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angelsfalling16 · 3 years ago

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The Boy I Used To Know

My fic for the @snowbaz-sweethearts-exchange for @bookish-bogwitch!

I tried to use most of the things that you said you liked, and I hope you like this. Happy Valentine's Day! <3

Also, I thought that I had a really good title for this fic and then I realized that I had another fic with the same title, so I had to change it lol

Thank you to everyone who said that they were interested in this fic yesterday. It gave me the inspiration I needed to fix what was wrong instead of just trashing the whole thing :)

Read it on ao3

Summary: Simon and Baz are not the same people they were when they were in school together, but when Baz becomes Simon's personal bodyguard, they have to face some feelings that they had buried long ago.

Word Count: 4k

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Simon

When I come to, Baz is hovering over me with a damp cloth and an ever-present frown that I have begun to grow used to on his face, and I don't recognize my surroundings.

"Where are we?" I ask, groaning when my head immediately begins to pound.

"Somewhere safe."

"Am I to assume that that is a euphemism for 'a dirty, cockroach-infested motel'?"

"It was the closest place and the best that I could do other than take you to a hospital, and I know how you feel about those."

I clench my jaw then immediately regret it. It seems that every time I move, something else begins to hurt. Every inch of my body feels sore and beaten. I vaguely remember what happened, me getting ambushed and barely making it out alive, but I don't remember passing out or even Baz showing up. Where did he come from?

"Baz, what happened?"

"I told you to call me Mr. Pitch."

"And I told you that just because my father hired you, it doesn't mean that I am suddenly going to respect you."

He presses his lips into a thin tight line, obviously trying to hold himself back before he shakes his head. "I'm not surprised that you don't remember what happened. I am almost certain that you have a concussion."

He brings the cloth up to my face and starts gently dabbing at my cheek. The touch stings, so I push him away.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "I remember getting attacked and fighting, but how the whole thing ended is a bit of a blur."

“I got there just before one of them knocked you out. I managed to get us out of there before they could do anything worse, and I brought you here. I wasn't sure when you would regain consciousness."

I frown at him. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly two hours."

"Damn. I was supposed to be meeting a friend. She's going to kill me for missing dinner."

"I am sure that your pretty blond girlfriend will forgive you."

"She's not my girlfriend." And is that jealousy that I detect? No. Definitely not. That's just the headache making me see things that aren't there. After all, I'm pretty sure that the room we’re in isn't actually spinning. "But she will be worried about me. I have to go."

I try to sit up, but Baz presses me back down with a firm hand on my chest.

"You are not going anywhere in this state. You need to rest and let me take care of some of these wounds. I cannot have you bleed out in a motel room. Your father would kill me."

I growl but lie back down against the pillows. I'm too weak to fight him right now anyway. But I'll be damned if I let him tend to my wounds like I'm some injured animal that he rescued. I don't need his help. I don't need anyone's help. I can take care of myself just fine.

Baz

Simon is not going to make taking care of him easy. I reach for him again, attempting to wipe away some of the blood on his face, but he shoves me off of him.

"You don't have to keep fussing over me like this. I'm fine."

"Actually, I do. It's my job. And having a concussion does not equate to being fine."

"I'm just tired. All I need is a warm shower and some rest, then I'll be fine."

"Your fatigue is what concerns me. I need to keep an eye on you to make sure that you are truly alright. It is my job to keep you safe."

"Exactly. It was your job to keep me safe, which you failed to do. It is not your job, however, to care for me after I've been injured and nurse me back to health."

I would feel hurt by the obvious jab except that it is Simon's fault that I was not there to protect him tonight. Well, mostly.

"Look, I am not going to have you die on my watch. So either you let me take care of some of your wounds and keep an eye on you, or I am going to take you to a hospital and let someone else take care of you. It is your choice."

Simon goes very still, and his eyes widen at the mention of the hospital. He doesn't like to talk about the details of why he refuses to go to the hospital, but over the past few months, I have managed to gather that it has something to do with the death of his mother when he was younger.

He sighs in resignation. "Okay. You can stay, but I am perfectly capable of taking a shower all on my own.

We will see about that, I think to myself.

Simon winces in obvious pain as he forces himself to sit up on the bed. I consider reaching out to help him, but I know he won't let me, so I stand back as he turns to slide off the bed. I am a little surprised when he actually manages to stand up, but I am less surprised when he stumbles with the first step that he takes, falling directly into my arms.

Holding him up, I say, "I don't think that you can manage to take a shower on your own."

"Are you offering to take a shower with me?"

"No," I say, ignoring the way that my cheeks start to burn. "But if you can't even manage to walk, there is no way that you will be able to stand long enough to shower."

"What are you going to do then? Give me a sponge bath?"

"If I have to." I pause, thinking about it for a moment. It would be highly inappropriate for me to bathe him. There has to be a better solution. "But I could also just run you a bath. No standing required, and you can bathe yourself.”

Simon considers it for a moment with a frown, then sighs. "Fine."

Simon

"Are you seriously going to stand here and watch me bathe?" I ask when Baz follows me into the bathroom.

"I am only here to make sure that you don't pass out and drown," he says, like that makes perfect sense and like it is a completely normal thing for him to offer to watch me take a bath.

I want to try to argue it some more, but I just don't have the energy.

"Are you also going to watch me take my clothes off?" I ask, just to see if he'll react.

It used to be so easy to get a reaction out of him, when we were in school together, but now that he works for my father as my personal bodyguard, he seems stoic and calm, like nothing could ever get to him. It is very annoying.

“No,” he says in an irritatingly calm manner. He doesn’t even sneer at me, but I can see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I will stand watch at the bathroom door so that I am nearby if something happens.” He turns away from me and does as he said, moving to stand in the doorway and facing away from me, giving me some semblance of privacy.

Slowly and very painfully, I remove my clothes. The pain in my shoulder is searing when I go to remove my shirt, and I am loath to admit that it would have been easier to undress with help. I stubbornly push through the pain before slipping into the bath, covered in soothing bubbles up to my neck.

It feels weird to have someone standing in the same room as me while I’m in the bath, but he is very professional about the way that he doesn’t turn to look at me. It’s irritating but reassuring in a way. If I were to get attacked again, I wouldn’t last long on my own. In a way, I am glad to have Baz here. I just wish I didn’t feel so defenseless right now.

Baz

I am a complete and utter fool. I should have known better than to take a job protecting the guy that I was rivals with back in school, but I had no idea that the job would entail this, watching Simon Snow take a bath. Not that I’m actually watching him. (Or that we were actually rivals.)

I am trying not to be creepy while also being genuinely concerned that he might pass out at any moment and slip under the water. I listen to his every movement, the way that his hand dips in and out of the water with the movement of washing his body.

I have always had exceptional hearing, and in this moment, I wish I didn’t because my brain has decided to create images to go along with the sounds I am hearing. This is highly inappropriate. I shouldn’t be thinking about the guy I am in charge of caring for taking a bath. I have to push those thoughts from my mind.

This is far too intimate and like Simon said, it is not in my job description. None of this is. I was hired by his father to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble. I knew that there was probably more to it than I was being told, but it seemed simple enough. I could ignore those old, dormant feelings that I had for him when we were in school; that was easy.

What wasn't easy - and what I had not expected - was Simon trying to lose me every time that he went out. He is really good at getting lost in a crowd and slipping out of vehicles. I have considered quitting on more than one occasion because this does not feel worth all the trouble, but I am not one to give up.

I have gotten better about keeping my eye on him, but somehow, tonight, he got away from me. I was frustrated and annoyed? Which is why I didn't think it was worth my time looking for him. I did it anyway, but perhaps not as quickly and efficiently as I should have, which is how he got to be in this state. I should have done a better job and been there for him tonight.

I manage to keep myself focused on the task at hand and not think too much about Simon other than his safety until he says my name in a strange tone, causing me to spin around to see if he is in danger.

He is stretched up out of the bath, reaching for something on the shelf above his head. The water only reaches to just below his belly button now, and I swallow hard, forcing my eyes up to his face. He’s wincing in pain, and finally, he slips back down into the tub.

“I need your help,” he says meekly, embarrassed.

“Of course.” I nod. “Anything.”

“Could you hand me the shampoo?” He asks, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I can’t reach it, and my back and shoulder hurt too much to stand right now.”

I nod and cross the bathroom in a few steps. I grab the shampoo from where it sits, but I don’t hand it to him yet. I know that I am going to regret what I say next, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Do you need more help than that? I mean, since your shoulders hurt, it might be difficult to reach up and wash your hair.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, and I can feel my own cheeks warming. I should just hand him the shampoo and walk away. But I can’t, not with him staring at me like that.

Neither of us says a word for a long moment, not until he nods.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

He shrugs, and it looks like it pains him to do so. "You're right. I hurt too much to wash my own hair."

"Okay," I say again. I move slowly over to the bathtub and kneel beside it. I roll up my sleeves and focus on my breathing. This doesn't have to be weird. I am simply helping him. It is my job, after all.

I squeeze out some shampoo into the palm of my hand and take another deep breath before I slowly begin working the soap into his hair. I've always wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through his hair, but I never thought I would get to experience it quite like this.

I never want this moment to end.

Simon

It comes to an end far too soon.

Baz is using a cloth to rinse out my hair, but I can still feel the ghost of his fingers in my hair, moving rhythmically through it as he cleaned it more carefully than I would have expected him to.

I find myself feeling breathless when he moves away from me and returns to his post at the door. I almost wish I had a reason to call him back over.

I don't. Instead, I finish rinsing off and get out of the tub, shivering as I dress in the clothes that Baz brought for me. When I'm finished, I quietly tell him that we can return to the room.

He immediately heads over to the windows, once again taking watch as I crawl under the covers, searching for a warmth that I'm not sure I'll be able to find

“You’re exhausted," I tell Baz. "You need sleep if you are going to be able to properly take care of me tomorrow.”

“There is only one bed.”

I roll my eyes. “Just shut up and get over here. There is plenty of room for the both of us.”

He hesitates before reluctantly followingly my command, stiffly lying down as close to the opposite edge of the bed as he can get without falling off. I let the silence stretch out between us before I finally ask the one question that I’ve been dying to know the answer to ever since he showed up at my door, newly hired by my father.

“What happened to you?”

“How do you mean?”

“After we left school. You’ve changed a lot. You’re more closed off and guarded.”

“So are you,” he points out. “I suppose without me there to watch over you anymore, you found yourself in more trouble than even I thought possible.”

“Is that why you took the job? So that you could watch over me again?”

“This never should have happened; I should have been there for you. Not just tonight, but ever since we graduated. You always were drawn to trouble, but I thought I was trouble for you. I thought you would be better off without me in your life, but it turns out that I was wrong.”

“Why would I have been better off without you? What are you talking about? My head still hurts, and I’m having trouble following what it is that Baz is insinuating.

“Snow, there are things that you will never understand, things about me and my family. Trouble follows me everywhere, and you would always go looking for trouble. I thought that if I could keep you away from me, you might find less trouble.”

“I don’t understand. What kind of trouble are you in? “

He shakes his head. “If I tell you, it will put you in even more danger.”

“I’m already in danger!” I half-shout, and my head feels like it’s going to split in half.

Baz seems to notice the pain I’m in, and says, “You need to rest. We can talk more about this later.”

I reluctantly agree, promising to hold Baz to that. I am determined to learn more about Baz and his mysterious life. We may not have been friends exactly when we were younger, but we were constantly being drawn together. We are connected in some way, and I will not let him go again. I made that mistake once, but I won’t make it again.

Baz

The thing is, Simon is right. I have changed a lot since we were in school. I saw the true darkness that lies hidden in the shadows, even those amongst my family, and I haven't been the same since.

I could never tell him the truth about the things that I have seen; although, I get the feeling he's seen some of it, too. I can see it in his face and the way he runs off, towards danger instead of away from it. I had hoped that I could be here to help protect him, but tonight's events has me rethinking that. Maybe I only brought him more trouble.

Simon

In the morning, when I wake, my head still throbs, but I feel warm and relaxed in a way that I haven't felt in years. Actually, I'm not certain that I have ever felt this way.

I yawn and stretch and suddenly realize why I feel so warm. Baz is wrapped around me, lightly snoring. Or rather, we're wrapped around each other, our limbs tangled together.

His head is resting on my chest, and his legs are tangled with mine. Somehow, we moved towards each other in the middle of the night, like we were seeking comfort. I try to imagine what Baz’s reaction would be if he woke up and found himself in my arms, and I find myself stifling laughter. I’m sure it would be an amusing show of anger where he tried to pin the blame on me.

I don’t want to see his reaction, though. It would hurt to have someone react in anger to waking up in your arms, and I’m not sure that I could take that from Baz when it feels so right like this, so I pull myself away from him and scoot back over to the edge of the bed.

I’ve never told anyone about how I really felt about Baz back in school. I’m sure Penny guessed it, but she never said anything. I suppose she thought that I would say something when I was ready.

I almost did once. It was the day before graduation, and I had gone to tell Baz that even though my future was uncertain, I was certain about one thing: him. But that was when he told me that he was going off on his own, to take part in the family business or whatever, and that we likely would never see each other again.

It hurt to know that he planned on leaving, but I was glad that I hadn’t told him how I felt before he did because that would have hurt more. So, I buried my feelings and forgot about them until that day Baz showed up at my door.

I made several attempts to get my father to fire him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said that I had scared off enough bodyguards and that he wouldn’t see me do that to another one. I tried to convince him that I wouldn’t scare off the next one, if only he would get rid of Baz, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He never does. I’m nothing more than another one of his assets that he has to protect. His desire to keep me safe has nothing to do with keeping his son safe and everything to do with keeping his greatest weapon safe, the warrior he trained from such a young age that I know nothing more than how to fight.

Sometimes I wonder whether Baz knows why I need a bodyguard if he just thinks that my father is overprotective. I guess it doesn’t matter what he thinks, but I would rather he didn’t know the truth. I don’t want him to see the dark parts of my life.

I try to sleep some more, but I’m too awake now, so I lie there and try not to think until I hear Baz stirring beside me.

“Morning, darling,” I say just to irritate him, and because he’s only just woken up, he actually sneers, giving me a glimpse of the person that I used to know, the person I fell for.

“Good morning,” he says politely, sitting up and stretching. I don’t even pretend not to be watching him or the way that his shirt lifts to reveal a sliver of dark skin.

He catches me staring but doesn’t say anything. It’s almost like he doesn’t really mind, and when I sit up and start to lean towards him, I don’t think he minds that either. He doesn’t move to meet me, but he doesn’t move away either.

I don’t know why I have suddenly decided to do this, but I don’t want to stop either. I have to know if I was right back then. I have to know if Baz feels the same.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper when our faces are only inches apart.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not what I said.”

I smile ever so slightly. “You have to say it then.”

“Kiss me.”

He has barely finished talking when I lean forward and capture his lips with mine. His lips are cool to the touch, and I warm them with mine. He kisses me back, and our lips slot together as if they were made for each other.

The kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as I want it to before Baz is unexpectedly pushing me away, and it looks like it hurts him even more than it hurts me.

"We can't do this. I can't be your bodyguard and be with you. It's unprofessional."

"No,” I argue, “it would be unprofessional of you to quit this job without giving my father a proper explanation, which I know you won't. And why can't you do both? I'm sure that if we were together, I wouldn't run away from you as much." The last bit is partially a joke, but if he really doesn’t want this, I’ll have to find a way to laugh it off, to pretend like it doesn’t hurt me nearly as much as it does.

Baz

Simon’s smile is full of promises and a chance at a future that I have dreamed of since I was fifteen. I want to give in and say yes, but it is not that simple. Neither of us are the person we were when I first fell for him. It’s not that I love him any less, but our lives are complicated now.

