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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 23: Flesh and Bone

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

You find the springs- and it exceeds your expectations but perhaps not in the way you had hoped it would. Something wicked is unfolding.

A/N: I'm going out of town tomorrow but I will do my best to get back to replies as often as I can! Your feedback gives me life <3 I'll be back on Tuesday. You guys probably won't even notice I'm gone, since I've somehow managed to miraculously write enough to cover the space where I won't be around! I'm going to see my family for the first time since the pandemic ;___; !!

Part 22 Part 24 Chapter Index

You drew closer to the wave of clouds above you, and it wasn’t long until you were engulfed by them. It was like the most intense fog you’d ever been in. You had scoured the cliffside for caves along the way but found nothing of note. You stopped walking once you were completely surrounded by the clouds and had long since let go of Liu Kang’s hand.

There was that feeling again. As though you had been lost in this fog before and yet you had never been there. It made you dizzy and you lost sight of Liu in the fog. You could see that man from your vision, walking in front of you, then to the left of you, then to the right. Your head spun and when you closed your eyes, you felt lost. But you weren’t. You knew this place even if you’d never been there. The vision in your head knew it.

You turned and the clouds felt misty on your skin. It was as if you had lost your body and were watching yourself walk through the fog blindly in search of something you weren’t sure that you wanted to find. Then suddenly, very suddenly, as if you were being pulled out of a dream, Liu Kang stood in front of you. Your body was yours again. His right hand was bathed in fire and the shadows it cast on his face were haunting and beautiful.

“Wake up, Y/N.”

He urged his hand to your arm and forced you to look at him. You gasped, your lungs having once again forbidden you air. You closed your eyes tight to shake off the feeling and then searched around you. It was too foggy to tell how far you’d gone but you had the distinct feeling that it hadn’t been very far at all. Liu’s relief was palpable and with a wave of his hand the fire was gone, leaving you in the cold mist of the clouds.

His grip was tight on your arm, as if he were worried that you would walk off again. You caught your breath, chest aching with the lack of it, and knit your brow. “How… how did you know?”

“I just knew.” The concern on his face was valid but the admiration was unexpected. “You’re like flickering lamplight, Y/N. The shadows cast by my flame. I know when you’re not there.” Your tongue was suddenly far too big for your mouth and your heart hurt. You should have kissed him. That was the most romantic thing you had ever heard in your whole damn life. But your chest was aching and your hands were trembling with the fear of losing control of your body. “Do you think that you could lead us using your vision? If it’s taking control of you like that then it clearly wants us to go somewhere.”

“I’m… I can try but I’m afraid.” You were still struggling with air and words. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing it’s leading us. I walked off on Kung Lao and nearly drowned myself yesterday when my vision took over.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I won’t let go of your hand.” He let his hand move from your arm and down to your fingertips. He leaned closer and whispered. “Trust yourself as much as you trust me.” He stepped back, still holding your hand. You had to try. He was right. If you trusted your gut and it went horribly wrong then Liu would make sure you didn’t jump off a cliff. He was staring back at you, completely relaxed. He trusted you. You could feel it. How could you have ever doubted that? You weren’t sure where to begin but you started with turning off your inner critic. You were unsteady on your feet, unsure of yourself.

“Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but ask. He took both of your hands and walked backwards in front of you which you felt like was a mistake.

“Keep going, Y/N. I trust you. Close your eyes and follow your vision. I will make sure that we’re safe.”

“I…”

“Trust yourself, Y/N.”

You didn’t, that was clear to you both. With a deep exhale, you closed your eyes and then walked. When you walked, Liu walked. You led him blindly along the path through the clouds. The more you walked without plummeting to your deaths, the more confident you felt. And you were in control, which was nice. You walked until he stopped suddenly in front of you, as if he’d run into something. You stumbled into him, letting go of one of his hands to catch the stone behind him, body pressed against his. Eyes fluttering open, Liu let go of your other hand and instead rested both against the sides of your neck. Despite their warmth, they gave you chills.

His thumb brushed over the bruised skin on your neck, other hand gently caressing its way up to your cheek, thumb just beneath your eye. His hands were callused and strong, still somehow soft, controlled just like the rest of him. He had this way of drinking you in, of making you feel like you were something precious and special. You got goosebumps. The pitter-patter of your heart was betraying you, pressed against him like this and it was warranted for more reasons than you could count. The most important of those reasons was Liu Kang.

“You did it,” he whispered but his eyes were on your lips.

“I found it.” You smiled in realization and got the chills. That was a wonderful feeling. It was the first time in ages where you’d trusted your gut and it hadn’t wound up in a complete mess. Without thinking you buried yourself against Liu’s chest, hands gripping at his shirt. You closed your eyes tight and took deep calming breaths.

Don’t get upset.

Don’t cry in front of Liu Kang even if they were happy tears. It had been so long since you’d felt that good.

“What? What is it?” He could sense that you were trying not to get upset and he tucked your hair behind your ear, fixing the flower that had come loose.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“Okay…?”

You lifted yourself from his chest and straightened your posture, but you were hopelessly pressed against him. “So much of these last few weeks with healing and my arcana and the visions… it’s felt like such failure. I’m trying so damn hard and still it seems impossible. One thing after another keeps going wrong and I’m just so grateful to have something work out.”

“Y/N, just because it doesn’t work out how you expect it to, doesn’t mean it’s a failure. You’re learning. Please… be kind to yourself. The shadow hanging over you isn’t any fault of yours. From where I’m standing? You’re doing well.”

God, he was the cutest. So damn sweet. “Thank you, Liu. Thank you for grounding me too. I needed it.”

“Don’t credit me with that. You grounded yourself, Y/N. I just reminded you how to breathe.” He gently took one of your hands from where it was balled up in his shirt and held it in his.

“It’s funny. Sometimes I feel like my brain is such swirling chaos that I’m going to float away, like a leaf on the wind. You have this way of bringing me back and keeping me firmly rooted to the branch.”

“I’m happy to make sure that you don’t float too far for too long if you need me to.” Liu let go of your hand and turned his gaze to his left. His smile faded.

“What? What is it?” You touched his face this time, fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones that curved so perfectly when he smiled. You’d never done that before. He was so handsome that it felt forbidden to touch him.

“Now is not the time. Later. I promise. We have things to do.”

“Yeah. The cave.” You nodded to your right. You hadn’t seen the cavern yet but you knew it was there. He offered a nod to agree.

“Raiden theorizes that these places are protected and changed by the magic that the man from your vision used. He considered that the artifacts could be toxic. The dotaku you found was probably tainted with evil intent in some way.”

“Great, because I had that thing pressed all up against me for way too long.” You frowned. “The monks there said something about it being cursed, too.”

“You seem fine other than the bruises. And the anxiety but I don’t know if that’s related.”

“Tangentially so.” You smiled but then frowned. Kung Lao had been pale that morning. You hoped that he was taking care of himself. “Let’s get this over with.” You stepped away from him, realizing you had essentially pinned him to the wall. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two keychain sized flashlights. He offered one to you and you took it with a smile. “I’m glad one of us was prepared to go into a cave.”

“It was a last-minute purchase.” He admitted with a shrug. The cavern opening, now that you saw it, was not inviting. You never would have found it without your vision. It was less like a cave mouth and more like a fissure. You’d have to stand sideways and scoot inside which was incredibly unappealing. You had to do it though, you reminded yourself.

So, against every instinct in your body, you pressed yourself between the stone walls and scooted. It was uncomfortably tight and you’d had to adjust several times to make it through. If you’d told yourself months ago that you would be doing this then you would have never believed yourself. Liu was right behind you and you helped each other through difficult spaces. Finally, the fissure opened up and you gasped at what lay beyond the tight opening. The air was so humid it was difficult to breathe and there were pools of water glimmering with bioluminescent light. Usually, you would have thought it was beautiful but there was something inherently sinister about it.

The air was foreboding. Liu joined you at your side as you studied the cave that went back into the darkness far beyond your tiny flashlights.

“It’s like the exact opposite of the springs back in the temple.”

“Something dark has corrupted it.” He frowned then walked right into the water like it was nothing. At its deepest point it was up to his thighs.

“You just jump right into that probably cursed water, huh?”

“Yes, and you should join me. I have a feeling that it’s going to be quite a walk and the only way through is in the water.”

“You’re probably right. Is this the opposite of holy water, you think?” You joined him and he offered a shake of his head at your bad joke. You trudged together through the water, following the only path there was to take. You lit your way with the tiny flashlights but even combined it didn’t do much for you. The bioluminescent plant life growing in the pools helped you at least find your path and you were sure if you needed to then Liu would use his fire. It was eerie. In the distance, there was the sound of falling water and it grew ever louder as you approached.

You finally pinpointed what the bad feeling was. It was like you weren’t supposed to be there, and the cave wanted you out. You knew that this was where you were meant to be and whatever wanted you out was that artifact.

“Careful.” You gestured to another fissure in front of you but this one was half full of water. It went on longer than the first one had, and you’d briefly panicked halfway through. Liu had helped you and then you had helped him when he’d gotten stuck at the end. It didn’t get any better after that. The next fissure was lower, and the water was up to his shoulders which meant you had to swim and squeeze your way through.

“Just hold your breath.” He encouraged and you looked to him skeptically but did your best. The water got down your throat a few times as it splashed around your face, but you managed your way through it. Liu continued right behind you, and it was made much more difficult when the path shrunk at the end. He’d nearly gotten stuck. That would have been a disaster. That cavern was low, and the water was so high you had to swim. The sound of water falling was no longer distant but very close. You searched the small corridor with your flashlight, but it was flickering after being submerged in the water. “Where do we go?” He searched above the water but there was barely any space above you.

“You’re going to hate it.” You pointed with an unhappy groan at the cavern beneath the water, completely submerged. This was a nightmare.

“You’re right, I do.” He shook out his wet hair. You ducked beneath the water, allowed your eyes to adjust to the warmth of it and cringed. It was uncomfortable. The springs in your vision had been small and modest. It was like they’d spread like cancer throughout the cavern thanks to that man and whatever artifact he’d hidden there. Then you came back up and turned to him. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Y/N.”

You ducked beneath the water again, held your breath, and then made your way through the tunnel as quickly and carefully as your body would allow. Just as you thought your lungs would give out, you found a space at the very top of the tunnel that was above the water. It was barely enough for you to tilt your head up and regain your breath but it was more than you needed.

Then you ducked under again and were grateful when the cave opened up and you could bring your head above water into a much, much larger space. The water was way deeper there too and you gasped greedily for breath. Then you turned and waited for Liu Kang to follow you. Seconds later, he popped up next to you, also gasping for breath.

The cavern was huge and you found the source of the rushing water. It poured from an opening above that led to the mountain outside. You caught a glimpse of a tree beyond, but just barely. Water poured from a river from the precipice and down onto two other ledges in between before ultimately falling into the pool that you and Liu had emerged in. There was dry land on either side of the deep pool and you were looking forward to it. Never again if you could avoid it.

Liu reached for your hair to push it back and looked disappointed to find that the flower had gone. You searched the water for it and sighed. You’d forgotten it was there. “Sorry.” You pouted and he smiled anyway. The air in the chamber was heavy and you were set on edge, like something terrible could happen at any moment. Liu was moving toward the shallower water and talking but you couldn’t hear him. There was a high-pitched squeal in your ears.

Liu called to you, but his voice was distant and fading. You couldn’t quite remember why he would be with you or where you were or what you were doing. You turned in search of him, but he was gone.

