#i think i would have been a very bad person to be around if i had been in the hq fandom during the 2020 resurgence

[caxycreations]

I feel like you guys are missing the point.

He's a 900+ year old Time Lord. He's living as much as he possibly can, and he feels like it's nowhere near enough, and far too much, all at the same time.

This SAME MAN, same face and all, is the person who said "Sometimes I think a Time Lord lives too long"

He's the man who, literally in his NEXT regeneration, spends a third of his series depressed because he can't find an ounce of joy in the universe himself and NEEDS humans to show around so he can catch a hint of it through them.

The Doctor even states that humans "look like giants" to him, specifically BECAUSE of the fact that they live so much in such a short time.

This isn't a show about an awesome, nigh-immortal time-traveling alien.

It's a show about the pains and soul-crushing responsibilities that come with time travel and immortality.

And, of course, you're all forgetting the glaring fact of this episode, entirely separate from the quotes you're so eagerly judging:

THE MAN THE DOCTOR IS TALKING TO HAS TO EAT PEOPLE TO STAY YOUNG.

He literally KILLS PEOPLE to survive. The Doctor, talking him out of eternal life, is not just doing so because "long life bad", he's doing so because "eating people to live forever is an awful way to be" as well.

You're also disregarding his point entirely in favor of giving bad-faith analysis of the show.

His point is that whether you have 10 years or 20, how you spend that time is what matters, not the amount of time you have to spend.

He has eternity, and it's not worth it. He knows it isn't, and he's trying to stop anyone else from making that mistake. He's living for so long, and has lived so much, but it just isn't worth it anymore.

Lucy Lacemaker, from Satellite City (or, more officially, The August Few: Amygdala, though she never says this in there) puts it very well:

"Billions of years we've been about. And life's not worth much once the rest is gone. You get bored of the wind and the birds and the sound of laughter and the smell of pine. Life is like a piece of paper. And the writing is our lives. Our stories. When you only have 90 years, the ink turns to gold. So valuable are the words, the days you live. Cause soon, the story will end. But what if you have a never-ending page? A bottomless inkwell? The more you write, the less it all means. That's our curse. We live so long that it's not even life anymore. We're not living forever, we're dying forever."

@another-normal-anomaly said that if they kicked ass for 80 years, got saved, and kicked ass another 80, that's twice as much as they would have done. But that's still only 160 years, and it reinforces the Doctor's point; it's not the time that matters, it's the person, because others may spend that 160 years doing nothing, and some may spend that 160 years doing everything.

But they would still only have 160 years. Not forever. What the Doctor is warning against is eternity. Eternity is pointless.

@dagny-hashtaggart said the show is hypocritical in it's transhumanist stance for featuring an "awesome, nigh-immortal, time-traveling alien", but that just tells me they've either never watched the show or they have and 100% missed the point of the character of the Doctor.

Because the Doctor is not happy with his long life. He's not content or pleased about it. He's miserable. The only worth he finds in it is giving other, shorter-lived life forms the pleasure of seeing things they never could otherwise, and protecting the lives of those more fragile than him because he, at his core, has two values above all others:

If it kills me, I can put an end to this opera of my life, and I can finally rest

If it doesn't kill me, it means I've stopped it and other, more meaningful lives will be spared.

The Doctor is not some happy, positive character. He's a victim of a tragedy, and that tragedy is, quite painfully obviously, the fact he lives so long. His lifespan, his regeneration, is a curse to him, not a blessing. The fact you can call the show hypocritical for that tells me you've never seen it, or you've never understood it.

@argumate made a crude joke about a man with a big dick, named after having a big dick, saying that life wasn't about having a big dick.

Well, fun fact. If your dick were, say, 14 inches, as a human (which is a real condition that has happened), you would have heart problems every time you got erect, be entirely unable to enjoy penetrative sex (aside from the heart problems, you'd be unable to get more than a small fraction of your length in without hurting them), and if you ever tried to get a little more out of it, you'd seriously injure your partner.

Not only that, but you'd have social problems as well. Try hiding the outline when your flaccid length still reaches down past your knee. You'd be a laughing stock early on, and if you had frequent erections (say during puberty, post-growth spurt, pre-calming of the hormones), you'd be unable to hide it no matter how hard you tried.

It would cause more issues than that, too, believe me. And yet you're saying if a man who suffered from all of these problems told you "it's not all fun and games, having a big dick", you'd mock him for not loving the "gift" he's been "blessed" with?

All of you missed the point of the show, the character, and even the point of the scene you're remarking on.

I expected better comprehension on this site.

[read-write-thrive]

there are all of 6 fics on ao3 that come up when you search the word “disabled” in the dead boy detectives fandom. I’m dealing with a fibromyalgia flare up rn so I’ve decided to come up with some (potential!) disability/condition/syndrome/etc. headcanons. enjoy!

(oh and just to note: I stayed away from conditions with obvious facial / appearance difference as no actors with facial / appearance difference were cast in the show and I was unsure if it would be appropriate. while I have experience with a lot of the following diagnoses, I do not claim to be an expert on any of them and do not intend for this to be used as a diagnostic tool. if you feel any of these are offensive/inappropriate, please message me and I’m happy to talk about it :) this is more just to encourage broader disability representation within the fandom!)

Edwin: autistic, PTSD (from hell), chronic pain/fibromyalgia (from his death/hell), minor visual impairment (not enough to need the hard-to-come-by testing needed for glasses when he was alive and so assumed the various limits/effects were normal. was told otherwise by Niko), would’ve had shingles if lived long enough

Charles: ADHD, PTSD (from his father/growing up in an abusive household), dyslexia, Reynaud’s syndrome (either already born with it or as a result of his death—both angsty), was in the beginning stages of an ED prior to his death, post-concussion syndrome, near-sightedness (never given glasses bc he wasn’t about to tell his dad the board looked a little blurry sometimes)

Crystal: cPTSD (reminder that neglect is also abuse :), bipolar 1, IBS, endometriosis

Niko: autism, depression, POTS, hEDS, anxiety, sprite-induced agoraphobia, epilepsy, lactose intolerance

Monty: Depersonalization-derealization disorder, selective amnesia (this is not the first times Esther has messed with his form/killed and revived him, but the experience is traumatic and so his brain decides not to remember it), recurrent arrhythmia, synesthesia

Jenny: OCD, BPD, ED recovered, Celiac’s disease, diabetes type 1, anemia

TCK: autism, NPD, lactose intolerance, colourblind

Esther: chronic pain (I’m choosing to believe that the cane isn’t just for show!!), NPD, endometriosis

Tragic Mick: cPTSD, depression, HoH, arthritis, diabetes

(The Night Nurse , the Dandelion Sprites, and various other characters felt either too supernatural and/or not developed enough to assign anything to lmao)

[amourtoken]

yes PLEASE write about quinn knocking you up and also please never stop writing smut i feel FERAL

I got a couple asks about this so let me roll them all into one here yall are horny unhinged individuals together now

Quinn is unfortunately insanely susceptible to baby fever. He can't help himself, the thought of having a little extended family to provide for is sweet enough on its own but getting there is what he's really been focused on recently. He cannot clear his mind of the idea at all and it's starting to effect every aspect of his life. His thoughts are always frenzied and his brain fuzzy, he can barely focus on the ice and you constantly catch him zoned out and have to draw his attention back to you. What's he even thinking about?

This all started after he saw you interacting with some kids at a charity event. He didn't think it'd be a personal attack on his psyche to see you leaning down to their level so they felt more included while you chatted about your days or whatever random thoughts of theirs that sprung to mind. They all seemed so happy in your presence and you've always just naturally been great with kids so it's no surprise to you, but Quinn instantaneously fell victim to the infectious thought process of parenthood.

all he's thought about for days is how pretty you'd look pregnant and how good of a parent you'd be. Would your kids have your smile? Your eyes? Hopefully they had your sweet personality at the very least. You two could be the overly supportive cheesy hockey parents when your kid got a little older too, if they took after him and wanted to play. Quinn would fall down these hour long rabbit holes in his own mind of what your future would look like with an addition to the family and it was becoming more and more of a necessity every day.

Eventually it gets to a point where he can't fucking contain it anymore and he lets the idea slip while he's got you pinned to the mattress below him.

Quinn's fingers are holding your hips tight enough to bruise while he's buried inside you, panting praises and explicit compliments against your neck in rhythm with his thrusts. He can't get the image of you all pretty and pregnant out of his brain at all, the only thing keeping him from it is a thin latex and a question really. He didn't wanna ruin the moment but it was out of his control at this point, the need overtaking critical thinking skills.

"Fuck- please let me put a baby in you- shit- p-please- c-can't stop thinkin' about it- fuck i need it so bad...'m sorry-"

His voice sounded so broken, moans and whines cutting through his words against his will. You had no idea he felt this way and fuck you wish he'd said something sooner because you've been going through the same misery he has. For the same reason. The same exact event that permeated his peace with the idea of kids with you was the one that had you dizzy thinking about him being a dad. Safe to say your communication skills were lacking during this cause both of you were afraid to ask but now that you're on the same page? You're in for it.

You respond enthusiastically, nodding quickly and immediately pleading for him to do just that. Quinn's chest fluttered at your whined pleas and as much as it pained him to pull out in the moment it was definitely worth it to sink back into you raw. He wanted this to last forever but the way you felt so fucking warm and wet around him was ultimately his undoing, much to his own protest. He didn't wanna finish without dragging you along either, his thrusts fell out of rhythm as he snaked a hand between your bodies to circle your clit, trying his best to take you with him.

"Shit- you're gonna be so pretty- fuck- god I'm so fuckin' lucky-"

Your nails sunk into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, legs shaking as you tipped off the edge of your orgasm with a whine of his name. He almost immediately followed you, hands gripping behind your knees to fold you in half under him, allowing him to sink deeper than before. Quinn's vision blurred with black spots and his voice pitched up into whiney pleas as he filled you up, finally getting what's plagued him for fucking weeks now. Doesn't matter if this was the time that did it or not, he was dead set on fucking you full of his cum over and over and over until you got the results you both wanted (and then some extra for good measure ofc)

[astronicht]

23 or 24 for rosquez 🙏🙏

24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

I wrote a kind of soft one for the thigh-grabbing prompt and this is uh not like that. keeping the universe in balance! sorry in advance i guess. Kind of a companion piece, actually, to this earlier rosquez prompt snippet.

Valentino shakes awake from a dream in which someone is dead. The point at which there is a jolt into wakefulness is unclear. 

Daylight is too bright across the bed, and he can smell his own sweat. He reaches for Marc, but he isn’t used to Marc being here and goes for the wrong side of the bed. Valentino’s hand knocks over a glass of water, and a carton of pills on the side table. They skid onto the tile.

Marc isn’t in bed, exactly. He’s sitting on it, legs crossed, staring down at Valentino from the other side. One hand is braced on the mattress, taking a lot of his weight. He likes to put his weight on his bad arm, over and over. Valentino has seen him do it even when he thinks he is alone.

His good arm is holding a little espresso cup from the ranch kitchen. He is noticing Valentino’s mad scramble, but a little too slowly. His face is blank and far away.

Sometimes Marc goes very distant. It would be better if it were personal, but Valentino thinks it isn’t. He thinks the only person Marc can bear to stay present with, always, is his brother. For Valentino, this is much worse than if he simply couldn’t do it with anyone at all. It feels like penance.

“Vale?” Marc asks, that awful blankness creasing into a frown. The sharp nausea of the dream recedes, though someone is still dead.

Valentino rolls onto his elbows and stomach and rests his forehead on the mattress. He breathes, awful and shaky, but it’s better to get the bad breaths out until he’s running clean again.

“Vale?” Marc says again. His voice is less flat; he’s almost present, now. The smell of the espresso is overpowering.

“Marc,” Valentino says. His voice sounds like shit. His arms and thighs are a little tired, from fucking. “Did you figure out the espresso machine?”

“No,” Marc says slowly. The bed shifts. “No one will touch it. Bezzecchi made me a Turkish coffee.”

He’s lying. Marco doesn’t know how to make Turkish coffee, and if he did he wouldn’t be making one for Marc. It will have been Pecco. Vale is a little surprised. This means Pecco both arrived on time for morning practice and made Marc a coffee.

No one can actually work the espresso machine except for Vale, and previously, Uccio. There is no point mentioning this because Valentino does not say Uccio’s name to Marc.

The shaking is stopping. But like payback, the dropping feeling in his chest is getting worse. Valentino blinks his eyes open: bedding below him. It smells like semen. To his right is Marc, shifting, coming closer from wherever his mind was. There is a dripping sound: the glass Valentino knocked over on the nightstand. It is just water, but now it’s mostly on the floor.

He remembers reaching for Marc, because someone was dead. He had not been reaching for comfort. He had needed Marc or needed to be ill. This has not really changed.

“Is the coffee good?”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “Tell Bezzecchi nice job.”

That would be funny.

“Are you done, then?” Valentino asks.

“Sure,” says Marc.

Valentino grabs the back of his t-shirt and yanks backwards. He’s not delicate about it, and Marc instinctively snatches up the bad arm. He falls backwards onto the bed. He also lied about being done with the Turkish coffee; it splatters across Valentino’s chest and the shirt he fell asleep in sometime around six in the morning. It’s cold; Marc hadn’t even been drinking it. The smell is sweet and strong. The espresso cup hits the mattress and then thumps on the floor, trailing cold coffee grounds. You can read those like a palm or tea leaves, Vale has heard.

Valentino rolls onto Marc’s back. Under him, Marc tries to go up on his elbows— tries to lean on the bad one, lean on the bad one. Valentino grunts and doesn’t let him. It’s worth the effort: Marc groans, and says “Yeah, please—.” 

Vale fists a hand in his hair. Coffee grounds are between Vale’s fingers. His heart is going too fast.

They can’t have fucked that long ago, because they fucked at dawn right before Valentino fell asleep. Marc slept, off and on, cat-napping through Valentino’s long night, occasionally blinking like some nocturnal animal, once crying because Valentino made him come and then put Marc’s dick in his mouth and made him come again. 

Vale doesn’t know if it’s been an hour or if it’s been five since he last fucked Marc. Will he be able to get it up? He’d better. He needs to.

He holds Marc down on the bed with one hand at the back of Marc’s neck and with the other fishes around on the floor for the blister pack of pills. He gets one out with a near-steady hand and swallows it dry. Should work in twenty minutes, but Valentino has always burned through things fast, so it will be less.

Marc sees but ignores this. Valentino gets back on top of him and yanks his boxer-briefs down, nothing else. Marc says, “Ah—shit,” and arches his back. 

Valentino leans up and spreads his ass, spits on his hole. He can already feel himself starting to get hard; the pill wasn’t needed after all. Ah, well. Funny story later. His brain says that loudly over the feeling of sex: Funny story later. And, Someone is dead. He was dreaming. Water dripping. Marc on his bed here in Tavullia, first mask-like, now under him, moaning and twisting when Vale bites the back of his neck. 

Valentino wants to pound into him: ball-slapping, basic porn stuff. It is sort of crazy how he cannot stop thinking about it over and over, all night, not missing a moment. Marc was asleep a lot of the time, so Vale just watched him and wanted it, grinding his teeth, enjoying the wait — and waiting to need a break, to need a minute, a coffee, a nap. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, just knows he did sleep because of the nightmare. Marc under the line of his body bucks and says Valentino’s name.

Valentino rests his chin on Marc’s shoulder, and tries not to show that he’s breathless from holding Marc down the way Marc wants. He says into the shell of Marc’s ear, “Where did you go, hm? Have you been wandering around?”

And Marc laughs — a wheeze under Valentino’s body, as heavy as he can make it for Marc — and moans and says, eyes shut, “You were only asleep for twenty minutes.”

[pratically-imperfect]

Caitlyn is so messy and complex of a character, and while her original goals were paved in good intentions, she's ultimately turned her back on it unwittingly. The grief, trauma, stress, and the weight of her name and new posts, it's all adding up. All while everyone around her on the topside slowly turns their backs to her previous convictions. So, in her anger - her agonizing RAGE - she turned on the last person who could keep her accountable, who held her beliefs. Because not only did Vi endorse taking the shot, make it clear, but she ended up preventing her from it. And Caitlyn...I 100% believe SHE believed she wouldn't have missed. But I also believe that, had she taken it, she would have. She lost what she's shooting for. It would be naive to think that, in a chaotic situation such as that, that she could thread the needle...and at what cost? If they weren't killed, they would have been deeply traumatized. Continuing a cycle.

All while at home, surrounded by people who bow to her, she's constantly having her original morals tested and questioned. And now she's got Ambessa in her ear, weaponizing all the vulnerabilities she's accumulated from: Being made to confront her privilege and prejudice, to being kidnapped, made a hostage, watched Jinx explode the tower and killed her mom, a terrorist attack at a MEMORIAL from the people she'd been wanting to help (turning this from Jinx being the solo scapegoat of her past prejudice, to being an act of the people of Zaun as well), and so many little things that just add up.

