyes on him, staring as if he will disappear the moment he blinks. Once he's properly clothed and has gathered up all his stuff, Daniel faces Max.

"I'm sorry we don't have more time." Daniel kicks the sand with his shoe.

"Me too," Max replies, flicking his webbed fingers in the water.

"Goodbye," Daniel smiles sadly before walking away. He listens for the sound of Max swimming away, the tell-tale splash of his tail, but there isn't. Against his better judgement, Daniel looks over his shoulder and sees Max still there, watching him.

Daniel's heartstrings snap and he goes running back, dropping to his knees not caring if his shoes or trousers get soaked. Max can barely gasp his name before Daniel holds his face and kisses him again, all breathy and desperate. They can taste each other's tears as they kiss, barely getting half-sentences out between each press of lips.

"I'm sorry I-" "Me too." "I have to-" "I know." "I wish-" "So do I." "Thank you."

Eventually, Max pushes Daniel back and forces himself further into the ocean where Daniel cannot follow. "Now go, please." His smile is ruined by the tears running over his cheeks and into the seawater. Daniel is sure he doesn't look any better.

This time, Daniel really does leave and he hears the loud splash of Max's tail going underwater to never be seen by him again. Daniel doesn't look back.

He makes it back to the hotel just as Lando and a bunch of other people from McLaren leaves it to go out partying or something. He refuses to make eye contact, doesn't want to see the worried glances or questioning looks and just heads back to his hotel room and immediately goes to sleep, not even bothering to wash the salty ocean water from his hair.

Perhaps, if he's lucky, he can meet Max again in his dreams.

[hughiecampbelle]

Waves Pt. 1 (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan

Word Count: 1,518

Inspired By: Liquid Smooth - Mitski (Audiotree Live Version)

Requested: Ok I have no idea why I was so drawn to these but if any inspiration strikes, maybe a fic or something with Shrink from the description prompts and Clawfoot Tub from Object/Thing prompts. To me it vibes with Kendall but I'd be happy seeing it written with anyone that comes to mind - @locke-writes

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Noah I'm sorry it's literally been a million years. I got bit by the writing bug this morning and I saw your request and I just wanted to hurt everyone's feelings lol. Please forgive me!!! I hope you're doing okay and that this isn't too late/total garbage!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN / Waves Pt. 2

He can close his eyes, he can plunge himself beneath the water, he can hold his breath until his lungs begin to burn, set fire in in his chest, exhaling smoke and ash, but, he cannot forget. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t anger. It was heartbreak. Pure, genuine heartbreak. It was visceral and agonizing and bloody. You were shattering before him, across the room for him, and he could do nothing but watch. Stare. Like a fool. An onlooker to the breakdown of a stranger, a pedestrian, instead of the love of his life. Shrinking deeper, smaller, until you were nothing but a mite atop the fabric of the cushions. Wine stem in shaking hand, a coffee table between you littered with various glasses and room-temperature alcohol. There was sweat of the outside, the ice cubes long forgotten, beading down into the coaster. Behind him, faintly, he can hear the rest of the party. A steady, low murmur of voices fills the pulsing air between you. His father, a man made of rot and stone, spoke those awful words to you, about you, right in front of you. He berated you. He spat at you. He called you a worthless nothing, an appendage growing from his son, sucking the life out of him. Sucking the blood and money from this family. Then, to him, he insists that he could find someone better, smarter, better looking. There is no rebuttal, there is no last straw, there is only a cowering of his spine, as if this lecture has been triggered by the roundness, proudness of his shoulders, his posture and chest. He braces for impact. He flinches. When his show is over, when the last lines have been spoken, he takes his bow and exits off stage. 

There is an audience of two and no one is clapping. 

Siently, your eyes widen and well up in tears. He swears, though he can't say definitely, he cannot verify yes, it truly happened, you let out a single gasp of air. A wretched sound to anyone listening. The screech of tires before it crashes. The burst of porcelain across the hard wood floors, the remnants scattering, running, scraping on impact. The wet squelch of a someone rummaging around inside of someone’s open torso, trying to find and stop a bleed before the patient dies on the table. It is unfinished. It is dirty. It is obscene. It is a sound one wishes to take back, to unhear. Childishly, he wants to press his hands over his ears. He wants to beg you to stop, please, please! But just as it occurs, it is over. A single gasp. A single breath. Proof of life. You were never one for the dramatics. Your personality had always been shy. This was no different. Wounded animals did not announce their wounds. Instead, they dragged themselves off into solitude and assessed the damage. He’s not sure why he knew this was happening, why this was going to happen, only that he does. He stands, his eyes never leaving you. As if on cue, you set your drink down and take your place parallel to him, on your feet. You don’t wipe your tears away. You don’t even realize they’ve fallen. You move towards the closet by the entrance. He tries to stop you, to help you, to comfort you, but all that comes out is begging. Pleading. Please don’t go. Please, y/n. Excuses. You know dad, he wasn’t- he didn’t mean it. Please don’t go. Please. . . You find your coat on the hanger and slip your arms through. It was beautiful today, the weather, but the nights get cold and vengeful and you have already been bitten. Your skin resembles the inside of Logan’s mouth: you are covered in teeth marks and spit. You were his chew toy, for a little while, for a long time, before he decided he was bored. Before he decided he was done with you. 