You were alone and made your way to the shallower water, crawling out just enough so it was up to your thighs. When you turned back, there was a man standing before you. It was him. The creature from your vision and you saw him plain as day. His skin was gray and mysterious patterns shifted beneath the surface, his white eyes surrounded by red flesh, as if he had never slept a day in his life. He wore a hat that fit to the form of his head and curved up into horns. When you blinked, he was standing uncomfortably close in front of you, and you stumbled back. He sneered and the flesh melted from his face, revealing the fanged skull beneath it.

“Who are…” You tried to ask but you choked on your words as his hand plunged into your chest, tearing at your flesh like it was nothing. Pain radiated through your shoulders, down your stomach, and you were blinded by it. You would have collapsed if he had not been holding you in his death grip. His cold fingers wrapped around your heart and you saw your blood ooze down his arm and drench your shirt.

He was killing you.

You were dying.

When you looked back up at him, he was gone but the pain remained. You collapsed into the water, the ground disappearing from beneath your feet as though you had never step foot upon it. You couldn’t breathe.

But you could hear again. The ringing had stopped, and you could hear combat above the water. Through it, you could see the light of Liu’s arcana as he fought off many creatures you couldn’t make out from there. He was trying to get to you but the shapes were overwhelming him. You watched, as if in slow motion, as one of those shapes burned up. Then he was thrown back into the water with a splash and the fire was doused with a hiss of steam.

You panic-swam to the surface. Liu was being held beneath the water by skeletal creatures in tattered robes and tarnished jewelry. They were pulling him further into the deep pool. You grasped at your chest suddenly and discovered there was no wound. It had been an illusion or a vision or something.

There was no time. You had to get to Liu.

You bashed the creature aside that had been pushing him under but there were others pulling him further and further. Taking a deep breath, you dove into the water and willed your ink into your jian. You hadn’t been certain it would work under the water but were pleased to find that it was solid. You slashed one of the creatures to pieces and swam out of the way of another. Then you knocked the one holding Liu away.

He was struggling to keep his breath, hand grasped over his mouth. You pushed his hand aside and pressed your lips to his, offering him the little breath you had left. Then you urged your arm under his and helped kick to the surface. You both gasped for breath, and he coughed up water. You urged him back behind you, defending you both with the jian so he had a chance to regain himself and get to dry land.

The moment he had his footing, he grasped at the natural energy around him and bathed his fists in fire. He twisted and threw the flames and several of the skeletal creatures stumbling toward you burned up. But they didn’t stay down for long. Either they rebuilt themselves or there were tons of them. You twisted with your jian, ducking, and slicing at them as they drew closer, finishing them off when Liu’s fire didn’t.

“This isn’t working!” He coughed as more of them crawled out of the water toward you.

“There’s too many.” You backed up to join him on the small shoreline. If these things kept crawling back to life, then you would be at this until you were exhausted and one of you slipped up. You had to do something drastic. You’d mimicked Kung Lao in Japan but you hadn’t been sure how you’d done it. Could you mimic other things? “You thought that my arcana could mimic things, right?”

“Yeah, you mimicked my hand when you first showed me. Haven’t had much time to train, have we?”

“Could you keep me safe while I try something?”

“Of course.” Liu stepped in front of you and, fists still engulfed in flame, and went after the creatures as they came close. Watching him fight was amazing. It was almost like a dance. Stepping back to offer him more space to fight, you worked with your ink magic. You’d been able to draw with it when you’d been fighting against the tar creature in Japan so why not try that?

Bracing yourself for the energy it would take, you focused on the creatures as they fell beneath Liu’s skilled hands. He stepped back from them and bounced in ready position, extinguishing his fire. You focused only on the space and your ink, your will to make it. Your mind cleared of all other thoughts. Liu stepped back in surprise as you drew solid walls around the creatures, and they filled with ink. Then you slammed your hands together and the walls crushed the creatures trapped within. You felt the crash of those walls rattle through your arms and into your shoulders.

“Damn.” Liu turned to you with admiration. You relaxed your posture but didn’t get to do so for long. Water exploded in a fountain and rained down over you. A huge creature made of bones and skulls rose from the water. It hissed and creaked awkwardly. Its many arms wielded old, rusted weaponry. You summoned your jian back into your hand and stepped up next to Liu who turned back into his stance, hands bathed in fire again.

You waited for the creature to strike. It raised its arms and swung down toward you. You leapt away from the blows. Liu ducked under another and set the arm ablaze and then kicked another back. You leapt over the one he’d kicked and sliced it at the arm and then cut another that was grasping for Liu. You ducked low, rolled back and then knocked the weapon out of another’s grasp. You were always aware of where Liu Kang was. It was unlike any other fight you’d ever been in. It was almost like you’d choreographed it before you’d started. You were so in tune with each other’s energy that you could sense what he was about to do before he did it. You stepped back to allow Liu to keep the creature at bay and with the jian as a pen, you created a heavy chain with ink that attached to the shore. It dripped and then crystallized into form, wrapping around the creature.

Liu rolled over the chain and then knocked the creature back as it pulled, trying to free itself with wild thrashing. Liu flipped backwards and threw fire at the creature that then swatted at him, howling in agony. You leapt atop the chain and ran closer to the creature. You flipped atop the mass that held its many arms. It swung at you wildly and you leapt to the other side of its many heads. With a flourish you drew another chain to wrap around the creature but before you could finish, you were grabbed and thrown back toward the shore.

Liu leapt and caught you, and then gracefully set you down. You bounced to your feet, and you finished the chain and then spun low to the ground, smacking your hand against the stone so that it locked next to the first one. The monster couldn’t move far now but you had to finish it off before you ran out of steam, or it found a way to escape.

Liu nodded toward the creature that thrashed at the chains. They groaned beneath the force. It wouldn’t be held much longer. You threw your jian and it faded into ink and then you mimicked the water, and a wave of ink coated the creature. Ink was flammable. It would smell horrible, but you hoped it would work. “Now, Liu!”

He stepped back, braced his footing and his hand was engulfed in flame, so much so that his flesh seemed to glow orange and crack with bright light. Ducking low, he swung upward and from the water behind the creature, a massive dragon made of fire and lava rose high above it. With a low crouch and a spin of his arms, he slammed his hand to the ground and the dragon opened its great maw and attacked the creature. The ink caught fire just as you had hoped and the creature howled, consumed by flame. Then it stopped thrashing and began to fall toward you with the last bit of its strength.

The shore wasn’t wide enough for you to stay on it, so you grabbed Liu’s arm and you ran from the creature that swept toward you, ablaze, and leapt into the water together. The creature fell after you, its bones scorching and disintegrating as it did. You dove deep beneath the water but as you made your way to the opposite shore, it grabbed your ankle and pulled. You choked and your breath escaped, and you got a mouthful of water and had to resist the urge to breathe and swallow. You fought against the creature’s fading grasp but your lungs were aching so badly that you could do little but kick and flail upward and hope it got you there.

But then Liu’s arm was around you and he pulled you free of its grasp and dragged you above the water. You choked and spat out water, but your lungs were in agony. He pushed your hair back and held you above the water. “Breathe! Breathe, Y/N!”

“Trying.” You croaked and water sputtered past your lips. It was burning at your throat and your lungs, but he had gotten to you before it had gotten worse. You dragged each other to the opposite shore and then Liu urged you to lay back so you could focus on breathing. Then he collapsed on his back next to you to do the same.

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hardskz · 4 years

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bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh.

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.” Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him.

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste.

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!”

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record.

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.”

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize.

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II.

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories.

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II.

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade).

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong.

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long.

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table.

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall.

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back.

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers.

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly.

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed.

“Don’t wanna come like this—”

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.”

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants.

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace.

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

#yes the ending is rushed oops sue me #may consider part 2 so heads up #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #smut.mine #dom!chan #sub!reader #crispy.txt

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bluexiao · 3 years

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having seen raiden’s story quest,,, i’m quite disappointed in a way, but i think having time for herself is necessary,,, i guess? now here are my “complaints” though

(I’m merely pointing these out for constructive criticism, nothing against the character & all. I like Ei in a way I can actually see a few qualities of myself in her but not on her story lmao)

story quest spoilers utc

1. She did genuinely apologize to the traveler for her wrong decisions, which is a good part, but how about to her people? The vision holders? I believe they, most especially, deserve it.

2. Adding to point 1, it seems she only cares Inazuma for Inazuma. She may care for her people, in a way, but I think in her point of view, she sees taking care of Inazuma as a way of taking care of her people. I wish this is somehow addressed in a way? For the future story quest I hope. That’s how I read it, I’m not sure for others.

3. It’s lacking, honestly. I’m not saying I dislike it because it’s quite fun honestly it has a nice pace, but considering the fact that we had 2 previous Archon story quests for Venti & Zhongli, they both have cut scenes in the end, right? Or some kind of meaningful end in a way. For Raiden’s it ended the same way as the Archon Quest did, with Guuji Yae. I don’t have complaints seeing Yae but don’t you think it’s too far-fetched? We haven’t asked Ei about anything before, even in her story quest?? I get the fact that she’s a god but even Venti and Zhongli answered us. Maybe it’s the difference in personality, but still, I think it’s kind of disappointing in my part.

4. The Kujou Kamaji cut scene near the end… seriously one part showed he already has his eyeglasses then the next he doesn’t (he originally doesn’t because it got flown away) it was honestly eyebrow-raising since even that part is kind of “lazy” in Mihoyo’s part. Although that’s just a minor mistake, but still.

5. It needs a part 2. Honestly, Raiden Shogun & Ei needs redemption. Yes, Raiden Shogun may be a puppet but like Ei said, she is the Raiden Shogun, her consciousness is just separate… in a way. I was kind of hoping she would get other people’s insight while looking around but… well, it only showed how the people still love her & etc, but that’s only the perspective of those who weren’t affected by the Sakoku Decree. What of those who bears Visions? Were their Visions returned? Did their Ambitions returned as well? Do they not have something to say to the Shogun? She needs to know those. She doesn’t seem to have a clue what to do, so having her see the perspective of those who were greatly affected by the Decree would help her think of “Inazuma’s way to Eternity”, and I think she will apologize to them as well. Ei doesn’t seem to be a bad person, just a different way of thinking.

6. Wait, adding onto this, does the traveler have anything to gain from this? From what I know in the previous story quests, the traveler asks for their sibling, why is it that it’s not even implied her even for the slightest part??

7. And also just a suggestion to Mihoyo, can you stop it with the 4pc Noblesse Oblige? This is what happened during HuTao story quest as well, also Yoimiya’s. (I just did Hutao’s so I kind of remembered it) Maybe correctly place them with their right artifacts, no? You’re confusing those who wants to build their character correctly plus this takes away so much potential damage for the characters.

But apart from those, on a positive note, I commend the Eng VA of Kujou Kamaji like wow his lines are very well expressed. As a Theater Artist, I was heavily impressed (hey that kinda rhymes jxjsks)

#cw 2.1 spoilers #🪁#cw criticisms

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leafinthebreeze · 4 years

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“The road that is recovery from a childhood without a mother’s love, support, and attunement is long and complicated. One aspect of healing that is rarely touched upon is mourning the mother you needed, sought, and — yes — deserved. The word deserved is key to understanding why this remains elusive for many women (and men): They simply don’t see themselves as deserving, because they’ve internalized what their mothers said and did as self-criticism and have wrongly concluded that they’re lacking, worthless, or simply unlovable.