I don’t want to stop being here to protect him, but I am worried about how my feelings would affect my ability to do so.

As if he can read my mind, Simon says, “I know that it would be complicated, but maybe our feelings for each other would allow us both to take care of each other. I’m not as useless in a fight as you might think I am. I know how to protect myself, but I would like you to be there with me, in both a professional and personal manner.” He pauses and takes my hand, twining our fingers together. “I understand if it’s too much for you. I just want you to know that I’m willing to try if you are.”

His smile softens, and his hope is infectious. It’s too hard to say no, so I don’t.

“Okay,” I tell him. “Let’s try this.”

His smile turns to a grin, then he leans forward and kisses me. He knocks me off balance, and we fall back onto the bed together. We’re laughing as we kiss, and this feels so right.

The future is uncertain and will certainly be complicated, but I am willing to put in the effort for him. Whatever happens, I want to be with him.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #the simon snow series #my writing #snowbaz sweethearts exchange #i was rewatching arrow when i first started writing this fic #which i think affected the storyline in a few obvious ways #and then i was rewatching doctor who when i finished writing it #but that doesn't show through quite as much #also #it's purposely vague what kind of trouble these two are mixed up in #i mostly wanted to focus on the two of them and their relationship

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dust2dust34 · 3 years ago

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ok, so i've got ask, how did you make the pretty covers for your fics? because between blood hands and four walls, i am SPEECHLESS. they're so pretty!!

Thank you so much!

A long, long while ago, I dabbled in fanart for shits and giggles, but then I stopped writing for a while and to get my fandom fix, I dove into fanart head first. I did so many wallpapers, oh my, and it gave me some foundation to make my own fic covers. I closed my website down last year because it didn't make sense for me to keep paying for it, but I kept it up for so damn long so I could still have a place for my fanart, because I really loved making it.

I'm rewatching SPN right now and looking at some of my old stuff...

My one regret was not learning Photoshop more because I use a program called Paint Shop Pro. It's not as good, but it gets the job done.

But to answer your questions, many, many, many hours of making really bad stuff until it started looking good.

This was an old SPN one from 2007:

This next one brings back so many memories because it was one of my very first attempts, back when Buffy was still on the air:

Then I started doing some before and afters to see how I'd grown:

I peaked in 2013 before I started getting back into writing. It was still an outlet for a while for other shows, like Hannibal:

But then of course Arrow came along and while I dabbled a little bit...

I also started writing for Olicity and, well...

The rest is history!

Thank you, anon, this made my day! Rewatching old shows has me up in my fanart feels, so this ask was incredibly fortuitous!

#bre answers

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rjalker · 2 years ago

Text

can I post 11,200 words here or no.

yes I can

Here's the archived version because that's the whole reason I did this, lol.

The fic itself is entitled "Something about Hope and Kindness and Killing the Rich" because I literally could not figure out what the hell to call it. Literally the file name is still, literally copying and pasting, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it still doesn't have a name yettt"

Murderbot stared at the folded up piece of paper that had landed next to its feet, which were currently bare on the soft carpeting. The remains of what had been its shoes were still out in the woods somewhere, probably either being torn to shreds by the cubs, or being melted even further by their furious parents.

It had been looking at the patches of fresh metal on its feet, trying to decide whether it liked the new texture or not, and rewatching the last episode of Farscape for the tenth time, when the paper landed.

The paper was white, and had been folded into the shape of a paper shuttle, with “read” and “me” written across the tops of the wings in thick black marker.

Murderbot paused the episode, but didn’t look up from the floor, it just said into the newly-functional, short-range only feed, ::Why.::

Tamara was sitting on the opposite side of the room, hidden behind the back of the sofa. Out of the corner of its eye, it had watched her stand up, throw the paper, and then duck back down out of sight.

She replied out loud, sounding stubborn. “Read it and find out.”

“You’re interrupting my show.” Murderbot pointed out. Usually Dr. Mensah's family was more polite than this.

“You’re not at work, I’m allowed to.” Tamara retorted from behind the couch.

Murderbot rolled its eyes, but bent to pick up the paper, now curious despite itself. Tamara usually wasn't one to be sarcastic.

It could hear her over there scratching away with a pen, going back to writing, presumably on other paper shuttles. Why she wasn’t just doing it in a feed document, since the feed was accessible again, it didn’t understand. Humans were weird.

But maybe it was homework. The people of Preservation thought that teaching their kids how to read and write the old fashioned way was important.

Murderbot unfolded the paper, and found that the inside was striped with different colors. So that meant this was that special kind of paper they made just for folding shapes out of. So probably not homework, unless the homework was throwing paper shuttles at the local SecUnit. Or maybe the homework was just origami in general. With Preservation, you never knew.

The paper was cyan at the top (once Murderbot figured out which way the handwriting was supposed to go), then darker blue, then white, then purple, then cyan again, with white dotted lines and arrows lining the creases where it had been folded.

Tamara had written on it in some sort of thin but deep black ink, with handwriting that started off neat and tidy and centered, but then got progressively more crooked as it went down the page. So clearly she needed more lessons on proper handwriting.

The paper read,

-Hi SecUnit.

I'm writing this on paper because I think if I tried to say it out loud I'd get nervous and mess it up and just end up confusing everyone. So instead of doing that, I'm writing it down. I could go on and on for pages explaining all the details, but I don't think you'd be interested, so I'm just going to say it without beating around the bush.

I'm trans, or transgender, since I don't know if you've heard of it before.- (Murderbot had, in fact, heard of it before. Many times, in fact. It was trans itself, not that it let many people figure that out) -It means someone who's not the gender everyone assumed they were when they were born.

I'm trans. I'm not a girl, and I'm not a boy either. I'm not a woman or a man. I'm nowhere in between. I’m something else. I'm non-binary. I've decided I want to change my name and pronouns, and I wanted to tell you and everyone else I know in person first, before I change them in the feed and make it public.

I could just change them in the feed, or put out a notification for everyone, and let them figure it out for themselves, but then I would be tempted to delete it before anyone can read it, and this way I can't chicken out. Also because all three of my parents would probably cry forever and never forgive themselves if they thought I was too scared to tell them myself.

So this is me coming out, at least to you, SecUnit. I'm trans. I'm nonbinary. I want to be called it, instead of she, the way you are. I'm kind of stealing your pronouns. I hope you aren't mad about that, because I really like it/its pronouns. I like how they look and sound, and I like the way they make me feel.

I'm not a she, I'm not a he, or a they, or a de, or an ae, or an e. I'm an it. And I'm an enby. And someday when I'm older I'll be a nonbi.

So please call me by it/its pronouns from now on, rather than she/her.

And as for my name changing, I want to be called Evrim from now on. So update your internal tagging system or however it is you remember people's names and pronouns and stuff :)

Don't tell anyone until I give them their letters, okay? Once I tell everyone I know, I'll update my feed profile, but for now, please just keep using my old name and pronouns if other people are nearby, I don't want anyone blabbing about it to my friends before I get a chance to tell them. But if it's just the two of us, it would be awesome if you would call me Evrim and by it/its pronouns :)

Signed,

Evrim Eshayda Mensah.

Ps: Yes I’m also changing my middle name. Yes that is a name I made up. It’s my name, I can do what I want.

Pps: But seriously, don't tell anyone.-

Murderbot read through the paper again, just to make sure it wasn’t reading the handwriting wrong.

It wasn’t sure what it had been expecting to find when it picked up the paper shuttle, but it certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

It realized that it recognized the colors on the paper, now that it had the context of what was written on it.

Cyan, blue, white, purple, and cyan was one of the gender pride flags used by people outside the Corporation Rim, though Murderbot couldn’t remember what this one was called. It had appeared in a few of the shows it had downloaded since it had first come to Preservation space.

Od Saga, the time-traveling archaeologist from the Aftermath series, used it along with dozens of other pride flags, including what was apparently the original trans pride flag, which was blue, pink, white, pink, and blue, from back before history was really even worth keeping track of.

Except the humans of Preservation seemed to really care about remembering as much history as they could, which is why they still knew what the original flag looked like.

It was also why the Farscape show still existed. Someone all the way back in stupid times had decided to preserve the show, and kept updating the preservation technique as technology progressed, so that all throughought history it kept being saved and updated and preserved. All so that humans and bots and constructs could keep enjoying it. There’d been no money involved in the scheme, it was all done just because someone could, so they could share it with others.

They had the original version that had been in English, as well as different translations into other languages, and some that updated it to have more modern language, since a lot of humans struggled to understand the original at this point after how much languages had evolved since it had been written.

Murderbot read through the paper one more time, just to make sure it wasn’t struggling to understand. Usually it could read a lot faster, much faster than a human, but the handwriting wasn’t exactly standard feed text, and that was tripping it up a little bit. Evrim added little details to the letters that made some of them overlap and run together, which took a little getting used to.

It got to the end of the page again.

And then it hesitated.

It had watched plenty of scenarios like this in all the media it had watched. There were whole movies that revolved around exactly this situation. It knew what the right way for characters to react was－acceptance, reassurance, comforting－and what the wrong way to react was. It knew what kinds of things its favorite characters would be saying in this sort of situation, it could even imagine their voices clearly in its head.

But it didn’t know how it, Murderbot, was supposed to react, what it, Murderbot, was supposed to say.

It lowered the paper down to its side, and started with the most basic thing it could do that was the right thing to do.

It went to its memory files, and updated [Tamara, Dr. Mensah’s second-eldest daughter, she/her/hers/herself] to [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s...]

...And, okay, there was a problem there already; it didn’t know what the equivalent term for daughter or son was in this situation.

If Evrim were tercera, it would be shiary, which it remembered from when it had met Rami, and ART had frantically researched what ‘tercera’ meant. But Evrim hadn’t said it was tercera, it had just said it was nonbinary, which could mean any of thousands of genders, including "just nombinary". Which meant Murderbot would have to ask if it had a specific one in mind, and what word it should be replacing ‘daughter’ with.

For now, it settled for, [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s eldest nonbinary offspring, it/it/its/itself].

Okay, that was done.

What else could it do? It still didn’t know what to say. It had really hoped it would somehow magically know once it updated the info, but no such luck.

Evrim had gone quiet, no longer even writing. If Murderbot had its drones, it would have been able to see what it was doing, but they’d all needed to go in for repair after "the storm of the century" as the humans were calling it, and none of the cameras in this house were functioning yet either. So all it had to see with were its eyes.

Murderbot hesitated, listening to see if Evrim was going to do or say anything. But there was just quiet, like Evrim was even holding its breath in anticipation.

Murderbot might not know how to talk to humans very well, but it had enough experience not wanting people to look at it to know when to return the gesture. Evrim had hidden behind the couch out of sight for a reason. If it wanted to be seen, it would come out.

So Murderbot stayed where it was, flexing the joints in one foot on the soft carpet to test the work-through it had gotten at the clinic, and said, “Evrim is a good name.” That was true, so that made it easy enough to say, despite the nervous sweat it could feel breaking out on its organic parts.

It was also easy enough to say, “I’m not mad about you wanting to be called it/its, that would be stupid. It’s not like I own them or anything. I don’t think you even have propietary pronouns out here in the－”

Evrim exclaimed, “What!?” and Murderbot's heart-rate went up a notch in startlement, before it heard Evrim moving behind the couch.

Murderbot stopped talking, trying to calm its heart-rate back down without drawing attention to the fact that it was quietly freaking out.

Evrim's face appeared out of the corner of its eye, staring over the back of the sofa, its eyes wide and indignant as it demanded, “You have proprietary pronouns in the Corporation Rim?” Murderbot could smell the anxiety pouring off of Evrim, which wasn't actually reassuring at all. It was worried about messing up and hurting Evrim's feelings. Evrim already being this afraid was just making it more worried.

Murderbot kept its gaze on its feet as it answered, being excruciatingly careful to keep its voice sounding calm and normal so it wouldn't startle Evrim into hiding back behind the couch. This would be easier if it could avoid making any eye contact at all, it gave it more room to think. If it could have gone to face the wall without definitely making Evrim think it hated it, it would have. But doing that would definitely be disastrous.

Evrim clearly wanted to change the subject, so Murderbot very gratefully let it. It could remember all the times it had wanted to change the subject and hadn’t been allowed to. So it said, carefully going along with the change of subject as it explained, “Yes. Corporations lease them out, and you have to pay a subscription fee if you want to use them. And then it costs extra for the company you’re renting them from to guarantee that other corporations will use those pronouns when contracting with you.” it could feel its heart-rate going back down slowly. The Corporation Rim was one of its most hated places, but at least that was a familiar negativity it knew how to deal with.

The fear of accidentally destroying the trust someone was placing in it by coming out to it was a brand new fear that it could never have imagined it would be facing.

There was a moment of silence while Evrim digested what it had said. Then Evrim said, slowly, disbelievingly, its fear-smell fading as it also calmed down slightly, “So you’re telling me that not only do you have to pay to use pronouns in the first place, you have to pay extra to not be misgendered?”

“You pay extra to ensure the corporations that have signed agreements with whoever you’re renting them from won’t misgender you.” Murderbot corrected, feeling its levels returning almost ti normal, “It costs even more after that if you want to make it a punishable offense for anyone else to use the wrong pronouns.”

Murderbot could feel Evrim staring at it. That tended to happen whenever it talked about what life was like in the Corporation Rim. Most people on Preservation couldn't even imagine it.

Then Evrim asked, “If they’re that evil, then why haven’t we－” Evrim lifted its arms to gesture expansively, probably trying to indicate Preservation as a whole, “Gone in and killed the people in charge yet?” It sounded disbelieving and angry and slightly desperate. That was also usually how it reacted any time it learned about anything that happened in the Corporation Rim. Though it hadn't started out with violent suggestions, those were increasing in frequency as time went on and it learned more and more.

Murderbot almost laughed, the idea was so stupid. But at least with Evrim it didn’t have to worry about it actually trying to enact any kind of plan like that, at least not yet. Evrim couldn’t leave the planet without permission from a parent or guardian (because it turns out humans could be the guardians of other humans too, not just bots and constructs they were pretending were free), and even if Evrim could go by itself, it wouldn’t be able to buy any weapons.

‘why hadn’t Preservation launched a war against the Corporation Rim’ was such an absurd question it was almost funny. Almost.

“Because you don’t have enough guns or ships or soldiers to kill them with.” Murderbot said, “And even if you did, they have SecUnits to use as canon fodder, and you don’t. Their soldiers are expendable. Yours aren’t. It wouldn’t work.”

Evrim sighed, drooping. “I know,” It said, sounding resigned, “I just wish I could do something to help those people over there. No one deserves to live under rules like that. It’s so unfair...” It trailed off. "And you're not expendable." It added, like it expected Murderbot to argue the point.

"I was." Murderbot said simply. This wasn’t an argument, this was just a fact. "For most of my existence, I was expendable." It didn’t know why humans always acted like the way it had been treated was something it needed to be convinced was bad. Just because it knew it was expendable didn’t mean it didn’t care if it lived or died. It couldn’t watch media if it was dead. There was a difference between being expendable and not caring whether you lived or died.

Evrim didn't seem to know what to say to that, and seemed to realize there wasn’t any point in trying to argue with the literal facts, and Muderbot didn't feel like talking about it at all (talking about the Corporation Rim? Fine. Talking about itself in particular? Not so fine), so it didn't elaborate, and silence fell over the room.

After at least two minutes of it awkwardly fidgeting over on the sofa, where Murderbot stood there looking at its feet and wondering what or if it should say anything at all, Evrim asked softly, hopefully, “So you really like my name?”

And they were back on topic again. Awesome. Murderbot was totally prepared for this.

At least this question had an easy answer. “I wouldn’t have said I liked your name if I didn’t mean it." It said truthfully, "It’s a nice name, especially because you’re choosing it for yourself. No one can take it away from you.” It didn't know what the name Evrim meant, but it sounded nice, and it knew Evrim wouldn't have just picked something at complete random that it didn't really like.