He catches your arm, places his fingers around your bicep as if you are a lifevest and he a survivor of drowning. Scared. No, petrified, he cannot make full sentences. He stutters his way through something that does not resemble anything else. There are no apologies, from him or his father, so it must not be an apology. There is bargaining, but there is no deal. There is only a smattering of words that come to mind, a mess, a diaster of drastic proportions. No one else has notice the mess before you, preventing you from leaving. They have not bled out from the dining room yet. If you want this to be quick, painless, you have to do it soon. Wordlessly, you tug yourself free. You meet his eyes: hazel, warm, pooling with conflictions. You know this. You have seen this before. Torn in half: his left goes to Logan, promises that he will one day make him proud, his right throws himself into you, at you, and you must clean him up. You must clean up the crime scene. Even now, after what his father’s said, after what he’s been saying all the years you’ve been together, and still he can’t make up his mind. He can’t decide. You’ve grown tired of half. Half of him, his love, his attention. Half of the man you endured pain, and hatred, and disgust for. This family never liked you. This family never gave you a second thought. It was supposed to be worth it, being ith him, staying with him. How foolish you feel. How stupid you are, standing here, watching him go back and forth. You put your hand on his, squeeze it, before pulling away from him. You eye his form before the elevator doors shut. He wore the suit you loved, with the tie his father had chosen for him so long ago. His shoes resembled Logan’s, but his socks, the one’s you’d watched him pick out this morning, were one’s you’d gotten him this past Christmas. If he could have, if he had the ability, he would have cut himself to pieces and gifted half to you, half to Logan. He was already doing that, just without the wrapping paper and bow. Without the hacksaw. Without the gore. 

He’d call your phone, over and over, listening to the familiar of your voice as it directs him to leave a message. He doesn’t stop until the box is full. His siblings make their jokes when they notice your absence. Cruel, harsh, Roy-like. He is grateful you are not here to listen, to hurt anymore than you already are. Logan pats him on the back, inviting him into his good graces as if the past hour hadn’t happened, as if your entire marriage hadn’t happened. Stunned, shocked, Kendall goes along with it. He tries to speak up, to stand up, but it is ill timed, ill received, and Logan shuts it down before it has the potential be anything impactful. I see y/n had better plans than to be here with their family. His defense gets stuck in his throat. He nearly chokes. 

The water is cold, frozen, and he splashes in over his face. The look in your eyes. The gasp. Stop, he thinks, stop, stop, stop. You took the car and disappeared. He called and called and you never picked up. He thought, he hoped, you might be home, but when he let himself in the place was dark and uninviting. He searched for signs, clues you might have left him, but everything lay undisturbed. Tipsy and full of regret, he lets the faucet run in the tub. Had you been here. Had this whole night not happened, you might’ve joined him. He always felt the most at home here, with you, in the bath. You would have laughed at him, yelped that the water was too cold, before dipping your head under. You were so much braver than him. Now he sits, knees to chest, his back arched into a C. He is shivering and unhappy and cursing himself. If he could just say something, anything. If he had been doing it since you got together, all those years ago, instead of making you his fathers personal pin cushion. If, if, if. If he had been a better man, a better husband, a better son. Isn’t that what’s wrong, though? He was a good son, he was better than good, but he was not a worthy husband. All these years he watched you get torn down. He watched as something withered and died inside of you. But you still showed up. You braced yourself for impact. You laughed along to jokes made at you expense. And at the end of every night, every party, every event, you went home with him. Hand in loving hand. He didn’t know where you were, what you were doing, only that he was overwhelmed with the terrible feeling, while staring at the empty side of the tub, that he had made a horrific mistake that he could not take back.

[monstercampus]

Ellie help I have werewolf brain rot and Kirk has been living in my mind rent free the past few nights 😩 please tell me more about him, does he have a secret soft side or is being mean his love language and you know he cares about you if he's giving you a hard time? Why does he live in a dorm by himself? Where is he on the possessive scale? Honestly just tell me everything you know about him so I can simp to the best of my ability 🥺😫🙏

And actually while I'm here, anything about Elliott or Julian would also be tasty 👀👀👀 forgive me for the werewolf team fic altered my brain chemistry and I may never be the same

absolutely !! !!!!! i am at your mercy uwu <33 (this is mostly stream of consciousness so if u want more i am READY)

(cws: kirk being a sap + lore)

Kirk is very much that way--giving you a hard time is generally how he shows he cares about you. He's only truly mean to those he doesn't care about, and trust that there is a difference even when you get frustrated over his attitude in the beginning. He didn't grow up with a lot of love in his household so it's really not his area of expertise, he never really learned how to show it and only started experiencing affection when he joined the pack and made friends with all the other werewolves. Being snuggled, having his hair stroked instead of pulled, listening to his friends talk about him being handsome and smart even if he's got a shitty attitude.....it's weird to him. He doesn't hate it deep down, but he hates how it makes him feel vulnerable when he doesn't want to be.

'Vulnerable' is barely even in his vocabulary, which is why he comes at you with so much heat at first. He'd been hoping and praying that you two could boink, have a good time, and then you would pretend like it never happened so he wouldn't have to face any of those feelings he has when he looks at you. But when you don't, and when you're just so sweet, Kirk can't handle it and has to revert to what he knows: being a dick. Not nearly to the extent of how he is with other people, but just enough to keep you at arm's length in his constant fear that you're gonna end up making him feel like he isn't totally worthless. Because what would he do then? He's accepted the role of being an irredeemable, raging douchebag for pretty much all his life. He's got an attitude, his temper is awful, he doesn't consider himself that good-looking, he's got some of the worst grades out of the whole pack, he fixates on things and lets them consume all his thoughts, and he hasn't even got any palate to boot and will eat just about anything, even if it's on the verge of spoiling. He's total garbage and he's friends with a pack of people that couldn't be more perfect; Julian is incredibly charming, Portia's practically a genius, Nick is insanely handsome, Elliott is so gentle and really funny, Priam is a total sweetheart and Athos is the pinnacle of cool in his eyes. How could he even think of measuring up to all that, much less stick out among the rest and prove he's worth even a little bit of your love?