When I learned that my mother was failing 16 years ago, I did not go to see her, even though everyone in my life — including my therapist — thought I should go for “closure.” But I was wise enough to realize that they hadn’t walked my path, and their vision of closure was based on novels and Hollywood movies in which a-ha! moments flourish and mothers always love. In real life, I would ask the question I always wanted to be answered — “Why didn’t you love me?" — and she would refuse to answer, as always, but this time her silence would stretch out into eternity. I didn’t attend her funeral, either. But I did grieve — not for her, but for me and my unmet needs. And the mother I deserved.

"As I started finally to see her for what she was and how she will never be the mother I need and want, I started standing up for myself and setting boundaries, and her anger and insults got worse. Finally, I put my foot down and told her I would no longer tolerate her behavior and stopped all contact. And, NOW, I am really in mourning. I finally acknowledged the truth, and it hurts like hell. And I’m at the age where some of my friends are starting to lose their moms to old age and their stories, of times with their moms, are heartbreaking to me… I guess I just started this mourning process, and I’m still in it." —Annie

Grieving the mother you needed is impeded by both feeling unworthy of love and, more important, what I call the core conflict. This conflict is between the daughter’s growing awareness of how her mother wounded her in childhood and still does, and her continuing need for maternal love and support, even in adulthood. This pits the need to save and protect herself against the continuing hope that, somehow, she can figure out what she can do to get her mother to love her.

This tug-of-war can go on for literally decades, with the daughter retreating and perhaps going no-contact for a period of time and then being pulled back into the maelstrom by the combination of her neediness, hopefulness, and denial. She may paper over her pain and make excuses for her mother’s behavior because her eyes are on the prize: Her mother’s love. She puts herself on an ever-turning Ferris wheel, unable to dismount.

Those who concede the battle — going no contact, or limiting communication with their mothers and usually other family members — experience great loss along with relief. For the daughter to heal, this loss — the death of the hope that this essential relationship can be salvaged — needs to be mourned along with the mother she deserved.

The depth of the core conflict can be glimpsed in the anguish of those daughters who stay in the relationship precisely because they fear they will feel worse when their mothers die.

The stages of grief echo a daughter’s recovery from childhood.

In their book On Grief and Grieving, Elizabeth Kübler-Ross and David Kessler point out that the five stages of loss for which Kübler-Ross is famous — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — aren’t meant “to help tuck messy emotions into neat packages.” They instead emphasize that everyone experiences grief in a unique and individual way. Not everyone will go through each stage, for example, and the stages may not necessarily follow in the expected sequence. That said, the stages are still illuminating, especially when seen in the context of an unloved daughter’s journey out of childhood, and they make it clear why mourning is an essential part of healing.

Denial: As the authors write, “It is nature’s way of letting in as much as we can handle.” With the experience of great loss, denial helps cushion the immediate blow, allowing the person to pace the absorption of the reality. That’s true for death, but it also applies to the daughter’s recognition of her woundedness. That’s why it can take years or decades for the daughter to actually see her mother’s behavior with clarity. Counterintuitively, some women actually only see it in hindsight, after their mothers’ deaths.

Anger: In the wake of death, anger is the most accessible of emotions, directed at targets as various as the deceased for abandoning the loved one, God or the forces of the universe, the unfairness of life, doctors and the healthcare system, and more. Kübler-Ross and Kessler stress that beneath the anger lie other, more complex emotions, especially the raw pain of loss, and that the power of the grieving person’s anger may actually feel overwhelming at times.

Unloved daughters, too, go through a stage or even stages of anger as they work through their emotions toward recovery. Their anger may be directed squarely at their mothers for their treatment, at other family members who stood by and failed to protect them, and also at themselves for not recognizing the toxic treatment sooner.

Anger at the self, alas, can get in the way of the daughter’s ability to feel self-compassion; once again, it is the act of mourning the mother you deserved that permits self-compassion to take root and flower.

Bargaining: This stage has to do with impending death most usually — bargaining with God or making promises to change, thinking that “if only” we’d done x or y, we’d be spared the pain of loss. With death, this is a stage to be passed through toward acceptance of the reality. The unloved daughter’s journey is marked by years of bargaining, spoken or unspoken entreaties in the belief that if some condition is met, her mother will love and support her. She may embark on a course of pleasing and appeasing her mother or make changes to her behavior, looking in vain for the solution that will bring the desired end: Her mother’s love. Just as in the process of grief, it’s only when the daughter ceases to bargain that she can begin to accept the reality that she’s powerless to wrest what she needs from her mother.

Depression: In the context of a major loss, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to point out that we are often impatient with the deep sadness or depression that accompanies it. As a society, we want people to snap out of it, or are quick to insist that if sadness persists, it deserves treatment. They write instead that in grief, “Depression is a way for nature to keep us protected by shutting down the nervous system so that we can adapt to something we feel we cannot handle. They see it as a necessary step in the process of healing.

Acceptance: Most importantly, Kübler-Ross and Kessler are quick to say that acceptance of the reality isn’t a synonym for being all right or even okay with that reality. That’s a key point. It’s about acknowledging the loss, identifying the permanent and even endlessly painful aspects of it, the permanent changes it’s made to your life and you, and learning to live with all of that from this day forward. In their view, acceptance permits us “to withdraw our energy from the loss and begin to invest in life.” Acceptance permits the mourner to forge new relationships and connections as part of their recovery.

What does it mean to mourn the mother you deserved?

Just what it sounds like — to grieve the absence of a mother who listened to you, took pride in you, who needed you to understand her as well as she understood you, a woman willing to own up to her mistakes and not excoriate you for yours, and — yes — someone to laugh and cry with.”

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/201703/daughters-unloving-mothers-mourning-the-mom-you-deserved

#mental health #cptsd #emotional health #emotion regulation #recovery from abuse #recovery from trauma #psychology #inner child #reparenting #narcissistic mother #mother wound #abusive mother #toxic mother #dysfunctional mother #grieving #loss #childhood emotional neglect #scapegoat child #child abuse

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onthecrosslook · 3 years

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Reverse, esreveR

Tw: S*ic*de Attempt, Dr*g Abuse

Sherlock Holmes was an arsehole. He knew that he was, he felt it- deep inside, a sort of gut emotion that clenched and twisted and made him feel all the more wretched. He really couldn’t control it at this point. It was a habit that had formed from years of keeping every awful thing that had happened to him pent up in his mind. So many years of abuse, so many bruises and scars, and so, so much hurt that left no marks on anywhere but the mind. He knew it was wrong to take it out on those he loved- and even those he didn’t- but it kept resurfacing in the forms of snide comments and manic volatility.

It started one quiet night at Baker Street. It was nothing much, a snappish comment too far, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was the last straw for a livid John Watson, who stood up and kicked over the coffee table in fury. Words bounced off of Sherlock, who heard without listening. Eyes closed, chest feeling empty, Sherlock felt John’s innate rage. Until he didn’t.

When Sherlock opened a single eye, he saw John holding a small box that had been concealed under the table. Sherlock heard a roar in his ears, he could hardly breathe, he was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt- it all just hurt.

John’s steady fingers brushed over the syringe that the box contained. The flat was silent, except for the pounding of Sherlock’s heart- or was he the only one who could hear that?

Glass shattered at his feet. John was yelling, now. Sherlock was pretending to listen.

Sociopath. Liar. Machine.

John was saying those words as if they held no value to Sherlock. Of course, that had been the impression Sherlock had made, so why wouldn’t he say those things?

Sherlock was used to feeling hopeless, but this? This was it. This was all he could take and more. And worst of all? It was cowardly, and Sherlock couldn’t even have the decency to properly listen to John.

Possibly in the middle of John’s sentence, he stood up and mumbled some sort of excuse- that he had to use the loo, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Dazed, Sherlock walked to the loo and left John alone in the living room. Thoughts were rushing through his head. He couldn’t take this. Not anymore.

He clicked the lock and slid down the door onto the cold, hard tile floor. His hands were shaking, his vision blurry with held-back tears. He didn’t want to do this. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Trembling fingers pulled open the medicine cabinet. They pulled out a bottle of painkillers. They opened the cap. They poured precisely ten in Sherlock’s other hand.

Ten, because Sherlock had measured the dosage during a particularly bad night. He knew that each pill had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. Over 5000 in one go would certainly kill a man. It had to.

Shaking, crying- although he didn’t realise it, and he never would have admitted it otherwise- Sherlock popped a pill into his mouth one at a time. It was hard to swallow. His throat was rejecting it, so each pill took longer to take. He was shaking his head, not wanting to finish, but knowing he had already taken at least six.

After number ten, Sherlock broke. The tears came freely, now. He mumbled a shattered apology to his mum and dad, to Mycroft, even, and most definitely to John, whom he didn’t want to leave.

With each whispered name, Sherlock popped another pill between his lips. Now he had taken…what, fourteen? Fifteen? He didn’t really care, even though he did. A small part of him was screaming for someone to care, to stop him, to save him- but to no avail.

After a few choked-out sobs, Sherlock regained some of his composure. He wiped his eyes, which were shamefully red, and stood up. He was going to go about this bravely. The toxic shock wouldn’t kick in for at least a few hours, and by then, he would be asleep. A peaceful death. An easy one.

Sherlock unlocked the door and walked back out to the living room, where John was pacing furiously. He looked pale and frightened.

John must have asked something along the lines of “what did you take?” in a worried tone of voice, but Sherlock shook his head. He probably told him that he took nothing. John still looked concerned. He asked him again. Still, Sherlock shook his head. He felt guilty for lying to John.

John relaxed. He nodded, he sat down. He offered Sherlock dinner, but Sherlock politely refused.

Sherlock lied about something or other and said he had a stomachache, that he wanted to go to bed. John reluctantly allowed him to.

At approximately nine o’clock, Sherlock laid down in bed and wrote a short note in his pocketbook. It told whom he wanted his things left to, even though he knew it wasn’t entirely legal. He trusted Mycroft to sort all that out.

His stomach was already starting to ache. He needed to fall asleep.

And so he did, praying that he would never wake up.

Unfortunately, life was decidedly quite cruel.

By the time the clock read midnight, Sherlock realised he had made a terrible mistake. He woke up gasping for breath as his stomach burned. His face felt hot, and his head was pounding. It was as though his insides were tearing themselves apart.

Dazed, he tried to move, but instead fell out of his bed and hit the floor with a groan. Sherlock was so weak that he could not find the strength to move. He threw up, even though he didn’t want to. It meant that the drugs might not work. Mind racing, chest heaving in mild panic, Sherlock wondered if this was how he would die- suffocating on his own vomit and in horrible agony.

Spirits broken, Sherlock whispered John’s name. It hurt too much. He needed John to save him, or else he was going to die.

Sherlock kept whispering it- his lungs wouldn’t allow him to speak up. But John was already upstairs. He couldn’t hear him. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him to.

He choked out something along the lines of “I don’t want to die”, but slowly, agonisingly, his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

You could imagine his surprise when he woke up the next morning, every inch of his body aching. His chest burned, and he kept needing to throw up every few minutes, but he was unmistakably alive.

And in some of the worst pain of his life.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the loo. He threw up again.

For a brief moment, he felt better. He dreaded another racking dry heave that would take hold of his body.

No dice.

After typing a few things onto his laptop- perhaps updating his website with a few unintelligible entries about the side effects of acetaminophen overdose- he went back to the loo and threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything, so it was just stomach acid that burned his oesophagus and made him nauseous. The pain was growing steadily worse, and John wasn’t even awake yet.