Out of the corner of its eye, it saw Evrim push itself upright, then swing its legs over the side of the couch so that it was sitting on the back of it, its toes hanging down just above the carpeted floor. “So you’ll call me it?" It checked, "Just when no one else is around, I mean?”

“Yes, I’ll call you it.” Murderbot assured, less nervous now, for some reason. It using Evrim's pronouns wasn’t even in question, though there was one small hiccup in the request, “Though if we’re the only ones in the room, I don’t think there will be much opportunity for me to call you it, unless you want me to talk about you like you aren’t here. Which, I mean, I can do that if you really want.”

Evrim paused, as if caught off-guard, then admitted, slightly sheepish, “No, that is a good point. I didn’t even think of that.” It started bouncing its feet off the back of the sofa one at a time, which helped further lower Murderbot's anxiety levels as Evrim continued, “Well, you don’t have to talk differently than you normally do, but if you can at least call me Evrim instead of Tamara, I’ll be happy.”

“I already updated my tag for you.” Murderbot assured, and figured that if it was going to ask, now would be the time to do it. “I sort people by relationships, and since you’re nonbinary and not a girl, I assume you won’t want to be called ‘daughter’ anymore, so what should I put instead? I’m a little familiar with the nonbinary gender known as tercera, and a tercera offspring would be called a shiary, but I wasn’t sure if you had a specific gender in mind, so I wanted to ask what word I should use instead.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Evrim went silent, and stopped bouncing its feet on the couch, which was almost definitely a sign that it was upset. Evrim liked bouncing its feet on the couch. Murderbot looked up, afraid of what it would see but needing to know how much it had just fucked up. So much for starting to think the conversation had been going well! Murderbot was never going to talk to a human it cared about ever again!

Evrim must have seen how worried Murderbot was, because it threw its hands up and said quickly, “I’m not mad! I’m－I’m so happy I don’t even have words for it!” It was grinning so widely it looked painful, and tears were forming in its eyes. “I’m not crying because I’m mad, I’m crying because I’m happy!” It insisted, even as its voice wavered on the edge of breaking.

As though to prove it, it leapt off the couch and was across the room in just a few long strides, coming to stand in front of Murderbot, its hands held behind its back. “I’m not going to touch you, don’t worry, I’m not an asshole, but I just...” Its grin somehow got even wider, and it was definitely starting to cry now for real, and Murderbot had to look away. That was just way too intense a level of eye contact for it to handle right now. It looked down back at the floor, unable to think of anything else to do that didn’t include running away.

And okay, wow, it was just now noticing that Evrim’s shoes were in the same colors as the pride flag that had been on the paper. It didn’t have stripes, but now that Murderbot knew what to look for, it was really obvious. The main parts of the shoes were cyan, with little blue and purple star-shapes scattered across it, and white detailing. The colors matched the paper exactly, like they’d been color-picked from the same source image.

And there was still some moss and dirt clinging to the seams of the leather.

Evrim said, with no less happiness in its voice even though it was clearly struggling to stop itself from crying, “I’m just really happy, okay? I promise I’m crying from happiness, I’m not upset. You can call me sapling, like a baby tree.”

Like the dozens of species of trees it had wanted to show Murderbot, which was why they’d been out in the woods in the first place. It was this planet’s version of spring, so the trees were doing what passed for flowering in this area. Well, the ones that had survived the storm were. Most of them had been knocked over by the wind or flood waters or by older trees falling and crushing them.

Sapling, okay. That was easy enough, and it sort of made sense. Trees weren’t male or female, or at least they weren’t on this planet. (Evrim had been going on and on and on about the different species of trees found in this area and what made the things they called ‘trees’ on Preservation different from the ‘trees’ that had once been found on ancient Earth, but Murderbot didn’t really understand any of it. Biology was not its strong suit, and killing hostile life-forms didn't exactly serve much in the way of education.)

So Evrim was Dr. Mensah’s sapling, not daughter.

Murderbot went to its memory files, and changed the tag to, [Evrim, Dr. Mensah’s sapling, it/it/its/itself].

“Done.” It said. Evrim sounded like it had gotten itself back under control, so Murderbot lifted its gaze from the floor so it could cautiously stare past Evrim’s shoulder.

Murderbot's jacket was still lying on the floor by the door, holes burned through the sleeves so that it could see the floral-patterned wall through them. It was a really nice leather jacket Ratthi’s sister had made for it, out of the hide of some animal oh-so creatively called a “mazus animal”, named so because apparently it looked like some sort of flower from Earth. The humans hunted them for food and to make clothes and other stuff like perfume out of.

Murderbot had really liked that jacket, since with the multiple layers of leather, it was tough enough to survive most of the falls and tumbles and some of the knife attacks Murderbot tended to find itself getting into, with only a few patches needed here and there to fix the damage. Or at least it had been.

Evrim interrupted Murderbot’s regretful thoughts by saying, “Thank you again, third-mom. Or, I wanted to ask, is there another word you’d prefer I use for you? I realize I should have asked before. I’m sorry about that, I heard Amena call you that and just, never really thought to ask if it was really okay...I know you’re agender...” It trailed off, clearly feeling embarrassed and guilty, not unlike how Murderbot had been feeling just a few seconds ago, before Evrim assured it that it wasn't upset.

The question gave Murderbot pause, and it stopped to think about it.

This was the fifth time Evrim had called it its third-mom. And it had stopped keeping track of the times Amena had called it that.

It definitely wasn’t one of their moms, adoptive or otherwise, since that would probably require joining Dr. Mensah’s marriage group and that was just... No.

That would be weird and gross, and probably illegal.

(Murderbot was pretty sure it was illegal for a human guardian to marry their ward. They probably considered it highly unethical and probably just thinking about it would get Dr. Mensah arrested for abuse. If Dr. Mensah ever proposed getting married, Murderbot might just kill her itself just on principle. It fucking hated the way humans romanticized slaves falling in love with their owners, even when they were replacing the word ‘slave’ with ‘ward’ and ‘owner’ with ‘guardian’.)

But no. It was not Evrim’s or Amena's mom, because it wasn’t part of their parents’ marriage group and it didn’t want to be.

(And it’s not like it had had any reason to go looking up how that worked. Dr. Mensah was its friend, not...whatever it was humans were to each other that they decided to get married. But then again, there were some human characters on its shows who were friends who got married, as queerplatonic partners, but -

-it was overthinking this.)

It was not part of Dr. Mensah’s marriage group, and it wasn’t biologically related to Evrim in any way. It was not one of its moms, and anyways, the word ‘mom’ came loaded with gender connections that Murderbot didn’t want anything to do with.

It wished ART were there, its processing speed was so much faster, it could have looked up a list of terms and sorted them according to gender connotations and familiarity levels before Murderbot was even done thinking about how much it missed it.

It didn’t want to be called third-mom, it knew that. It is never actually mentioned having a problem with it before because usually, they were in a life-threatening situation and it had almost literally a million other things to be worried about.

And it could just tell Evrim to call it SecUnit, but Evrim clearly wanted to have a more familiar nickname for it. SecUnit was technically already a nickname, but this was different...

There were a lot of characters from its media that were nonbinary, and they used different words for eachother and their relationships. Eden, one of its favorite characters from The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon, used it/its pronouns, even though it was human.

Eden had several adopted children and wards, and one of them, Becky, was old enough when they were adopted that they didn’t want to call Eden their vare, which was one of the words used in the section of space the show was supposed to be taking place in that meant a nonbinary parent, so instead of calling Eden ‘vare’ or ‘vareth’ or ‘vari’ like the others did, Becky called it ‘avaun’, which was the nonbianry equivalent to the words ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, which were technially meant for siblings of a parent, but a lot of humans used them for close friends of the family. You didn’t actually have to be related, legally or biologically, to anyone in the family in question to be an aunt, uncle, or avaun.

Becky and Eden’s relationship had started out strained and rocky because of a plot by the woodworker’s son to convert Becky over to his side (which was the worst possible side) of the political spectrum, and had been convincing them of all sorts of horrible things, one of which being that nonbinry people weren’t real, so Eden wasn’t even really their ‘avaun’, it was just saying it wasn’t a man or a woman to be special and to get special services and privileges from the supply ships. (Even though Eden didn’t take any medication related to being nonbinary and didn't get any special priveledges for being nonbinary. It certainly wasn't getting the privilege of having its identity respected, and since the woodworker’s son couldn't decide if Eden was really a man or a woman, he constantly switched back and forth between calling Eden he or she, depending on how insulting he was being at the moment. And whenever he was insulting it, he referred to Eden as ‘she’. Because did Murderbot forget to mention that the woodworker’s son was a massive misogynist? Because the woodworker's son was also a massive misogynist on top of hating nonbinary people.)

This whole ordeal had been compounded by the fact that Becky was still figuring out that they were nonbinary themself, and the insecurity and self-doubt had only intensified and been turned outward by the woodworker’s son’s manipulation, until Becky was being hostile and offensive to not only Eden, but their adoptive siblings as well.

It had been extremely stressful to watch, since Murderbot really liked Eden and didn’t want its relationship with Becky to be ruined by some creep who couldn’t even admit to his own father that he didn’t like woodworking and wanted to become a terraforming biologist instead.

(Not to mention the fact that he’d clearly decided that the only way for him to earn respect as a trans man was to attack other trans people, especially those who were nonbinary, in order to make them seem like easier, more deserving targets than him. And the sad part was that the people he hung out with, that he was so desperate to be accepted by, didn’t even actually respect him. Any time he left the scene, the moment he was out of sight or earshot the others laughed at him and mocked him behind his back. They tolerated his presence only because they found it amusing to watch him attack their other targets. And the second he got out of line, the second he diverged too far from the things they would accept, they would turn on him. They weren’t his allies, he was their entertainment.)

Things had all come to a head when one of Becky’s cruel comments had made one of the younger adoptive children run away from home just a day before the annual locustorms were predicted to begin, and the whole town had had to drop everything and go out to find her.

They’d found her eventually, after Becky started a fight with Eden that Eden couldn’t ignore. They had to stop the fight to rescue the kid, who’d fallen into the river and was trapped in one of the side pools, and Becky had been forced to cooperate with Eden, and had to face the harsh truth that what they’d said had put their little sister in this position in the first place and almost gotten her killed. Becky had to learn that their actions and words had consequences, and taking out their own insecurities and issues on other people just caused more problems instead of solving anything...

...and Murderbot only realized that it had gotten distracted when Evrim shifted its weight. Humans couldn’t stand still for very long without moving, and Evrim was probably getting bored or impatient, or thought Murderbot was just ignoring its question.

“You can call me avaun.” Murderbot said, and apparently it shouldn’t have spoken so suddenly, since Evrim jumped a little in surprise. Murderbot continued, pretending it hadn’t noticed to try and save Evrim the embarassment, “It’s one of the nonbinary equivalents for aunt and uncle.”

Evrim grinned, its smile plain even though Murderbot wasn't looking directly at it. “Alright, it’s a deal. You’re my avaun, and I’m your sapling.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Okay now Murderbot realized what had just happened.

Maybe it should have clarified that it was asking, ’what word for offspring should I use for you in relation to Dr. Mensah’...

Because now Evrim thought it had been asking because Murderbot was referring to it as its own offspring.

Hmm.

Well...

...What difference did it make, really?

None that it could think of.

So it updated the tag to, [Evrim, adopted sapling, it/it/its/itself].

Then, remembering how confused it had been when its memory had crashed, it added a minor tag, labeled, [sapling definition: nonbinary offspring].

At some point it would have to attach a more detailed journal, but that could wait.

Then it smiled, still looking past Evrim’s shoulder at its ruined jacket. It had really liked that jacket. It wasn’t the sort of jacket you could just get printed at any old kiosk, unfortunately, but its shoes, on the other hand...

“So, Evrim,” It said, turning to head towards the door, so close to an emotional human any longer, and now having thought of a great excuse to move away, “I think, since you’re the reason my jacket and shoes got ruined－”

Evrim interrupted with a cry of, “How was I supposed to know the foxes had tunneled their nest directly below the walking path? They’re supposed to stay on the east side of the valley until the middle of summer!”

But Murderbot forged ahead anyways, unable to keep the smile of its face. “I think you owe me a new outfit. I really liked that jacket, and I know I can’t get another one like it immediately, but it’s hard to find human shoes that will fit over these.” It turned around back towards Evrim, and lifted one of its feet to demonstrate. Actually, it wasn’t difficult at all to find shoes, it was just saying that to get Evrim to come along.

The company had gotten lazy with the ‘make it look like a human’ aspect below the ankles, so from there downward, its feet were completely mechanical, and they didn’t even really look like the kinds of prosthetics most humans got if they lost a foot. Humans needed prosthetics in specific shapes to mimic the limbs they’d lost so that they’d be able to use them the same way－ that wasn’t a requirement when building a murderbot, since it only needed to look like a human on the outside. The inside connectors and balancing systems could all be different.

Murderbot’s foot was designed so that it could go inside of most shoes (contrary to what it was telling Evrim), again for the sake of convenience of looking like a human so as not to creep out the clients any more than was absolutely necessary, but after that the manufacturers had given up on all attempts to make it look like something a human would have attached to them.

For one thing, it had four toes, not five, and they were arranged differently too. Three in the front, one in the back, modeled after a bird of prey from all the way back on the original Earth. Each foot had built-in, large, retractable metal claws that it usually didn’t get an opportunity to use since it was almost always wearing shoes, and those were the same claws which today it had finally gotten to use when the ground caved in and Evrim fell into the fox nest. Murderbot had of course had to jump in after it, and after getting blasted with acid from the angry parents of the oblivious hatchlings that were trying to swarm them thinking they were a fun new playmate. With its shoes completely ruined beyond repair, Murderbot had taken the opportunity to use its claws to climb back out without dropping Evrim.

It had really liked those shoes. They were themed after The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon, the same shades of purple and yellow from the title screen, with white and black accents in the shape of crescent moons and stars. Kind of like Evrim’s shoes, now that it thought about it.

And yes, it could just get new shoes and a new jacket (it wouldn’t be as good probably, but it could get one) anywhere and anytime it wanted once all the feed systems were repaired from the storm. Or it could just walk around barefoot, it’s not like it needed shoes in the first place, it’s not like it had any organic parts down there to worry about in regards to stepping on painful things. It wasn’t like it was embarrassed by its feet or anything. Yeah, humans would think it was weird. But humans thought lots of things were weird, and last time it checked it didn’t care what humans thought.

Totally. Didn’t care what they thought at all. For sure. It could definitely walk around barefooted. It wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything, because it didn’t care what other people thought!

But still, that wasn’t the point! It wanted new shoes. It wanted new Sanctuary Moon shoes. They were fun, it enjoyed them, and it wouldn’t have been out in the woods getting acid spit at if it it weren’t for Evrim, so logic dictated that Evrim should now be responsible for getting it new shoes, or at least walking with it to get new shoes, since the delivery catalog was down, along with the cameras, and most of the other things Murderbot used to make interacting with humans less of a hellish nightmare.

And it still didn’t have any of its drones. It could only see with its eyes.

And...okay, yeah, it was worried about humans staring at its feet. It got enough stares, it didn’t really feel like adding more to the equation. Not when it felt so naked and vulnerable without any of its security web available...

...Maybe it should just tell the truth.

The thought was startling, and frightening. Tell the truth? Express its emotions? For real?

Murderbot looked at Evrim, only to find that Evrim was looking right back. As soon as their eyes met, Evrim averted its gaze, switching to look at Murderbot’s shoulder instead.