That may be the most frustrating part about Kirk--he can be the prickliest guy you know and he would die before he ever says those things out loud, but he seriously admires his friends and you yet he has little to no belief in himself. Granted, growing up he would've gotten his ass beat for showing that kind of weakness, so it's still deeply ingrained in him as an adult--especially since the pack are pretty much the first friends he's ever made on his own. And at his core, he's jealous. Jealous of them and their nice families, jealous of how well they all turned out despite going through their own struggles, jealous of how easy it is for them to be open when he's terrified of people finding out he's bi, jealous of you for being so brave and so beautiful in equal measure....so that's why the best thing he can do--in his own opinion of course--is to be your collective guard dog.

After all, Kirk isn't afraid to bite. His instincts are hard to control in his human form, could you even imagine how feral he can get when he's full wolf, or even just close to the full moon? If anything it's what he's good at; hunting, beating ass, and taking a punch. If he can't be as good as you and the others deserve, the least he can do is make sure that sweetness and the goodness of your souls isn't ever dominated by someone else. He'll spill blood, he doesn't care. He would even get suspended if it came to that, expelled, arrested, whatever it takes and he'll let the chips fall where they may. You'll know his love for you is real when he starts acting protective over you, not only when other people try to bother you but as far as your daily needs as well. Have you eaten properly? Are you thirsty? Do you need to sleep? When's the last time you stretched? He acts like it's a favour he's doing for you, like you're a little wolf that needs caring after, but in truth it settles his own self-doubts and makes him happier knowing that he's doing something for you--that he's taking care of you like a mate would, and when you smile at him or thank him for his help he just melts. He would do anything to keep hold of that smile.

.....Which is why he's got a plan in his head for after graduation. He and Nick are the oldest and thus are going to graduate first of all of you, so once that's over and done with he's got plans to start building a place for you all to properly call 'home'. It's nothing crazy--just a cabin in the woods--but if there's one thing he can confidently say he's good at it's woodworking, and he's sketched out the designs to make it everything you could ever want.

Personal rooms for you, him, and Portia who has trouble falling asleep when it's noisy. A big living room with enough sofas to fit you all. Polished oak walls like Julian grew up with and always wanted to see again. A bathtub big enough to fit Nicky's giant, muscly legs without spilling over. Tables and chairs to fit everyone and more, to fit all the family gatherings and maybe even the pups you might have one day. A garden out back where he'll plant those ugly little flowers Elliott loves. Trees and greenery around where they can run and hunt and play during the full moon, totally obscured by the rest of the world. A big fucking chandelier in the dining room to intimidate any friends you bring over that think they're hot enough shit to snatch you. It's gonna be perfect, it's gonna be the one thing he can say he's proud of in practically his whole life. It'll be a gift to all of you for putting up with his assholery for so damn long, for sticking with him even when he couldn't find a single reason why you should.

That's the kind of love Kirk shows. Words don't mean much to him--actions and acts of service are how he expresses his affections, because it's much simpler for him to put work into something he can touch and measure and paint rather than throw some flimsy words around and call it love. Plus, one of the reasons why he lives in his own dorm is because his downtime is incredibly important to him. Usually he would request a private one-bedroom apartment, but this year he was assigned roommates that he very quickly drove away with his annoying habits almost entirely on purpose. If he's not comfortable with someone, then like hell is he going to share an intimate living space with them--and after a long day he just needs time to be completely alone. He has to think, work on his projects, exercise, chew on something, and have no prying eyes around that will impede his progress in trying to figure out how the hell he can try to make himself worthy of being loved by you. A dumb, violent wolf reaching to grab the very moon from the sky.

[raysources]

𝐈𝐍 & 𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒     —     a collection of one - liners taken from the 1997 film , in & out.   slightly edited for clarity.   change pronouns as necessary.   happy pride! 🏳️‍🌈

was he really cute?

he was an iguana.

nice try, you moron. you loser, get out of here.

you look exquisite.

isn't she a knockout?

it's going to be the happiest day of my life.

we spent the whole year reciting romeo and juliet to each other.

he looks like a troll doll.

basically, to me, awards are meaningless.

(i love you.) wait. do you love me as a friend, or in another way?

i mean, he killed people.

— and he's gay.

i'm not gay!

i am outraged! i may sue!

you're my son, and i'll always love you.

we're getting married!

do you have a boyfriend?

shall i compare thee to a summer's gay?

did you wanna stick a grenade in your mouth?

you're kinda prissy.

of course he thinks you're gay!

he likes dick, [ name ] !

no more interviews.

leave me alone, you smut peddler!

i'll kill you.

you are pure television.

lay some adult video on me.

i thought you were a stud. i guess i thought wrong.

it's all ancient history.

do i look like a homosexual?

friends don't threaten.

i have a friend who's catholic, and he's busy.

who's gay now, huh?

i'm under a lot of pressure.

i'm very fragile!

i'm not okay. i've never been so not okay in my entire life.

i want my life back!

i haven't changed! one little word, and everybody changes. i'm still the same person. why doesn't anyone believe me?

i am not a sound byte!

why am i talking to you?

[name], i'm gay.

i'm gay. i came out.

one day, i just snapped. i got tired of switching pronouns, and lowering my voice.

i couldn't take lying to the people that i love.

but you're so tall.

everyone surprised me, once i let them.

sometimes the worst thing you think can happen turns out to be the best thing.

you kissed me!