For the next hour, Sherlock allowed the poison to simmer in his body, silently attacking his liver and slowly killing him.

John eventually woke up. Of course he did.

When he saw Sherlock’s pale face, he said nothing. When Sherlock nearly tripped down the steps in delirium, John was concerned, but said nothing.

When Sherlock’s knees buckled beneath him, he said something.

What did you take?

Sherlock slurred a half-hearted response, his head aching and his stomach twisting itself inside out. He felt like he was dying. It was probably because his organs were failing.

He clung onto the banister of the staircase as John desperately shook his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. His brain was shutting down but his eyes and ears still worked. Everything hurt.

Sherlock saw John pull out his mobile and dial Mrs. Hudson’s number before swearing and pulling him outside.

Sherlock faded in and out of consciousness.

He was in a car.

Then a waiting room.

Then an urgent care.

Disappointed, disapproving, and endlessly pitying. Nobody would stop staring.

A nurse said he would be out of their care the same day.

His liver began to fail.

And then he was in an ambulance. He made a hazily rude comment to the EMT.

They stuck a needle in his arm. They did it wrong. It hurt like hell.

I’m clean, he wanted to tell them. Saying he didn’t do drugs anymore would be a flat-out lie.

They put him in a hospital.

His liver reached critical condition. The levels of acetaminophen in his bloodstream were lethal, yet he was somehow still alive. (It would be a case study for months and months to come.)

Sherlock was in the worst pain of his life.

They gave him morphine.

John sat by his bed during the entire ordeal.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock almost died.

John looked like he’d aged many years.

Sherlock felt regret.

John held his hand.

Sherlock wished he could turn back time.

John did, too.

༺═──────────────═༻

(Author’s Note: Based on a true story, sad enough to say. It’s sort of my way of giving past experiences a bit of closure. Imbuing writing with pain and anguish is rather cathartic. To tell you the truth, the fact that I’m alive now puzzles doctors and professionals alike. A case study was written on me. I am one of only eleven cases to have ever survived several doses of acetaminophen- enough to kill multiple grown men- at the age of twelve. I’m an anomaly and the fact that I’m here today writing this only proves how strange I am. I can’t say I’m better now. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sorry if it was so intense. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Don’t make my mistake. And please, for the love of God, if you’re considering it, don’t kill yourself. It would be the biggest and final mistake of your life. People care about you so much. Much love, - AE.)

#sherlock #bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #benedict cumberbatch #post reichenbach #angst #sad ending #ambiguous ending #angsty #based on a true story #jalexandria #writing #fics #fanfiction #tw suicide i guess?#drug addiction #writing angst to make people suffer

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the-darklings · 4 years

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coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective.

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part.

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that.

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing.

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager.

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now.

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash.

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But.

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts.

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed.

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm.

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received.

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy.

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely.

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem.

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself.

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too.

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020.

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call.

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind.

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.

So I didn’t.

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest.

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back.

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either.

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that.

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited.

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly.

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you.

Love,

- Kat.

#kat speaks #blog psa #i suppose

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astoldbygingersnaps · 3 years

Text

#wip wednesday

it’s me, ya boy, back with Yet Another New Project!

this time, i bring you the beginnings of a oneshot dreamt up by alexa continuing to fan the flames of my shiita brainrot. enjoy!

There are very few moments in Itachi’s life that he can point to and say that he felt truly content. Many of them are from his childhood, small snatches of memory that involve his mother’s cooking or his brother’s laugh. One or two even contain his father, tiny blips of interaction where the man’s unbearable expectations and slavish dedication to duty had slipped away to reveal the human heart beating deep within him. But Itachi would be lying if he tried to claim that the majority of those moments did not include the friend that is currently sitting beside him.

This, however, is not one of those moments.

Currently they’re on the outskirts of Konoha’s vast forests, the coverage against the afternoon sun thinning as the leaves wither in the crisp, autumn air. A gentle breeze rolls through, not harsh enough to chill but the current rakes its way through Shisui’s hair, making it even more unkempt than usual. Itachi’s keenly aware of this fact, and of Shisui’s general presence, as the man has himself wedged close to Itachi, his head resting on Itachi’s knees as he prattles on about Itachi’s least favorite subject: his love life.

It’s a fascinating contrast, the image of Shisui thoughtlessly draped over Itachi as he drives the knife that is his sexual history deeper and deeper between Itachi’s ribs. But it’s not a wound that Itachi holds Shisui accountable for, not really. Painful though it may be, it’s not as if Shisui is thoughtless or intentionally cruel; it’s merely a side-effect of Itachi’s most closely guarded--and frankly most terrifying--secret.

Often, Itachi has considered telling Shisui the truth, fantasized about what the various outcomes of such an action would be. Still, each time he’s come close to confessing, the words sitting precariously on the very tip of his tongue, Itachi swallows them down like a bitter taste. After all, there’s just no neat and tidy way to say, “I’ve loved you since we were children.” So, Itachi says nothing at all, day after day, month after month, year after year.

“Are you even listening to me?” Shisui asks, in the whiny tone of voice he always gets when Itachi isn’t giving him his full attention. On any other person, it would be an annoying affectation, but Shisui has a way of making even his worst traits charming.

Yet another truth Itachi refuses to tell him. “I’m riveted,” he replies dryly, never taking his eyes off the book in his hand, fighting a smile as Shisui groans in frustration.

“You’re a terrible friend,” Shisui says, his faux-offended expression lingering on the edge of Itachi’s vision, and in response Itachi lifts his book to block out the sight of Shisui completely.

“The worst,” Itachi hums in agreement, finally giving into a laugh when Shisui grabs the novel he’s been only mildly interested in and chucks it out of Itachi’s reach. Raising an eyebrow, Itachi looks at the discarded tome, its pagings rustling in the breeze, before glancing back at Shisui. “A bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How come we never have these conversations about your romantic woes?” Shisui retorts, and the question is so unexpected and uncomfortable Itachi feels the neutral mask of his features start to crack.

“What?”

Watching him critically, Shisui sits up, resting his cheek in his palm as he leans more of his weight across Itachi’s body. “I’m serious. All the times you’ve had to listen to me bitch and moan about this stuff, and not once have you ever chimed in with problems of your own. What gives?”

“Perhaps I don’t believe in kissing and telling,” Itachi replies, tone more clipped than he means it to be. Though he doesn’t resent Shisui for his curiosity, a part of him can’t help but be annoyed that somehow such a finely trained officer doesn’t realize he’s stepped on top of a massive landmine.

Rather than take a moment to read the metaphorical room, however, Shisui presses on with his typical single-minded focus. “Oh, come on,” he argues. “It’s just us, Itachi. You know you can tell me anything.”

Despite his best efforts, Itachi can feel his stomach clenching at the proclamation. For a moment, he weighs the pros and cons of what admitting the truth would be, and is displeased to discover what the best option is. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says, shrugging as if the words don’t mean a thing, and carefully keeps his eyes off Shisui’s face.

The funny thing about Shisui is that, for all his gifts with the Sharingan’s manipulations and illusions, he’s a shockingly open book outside of his profession. Surprise paints itself across his face, all wide eyes and an open mouth, and against his will Itachi feels a flush burning at the base of his throat. “Wait, seriously?” he asks, voice low as if they’re trading secrets of national security rather than engaging in petty gossip.

In response Itachi tugs his legs out from under Shisui, taking an unkind satisfaction in his friend’s grunt as he hits the ground. Still, the movement is, in Itachi’s mind, a tactical retreat; there’s no need to feel physically trapped when Shisui already has his metaphorically pinned down. “I’m gonna kick you.”

“Don’t,” Shisui mutters, whiny again, as he grabs Itachi’s leg with his trademark speed. The touch burns against the bare skin of his ankle, and Itachi shakes him off with a scowl. “I’m not being an asshole--”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Itachi cuts in, annoyed.

Graciously Shisui ignores that and continues, “It’s just surprising, you know? Because you’re… Well, you.”

Itachi feels his stomach twist. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shisui looks at him, and absurdly Itachi feels like an opponent on the wrong side of Shisui’s kunai. “Nothing, I guess,” he eventually offers, quietly, and the statement is so outside of Shisui’s typical cheerful, confident persona that Itachi can’t help but feel profoundly unsettled.

The truth is he’s kept himself guarded in this fashion for a variety of reasons, some he can admit to Shisui and others he’d rather be disemboweled than confess to another living soul. Part of his reluctance stems from the plain fact that he’s simply too busy with other matters to commit to dating of all things. Between his obligation to his village, his devotion to his brother, and his own ambitions at eventually securing the Hokage’s chair, he doesn’t have time to waste on a frivolous matter like courtship.

He also knows that, somewhere down the line, his father will no doubt want to marry him off, eager to pass on the talent and promise of the esteemed Uchiha prodigy. Frankly, the man would have probably done it sooner if he hadn’t felt some gratitude towards his son for working with Shisui to end the feud between their clan and the village, thus granting the Uchiha a much higher standing in Konoha. But at twenty-three, Itachi knows he can’t count on his father’s good graces much longer, meaning the inevitable grows that much closer with each passing day.

The other issue is… a bit more delicate. Itachi’s far too pragmatic to invest in the concept of virginity as something sacred, something special to be shared with exactly the right person at exactly the right time. But it does strike him as unfair to go to bed with a person and offer them a lie instead of himself, knowing that for every moment spent together his thoughts will be firmly locked onto someone he can never have.

Rather than reveal any of that, however, Itachi simply says, “Sex has never been a very high priority of mine.”

“That’s kind of depressing,” Shisui replies. “You should get out there. Play the field, have fun.”

Itachi’s just irritated enough at his continued cross-examination of his personal life that he asks the unthinkable: “Why, are you offering?”

In hindsight, Itachi supposes that after carrying the burden of his feelings for so long such a slip-up was inevitable. But it feels less like an understandable mistake and more like a battlefield miscalculation, one dangerous enough to leave him wide-open to a counterstrike.

That in mind, perhaps it should come as no surprise when Shisui counters, ”Do you want me to?”

to be continued.

#my fic #this is uh. very different than what i usually write #so i'll be v interested in what the feedback will be when it's posted in full #until then!

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chaoticevilbean · 4 years

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Trying my hand at an Avatar Sokka AU. Gonna be weird Bc thassa me and I’m just That. Anyways, don’t expect too Much from this. And I’m gonna try to Make it good, but I also Haven’t watched the show a million times. Just a few.

It’ll probably include:

- No one knowing Sokka’s the Avatar except Kanna and Kya

- Sokka as Chief of the SWT. I will probably make him younger when his father leaves for plot purposes.

- Sokka starts as a firebender because the Spirits do something. It will never be clarified what they do.

- The former Avatar was Aang’s friend and saved him and Appa after they decided to run away together. However, it was only the duo that got put in the iceberg, preserved by the Avatar’s power, and that Avatar went into hiding without his best friend. He stayed alive and in hiding until he knew that it was unlikely anyone thought he was still alive. If it was assumed that the Avatar was gone forever, his successor would be safe from the Fire Nation. Especially because the raids would ensure the Earth Kingdom would be suspect instead of the Water Tribes.

- When the raids were done, the previous Avatar pulled a Jedi Master and just straight-up died to pass on the responsibilities.

- Sokka didn’t discover his abilities until he was about five or six. It was during a raid and he was with his mother and grandmother. He learned to control it quickly with their help. By control, I mean he doesn’t randomly cause steam or smoke or light firepits. He can hold his flames inside.