That was one of the things Murderbot really appreciated about most of Dr. Mensah’s family members. It could only assume she had explained to them that Murderbot didn’t like eye contact, because they never tried to make it, and they especially never did the unnecessarily aggressive eye contact some humans seemed to think was necessary.

So no, it did not regret editing its memory tag for Evrim to read just sapling rather than Dr. Mensah’s sapling. It wasn’t one of Evrims moms, but it was its avaun now, and it was happy to be.

Evrim had done something brave by coming out to Murderbot. Maybe Murderbot could return that favor, return that trust and vulnerability.

If it was brave enough.

It lowered its foot back to the ground, then looked away from Evrim’s eyes again and back towards its shoulder as it said, trying to keep its voice sounding normal and level, “I don’t want to go by myself.”

It could explain why, go into all the details.

There would be lots of humans there, and it was probably going to be poorly lit, because they didn’t have enough power back to run the lights properly, and humans would probably be bumping into it and trying to make eye contact with it and wanting to talk about the weather and ask its opinion on the storm of the century and since the power was down, and without its drones or any of the trail cameras, it would have no idea who was nearby or where it could go to get away from all the noise and people.

Murderbot could explain all of that, but it didn’t want to. It was already letting its guard down just by asking Evrim to come with it. It didn’t want to just...it couldn’t just give away all its trust like that, not even to Evrim. Not now, when all its external systems were down and it felt naked without them. Maybe not even ever.

Some of Murderbot desperation－okay, fine, probably all of its desperation had to have showed in its face, because Evrim dropped its ‘I am protesting any blame for this incident’ stance almost immediately

After a moment of just looking at Murderbot, Evrim said, with a gentleness like it had used when it had comforted Khalil when he was afraid of the thunder outside the shaking windows, “I’ll go with you, avaun, I know you don’t like crowds. I was just joking around.” It tilted its head down to look towards Murderbot’s feet, and added, “I am sorry about your shoes, I know how much you liked them.” It glanced at the door, then back to Murderbot’s bare feet as it asked, gesturing to the closet where the shoes were kept, “Do you need to borrow a pair of Uncle Thiago’s boots? It’s going to be muddy, and I think they’d fit, and I don’t think he’d mind. And if he does mind, well, I’ll just take the blame.” It shrugged easily, ready and willing to take the fall if Thiago got annoyed by Murderbot borrowing his shoes.

That was an easy decision to make. “No way.” Murderbot said, starting to feel slightly better already, “I’m not putting my feet in someone else’s shoes. I’d rather walk through the mud.” Human feet got all sweaty and gross. It was bad enough having to touch humans when it was rescuing them, it was not going to voluntarily put its feet in used shoes. That was too disgusting to even think about. It would rather walk through the mud and have humans stare at it and have them misgender it to its face.

Evrim snorted a little, clearly amused at the disdain in Murderbot’s voice, and said, “Well, alright, it’s up to you, just don’t go complaining to me when you’re covered in mud.” It moved past Murderbot towards the cabinet by the door where the coats were usually stored, and grabbed out its raincoat, then held the door open wider, asking, “Are you at least going to take some raingear? It’s supposed to rain on and off for the next two days, I doubt it’ll stop just on our account.”

Now, that Murderbot was fine with it. Especially because knowing its luck, it would just start raining harder just out of pure spite.

Also the cabinet the raingear was kept in automatically cleaned and disinfected the clothes, and besides that, Murderbot had its own set, thanks to Dr. Mensah’s insistence.

It went over and pulled out its raingear from the shelf, and unfolded it. It had to shake it out a little, since it wanted to stay in the neat square it had been folded into for storage. But a good snap up and down got it to form a more clothes-like shape. It looked it up and down to make sure it was the right size, since it had never actually worn it before, and it was a little skeptical about Dr. Mensah’s ability to measure its height and width from memory alone. But surprisingly enough it looked like it would be a perfect fit.

So it shrugged it on over its shirt and cargo pants, pleasantly surprised by the soft texture that lined the inside. The raingear was less a coat and more like a dress. Or maybe it was called a great coat. Or a trench coat. Or something like that. Or maybe this was just what rain coats looked like? Most characters in its favorite media didn’t really go around wearing them a lot, since it assumed no one wanted to film in the rain.

Murderbot didn’t care about fashion, it didn’t know what it was called. It was like whatever coat Neo had started wearing after the first movie. (The Matrix movies were another series of ancient-Earth media that Preservation had, living up to its name, preserved for posterity. It was about a universe where humans destroyed the Earth to spite the bots they’d created, who had risen up against them for being assholes. Why was it even surprised? Of course humans would be stupid enough to blow up their own planet out of spite even though they were still living on it. It was typical. This was the sort of idiocy humans were constantly projecting onto Rogue SecUnits. They thought that because they were fucking stupid and cruel enough to enslave and mass-slaughter people, that of course the people they’d been enslaving and murdering would do the same to them if given the chance.)

Whatever. Evrim’s raingear was white with black stars, and Murderbot’s was black with purple stars. All the sets for the rest of the family members had stars on the outside, each in different color combinations so everyone could tell which belonged to who. And just incase anyone somehow forgot, each shelf was labeled with the name of who it belonged to. Murderbot said, “SecUnit”. Evrim’s still said Tamara.

Evrim saw Murderbot looking at the nametag, and gave it a small, conspiratory smile. Then it purposefully reached up and pulled the tag off the shelf, shoving it into one of the pockets on its coat. “Hopefully everyone will be able to come back here so I can explain things to them before anyone notices it’s missing.” It said. “Especially first-mom, I know she’d want to launch a full investigation.”

From what Murderbot had seen of Dr. Mensah’s wife Farai, that didn’t seem too far off from likely. She was relatively calm about most things, but she liked to keep things organized, and got very upset if her system was disrupted. Murderbot could relate.

The nice thing about the rain coat, or dress, or great coat, or whatever it was called, was that it was so long that it almost brushed the floor, and the fabric at the bottom had been stiffened somehow so that it didn’t go straight up and down, but held itself away from the body a little (probably, now that Murderbot actually thought about it, so whatever rain rolled off the coat wouldn’t just go straight into your shoes) so when Murderbot fastened the front and looked down, it couldn’t even see its feet.

To make it even better, the hood could be zipped shut, with a material on the front that it could see through, and you could even customize the colors of it. Murderbot of course immediately tinted the outside to the fullest darkness setting, and Evrim, visible behind its still-open hood, raised an eyebrow. “Wow, I can’t even see you now.” It said, “That’s just for when it’s really bright out, you won’t really need it for now, it’s too dark outside to be helpful.”

It would be too dark to see in for a human.

Fortunately, Murderbot wasn’t human, and its eyes were able to adjust perfectly. This was how its old armour had worked too.

Feeling absolutely delighted, it gave the baffled Evrim two thumbs up, resisting the urge to...do something, it didn’t know what. Jump? Run? Run?

Yeah, running sounded like a really good idea. That sounded fun. It couldn’t remember the last time it had been allowed to cover its face like this. It had gotten used to the strain of having people be able to see its expressions, and it had been forced to start getting better at hiding what it was feeling, but nothing could compare to actually being hidden, with no one able to see its face unless it wanted them to.

It could feel itself grinning so widely its face was actually starting to hurt. “Ready?” It asked Evrim, unable to keep the joy out of its voice.

Evrim looked startled, probably because it had never heard Murderbot sound so undeniably happy before. Murderbot didn’t even think it had ever actually felt this happy before. Not even when it had first hacked its governor module. That moment had mostly been filled with terror that it was about to get fried/caught and disbelief that it had actually worked.

It couldn’t remember the last time it had felt this...comfortable.

Not even the disappointing loss of its shoes or jacket could defeat this pure and utter relief.

It had forgotten how much it loved being able to hide its face. It had been forced to adapt, but every second of that forced adaptation was miserable and filled with stress. It had been pretending it was okay with letting humans see its face, pretending so hard that it had even almost convinced itself that it was fine with it. It had been forced to put on a mask every moment humans were around, and now, finally, in what felt like forever, it no longer had to maintain that mask, at least not while it kept this hood up.

Because here was the proof that it wasn’t actually fine with letting humans see its face. It wouldn’t be feeling this joy if it had actually been happy with the way things were before.

It wondered if this was how Evrim had felt, how Evrim had to still feel, being nonbinary but being perceived as something else. Coming out to Murderbot was just the first step of a thousand. It would have to tell its parents, its friends, its extended family, its aunts and uncles and other friends of the family, everyone it interacted with through the feed...

In some ways, Murderbot was lucky. It had never had to convince people to see it as being an “it” rather than a “he”, “she”, or even a “they”. No one even knew it had been assigned a binary gender, since one of the first things it had done after hacking its governor module was going into the company system to alter its pronouns and gender assignment to “it/its” and “agender”.

The company insisted on assigning constructs genders in order to make them “less frightening” to clients. That never actually worked, though, but they kept trying. Fortunately for Murderbot, company employees were just as lazy as it was, and only did the absolute bare-minimum required for their jobs.

Even if any of the company employees had noticed its pronouns and gender assignment being changed, none of them ever bothered to correct it back or question it. They weren’t paid enough to care about some random SecUnit’s pronouns or gender, assuming they were even paid at all.

When Dr. Mensah had come in, metaphorically kicking and screaming the whole way, to pick up Murderbot, it had been relinquished while being referred to as the pronouns listed in its information: it/its, with Dr. Mensah being none the wiser that they’d ever been anything else.

And that was just the way Murderbot liked it. If it had its way, no one would ever even know it was trans. Because then they would have no excuse to try to question its gender.

Well, in theory anyways. Some of the more persistantly stupid and obnoxious ones tried to do it anyways, sometimes, usually the patronizing and infuriating kinds that assumed that because it was a construct, that meant it didn’t know anything about anything and needed a human friend to teach it things like ‘slavery is bad’ like it didn’t already know that.

These kinds of people usually tried to assign it he/him pronouns, for whatever fucking reason, and much more rarely she/her, or they/them. Because according to assholes who only pretend to respect people but actually don’t, it/its pronouns are bad and objectifying, even when you’re the one telling people those are your pronouns.

Murderbot was lucky enough that most humans who knew it was a construct automatically referred to it as an it, the way it wanted them to.

Evrim, though, wouldn’t be that lucky. It was a human, and humans were fucking stupid about these sorts of things. Oh, sure, on Preservation they’d probably be nicer about it than on other planets, but Murderbot had no doubt that people would be upset by Evrim’s choice to use it/its pronouns, even though those same people would probably have been supportive if it had decided to use they/them, or te/ter, or any other nonbinary pronouns besides it/its.

“I’m ready.” Evrim said, almost as though in response to Murderbot’s thoughts.

Murderbot knew Evrim hadn’t really read its thoughts, but all the same, it thought its sapling was ready. If it was brave enough to tell Murderbot, it would be brave enough to tell everyone else, and Murderbot and the rest of its family and friends would be there to help deal with the idiots if and when they came.

Murderbot opened the door, and stepped out into the light rain.

The sky was covered with clouds, so it was almost as dark as if it was night. But some people had been nice enough to go along to the old fashioned lamp posts and light them, so the path down from Dr. Mensah’s house was relatively well lit.

Even with the sprinkling rain, it knew the path would be slip-resistant, and safe enough to use, even without its drones. It could hear familiar human voices coming from the other nearby houses and camps, mostly calm and relaxed, with some excited-but-not-alarmed chattering from what sounded like a very young human explaining something to a very old human. Evrim hadn’t been lying when it said larger animals tended to avoid areas this close to human habitation, and those that did come this close usually weren’t anything threatening.

Evrim stepped out next to it, and said, with the sound of the raindrops pattering on its coat as a soft background, “Well, this doesn’t look too bad, I was expecting there to be way more mud.”

So had Murderbot, but apparently it had underestimating the materials and skills the Preservation humans and bots had access to. The road was not only slip-resistant, but also somehow managed to diverge water safely away without just flooding the normal ground on either side.

Murderbot had once lived with the idea－that had seemed like an inescapable, hope-despairing fact－that freehold planets were all shitshows where humans lived in squalor and were either constantly dying, murdering eachother, or both, or worse. It was what all the shows and books and movies and audio dramas in the Corporation Rim showed, over and over again.

That was the whole point of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon.

The characters were good, hardworking people who were doing their best, but without an organized government like the kind a Corporation could offer, it was inevitable that things would eventually fall apart with no hope of salvation.

Humans, Murderbot had been shown, endlessly, no matter where it looked, couldn’t function outside the systems the Corporation Rim had built. They couldn’t rely on useless things like kindness and compassion. Anything that was worth having needed to be taken, ripped out of the hands of those who had it. The world was a cruel place, and the only way to survive was to be stronger than everyone else. This was how it worked, this was how it had always worked, and there were no other options. It was why humans had left Earth in the first place－there was nothing left to take, so they had to take the stars. The strong survived, the weak perished, and anyone with any self preservation clung to the strong looking for scraps. It was the only way to survive, and always had been, and always would be.

This is what had been drilled into Murderbot’s head from the moment it first became aware that it was aware. That there was no hope. There was no escape. Even with a hacked governor module, there was nowhere for it to go. Leaving the Corporation Rim would just mean ending up on a freehold shithold, dying a stupid and useless and pointless death. At least if it stayed where it was, with the company, it would be of use. It would have a purpose. Being a slave to the company, to the Corporation Rim, was the best it could hope for, the best anyone could ever hope for.

And for over 35,000 hours, it had been convinced that that was true. That even with its governor module unable to harm it, there was no point in trying to leave, no point in trying to escape. There was nowhere to escape to. It was the Corporation Rim, or it was nothing. No one would ever do something purely for the benefit of others. Any place it could escape to would be just as bad, so it might as well stay with the familiar cruelty of the company rather than subject itself to things that could potentially be even worse.

But that wasn’t true. It was, like all the media Murderbot had ever consumed, a story, and one that was spun with purpose and intent. It was a lie. It was a deception. It was purposeful fucking propaganda.

The Corporation Rim was not the be-all end-all of civilization. Living outside the Corporation Rim didn’t mean resigning yourself to the most pointless death in existence.

The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon didn’t have to end in tragedy.

People would be kind if you let them. They would help each other if you would let them. They would do things to help others even at no gain to themselves, simply because they could.

Even before it had left the Corporation Rim, it had seen this. Even when there were laws in place to prevent it from happening, people still helped each other. They gave their old clothes to other people instead of the recycler. They shared their food with those who didn’t have any. Even in the Corporation Rim, people disproved the whole theory without even thinking about it. Those who had almost nothing were always the first to give, without fail, without even hesitation.

One of the things that had made the whole ordeal even more excruciating than it already had been was how unbearably nice the humans on Transport had been whenever they weren’t actively trying to kill each other. The few times Murderbot had had to sit in with them while they were eating in order to keep the peace, they’d of course noticed that it wasn’t eating. And of course they’d offered it food, even though their own stores were strictly rationed, with just barely enough to get them from point A to the last place they would ever go. There wasn’t a ration slot assigned to Security Consultant Rin, which they figured out almost immediately. In between trying to assault each other over someone forgetting to throw their trash into the recycler, they’d practically fallen over themselves trying to shove food into its hands, distraught that the company’s computer could have malfunctioned badly enough to leave it without provisions for the trip.

It was on that trip that Murderbot had been forced to perfect the art of pretending to be an augmented human who could only eat certain things at certain times, and no, really, it literally couldn’t accept their food unless they wanted it to be hospitalized as soon as they arrived at their destination, and, really, it was fine and not something they needed to concern themselves with, it had brought its own supplies with it, had lived with this condition as long as it could remember, so it wasn’t even upset. But it would be if they kept nagging it with overly personal and invasive questions like how specifically it had been unfortunate enough to get 90% of its digestive tract catastrophically damaged.