(you kissed me!) you noticed!

people don't kiss here?

this is my ... [ name ] . my friend, [ name ] .

i hope you come to the wedding!

excuse me, are we a little teapot?

you hate this, don't you?

"dance", the demon whispers.

everyone else is dancing.

you're everything i've ever dreamed of.

do you have an attorney?

my mom says it won't last.

i'm gay.

i'm horrible, and you have every right to hate me.

you should hate me. i want you to.

i'm scum, i'm garbage, i'm vermin.

thank god my parents are dead, this would've killed them!

are you really gay?

i loved you, and believed you ...

i thought you were the most wonderful man who ever lived.

i'm so proud of you. congratulations!

i just destroyed [ name ] 's life!

i'll give you your headline.

i hated the bridges of madison county.

are you still gay?

you're that guy. what are you doing here?

i had a bad day ... a very, very bad day.

i hate men.

i love you. you're nice.

will you sleep with me?

you married? seeing someone? i don't care!

is everybody gay?!

hi, will you marry me?

i need a heterosexual, code red!

i swore i'd become someone else!

you were so beautiful. you still are. you always were.

[ name ] is lucky to have you.

excuse me, i'm gay!

exactly my point, a young life corrupted.

oh my god, i'm gay!

i'm gay. i'm a homo. i like guys.

i still do it with chicks every chance i get, and i'm totally good at it ... but i hate it, and i'm gay.

uh oh, i must be gay!

i'm ... i'm a lesbian!

[ name ] has perfect taste. so do i, so ... i'm gay!

it's a wedding. i want everything to be perfect.

i'm not filming this.

there are some things more important than show biz.

[moodymisty]

Hi, I love your work! I was wondering if you could please do a kind of part 2 to the Crosshair breeding kink where he comes back to find her pregnant, if you’re comfortable with that? Thanks!

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Author's Note: I actually had some random ideas floating around in my mind palace for this sort of thing, so you came by at the perfect time. Time to expand on this idea! I really struggled at the end and I'm not totally pleased with it but I hope you enjoy none the less.

Relationships: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Actual pregnancy, Morning sickness, Tokophobia warning (trying to get hit by people's blacklist just in case they don't like this sort of thing), Feels, Fluff, Too fluffy for crosshair? maybe but eh lets have fun

It's been over a month now, since he broke into your apartment. You've gotten a few days here and there together in-between since, but now has been the longest gap.

It must be a rough one, as you've barely heard a word from him since he was sent off this time.

A lack of communication from him while he's deployed isn't unusual, nor unexpected. Sometimes he's too far away, sometimes they have strict orders for all comm equipment to stay off; Sometimes he just isn't in the mood. But either way, you know things are hectic out there.

Though sometimes you'll get one single message, just enough to know he's ok. It helps soothe your nerves, and Crosshair is a creature of habit; He hates breaking the system you've had for awhile now.

But even if you knew what you signed up for with this, you still wish he was here.

Especially right now as you standing staring in the bathroom mirror, glossing over that you look so much more tired than usual before looking down at the countertop.

Seven different tests lay out on your bathroom counter, all telling you the exact same thing. Your calendar tells you the same answer, but in a more subtle way. No matter how many more ways you try to frame it, the picture is always going to come out looking the same.

You're pregnant.

You hold a fruit in your hand, still cold to the touch and take a bite. It's crisp and tart, frigid against your teeth. It's been the only thing you've been able to eat all day, without throwing it up a short while later.

Every single thing you do points to the exact same conclusion, no matter how much it twists your gut. Or maybe it's your condition twisting your gut; Perhaps both. You take another bite of the fruit in your hand, and leave the refresher to go sit down on your bed. It's an overbearing silence, staring at the ground about a meter ahead of your feet as your lips purse tight.

You're not nearly as shocked by the revelation as you thought you might've been. Or as off put. The idea has never been out of the question, and it wasn't as if you and Crosshair had exactly been playing it safe.

Speaking of him... You wonder what he's going to think about all of this.

You know he likes you, said that he loves you in almost every meaning of the word; But does it include this? It's never been off the table for you, whenever you thought about your future.

You know it wouldn't be easy. The throws of the fury from Separatist aligned planets are still taxing on the clones, and it likely will be for a long while. This war won't end instantly, at least not traditionally.

You left all that garbage on the counter, and with a soft sigh you slide off the bed and go to throw it all away. Gathering them up, you throw them in the trash; They fulfilled their purpose, gave you the answer you needed.

You hope Crosshair comes back to you soon.

Crosshair's eyes glance towards a shockingly bright neon sign he passes on the way to your apartment, and sees the current time towards the bottom.

04:45.

Even if it's the technically the dead of night, Coruscant is always bustling, just a little less than usual. He isn't a stranger to taking respite in ungodly hours, though now more often with you than being completely alone.

You'd given him the code to your place because of it, so he could enter no matter what time of night he managed to steal for himself. You'll surely be asleep, so he'll have to be quiet. Not too much so, he'd rather you not think he's breaking in again. It was amusing in hindsight, but he isn't eager to have you pointing a blaster at him again.

No one is around in the hall to see him punch the code in and hear the soft hiss of your door slide open, before he slips inside and closes it behind him.

It seems he won't need to be quiet this time around however, as he sees you still awake curled up on your couch with a few different snacks and an array of other things, tight in a blanket. Almost all the lights are off, but there's still a soft glow to the room.