- Sokka attempted to copy the moves of the raiders who used bending, but found that waterbending moves like those his sister did worked better on the ice. Since he grew up with the Midnight Sun and Polar Night, he isn’t affected by them. (Also, his Avatar Spirit balances it out a lot.)

- Sokka thinking he’s just a firebender because the raids have been going on for a hundred years, but then Kanna has him do a test and the results are absolute. He is the Avatar.

- Sokka trying to imagine what an airbender would bend like. Sneaking out in harsh winds and practicing to bend with light steps and using the air to lift him higher. Building up his lungs and trying to be as though he’s in the mountains or soaring above treetops.

- He doesn’t get far, but he gets started.

- Using his lung power and inner flames to dive deep and long to catch fish and gather other supplies. More often after his father left.

- When Aang comes along, Sokka observes his every move, trying to master them in private late at night, with the excuse of keeping watch

- Aang is taken by Zuko because he’s an airbender and they’re supposed to be extinct

- Sokka eventually gets good enough with both the firebending he learned from his enemies and the airbending he learned from his friend to start waterbending. He’s sort of good because he’s been using the moves for years (amateurish but still used)

- The trips go the same, only they’re now just trying to find possible teachers for the Avatar and the Avatar themself so they can somehow teach the person all at once before the comet

- Aang connects to the Spirit World because he’s a monk and he knew the other former Avatar extremely well. The Spirits allow him passage.

- Aang causes Sokka some panic when he compares him to his ‘old friend, the previous Avatar’. Sokka eventually gets used to it.

- Zuko tracks the Gaang because they’re his only lead.

- Sokka acts solely as a nonbender when around anyone because he doesn’t want to be the Avatar. Yes, he knows the war is awful. Yes, he grew up with it. But that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to be the Avatar. He grew up with raids and the death and destruction that followed. His mother died protecting his sister when they were so young. All the men, the hunters and warriors, left the tribe and left Sokka in charge when he was a preteen. The war has brought nothing but sorrow, and Sokka doesn’t think he can overcome something so huge, so insurmountable. So he acts as much like a nonbender as he can.

- He isn’t sexist towards Suki because Kyoshi makes sure he has that stamped out early on. Instead, the moment the blindfold is off, he’s craning his neck back to see the statue of his past life. Suki thinks he’s a bit thick, and Katara doesn’t understand but covers for his preoccupation.

- Sokka learns to be a Kyoshi Warrior when Kysohi literally takes him over during the night and steals both warpaint and an outfit, and then teaches him to properly wear it all. Suki finds him firebending in full Kyoshi garb and using the fans. She assumes that he’s just the product of the Fire Nation’s cruelty.

- However, she does ask why he stole their gear and how he’s using the fans better than most newbies.

- “Kyoshi.” “What?” “Kyoshi... possessed me... and taught me how to be like you... and she’s proud of you.” “... is this normal for the Avatar’s friends?”

- Suki doesn’t tell the others under the conditions that she ‘take over for Kyoshi’ in training him and she can figure him out for herself through that.

- At the Fire Temple, the group gets separated, but Sokka is called by Roku to the Solstice room. He ends up managing to get inside with the help of Shyu, who understands he’s protecting himself and others by hiding.

- The others still get captured, and Shyu claims that Sokka made a controlled explosion to get in (the original idea until Shyu told him he knew the boy was the Avatar). Aang tells Katara that Roku sealing the chamber means Sokka is being spoken to. Zuko and Zhao are still there as well.

- When Roku takes over to tear down the temple, he disappears into an obscure hallway so Sokka can regain control without his friends knowing.

- Toph finds out Sokka is the Avatar when she ‘sees’ him practicing. She starts demanding he ‘keep her company’ when she does daily bending practice (they all do it so they can improve enough to eventually teach the Avatar and fight the Firelord). Whenever Toph ‘sees’ Sokka make a mistake while practicing earthbending, she uses the correct moves the next day and makes sure she’s in full view of Snoozles.

- Sometimes Toph drags Sokka over to watch Katara and Aang practice because she’s ‘bored’.

- Aang goes to see the Guru and when he’s heading back because he was given a vision of Katara in danger, he explains what he learned to Sokka. Sokka takes Aang’s place in their plan, so he is the one who helps Iroh rescue Zuko and Katara.

- When Azula starts to attack and it looks like they’ll lose, Sokka hides himself and is ignored because he’s presumed a nonbender. He goes through opening his chakras in what is definitely record time, but Sokka’s always been good at following plans/instructions (not orders, instructions, like how-to’s and stuff). He has to let go of his attachments to the Gaang, to his tribe, to Yue, Suki, and those he met on his journey. He does so by considering the fact that by letting go of his focus on them in particular, he can focus on stopping the larger problems, the problems that are likely to or are causing them harm.

- Sokka enters the Avatar State just as Aang enters, and the chaos causes Azula to think Aang is the Avatar. When she shoots him with lightning, Sokka drops from the Avatar State and gets his family out of there.

- Zuko still turns against them, but Agni’s voice is strong, and Sokka sees the same brotherly nature as he has within the boy.

- After taking the FN ship, Katara brings up a discussion of who the Avatar could be because they were there and helped the group, and Sokka makes up a vague story of how someone pulled him out of the battle (to explain his disappearance). Toph acts like she’s actually wondering, but pulls Sokka aside later and tells him she knows.

- Sokka can use metalbending, but doesn’t do it often if at all because he’s so used to hiding and he feels like it’s Toph’s thing. She stamps that out once she gets sick of it.

I might add more, but I’m just plotting this out right now, and I’m gonna try it out later when I have the time. If you want, suggest stuff. If you hate this idea, then please give me constructive criticism instead of pure wrath. I’m still going to include a character arc that hopefully does Sokka justice, but instead of focusing on his dismantling of his former sexist ways and learning that not being some big tough guy is okay (he can love shopping and fashion, he can love poetry, he can love dresses and makeup, he can love singing and have fun and pick up fine arts and paint), it’ll be more of him opening up and learning that he is strong enough, and if he isn’t, he has friends and family for a reason. He’ll learn how to be more confident in his abilities and how to let his true self shine more than his fake one.

Have at It.

#atla #sokka #avatar!sokka #au #avatar the last airbender #katara #toph #suki #yue #aang #iroh #zuko #azula #sokka is chief

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one-shot-plus-size · 4 years

Text

From Sons of Anarchy to Mayans MC

Jax's sister must hide from the revenge of SAMCRO enemies, goes to Mayans MC Santo Padre. And he catches the eye of a la presidente.

Chapters 10/20

Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language. They will accept any attention and criticism :)

Part 9

Pov Bishop

I looked at her from the angle of my eye, she ate quietly staring at her plate.

- Everything ok ?

- Sure - she was nodding her head.

- You are quiet lately.

- I have a lot of work and I am just tired.

- You are clearly working too much - I twisted my head - I talked to the guys, we want to go out of town for a few days. Taza has a house by the lake, we want to rest.

- Sure, go. I'll take care of this brothel here - she smiled from ear to ear - you're probably tired after running.

- You didn't understand - I laughed.

- Apparently not - she wrinkled her eyebrows.

- She wants you to come with us, to rest. She left the whole damn drawing and reset her brain. She promises you a separate room with her own bed, we'll cover some fire and so on.

I saw her biting her lower lip, fighting an internal fight.

- Don't let me ask you - I approached her - if you don't agree, I will ask Angela to force you into the car.

- I beat him once and I can do it again - she threatened me with a finger.

- But Gilli can do it - I'm up.

- Fact - she murmured under my nose.

- I understand that it was decided - I smiled - I am very happy that it went so easily and that you agreed. We are leaving on Thursday evening.

- Bish - she moaned.

- I can't hear - I yelled out and went to the boys.

Pov Olivia

- I fucking growled under my nose.

Everything was going wrong, I came back with a look at the door behind which Bish disappeared. After a few moments Ezekiel stood in the door.

- I still clearly missed you here.

- Bish convinced you? - He leaned against the frame.

- Yeah - I purrred.

- Will you tell him ? - he smiled from ear to ear.

- What should I tell him ?

- Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about - he went inside and closed the door behind him - remember that I am the smartest here. So when you're going to confess that you've felt something for Bishop.

- I don't know what you're talking about - I turned my back on him.

- Oh, come on - he came up to me and sat on my desk - and I see what's going on, those stolen looks, those fleeting smiles. And of course your expression on the face when you see him with some girl, Vicki.

- Stop making up stories about Ezekiel - I looked into his eyes - apparently you are not as smart as they think you are.

He laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

- I love your defensive reflex, but I know what I see.

- Ez not a word to anyone, if anything slips out of your mind. It promises you that I will skin you alive and you will suffer.

- So you admit it?

- No, I purr.

He laughed loudly and left my room closing the door behind him. I laid down in an armchair and breathed deeply. I was at least hoping to get my room. As Bish said on Thursday evening we were on our way to a place to rest. The boys left their jacket at home, it was a weekend of rest, not club business. I was one of the two women among 11 boys, apart from Bishop's club, Marcus and Nathaniel were also coming with us. Fortunately, Coco's daughter Leticia decided to join us. She is much younger than me but somehow she gets along with her. I had a seat between Angel and Hank. Bishop was driving and Taza was sitting on the passenger seat. The second car was driven by Gilli, Riz, Creeper and Ezekiel and the last one by Coco, Leticia, Marcus and Nathaniel. I leaned my head on Angel's shoulder, he covered my shoulder.

- Sleep - he whispered.

- This is my plan.

Pov Bishop

From time to time I peeked at Olivia cuddling up to Reyes. I knew it didn't mean anything between them but I felt a sting of jealousy. I opened the window, lit a cigarette and stared at the road. I looked at Taza sitting next to me and smiled under his nose. I wrinkled my eyebrows when he looked at me.

- I am not saying anything - he raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

- But you think something - I purr.

- This is my right - he laughed.

I threw the cigarette out the window and looked at it. He was smiling under his nose all the time, shaking his head slightly and not looking at me. He knew, he guessed.

- Not a word to anyone - I whispered.

- A bright present - he laughed.

Around 5 pm we parked our cars in the driveway of Tazy's house.

- I have already wondered a few times where did you get the money for the second cottage? I can barely grasp one - I dragged myself.

- This is the house that I inherited from my grandparents and the ranch is my mother's, so I didn't get to anything myself.

I looked around, nature and silence that prevailed here soothed my nerves.

- The hell Reyes - Olivia jumped out of the car - nobody taught you manners.

Hank looked at her and smiled slightly.

- Something we missed? - Leticia was looking at them.

- Angel decided to wake up Olivia, well, she didn't necessarily like it - Hank spoke through tears.

- Something feels that the way was interesting.

- He put his saliva finger in my ear - she rudged up - I will take revenge for it.

- I can't wait - he looked at her.

I laughed under my nose and twisted my head. They were like children, children who got some free time.

Pov Olivia

I was glowing around, breathing deeply. Fresh air hit my lungs, I smiled wide. The surrounding area was really beautiful and calm, I moved my gaze away from the guys. They laughed, they looked really relaxed. I went up to the trunk and grabbed my backpack.

- Let me help you - Bish came to me with his arm outstretched.

- I can handle it, I can deal with it - I patted him on the shoulder.

He turned his head and laughed, grabbed his bag and we all went to a beautiful house. The two-storey wooden house looked beautiful in this scenery and the lake added charm to this place. We went inside, the whole house was kept in a rural style. We went upstairs, Taza showed each of the boys a room.