She lashes out, at the height of her distress - not necessarily in malice as that implies a true intent, this felt feral to me (and that FLASH of regret at the end of that stare, before she turns...) - because frankly she isn't thinking anymore. She isn't rational, and her actions are reactional. Her emotions are raw, overwhelming, and she feels like she's alone, and also like she needs to protect herself.

This of course doesn't excuse her behaviour. She said regrettably discriminatory things about the people of Zaun in her quest for blame and revenge. Of course she chose to rise to Ambessa's 'request.' And she rejected Vi both verbally and physically after making some very harmful, manipulative sounding statements to her. Caitlyn IS in the wrong. However what this does is explain things. Humans are complex and the world is PAVED in shades of grey. Our personalities change over time, we act differently with different people. The nicest people can still do bad things, just because their perspective makes it seem good. The evilest of people can, much in the same way, do good things but have bad ulterior motives.

There is so much going on than just this, or just that. There is more to this conversation than being apologetic only to Vi OR Caitlyn. They're both victims, they've both done bad, and they have both made mistakes, and neither of them are wholly GOOD or BAD.

We can laugh and say we support woman's wrongs, and continue to love and support our favourite girls, but it's important to look at the wider context, and that there's more to it all.

I think it's this messy complexity that makes us love them, and it's also what will make the payoff so much more sweet when the time comes...if it comes. I can hope.

[fanboyoff1]

Landoscar College Fic (2.4k words)

Inspired by this post. It was supposed to be a little drabble but it spiraled

@complementaryhalves Hope I did it justice. It’s not really a meet-cute since they both know of each other (or maybe that counts, idk how meet-cutes work) but I tried my best lol

Oscar really needs to set a second alarm.

He’s several months into college, so you’d think he’d have figured out a good sleep schedule by then. Unfortunately, that has not happened, and Oscar wakes up to sun on his face.

“Ughhh,” he groans, rolling over and pulling his sheets up over his head. It takes him a few seconds to realize there’s no annoying beeping that usually greets him in the morning.

“Shit.” He grabs his phone from the bedside table and jolts up when he reads 8:25 on his lockscreen. “Shitshitshit.” 

He tosses his sheets to the side, the old mattress creaking loudly as he stands, rushing because his bus is literally about to leave. Why did he sign up for early classes? Why, why, why? Even his professor Mr. Webber told him it was a bad idea once he’d heard about it, but he’d insisted that it would be fine.

Right now, it’s definitely not fine though. He brushes his teeth at lightning-speed in the communal bathroom, and throws on a navy blue sweatshirt and pants, nearly forgetting his watch. He’ll get a bagel or something for breakfast at school.

Thankfully, he likes to pack his backpack the day before, so all he has to do is put it over his shoulders, rushing down the stairs and out the door into the parking lot to see… His bus rolling away down the road without him.

Oscar drops his hands down from his backpack straps to his side in defeat. He curses the ground and his stupid clock under his breath, kicking at a loose rock. What is he gonna do now?

Well, he could call Logan, ask if he can give him a ride. Or maybe Charles drove today? He glances across the parking lot, but there are around three other cars that look just like Charles’, so that won’t be very helpful.

He’s about to pull his phone out when he hears a car pull out of the lot, wheels making a grainy sound against the asphalt. Oscar quickly backs away from the middle of the road and goes back to his quiet crisis.

“Hey, you need a ride?”

Oscar looks up to see the car that had been leaving stopped in front of him. The person behind the voice is a handsome guy with dark curly hair and tan skin, sitting behind the wheel with one hand dangling out the window. There’s a small flicker of recognition in Oscar’s brain, he must have seen the boy around campus before.

The driver seems to have taken Oscar’s silence as hesitancy, starting to talk again. “I-um, I saw your bus fuck off into the distance, and I figured you could use some help. I live right over there.” He points vaguely to another one of the student campus buildings behind them.

Oscar opens his mouth to politely decline immediately, but stops himself. Does he really for certain have another way to get to school? He remembers how he knows this guy now, he’s friends with Charles. Anyone who’s friends with Charles gets an automatic thumbs up from him, but being in a car with them…

“Yeah, I could use a ride,” he finds himself saying, not totally sure the words are coming from his mouth. The curly haired guy seems equally surprised, but masks it quickly. “O-okay. Just come over to the passenger seat.”

Oscar walks out in front of the car, and opens the door. Any move to sit down is paused by the fact that there’s a football in the seat. The boy turns when Oscar opens the door, looking through his eyelashes at him, and his eyes are really blue from up close. A bit of green too- okay, stop analyzing his eyes, he tells himself.

The driver- Oscar decides to coin him Car Guy- notices Oscar’s predicament and grabs the football, promptly chucking it into the backseat and patting the now empty seat for Oscar, who sits.

He twists his body to face the back of the car. “Do you think you damaged anything with that throw?” he asks, trying to find the football amongst the clutter of the car. There’s a few random clothes, a cardboard box on the right.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Car Guy says with a wave of his hand. Oscar turns back to the front, buckling up. Car Guy notices what he’s doing and buckles up himself with a guilty smile. Oh God, Oscar’s totally going to die.

“Just college campus, I assume?” Car Guy asks, adjusting his rear-view mirror that has a car freshener and a necklace hanging from it. The necklace has a big 4 hanging by the end. 

“Yeah,” Oscar sets his backpack down between his legs, and braces when Car Guy starts to drive away. However, he actually seems like an okay driver, despite that seatbelt incident that may haunt Oscar’s nightmares. 

After a few streets, he chills out enough to get a proper look at who’s driving him. He has a Texas Bulls shirt on, a hoodie under it, and to top it all off, a green letterman jacket with the number 4 on it. Huh. 4 again. Maybe the number 4 has some kind of significance to him. 

He’s really pretty as well, especially up close. His long lashes, his freckles, his hair that looks like it's attempting to be a mullet. 

Don’t you dare fall for a jock Oscar, he tells himself. Because that’s what he has to be, right? He has a Bulls shirt, a sporty jacket, and a freaking football in the passenger seat. There’s nothing else he could be.

And he’s still terrified about a stranger driving him somewhere, pretty or not. He takes out his phone and pulls up his messages, finding his last conversation with Dad 2.0 (an inside joke the two of them have.) He frantically texts Charles, asking, ‘Is curly haired boy a serial killer??’

A moment later, he gets a response back, a lot of question marks. Oscar sighs, running his hand through his hair and trying not to let his thoughts spiral into how he may or may not be getting kidnapped.

# # #

Lando’s trying to be cool. He really is. But Oscar’s in his car. He wants to squeal and kick his feet and giggle.

He’s had a crush on the Australian-born boy for a while now, ever since he’d seen him actually. They’d just been passing by each other while walking across campus, but it felt like a world-changing event for Lando (okay, he may be overreacting just a little, but have you seen the man?!)

Once he learned that Oscar was friends with Charles, he came out to his friend as bi and proceeded to spend his entire time with Charles ranting about how pretty Oscar was, or what Oscar was wearing today, or could he get some pictures of Oscar pretty-please?

Needless to say, the Monegasque was tired of his pining fairly quickly. “I don’t understand why you do not just talk to him,” he’d said one day during their lunch break.

“I can’t just talk to him, Charles.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird!”

“How? It’s just talking,” Charles had retorted, biting into his protein bar. “You can say it’s because you are both friends with me or something. There are ways.”

“Well, it- it’s complicated.” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a good argument for that Charles, but just know that you’re wrong.”

So Lando had just watched Oscar from a distance (not in a creepy way or anything, just in an adoration way.) Until this morning, when he saw Oscar miss the bus, which was admittedly a little funny, he’d gotten the courage to ask if he wanted a ride. He hadn’t been expecting him to say yes, but he was ecstatic that he had.

Now they’re in the car together, and Lando’s tongue feels like lead whenever he attempts to make small talk. Oscar’s aggressively texting someone, and Lando has had to stop himself multiple times from looking at Oscar instead of the road.

Oscar sighs, running his hand through his swoopy hair. Now’s his chance. “Everything okay?” he asks, drumming a finger against the steering wheel as he waits behind a stop sign.

“Hmm?” Oscar looks up, raising his eyebrows, and Lando might die on the spot. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I was just texting a friend. You know Charles, right?”

“Leclerc?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, letting out a breathy laugh. “I was gonna ask him to drive back and pick me up but… Well I don’t know if you know this, but Charles likes to jog to school sometimes. I wasn’t sure if he had today or not.”

Lando barely processes what he’s said, which feels extremely rude even in his head. But Oscar’s smiling and it looks so cute, and the way his voice changes as he’s trying to stifle a laugh is addicting. “Oh, I think I’ve heard him talk about jogging to class sometimes. One time he texted me at like 6 am, I was so confused when he told me he was at school already.”

Oscar laughs again, and Lando tries to stop the butterflies growing in his stomach. “Ha, yeah, he’s like that. I think he just likes to be early.”

“I know, but 6 am??” 

“I’m not defending him!” Oscar says, throwing his hands in the air, the two of them laughing together. Lando feels joy spread through his chest, because Oscar seems more comfortable, he’s smiling and laughing and blushing and he looks so cute.

“Oh my gosh, I have this selfie of Charles he sent to me when he was on a run,” Oscar turns on his phone and started to scroll through his photos, eyebrows furrowed in determination. His hair droops down on his face, and Lando fights the urge to reach out and push it back.

After a minute or so, Oscar bursts out laughing. “Did you find it?” Lando asks. Oscar nods, shoulders shaking, and holds his phone out for Lando to see. It's perfect timing, they're stopped at a red light, so Lando turns his head to inspect the picture.

Charles has a headband and glasses on with no shirt. He must have been running when he took the picture, everything’s blurry and the background is just a mass of green and gray. The most noticeable thing is his face. He’s trying to wink, but it’s more like a squint, and his eyebrows are high up on his forehead. He looks partially like he ate something sour, and like he’s getting chased by a wild animal.

Lando snorts, and Oscar pulls the phone back. “I know right? Apparently, he took the photo and sent it to me without checking what it looked like, so now I have this treasure saved in my phone forever.”

# # #

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, and Oscar regrets thinking Car Guy was someone scary or a jerk. He seems really sweet and funny. And he’s attractive. But that’s besides the point.

Charles had been blowing up Oscar’s phone ever since his vague text about Car Guy, most of it consisting of ‘who the hell are you with’ and ‘answer your phone, you’re freaking me out.’ Oscar replies to his flurry of messages with nvm. It's fine. I’ll explain later

“Is this a good place to drop you off?” Car Guy asks him, and Oscar’s head jolts up. He parked just a few minutes away from his first class.

“Oh yeah, this is perfect,” Oscar grabs his backpack and opens the car door. “Thanks for this,” he says, turning back.

“No problem,” Car Guy says with a smile. He’s got a little gap between his front teeth. “See you around?”

Oscar gives him a thumbs-up and steps out, walking down the winding sidewalk to Mr. Webber’s class in room 222.

Epilogue

Oscar still needed another alarm. He just kept forgetting. And now he was running late again, this time far too late to even try to catch the bus.

He sits on the parking lot curb, about to call Charles (he’d taken his car today,) when a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Dude, you really need to wake up earlier.”

Oscar gives Car Guy a withering glare. He leans back in his car in response, a look of barely concealed fear in his eyes. “Well, do you want a ride or not?” 

Oscar sighs and stands, getting in the passenger seat. “No football this time,” Car Guy says with a grin. Oscar can’t help but smile back.

This car ride is a lot less talkative than the last one, a playlist of Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus from Car Guy’s phone playing loudly. Oscar puts on an excellent act of pretending his ears aren’t bleeding from the music.

“Thanks again,” he says once they arrive at his stop. He gets his backpack and is about to leave when Car Guy speaks up.

“Hey um, I was wondering if maybe you could repay me by going on a date? With me?”

Oscar blinks once, twice. Car Guy obviously takes this the wrong way, his face reddening. “Never mind. Just… forget I said anything.”

“No,” Oscar says. “I don’t want to forget that. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Car Guy says, his eyes lighting up. “Okay, here’s my number.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a folded Sticky-Note, pressing it into Oscar’s hand. Oscar wonders if he feels the electricity when their fingers touch too.

“Uh, this is gonna sound weird,” Oscar says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But can I get your name?”

“Oh. OH. My name’s Lando.”

“Lando,” Oscar says, testing the word on his tongue. “I’m Oscar.”

“I kinda already knew that,” Lando giggles, and now it’s Oscar turn to blush. “You look cute when you blush.” His face gets a thousand times more red.

“OkIgottagoI’lltextyoubye,” he says, almost stumbling out of the car. Once Lando’s car drives away though, he allows himself a bit of a victory dance, before walking to class with a skip in his step and only one word in his mind. Lando, Lando, Lando. 

Okay I kinda hate it 😭 But I don’t really wanna work on it more, so *tosses fanfic at the Tumblr gods and runs*

[fiona-fififi]

You know, the more I think about it, the more I do actually think a storyline about Buck fucking around (or at least dating around) would be interesting. Like, my first instinct was that it would be bad for Buck, specifically, because he's always used sex in unhealthy ways and because I really do think he's seeking a permanent kind of love.

But, you know, that's not working for him right now. He's spent 8 years entering what he hopes to be long-term, forever kinds of relationships and they just keep falling through. Abby, Ali, Taylor, Natalia, Tommy. Five failed relationships, all of which he clung to beyond their expiration date (well, all except Ali, I guess). That's a lot for him to just want to try to jump in with another person he doesn't know and try to make it work, and he has just discovered this new part of his identity—which, of course, for some people, they wouldn't need to explore—but I do think it's something a single, unattached Buck would want to explore.

And I don't even necessarily think this would have to be a backslide. But if it was, that would be okay, too, because healing isn't linear and people fuck up and do things that aren't good for them all the time, and Buck feeling hopeless and going back to his old ways because what he really wants isn't working, makes a lot of sense to me. I will admit, my first instinct was that I didn't want him to backslide, but actually, I do think there would be an interesting story to tell there, and it might even sell the way his character has stagnated in the same boring, unfulfilling relationships over and over again by calling attention to it and recognizing that Buck is feeling it, too—not just that the particular most recent relationship has failed, but that he's feeling like he's not worthy, can't make things work, isn't meant to be loved because it keeps happening. Which I don't think they've ever explored in depth before.

So having Buck backslide, or even just take a step back and decide he wants to have some casual sex for a bit while he tries to figure himself out (and by that, I do not mean his sexuality, but rather what he needs to make him happy), then I think there actually could be a really interesting story to be told there that would be both very true to the character and would serve to break this broken record of storylines for him (because yeah, it's been done before, but at least not since s1, really).

And honestly, I'm not sure where else they would go with Buck right now. This does actually feel like a logical progression for him, and I can't think of anything else they could do with him unless they decide to speedrun buddie and/or intertwine him fully with the Eddie and Chris plot (which I could see happening, and I also think could work). But beyond that, I don't see an obvious logical story progression for Buck at this moment, and I would rather see him backslide a bit with this than have them slap some completely random new plotline on him without warning, because we've all seen how poorly those have been handled lately.

And as an aside, I could also see a Buck backslide potentially causing some of the tension they're talking about for Buck and Eddie. Because Eddie's never directly known that part of Buck, and last season, he was ensuring Buck that he'd seen the growth in him and trusted him to talk to Christopher because of his past and his growth beyond it. And I could see Eddie struggling a bit with a side of Buck he's never actually encountered before, and maybe (if it is a legitimate backslide for him, and he's using casual sex as an unhealthy coping mechanism) with a part of Buck he doesn't know how to help.

[turtlesandfrogs]

Those are different numbers than I was looking at, and I do like the increased detail. For reference, I was seeing this:

And your source shows this:

So 11% more people in the 18-29 age group voted for Harris than for Trump, rather than merely 2%. They way I've seen people talk about it, they expect getting more youth to vote would wildly tip the scales. They talk about the youth being the ones to save us, but that's not enough of a difference to wipe out the other age groups' effects. (we all have to save us)

Meanwhile, millennial and boomers both are pretty much evenly split for who they voted for, which again is not the messaging people have been spreading. People are always going on and on about how much more conservative boomers are than millennials, but that's not what this shows. Gen x though, geez. But again, that's only a 10% difference. You can't (or shouldn't) go around being mean to gen x folks just because more of them voted for Trump. If you do, you're going to be being mean to the wrong person 44% of the time, which is way too high a percentage.

A bunch of people assumed Latinos would vote overwhelmingly against Trump, which did not happen.

A lot of people talk like there's this huge gap between how white men and white women vote, acting like white men are overwhelmingly voting republican to try to control women while white women are totally super democratic, which again, no:

And to be clear, I'm not saying that these groups were the most Trump-heavy demographics; I'm saying the those on the left have a tendency to assume that they know a person's policy positions based on their demographics. Which is very much not true and is a problem if you're trying to win a seat in the government. As much as we want everyone to be really rational all the time and vote in what we think is their best interest, a lot of people aren't going to vote for a party that ignores them, scapegoats them, or belittles them.