"Sick?" He says, as you've already turned towards him when the door opened.

"Cross!"

You stumble and fight the blanket to escape and rush over to him, it still around your shoulders as you hug him. He stiffens; A habit that he's yet to break. But when his body finally relaxes just a bit, you look up at him as his hand shifts around the handle of his rifle case. He'll never let it leave his sight. His face is largely the same neutral expression, but you can see by the way that his eyes are darting across your face that he seems almost confused. At your actions, more than likely.

"You spammed my datapad." You nod.

"And Tech's." Guilty.

"I, had something to tell you." You've been waiting for days now since you'd found it, sitting in limbo overthinking. You feel nauseous, and it's hard to tell if it's nerves or the morning sickness. It's more than likely both, which doesn't help matters in the slightest.

"That important?" He says walking towards your bedroom, following you past the door. Sitting down on the edge of the bed you look up and over at him, giving a good look over.

Even if he's a good and hiding his emotions, you can tell that he is beat; The dark circles under his eyes are more intense and you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He sits his rifle case on the ground at the end of your bed but still in sight.

Crosshair prides himself on his patience when it comes to his ability to stake out a target; But it's still gnawing at him seeing you trying to figure out what to say or how to say it.

"I," You stop for a moment, adjusting the blanket around your body. It's so cold tonight, though it's partly caused by you opening the windows for some fresh air.

"I'm pregnant, Cross."

You've seen a lot of emotions subtly cross his face over all the time you've known him, but his genuine surprise is a new one. It's still subtle, but the way his lips just barely pull apart and his eyes widen cue you in. But he doesn't say anything. You can tell he's thinking, and you want to know what it is.

"Say something?" You purse your lips, feeling your tight throat. "I know it's, probably not what you wanted to hear after coming back but-" Crosshair lets out a soft 'tch'.

"What; You think I'd just bail?" You look up at Crosshair, tensing. Part of you almost wants to get a bit angry at his tone, but you're too tired for it.

"I didn't know. You're... Not exactly an open book, Cross." You make a vague gesture towards the side of your head.

“And there’s a lot going on up here. I've barely eaten anything in days, and when I dropped my hair tie this morning I cried for almost half an hour.” You notice his eyebrows raise, and he seems displeased at what you've said.

"Days?" You nod.

"Just some fruit I had lying around. Everything else is just disgusting." That explains the compete mess of food across your beside table; Trying to find something to eat. When he asks if there's something you want, you look up at him and shake your head.

You can tell he's thinking, but is keeping it all locked inside his head. You hate that he does it, but you'll pry it all out of him in the morning. There's still so much more that needs answering but five in the morning isn't the time for it.

And more than anything, you just want to hold onto him now that you have him back in arms reach again.

"Nah. I can't eat anymore today. Don't feel like it." He jerks his head forward, in the direction of the bed you're sitting on.

"Get in. It's too fucking late to be awake." He puts his helmet down, before taking off his armor piece by piece going upward. Every part gets laid out meticulously in front of his rifle case, and it's all in sight no matter where in the room he goes. When he's finished and only in his body glove, you're under the blankets and quietly watching him. he changes from it and into a few casual clothes he has stored in your closet; That are far more comfortable than his GAR approved blacks.

Afterwards he slip in beside you, and assumes the same way you always sleep together; With him pulling your back against his chest, his chin on the top of your head. If you don't start in this position, you'll always end up this way by the morning. It feels particularly nice right now, to be able to touch him; Have him right here. You missed him, and Crosshair is far too clingy to not feel at least marginally the same.

But he's more quiet than usual, and you can only equate it with him still thinking. Tomorrow you'll have an actual conversation about this. No one should be talking this emotionally when they haven't slept and the sun is about to rise.

The gentle sounds of air taxis speeding through the skyway outside make a gentle hum, along with the sound of the climate controls you'd cranked down to almost freezing thanks to the nausea making you feel so hot. Crosshair is a massive heat leech, so he's surely not enjoying how cold you've made the room. At least he has your heated body to keep him comfortable.

But as time passes and the sky is just starting to brighten, you feel him adjust a bit, and it wakes you up from that foggy space between awake and asleep. Your eyes stay closed, but you can feel his chest against your back move, before the arm that was wrapped around your ribs gently pulls away and moves to your belly instead. He's at least somewhat awake, despite being so tired.

He must think you're asleep. You can feel the way his hand drifts all the way down from your ribs, down to right below your belly button, then up again. It's a conscious motion, one that he keeps silently doing.

You're only guess is that he's feeling for something that can't be felt quite yet, or imaging what it will be like when it is.

The soft motion makes your gut churn a little bit less about his thoughts, deciding to get some more well needed sleep as your legs tangle with his own.

Join the taglist here: @seriowan @simp-legend @nekotaetae @chad-something @coffeyorky @merkitty49 @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @notthatfanfictionwriter @lucyysthings

[boyrobott]

everybody says they love me (but i'm still brokenhearted)

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Read on AO3.

It's been six days now since Astro fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, there are a whole lot of things wrong with him, and it's probably more than enough to fill up an entire book at this point — or, at the absolute least, make for a pretty long list. And it begins with the fact that he's a robot — a real actual robot, like those guys calling themselves the RRF, or the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, or the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month — and he knows it's true, he knows it's real, he saw the wires and circuits under his skin with his own eyes, he saw the Core spinning slow and steady in his chest, crackling with electricity and burning blue, but he just can't get his head around it.

Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered wooden bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries to figure out exactly where Tobi ends, and where Astro begins. Every night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, and he tries to figure out if all these feelings swirling around inside him — the grief heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach, and the hope a tiny, tentative flicker of light in the center of his chest — are really his feelings at all, or just lines on lines on lines of code written into his brain by the man who made him, and then threw him away like he was garbage.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just a robot.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was just your ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill factory-made machine. Maybe that would be okay. Maybe he could get his head around that. Maybe he could figure out what to do with that.

But that's not what he is.

He's the mechanical replica of a dead boy. He's a copy of a corpse. He's a clone, a faint echo of somebody long gone, a pale and empty and imperfect imitation that isn't even supposed to exist, and no one wants him, and he looks in the mirror, and a face that isn't his looks back at him — Tobi's brown eyes, and Tobi's round cheeks, and Tobi's spiked-up black hair, and Tobi's nose, and Tobi's ears, and Tobi's mouth, and Tobi's voice coming out of that mouth, and Tobi's favorite blue jacket on his shoulders and Tobi's favorite red boots on his feet, and this face isn't his and this body isn't his and these clothes aren't his and this brain isn't his and these memories of a whole entire life before last week aren't his and these feelings aren't his and everything he's ever had and everything he's ever said and everything he's ever thought and everything he's ever felt isn't his,because he's not even a real person!

The one and only thing he can truly call his own is his new name.

And he's spent the last six days down on the Surface below Metro City, trying to pass himself off as a Totally Normal Human Boy With Absolutely No Inexplicably Robotic Attributes Whatsoever. No, siree, just your average, ordinary, unremarkable preteen kid over here!

But here's the really crazy thing: It's working.

Astro can barely believe it, but no one has asked him any probing or uncomfortable questions, or even spared him a second look, since the night he showed up here, trailing behind Cora and Zane with his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots, and nervously stammering out flimsy half-truths about his parents and his past, praying no one would dig any deeper, and so sure that he was doing it all wrong, that his posture was too stiff and too tense, that his facial expressions were shifting too fast and too smoothly until they all blended into each other in the most glaringly and unnaturally inhuman way possible, and what if he forgot to blink as much as everyone else? what if he forgot to breathe as much as everyone else? what if the truth was written all over him somewhere that he couldn't see — on his forehead, or on his back, maybe, spelled out in big bold letters saying this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, this isn't a real person, don't let him fool you, he's a fake, he's faking, he's not a real person, he looks like he's a real person, but he's not, he's a fake, he's a fake, he's a fake!

But it's been six days now, and nobody has said anything about it.

Not even yesterday, when they were cleaning up ZOG for the Robot Games (which Astro still isn't totally sure he understands, but when he tried to ask them about it again, Zane shrugged it off and said it's a Surface thing, dude, so that probably means he'll just have to see it for himself before he really gets it) and Cora slipped off the robot's gleaming bronze shoulder, the bottoms of her shoes slick with soapy water, and he had to fire up his rocket boots to catch her before she hit the ground (because what on earth was he supposed to do in that situation, anyway? just let her fall?) she didn't call him out on it, and nobody else did, either.

And that must mean nobody saw it.

Look, he knows he can't keep this up forever, okay? He knows he has to tell them the truth sooner or later, and he knows it's better to just face the music, just get it over with, and more than anything, he knows they deserve it — after everything they've done for him, the way they welcomed him into their home and their family and their lives with open arms and no reservations, treating him just the same as every other kid around here even though they only met him last week.

They deserve to know what he really is.

And they deserve to hear it directly from him.

Seriously, what does he even have to be afraid of? Hamegg said himself that he loves robots, after all, and it's not like the other kids have any problems with them, either — they were so excited to meet ZOG just a few days ago when Astro got him back online, rushing right over to the giant without so much as a minute of hesitation, and they definitely dote on Trash Can every chance they get, petting him and praising him and spoiling him with treats of all kinds — so it's not like they're going to do a complete one-eighty and decide they hate him specifically for being one, right? Sure, he's not exactly as cool and awesome and crazy-strong as ZOG, and he's obviously not cute and charming and lovable like Trash Can, but there must be something in him they like, right? There must be some reason they let him come home with them that day in the junkyard, right? There must be some reason they didn't just walk away and leave him to fend for himself in the scrap heaps, right? There must be some reason they like him, right? There has to be something they like about him. There has to be something, and if it was enough to convince them to let him into their weird, wonderful family, it must be enough for them to like him even though he's a robot.

Right?

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But it's been six days now since he fell to the Surface, and there is something wrong with him.

His whole body has been aching like one big bruise all day long, a dull but constant pulse of pain spreading out and out and out like ripples on a pond until every last inch of him hurts. His arms and legs feel oddly stiff, and sore, almost swollen at the joints in his knees and elbows, and when he tries to bend his limbs, or stand up, or turn his head, he—

—he creaks.

Like the rusted metal hinge on Tobi's locker door at school as it swings open. Like an old wooden floorboard when it takes on too much weight. Like a couple of steel gears grinding roughly together. Like a failing engine in a broken-down hovercar. Like a window that hasn't been opened in a while. Like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard. Like a robot.

And it's so excruciatingly, piercingly loud that the other kids can actually hear it, too, looking around the room with baffled frowns on their faces for a second or two before they shake their heads, shrug it off, say it must be ZOG, or Trash Can, or some new project that Hamegg is working on down in his shop, and Astro knows he really shouldn't be so nervous about this, he knows he really shouldn't be so afraid, but every time he moves, and that godawful screeching, scraping noise rings out, he holds his breath and he waits for them to work out the truth, his hands trembling in his lap and all the air in his lungs turning rapidly to ice.