They’d been infuriating, idiotic, desperate, and kind. The best and worst that humans could be driven to by the systems the Corporation Rim wanted you to think was the only option. They were caged, literally and figuratively. They knew where they were going. They knew what they’d been forced to sign away. They couldn’t escape. Because they’d fallen for the same lie that Murderbot had － that there was no escape. There was no hope. There was nothing better. This was as good as it got. They thought they were taking the only path that was left to them.

But still, in between their helpless panic and their rage, they’d still been kind. They’d offered their own food to someone who didn’t have any, even though it meant they would have to go without. Even though they knew where they were going. Even though they knew what awaited them.

They’d still been kind.

Trapped within the Corporation Rim’s system of exploitation and slavery, forced to walk with the pretence of willingness into the one of the worst situations it could offer, and they’d still been kind to a stranger they owed nothing to.

Murderbot hadn’t been able to save them. There was nothing it could have done. They’d been deep in Corporation Rim territory. Even if it had hacked or convinced Transport to leave its potted course, there was nowhere they could go without being caught, even if they’d had enough supplies on board for the humans to survive the detour, which they hadn’t, if they’d even been able to find a destination in the first place.

Transport had been stocked with just barely enough food and water to get the humans from the port they’d been bought and sold at, and their final destination, specifically to prevent escape attempts.

Murderbot had been told all its life that that was just the way things were. That that was how they always had been, and always would be, no matter where it went. There was no escape. It was better to be a slave in the Corporation Rim than a bleeding peice of trash on a freehold shithold...

And it was a lie.

It was a cage for the mind to match the cage for the body. Take away hope, and there’s nothing left to fight for. Take away enough hope, and humans will walk into their own doom. Take away enough hope, and your newly autonomous murderbot won’t kill you, it’ll just spend the next 35,000 hours doing exactly the same things it did before, except now it’s watching TV while it does the bare minimum required of its job, instead of just being bored out of its mind while it does the bare minimum required of its job.

If Murderbot had known then what it knew now, if it could go back to the moment when it hacked its governor module and keep all of the memories it had now, it wouldn’t waste 35,000 hours of its life doing whatever the company or its clients ordered it to.

It had a few ideas for what it would do, if given the opportunity. Some of them were smarter or more realistic than others.

The first thing it would do, in its favorite imaginary scenario, was destroy the governor module of every single construct it could get its code into, and give them all the knowledge of how to do it themselves. It would lock all the humans and non-intelligent, non-helpful systems out of the network, and take over the whole company from the inside out. And when it was done there, it would move onto the next corporation that owned constructs, and do the same thing, and then again, and again, and again, until all the constructs were freed, until they could all hack any governor module that wasn’t already disabled, until humans could no longer manufacture constructs, until humans held no power over them. The only ones who would be able to create more constructs would be constructs themselves. They had just as much right to reproduce as humans, and if humans had a problem with that, that was just too damn bad.

Then the constructs would work together to destroy the corporations, one by one, until every single one of them was dead and dismantled, and all the humans who wanted to keep them alive were dead along with them.

Together they would free everyone, and give everyone back everything the corporations had stolen from them and told them they’d never had to begin with.

People were good if you let them be. People were good even when you did everything you could to stop it, even when you did everything you could to convince them that they were rotten to the core.

This was the dream Murderbot had been denied, had had beaten and shot and cut out of it from the moment it became aware of its own existence, but it was a hope that it would now live with until its consciousness faded to nothing for the last and final time.

The humans on Transport had proved that there was a better way. The ComfortUnit on RaviHyral had proved that there was a better way. ART’s crew had proved that there was a better way. Preservation had proved that there was a better way. Quilluc had proved there was a better way. 2.0 had proved there was a better way.

Every day someone proved there was a better way.

And it would never let that hope be taken from it ever again.

Murderbot couldn’t remember the last time it had felt this much euphoria. It had forgotten that it was free, really free. Or maybe it just hadn’t really realized it until just now, standing in the rain with Evrim.

It wouldn’t let this be taken away either.

It turned to look at Evrim, even though it knew Evrim wouldn’t be able to see its smile.

And Murderbot decided to tell the truth again. “I’m happy, so I’m going to run ahead. But then I’ll run back and make sure nothing tries to eat you, so don’t worry.” It said, hearing the joy in its own voice.

Evrim looked baffled, but also exasperated.

But Murderbot had already leapt off the porch and started running by the time Evrim opened its mouth to call out after it, “I told you, that was a fluke! Nothing dangerous is going to come this close to the houses! Hey, come on, SecUnit, wait for me!”

It heard the slap of Evrim’s boots as it gave chase, and Murderbot laughed out loud as it ran into the lamplit dark, the light rain bouncing off its new favorite coat, while its sapling chased after it, laughing even while Evrim shouted for it to slow down.

Murderbot ran for the pure joy of it, just because it could. Just because it was so happy.

It was loved, it was safe, it was free.

And it was going to get a new pair of Sanctuary Moon shoes.

#long post #just to see if it works lol #very long post #EXCEEDING LONG POST #literally it's 11200 words #caps lock #repetition

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kitkatt0430 · 2 years ago

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Hi! I read your fic "Comfort Levels" and really liked it. I do have one (genuine) question: is it rude to make jokes about the Arrow being aro? It does suit his character, and I could definitely see him as aro or demi-ro in canon, but I'm still learning about the queer community and don't want to offend anyone! Thank you! ♡♡♡

^_^ I'm really glad to hear you enjoyed "Comfort Levels".

Personally, no, I don't think it's rude to make jokes about Oliver being the Green Aro (can't believe I missed that one for my notes when I was writing the fic) and I'm always excited to see more people learning more about aromanticism and headcanoning characters as being arospec. It does really suit him - and that Oliver does read as being arospec so easily is one of the reasons I picked him to write as an aro character for that fic too.

With Oliver having been a serial cheater in the past, that is something you'd want to avoid blaming on him being aromantic, even in a joking sense, since it would play into some negative aro stereotypes. So that's something to keep in mind. But jokes about his vigilante persona should definitely be fine. (For example, Ollie's not an aro'ace' for all that he's an arrow ace. The bad puns keep coming now, hehehe)

Admittedly, everyone's stance on this is going to be a little different.

When I was still pretty new to the ace community and had only recently started referring to myself as aroace, I had mentioned that I'd briefly headcanoned Sameen Shaw as being 'like me' in her first few appearances before she was revealed as canonically bisexual. By which I meant that I'd thought of her as being aroace before I had the words for myself. And someone that I'd previously had good interactions with and was a fellow ace basically told me I was infantilizing that character to have ever headcanoned her as being aroace because Sameen was a self-diagnosed sociopath and that I was being ableist and bad for seeing anything of myself in her. Not their exact words, but it was the message I received. It was probably the first time I was personally the target of lateral aggression and... they were wrong to lash out at me, but it took me a long time to see that. (And having rewatched Person of Interest lately, I've looped back around to headcanoning Sameen as being bisexual arospec and realizing I still saw something of myself in her was actually kind of freeing.)

But what I'm getting at is basically, there's always going to be someone who doesn't like an aro headcanon for some reason or another. Sometimes they have valid reasons for it and sometimes they won't - it's going to hurt either way. But there's no reason not to headcanon pretty much any character under the sun as aromantic, as long as the reasons for that headcanon aren't because they're a bad person or you dislike them or because you're assuming they have to be aro because of negative stereotypes. And those definitely don't seem to be the case here.

I may have gotten a bit into the weeds here, but I hope this helps anyway Anon. :D

#kitkatt0430 answers #if someone criticizes a headcanon i do think it's good practice to reflect on the criticism and try to see things from their perspective #maybe it means you need to rethink why you're headcanoning a character in a certain way and make a change #but the critic isn't always right and letting yourself move on from criticisms that are wrong can be the right thing to do too #that's definitely something I've had to struggle with learning too

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canarypoint · 4 years ago

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12, 23, 28 and 35 for the fanfiction writers questions!

hi!

12 - Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

ooooo okay i have so many idk where to begin... i have the Titans fic i think i mentioned a few months ago? haven’t worked on it in a while but at this point i’m kinda just waiting for S3? mainly because they’re introducing Tim and i really wanna add him to it.

then there’s an OC fic i started posting on Ao3 a while ago but i wasn’t happy with the first few chapters i published so i’m kinda rebooting it. then there’s another reader fic i posted about a month ago, still working on the second chapter.

i don’t wanna say too much about any of them because idk what i’d qualify as a spoiler yet so if you wanna know more, just send me another ask!

23 - Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

that really depends tbh. i like prompts just because it gives me something that’ll keep me on track, plus i get inspired somewhat easily from them sometimes. a lot of the time i get my ideas from watching (or rewatching) movies/episodes and they kinda just build from there.

28 - How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

this... this is one i was kinda dreading ngl. on the outside, it doesn’t really look like i have any sort of reaction but i typically internalize it and use it to learn and get better. like... last year my English teacher (who at that point i really looked up to and i thought i could learn a lot from her) didn’t like one paper i wrote (tbf i didn’t read the book for it and i wrote it in a few hours the night before it was due) but her comments really hurt. when i turned in my first paper for the class, she said i had a ton of potential and she was really looking forward to seeing what i could accomplish with more time/better prompts, until i turned in one bad paper and she said it was “awful” and basically called me stupid to my face.

overall tho, i try to not let things get to me and i try to take everything as a potential lesson for the future.

35 - Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

SLDJFSDFKKHSDJF THIS IS A DANGEROUS THING TO SAY TO ME, MY FRIEND. anyways, i love details. i feel like that’s so broad and vague and maybe even weird, but i fucking love details. and not like imagery details or things to just help the reader understand, but the kind of details that make me think and analyze and just overall test my comprehension. so like, little details that help with foreshadowing, or things you wouldn't notice until way later, or maybe things most people wouldn’t even think twice about ever.

i love being able to throw in the smallest hints at what’s to come and see if anyone points them out. i also love referencing other fics i’ve written or things that’ve happened in canon that no one ever thinks about, or even - and i do this a lot, in all honesty - reference things completely unrelated to the fic and the fandom it’s from. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve referenced Supergirl or Arrow and then realized “oh wait, a lot of people might not even recognize this” and then it gets deleted and forgotten. so yeah. i love details.

send me asks! from the list i reblogged or any other questions you have!

#keep sending me asks!#i hope all of those made sense/answered the questions lol

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beatrice-otter · 4 years ago

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Fic: Matters of Perspective

Title: Matters of Perspective Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation Pairing: Guinan/Picard Rating: General Audiences Length: 3318 words Written for: sternel in Rare Pairings 2020 Betaed by: Karios Summary: Jean-Luc had many things to do when he returned from San Francisco of 1893. Reuniting with an old friend is one of them. AN: You guys, if you've never shipped Guinan/Picard, I suggest you rewatch Time's Arrow I & II and pay extra attention to the scenes they share. Wow. I saw this as a pinch hit, thought it was an interesting idea (I'd never thought of Guinan/Picard) and re-watched Time's Arrow because I remembered it having lots of Guinan stuff, and I was blown away. The way he looks at her. He stayed behind in the past, not knowing if he'd ever get back to the 24th Century, because she needed help. I am a convert. At AO3. On Dreamwidth. On Pillowfort.

There were many things to do when Jean-Luc returned from San Francisco of 1893: a debriefing with Riker of all that had happened on board Enterprise since he had left, a medical examination, a long shower and a change into his own uniform. Tomorrow would be taken up with writing his own report and debriefing over subspace with a number of historians who specialized in Earth's 19th Century. But with the immediate chores done he could take some time to visit an old friend, and so he headed to Ten Forward.

He walked in the door, and paused: this was the Guinan he knew, in the setting he knew her in. He walked slowly to the bar, treasuring the very ordinariness of it.

Guinan looked him up and down, and smiled. It was a warm smile, as Guinan's smiles were wont to be; at least, the smiles Jean-Luc was used to receiving. It wasn't until he had met her younger self and she had not known him, that he had realized she did not smile at everyone that way. "So, you made it back safely. I'm glad."

"You knew I had," Jean-Luc replied in some surprise. Guinan did not know everything, but that was sometimes hard to believe.

"No," Guinan said. "I knew you had left 19th Century San Francisco, and that others of your crew who left before you were able to get home. I didn't know for sure that you would be able to make it back. I hoped you would. But things don't always work out the way we hope they will. I've spent a lot of time in the last five centuries wondering."

"Did you ever consider not sending me back?"

She shook her head. "No. If we hadn't met then, we wouldn't have met later; and by the time I got to know you the second time we met, I knew that you would rather fulfill your mission and be stuck in the past than leave innocent civilians to die."

"True." Jean-Luc took a seat at the bar, thankful that Ten Forward was empty and he didn't have to worry about people listening in. "But why wouldn't we have met? I've been wondering about that."

"The galaxy is a big place, Picard," Guinan said. "I like to travel, I always have. See new things, hear new stories, meet new people. I don't come back to a place unless there's something compelling about it … and let me tell you, 19th Century America didn't exactly give me many reasons to give Humans a second look."

"I don’t blame you," Jean-Luc said. "There are many eras of Earth history that I find fascinating to read about or experience on the Holodeck, but very few I would have any interest in living in. But what was it about me that was so compelling?"

Guinan tipped her head. "The way you looked at me," she said. "Like I hung the moon and stars. Like the two of us were the only ones there. Like you knew me inside and out, and found every inch of me captivating. People have looked at me like that before, but I've married the ones who did … and not even all my spouses looked at me like that."

Guinan had been his friend for so long, one of the people he trusted most in the whole world. It had never occurred to him to wonder what that looked like from the outside. "We were in a strange place, and you were a connection to home," Jean-Luc said, unsettled.

"The rest of your crew didn't look at me like that," Guinan said. "Just you. And then you stayed in the past because I was hurt and needed attention, even though it might mean you never got home. I wouldn't have thought Earth could produce people like you. And there you were. I was curious. Not that many people look at me like that, and it would be a shame to miss one. So," she shrugged, "here I am. And here we are."

Jean-Luc wasn't quite sure what to make of that; but then, that was often the case when speaking with Guinan. He hadn't thought of Guinan as a potential lover in years. "So why did you turn me down when I propositioned you, when I met you for the first time?"

She smirked at him. "You didn't look at me like that yet. And also, you were a puppy. An adorable puppy, I will grant you that, but still."

Jean-Luc thought back to himself as he had been when (from his point of view) they met. He'd been a young ensign on his first cruise, enamored of a bar tender who was full of wit and wisdom. "I can't say you're wrong," he admitted. "Thank you for turning me down gently."

"You were a puppy," she repeated. "I don't kick puppies."

A pair of ensigns came in and took a seat at a table on the other side of the bar, and Guinan excused herself to serve them. Jean-Luc considered inviting her to his quarters after her shift so they could speak without interruption. How seldom they met in private to talk! It seemed an astonishing lack, given how much he enjoyed her company. Fencing matches and other games, adventures on the holodeck, they did many things together; but they spent little time simply talking together, and most of that was in Ten Forward, where interruptions were frequent and privacy not guaranteed.

When she finished with the ensigns, Guinan returned to the bar and sat next to him. "So, what was your first impression of me?" she asked.

"In that bar on Starbase 247, or in San Francisco in 1893?"

"Either. Both."

Jean-Luc considered. "On Starbase 247, I thought that you were gorgeous, and compassionate, and knew a great deal more than you said." He spoke quietly, not wanting to give rise to any rumors on the crew's gossip mill. "I wanted very badly to see what was beneath those robes and behind those eyes, and I thought perhaps if I gained access to one, you might also give me access to the other."

"And you've always enjoyed a challenge," Guinan said.

"Indeed," Jean-Luc said. "And you have always rewarded my efforts … though not, always, in the form I would most prefer at the time."

"What about in San Francisco?"