I am saying we can't just blame individuals/groups for the loss because we assume we know how they voted. I'm also saying that we can't ignore entire groups of voters because we assume that we know how they are going to vote. Yeah, maybe we could afford do that if 9 out of ten of a particular group voted one way, but there's literally only one group that meets that criteria: Black women. Black women, in general, you rock. But still, it's a bad move to ignore an entire group just because you're pretty sure you know how they'll vote.

How many people were saying that there would be a wave of women voters for Harris? (a lot)

Sure, 53% of women voted for Harris, but that's no where near as sure thing as we want it to be (especially since we don't know what the margin of error is), and it's less than in previous races. 45% of women voted for Trump- are you going to change how to treat women because of that?

I am also saying that we need to prove to and convince voters that democrats have a better plan for the economy, and we also need to change the discussion on abortion to be rooted in hard facts instead of wild mischaracterizations.

Also, I think it's more an issue of failing to motivate democratic voters rather than certain groups becoming more conservative. In 2020, 74,223,975 people voted for Trump. In 2024, that number was 74,182,656. Fewer people actually voted for Trump this round, so one could argue that there are actually fewer conservatives, and instead more undecided and democratic voters just didn't vote.

41,319 fewer people voted for Trump this year. 70 million voted for Harris this round, compared with 81 million voting for Biden last election. Why? We have to figure out why. And we have to make a better strategy. We can't just throw our hands up and say that men, or white men, or white women, or Latinos, or Christians, or who ever disappointed us and it's their fault.

I would really like to see people analyzing what happened and why, instead of arguing about who's fault it is.

Americans have a weird way of thinking that they know the politics and actions of a person, based on their race and gender.

The fact of the matter is a lot of women voted for Trump. A lot of Latinos voted for trump. A lot of millennials and gen z voted for Trump. A lot of college educated folks voted for Trump.

We, as people who are not conservatives, need to ask why. We need to look at the data, we need to look at what voters said, we need to get to the why. And then we need to change things.

Put down the blaming and the shaming, and pick up the analysis and critical thinking skills. Ask why, don't assume you know. Look below the surface of your knee jerk reaction that every voter for Trump is at their heart a racist, uneducated, uncaring person. That's not their reasoning, and you're not going to change their minds by repeating what they think you think about them.

[utilitycaster]

actually taking the last bit out of the tags of that post because here is the thing. and I'm going to use specific examples, because I think it's illustrative.

the two groups of people in this fandom who have specifically harassed me have been, as I've said before, imo/dna fans mad I don't find the ship very good, and (to be fair, only on one occasion) shadowido/mauk fans who got mad that I said that tagging ao3 fic about throuples with individual pairs sucks. [hilariously the latter was not even about them at all, it was about me looking for imogen and fearne ship fic that wasn't witchy trio fic and finding it almost impossible to filter].

I do not like these people because they have engaged with harassment. It is not about identity; it is about actions. My closest friend, and the first non-family member I talked to on Wednesday morning, is a bi woman in an open marriage to a woman, with a longterm male partner. I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. The last time I visited her, in September, I was joined by other mutual friends, who are similarly in an open marriage with longterm partners and at least one relationship between two women.

I am entirely secure, in my personal life, that I am kind and accepting to queer women (of which I am one) and to poly people (of which I am not), and so I hope you can appreciate that if someone attempts to attack me on the internet on these grounds because I do not have the same exact opinions on pretend people kissing, my response isn't "oh my god I should go off and die because I'm a terrible person," it's "get a load of this moron making wild assumptions about my personal life based on a single data point in my preferences in fiction; I'm going to make them regret doing this to me, and hopefully anyone else, because this is genuinely a detrimental behavior in the fandom space." And also, you know what. If they were a homeless person on the street and asked for a dollar I would still give it to them if their attacks were merely verbal (yes, I know the idea of someone screaming "YOU'RE A LESBOPHOBE FOR HATING IMO/DNA can i have a dollar" outside the grocery store is rather comical, and I think that is how you need to consider statements like "um actually I won't help pro-shippers." Imagine that conversation happening in an irl activist group. Everyone would be like "uh...anyway, how do we fight back against this hostile bench architecture.")

I think right now it is vitally important to remember what actual bigotry looks like and what needs to be fought, and the reason I tapped the sign of this post last night is literally that I think you are wasting time and energy engaging with people who think bigotry is "criticizing the pretend guy Ashton Greymoore for concrete but pretend choices they made" when I also think most people criticizing Ashton would, if Ashton were real, still toss them change if they needed it, or are people who currently donate to or otherwise work with local programs that assist nb people, disabled people, or unhoused children.

I like to argue and I like to engage in fandom and I will continue doing that because it is a source of enjoyment and comfort for me, but I really urge everyone to ask yourself "am I arguing about genuinely different readings, or do I think that everyone who doesn't like my blorbo ship is a bad person" because if it's the latter, I think you need to nip that in the bud of online fandom before it grows into something darker and worse. A lot of irl hate and bigotry starts from a place of "everyone who doesn't agree with me and give me what I want all the time is wrong and evil" and perhaps I am too optimistic, but I think many people who say things like that in fandom just are caught up in the drama of it all and are capable of exercising empathy when they stop treating shipping or interpretation like a popularity contest that, if they lose, indicates that everyone around them is irredeemable. But I also think it can be the start of a really bad path.

[ladyloveandjustice]

I want to expand on what I'm talking about. And I said a little bit extra in the comments:

There's just some posts that have been going around about how to solve the issue of men swinging real right in America right now,which does have an impact on society. some guy was saying he was attacted to the right bc they were all 'welcome brother' but in the left people resent him. I think it's just. It's easier to go to an idealogy that's like 'you're entitled to this' than an idealogy that says 'hey you're not entitled to everything but you could be more emotionally healthy and kinder to other people and". That's something simply being nice or making them feel good won't ever fully fix. The "rewards" for being in the right will always feel more immediate for white men.

It's not unique to men to feel alienated in an idealogy that wants you to challenge yourself. At the same time, more kindness to everyone, emphasis on acceptance, less volatile language toward each other, will help the community be stronger over all. it is a difficult conundrum, but I don't think it comes down to 'we don't make men feel special enough

It also ignores I think, that white men DO get rewarded in leftist spaces too. a lot. Men will get a ton of adoration for saying something vaguely feminist than if a woman says it a lot of the time, and so on a so forth, everyone loves a sweet guy...I think that's something that already happens.

But let's get back to volatile language:

We always say guilt isn't going to help anyone and it isn't about guilt. But I think we need to admit that no, we do try to make people feel guilty and ashamed a lot. And not framing it around that most of the time would do a lot.

I've seen posts straight up saying it's a bad thing to want to survive and live happy lives and take actions to do this because (x) bad thing is happening. You know, the most basic human instinct? And that's not going to win over people. You may not like that, but it's not.

I don't think that needs to center on women helping men feel special about themselves. A lot of us are asked to take care of men all the time and it's exhausting. Men on the left can focus on being more positive about the concept of manhood if they want, but asking women to do the work. is just....yeah that's just the patriarchy.

I do think examining things like black masculinity etc is great though. If you have another marginalized identity, it will intertwine with masculinity in very specific ways that will be used against you, just as it is with femininity or being outside both those concepts (yet the world assigns you one anyway). I totally get that masculinity is used as a weapon against both gay men and gay women, in different specific ways. And I think at least learning about that and supporting efforts to stop this makes one a better person.

On the other hand. it would be insane of me to ask a Black woman to make a Black man feel special and accepted for simply being a man if she doesn't want to do that. Like. absolutely wild.

And it's it's rarely about that, is it? When we say "celebrate men" it's not bringing any unique experience into it. It's about white men. They're the ones who make up most of the alt-right.

Communities in the right are not compassionate but because they offer some form of reward and companionship they can seem like that. As much as people are lured in by "welcome brother" or whatever, those same people will on the right will mock any person who steps outside the strict roles that have been set.

So....we need to abolish to same roles. I think we need to focus on how we talk to people. On supporting people when they're trying.

It also comes off in how we talk to each other about basically I can harshly tell someone who has privilege over me-- a white man or straight person ect ect-- their guilt about their privilege does nothing, I'm not interested in guilt and what we need is action. But let's be real. Telling someone "you benefit from a system that makes other people suffer" is going to make someone feel guilty. And yelling at someone for feeling guilty isn't going to make that better. I think we avoid saying the truth and say what's the core of it-- no, it's not your fault you were born a certain way and now you benefit from something. A society hundreds of years in the making made that happen. And that sucks, that you basically have no choice but to be complicit. And it sucks way, way more for the people who are kept down by that system. So we need to change society. We can do it together. It's not to "make up" for you existing. It's because we care about each other. I want this for all of us, because when we see each other as whole people and are treated equally, it benefits all of us.

This is a not a "men are uniquely punished by the left for being men, we need to celebrate masculinity, stop being so mean" thing. It's a human thing. It's about the way we talk to each other and try to weild guilt towards people in general. People want to feel good about themselves. They want some kind of acceptance. If you're constantly made to feel bad, it can be hard to want to stay. This is something everyone feels, because we all have a selfish instinct.

People don't like feeling guilty. That's just how people are. It's promoting compassion, rather than hatred and resentment, that's going to help us in the end.

But me simply saying that isn't going to change much. Humans feel hurt and lash out too. When horrible things are happening to us, we resent people that don't understand that or are part of that. The paradigm shift will be hard. Not everyone will be able to do it and I don't think that's wrong.

Everyone gets frustrated by a class of people where a lot of them have more power and try to push them down. Nobody wants to talk to someone that's trying to hurt them.

That's why it needs to be someone like me who could explain racism 101 rather than idk. making a person of color say 'well white people don't feel special and accepted for being white. poc we must be nicer. let's celebrate whiteness because the right does and that's why white people are drawn to it, they feel accepted." listen to how ridic that sounds. you are literally asking for a white history month. That's the same thing you're doing when you're talking about manhood like this. The onus is not on the discriminated group to reach out to those harming them. That's up to others in the community.

But as a broader thing...We just need to figure out what the end game is. Do we want to yell and guilt trip, or do we want more people in our corner? What's more important, the end goal or if someone knows all the right lingo or matches up to your opinions exactly? What do we need to rally around? How can we take care of each other? If we're kinder to the community, more people will follow.

Anyway this is the last time i'll say some big thing like this and tag it. I don't like doing this on tumblr for a reason.

[theweepingangelofcas]

Eat The Rich, Feed Them to the Cats - Moriarty Bros x Reader

Anyone else in the USA having a crisis? Me too! Let's all maladaptive daydream together that our sweet dear Sherlock boys are with us, on our side.

Title is inspired by a fav nonprofit cat shelter of mine, Wonky Hearts Animal Haven. Please go check them out. They have stories that are truly so heartwarming and uplifting, it's a great distraction.

(No, I do not believe all men are bad. I myself have a male fiance whom I love and trust very much. But the election has left me feeling helpless and scared, as though my rights or my body don't matter. I'm writing this to vent. I respect if your political opinions are different than me, but I ask that you do not attack me in the comments, my dm's, etc)

******************

William Moriarty

You two had been together for years now, since you two were teenagers. You've shared everything. Hopes, dreams, ideals... So when he saw someone try to harass you simply because of your gender? That won't do.

"Oi! Pretty broad!"

The random man's words did little to phase you. You didn't even speed up your footsteps. But your dear William stopped in his tracks.

Oh, yes, that's right. No one had ever been stupid enough to cat call you with him around before.

"Y/N..." his gaze had turned to the man, unblinking, "Did you not hear what that man just so crudely yelled at you?"

You shrugged, stopping in your tracks to try and let him catch up to you. He didn't dare move.

"It's nothing, William. Happens all the time to us ladies."

If you didn't know better, you'd say his eye just twitched.

"Is that so? And here I was, thinking it was mostly noblemen who were the rotten part of our society."

He smiled then. Like his mind wasn't 100% alongside you anymore.

His cane left the ground, being weilded in both hands almost like a baseball bat.

Or, more accurately, perhaps he was holding it like a mace.

It was safe to say, no man went within a few dozen meters of you for quite some time after that. After all, you always had your dear William with you now.

Louis Moriarty

Oh, did you think William would be protective?

Ha!

Louis is SO MUCH WORSE

To be completely fair, he was already practically a guard dog for both you and William. You had been engaged to him for a few months, and each passing day he just wanted to spend more time by your side.

This was how he found out how truly awful some men could be.

You two had boarded a train back to Durham, coming back from a lunch date together. You two had managed to score a semi-private spot in the lunch car, meaning that he could hold you without too much fuss from the rest of society. One hand was in yours, the other wrapped around your waist. You had both ordered drinks, his a sophisticated Earl Grey tea, yours a refreshing seltzer water. That was when your waiter came back up to you both.

"Sir, I know this is quite uncouth of me to say, but the gentleman a few seats down won't stop staring at your lady friend there." He gestured to you, specifically your chest, and you seemed to shrink into your seat instantly.

Louis scowled, "Thank you for informing me. You're dismissed, good sir."

The waiter stepped away, and Louis's grip on you got tighter.

"It's fine, darling. You mustn't fret." You tried to comfort him, but his scowl only deepened.

"I will fret." He turned his head, catching eyes with a man a few booths down. He did, indeed, seem to be staring at you. "And I'm going to teach him to respect others, or die trying."

You saw Louis stand, and approach the man in a terrifying calmness. He shook his hand, and gestured for him to follow him.

If you happened to see a person-shaped figure get thrown out of the train that day, no one has to know.

Albert Moriarty

He understands deep, seething rage. He dealt with it much when he was younger. So he understands that the best way to deal with it, is to take care of it yourself.

Normally, women weren't allowed into a prestigious college. But Albert, with his power and wealth, managed to convince the school that having one woman among its ranks wouldn't hurt. Hence, you being halfway through a science and medicine degree. Albert supported you all the way through. Your husband truly was a lovely, understanding man.

"It was fascinating, my love!" Your eyes lit up as you opened your textbook to that day's lesson, "We learned about the chambers of the heart, and all the illnesses and diseases that can correlate to it's health. Isn't that so cool!"

His smile widened at seeing you happy, "It certainly is, my dear. Do go on, teach me more about it."

You nodded, eyes bright, about to keep talking before-

"I'm sure anything is fascinating to a woman. But can she even understand it? Why, she should be at home, not trying to educate herself on something she could never possibly understand."

A man had approached you both. His smug grin was enough to dampen your joy immediately.

Albert blinked, his expression blank, before turning his head back to you, "My dear, would you like my walking stick, or do you want to use your textbook? After all, this fine gentleman seems in need of an anatomy lesson."

Your grin came back, "Your walking stick, please. I'd rather not get my favorite chapter dirty."

The man's eyes flew open as you took the wooden cane from Albert, weilding it more like a weapon than an aid.

"Now," The excitement in your expression was back, "I'll give you an anatomy lesson as I break all of your bones in alphabetical order."

[layover-linux-official]

Counter-counterpoint: would you be okay with your computer - likely the only one you have - being locked down in ways that limit your education, and full of whatever pre-installed spyware and keyloggers and content firewalls the IT Team decided to inflict on you, whether for personal power trip reasons or the mandate of a hostile government? Probably not, right? Well, children are people too, and genuinely an oppressed class in ways that most adults don't care to examine.

I grew up with school computers that treated all LGBT information as adult content and mistakenly blocked a lot of programming resources. In multiple states right now, decades later, there are laws in effect that teachers must out trans students to their parents. There have been multiple scandals about school employees illegally accessing student laptops, for example turning on cameras remotely while students are at home and changing clothes. I'm not talking abstract theory here. I'm talking about a topic where the rubber has long since met the road, and will probably start squealing black smoke into the air in the next administration. And as America-centric as that sounds, there are mirrors of the same situation in a lot of countries.

There's a further wrinkle, too. I've been on record for ages with my stance on homework - that training students to take work home without working hours boundaries is an extremely unhealthy cultural stance, which contributes to inappropriate work/life balance expectations in adulthood. There's an analogous problem here: that locked down student machines acclimate students at a young age to accept invasive non-ownership of their computing hardware. That non-ownership isn't fine for adults, and it isn't fine for children. Don't teach them it's acceptable.

The control argument is rendered even less valid by the fact that small school IT teams, even well-intentioned ones, usually have paper signs scotch taped to the walls in various classrooms with the WiFi password. Random personal machines participating in the network is already the pervasive norm, and it likely always will be.

So let's finally address the issue of machine misuse. I'm not ignoring it, let's think about this. Misuse is already subjective. I worked around the firewall to play silly flash games at school, and I turned out fine. Most people's idea of misuse is already overbearing and unreasonable, but what if a student truly does something bad? Well, for previously established reasons, locked down student machines don't fix this, but I'd argue that this is not a technical problem at all. Even if you could implement The Perfect Bullshit Preventer, it wouldn't address the problem of educating students on internet safety and good citizenship. You can only do that with conversation. I'm sorry there isn't (and will never be) some magic bullet technical solution so you never have to sit down and talk to a child about boundaries and consequences, but them's the breaks. I agree that prevention beats cure, but that's exactly why an advance conversation about this topic is valuable when you originally hand the machines out, so you have fewer awkward remedial conversations (and possible disciplinary responses for repeat offenders) later.