He really shouldn't be so nervous about this.

He really shouldn't be so afraid.

But his secret is closer to the surface than it's ever been before, and he is so, so terrified.

That night, he lays awake long after everyone else has already gone to sleep, his eyes wide open in the dark, staring up at the splintered bottom of Zane's bunk, right above his own, and he tries not to move around too much, because it hurts, and he tries to figure out what on earth could be wrong with him.

"I-I don't know what's going on," he whispers, finally, to Trash Can — who has apparently decided he doesn't actually mind Astro all that much, because the minute they started shutting off the lights and crawling under the covers, he trotted over to Astro's bunk and curled up at the foot of the bed with a contented little whirr. "I don't know what's going on with me, Trash Can. If I can't fix it…"

Trash Can yawns so wide that his mechanical jaw pops, and gives a single, drowsy beep in response. Boy needs oil.

Astro goes dead still beneath his patched blanket, breath catching somewhere in the back of his throat. He didn't hear that right. There is no way he heard that right. There is no way he actually heard that right. "W-What did you just say?"

Boy needs oil, Trash Can repeats, slower and sleepier this time. Robots creak when oil is low. Boy creaks because oil is low.

"What?" Astro says, reflexively, even as all the air rushes from his chest in a heavy, shuddering gasp, and his whole body goes cold as ice — of course he knows that robots need oil, because Orrin's body used to groan like this whenever he was due for a refill, and ZOG drank almost two entire gallons of the stuff earlier today, and Trash Can will lap it straight from his dog bowl in the corner of the kitchen with his tiny, metallic tongue, but he's never actually connected any of that to himself, because he's not like that.

…Is he?

Boy is robot, Trash Can chirps unhelpfully, like he really thinks Astro needs the reminder right now. Robots need oil. Boy needs oil.

Astro shakes his head, and he doesn't even care about the horrible noise it makes anymore. "But I'm not—I'm not like—" he swallows, a little too hard, the word burning a hole right through the inside of his mouth until he has to shift gears in the middle of his sentence, "—that."

Trash Can whines in confusion, lifting his head an inch or two off the lumpy, torn-up mattress. Hasn't boy ever needed oil before?

"…I don't think so?"

There's a long stretch of silence then, and Astro is just beginning to think the dog must have fallen asleep, or gotten bored of him, or something, when another shrill beep rings out from the foot of the bed. How old is boy?

"Uh…" He frowns, and plucks at a loose, fraying thread on the edge of his blanket as he thinks it through, careful not to put too much strength into the motion so he doesn't accidentally unravel the whole thing. "I-I don't know. No one told me. It's been about a week since I woke up in the lab, though, and I think that was my first day."

Oh, Trash Can says, like everything makes perfect sense now, and he sits up a little, ears perked. Why didn't boy say so before? Boy is baby!

"What?!" Astro isn't actually sure if it's physically possible for him to blush, but a rush of heat definitely floods his face. "No! I'm eleven years old! Th-That's, like, practically a teenager!"

Babies are small, Trash Can chirps at him, with an air of absolute authority. Babies don't know anything. Everything is new to babies. And boy is small. And boy doesn't know anything. And everything is new to boy. Boy is baby.

And then the dog curls up at the foot of the bed again, paws tucked under his chin and eyes squeezed shut, like the matter is settled.

Astro scowls at him for a second or two — just because he's only been alive for seven days total doesn't make him a baby! — but he's got way bigger problems on his plate right now than his age, and everything it apparently means in Robot Years, or whatever. (Or… maybe it's just Robot Dog Years? Are Robot Dog Years different from Regular Dog Years? Maybe he should ask Hamegg.) He doesn't want a refill of oil to be the solution to his creaking body and aching joints — which is really kind of stupid, actually, because a refill of oil is just about the simplest, easiest fix in the world, and he could go ahead and take care of it now, while everyone else is fast asleep and no one will ever know and no one will ever find out — but it's not like he's got any better ideas.

"Do you…" he nudges the dog lightly in the side to get his attention again. "Do you really think it will help me? Oil, I mean?"

Trash Can lets out a sleepy, affirmative beep. Robots need oil. All robots need oil. Even baby robots.

Astro pointedly ignores the jab. "Right… yeah… um… Hamegg has some in his shop, doesn't he?"

Man has oil, Trash Can nods. Man has lots and lots of oil. Man will give oil. Ask man to give oil.

Astro doesn't know why he didn't expect that, but he really didn't expect that, and it sends a sharp, awful jolt straight to the pit of his queasy stomach just to hear it. "No! I-I can't do that!"

Trash Can sits up again, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Man gives oil. Trash Can asks, and man gives. Man gives oil to all robots. Boy is robot. Man will give if boy asks.

And Astro is sure he's right, sure that Hamegg wouldn't withhold a basic necessity like that from any robot who asks (even if they have spent the past six days lying to him) but his insides still feel like a writhing, hissing nest of angry vipers when he thinks about it. "No, Trash Can, I… I can't. I just can't." He tries to swallow, but there's a hard block at the back of his throat, and it won't let him. "I-I don't want him to find out like that." I don't want him to find out ever, but he pushes the thought away, shoves it to the back of his mind and locks it up tight, because that's bad, and wrong, and not fair to the man who has treated him as nothing less than his own flesh-and-blood son ever since he stepped through the door.

Trash Can considers this for a long, silent minute, his bright blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark and his tiny ears flicking back and forth, before he finally lets out another, more authoritative chirp. Trash Can knows where oil is. Trash Can take you to oil.