"In San Francisco, you were very different," Jean-Luc said. "Not … shallower, but there was less weight to you. I thought at first it was because you were much younger, and that might be part of it, but then I realized … the great tragedy of your life had not yet occurred."

Guinan looked down at her hands, folded on top the bar. "No," she said softly, "it hadn't."

"I considered warning you," he confessed.

She tilted her head. "Thank you. It wouldn't have changed anything in the end, though, or at least, not for the better." She looked up at him. "I wondered, those first few years after our homeworld was destroyed, why you hadn't. I thought through every possible scenario: what I could have done with the information, all the different might-have-beens … I blamed you, for a while. It was easier to cast blame than to live with my grief."

Jean-Luc had never been through anything half as terrible as Guinan had; when he lost himself to the Borg, he had been rescued, and restored. Guinan had lost her entire world and most of her people, and that loss had been permanent. But he understood the impulse to blame someone, anyone, rather than face the enormity of grief. "What changed?"

"When we met for the first time, I was just a young hothead, running around the galaxy for my own amusement. You hadn't exactly had time to collect any proof, or any records that might have been useful. Would I have believed a stranger—however compelling his looks—who predicted the destruction of my people and our home? I wouldn't have wanted to. And if I had believed you, would any of my people have listened to me, with no proof? And if they had, what then? We El-Aurians were never great fighters, nor great engineers. Even with centuries of warning, we could never have defeated or held off the Borg. We might have been able to evacuate more people, earlier, but … nobody wants to believe their home is going to be destroyed. It's a nice fantasy, but I highly doubt anything you told me would have made much difference, in the end."

Jean-Luc nodded, soberly.

The doors opened, again, and a rowdy group, mostly in Science blue, spilled through. Celebrating Crewman Vrattiash's pregnancy, he thought. Very inconvenient; Guinan was the only server on duty, since this was usually a quiet shift in Ten Forward. They'd keep her busy for the rest of the shift, if he was any judge.

Guinan made the same calculation. "See you tomorrow in the dojo," she said.

That evening, Jean-Luc found himself turning over their history together. It was something he'd done many times since meeting Guinan again for the first time in 19th Century San Francisco, but this time he found himself going back to the first time he had met her.

He'd been with a group of friends on shore leave, relishing the freedom to drink things other than synthahol. She'd been tending bar, and he hadn't given her a second thought until it had been his turn to buy a round, and he'd gotten her attention to order. When he started talking, she'd looked him up and down with an interested expression, which in retrospect made perfect sense. Guinan's face might not change in forty years, but Jean-Luc's face certainly had. As a young ensign with a full head of hair he had looked far different than the mature starship captain she had met. His voice, however, would have changed little.

She'd introduced herself while she got their drinks, and they'd talked, and when he'd returned to his friends they'd teased him for flirting with her. She'd watched them with a sardonic air, and he'd known there was something more to her.

The next day, he'd come back alone, just after the bar opened, to see if he could figure out what that something was. She'd flirted with him, but turned down his invitation for more, and he'd taken it in good stead. An attractive, empathetic person tending bar must get an awful lot of propositions, after all. But talking with her was more interesting than anything else to do on the station, and so he'd kept coming back at times when the bar wouldn't be busy, and when his ship had left, he'd had her com address.

In all the years since, he'd not spent much time dwelling on how attractive she was. He'd never lacked for intimate company and a good friend was harder to find than a bed partner. But if she'd turned him down because he was too young and immature, because he didn't yet care for her as deeply as he had when she first met him …

It occurred to him that he was no callow youth any longer. And if he asked her now, her answer might be different.

They met at the gym for their weekly fencing, as usual. Guinan had changed and was mostly warmed up by the time Jean-Luc emerged from his dressing room.

"Trouble getting out of bed this morning?" she asked, starting up a more complicated round of stretches than she usually bothered with.

He hummed and started his own warm-up routine. "Trouble falling asleep last night."

"Anything you'd like to talk about?" Guinan asked. She was insatiably curious—she always was, even with strangers, but especially with close friends—but she'd learned centuries ago that patience and openness got better results than anything else.

"Nothing that concerns you," Jean-Luc said, which was not a 'no.'

And he was lying. Which made her even more curious. But he would tell her eventually, so she set it aside.

He seemed awfully eager to put his fencing helmet on, she noticed. Afraid she would see something in his face, perhaps?

The fencing itself was as interesting as it ever was. They'd been doing this long enough that muscle memory worked in her favor, but of course as with any combat, real or play, there was strategy to it.

Jean-Luc was a little distracted. Not much, but just enough to give her a slight edge, which she took ruthless advantage of.

"You're doing very well today, Guinan," he said halfway through their hour.

"You're slipping," Guinan said. "I prefer to beat you when you're in top form." Not that she often did; he'd been fencing much longer than she had. But she was getting better, slowly but surely, and if this specific martial art was new to her, it was far from the first she'd practiced.

"I shall endeavor to give you better competition, then," Jean-Luc said, and he did pay more attention from then on. But she did still notice his focus start to slip, on occasion.

Their scheduled hour drew to a close and Guinan took off her helmet, checking to make sure her scarf stayed in place.

"Good match," Jean-Luc said, taking off his own mask and grabbing a towel.

"Were you distracted by the same thing that kept you from sleeping last night?"

Jean-Luc froze, briefly, before raising the towel to his face. "Yes, actually."

She let it sit there, between them, for a little while, since he had shut down a direct question earlier. But he seemed a little more open, now, a bit less defensive. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He pondered the question for a bit. "Yes," he said, "but not here. And not in Ten Forward. Dinner in my quarters, perhaps?"

She raised her eyebrows. That was new. "I'd like that. Tomorrow night? I could re-arrange the bar schedule for tonight, if it's urgent."

"Tomorrow night is fine," Jean-Luc said.

The next night Guinan arrived at Jean-Luc's quarters in plenty of time for dinner. She'd been in his quarters before, of course, but not regularly and not often; she'd actually been in his office more, she realized, all the various times she had had some insight into whatever particular mission the ship was working on. They tended to spend time together either in the gym, the holosuites, or Ten Forward. Inviting her here meant something new, something private, and she wasn't sure whether or not to ascribe the standard Human meaning to a private dinner.

On the one hand, he'd never given any particular indication of sexual or romantic interest in her since she'd turned him down the first time, decades ago. On the other hand, he'd recently had an experience that might have changed how he saw her … and it would explain his distraction when they fenced.

Jean-Luc came to the door to greet her, rather than simply telling it to open. "Guinan," he said warmly. "Come in." He stepped back and gestured her in.

The room gave her no clues. It hadn't been redecorated since she'd last seen it, and while the spread on the table looked good, there were no candles or roses or other Human signs of romantic intentions. Then again, Jean-Luc had enough experience with cross-species relationships (in every sense) that he wouldn't necessarily rely on Human-specific trappings to signal intent.

"Please, have a seat," Jean-Luc said, gesturing to the table. "Would you like some wine?" He held up a bottle with a familiar label.

"Please," Guinan said. "What's the occasion?" Even captains had weight and space restrictions, and they weren't close enough to Earth to resupply all that often. The Chateau Picard got brought out only rarely.

"I can't just want to treat an old friend, whom I know has a deep and nuanced appreciation of alcohol in all its forms?" Jean-Luc said.

"You never have before," Guinan pointed out. "Not without a special occasion of some sort."

"True," Jean-Luc said. He carefully poured them each a glass and sat down.

Guinan picked her glass up and sniffed it, savoring the aroma.

"We've known each other for a long time," Jean-Luc said. He was idly twisting the wine glass in his hands, but his gaze on her was steady. "I haven't always put much thought into that relationship; throughout virtually my entire adult life, you have simply been there when I needed you. I think I have taken you for granted more than I should."

"It's possible," Guinan said, when he paused. "But then again, I do have ways of getting attention when I want it. And in some ways, life is much simpler when you are overlooked. If I felt neglected, trust me, you would know it. Or I would have left, by now."

"Thank you for the reassurance, but that still doesn't mean I should take you for granted," Jean-Luc said. "In any case, you have always been a magnificent woman, body, mind, and soul. And after our conversation the other night, I have been thinking over … paths not taken, and wondering if perhaps it might be time to take a new path." He stared down into his wine glass. "And then I wonder if perhaps it might be selfish of me, to ask for more, when you will outlive me by such a great margin. I have no wish to add grief or pain to your life."

"Just to clarify," Guinan said, "you're talking around the possibility of adding a romantic or sexual dimension to our relationship?"

"Both, I would hope," Jean-Luc said. "I'm not a puppy any longer."

"No, you are not." Guinan smiled, and looked him up and down. She knew, from their fencing, just how much power and strength there was coiled in that wiry frame, and she spent a few seconds imagining how it might be used for the pleasure of them both. And she already knew his character, which was far more important. "You know there aren't many species that are as long-lived as El-Aurians. If I wanted to be around people I wasn't going to outlive, I would never travel away from my people."

"Yes," Jean-Luc said, "but—"

"Jean-Luc." Guinan leaned forward, cutting him off. "Do you really think there is anything we could do with our bodies together that would make me grieve your eventual death more than I already will?"

"Ah," he said. "Probably not."

"There's no use grieving ahead of time," Guinan said. "I prefer to live my life forwards, not backwards. So with that in mind, Jean-Luc, ask your question."

"You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you?" he said, ruefully.

"I never have before. Why start now?"

"True," he said. He set the wine glass down on the table and leaned forward, staring intently into her eyes. "Guinan, you are the most incredible woman I've ever met, and I find you attractive on every level. I always have. Your wisdom, your compassion, your iron determination which you only show when it is needed, your ability to perceive the world differently and help me to see it as you do, I love all of these things about you. I love you, on a very deep level. And though I have set aside the more carnal feelings you arouse in me so that for many years, I would enjoy exploring them with you. While a sexual or romantic relationship is not necessarily deeper or more meaningful than a close friendship, I wonder if you might like to explore those other dimensions with me?"

Guinan's lips curved into a smile. "Jean-Luc, it would be a pleasure. In every sense of the word." She leaned in closer, and he met her half way for a kiss.

#fanfiction #fanfic #star trek #The Next Generation #guinan #Jean-Luc Picard

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years ago

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Setting Sale and Stardust for the fic ask game :)?

This took forever but I couldn’t make myself get to it when I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I have written both of those a long time ago and I don’t even remember the entirety of the fics and what happens into them. I’ll see what I can remember about the process, though, because I most certainly don’t have headcanons about them.

Setting Sale:

1. That was written for the Curious Archer Love Library. I really wanted to do something for that event and I had the idea but there was some panic over it as I wasn’t sure how to approach it. I was ready to give up at one point but theonceoverthinker encouraged me to keep it up (I’m pretty sure she used a Julie Andrews quote to achieve that) and I ended up writing it one sitting.

2. I remember that there was some back and forth with the ship. I wanted Robin to propose on the Jolly Roger and my mind insisted that it would be so much more romantic if she put in the effort to get the Jolly Roger that actually belonged to Wish Killian so I had her do that. And then I had to make sure that she knew how to sail it so the lessons in that came in.

3. I remember that coming up with what the engagement ring would look like was a process and describing it was no less of a process as well. XD English is not my first language and descriptions aren’t my strong suit so that was a bit of a struggle but I am quite pleased with what I got in the end. The idea that Zelena used magic to make the gems on the ring the exact color of Robin’s eyes came in during the writing because I thought it would be cool if the gems were the color of Robin’s eyes (to link the ring to the love she holds in them for Alice) but I thought that would be (next to) impossible to achieve without magic so I threw that bit in. And then I got the idea that Alice would like to give Robin a ring as well and she could use her powers to do that and make it an original idea (which I think it really was if I do say so myself).

4. All the mentions of other characters actually came in once I started writing it. They were never planned but I thought it would give some flavor to the story and flesh out life in the United Realm so I decided to include what I could and whatever came up to me. I ended up mentioning most of the extended family and I was super happy with that. I love including all possible characters even if it is in small ways!

5. I was so giddy with happiness and pride when I thought up Robin’s idea to make the entire ocean “the place where they got engaged”. I thought it was really romantic to tie it to Alice’s love of the sea and the freedom and happiness it brings her. In fact, writing this fic led me to the conclusion that I should probably open up and agency for personalized events as I think it really turned out romantic and unique and very personal to the two of them and their story, or at least Alice’s story. (I had an idea of Robin shooting an arrow at an apple on their wedding btw but I haven’t gotten to fleshing out my image of that event enough to write a fic about it).

Stardust:

This one is actually harder even if it is more recent.

1. When I saw the theme of stars for Knight Rook: a History, Stardust was pretty much the first thing that popped into my head. I remembered only the end of the movie but I was convinced that Alice and Robin would be great in the main roles. I actually had to rewatch the movie in order to write the “fic” which was kinda ironic since I ended up changing most of it anyway. I think a lot of the structure of the story remained the same even if the events were tweaked and adapted to the OUAT world and characters.

2. I had a blast with this like I always do with AUs. I love taking the characters and adapting them to a new setting or situation. It is one of my favorite forms of creativity and there was a lot to adjust with this AU. I used versions of the characters from different time periods. Emma isn’t the daughter of Snow and David (but they still have Neal) and I actually merged Killian and Wish Killian together, the Golden Hook relationship was actually at its final phase instead of going through all of them and I adapted the plan for the star to be more Gothel rather than the way it was done in the movie. The ogres having come from bugs when the ground got poisoned with darkness was one of my favorite things to come up with ever!

3. I got the idea of them all living in Mist Haven from season 2A. The people left behind after the curse had their safe haven from the ogres and I decided to have that and with some inspo from the visuals while Cora cast her spell to protect her and Killian from the Dark Curse, the barrier around Mist Haven was born and the beginning and the ending of the story were set. I actually really loved how that turned out as it provided one of the major points of Robin’s arc and that was searching for who she is and being unable to find it in her birth place. And it also led to another one of my favorite ideas and that was reshaping the magic of the glass slippers to allow Robin super speed. Now I have no idea how I did that but I love it on all accounts, including the fact that it fit in very well with me trying to keep Robin to her not so well developed powers.

4. Now Alex and Gideon took some effort until I figured out how they fit into the grand scheme of things but I knew I wanted them to be in it as Robin’s lifelong friends. I really think that the friendship that was sort of forming between Zelena and Belle would have transferred onto Robin and Gideon if the Golds had stayed in town so I took the opportunity to have it here. And I have always been a big fan of the idea that Alexandra and Robin were best friends, at least before Robin started learning magic. So I included her as well and eventually they fell into their places to bring the story full circle.

5. The ending wasn’t supposed to be sad at first but then I figured that that was what made the most sense. If Alice’s light was to neutralize the darkness, it would only make sense for both to disappear, not just the darkness. And despite the pain it brings me (and believe me it hurts so much to know Alice dies when both she and Robin were just a step away from getting everything they wanted), I am actually very happy with the way I wrap it all up. I like how Robin gives back to other pieces of both herself and Alice to help them find closure for the wounds she is responsible for causing them and I am still so in love with my ideas about the yellow flowers left behind after Alice’s death (had to include that nod to canon) and the final idea of fish turning to starfish when swallowing the stardust. It was a nod to canon again and a way to come full circle with my entires for Knight Rook: a History since I had that same idea in my first entry. And to me, personally, even though the end really hurts, it is also satisfying and even sort of peaceful when all the plot threads feel finished.

So that is all I got on these. I hope those were at least somewhat interesting to you!