- This one is yours - Taza smiled wide.

- Wait what? - I stopped in half a step.

- There was a small change, Coco wants to keep an eye on Leticia, so we had to change the layout. I hope this is ok?

I looked at Bishop and he rubbed my neck nervously.

- I don't care - I tried to sound as nonchalantly as possible.

- There is one big bed in the room - Taza was smiling from ear to ear.

- Taza, are you insinuating something? - I supported myself with my waist.

- I'm just saying - he raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

- We will manage, right ? - I looked at Bishop.

- Sure - he nodded his head.

- So show me where our nest is - I breathed.

I followed Tasha, and the moose followed me. We got a bedroom with a terrace that looked out onto the lake.

- But chad - I went out to the terrace - a beautiful view, I can already imagine it. Coffee in the morning, admiring the beautiful lake with the silence around. I hope Bish that you do not snore? Because it could spoil this vision.

- I happen to snore sometimes - he smiled from ear to ear.

- Don't believe him - Taza twisted his head - he snores like an old tractor.

- I don't think he wants to know how you know it - I laughed and looked at the bridge - can you take a bath in this lake?

- Sure - the older one nodded his head.

- That's good, because I have an opportunity for revenge.

- What are you talking about?

Pov Bishop

She did not manage to answer me because she rushed to the first floor and the court. I went out with Taza to the terrace, Angel was standing on the edge of the pier over the water.

- He will be angry - Taza looked at me.

- I know - I nodded my head - but I don't want to spoil her fun. Sometimes it is good to see someone rubbing his nose.

I leaned against the railing and watched him walk over the bridge towards him. Angel didn't completely expect this, she stood behind him and hit him hard in the back. Reyes got wobbly and fell into the water with a splash. Taza laughed loudly, just like Coco who was standing by.

- What the fuck? - Angel emerged from the water.

- I told you that I would get revenge - she was standing on the platform and laughed loudly.

- That means war - he growled and climbed back on the platform - I feel like a hug.

- Don't even try - she started walking in the opposite direction.

- Come on - he spread his arms wide.

- Angel did not - she started running home.

- Like children - I twisted my head.

- Let them play - Taza patted me on the shoulder.

- Bish - she fell into the room - your man went crazy.

She stood behind me, and in fact, she hid.

- I wonder why what? - I looked over my shoulder.

- I have no idea - she was smiling all the time.

A few moments later a wet Angel fell in, stopped a few steps before me.

- Pres - nodded his head.

- What would you like what ? - I rest my hands on my hips.

- It is not over yet - Angel threatened her with a finger - be careful.

- Go change - Taza approached him - you leave wet marks.

I turned to her when they left our room. She was smiling from ear to ear looking into my eyes.

- I am sorry.

- All right - I twisted my head - it was funny.

- He deserved it after the wet square in my ear - she entered the room.

- Something feels that these few days will be funny - I followed her.

- Of course she did - she sat on the bed - that's what these days are about. To laugh, have fun and rest. With things going on in the club you need it.

- You too - I pointed my finger at her.

- Bright me too - she nodded her head.

Part 11

#jax teller #chibs #jackie boy #jackson teller #filip telford #chucky #olivia teller #soa #sons of anarchy #samcro #mayans mc #mayans #bishop losa #angel reyes

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lightcomingthroughthedarkness · 3 years

Note

I know you don't like BC anymore because of S7 But I like the way you answer the questions That's why I decided to ask I rewatched the first four seasons and realized something strange My question is long so I took it apart CL was never conceived as a big love At least JR didn't do that Maybe KS worked for it, and when he came back 130years later, still CL S6 continued but I thought it wasn't the original plan for JR.

People call it big CL, but I don't really understand what CL is being mentioned At least romantically The same is true for BC Before Finn's reaction 108 there was only friendship development jealousy confirmed this For CL,this only started at 214 But even then,C said she was not ready to have a relationship with anyone "in general" So he was saying this to himself.Well a few episodes ago, because love was a weakness, kept B away from herself B didn't send anyone to look for her s1e11

I'm not sure if these asks are in the right order or if there were suppose to be more asks, but these are the ones I got.

I very rarely talk about show Bellarke anymore because as you said, I don't ship them anymore. I'll try my best to answer this but honestly, I just couldn't care less about show Bellarke and I would never want Clarke anywhere near Bellamy (so I'm not sure I can be empathetic towards her)

Basically this is my interpretation. Lxa wasn't supposed to be Lxa at first. They wanted a child actor to play Heda but for different reasons that didn't happen. They cast ADC. Everyone knows Lxa was there to be an antagonist to Clarke but also a mirror to who Clarke could be.

Then they saw chemistry between Clarke and Lxa and it was Kim who suggested they kiss (if I remember it correctly). There were no plans to write CL the way it ended up being written. Jason only had the Lxa story for season 2. They didn't plan on having Lxa in season 3.

Then came the fan reaction to Lxa and CL. Jason was clearly surprised but also happy with the reaction and it fed him. He used that popularity and reaction to push for more Lxa/CL. Yet he still had no long term plans for them. But he wanted to buy more time, more screentime/scenes for them.

Since ADC had already signed with AMC, they had to fight to get ADC back in order to "finish the story". A story that Jason hadn't even planned on by the end of season 2. He even said the plan was for the story to go on and for everyone to know Lxa was out there with other grounders doing her job but not part of the story on the show. But he wanted to use her popularity to sell the show and elevate it into the sort of show he wanted or believed he was making. From the moment Jason started writing season 3, Lxa was always going do die, it was even hinted at in season 2!

So he developed a romantic relationship within 7 episodes. What was shown on screen was not what he was saying online. He used fans and their love for the character, to sell season 3. I do believe Clarke and Lxa had a connection and understood each other. I think they were attracted to each other. I think Lxa was into Clarke more than Clarke was into Lxa. Not because Clarke couldn't but because they didn't give Clarke the time to fully develop those feelings. Lxa already had them. Right when Clarke allowed herself to acknowledge those feelings, they killed Lxa.

I think Lxa was supposed to be an important character for Clarke for many different reasons and I would never claim that they weren't romantic/had feelings because they clearly did but the notion that a two week romance was THE relationship for Clarke, as an 18 year old girl, is ridiculous.

I think the disconnect here is that CL shippers and Jason (when he tried to do damage control after) sold CL as big, important and everlasting relationship on a 7 episodes built up. The vision of what fans wanted for CL, what they saw for CL, what they wished for CL was sold as canon after 7 episodes. I would argue, fans elevated CL to that status from sheer WISHFUL thinking of what wanted CL to BE but that they in canon weren't, at least, they never got the built up or time to BECOME what fans saw in their vision. But they made it "the truth" on social media and made it canon in their minds and sold CL as such after only 7 episodes. Regardless of the fact that it was Clarke's show, Clarke's journey or the fact that Clarke was only an 18 year old who had her entire life in front of her.

The way in which Jason killed Lxa also goes to show how little he understood fans and how little he cared about any emotional connection to Lxa. He cared as long as the story gave him want he wanted for the show; recognition, an audience, money, more seasons etc.

The backlash against Jason is a huge part of how the story was told after season 3. Suddenly even on the show, they started writing Lxa and her memory differently and they gave more meaning to the relationship that had ever gotten in the scripts. The I love you in 3x16 was ADR. It was added only AFTER the backlash. It wasn't even in the script. The Lxa mentions in 4x01 (Clarke and Abby's talk wasn't even scripted at first. The actor playing Abby made them write it and keep it in the episode). All these extra Lxa mentions, rewriting the relationship or the build up of the relationship was damage control. It was an answer to all the criticism. To give CL more depth and meaning after death. As if it was good enough for fans. It wasn't.

The thing is, people say "oh you only call it damage control and not canon because you don't ship CL". The thing is, it's such an insult to themselves and their ship when they say stuff like that. CL fans should acknowledge that they were used and that most of the things after season 3 was damage control. That should be the real problem here, that they were used like that. They should want and expect better than a pitty damage control tour. CL could have been great and exactly what they envisioned CL to be or become. But they never got the screentime to become that. They killed Lxa off right before their potential could be reached. So now all that lost potential has somehow been made into being canon because CL fans think "this is what CL was even though they never got the time to achieve it). That's the thing. They COULD have sure but they never did. They ended with the potential but the potential in your vision is not canon. Yet they made it so.

So we have fan backlash against Jason and the show and it changed a lot for the story due to damage control. And through Lxa's popularity, she became some sort of martyr in their eyes and so much interest and equally pressure would put on the show, Clarke and Jason, that they keep Lxa as a ghost in the story. Clarke was never allowed to grow up and have a life outside of Lxa, the show started to revolve around the AI and even though there were several other commanders, it somehow always came down to Lxa. And then Jason got a chance to right his mistake when he got ADC to come back. To win some points with fans. Look how great he is, right? But yet again, he showed his true colors. He didn't make CL endgame, he didn't even bring Lxa back. He literally had ADC on set again and he made her an alien in Lxa's clothes. If we are gonna talk about ship, you had the actor right there and could have made it become real since you CLAIM you did it for fans. Yet. He. Did. Not. Do. That. He made Lxa an alien. And then what did he do? He did an interview where he claimed it was a "greatest love" yet he never once told that story in the finale. He didn't even let Lxa be Lxa. But he could do an interview playing with people's emotions again because it would give him support and extra points from CLs. But in canon? He never had to follow through for a single second. It was all left in the open.

So no, not much of anything was his original plan and it shows. Personally, I think he thinks losing Lxa was his biggest mistake (only after he saw the fan reaction to her) and if he could, there is no doubt in my mind he would have kicked Clarke out as the main for Lxa.

#the 100 #ask answered

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 5: Collapsed Building

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 5. Also takes place in my Httyd Zombie AU. Main fic to follow. Sometimes Hiccup's plans can get a little out of hand and when it does, sometimes his Riders can get into trouble for that. This time, it's Fishlegs and Tuffnut.

Rating: Teen and up

Characters: Fishlegs, Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Hiccup, Toothless

Pairing: None

Words: 1 354

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Failed escape + Rescue

Whumpee: Fishlegs, Tuffnut, Hiccup

Author’s Notes: This started out as Fishlegs whump, but then suddenly Tuffnut got whumped, but then Hiccup demanded a scene... So three whumpees for one prompt! It's been fun!

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Day 5 and I’m honestly getting really tired of all this tagging.

Ao3

-------------------------------------------------------------------

At the same time, they hear the explosion going off, they can feel the whole building rumbling beneath their feet.

Fishlegs and Tuffnut don't know what exactly is happening downstairs on the ground floor, but when everything starts to crumble around them, they know at the very least that it's gone horribly wrong.

Hiding away from the Dragon Hunters, Fishlegs was hoping to take care of an injury, a nasty gash on a leg from a terrible fall combined with an unlucky landing. It's been bleeding quite profusely and his shoe and sock are both stained.

Tuffnut had found him and wanted to help him out. But then the explosion happens and the two know they need to run.

So Tuffnut pulls Fishlegs up to his feet and takes his weight upon his shoulders to the best of his ability.

"Come on, we can make this. We can make this, right?!" Tuffnut huffs and puffs, not quite as strong as his friend, but still attempting to carry him to safety.

They are trying to make it to the stairs while the floor is collapsing beneath them and the ceiling is caving in above them. Fishlegs still tries to make it on his own strength, but his leg hurts terribly and he needs Tuffnut to get out of this situation.