Granting school IT teams carte blanche power over student laptop configuration and usage is the kind of thing that can sound sensible on the surface, but it doesn't hold up to thoughtful scrutiny. When you recognize it as a form of security theater, which it is, the potholes suddenly feel very familiar, and the rebuttal practically writes itself.

taking control of a school-managed laptop shouldn't be a fucking crime. literally so many kids learn about technology and gain an interest in it from trying to bypass school restrictions

[fandomofisolation]

I'm not ready to believe that Buck and Tommy are done for good.

I'm just spitballing here, but I think I have some good reasons for that.

Here's why:

1.

Tommy agreed to go to Maddie's wedding with Buck and showed up still in his turnouts and covered in soot after a grueling 24 (?) hours of fire-fighting because he did not want to go back on that promise. And he kissed Buck in the middle of the hospital and allowed Buck to go into Chimney's hospital room with soot all over his face and met all Buck's family and friends.

Tommy was always talking about the 118 as a family and how he wanted to be a part of that.

Tommy took care of Buck when he dislocated his shoulder and slept over at Buck's place.

Tommy gave Buck a present for their six-month anniversary.

It's not giving "someone who doesn't think this is going to last". It's not giving "someone who is just here for a good time". What it IS giving is "someone who takes this relationship seriously". "Someone who just might be falling in love."

Here's what I'm thinking.

Tommy had just found out that his Buck is the half-her-age himbo that his ex-fiancée Abby dated after he broke off their engagement and "went a little crazy". Now, what we know about Tommy right now is that he has done a lot of work on himself, that he has grown a lot, and that he is a good person. I think it's safe to assume that he feels badly about breaking Abby's heart.

We've seen him talk about his past before, like on their first date or in Buck's loft when he made the "God I hope so" comment but he never really goes in depth. I think he's trying to shield Buck from his trauma. So yeah, when he talked about Abby, he's not gonna give Buck all the ugly details about his own journey. And of course the scene with Josh supports that with the comment about scars.

So Tommy is confronted with a visceral reminder of the woman he hurt. And he probably cared about her. And he probably feels bad. But that happened at a time when he was figuring himself out. He had just left the 118. He was dealing with some shit. He was doing the best he could. What's important here is that he was just embarking on the journey of embracing his sexuality. And for all we know, he might have been right around the age that Buck is right now.

So Tommy sees Buck as his former self. And all that guit comes back and turns into pure panic. Because if Buck is past-Tommy, then Tommy is past-Abby. And Tommy is not gonna let Buck do to him what he himself did to Abby.

But it's not about Buck. Tommy is projecting. This is Tommy's own regret and insecurity.

2.

There are some very important parallels in this episode that I would like to draw your attention to.

7.05: Buck and Tommy have their first date at a restaurant, which ends with Tommy leaving Buck standing in front of the restaurant alone because he doesn't think Buck is ready

8.06: Buck and Tommy have their six-month anniversary date at a restaurant and have a conversation that begins a chain of events which ultimately leads to Tommy breaking up with Buck because he thinks that Buck will break his heart

7.05: Eddie asked Marisol to move in with him, then freaked out and thought that he was going to have to break up with her but ultimately was persuaded that that was not the best course of action. (The fact that everything got fucked up when Kim came into the picture is later and has nothing to do with this. Marisol and Eddie were doing well after he asked her to move back out.)

8.06: Buck asked Tommy to move in with him and Tommy freaked out and "broke up" with Buck.......

7:05: Eddie is dealing with rediscovering a faith that he didn't think was still important to him, because the girl he is dating used to be a nun-in-training

8.06: Eddie is dipping his toe back into the pool of practising his faith and runs into the priest he confessed to at a juice bar, where said priest arguably may have been flirting with him

7.05: Eddie shows up to Buck's apartment because he doesn't know what to do about Marisol. Buck tells Eddie that he and Tommy were on a date but Tommy "dumped" him. Eddie convinces Buck not to give up and tells him to call Tommy. Buck convinces Eddie not to break up with Marisol.

8.06: Buck shows up to Eddie's house because Tommy just "broke up" with him............

3.

This show has a an established pattern of couples + second chances. Maddie even does a whole speech about it at one point.

Let's review:

- Buck thinks that Abby's complicated life is too much for him and tells Bobby that he thinks he's going to break up with her. Bobby convinces him not to and that relationship becomes the best and most transformative relationship of Buck's life...until now.

- Bobby and Athena start dating then have a fight about how Athena is ashamed of him and Bobby doesn't want to be a secret but Michael (Athena's GAY ex-husband..ahem..) convinces her not to give up on it.

- When Athena asked Bobby to move in with her (ahem), Bobby freaks out (AHEM) and we think he's going to break it off but he actually ends up proposing.

- in a flashback, we see that Hen and Karen broke up earlier in their relationship but Chimney once again got involved and got them back together by convincing Karen to try again.

- Hen full on CHEATED on Karen with her crazy ex (I know, we don't like to talk about it) and Karen moved out. But Hen fought for her and she came back. Now they're better than ever.

- Eddie and Shannon were separated for a long time, but they eventually got back together

- Maddie and Chimney were really good friends and falling in love but Maddie wasn't ready. And Chimney was sad but he understood. (2.08) Then Maddie decides to divorce Doug and asks Chimney out. (2.11)

- After Doug almost kills both Chimney and Maddie, they try to pick up where they left off but whatever they were about to have is gone and they're not getting it back. (2.14) But Maddie still won't give up and suggests that they try to have something else. (2.18)

- Buck and Taylor hooked up but fought about Taylor's journalistic ethics. However, they eventually reconnected and end up dating.

- Buck kissed Lucy and freaked out and asked Taylor to move in with him. When he told Taylor that's what happened, she was PISSED but they worked it out and she stayed.

- After Maddie went to Boston, Maddie and Chimney broke up because they grew apart, or grew while they were apart. BUT they continue coparenting amicably, have a one-night stand and buy a house together. And of course, get engaged and eventually married!

- Natalia learned about Lucy, Taylor and Kameron all in one night and decided that Buck's life was too full and too complicated for her. But she came back after realizing that Buck was worth it and the fullness and complexity was a good thing.

- We've already talked about Eddie and Marisol and Buck and Tommy the first time.

---

IN CONCLUSION, DO YOU SEE THE VISION??

I think that Eddie, once again, is going to help Buck gain some perspective and convince him not to give up on Tommy. I think Buck is going to fight for Tommy and Tommy is going to work through some stuff and realize that he was acting out of fear. And I think they're going to get back together!!

---

Note: This could work for bucktommy OR buddie end game.

Of the couples I mentioned in my list of second chances, the three main couples all stayed together, eventually getting married. But Eddie and Buck have each had 2-3 instances (Shannon and Marisol, and Abby, Taylor and Natalia, respectively) where their relationships seemed like they were going to end (or did end) but they worked through it, AND THEN LATER actually did end anyway for a completely different reason.

So what I'm saying is that Buck and Tommy could end up like Bathena, Madney or Henren, or they could go the route of Buck's and Eddie's previous relationships and eventually end, which would be very sad but okay as long as it were for a good reason.

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Moshang Fic - Part 1

half of something else

JRaylin441

Summary: Tianlang-Jun comes to visit the Northern Desert Palace. Tianlang-Jun is very bored. Tianlang-Jun finds a way to entertain himself.

Written for: Gotcha for Gaza prompt "on behalf of gusufan please tag them! I would like a post-canon Moshang get together fic. sfw or nsfw doesn't matter :)" from boomfanfic

Content Warnings: None for this chapter (that I know of), but it will be explicit in future

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Tianlang-Jun arrives at the Northern Palace on a beautiful and perfect summer day, which is funny, because he's about to ruin Shang Qinghua's whole life.

Shang Qinghua has an Overarching To Do List that is ever-evolving and extensive. There are arrangements to be made, banquets to organize, appropriate guest rooms to appoint. There is color-coding. There are sublists on sublists, organized by immediacy and location within the Demon Realm or Cultivation Sects and a thousand other subheadings that only Shang Qinghua is able to fully track.

When someone like Tianlang-Jun arrives, it has to jump to the top of the priority list. This is the father of Luo Binghe, one of the only full-blooded Heavenly Demons left alive, and initially created to be the only person capable of challenging Shang Qinghua's son in a fight, at his full power. Bing-ge is fairly easy to deal with, these days, now that Cucumber-bro has come along and turned him into an eager little tradwife. There isn't really a need for him to have some arch-nemesis/father in the world.

Which leaves Tianlang-Jun, local chaotic neutral god-level demon, just wandering around without a purpose or plot hook. He can do things like arrive, unannounced, in a Demon king's court and expect to be welcomed. Maybe he will be kind and perfectly accepting of the fact that he has to wait for several minutes for things to go his way. Maybe he will kill every demon in the palace out of boredom, like a toddler with a tantrum.

It was fun to write characters like this when it was just in a book! They keep things interesting! They're helpful when he needs something to happen and can't figure out how to motivate his characters to do it! They're way less fun to deal with when Shang Qinghua has somehow become the person in charge of managing the logistics and fallout of those interactions, in both the human and demon realms. Because, apparently, no one else is masochistic enough to want a job like that.

This is not the kind of masochism he enjoys! If he thought it would make any difference, he would be taking a baseball bat to the System's smug little screen right now!

"This King welcomes Tianlang-Jun to the Northern Desert Palace and hopes that he will stay as a welcome guest for as long as he wishes."

"This humble one is honored to accept your hospitality."

Shang Qinghua skids into the throne room with what feels like a cartoon dust cloud behind him. Mobei-Jun is only now wrapping up the grandiose and official greeting of Tianlang-Jun before the whole court, because he is a very good boy who has been trained well by his closest advisor and knows how to stall for time when Shang Qinghua tells him to.

They are engaging in shallow salutes toward each other, since it's a little unclear exactly what Tianlang-Jun's ranking is now, as someone who could wipe the floor with Mobei-Jun, someone who had a long-standing alliance with the Mobei clan before he was imprisoned under a mountain for two and a half decades, someone who no longer has any official titles.

Shang Qinghua, of course, ranks leagues below either of them, and drops into a low salute as soon as his feet have found purchase in their place to the side of Mobei-Jun's throne. He can feel dark red eyes (why did he think that was a good color for a protagonist's eyes? Why did he need to give that eye color to the badass big bad demon??? They're terrifying!) lingering on him for a moment, evaluating him before easily moving on, just as every other powerful person in this world tends to do when confronted with his trembling mousiness. It is often very convenient to be overlooked, and Shang Qinghua never (really, never ever) feels bitter about the fact that, in a world where literally everyone around him is a badass (he knows they are, he wrote them that way), he gets stuck in this body.

"My servants have prepared our finest rooms for you." Bold of Mobei-Jun to go ahead and make that claim when Tianlang-Jun arrived not a quarter shichen ago. Sure, yeah, just assume that Shang Qinghua has it all together and handled. Everyone else does. "Please do not hesitate to reach out to my advisor, Shang Qinghua, should Tianlang-Jun find himself in need of anything." Shang Qinghua taught him that customer-service line, back when Mobei-Jun was more wont to stare in stony silence at any visitor to his court. He has no right to be this irritated about all the work still being foisted off onto him now. He sowed these seeds. He's reaping now. He reminds himself of this and does not allow his hands to clench into fists. Not in public like this. There is a ticking knot in the muscle behind his shoulder blade, instead, that is winching ever tighter and more painful. This has been true for many years.

Tianlang-Jun's eyes pass over him again, another assessment, now that Shang Qinghua has been shown to hold such a high rank. This is normal too. Shang Qinghua likes that they underestimate him. It makes his job easier.

"If Tianlang-Jun would honor this lowly one by following him, this Shang Qinghua will show him to his rooms."

"Of course," Tianlang-Jun replies, jovially, as if he has run into an old friend on a walk rather than arrived unannounced to another demon lord's court. Shang Qinghua feels himself cringing at the blatant character trope of it all, the lackadaisical OP demon lord. Fuck you, past version of Shang Qinghua. There is no excuse in not knowing that your actions would have consequences.

He cringes and he grovels and he guides Tianlang-Jun to the rooms that he and every member of Mobei-Jun's staff that wasn't already in court for the greeting just dropped everything to put together. They look spotless and prepared in the same way they would if this had been a pre-planned dignitary visit, because Shang Qinghua is fucking good at his job, not that anyone notices.

"Before you go, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun calls, already calling him in a way that is far too familiar with nothing to be done about it. "Are there any human novels in this palace? I have fallen out of the practice of reading with my imprisonment, but would not mind a chance to rediscover an old hobby."

"Of course, Tianlang-Jun," Shang Qinghua murmurs, bowing low enough that his nose could almost scrape the ground. "This one will obey."

He backs out of the room without rising from his bow, feeling the panic of this new task settle in the shaking of his bones, into the knot in his shoulder, alongside all the rest of his endless Overarching To Do List. Sure. Yeah, he'll get right on that. Because of course this is the best use of his time. The smile on his face is a rictus of customer service.

As soon as Shang Qinghua is out in the hallway and away from the range of heavenly demonic hearing, he grabs the first demon that respects any of his orders by their collar and sends them to start arranging a greeting banquet for that night. He grabs another and sends them along to rearrange the schedule for court the next day, since they were actually planning to receive some dignitaries tomorrow and will need to shift them to later in the day so as to not disrespect their new guest. He doesn't pick a demon to go and update his tracking of Tianlang-Jun's location, since no one else in this palace is supposed to know about that. He doesn't pick a demon to go and get the novels either, because he doesn't trust a single demon in this realm to know what the best options for human literature are and, unfortunately, he knows exactly the sort of thing that Tianlang-Jun would enjoy.

Because he wrote him.

*~*~*

Mobei-Jun does not enjoy banquets. It is easier, now that he is king and has no further aspirations for promotion, because he no longer has to spend his time doing something Qinghua calls "net-working" and can generally sit in stoic silence. Even so, he would prefer to dine in his own quarters, with Qinghua nervously chattering at length about all he has done and still has to do that day.

The food is prepared in the traditional demonic way. Qinghua does not like the raw meat, or the carnivorous diet of many in the court. Mobei-Jun spent an hour in the kitchens prior to this preparing hand-pulled noodles for him, so that he will have something to eat as well. He had captured and killed the beast used for the meat in the noodle dish the day before, also for Qinghua. He had not shown much of a reaction, when the prize was presented to him. Merely gestured for Mobei-Jun to hand it off to a servant to be butchered.

When the banquet begins, he gestures to one of the servants to bring the noodle dish from the kitchen out to Qinghua. No one dares to disobey when it comes to Qinghua's happiness. They know better.

When the steaming noodle dish is placed before him, Qinghua looks down at it in surprise before taking a darting glance in Mobei-Jun's direction. It is good, that he knows so immediately who is taking the time to cook for him. All things are as they should be.

"The honorable Mobei-Jun had no need to go through such trouble for me." Ah. All things are as they should be, except for the lounging heavenly demon seated to his side. Mobei-Jun hates when he must entertain guests, particularly ones that are powerful enough to defeat him in combat. When Junshang is visiting, it is not so bad, because he has known Mobei-Jun long enough to not be surprised by his silence. Also, he is usually so preoccupied with his human consort that there is no need to entertain him either way.

"You are a guest." This is what is expected, when an important guest arrives. It would not be happening, otherwise.

"This lord cannot help but notice that the human in your court seems to be well integrated." Tianlang-Jun is tilting his head in Qinghua's direction, as if there could be any other human he is referring to.

"Yes." Mobei-Jun responds, even though he does not want to talk to this demon about Qinghua, because Qinghua will be upset if he offends their guest this early into his visit.

"I cannot help but notice that someone has been cooking for him. Is there a demon in your court attempting to lay claim, then?"

Damn it all, actually. Mobei-Jun no longer cares about whether he might upset the guest. He curls his upper lip into a snarl before Tianlang-Jun allows any thought of that variety to linger in his head. There is a sudden shift in Tianlang-Jun's body language. One of his eyebrows flies up, and he suddenly seems much more interested in the conversation. Over at his table, Qinghua shoots a sharp and reproving glance in Mobei-Jun's direction, like he does every time he thinks Mobei-Jun might be making more work for him.

"Oh? It could not be that the Mobei-Jun, heir of the family that so publicly opposed my very interest in the human realm, has gone and started to court a human."

"Qinghua is none of your concern," Mobei-Jun grits out stiffly. Because Qinghua will be sad if he causes a political incident and he is holding on to his temper by nature of that fact alone. "This king would recommend that Tianlang-Jun decide on some other topic of conversation."

"Of course, Mobei-Jun. How can this guest do anything but comply?" But Mobei-Jun knows the glint of interest that he is still seeing in those dark eyes. He made a mistake, somewhere in that conversation. He doesn't know where. But he has drawn Tianlang-Jun's attention to Qinghua. This cannot stand.