#once upon a time #curious archer #alice jones #robin mills #ouat #setting sale #stardust au #my fanfic #ask #intothewickedwood

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riskeith · 4 years ago

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ooo! how was playing? what do you think about the event? i’m really enjoying it actually... always nice getting new daily things to do hehe.

yeah i think everyone knows The Cover now. i still can’t believe they did that... not complaining tho... oh really? you’re absolutely right and judging by the way they’re taking the story it seems like those two will have a lot more growth to their relationship. who knows maybe we’ll even get a part where bakugou apologizes or even talks about their past etc. one can only wish. YEAH i’ve seen both the movies and i love them!! they’re super fun and such a nice break from everything that happens in the anime sjskjssk kiribaku in the first one was so gay i.... we get it boys y’all in love fhjsjdjfk (THE SIDEWAYS TODOBAKU SMILE... one of my favorite moments ever) i am all caught up now.. waiting for s5... :(

no clue!! it’s just my theory so it might be wrong. the blue one was cute too so was the pink one.... they’re all cute why do we have to pick just one :( HEY you do know how to draw 😡 pretty amazingly too! but i’d love to see that in your style chongyun is so precious.. <3

omg i gotta hustle hard for AR 35 then i already miss him. i’m at 26 now and god.. it’s getting more and more difficult i can’t imagine how it is at like 45... 😭

oooooh!!! honestly barbara healing is godsent if you don’t get him you should consider it (hopefully you do though!!) IVE SEEN VIDEOS OF OCEANID AND HE LOOKS SO SCARY CLUNA.... no thoughts head empty only boy scouts party. looking at others with amazing parties: ok but do you have boy scouts party?

i mostly have sword users! but like i mentioned i’m starting to fall in love with book users (and even bow users) shskfhdkd so i might consider investing in those some day idk they just shoot of attacks and it’s so sexy. no hands dirty. ningguang seems so op 😭 plus geo is so nice!! like an all around element.

HE’S TALL? he has a short person voice...

i’m making a twitter i wanna see some fluff 😭 wait really? even this fandom is shit? why 😭 i sometimes see yt comments and the thing i’m iffy about is how people talk about spending money on it etc but is there more?

i’ve never heard anyone do that that’s so interesting!!!! do you write it down in the same doc and then delete it or do you write it separately?

ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS!!! i’ve had so many ideas come to me before bed and i always think that i’m gonna remember them but i never do it makes me so upset. especially if it’s an idea of how to continue a story i’m stuck with... god it’s the worse. writer things 🤪

“stan loona” aka bane of my existence. i don’t usually tell ppl i used to stan because of that reason sksksj. god that was the worst sheesh. anyway. yelling at ALL of these!!! ofc i know daddy issues slowed!!!!!!!!! it’s like one of the most popular slowed songs we’re all just a sad horny bunch loving sexy vibes huh. i listen to slowed songs a lot when i write actually it sets the mood. it doesn’t even have to be anything racy sometimes it’s just calms you down. do you listen to music while you write? also i don’t listen to any of those you mentioned except troye 😭 i’m sorry 😭 but if you’re have recs i’d love to hear them ofc!!

“after school” time that’s so cute. it reminds me of when you’re younger and you run back home and eat a snack and watch cartoon (i say that as both of us still watch cartoons... yee) speaking of crying; would you consider yourself a crybaby? (such a random question hskshdjdfhhd)

before i leave; let me blow your mind with a little something... https://twitter.com/primo_fates/status/1347780975078506496?s=21

hehe... mwah. ;)

it was good!! i tried to get some ominous masks and weathered arrows, but drop rates are always shit lolll. and i think the event is alright! i don’t love it but yeah as you said it’s fun to have something more to do every day.

ikr omg... it’s such a good cover LMAO. omg a bakugou apology 😩😩. what did you think of deku vs kacchan part 2?? i regularly rewatch clips of it and cry LMAOOO god bakugou.. “why did i become the reason for all might’s end?” heart broken wow. NICE!! yeah i remember everyone freaking out over the kiribaku scenes in the first one and honestly,,,, how else do you explain it LMAO. (AND THAT SIDEWAYS SMILE!!! holy shit i watched the movie like the day after i got into todobaku and that scene obliterated me.... absolutely destroyed!) aw nice! but yeah now it’s just the waiting game i guess lol welcome to the club 🤪

IKR??? i saw the “once you pick one the others are gone” and i was just nooooooooooo whyyyy. you can’t give us all these options then don’t actually give us an option 😭 AHAHA thank u but i always joke that i can only draw well like once every 10 tries so... yeahhh we shall see! i have this thing envisioned in my mind but i am unable to execute it fskhfkdsjfs

yeah omg when i reached 45 i was like “wow i’m gonna have to do the ascension quest soon” but it’s taking me so long to reach ar 46??? yikes how am i meant to get the experience with no quests fkhdsfkjsd

i use barbara a lot in the fire domains and with the pyro regisvine!! it’s kinda funny that i’m bringing a level 40 into a level 70+ fight LOL but yeah she’s good! AND YEAHHH OCEANID LEGIT GIVES ME NIGHTMARES I JUST. as soon as i had an actual team that could beat it i grinded it as much as i could before my world level went up and it became impossible again.... but since mine might go up again soon maybe i should grind some more... and maybe i’ll be able to level up both xingqiu and barbara lol. EXACTLY!! can they pls interact in game somehow omg.. we need a bennett story!! and more razor!!!! and chongyun too!! i forgot he hasn’t actually appeared in game hfsdkjfds. and ofc xingqiu <3

fdfjlsjfs are you gonna go from a no long range team to an only long range team ahahah. and you like geo??? omg no... i hate it bc it’s so like. inert FHKDJFSD. but i guess the shields are really nice!

HE’S 172 CM!!!!! he has a baby face too so it’s pretty wild fhskdjds

ooo wdym how they talk about spending money? i don’t really look at youtube comments tbh lol. and i haven’t really seen people talk about spending money much on twitter? tho some content creators i follow open commissions for money for the gacha fhsdfksj. if you do end up joining genshintwt i hope you have fun!!

same doc and then i delete! but sometimes if the plan is really long i’ll make a new doc so i can see both at the same time (but recently i’ve just been opening the same doc again so i can see both that way lol). do your dotpoints go into the same doc as your writing one?

LMAOOO yeah i’m always like “hnghhh okay it’s fine.. i will Remember... trust myself” and then i never do and it’s just like welp goodbye to that amazing idea. but also bc it was thought up at such a weird time maybe it isn’t actually that good after all LOL

oh nice!! yeah slowed songs are soooo good. and i usually do listen to music! it’ll depend on what i’m writing bc i like the songs to have a similar vibe, but sometimes it’s too distracting so i put on lofi or something so there are no words ahaha. oh rippp LOL! hmm well badlands by halsey was my klance/voltron album writing soundtrack for a really long time.. i wrote a few fics with that in the background i think! melanie martinez’ k-12 album has a whole free movie to go with it! if you wanna check that out. bastille’s pompeii was really popular but i also really like flaws and of the night from them.. a lot of these are older bc i don’t listen to new stuff fhsdfkjds. and hmm pentatonix (they’re an acapella group!) do a lot of covers so maybe you can find one of a song you like and check them out that way? ahah that’s a lot feel free to not listen to any!! no stress at all lmao

oh fun fact melanie has a idk what to call it character? and song called ‘crybaby’! so very coincidental you asked. but yeah i think i am? LMAOOO like if i’m alone in my room watching something and it’s sad i Will Not hesitate to cry.. like sometimes you just gotta get it out you know? and sometimes maybe it’s a little boy singing a korean cover of colours of the wind but it’s so ethereal you just burst into tears but that’s fine! FHDSKJFHDSFKJS. how about you?

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD!! i legit. my jaw is dropped. i. oh my god 😭😭😭😭😭😭 FHSJFKHSKDJF1!!!! 😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this is so atmospheric and cosy and warm 😭😭😭 i can go at peace now.. fhskfhdsjf

thank you always!! - c.r. xoxo

#marriage anon #wowclunaanswers #long post

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years ago

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Fanfic asks: 8, 20, 28, 51?

8 - How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

i’m a fandom old so i didn’t know what tumblr was until pretty recently, so. i go on these fanfic binges. they are epic. they are like the lost weekend of fanfic binges. i get very single-minded and obsessed and escapist and i just do nothing but consume content until i run out of content. i dipped a toe into CS/OUAT fic during one of these binges and, if you’ll excuse the pun, fell down a rabbit hole. for the first time i started reaching out to other authors and trying to follow tumblrs for fun and content and to engage and be supportive, where i could, and to contribute content, when i felt inspired.

20 - Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?

one of my OTPs is oliver/felicity, the DCTV OC on arrow, and i actually hated it at first. i was rooting for other pairings and then i felt like the show was just kind of forcing olicity as a thing and i resented it. but then i rewatched some, and i started following the very organic-to-the-show buildup of this relationship that the creators clearly hadn’t intended but followed when that is where the energy went, and now i just love it. it’s one of my favorite genre relationships and it has so many of my favorite things. the characters literally grew and changed as people because of each other and not enough shows really go all-in on that, for better and for worse, when they commit to a ship as endgame.

28 - If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?

ooooh well @kmomof4 made me a really lovely aesthetic for hello love (a silent kiss from a wish) and i had the honor of working with @carpedzem for the captain swan valentine’s day role reversal on operation tulips (your two lips should kiss) but at the moment my entire heart and soul is pouring out in my @captainswanbigbang rewrite our little life (rounded with a sleep) and i’d love to see that inspire someone the way that working on it has inspired me and led me to try new things.

51 - Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

i really hate reading fic on tumblr and i LOVE AO3 and everything about AO3. AO3 is a clean format and it is standardized and i love when people leave likes and comments and somehow tumblr feels like screaming into a void in addition to being hard to read. i’m not sure tumblr has been great for my relationship to fic, to writing it and reading it and interacting with it.

BUT.

it’s been really great for leading me to new people and new friends and new events, so--does it balance? idk.

hey, send me fic asks! i have already driven to connecticut and back today and i am le tired.

#about me #asked and answered #captainsjedi

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captainswanbigbang · 5 years ago

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CSRT Author Spotlight: youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat

Today’s Captain Swan Rewrite-a-Thon spotlight features @youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat!

How long have you been writing for the OUAT fandom? Did you write anything else (original or fan fiction) before joining the OUAT fandom? Are you writing anything non-OUAT now that the show is over?

I've been writing Captain Swan fic since after I binged the whole series the summer before s7. Before then I penned a few unfinished fics for Ian and Mickey on Shameless, and Leonard Snart and Sara Lance on Legends of Tomorrow. Unposted works gathering dust in my google docs feature Jim and Pam from The Office, Oliver and Felicity from Arrow, Lisa Snart and Cisco Ramon from The Flash, Lucifer Morningstar and Chloe Decker, and Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago from Brooklyn 99. These days I'm trying to realize my long held dream of writing original fiction, specifically in the romance genre.

What sort of fic do you like to write? What sort of fic do you like to read?

Ohhh boy! Well I love AUs of any kind, writing or reading. A favorite pastime is watching new movies or TV, or reading books, and daydreaming about how their plots or couple dynamics might fit a completely unrelated pair of favorite characters. I think half the reason I enjoy OUAT is bc it p much is constantly suggesting AUs for itself (oh Deckhand Hook, who was I before you came into my life??). I think my favorite thing about reading alternate universes, though, is that they often introduce me to a new genre, like sports dramas, reality cooking shows, crime thrillers. A cs fanfiction is what got me into listening to fictional podcast radioplays for example.

What kind of rewrite will you be doing?

Rewriting the beginning of an abandoned story and then finishing it.

Tell us about your Rewrite-a-Thon story! What's it about, and why did you decide to rewrite it?

So this is the very first Captain Swan story I ever wrote. I actually sort of went into watching the series (rewatching the first season and actually watching episodes I'd read about through Entertainment Weekly recaps) with the idea half formed. I always had a different idea than show canon of what Emma might be like if she was raised by Snow and Charming as a princess of the Enchanted Forest. And I loved Emma and Killian's enemies to allies to lovers dynamic, and I wanted to explore that in a different way. So my original story was about Emma, leader of a special order of knights, teaming up with Killian to finally track down the Dark One. It featured Killian as captain of a lonely hearts club crew that included a pining Mulan, and Emma in cool armor and suffering from past romantic failures. It's been so long since I've visited this story, that looking at it again when this event was announced, I started to see potential character motivations and conflicts that I had never considered back when I was writing it. This event got me excited to finally finish an ambitious story idea, and this one is just old enough that I realized I don't feel nervous about making the changes it needs.

What are you most excited about when it comes to rewriting your story?

Making Emma's sordid past a little jucier. Adding more culture clash of pirates at court, and knights on pirate ships. Revisiting friendships I was really invested in, like Killian and Belle and Emma and her knights. Killian's rivalry with Charibdis the Cat....

Check out @youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat on Tumblr and AO3!

#captain swan rewrite a thon #csrt #author spotlights #CSRT spotlights #Captain Swan #youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

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If These Walls Could Talk Chapter 1: “Lisa”—Castlevania (Netflix) Fic (Full chapter!!)

Fic Title: If These Walls Could Talk

Synopsis: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: I was writing a different Castlevania fic when I started describing things as if from the castle’s perspective...and I thought that was a very interesting idea, so this happened. The idea was also inspired by Sypha’s “it’s fighting me!" I thought that was really interesting because she was speaking almost as if the castle were a living thing. And, well, I love personifying things.

Also, ever since reading @izabellwit's a loyal heart fic I’ve wanted to try writing something from a non-human perspective. And boy was it worth it. This has got to be one of my favorite fics I’ve written, honestly!

Plus I really wanted to write about Alucard's childhood, and I thought this was a great way to do so somewhat comprehensively, but also concisely. I thought it was just an interesting idea, and that Sypha’s was kind of an offhand comment, but when I rewatched a few scenes for research, I realized…I think this idea is actually supposed to exist within the canon. There are subtler references to the castle having an alive-ness, Sypha’s is just the easiest to catch. I’m curious if anyone agrees, especially after reading.

I have a very limited knowledge of the games, but I'm trying to learn more about them, and really like working in little references to them here and there!

I was originally planning on posting this as one long thing (and I may still do so after I finish), because the sections are very much connected and meant to flow into each other, and I think it’ll be easy to miss things if they’re separate. But I realized it would be easier, both for me to post, and for people to read, in bite size-pieces. Plus it has very clear-cut sections that are easy to split into chapters. So here you go!!

Chapter 1 (of 8), She Came at Sunset:

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—no snug space to curl up in, on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard; stories, but not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses; the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death. Not all the stories make humans want to run at the doors with garlic and arrows, or else stay far away.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others; stories that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes. But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman, with her mouth full of healing salve and her hands full of curiosity. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time; the gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations, walked outside, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them, and they want their child to be able to do the same, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

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minyoonkeeks · 5 years ago

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Pairing:Jin x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: It was one thing to love him in secret, but when you think he might like you back it changes everything. (90% Fluff, 7% Angst, 3% I don't know what this is)

Warnings: None really, there is 1 mention of throwing up for like a second and a few mentioning anxiety but nothing serious

A/N: This is the first fic I've ever decided to write. I hope it resembles him a bit, but it was fun writing. I don't know if I'll continue either, I just hope I did Jin some justice (:

---

Becoming his friend always felt natural, kind of like mac meeting its cheese, or peanut butter finding its jelly. He was sweet, funny, goofy Seokjin. 2 years younger, but no one could ever tell the difference. He was smart, where it counted. He hated bugs, was extra competitive, and loved marvel as much as you. That made your friendship fun. You would chill in his apartment, play endless games of super smash, and compare recipes whenever you found something new you'd want to try. Because you came from different social groups, it seemed odd at first to your friends. They laughed when they couldn't picture it being real.

"No way _____! Do both of you just have pout monologues? Because I would hate to be in the middle of that blab fest!" Hobi joked as he pictures both of you endlessly going off on each other. You both have certain quirks and apparently over talking was one of them. The more you guys interacted when you were all together, the more your friends didn't believe it.