Before he can say anything to that, the dog jumps off the bed, and scampers out of the room — through the raggedy, rust-red curtain that divides the bedroom from the rest of the house, through the empty, darkened living room, up the stairs, around the corner, and right through the automatic door that slides open with a big whoosh as soon as it senses the weight and motion of living people in front of it.

And then, just like that, they're in Hamegg's workshop.

Even as Astro follows Trash Can over the threshold and toward the big plastic crate in the corner chock-full of tin cans, his stomach is tight with guilt, and he feels filthy all over. He shouldn't be doing this. He really should not be doing this. He should just wait until tomorrow, when he can tell Hamegg the truth, and ask him for some oil face-to-face. He should just go back to bed and come clean to everyone in the morning. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be using them like this. He shouldn't be using Hamegg like this. Hamegg trusts him, and here he is, sneaking around in the middle of the night and stealing from him.

This is no way to repay the people who took him in when no one else wanted him.

But he takes a seat on the rusted windowsill anyway, the metal cold as ice through the thin cotton of the flannel-patterned pajama pants Zane loaned him when he found out Astro didn't have any clothes except his jeans and jacket, and he pulls a can of oil out of the crate below, automatically popping up the spout just like he saw ZOG do earlier.

And then he realizes, abruptly, that he actually has no idea what on earth he's supposed to do next. Robots usually ingest it through the mouth, he knows that, because that's what ZOG did, and Trash Can, too… but… that can't be what he has to do, is it? But he really can't think of anything else to do but drink it — maybe he could open up the energy chamber in his chest and pour it in through there, but that doesn't sound exactly right, and he really doesn't want to find out the hard way that it doesn't work. What if it gums up his gears? What if it hurts the Core? What if it makes him malfunction? What if it kills him?

"Uh…" he glances uncertainly between the thick, sludgy, thoroughly unappetizing black liquid swirling around in the canister and the dog curled up comfortably beneath the window. "So… I just… drink it, then? I guess?"

Trash Can gives a high-pitched little warble of amusement — if boy is not baby, shouldn't boy know what to do with oil? — and then a quick trill of confirmation: Silly boy. All robots drink oil.

"Oh," Astro says, with absolutely no enthusiasm. "Great. That's… so great. This is great." He allows himself one last apprehensive look at the dark fluid before he finally lifts the can up to his lips, cold tin clinking lightly against his teeth, and takes the tiniest possible sip.

It tastes exactly like what it is: motor oil.

And it tastes… good.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's already taken another swallow, bigger than the first, and then he goes in for another one, drinking it down so quickly he actually kind of forgets to breathe in between sips, and the can is more than half-empty by the time he finally pauses to drag in a gulp of air instead, though he knows rationally that his artificial lungs don't really need the oxygen at all. He takes a second to wipe his mouth before he finishes off the rest of it, and when he pulls his hand away, the pale skin is stained a sleek, glossy black, glistening faintly in the starlight pouring in on him through the open window.

He doesn't know why it hits him right then. He doesn't know why it hits him so powerfully, and so painfully, but the longer he looks at that dark, gleaming streak on the back of his hand, the deeper and deeper it begins to sink in: he just drank almost an entire can of oil in one go, and he liked it.

Because he's a robot.

Like those guys calling themselves the RRF, like the millions on millions of old, outdated machines in the junkyard, like the new zeronium automations rolling off the factory line in the Ministry of Science this month, like Orrin, like ZOG, like Trash Can. His stomach twists, clenching up like a closed fist — tighter and tighter the longer he thinks about it — until there's a horrible second where he really thinks the oil is going to come right back up again, and he's going to vomit all over the floor of poor Hamegg's workshop in the middle of the night. And then he remembers that he won't, he can't, and he already knew that, of course he knew that, but the reminder still slams into him like a speeding train, smacking him off-kilter and knocking all the breath clean out of him in a single blow.

I don't want to be a robot, Astro realizes, with a clarity so sharp it stings. I don't want to be a robot. I don't want to be a robot. And he definitely doesn't want to be a robot like this — a clockwork clone of another kid who died months ago, a messed-up mimicry of a human with wires instead of veins, iron instead of bones, coolant instead of blood, and a star where his heart should be. He doesn't want to live like this — sneaking out in the dead and dark of night to drink oil where no one can see, and hoping with every gear and cog and circuit in his body that Trash Can won't give him away, that ZOG won't give him away, that he won't give himself away, that he can keep this up for just one more day, just one more hour, just one more minute, just until he's ready to tell them, just until he figures out how to tell them. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this — trying to make sure his posture isn't too stiff or too tense, trying to make sure his facial expressions aren't shifting too fast, or too smoothly, and trying to remember to blink as much as everyone else, trying to remember to breathe as much as everyone else, his heart in his throat and his stomach tied up in knots as he carefully carefully carefully arranges himself into a shape so close to human that no one can ever tell the difference.

He doesn't want to live like this. He doesn't want the rest of his life to be like this. He doesn't want to pretend to be normal. He doesn't want to have to pretend to be normal. He just wants to be normal.

(He doesn't want to be different.)

[secret-third-thing]

OKAY what I WANTED to say before I experienced the weirdest sunday of my life is that I finally have a writing mentor!!!!! who is a LITERARY AGENT!?!?!!! I am FREAKING OUT.

I am very flattered that she offered to work with me, and I'm hoping that this is the universe giving me a sign that it's TIME. She read some of my original writing and my longer fanfic and was like... you've got something good going on in that brain of yours.

Obviously, I will have things to work on, but I'm happy to know that my writing isn't actually total garbage. Fingers crossed for 2024. Yall this is wild.