"Qinghua is my advisor and a member of my court." The longer he is talking, the more smugly entertained this infuriating demon looks. "Tianlang-Jun has no reason for Qinghua to cross his mind."

A smile like a young child coming across an undefended table of sweets and delicacies. "I thought Mobei-Jun instructed me to direct any of my concerns or requests toward his advisor."

"No need. Tell a servant instead. They will tell Qinghua."

"That seems rather inefficient." Tianlang-Jun takes a slow and mocking drink of his wine, eyes laughing at Mobei-Jun over the rim. "Surely your advisor would prefer a more direct approach?"

The goblet in Mobei-Jun's hand groans under the pressure of his grip. "If Tianlang-Jun needs something, he should simply come to me and ask." The words are hissed out between teeth that will barely part to let them pass.

"Ah. An elegant solution. Truly, the king of the Northern Desert is peerless in his wisdom."

Mobei-Jun is being laughed at. He knows this feeling. He would grab Tianlang-Jun by the throat and throw him across the room if it wouldn't lead to him making a fool of himself in front of Qinghua. So, instead, he throws back the drink and studiously ignores any other attempts at conversation from the guest at his side. Let Qinghua be angry with him for not being the perfect diplomatic host. It is better than anything else he might have done.

*~*~*

Shang Qinghua is tired in the body-tired type of way, but not in the brain-tired type of way. The banquet ended hours ago, and the rest of the court has retreated to their beds for now, whether to fall asleep or to hook up with whoever they want. Good for them, good for them. The vigor of demonic youth.

That is not what is keeping him awake, however. Fuck no. It's been years since he's had a chance to bump uglies (as they say) with anyone. Shang Qinghua has an enormous and ever-growing Overarching To Do List. This is known. He also has his daily to do list that he draws from the points on the Overarching To Do List. He was doing an okay job getting through it before that deadbeat dad on a world tour had to show up and throw everything off, so now he's up hours past when everyone else went to sleep, like some kind of gamer bro, scrambling to check this month's inventory for Cang Qiong Mountain Peak against last months, to make sure there aren't any far less clever people skimming off the top. So far, it looks like a few of the Zui Xian disciples have been taking more than they said they would, but that's typical for them and not beyond the normal amounts, so he's not particularly worried.

Shang Qinghua is just setting those documents aside, moving into his next task (updating the map that he keeps of the movements of important figures based on the reports of this person and that person), when he hears the door to his office open.

No knock. No nothing. Is he some teenager still living at his parents' house? What's this entitlement and complete lack of privacy?

"I have always found it quaint, all the busy papers and documents that make up a human's day." Fuck. Tianlang-Jun. Not the sort of person that Shang Qinghua can order to leave.

"My lord Tianlang-Jun," he greets, shakily, standing for a quick salute and dropping the inventory paper over his map. The motherfucker. As if he didn't just ask Shang Qinghua for human books when he arrived. Papers and books aren't, actually, a unique human thing.

Much of demonic writing happens with an elaborate system of knots tied into thread, since there is so much variation in demonic hand structure, and tying knots is more accessible than holding a writing utensil. Learning how to write with a brush and paper had been a sign of status, because it meant that you might be interacting with the human realm. He'd thought it was a clever world-building detail. And it's not that humans spend more time than demons on their record keeping. More that, when Tianlang-Jun was emperor, he had been absent more often than not and had actively thwarted the efforts of his court to keep strategic records and reports. It had been part of what led to his downfall, leaving him to fight back entirely alone against so many sects. It had left his lands in chaos and disorganization, the easier for Shang Qinghua's son to sweep through and conquer.

Also, well, Shang Qinghua had never found too much pleasure in balancing all the little moving parts of writing political intrigue. Better to just have a good reason such structure was lacking and stop worrying about it.

"Forgive this humble human the wanderings of his mind." Shang Qinghua shuffles the map that he was making adjustments to further out of sight, even as he watches Tianlang-Jun's sharp eyes pick up on the movement. "How can this one be of service to the great Tianlang-Jun?"

"I couldn't help but appreciate the wonderful selection of novels provided to my rooms." Tianlang-Jun's movements are slinking and feline, as he maneuvers his way just a little too closely into Shang Qinghua's space. "I thought it might be worth my while to meet the human capable of selecting such things. Perhaps we may have some things in common." Tianlang-Jun has a tell when he's lying. There's a little twitch right at the corner of his smile, for just a second. No one ever noticed it. Even if they had, no one would have ever pointed it out to him or told someone else, because no one would ever dare. Shang Qinghua knows that he is lying right now, because he knows the tell, because he wrote this character. This was supposed to be his Big Bad, before the computer crashed and the outline fell to pieces and everything else went to shit.

"Perhaps Tianlang-Jun would like a recommendation for a companion more fitting to his status, who may also enjoy to discuss such things with him?" Shang Qinghua needs this man to leave. He has to get up in just a few hours to help prepare for court again, and he still has several things on today's list. Please, please, please just take the hint and leave.

"Oh?" Head tilted to the side. A fox, rather than a cat. "Is Shang Qinghua spoken for, then? This Tianlang-Jun had hoped to befriend him, but it seems as though some other demon has laid a claim."

"What?" Shang Qinghua sputters, because there are about seventeen things about that one small sentence that he needs to question and it's knocking some of the fear and hesitance right out of him. "Surely Tianlang-Jun has others he would find more suitable to befriend." Befriend??? This is the Big Bad! What is he even doing in here?

Tianlang-Jun seems quite aware of Shang Qinghua's panic and distress, and yet utterly unmoved. He makes his way over to the desk that Shang Qinghua was using and sits down on the surface, right atop the papers, patting against his own thighs and smiling with all the guile of a newborn baby.

"I think that you will find that I have quite a history of befriending people that others may not see as suitable." Tianlang-Jun reaches over, swipes up the cup of tea that Shang Qinghua poured himself several hours ago and immediately forgot about. The previous emperor of the Southern demon tribes takes one delicate sip, wrinkles his nose in disgust, and then sets it back down. "Entertain me, Qinghua. I want to hear all about this life that a human built among demons. At the throne of Mobei-Jun, no less."

Oh. That makes more sense, then. The scandalized, gossiping note in his voice, when he talks about Mobei-Jun. The sudden and more-intense-than-it-should-be interest. Shang Qinghua can never escape the time honored tradition of a queer-coded villain, apparently. It happens when he's writing, even if he doesn't mean to do it. And this would make sense, as a power grab without having to do any of the actual work, which is the part that Tianlang-Jun always hated anyway. Marrying Mobei-Jun would be a pretty little solution.

"This one is hardly as important as all that." As if Shang Qinghua is ever going to allow this man to end up with Mobei-Jun. It would be a terrible match, neither one of them making the other happy. And, well, Mobei-Jun has always his favorite. He deserves something better than a miserable marriage. "This lowly one would be happy to tell Tianlang-Jun anything he is curious about, but it would hardly be anything worth hearing. This one is rarely granted the honor of speaking with Mobei-Jun." Tianlang-Jun is too powerful and unpredictable to piss off, so he can't exactly say no, but he's certainly not going to make it easy.

"Oh, this lowly one, huh?" Tianlang-Jun clicks his tongue in a chiding, condescending manner. Bitch. "No need to stand on such formalities. We're friends now, Qinghua. Come, sit with me. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about all the ways that human literature has advanced in the past few decades."

And, well, that's a direct order. For all that Shang Qinghua lectures Mobei-Jun about being a good diplomat, he can hardly do anything but obey. For all that Shang Qinghua shit talks people in his head or in his interactions with Cucumber-Bro, he is and will forever be a coward. He walks over to the small sitting area in the corner of the room, where he has covered all four of the chairs with some mishmash of maps and paperwork and empty bowls of noodles. The servants likely would have cleaned it up if they weren't forbidden from moving anything in the room.

Tianlang-Jun follows him, gleeful as a child and with the power of a nuclear bomb behind him. He stands off the to side, entirely unhelpful, as Shang Qinghua shoves several piles of detritus to the floor and beats furiously at the seat cushions to try and remove some of the dust. When one is clear, Tianlang-Jun slinks over and perches upon it like a throne.

"Now, isn't that better?" Tianlang-Jun seems to have brought the cold cup of Shang Qinghua's tea with him, and is continuing to sip from it, despite the level to which it is clearly grossing him out. "Tell me about books, if you're so reluctant to speak about your king."

They talk. It should be terrifying, speaking with a Heavenly Demon like this, someone so unpredictable. And it is, in a way. Shang Qinghua is shitting himself, and he can feel the way all of his limbs have locked up in trembling panic. Tianlang-Jun, though, was written to be a charming and charismatic villain, the kind of character that you can't help but like, even when he's clearly committing all sorts of atrocities. And so, somehow, despite it all, Shang Qinghua kind of likes him. Tianlang-Jun is quick and clever and very invested in learning about the terrible plots of terrible romance books that are starting to really pick up steam in this world after The Resentment of Chunshan.

"See? We're friends now. Tell me about my friend, Qinghua. How did a human come to be such an integral member of Mobei-Jun's court? An advisor, at that?"

Shang Qinghua talks him in circles, barely talking about Mobei-Jun at all, because he can make a new friend while still sticking to the original goal. Every time it drifts close to talk of Shang Qinghua's king, he can see the light in Tianlang-Jun's eyes, the leaning forward in sudden rapt interest, and it's not hard to remember to change the subject.

It would be easier, however, if his entire life didn't seem to revolve around Mobei-Jun, at this point. There's really very little that Shang Qinghua can talk about that doesn't tie back to him in some way. This is not because of his pathetic little crush, either. It's simply because he has made himself into an essential member of the court and because he lives at his place of work. Obviously, his life would revolve around his boss, in a situation like that. The pathetic-crush-maybe-love is entirely separate from that.

As the night wears on into the wee small hours of the morning, Shang Qinghua is furious to realize that he could actually see himself becoming friends with Tianlang-Jun. It's lucky, though, because the dropping formality and increased comfort eventually reaches a point where Shang Qinghua is finally comfortable pushing a new novel into Tianlang-Jun's hands and shoving him out the door to his quarters. Shang Qinghua can cross off the one or two essential things left on his list for today, and move all the other still-important-but-less-immediately-pressing tasks to the list for tomorrow.

He crashes into a few snatched hours of sleep, reeling from all the details that will be waiting for him when he wakes up.

*~*~*

"I see why you like him so much."

Mobei-Jun does not respond. That voice could be talking to anyone. He refuses to acknowledge it until it has made it impossible to do otherwise. Qinghua should be grovelling at his feet in thanks, at the effort he is putting into diplomacy.

"Your little human pet. We had such a lovely talk late last night. He has such taste in literature, don't you think?" Mobei-Jun is not looking at Tianlang-Jun, even as he lounges beside him as an honored guest at court. He is not looking because it's impossible to know if Tianlang-Jun is even talking to him. He will not look, because if he looks then he will lunge at Tianlang-Jun teeth-first, and he is behaving himself. "And such a fire in him! I will admit, Mobei-Jun, I didn't see it at first. He seems so nervous and jittery all the time. But there really is a brilliant mind in there, isn't there? And he's got a spine, if you push him far enough."

The doors to the court open, and Tianlang-Jun falls silent, thank the gods. Mobei-Jun is one of the only creatures on this earth that has the opportunity to know those truths about Qinghua, past the mask that so many others see. Perhaps Tianlang-Jun is only taunting him but, if so, then it is a very lucky guess.

Mobei-Jun rules for the next petitioner to be sentenced to death. He doesn't even know what they came in for.

As the court watches the crying demon be dragged from the room, Mobei-Jun sees the accursed image of Tianlang-Jun, lounging in his seat with a smirk, in his peripheral vision.

"Someone like that is truly worth knowing, wouldn't you say? Worth keeping on your side. I think I may take up a friendship with Qinghua. He seems like the sort of man who would enjoy exchanging letters."

And that is the last straw.

There is no warning, when Mobei-Jun lunges. He slips into the shadow of his throne and appears, teeth and claws first, behind where Tianlang-Jun has the nerve to lounge. Speaking of writing letters to Qinghua. Calling him by that name. Mobei-Jun is going to kill him where he stands.

Tianlang-Jun isn't surprised. He meets him blow for blow, even as Mobei-Jun tackles him down off the dais and they begin to duel in the center of the court. The demon nobles stand in quiet observation, not interfering for either side. They are nothing. Mobei-Jun draws the sword at his side, lunging forward with the speed and strength he has developed over years of sparring with Luo Binghe, on top of a lifetime in a family that wanted him dead. Tianlang-Jun dances gracefully out of the way. He laughs as he does. It sends icy fury hurtling through Mobei-Jun's bloodstream.

The fight is brief and brutal. For every blow that Mobei-Jun lands, Tianlang-Jun lands three. He is faster, and stronger, and older. What does it matter, that Mobei-Jun will lose? That is not the point. How could he respond in any way but this, when Tianlang-Jun has so blatantly flaunted his claim to the man he is courting?

A blow to the side of the head, and Mobei-Jun sees his blood on the ground. A blow to Tianlang-Jun's arm, and his blood forms into a wickedly sharp blade that he wields more effectively than claws and teeth.

Mobei-Jun is losing. He is losing, and Tianlang-Jun does not do him the dignity of making his next charade subtle. Perhaps, to the nobles, already losing interest in the fight, it is difficult to see. Here, in the midst of the fight, it is glaringly obvious when Tianlang-Jun allows several of Mobei-Jun's hits to land in a row. Even more obvious when he winks and then drops to a knee, bowing his head before Mobei-Jun's strike, fully confident that he will not allow it to land.

Mobei-Jun does not allow it to land. Because Qinghua would be upset.

"This Tianlang-Jun apologizes for any offense he may have caused his host, the venerable Mobei-Jun. Please, accept this one's deepest regret and honest surrender to the martial prowess of one such as Mobei-Jun."

He is laying it on thick. He is smirking throughout the entire declaration. Mobei-Jun does not dignify it with a response. He grunts in some vague acknowledgement and strides out of the greeting hall before he does something like throw away his entire kingdom for the chance to tear out Tianlang-Jun's throat.

Let him try to take Qinghua. A man like this is not at all to Qinghua's taste, and has none of the sort of shared history that he has with Mobei-Jun. Tianlang-Jun can throw himself against the brick wall of Qinghua's regard all that he desires. It will make no difference. He will not find a way into Qinghua's heart.

Mobei-Jun hasn't, and he has been trying for years.

*~*~*

By the time Shang Qinghua makes it back to his office for the evening, he is about ready to hunt his king down and throttle him. Sure, go right ahead, pick a fight with the most powerful demon in the court in the middle of the court where everyone can see and then leave court early. Surely someone else can take care of all the day's petitioners. Surely someone else can greet the dignitaries from the Fox Clan.

Of course. Shang Qinghua will just shift around his daily to do list, again, and make that happen. Who cares if it means that he needs to send the head servant to oversee the preparation of the greeting banquet for tomorrow, and fuck if that imbecile will do any of it right. He'll make it too garish or, even worse, make it grander than the welcome banquet they held yesterday, and cause a diplomatic incident that way. Most likely, Shang Qinghua is going to have to head over there tomorrow morning and undo everything the head servant did, which means another item on his to do list.

When he returns to his office, there is a pile of mail waiting for him, because there's a fucking spawn point above his desk and new tasks arrive every time he dares to step away. This is always the first part of his routine in the evening: going through all the mail in order of oldest to newest and checking to see which part of the Overarching To Do List it needs to be added to.

There are, thank fucking god, very few unexpected things in this pile of mail. Shang Qinghua moves a few tracking symbols around on his map of VIPs, and takes the time to jot a few points down on his to do lists for various regions. There are some items to add into next months budget for the Northern Desert and a few requests for night hunt services that will need to be passed on. Nothing too unusual, until he gets to the two most recent pieces of mail.

Qinghua,

I so enjoyed our conversation last night. Your insight into the motivations of the characters inBreathless Wishwere truly correct on every point. A mind like yours is one that I am eager to befriend.

Here's to many more nighttime conversations.

Tianlang-Jun :)

Shang Qinghua stares at the smiley face at the end for too long. This is what he gets. This is what he gets for watching too much shonen anime right before starting to outline this part of his story. He has no one to blame but himself, for this chaotic cool-guy stalker vibe that Tianlang-Jun is bringing to the villain role.

Shang Qinghua does not know what to do with this letter, but there is nothing about it that needs to be added to the Overarching To Do List. He sets it to the side so he can start to forget about it (after taking out the color-coded cheat sheet for the tracking map of VIPs and adding a new colored dot next to Tianlang-Jun's name).

The next letter is even more confusing.

Truly, Shang Qinghua stares down at the envelope for almost a full minute before moving.

It is folded on impressive, expensive cream paper. His name is written across the front, in a handwriting that would be impossible not to recognize, after all the time he has spent managing documentation for its owner.

Qinghua, it reads.

Tianlang-Jun provoked the fight today. There will likely be people who are unhappy.