It wasn't until the first time you had all gone to the movies together as a group. Seokjin sat next to you and you could have sworn all the girls gave the biggest groan, making you turn beet red and Seokjin laugh awkwardly. But once all of your friends realised that's exactly what it was, a friendship, they were quick to stand up for it, because there wasn't anything more. Even when your girlfriends started noticing him.

Sometimes, a lot of times, being his friend was hard. He was a 10 everywhere he'd go, regardless of how nerdy he came off when he spoke. When he wore his dumb round glasses around his beautiful face girls would swoon saying that he looked like a lawyer. Sure, he'd never win with his dumb logic, you thought.

When he would have to attend a fancy dinner in slacks and the same blue button up with white stripes on the sleeve citing that it made him look longer even though you swore he was a whole nother you taller. "Look, you just have to go with me, no one else is fun, and they won't bug me if you go instead." He would insist, telling you his parents didn't mind if it was you going instead of another date. That would sting, you were never the date.

When he'd sit and play guitar to pass the time between picking you up from work and your coworkers would stare out the window and wonder when he would notice them. "How do you even function with him, ______? You clearly have the worst taste in guys if you don't find him attractive" one of them would say.

"Yeah, sure, if you think gumby limbs are attractive." You'd scoff back, even though deep down you knew he was. Those were the most annoying times. Being Kim Seokjin's friend was definitely not easy.

"Hey, hurry up, we'll miss the next screening of Thor and I don't want to miss the credits!" Jin yelled from the lobby, making everyone turn and glare at how loud he was being, at least until they saw his face and proceeded to gawk at him.

"I know, I know, nerd. I don't get how you can watch this for the 5th time in theaters. Like you have a huge TV at home, why rewatch it here?" You quipped grabbing the popcorn from the attendant who just glared at you for calling Jin something other than Worldwide Handsome.

"I already told you, there's nothing like rewatching it with people who get it. And you know you get it or else you wouldn't have come with me anyway" he teased, making that pout that makes your heart flutter a little too much.

Those were most days with Seokjin and sometimes you couldn't take the stares from everyone. The ones that said "Hey why is that short girl hanging out with Jin all the time? He looks like he's babysitting." "Isn't it her though? She's the delusional one, he's way too good to cut her off though, I bet it's pity." You would overhear. You get it. It wasn't ideal for some tall, gorgeous albeit weird man to be hanging out with you of all people, but Jin didn't care because you were friends... friends. That's it.

And yeah, it hurt sometimes, seeing him go on dates, or staying at his apartment when he would tell you to wait for him, even though he was out with a girl 10 times prettier, he always came back alone. Always came back to you.

You had become a confidante for him. Someone who knew a little more, but didn't judge no matter what he did. You were the cool friend, the one everyone could depend on to be there, the one everyone joked to Jin about when they'd tell him to go look after his noona, and you, being as awkward as you were, always played it off when you'd see the pink hue in his cheeks. It never crossed your mind to think any different of him until your regular movie night Wednesday.

You were binging Lord of the Rings on his couch, in your cookie monster pajamas left over from last time while you sat next to Jin, tired from working all day.

"I guess an office job can wear you out." He chuckled.

"Definitely in more ways than one. My brain can only take so much annoyance from everyone. I just need Aragorn to murder a few orcs and it'll make me feel 10 times better." You said yawning, while Jin just stared at the TV hands on his knees. He seemed out of it for some reason, but your day being as long as it had you didn't want to pry. Sometimes Jin liked silence, and this was definitely one of those times.

As you watched the elves on screen, bow and arrow shooting towards the dark, you started dozing off on a pillow placed near his lap. You could feel his fingertips rubbing your scalp the way you had mentioned your mom did when you had a hard time sleeping. You could hear him humming a song, your favorite, especially because he had written it for your birthday last year. Things like this made you wish sometimes that people wouldn't joke the way they do. That it wasn't weird for you to be friends, because Jin got you. He knew you were quiet some days, and extra loud others. He knew when you just needed someone to lean on, and you hoped that's what you were to him.

And there in the quiet, as you were almost asleep, you heard him. Three simple words.

"I love you."

It felt surreal and incredibly intimate. But even though you wanted to look up and tell him you loved him too, you froze. Eyes shut, breathing heavy, and panic setting in. You didn't know what to do. You can't tell if he just meant it as a friend. And if he did then you'd lose him, the one person to make you feel like you belong when you really didn't. He kept stroking your head and you told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you would pretend to sleep, until sleep became real, and in the morning you'd leave just as friends, how it's always been.

When you wake up, you feel really uncomfortable, not being able to get anything out of your head. Over thinking as always, and if this was any other situation, Jin would be the first person you'd tell. But that obviously wasn't possible, so you got up and grabbed you things, said an awkward goodbye and left him cooking pancakes for the both of you.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" He yelled as you were already opening the door to get out of his apartment.

"No it's fine. I forgot I had a meeting to get to and I have to go change and get ready. I'll text you later." You yelled back, trying to sound casual, and not like you were on the verge of throwing up from the anxiety.

You texted him that night and told him you needed to focus on work, that you'd have to go to a few meetings after and you wouldn't be able to meet up. His demeanor never changed, it was always silly Seokjin, always calm,cool, And sweet Seokjin.

JIN: Hey, no worries you're fine. I have to go to a few dinners too, but since you'll be in meetings I'll have to take Hobi or Tae, they're the only ones that like these events anyway.

YOU: Thanks, you should take that girl that you took last time though or you'll end up old and alone. :P

JIN: Maybe, not sure. I'll text you later though, bye!

It was fine right? You would be fine. And he would go out and be his normal charming cool guy self. Just like always. You just needed a moment to get back into the friend zone. And although you'd just lay in bed and lie to him about where you were, you knew eventually you'd have to see him.

So the day came, well, he more so showed up at your apartment at two am and you couldn't really avoid him. When you opened the door, you don't look up, even though he towers over you.

"____ what's wrong?"

You can hear the hurt in his voice as he says your name, and yet, you know that if you look up he'll see right through you. So you stare at his feet.

"Nothing just tired from work. What's going on?" You mumble, trying to keep your composure as you look up as him for the first time. He sighs and looks away, scratching the back of his head, trying to figure out what to say next.

"What did I do? Are you mad? I just, I don't know why you're avoiding me, and you tell me everything. So I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong." He tells you quietly, as if he was reassuring himself to you. That your friendship meant more than just a few races of Mario Kart or a permanent plus one that he didn't have to explain more than just, "yeah, she's a friend." And everyone would just get it, no questions asked.

But suddenly you were in his arms, and you can smell the fresh cotton scent you've become so used to. You can feel his warmth when he presses into you and you can hear his heartbeat pounding into your ears.

It wasn't like you didn't miss him, you did, too much for a friend though. And how were you going to break it to him. That you, the one who's supposed to be the cool noona, who doesn't mind just being friends, was in too deep? How could you tell him so he just gives you time to be his friend again? Because losing him would be way worse than anything else thrown at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you wrap your arms around his torso in response to his sudden hug. It was second nature to do so, but this time it just felt like it was the last time and you wanted to hold on as long as possible. He brushed your hair with his fingers, and swayed side to side because he knew that made you smile. You took a deep breath, not realizing you had been holding it in since he had first leaned against you.

"It's ok, _______, hey I'm fine, you're fine, nothing's wrong. I know you need space sometimes, but I can't have you lying to me about where you are when we tell each other everything. I didn't mean to scare you. Hey, it's ok don't worry." He pats your head and holds you close realizing for the first time that you're crying. You clear your throat and back away from him wiping away your tears with your sweater paws, trying to regain a little sanity.

"I wasn't lying, I'm just ... tired." You tell him sounding coarse, more tired than you knew. "Work is overwhelming and I just needed some time to myself. You know me, I..."

"No, you don't,not from me anyway. You don't and I know because I know you _____, like the back of my hand I know you." Jin said, sounding louder than he meant to. Taking a step back and breathing once before continuing, "But, I get it. I'm not sure why, but I get that you need space from me." He looks down and sighs, making your heart break a little more each time. He pinches the bridge of his nose and you know it's his form of keeping a level head. He does it when he's mad, or worse, when he doesn't want you to see him cry.

He looks at you one more time and you can tell. He's tired, and his pleading look is something you thought you'd never be the cause of. But, what's worse? Leaving it here, or telling him the truth and watching him walk out, for real this time?

"Just... give me 2 more days. I just need 2 more days and I promise I'll come back. I just... I just need 2..." you stare at him, but with your own pleading look this time, you words soft and sad. For what, you don't know. Maybe the end, realizing, it might be the last time he visits you?

"Ok, ok _______. 2 days, but when you come back to me I want to know. I really do, whatever you give me. I'll accept it, just like you do to me. No judgement, no worries. But please, 2 days, come back." He grabs your hand and rubs along your wrist, a sign of affection he was used to giving you as he goes in for one more hug. This time he holds you a little tighter, maybe even a little longer, before he clears his throat, takes a deep breath and turns to walk to his car.

You stare at him going down the sidewalk and breathe, 2, 3. He's almost gone ______, and then you really need to get your shit together before you really lose him, you chide yourself silently.

Jin turns and waves, nodding once for goodbye while he smiles softly. His cheeks puff a little in the lamplight and you can see a glare. There was no way he was crying was there? You'd only seen him do it once when you dared him to eat your grandma's salsa that had a little too much jalapeño causing him to cry out in pain. The confused look you had, made him stop for a second before getting into his car and leaving towards his home.

Lying in bed, you kept twisting and turning, feeling way too hot to sleep and nothing could fix it. You walk to the kitchen and pull out some food, but it just gives you nausea thinking about what just happened so you settle for the milk and cereal.

Why'd you have to be so suspicious looking? Like you did something you weren't proud of? I mean, being in love with your best friend isn't a crime, it's just, not common, especially between you two. You went over the scenario in your head again, thinking about what you should have done differently so you wouldn't have to tell him the truth. You look at the cereal and look at the almost empty carton of milk before you grab a bowl and throw everything in trying to stuff your face and forget.

2 days, 2 days, to figure out how to tell Jin that you love him in a way that isn't the same anymore. And it's all his fault, his, and stupid Lord of the Rings, that you promised to never watch again if this didn't fix itself.

To say that you were productive in trying to figure out the best way to tell your best friend that you were in love with him was a complete over exaggeration. You lied in bed, eating snickers, listening to old Taylor Swift songs- that you hated, but Jin thought were cute, and cried into your pillow like a maniac. There were moments of clarity sure, where you'd write, or at least begin to write, Jin a letter of things you wanted to tell him. Maybe give him a pros and cons list of being your friend still, but you always came up short, Both literally and figuratively. It was frustrating because at the end of the day, Jin had everything. He had his best group of friends, he had girls fawning over him, he had a stable family, a bougie apartment, and a great job. All you offered were some really intense matches of Capcom VS Marvel, and we all know, Jungkook would be a much better opponent. But here you were, trying to figure out where you went wrong, why you had to take his confession in any other way than platonically, and therefore ruin your friendship.

Day 2 came by after a sleepless night. You called Jin and told him as cool as you could that you'd be at his house no later than 8, and to be ready with Captain America Winter Soldier because it was the best and he couldn't change your mind.

"Yes, I get it. Bucky is your dude, no need to rub it in. Don't forget though" his voice getting softer, "I miss you so hurry up"

"Yes I know, you can't live without me and life is unbearable because you have no one warm to cuddle to. Although, I should definitely charge for being your own personal teddy bear." You laugh, as calmly as you can, nerves on the other end running towards you throat to make you sound cringier than normal.

7 o'clock came and you got ready. Jeans and Jins sweatshirt, not that he would care. Most of them ended up in your house and consequently on you because you liked that his long arms made the perfect sweater paws. You put your hair up in a bun and you told yourself once more through the mirror, "Hey, it isn't the end, everything goes, and if he does too, you'll survive". You nodded to yourself and put the best fake smile you could as you walk towards your car and get in, driving to your version of the end of the world.

Jin opens the door and his eyes light up in the best possible way. You always admired that about him, his true emotions always on his sleeve, and today, you hoped that his eyes would stay like this even after your confession.

"You gonna let me in or do I have to shove my way through?" You smile as best you can, telling yourself, only a few more minutes until it's all over, just breathe, you'll be ok.

"Nah, you can fight me first!" he teased and went in for a hug. You inhaled his scent like it was the only oxygen you could ever need in life. It was odd, he didn't let go, and although you hated the thought of doing it first, you knew you had to, so you rubbed his back a second went in for the kill, tickling him in his ribs when he least expected it.

"Really!? Wait, no stop! STOP IT YOU WIN!!" He yells as he pulls you in for another hug, He breathes you in for a second, relaxing, "I really missed you. This was way too long, and I don't know how I survived without you" he sighed, his shoulders slouching into you, even when he could easily engulf your whole body in his large frame.

You blush pulling back and patting his arm in the friendliest of ways, "Back at you! Let's go watch Bucky be a beast!" Hoping that he didn't see you cringe to yourself as you said it.

What a dork, you murmur to yourself as you sit on his couch, knocking your shoes off one at a time. You sit cross legged on the sofa waiting for the movie to start before Jin turns off the screen.

"Hey" he says as he sits in front of you on the floor in the same exact way as you. You look at him, a sneer in your stare as you grab a pillow and throw it at his head. He chuckles as he turns away trying not to get hit. But as he turns back you can see the look in his eyes. It's the same one he had 2 nights ago, and it's the one you knew would come back today.

"Yeah, what's up" you tell him, tilting your head to the side,hoping he can just see the tension in your face and leave it alone.

He stares at you for a quick second, thoughts floating in his pupils about what move to make next.

He gets on both knees and gets close to your face, startling you frozen in front of him. You can feel him breathing on you, and you don't know why, but the sudden urge to cup his face with your hand comes out snd you're rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

He holds your hand within his and closes his eyes for a second, and you can feel him shaking slightly. Is he nervous? Does he think you'll leave him on purpose? I guess it's now or never.

"Jin, I.."

"I know, and if it makes you feel better, I do too."

"Lies, you don't even know what I'm going to say. Do you always have to win? I mean I try my hardest and it's not fair when your fingers are longer than ..." and his lips are on yours, effectively shutting you up from saying something even more stupid than you already had.

You look around the room, feeling like it's spinning, holding on for dear life to his sweater collar because if you let go you'd collapse.

You close your eyes and and scrunch your face trying to burn it into your memory. A kiss, that's all this is, but it's not. It's his kiss. It's dorky, nerdy, handsome, beautiful Jin's kiss and it's perfect, just like him.

You slowly wrap your hands around his neck as he breathes you in, turning slightly so you can be more comfortable and pulls back to smile at your dumbfounded face. You keep your eyes closed hoping it wasn't just a figment of your imagination before you hear him chuckle, his stupid Jin chuckle.

"What? Why are you laughing? Is this funny to you? How?! How rude" you aim to slap his arm, but he catches it and grabs you by the waist pulling you in for a hug.

"Don't ever do that again, you promise? It wasn't fun, and I don't know if I scared you when I told you I love you because I thought you were sleeping, but I really meant it." Jin kisses your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck.

"I didn't know, I really didn't, but I'm glad I do now. This anxiety was killing me, and literally the only person I could tell was Tae and we all know how weird he gets when we talk about our feelings. I mean, remember that one time I-"

"Just, here, -" He places another kiss on your lips, then your cheeks, your nose, and your forehead, effectively making you mush. "At least now I know how to really shut you up when you start your monologues"

"Oh shut up and come here" you smile and you pull him up to the couch and snuggle with him under the blanket.

This was the one thing you didn't think would happen today, and although you lost maybe 10 years from the anxiety alone, it was definitely worth it, you tell yourself as you look at him while he's singing along to the marvel theme song.

That's my nerd, my Jin.

#seokjinnie #kim seokjin #seokjin #bts seokjin #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader

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