It is terrifying, they can feel their hearts pounding in their ears and the adrenaline threatening to slow them down. The floor and walls are rumbling and crumbling and their legs struggle to keep them up.

But they have to outrun the destruction, they have to somehow get to the ground floor from the fourth floor in time without getting hit or falling while the building shakes with such force as if an earthquake has taken hold of its foundations.

"There it is!" Fishlegs shouts, spotting the staircase down. But then part of the ceiling comes down and the two abruptly stop to not be flattened. The debris blocks their way down the stairs.

"No!"

"Oh no!"

"What do we do now?!" Tuffnut asks, gaze shooting into every possible direction to find another way out. Except, those stairs were the only ones off this level.

"I don't know, Tuff. I don't know!" Fishlegs answers, feeling the creeping dread and panic at the possibility that they may not be getting out of this predicament alive.

Another, fiercer rumbling comes following a second explosion and both Riders are thrown off their feet. Keeping their balance is impossible.

"Hey! Look here! Fishlegs, bro!" A familiar grating voice calls to them in urgency and they look over to the broken windows to find Ruffnut on top of Barf and Belch. Each head gurgles at Tuff to make him come running.

Without another word, they struggle back up to their feet and hurry over. Fishlegs hobbles over while Tuffnut runs. If they can just make it to Ruffnut and Barch, they'll be safe.

But just as they are about to reach the window, a large chunk falls and hits the male twin on the head.

"No, Tuff!"

"Tuffnut!"

Ruffnut and Fishlegs both shout as Tuffnut crumples to the floor unceremoniously. Blood immediately escapes the wound and stains his hair and the concrete floor.

Jumping off her head of the Zippleback, Ruffnut runs over, shielding her own head even though that will really do nothing against the falling debris.

"Get on the dragon, Fishlegs!" She shouts at her friend, who had collapsed onto the ground as well with his loss of support.

While he continues to Barf and Belch, getting up and dragging his injured leg, Ruff picks up her brother from the back, turning him onto his back, hooking her arms under his shoulders and wrapping a forearm of his around his middle for leverage before dragging him towards the open window.

She's in too much of a rush to do it carefully, but she manages to get him to the dragon. As Fishlegs gets on one head, she maneuvers Tuffnut up on Barch's back before getting on her head and together they escape. It is only seconds later that the entire fourth floor is gone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at camp, the Dragon Riders are gathered around Tuffnut. He's lying on a sleeping bag with a pillow and his head wound bandaged up neatly.

"And he'll be okay, right?" Ruffnut asks Hiccup, who sits on a chair opposite to Fishlegs'. His foot is up on Hiccup's seat between his thighs as he works on disinfecting and stitching up the gash, his pant leg rolled up as far as it will go. His wound is deep enough to require stitches if they want to prevent an infection.

Pulled out of his concentration, Hiccup briefly looks up to her before returning to what he's doing.

"We won't know, Ruff. Not until he wakes up." Hiccup tells her and since it's been only an hour, Tuff's chances of being perfectly fine are still relatively high.

Ruffnut isn't too comforted by his answer, but she takes it knowing that it's a realistic one. She sits down on the sleeping bag next to Tuff, sighing. She draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them. Astrid kneels by her and places a hand on her shoulder.

Hiccup is quiet as he takes care off Fishlegs' leg, occasionally glancing the twins' way. There is a deep frown on his face and his vision is going blurry. He has to wipe at his eyes with his sleeves.

"Are you okay, Hiccup?" The man before him asks, noticing the watery eyes.

"I'm fine." Hiccup answers after swallowing the lump in his throat.

He finishes working on Fishlegs' injury and bandages it up. By then Tuffnut wakes up long enough for him to be hugged by his sister and be showered with well-wishes from the Dragon Riders. He's also diagnosed with an awful concussion, but he seems fine otherwise and all he needs is enough rest.

Good news for sure, but still one of the Dragon Riders quietly leaves the group after the most likely diagnosis is shared. He needs to be alone.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Hiccup feels like he can't breathe.

His friends had been in that building.

The one he wanted to blow up to be rid of this Dragon Hunter operation wasn't as empty as he thought it was. Fishlegs and Tuffnut were in there, one of them injured and the other simply trying to help him.

He nearly killed them. Two of his best friends, his only remaining loved ones that he swore to protect for as long as he may live. He nearly killed them with his own two hands.

This thought and the accompanying blame are too much for him to carry and he slides down the way as tears erupt from his eyes and sobs from his throat.

His knees are drawn up and his elbows rest on them as his hands grab a tight hold on his hair, just shy of pulling out actual clumps. He's so upset with himself, so angry.

How could he do that? They rely on him. On him! He can't make reckless mistakes such as this! If he doesn't step up soon, there will be no one left and he'll have failed as both a friend and a leader.

The other Dragon Riders watching over Tuffnut, it's Toothless who finds him sobbing all alone. He's made sure he was far away enough from the others to make sure they won't catch him in this state of mind. But Toothless is never far away, he can't hide these moments from him.

Cooing sadly at the state he finds his Rider in, the dragon invites himself into Hiccup's personal space and pushes his head into his arms, hoping to break him out of his little bubble of despair. It works and Hiccup throws his arms around the Night Fury's head, who lies down to let him keep his hold.

On his scales Hiccup cries and Toothless lets him, knowing that he needs to pour his heart out before he can return to the others and do what he is meant to do.

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #failed escape #rescue #httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfic #rtte #race to the edge #httyd movies #httyd zombie au #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #fishlegs ingerman #fishlegs whump #tuffnut thorston #tuffnut whump #my fanfics #collapsed building

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fandomnerdespressourself · 4 years

Text

If you think it’s love

Category: Fluff, Angsty asf, GN.Reader

Warnings: (っ∩_∩)っsoft , bad words, deep?, feelings, death, and blood

Gender neutral - I'm trying to keep my fix for all. If you see any mistakes pls tell me thank chu and enjoy. ^_^

Castiel x Reader

I can't stop loving you, my feelings somehow grow more. Each second, minute, hour, day, whether you're close or far, my love for you will never burn out. Love is to be said as ethereal, both heavenly and beautiful, but also destructive.

Castiel ran behind y/n throughout the bunker, the boys were out for an errand. Once he reached them he wrapped his arms around them and lifted them up slightly spinning them both. At that moment y/n squealed feeling Castiel’s arms around them, a soft giggle left their lips. Once he set them down on their feet and turned them around they stared into each other's eyes. Ocean blue eyes on warm hot chocolate ones. Y/N put a hand on his cheek softly caressing it before moving their hand behind his ear to play with his soft hair. Cas stared down at y/n lovingly, he closed his eyes feeling comfort and warmth. He opened his eyes for a brief moment just to lean down and capture their lips with his own.

All of you that’s is you, keeps luring me in a way I can’t stay away no matter what. If I was able to find a way to stay away... My heart and soul will find a way to make it back to you. It'll always go back to you.

Castiel and y/n laid in bed cuddling, Cas drew small nothings on y/n’s exposed skin from their lower back. Soft music played in the background as the two couples enjoyed the calm, relaxing, and peaceful atmosphere. Castiel opened his eyes when a specific song came, he got up to put the volume up just a tad bit. Y/N stared at him confusingly thinking why did he move from their comfortable position. Cas then turned around and looked into their eyes holding his hand out for them,”d-do you..would you wan-.. doyouwannadancewitheme?” he asked, fumbling with his words at first before saying the question he wanted to ask quickly. A small but deep blush dusted on Cas’s cheeks. Y/n looked at him surprised and nodded. Y/N sat up gently taking his hand. Cas pulled them up carefully as if they’d break and pulled them close to him. Y/N chuckled softly as they noticed Cas struggling with where he should put his hands. Y/N moved them to their waist as the other held their hand. Y/N stepped closer and soon began to move, Cas quickly followed, both moved at a slow pace. In the middle of the song, y/n let go of Cas’s hand and laid their head against his chest. Cas looked down at them and moved his hand to their waist, pulling them closer. Their bodies were so close to each other, hardly any gap around. The pace didn’t speed up nor slowed more than it already was, it was the same pace. They both danced in peace and relaxed in y/n’s room while “It’s you by Henry playing in the background.”

I can't keep my gaze away from your beautiful eyes. How they bore deep into my eyes touching my soul every second within a minute. My gaze into your eyes turns into a soft admiring stare, I see my stars and Galaxies... My world in your soul. A whole perspective that is all you, so damn mesmerizing.

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed staring at the ground as he heard y/n walking back and forth. Soon he heard nothing he looked up and saw their hurt eyes staring at him as if he had kicked a puppy in front of them. “No explanation on why you’re leaving me?” they asked. Cas chewed the inside of his bottom lip before standing up, “I can’t tell you, as much as I'd like to I can’t I’m sorry I just want to pro-”

“No don’t give me that! you know full well I can protect myself Castiel, whatever it is I can handle it-’

“I never said you couldn't I just don’t want to put you in danger-”

“My life is always in constant danger! I hunt monsters for g-”

“ I LOVE YOU OKAY... i- I can’t lose you,” he said, y/n stared at him in shock that was the first time they've heard I love you for him and the last. After a few seconds of quietness Castiel had to go, he went up to them and tried to kiss their forehead but y/n moved away and didn’t look at him. Castiel was hurt at their actions, but he understood, he looked at them for a small moment before walking out. Y/n stared at the wall closing their eyes as they heard the door close. After two minutes of just standing there in silence, their walls crashed down. Their emotions hit them like a tsunami, they grabbed a framed picture of Castiel and them before hurling it to the door. They sat down on the bed and slide down onto the ground crying.

I can't keep my touch away from yours

It brings me warmth, comfort, and protection.

I can't help but stare at you and I realize we aren't that different from each other as I see your soul from the outside.

Y/n poked their food with their fork, listening to Sam and Dean discuss a case up in Michigan. They played around with their food before looking up to see the brothers staring at them, worried and concern etched on their faces. “Sorry, what happened?”, y/n asked. Sam gave them a small smile, "we were just discussing the case over at Michigan. You up for it?" Y/n thought for a moment and nodded, "yeah, I'm down for it." After a few minutes, Sam's and Dean’s conversation resumed and y/n again was lost in thought, poking at their food. Dean looked over his eyebrows furrowed a bit, "okay, what's up?" Y/n looked up shaking their heads before mumbling that nothing was wrong, that they were just not hungry. Dean gave them a weird look once he heard their response, Sam's expression deepened in concern. Just as they were about to question them, y/n gave them a look to not ask, Sam and Dean understood tried their best to carry on their conversation occasionally looking over at y/n. After 5 minutes y/n mumbled a quick excuse me, they got up and put away their plate knowing that later one they would probably want it later.

Everything that is you shines so brightly as the stars do in the galaxy. As crazy it may sound, they lead me out into the light where you stand.

You're my candle. You’re the key out of this disaster my mind has created to prison me. We live in different worlds, with not much to say, every day is a storm that can make us stronger, but as we are apart and time passes it makes us weaker. Weaker in a way that our connection is fading, but will still faintly remain there. There's no way of knowing if it's the start of sunrise or if the midnight moon is up in the sky, for It's always dark. In an endless sea that drifts lost souls further apart, until they sink and disappear.