I don't like him here. Make him leave.

There is no signature line. Shang Qinghua is going to kill him. He is going to go back in time and not save his life, back when they first met. That would have made every other part of his life so much easier. Fucking hindsight.

Fucking. Sure. He'll just go ahead and kick the most powerful demon they know out of the palace, then. Him, Shang Qinhua, the only human here. A cultivator too! Don't forget that part! A cultivator, you know, like the cultivators that imprisoned him under a mountain for decades and killed the woman he was in love with? Surely, there couldn't possibly be any flaws in this plan.

"Is that all he wrote? That's pathetic." The voice is from right over Shang Qinghua's shoulder, and he screams and whirls around, throwing the letter with all his might, only for it to flop harmlessly against Tianlang-Jun's chest and fall to the floor. "Hello Qinghua. I need to teach your king how to write sweet nothings as well, apparently."

Right. This asshole. Trying to seduce Mobei-Jun by doing ridiculous things like, apparently, starting a fight with him in front of the entire court and then reading letters to try and figure out how his actions were received.

"Tianlang-Jun." Shang Qinghua dips into a low salute, because he needs a second to get his fucking face together and also because he doesn't want to fucking die. "How can this humble one be of service?"

"None of that, I thought we already talked about this. No need for the formalities." Tianlang-Jun reaches past Shang Qinghua and steals his tea again before sauntering over to the sitting area where they spent their time yesterday. "I was just bored and wanted to talk to my friend. You're not busy, are you?" He's standing in front of the chair he sat in last night, because it's already accumulated new clutter and apparently his arms are still going to fucking fall off or something if he deigns to do any kind of physical labor.

"Of course I have time." Shang Qinghua gives one last, longing glance toward The Overarching To Do List and makes his way over to clear off the fucking chair. Make way, everyone. Shang Qinghua, the only fucking person capable of doing any work around here is finally here. What else can he do for you?

Tianlang-Jun drapes himself across the chair like an expensive throw and takes a languorous sip of Shang Qinghua's tea. When he tastes it, and the liquor Shang Qinghua had treated himself to spiking it with, his bros shoot up and a delighted smile spreads across his face.

"Ah, Qinghua, I had no idea you enjoyed this sort of thing. You must really be telling the truth when you said that you were planning to relax tonight." Shang Qinghua had not said anything even close to that. He would never say something like that. He added the shot or two because all he has to do tonight is a bunch of simple copying over of figures from all the various documents into one larger tracking sheet. It's mindless work and not the sort of thing that is disrupted by a little alcohol greasing the way.

"This king of yours is not very good at the whole romance thing, is he?" As if Shang Qinghua is going to allow slander like that to stand.

"He has never been interested in that sort of thing, so there would be no way to know one way or the other."

"Oh? What makes you so sure of that? I thought you were rarely granted the honor of speaking to Mobei-Jun?" Tianlang-Jun has the kind of smile that makes you feel like he's always playing a prank on you, or telling a joke at your expense. As the person who created him, Shang Qinghua knows that that feeling is often correct. The question is simply whether or not it is correct at this exact moment.

"I have known him for many years and seen him grow from a youth into the king that he is today. I would know if he had expressed interest in another."

"Qinghua sounds so sure. Perhaps this Lord should take his word for it." A fucking wrestling match in front of the entire court. Conversation with multiple words from Mobei-Jun over the course of a banquet. Maybe this is the joke. These behaviors could be seen as romantic, sometimes even flirting, in demon customs.

"Tianlang-Jun returned so quickly to formalities, after announcing that they were not necessary. Is he attempting to take his leave, then?" Shang Qinghua is trembling from the audacity of prompting Tianlang-Junto leave, but he's not sure he won't do something even worse if he continues to talk to him. The lesser of two evils.

"Hm, not just yet." Tianlang-Jun spreads his legs wide, leans forward to rest his chin on his hand and stare with half-lidded eyes. "Have you fucked each other?"

Shang Qinghua feels the impact of the question as it hits his chest, and then the shockwaves out that lock down each of his muscles as they pass. Fight or flight or fucking freeze, and he is a prey animal in the hungry gaze of a predator. Not even in a hot way that it sometimes feels with Mobei-Jun, just in the terrifying, if-I-don't-say-the-right-answer-he'll-kill-me way.

Thankfully, or tragically, or pathetically, Shang Qinghua doesn't have to lie about this. Who knows how a man as single-minded and obsessive as Tianlang-Jun would react to having to share his love interest with the tiny cultivator before him.

"No! What the fuck? No, of course he hasn't fucked me."

"He hasn't fucked you? Oh, Qinghua, you poor thing. That is not the question I asked."

"I don't see why any of this is relevant to anything at all."

"I told you. I'm bored! A poor, retired heavenly demon, traveling the world without a friend or a title to his name, grieving the loss of his most reliable subordinate. There is nothing at all to do out there. And there's something so very interesting happening here at this court. How long have you been wanting him?"

Shang Qinghua cannot tell him to leave, because he would be dead before the words could even leave his mouth. Also because this should all be just fine. He shouldn't feel the need to shut this down. Shang Qinghua doesn't mind when people make pitying assumptions about him. It's useful. If it weren't for the pathetic, desperate obsession he's been nursing for his king since long before he even came to this world, it would be funny. Instead, he's holding onto the shreds of his composure and humiliation and anger with the tips of his fingernails.

"Tianlang-Jun," he forces out. "Is there some sort of book you are looking to borrow tonight, or another way that I could be of service to you?"

"My friend Qinghua must be a prodigious reader indeed, if he believes me capable of reading all the books he sent over in the past day alone." There is a breath of peace, where Shang Qinghua is idiotic enough to let his guard down, thinking his blatant efforts to change the subject were accepted. "If you're not going to fuck him, you should at least go through the trouble of cooking for him. After all the cooking he's done for you."

Is this some weird mind game? Probably! Luo Binghe has to get it from somewhere! Is Tianlang-Jun trying to mark his claim on Mobei-Jun by trying to offend and order around anyone who might be a love rival? That feels more like the moves of the Little Palace Mistress than a Heavenly Demon lord. But then, why tell him to cook for his king? Where does that fit into the plan?

It's all gone so strange.

"Sure, yeah, I'll do that." Shang Qinghua agrees because there's nothing else for him to do and he doesn't know what the game is, here. He certainly can't go and tell Tianlang-Jun to fuck off, to leave him alone, to leave this entire fucking palace and go make his trouble somewhere else. What can he do but agree? He has no power here, beyond his intricate and extensive knowledge of all the ways that Tianlang-Jun could fuck him up without even expending any effort. Easier than sneezing.

"I'll hold you to that, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun says, drinking deeply from the spiked cold tea that he stole. "As my friend, I have to trust that you will keep your word to me, no?" He smiles at that, as if they are two old childhood friends passing the time over jokes and nostalgic stories.

"Of course, of course," Shang Qinghua murmurs, feeling like an old grandfather appeasing a toddler. He could hope that this would be the end of their conversation, but Tianlang-Jun stays again, this night, even later than the night before. Shang Qinghua has nothing he can do about it, but he's going to have to start penciling naps into the daily to do list, if this shit keeps up.

*~*~*

"I have to say, that letter you wrote to your darling love really left something to be desired." Tianlang-Jun does not wait to be announced or engage in any small talk. He simply arrives and begins speaking about the thing he wants to say. This is normally the sort of behavior that Mobei-Jun appreciates.

Normally.

He is reading over the speech that Qinghua has written for him, greeting the dignitaries from the Fox Clan after their arrival yesterday. It is short and succinct, but covers the points that would be necessary for whatever sort of behind-the-scenes things Qinghua is trying to accomplish. Mobei-Jun no longer asks for specifics. He just goes where he is told and says what he's supposed to say. In return, Qinghua makes the words at least somewhat bearable to say. It works for them.

They have a rapport. An understanding. Mobei-Jun is not going to forget this and allow himself to lash out again, like yesterday. Qinghua had not been happy. He hadn't said anything, too busy with other things, but he had scowled up at him over dinner, and that was enough to make it clear. Most likely it will come up again after Mobei-Jun has angered him several more times, and he decides to let it all out at once.

All this to say: Mobei-Jun does not respond to Tianlang-Jun's words. Merely grunts in acknowledgment, so he does not feel as though he has to say them again.

"Have you ever written a love letter before?" Tianlang-Jun slumps into a chair across from Mobei-Jun and props his feet up on the table, letting them fall atop the parchment holding the written out speech. "Because, if so, then I'm pretty sure he had no idea that it was a love letter. Is that how you talk to him all the time? I don't like him here, Qinghua. Make him leave, Qinghua. Bring me my blanket, Qinghua. Someone reading your letters would think he was your parent."

Mobei-Jun focuses on the words beneath Tianlang-Jun's shoes, even as he can feel his lips raising in a snarl. Those were the words he wrote. So Tianlang-Jun really did read the letter. This was not just a lucky guess that Mobei-Jun had fallen for his taunting. He knows the exact words.

Does that mean that Qinghua showed him the letter? Or that he broke in to the office to see it? One would be Qinghua's choice. Mobei-Jun could go and shout at him for it, but that would just make him do it more, most likely. The other option would mean that Mobei-Jun would have no choice but to challenge him to another duel. Another that he will lose.

It wasn't a love letter. That's why it didn't sound like one. Mobei-Jun has never written a love letter and never will.

"I think he was sad about it. If that's the kind of courting you're doing, no wonder he hasn't taken up your offer."

"Is there something Tianlang-Jun needs?" Mobei-Jun grits out between his teeth. He is speaking like this more and more frequently recently.

"I simply desire the chance to teach someone younger than me the proper way to woo a human, considering I'm one of the few demons who has ever managed it." That gives Mobei-Jun pause. Tianlang-Jun notices. "Considering the only models you may have for this kind of relationship would be myself and that son of mine, I had assumed you may want help. Unless, of course, you would prefer a relationship more like the one my son has built with his teacher."

"You have successfully courted a human."

"Famously, I'd say. Or infamously, I suppose, depending on who you're asking. But it certainly did happen. You can look to the emperor of our realm, if you have any doubt."

Mobei-Jun does not respond immediately.

There are two sides of him at war. He has been courting Qinghua for years with no discernible reciprocation. This Tianlang-Jun is one of the few people who may actually be able to help.

The other side of him is furious that this thought has even crossed his mind. This demon lord has intruded into his home uninvited and dares to comment on his relationship. As if he could ever know Qinghua the way that Mobei-Jun does. Mobei-Jun does not ask for help. He is the ruler of his Northern Desert. The second-in-command to Junshang.

Also, Tianlang-Jun is clearly waiting for him to ask for help. Sitting there, smug as can be, in patient silence. Mobei-Jun would rather rip his own throat out with his claws than ask for help from someone so clearly expecting him to.

Would he rather tear out his own throat or lose Qinghua, though?

If he accepts Tianlang-Jun's offer, it will not be as simple as agreeing. There will be strings attached. Mobei-Jun grew up in a family like this, too. Constantly trading information behind each other's back and holding things over each other.

Qinghua will not leave. He promised. They have time.

He lets the silence grow thicker in the room. Goes back to reading through the speech. If he ignores Tianlang-Jun long enough, he will likely go away.

It takes a good while. That is likely what happens when you try to wait out someone who spent the last few decades trapped under a mountain. Eventually, Tianlang-Jun allows the feet of the chair to scrape across the floor as he stands up and laughs.

"Well, good luck, then. I'll give you this one for free: your Qinghua is a man of words. Maybe try to do something about that, rather than begging for him to come clean up your messes." Tianlang-Jun raps his knuckles once against the surface of the table before sauntering out. It's good that he leaves so quickly, because Mobei-Jun is going to kill him if he has to look at him for another second.

*~*~*

It's kind of fucking frustrating, all the shit that's been going on recently. Shang Qinghua is always the person sent to deal with everyone else's bullshit, sure. Usually, though, there's a little bit of free time here and there. He can use it to sleep. He usually uses it to check in with his king and make sure that they are thinking along the same lines in the plans they're pursuing. Or to make sure he's doing all the things that Shang Qinghua trained him to do so that all the careful planning doesn't fall to pieces. Or to just get a chance to stare at him and be the perverted old man that he is. It's usually a fun mix of all of that. It's been happening more often that Mobei-Jun orders him to eat dinner together anyway, this past year or so. Sometimes it's those same hand-pulled noodles, and he's starting to get better at making them edible too.

There's been so much, with Tianlang-Jun's unexpected visit and the complications it brought to the Fox Clan's expected visit, and all the other everyday minutiae that comes from being the only person capable of running the demon realm or the human realm.

He misses it, though. The things that he gets to do when there isn't so much happening all the time. Evenings with his King, his favorite. Casual conversation with him, which really ends up looking more like Shang Qinghua rambling on and on about this or that while Mobei-Jun sits quietly and occasionally makes grunting or vaguely affirming noises to indicate that he has noticed that Shang Qinghua is still talking. Okay, so maybe the only thing that's really missing right now is his time with his king, but maybe that's the only thing worth missing anyway.

He makes his way over to the desk, flips over the stack of letters, starts going through them and adding information to The Overarching To Do List, shifting things in their priority rankings, moving figures across the VIP map and tweaking the color coding. There at the bottom of the stack is another one of those letters, same as the last time. Expensive, heavy cream paper with his name across the front in familiar handwriting.

Qinghua,

I have not seen you as frequently these past few days. There are many banquets. Eat lunch with me tomorrow.

Stop spending so much time with Tianlang-Jun.

Once again, there is no signature line. Once again, there is no need for a signature. It could not more clearly be from Mobei-Jun. It's him at his most neglected, entitled, and pouty. It reminds Shang Qinghua of the way he used to act when he was a teenager, actually, still coming into his power and unsure of his ranking within the family.

"See, I was thinking that was really more of a horizontal movement, but the ridiculous grin on your face makes me think I'm missing something and it was actually better." Shang Qinghua still jumps at Tianlang-Jun's voice, but he doesn't throw anything this time, because thought he might be stopping by again tonight. He just jumps whenever there's an unexpected noise. Sometimes also when there is an expected noise. "Any chance you'll be sharing with the class?"

"Tianlang-Jun," Shang Qinghua greets, bowing into a salute even though he's getting really fucking sick of this happening and would like to know how Tianlang-Jun so easily broke past the lock and talisman he had left on the door to his office. "In what way can this humble one be of service tonight?"

"See, you're so submissive and acquiescent when we're talking like this, Qinghua." Tianlang-Jun reaches out to lift Shang Qinghua out of his salute. There's an eager, boyish smile on his face and nothing behind his eyes. "Which is funny, because it doesn't seem like you follow through on the things we talk about." The smile grows wider, showing off just how sharp a full-blooded Heavenly Demon's teeth can be. "So eager to agree here, and then your actions go and betray all the trust of our friendship."

There is a fine tremor starting up in all of Shang Qinghua's limbs, something he's never quite figured out how to prevent when he's scared. His voice, when it comes out, is a high squeak. "Betrayed? If Tianlang-Jun would be so kind as to explain what he means."

"Qinghua," the word is chiding. "You told me you would be cooking food for your Mobei-Jun. And, yet, I saw nothing of the sort at dinner."

"There was a banquet!" Shang Qinghua yelps, because this is ridiculous. "We were welcoming the Fox Clan and he was giving a speech! I can't cook for him at a time like that!"

Again, Tianlang-Jun turns foxlike in the way he tilts his head to the side. More foxlike even than the Fox Clan that is visiting and that Shang Qinghua invented in a clear effort to pander to the furry demographic.

"Did he not cook for you?"

"He. Well. That's different! He knows I can't eat all that rotting stuff that demons like to eat!"

"Sounds like you could have cooked for him too."

"What do you want?" Shang Qinghua despairs. He made his bad guy too aloof and mysterious and now there's no way for him to even understand the points that he's trying to make. "I'll do whatever you want, just please stop with this whole intimidation game. I don't know what you're trying to do!"

"Qinghua, Qinghua," Tianlang-Jun saunters behind the place where Shang Qinghua was sitting and is now halfway to kowtowing. He's headed for the fucking tea again, not spiked, and Shang Qinghua has resigned himself to that. If that's what it takes for his chaotic-neutral villain to finally monologue and let everyone else in on what the fuck is going through his head, that's a small price to pay.

This is the part where he fucks it up.

Because he's so resigned to doing whatever needs to be done to make the person so much stronger than him leave him alone that he's not even watching him that closely, the way a spy master really should be. He sees Tianlang-Jun's hand reach out, and he doesn't do anything about it, because he thinks he's going for the fucking tea.

And then Tianlang-Jun is holding The Overarching To Do List. And it's too late to do anything.

Shang Qinghua still tries. He lunges up off the ground because there's nothing else to do when someone is holding your child hostage in front of you. At his first movement toward Tianlang-Jun, the motherfucker holds out his free hand and sets it alight with demonic fire, moving it slowly toward the stack of papers.

Shang Qinghua freezes. He doesn't move a fucking muscle, aside from the tremor wracking through every single one of them. He doesn't even allow himself to babble. He already asked the questions. Tianlang-Jun knows what he wants to know.

This is not a world where everything can be backed up to the cloud. This would be infinitely worse than losing his outline. That list is everything holding both realms together. There aren't copies.

"Ah, so this is what it takes to gain the full attention of one so important as the advisor to the king, Shang Qinghua. It's good to know something like that, when you're someone like me. A poor, homeless demon with no power of his own beyond what is granted by his blood. You understand why something like this might be necessary." He's monologuing, thank god, but he still isn't saying anything helpful, anything that will give any kind of fucking insight into what he could be thinking. Shang Qinghua has let him exist as a rogue entity for too long. It's not safe to have someone like this wandering. He needs more information.

"What do you want." Shang Qinghua does not ask, because there's too much space between each word for it to have that kind of inflection. He doesn't want to speak too quickly, because he does not know what sort of behavior will cause Tianlang-Jun to bring that flame closer to his Overarching To Do List.

"It seems that my good friend Qinghua is so busy with his lists that he had no time to follow through on our agreement." Interesting, that he's back to calling Shang Qinghua a friend, as if he hadn't just implied it was a threat. As if he isn't holding Shang Qinghua's most precious item hostage before his very eyes. "Surely, he will have more time to cook a dinner for his king if there are not so many other tasks cluttering up his time."

And

What?

What could possibly be the point of this? Shang Qinghua thought he was onto something, thinking that Tianlang-Jun was interested in Mobei-Jun, but this makes no fucking sense. How did they get here? He is going to scream. No more chaotic neutral villains ever, ever, ever again. No more characters that chase their whims from scene to scene. Every character from now on is going to have a clear and established set of values, consistent motivation, driving force.

No time for any of this. Whatever the motivation is, there is nothing for Shang Qinghua to do beyond hug those overpowered thighs and pray that he doesn't take it any further than this.

"Tianlang-Jun will return the list, after I do this?"

"Of course, Qinghua. I, after all, am a demon of my word. Your precious papers will be returned to you, as soon as you take the time to care for your king in the ways that he has taken care of you." Shang Qinghua would laugh at that, the idea that their relationship is unbalanced in Shang Qinghua's favor, but again. The fire.

"This one will do as you say, then."

"Good boy." Tianlang-Jun pats Shang Qinghua's head on his way out the door. Like a dog. He takes the list with him, but extinguishes the flame.

Shang Qinghua is left standing in the middle of his office.

He should do something.

There are hours before he usually goes to bed.

He can't just go to sleep.

There are so many things to do.

He has a whole list of all the things that he needs to be doing right now.

The problem, though, is that there's so much shit to keep track of every single fucking day. There's not enough space in his head to keep track of that, and every time he tries he just drives himself up the wall with no clue how he got there or what he needs to do to get back down.

So. The Overarching To Do List. He figures out what needs to be done, writes it down on the correct region of the list, and then erases it from his brain. He doesn't need to remember any of it. It's on the list. He'll find it again when he makes his daily to do list and when it's necessary for it to come back up.

It's a living document. There are no copies, because it changes seventeen times a day and is always shifting. He writes it in a horrible mixture of English and simplified Chinese characters, so that even if someone else in this world got ahold of the list that controls life across both realms, they would never know what it says or how to interpret it. Only Cucumber-Bro would ever have the context to read the information, and that's never going to happen, because he's far too content to live in his isolated little cottage while his husband waits on him hand and foot. And he'd never want to betray Shang Qinghua, because he's the one making sure Cucumber-Bro can relax and have a life like that.

No Overarching To Do List. No memory of what is even on that list. Nothing to do for the few hours where he usually sits down and makes significant amounts of headway into the neverending list.

There is nothing to do.

He could go to sleep, but there's no chance that he'll fall asleep right now. He's conditioned his body over the past several decades to spend this time awake.

He could go and cook a meal for Mobei-Jun right now. Would that count? Would that get him his list back right now? Tianlang-Jun had saiddinner, specifically. They've already eaten dinner. And Tianlang-Jun specifically pointed out that Mobei-Jun had cooked a meal for Shang Qinghua to eat when he was in front of everyone else. He had said that he would return the list when Shang Qinghua showed the same level of consideration for his king that his king has shown for him. Cooking something right now would almost definitely not meet those requirements, and would just add more tasks onto the pile.

Well. He was complaining earlier, wasn't he? About the lack of time he's been able to spend with Mobei-Jun recently. He might already be asleep, but there's nothing else to do. Maybe he'll go for a walk over toward his quarters and see if he's still awake now too.

Tianlang-Jun may be mad at him for this. His motivation is still so unclear, Shang Qinghua doesn't know what's going to set him off or what would make him happy. But he hasn't said not to spend time with Mobei-Jun, has encouraged it in some specific ways, so he's going to assume this is okay.

The halls of the Northern Palace are long and wandering. With so many different animal features integrated into the demon realm (again, many thanks to the deep and generous pockets of the furry community), there's never a moment where all the members of a demonic court are asleep. Shang Qinghua slips down the hallways, nodding at various nobles and servants as they go past. Everyone else is dressed casually, but Shang Qinghua needs to pull on several layers of draping robes and fur cloaks whenever he ventures outside of his personal chambers, especially at night. He feels like a huge, lumbering marshmallow as he walks down the hallway, all of his movements and sensations buffered by layers on layers on layers.

It's a long walk to his king's quarters. He had offered, after the whole incident with Shang Qinghua running away, to move his office and rooms closer, but Shang Qinghua hadn't seen much of a point. They rarely spend much time together in each other's rooms, and he's already put all his time and effort in finding the right combination of talismans and interior design and heating elements to make the temperature bearable. It would be so much work to design a new space like that.

The crowds thin out as he approaches the king's chambers. Mobei-Jun is not known for his friendly and welcoming demeanor. Someone looking to curry favor, gain his insight, lobby for policy would know better than to try and trouble him late at night. It would have the opposite effect.

Perhaps Shang Qinghua shouldn't be here at all, actually, when you think about it in that context. Maybe this is a dumb idea and he's about to see his king, mussed up from being awoken and furious, telling Shang Qinghua to leave him alone. Shang Qinghua tries to ignore the depraved part of him that feels excited at that image. It's one thing to be a masochist in a fun, sexy, pre-negotiated way. It's another thing to have your boss who has hit you before and could very easily kill you feature in those fantasies.

He tells himself this approximately five or more times a day. It hasn't worked yet, but he's holding out hope.

Besides. Mobei-Jun promised that he would never hit him again. Shang Qinghua has to trust that, because his entire life is built around trusting that right now. So, he pushes down any hesitation and knocks hard on the door. The wood is so thick and dense that it requires that kind of knock for anyone to hear.

It takes a minute and several more knocks before the door flies angrily open.

Mobei-Jun is standing in the doorway. His long, straight hair is caught and tangled on itself in several places. He's wearing loose-fitting, soft pants and a draping robe left open. That is all he is wearing. The endless expanse of his pale, muscled flesh on display has Shang Qinghua's mouth going dry. It could not be more clear that he had been in bed, got up when he heard the knocking, and threw a robe on as he walked over to the door. He was likely asleep, if the grouchy, squinty expression on his face is anything to go by.

What would he do, if Shang Qinghua dropped to his knees right now and blew him, just in the middle of the night in the middle of the hallway outside his chambers?

Maybe he'd let him. A mouth is a mouth. Maybe he'd punt Shang Qinghua across the floor and never talk about it again. Maybe he'd kick him out of the palace and find a different spymaster and advisor.

Shang Qinghua doesn't do it, just like he hasn't in the years that he's known him.

"Qinghua?" The grouchy, squinty face doesn't go away, but it softens a little bit. Likley relieved that it's not some politician here to try and talk about business.

"Ah, My King, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Something is wrong." The way this man never asks questions, just states what he thinks is true.

"No, no, nothing like that. Just here to-" To what? Just here to do what??? Why is he here? Just because he lost his to do list and has nothing to do? How does he explain that to him at all? "Ah, never mind. Never mind. Go back to sleep."

Shang Qinghua turns away from all that glorious skin and makes it only two steps away before he feels a hand clamp down on the neck of several layers of his robes and cloaks. He yelps as he is scooped up like a scruffed kitten. Mobei-Jun drags him back, slowly, spinning him back around to meet his eyes. Shang Qinghua reminds himself again (again again again again again) that he should not be turned on by his boss manhandling him.

"Qinghua does not often come to see me at this time." Again, not a fucking question, but he's still got Shang Qinghua held still. He's not going to let go without him saying something to explain himself.

"Ah, ha ha, My King. This one does not wish to disturb your sleep." Mobei-Jun flexes his arm in a way that makes Shang Qinghua brace to be shaken, but it doesn't come. He watches the intentional pause and forcible relaxation of that muscle, the same sort of thing he's seen several times since he and Mobei-Jun talked about the whole hitting thing. Still, the relentless, unblinking contact from his ice-blue eyes is cutting into Shang Qinghua, who has never been very good at staying quiet anyway. "It's just that I wasn't sleeping and I thought maybe you wouldn't be sleeping anyway and wanted to see if...ha ha, I guess just wanted to know if you needed something, or anything."

The squinty, grumpy expression has almost entirely disappeared into the usual smooth, blank lines of indescipherable emotion. Shang Qinghua does not know if that is a good sign or a bad sign.

"Qinghua usually uses this time to complete tasks and paperwork."

Huh. Shang Qinghua hadn't realized that Mobei-Jun kept that kind of track of what he's up to.

"Ah, yeah, I guess that's true."

"Qinghua is here instead." There is a tick at the corner of Mobei-Jun's eye. A usual tell that he is getting angry.

"Ha ha, yeah, Tianlang-Jun-" The hand in his collars tightens. There is no pain from it (all fabric, and that's good, it's good that Mobei-Jun is not moving him around by a firm grip on his neck), but the obvious reaction to the name still shakes him a little. "Tianlang-Jun came and took my list."

"The Overarching To Do List."

"Oh, uh, yeah. That."

Mobei-Jun drops the collars and goes to storm off down the hallway in the direction of the guest rooms. Shang Qinghua yelps again and starts to scramble after him.

"Wait, wait, My King, where are you going?"

"He is a guest in my palace. He cannot interfere with the work of my advisor."

"So, what, you're going to fight him?" At the skepticism in his voice, Mobei-Jun whirls around, the same hurt pout that he's had since he was a teenager.

"Is that not why Qinghua is here?"

"No!" Shang Qinghua wails. "I just thought that, if I wasn't doing anything and if you weren't doing anything, well, I guess." The pout has dissappeared off of Mobei-Jun's face, and he is no longer pulling away from Shang Qinghua to head toward the guest quarters. "Never mind. I'm going to just, I don't know, go to bed or something. My King should go back to sleep too. This one apologizes for waking you."

"You came here to spend time together."

Shang Qinghua sputters to a stop at those words, shocked and appauled that Mobei-jun would be so bold as to just go ahead and say something like that out loud, when they never do things like that. He can feel the heat of a blush flooding his cheeks, but Mobei-Jun just nods his head and grabs again at the scruff of his cloaks, before he can find a way to gather all of his words together. Without ceremony, he is dragged back through the doorway and finds himself in the king's private chambers.

In all the time that he has lived in the palace, he has not ever been in his king's bedroom.

The rooms are cold and yawning. The ceilings arc high and elegant above them, carved from a beautiful natural marble deposit and shot through with silver shaped to look like ice filigrie on all the support beams and molding. There is a fireplace in the corner, with a sumptuous fur from a Six-Headed Ice Cavern Leopard spread before it, but no fire in the fireplace. Mobei-Jun has never been the type to pursue any sort of heat, when left to his own devices. In a room this large, where an ice demon has spent the last few hours and the walls and ceiling are carved from stone, there is a kind of ringing freezing cold that cuts right to the core of Shang Qinghua's bones. He feels a shiver wrack through him almost immediately.

In the corner of the room, there is an enormous bed, covered in furs and blankets and pillows. They seem to have been constructed into some kind of nest, so that Mobei-jun can lay on top without having to bundle up in any way. Shang Qinghua hates that he knows this now. His mouth is dry just looking at it, knowing that it might still be cold from when he was laying in it just before Shang Qinghua knocked on the door. The blankets are rumpled and scattered. He could probably figure out a way to keep warm, if he bundled up in there enough. If he were going to sleep there.

Which he isn't going to do. Because they don't do that and never have and there is no reason to think that they ever will.

"Ah, My King, this really isn't necessary." The shivering is mostly from the cold, but Shang Qinghua would probably be shaking either way, with the way that it's basically automatic as a response whenever Mobei-Jun manhandles him like this. Yes, it is objectively fucking hot. This is the demon that was meant to kill him and that knocked him around before and from whom he has begged for his life. He should not be turned on right now. He can't help it.

Mobei-Jun does not seem to be listening. He pulls Shang Qinghua over to the chairs near the fireplace and sets him down in one before sitting silently in the chair across from him. They sit in silence for a second, staring at each other, while Shang Qinghua shakes with shivers, even through all his layers. After a bit of this, Mobei-Jun jerks back into motion and goes to light a fire.

"Wait, My King, you don't need to, that really isn't necessary." Shang Qinghua starts with a loud protest, but it strangles itself to a whisper when Mobei-Jun shoots him a scathing glare. Fine. Fine. He's the king here. If he wants to light a fire in his room then that's his problem. Shang Qinghua certainly isn't going to stop him, especially when the first wave of heat begins to emenate from the fireplace and he feels as his muscles unclench.

When he glances back over at Mobei-Jun, his face has gone well and truly soft, and there's something new and stunning about the way firelight plays off his cheekbones and the planes of his face. Something about this new light, the crackling of the flames, flips the moment from terrifying and cold to something warm and peaceful. Shang Qinghua settles back in the seat, snuggling down a little deeper into all the cloaks, feeling almost as though he should have some kind of warm drink as well.

And, suddenly, it's not so bad at all. He's not panicking anymore, becuase his king dragged him here. His king lit a fire. His king will throw him out when he is done speaking with him. All that he can do it wait to be told when his king's patience runs out.

"Well, My King, should I ask how your day went? It doesn't seem like there's much point, since I was there for most of it and had my people reporting back to me about everything I wasn't there for." Mobei-Jun snorts a delicate laugh, with all the effortless elegance of someone written as wish-fulfillment by a man with a competence kink. "I know you did well with the speech for the Fox Clan, even if I was busy prepping for the banquet instead."

"The Fox Clan," Mobei-Jun says, but there's a nuance to his flat tone that makes the words absolutely scathing. Shang Qinghua leans forward, grabbing onto the arms of his chair, and it's probably a good thing after all, that he's not holding a hot drink right now.

"Did they do something? Why didn't I know that you don't like the Fox Clan? It impacts our plans, and the rooms we give them, and the things we serve at the banquet. If you're going to cut them off as allies, you need to let me know yesterday, so that I can start getting everything in order for something like that. You have to tell me these things, My King, if I'm supposed to be your advisor and spymaster."

"Qinghua can know whatever he likes, regardless of reason."

"Oh," Shang Qinghua feels a blush rising on his cheeks, but they were already red from the cold, so it's probably unnoticable. What the fuck is going on in this place right here? "Well, great, appreciate that, but also I do need to know for my job. And also so that, when I write speeches, I can make them things you're actually willing to say."

"They are...overfamiliar." Shang Qinghua cannot help the way that he laughs nervously at that. It's unusual to hear his king express this kind of targeted hatred rather than a general dislike for everyone. It's funny, to hear him complaining. Also, that is not nearly enough information.

"My King, tell me more. What happened? I was only gone for a shichen. Surely nothing too horrible could have gone wrong in that time."

"One of their delegation has expressed interest in courting Qinghua."

And. Oh. Huh. Well, that's not at all what he was expecting this conversation to be about. It's also still really unclear why that would make Mobei-Jun not like them, unless-

"Ah, they really shouldn't be troubling the king with such things as that. And during your speech as well, no wonder My King no longer likes them. It shows a true lack of understanding for courtly manners. Which one of their party was it? This advisor will do what he can to remedy this situation."

There is a pause, enough to draw Shang Qinghua out of his ramblings and notice the way that the irritation has left Mobei-Jun's face, even as his eyes still rest heavy on Shang Qinghua.

"It was the younger general, with the long black hair and silver ears." If Mobei-Jun is looking for recognition in Shang Qinghua's expression, he finds it, because that's one of the Fox Clan that has been relentlessly seeking conversation with Shang Qinghua over the course of the visit, especially when he has seven other things that he really needs to be attending to. He is handsome enough, almost everyone in this world is, unless they're written to be some low-grade villain. It would be nice, if it were at all possible for Shang Qinghua to find himself interested in anyone over the screaming noise of his pathetic love for his king.

"General River Mud! Yes, I remember him. I wouldn't have expected him to interrupt official procedings in such a way. I'll have to make sure to update my notes on him." Shang Qinghua reaches for the brush he usually keeps just behind his ear, but it's not there, because he was settling in for the night in his office. Without asking, he makes his way over to Mobei-Jun's desk, taking one of his brushes and the thick, half-dried ink still in the dish. He's almost done scrawling the reminder onto his hand when he hears Mobei-Jun speak up again.

"It was not an interruption." Shang Qinghua glances back over at him, his sleeve caught between his teeth to better hold it out of the way while he writes, inconvenitently also blocking him from asking any clarifying questions. "General River Mud of the Fox Clan petitioned appropriately for royal permission to court Shang Qinghua, the king's advisor."

The sleeve falls from Shang Qinghua's open mouth.

"Oh shit." Mobei-Jun is just watching watching watching, waiting for Shang Qinghu to react. "Oh shit, okay, wait, that's not at all what I thought you were going to say. So, wait, okay, is he like officially courting me now? My King, if you blessed the courting, then you know that it would be a great offense to both himandyou if I didn't allow it to happen. So, wait, are you trying to marry me off to another clan?" His breathing is speeding up, and he can feel it. Mobei-Jun must be able to tell as well, because he rises to his feet and begins walking toward Shang Qinghua. "You can't send me away, My King, this place would fall to pieces without me running it and you know that. I can't go to the Fox Clan. I don't even have fur and what-"

Mobei-Jun sets his hand over Shang Qinghua's mouth. It is cold and large enough to cover from one hinge of his jaw to the other. He wants to lick it.

"I denied his request and sent him away." The words are so close. Mobei-Jun is so close. He's so much bigger than Shang Qinghua and his voice is so deep that it shakes the air between them when he speaks. Shang Qinghua needs to take a moment to remember what they're even talking about.

"Wait," he tries to say, but it comes out more like mphg until he is able to wrap his hands around Mobei-Jun's and push it away from covering his mouth. "Wait, but sending him away like that could be terrible for the relationship between us and the Fox Clan. My King, you can't just send away every person that annoys you. Why would you even do that?"

This is the kind of question that does not ever get an answer. Mobei-Jun acts based on his feelings and never takes the time to explain. His advisor must learn to take it all in stride and fix whatever mess was just made. Mobei-Jun is a man of action rather than words.

They're still standing so close, with Shang Qinghua holding his mostly-limp hands in the air between them, from when he pushed him away. There's something sparking in the air between them. In the firelight that flickers, dim this far away. Shang Qinghua is suddenly once again very aware of the bed in the room, large and comfortable behind him. They're so close that he can see the resolve settle over Mobei-Jun, a sure sign that there will be no response, before a thought clearly strikes him anew and he tilts his head, focused on Shang Qinghua's expression.

"Because Qinghua cannot go to the Fox Clan. Because this palace would not survive that loss." Oh shit, oh fuck. Somethings happening. Something is fucking different right now, and there is one long, unending scream echoing in Shang Qinghua's brain. One of those large hands lifts from his grasp to brush almost inperceptibly along the edge of one cheekbone, into his temple. There is a wry, soft smile at the corner of Mobei-Jun's mouth, if you are lookingveryclosely. "Because Qinghua does not have fur."

Shang Qinghua is a mouse in a trap. Pinned, wide-eyed, staring up into the eyes of a predator. Mobei-Jun's hand is resting along the side of his head, elegant fingers pressed into his hair, along the shell of his ear, against his temple.

He's waiting for something to happen. For Mobei-Jun to lean down and claim his mouth like it's his right. For him to laugh in his face and declare it all a terrible joke. Something, something, something but Mobei-Jun is carved from ice. He does not shift or react, simply holds them in that moment. He's watching Shang Qinghua like he's waiting for the same sort of thing, and this is too much. This is a dream. This is a trick. This isn't happening.

Shang Qinghua bursts into awkward and uncomfortable laughter, shuffles his way to the side until he's no longer pressed into that small bubble of space between his king and the desk. The moment shatters on the ground after him. He can practically hear the crack. It's fine. It's better than whatever might have happened if he hadn't done anything.

"Ah, My King, so kind, so kind. Of course this advisor would not leave. Come back to the fire. I have my notes now." He pats at the chairs they were sitting in earlier, awkward, awkward. Mobei-Jun stands with his back to him and the fire for one more breath before he turns and follows the directions, lounging in the chair like a throne. Good boy.

"No need for all that, then. My King told the general no, sent him away. This advisor will manage the fallout. Quick, let's talk about something else." Mobei-Jun does not look angry, but there is something of that pout back on his face, and Shang Qinghua can't look at it for too long or he is going to lose his mind. Anything else. "Oh! This one was wondering what My King's favorite food might be."

A pause, as Mobei-Jun clearly decides whether or not he is going to allow Shang Qinghua to get away with such a blatant effort to avoid any conversation about their most recent interaction. A deep sigh.

"This king does not care much for eating. He will eat what is provided for the occasion."

Right, see, Shang Qinghua knew that. That's why he doesn't already know what his king's favorite food is. Before today, he probably would have just answered that question by saying that he does not have one, that food has never been a source of particular joy for his king.

"Okay, and I know that, but surely My King must have some food that he prefers over others? Or some kind of cuisine he has been curious to try?"

"...Zha jiang mian," Mobei-Jun mutters. There are hints of a blue flush along his ears, and Shang Qinghua cannot figure out why. Where would his king have even had the chance to learn of the existence of zha jiang mian? The demons in his palace tend to eat meat raw or dried, with some rare fruits in the summer.

"Ah, good choice, My King."

"And Qinghua?"

"Huh?"

"Qinghua's favorite meal." Oh. That makes sense. That's how conversations tend to work.

"Hand-pulled noodles, My King." At that, Mobei-Jun dips his head in a firm nod of acknowledgement. This whole conversation is so strange. Everything about this night has been so strange. He has no idea what else they should talk about, and the conversation lapses into silence, the fire crackling between them. When Shang Qinghua cannot stand the quiet any longer, cannot stand the memory of the strange interaction over by the writing desk, cannot stand the looming presence of the bed in the corner, he lets out another awkward laugh, stumbles to his feet, brushes his sweaty palms off against his thighs.

"Well, this one has troubled you for long enough." He feels woozy, like the floor underneath him is rocking with each step. "I will take my leave and let you get back to sleep. See you tomorrow, My King."

"Not a trouble." Mobei-Jun does not stand to follow him or look particularly bereft, but the words ring through Shang Qinghua all the same. This is not how they speak to each other. He remembers the grumpy, sleepy look on Mobei-Jun's face when he opened the door. Interrupting his sleep like that is not a small offense. For him to say that it is not a trouble, now.

Well.

He doen't think on it any further. Better to just let that lie before his mind can get a proper hold on it.

Shang Qinghua extends his hand in a terrible little wave before he slinks back down the hallways, as if he were a criminal escaping the scene of a crime, except he literally was just talking to someone.

Back to the safety and warmth of his own quarters. Tianlang-Jun is not hiding anywhere in the corners. He checked. After that, there is little to do beyond curl up under the heavy blankets of his own bed and allow exhaustion to drag him under.

It's hours before he falls asleep.

[ray935sworld]

Son of divorce Rosquez AU. David has already confirmed to us that Valentino actually sent him a DM congratulating him and thanking him for the celebration. If that happened in the AU how would David feel? Because it has been quite private and hidden while, for example, a few weeks before he republished Alex Albon's (f1) helmet that he made in his honor. I'm between whether he would take it as a step forward or badly. I mean, in the sense that a stranger deserves that he make public his thanks but his own son can only have an MD?? Although an MD is also more personal. Idk. I feel that Marc, upon finding out, would also be conflicted, because its another way of not publicly recognizing David as his son but at the same time he has recognized his son even if it is in private.

Oh my god, Calia, I am so sorry that it took me an eternity to answer. I swear I didn't mean.

Thank you so much. I think you nailed it pretty good. Honestly, I think David would be pretty happy because he just wants to be aknowledged by his dad so he spents a good 10 minutes just jumping around and being happy. Sure, I think he'd be disappointed about not getting a public review like so many other did already but he knows the situation is complicated so he takes everything he can get and digs his claws in. I also think he wouldn't answer right away. I think he would tell Marc and Alex, maybe his grandparents and ask them what they think he should reply because he doesn't want to seen eager and annoy Vale. (Seeing how nervous and excited he is, breaks Marcs heart a little bit cause he is once again reminded that he is not David's everything. David still wants more. He still wants his other father even after everything Vale put him/ them through)

I'd say Marc is more concerned because he doesn't get what it means. Does Vale want to start making amends? Is this a way to get back in touch? Like an olive branch? And what does the 2nd part with the 'hope see each other soon' mean? Does he want to invite him to the ranch? Or is it all just publicity? He doesn't trust this whole thing. But it makes David happy so maybe it isn't that bad... Right? And Luca is at the ranch too. Luca surely influenced Vale. (he send him a text - yes, Luca helped Vale phrase the message and Uccio has no idea which calms Marc A LOT) So... Maybe it isn't as bad as he expected.

Nonetheless he can't know what will happen. He doesn't want David to get his hopes up too high. What if Vale was just being polite but didn't mean anything if it? What if this is a one off and then they'll never hear anything (good) from him again? What if this whole thing just ends up hurting his baby?

Oh yes he is very conflicted about this message.

[sarahreesbrennan]

I think this is a lovely addition and I am so glad you feel that way. I hoped some people would! I knew not everybody would.

Under a cut to spare your dash, friends, some thoughts about villainy…

I don’t know that we differ in substance, though perhaps in style. I’d say that I agree with you… but it’s complicated.

Long Live Evil poses many questions about the nature of villainy, who is assigned villainy and who gets the sympathy and understanding. It’s about the experience of being assigned villainy, but also understanding the assignment.

Rae is absolutely going through something so awful. She is very understandably angry about it. Indeed, most of the main characters of Long Live Evil have been THROUGH it. That’s part of why they’re seen as villains - though this perception also exists on an axis of gender, class, race, sexuality, disability. These things affect how they’re perceived and how they’re treated and how they act, and there is almost no way to disentangle cause and effect.

‘Under the present brutal and primitive conditions on this planet, every person you meet should be regarded as one of the walking wounded. we have never seen a man or woman not slightly deranged by either anxiety or grief. we have never seen a totally sane human being.’ - Robert Anton Wilson

This world hurts people. And then it can be very harsh to hurt people. We’re blamed for our wounds.

I agree Rae is a more interesting protagonist to me. That’s why I picked her. But there are very, very popular protagonists in fiction I find absolutely dull as ditchwater. (Not saying I find Alice dull. I love Alice.) I’m still interested in why audiences like them, and as I would like to have many readers too, I think about why things are popular a lot. I learn rules… sometimes simply that I may break them.

You might think Rae’s plight would engender sympathy: and for some it does. For many it doesn’t. And I knew that would be the case. I’ve seen it happen in real life many times.

—Someone in my close circle of friends publicly made fun of me for my ‘terrible anger issues’ at a time I was literally too sick to walk and barely able to breathe. I know that person thinks she’s a good person who was good to me.

—this is a very common thing to happen to chronically ill people. Most of my mentees, especially my younger mentees, have been abandoned by many friends who would all confidently state that this is the patient’s fault for being a bad person.

—one woman I know had her ex accurately recount all her behaviour to his new girlfriend without adding the reason why she ceased intimacy, got irritable and didn’t help around the house.

Sick people are legitimately hard to be around sometimes, and they get blamed for being so because it’s easier to blame a person than a disease. Other people don’t want to be the villain, so they make you the villain.

And the making of a villain is an interesting thing to me.

Rae being sick and Rae being perceived as evil and embracing that perception are inextricable. As a society, we are not truly sympathetic to victims. I knew it would be this way, but I still found myself shocked by the way some readers responded to her - she’s so evil that bitch got Key killed, she’s not even evil enough so she’s something pathetic that can be dismissed, she’s cringe because she uses humour as a coping mechanism, everything is her fault, it’s disgusting how much this formerly emaciated by illness woman talks about her boobs. But then, did Katniss in the Hunger Games get as much sympathy for literally starving as Peeta did for having his feelings hurt? (Note: Peeta also had many legitimate problems and I really like both characters.) And then again, isn’t feeling any kind of way about a character a compliment?

This is one of the reasons Rae is a woman. Society is set up to dismiss women’s pain, and discourage empathy with them. (And yet at the same time, we can’t demand anybody likes any specific character, regardless of gender. We can only observe patterns.)

And listen, I am not equating being a gorgeous talented famous artist with being chronically ill, but there is a phenomenon my friend who’s a psychologist has observed, which is that audiences get tired of famous women after a certain number of years (seven at most) and begin to criticise their looks or say they’re annoying or problematic.

Anne Hathaway and Jennifer Lawrence, both relatively inoffensive women, just had to basically go away for a while, until audiences were ready to go ‘wait, is Anne Hathaway talented and beautiful?’ (Yes she has been the whole time.)

The only woman who I’ve seen not have to slink into oblivion for several years when the tide of public opinion turned is, actually, Taylor Swift - there’s a piece online called ‘Darling, Villain, Victor’ which covers this very well. I like Taylor’s songs because a lot of them are narratives. And it was interesting to me to see the way she engaged with the narrative - going ‘okay yes I eat men for breakfast but also they flee from me, I’m drowning in diamonds, I’m covered in snakes, I’m wearing the evil makeup but also the eyeliner is running down my face because I am HYSTERICAL’ - and people looked stupid for saying the thing she’d already said about herself, outsized. Someone who also does this is Dolly Parton. ‘Yes I am everything you say about me. Now what?’

I did find that inspiring. I did want to claim, for my vipers and myself, the beauty and freedom of that ‘Now what?’ Anger is how we survive. We will be blamed for anger and for survival. Okay. Now what?

Another inspiration is the Interview with the Vampire quote ‘evil is a point of view.’ Not one of the Time of Iron characters think of themselves as people who enjoy cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Sure, some glory in justified vengeance, but that’s okay, right…?

To be able to see yourself as the villain in someone else’s story is, in some ways, an act of radical empathy. It’s an early thing Key says that makes him fun to me - that he’s like oh yes, I am evil. He’s very clear-eyed about the fact that, say, many of the people at the glass blowers’ guild (relatively innocent pleasant individuals) were from their point of view flat out murdered by a homicidal maniac for no reason whatsoever. Still when he tells his story, Rae is sympathetic - and it is also the tale of an abused child and a pitilessly corrupt society.

Key isn’t human. And he’s not a sociopath. Key is a god. And actually, it’s considered morally acceptable for gods to raze cities or worlds for sinning, and even to kill their children. But if a god thought he was human and evil, then what? (Was Athena traumatised by her birth?)

Yet another inspiration for me is Congreve. ‘I love her with her faults. Nay, I love her for her faults.’ I did want the vipers to not just be misunderstood darlings but to commit crimes and have serious personality problems.

Does Rae deserve more sympathy than she gets? Sure. At the same time, I really wanted her to have hubris. I refer to Greek plays a lot - where the deus ex machina was invented, art designed for the audience to be rocked and purged by emotion - and it’s this classic failing, to be arrogant and think you can avoid destiny and get this outsize punishment for it. (And people haaate women to be arrogant, and I knew they would find that annoying about her.) Rae doesn’t want Key or Emer to be hurt, but they are both people of a lower class in her employ, whose lives she knows are only saved in the original narrative by another aristocratic woman - and she deliberately sets out to use them and that does put them in harm’s way. Emer is whipped. Key is whipped twice and killed. Rae is not corporally punished in the same way servants are. But then again, when death looms, what choice does she have? Is she the one ultimately responsible for hurting them? No. But does that mean she bears no responsibility at all, when she made a bargain with them? Do we get to hurt others just because we’re hurt? When is lashing out because of trauma okay, never or always? Well…

It’s tricky to discuss personality flaws, because some characters get more sympathy while others’ faults get magnified. I’ve seen Rae discussed as more privileged than Marius - Lord Marius Valerius, second-most powerful man in the kingdom, in possession of literal superpowers, and uh - very arrogant at times himself. (And I love Marius and he has many very legitimate problems!) They are both flawed people. Very few feel villainous to themselves. Very little of what the people we love do to others feels villainous to us. I will miss Octavian so much as an antagonist, because he was such a great one - never for a moment did he consider he was being anything but heroic, and I do think at bottom he was a very ordinary guy, with an absolutely normal capacity for empathy. Yet all that power and privilege and the empty assurance of others and fame ate him right up. He didn’t ever have to look through anyone else’s eyes, and see himself the villain.

But also, can you look at the abyss, and not be changed? Rae at the start of the story would not be capable of tossing a man off the battlements of a tower into a yawning ravine full of flame with a wild, mocking laugh. But she IS that person by the end - and some of us are with her! It’s a villain origin story, emphasis on origin.

So yes it’s wish fulfilment, and yes it’s about villainy, and about having different perceptions of villainy, and which sins and flaws are forgivable in which people... We all have different perceptions. I am posing the questions, but you may have a different answer than I - if either of us find any answers at all.

Still the questions are worth asking. I do believe that.

Truly, thank you for having sympathy with my viper queen.

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.