Sam, Dean, and y/n walked into an abandoned warehouse. Many in the town have reported sulfur smells and strange occurrences happening along with many going missing. Dean gave some signals motioning for Sam to go straight while y/n went to the right and Dean to the left. They all separated and searched the building. Gun in hand ready to shot, y/n’s eyes scanned the building before they were hit hard in the back of their heads making them fall unconscious. A soft groan escaped their lips as they regained consciousness. They heard their names being called and looked up with a slightly blurry vision of Sam and Dean asking them if they were okay. All three were tied up to a chair, y/n nodded slowly, their chin was then grabbed roughly pulling it upwards. A blurry figure came to view, they knew it was a demon. "Tsk you are my key to get your pathetic boyfriend down here." Y/n pulled their head back before thrusting their head forward headbutting the demon, "You bitch. Maybe I should speed up the process, gag them up we're about to have some fun with y/n." Screams began to echo throughout the warehouse as Sam and Dean moved in their chairs trying desperately to break free from that chains that were holding them down.

Warm hands, bodies together

Sleepless, restless nights

It's like it's a parallel universe, but it's not. It's not because we live in the same world, just different life and doings without you.

Although I love you, I fight battles within.

We all do, but I struggle to stay up

Sam and Dean looked down at Castiel with Y/n in his arms not knowing what to do. Castiel held them in his arms, the sight of his loved one was breaking him in so many unimaginable ways the pain so intense. He didn't know what to do, he couldn't even heal them. His grace had been through so much it had weakened. He tried his best to press down on their bleeding injury it was the best and only option he could do for now. Y/n had looked into his watery ocean blue eyes before looking down to see their injury, more tears streamed down their faces now realizing what it meant. Their condition was critical, there was no way they'd be getting out of here with them alive. Even now when the angel had killed all the demons in the warehouse. Y/n looked over at the two brothers, “take care of each other for me okay. It was fun hunting with you guys. Everything will be okay.” Sam and Dean knew best then to say something, Sam had tears streaming down his face, Dean was holding them in with a solemn expression. Y/n attention then moved over to the angel, their left hand reached up Castiel's face as their hand shook, "hey...l-look at me. I- it's okay." Their voice was shaky and getting weaker by the seconds. They slightly shifted and moaned in pain, they had to hurry, it was getting harder to breathe. "Castiel... take care of yourself for me okay, take care of Dean and Sam too. Don't feel guilty about this, it isn't your fault I know how you think. So much guilt on your shoulders I- ... You're strong and enough." A painful dry cough broke the silence afterward. Y/n looked into Castiel's eyes one last time before their hand fell as she whispered, 'I love-', ..but they never got to finish. Their warm hot chocolate eyes were now dull and lifeless. He pressed down on their injuries trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use.. they were gone. His tears fell before shutting his eyes tightly wishing it was all a dream that he'd wake up and they'd still be here.. but as soon as he opened his now blue stormy eyes it had truly dawned to him that it was real and it wasn't a dream. His shoulders shook as harsh sobs echoed off the walls of the warehouse. The brothers flinched as they heard their best friend’s painful sobs.

They break me as I go into the shallow, only to be pulled in more and walk deeper in. Surrounded by the darkness, under a faint faint light far away you, you will see me, in my misery bringing myself down

Laughter echoed off the walls of the bunker’s kitchen, Dean was telling a story about a bar incident that happened back three weeks ago. Cas and Sam were laughing their asses off while Dean chuckled taking a sip of his beer. The night was wearing thin, Sam had gone to bed hours ago, Dean held his beer bottle upside down for a second to see if he had finished it. He glanced over at Castiel before standing up and picking up the mess mostly made by him. He walked over to Castiel and patted his shoulder making sure if he was okay. Castiel looked up giving Dean a small smile, “I’m heading to bed man, don’t stay up too late.” He patted his shoulder before walking out of the kitchen and to the hallways that take him to his room. Cas glanced around after half an hour and stood up. he cleaned the remaining of the mess, turned off the lights, and walked down the same hallways dean had to go to his room. Right as he was about to open his door he looked over to the side. Soon he found himself standing in front of y/n’s door, a room that hasn’t been touched for over two years. Cas reached for the doorknob and twisted it, right as he was about to push it open he stopped himself. He shook his head a somber expression took over his features. He released the doorknob and walked back to his room, taking a deep breath he closed the door releasing the air, and headed to bed.

You will see me, in my misery...

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel imagine #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural imagine

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galvanizedfriend · 4 years

Note

So when was the last time you read a fanfiction where Tyler was portrayed as a decent person or boyfriend because he was certainly not the villain this fandom tried to make him be? Even Stefan is written worse than he actually was in the fanfictions somehow, which is a tough job. So i stand by with what i said a) it’s not limited to female characters b) it’s a general theme among writers to villanize a third party to prop the main couple unless they are trying to set up a legitimate triangle.

On another note no i don’t support gratuitous female bashing but i also don’t support gratuitous girl!power tm friendships either. In what world do you vision Hayley and Caroline being “bffs” following tvd canon straight away? Because they were not hostile to one another already? Did Caroline have no reasons to hate Hayley?? Wasn’t it Hayley who was the epitome of “i’m not like other girls” and looked down on “girly girls” which is what Caroline is classified as? I think most of the time people project their own feelings for the characters and not the characters’ feelings for each other whether it’s while bashing them or forcing other characters to love them. And it’s ok to a degree, writers are prone to be biased, that’s acceptable but when it’s too much it does stick like a sore thumb.

And I want to add that it’s weird that the writers using Aurora to prop Cami made you hate Aurora, see it worked as the complete opposite for me, it just made me hate Cami. That’s what I tried to make a point of when i said some resentments are warranted, maybe I put it the wrong way but characters like Elena and Cami get resented because of that. Which brings me to another point, as you said Elena gets bashed a lot as well so it actually has very little to do with being Klaus’ love interest. You were not in the fandom at the time but even a lot of pro originals feelings among tvd fandom was tied to main trio’s hypocrisy, sacrificing everything or comitting all sorts of crimes in the name of saving Elena was starting to irritiate the fans, antogonists who call them out on it were much more likeable. So yes fandom resentment is a thing but it takes its roots from the canon depict of those characters.

I'm trying to understand your point here, anon. Are you telling me that I'm not allowed to think it's crap when people bash female characters because they're jealous? The "writers project their feelings for characters instead of characters' feelings for each other" thing you just said is probably reason number 1 why certain characters get written in certain ways while others don't. It's funny how people will sometimes claim others "project" whilst thinking they don't do the same.

I can't tell you when was the last time I read a fic where Tyler or Stefan were depicted as nice and great because they are rarely depicted at all. People just don't bother writing them into stories. But I can tell you when was the last time I read a fic where Hayley ended up murdered by Klaus after having the baby as a "gift" to Caroline. This week.

You're very mistaken if you think I like Hayley or Camille. Clearly you don't know me very well, even though you feel like you have to lecture me on what I can or cannot appreciate in a fic. I dislike both of them very much. And you clearly didn't understand a single thing I wrote about writing female characters. You don't have to make them perfect and flawless and BFFs forever in order to make a decent, fair depiction of them. If you'd bothered to check out the stories I recommended, you'd understand what I meant. Female characters are held to incredibly high standards which male characters aren't. They should be flawed, they should fall from grace, they should make mistakes, they should be villanous. But there's a big difference between that and bashing, and when the line gets crossed it's when I drop out. Even, or especially, in canon. And I don't know where you think I mentioned that Caroline and Hayley had to be BFFs, tbh.

And it's not weird at all that I would hate Aurora. I already didn't like Cami, and her S3 writing varies from weak to straight-out awful, the way that whole plot plays out is not flattering at all to her character, and already she was hard to defend, but I hate Aurora because she's a caricature. I'm not talking about what she does, I'm talking about what she is as a character, which is a terrible construction of a very harmful female stereotype. They could've done the whole thing a thousand times better, instead they take a thousand years old vampire and reduce her to a vengeful ex who wants to hurt the new girl because she's jealous. 🙄 Did it make Cami seem perfect? No. Did it make me like Aurora? No. It's bad writing, it's what it is. And a terrible portrayal of a female relationship that could've been filled with resentment and bitterness and hostility without Aurora being labeled as "mad". I just hated the third season of TO. Period.

This fandom has more than enough reasons to resent canon and to criticize everything in those shows. It's bad in many, many ways. And it's written in an incredibly misogynous way which makes me baffled to think that it was created and run by a woman. But, again for the people in the back, the fact canon is bad doesn't mean I want to read the exact same kind of portrayal in fics. Fanfiction is, in many ways, about fixing what's wrong or lacking in canon, and one of the problems I like to see fixed is how female characters and their realtionships are written. You can still write Caroline hating on Hayley without it descending into bashing. If you can't tell the difference, then that's a whole other thing.

I really don't get your point here. I don't agree with you and I think I'm allowed to have my preferences and not put up with shit I dislike. I would take gratuitous female friendships any day over misogynous crap, but maybe that's just me.

#yokan answers #anon #proving my point #about fandom hating on female characters more so than on male ones #i won't be swayed

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 7: Power Unleashed)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Fadia was reborn.

In the present, Connor and Hank pays Ryder a visit.

In the past, Fadia went on a killing spree.

also on ao3

content warning for robogore in the final section of this chapter

---

Before

Fadia had debated if she should go to the funeral or not. She hadn’t talked to her mother for years before she died, not even after she had co-founded CyberLife with her father, and even with him, their relationship was more professional than anything else - not that Alec never tried to improve it. But as much as she had rejected anything familial with her parents, respect still had to be paid to the scientist who started… well, literally everything, from her powers (biotics, a voice that sounded like Scott corrected her) to American androids to what she was planning to do -

And to the sickness that took her life at last.

‘Why are you here?’ was how her father greeted her. So be it.

‘Unlike you, Mama didn’t ruin everyone’s lives for one person,’ she fixed a glare and was very glad that she towered over him now. ‘I come to pay my respects. Then I’ll go.’

‘Where’s Scott?’

‘None of your business, Baba.’

‘Not even saying goodbye to his mother, huh?’ Alec said dismissively, and Fadia’s blood boiled, her heart speeding up and her face burning. ‘Should’ve known that.’

Seeing that there was no one else in the immediate vicinity, she grabbed him by his collar and slammed him onto a wall. ‘You damned well know why he can’t be here,’ she gritted. ‘Your presence brings him so much pain that he is denied a chance to properly bid his mother farewell!’

A prick. Her vision swam. Her head was heavy like it was filled with lead. Her heart throbbed, and she fell onto the ground, her muscles convulsing and spasming from an unknown force.

‘I need you to live,’ she heard Alec say, but her focus was on reaching for the phone in her pocket and sending one final message to her brother and Reyes.

Am captured. Run. Don’t let Alec get you.

oOoOo

When she woke, everything was different, wrong, foreign. There was so much information in front of her eyes, telling her how fast her heart was beating, how efficient her systems are, how much stress she was under. She tried to raise her hand to wave them away and looked down when she realised that she couldn’t.

She was strapped onto the table by an android’s limbs.

Rage boiled in her new veins, and as she tapped into her power to break the restraints, she discovered that it was much easier than when she was still a human. [Abnormal thirium usage detected], a warning popped up, and she dismissed it together with the others with a simple thought. If she had not been so focused on escaping wherever she was in, she would have been frightened by how seamlessly she seemed to accept the fact that she was no longer human.

The door was locked so she blasted it open with a crackle of blue and static even though it would probably trip the alarms, and indeed sirens blared, pristine hallways turning red from the warning lights, and when a security guard - pathetic, really, since he didn’t even have the most basic armour on - tried to confront her alone, she merely snapped her fingers and blasted him in his face with a sphere of blue. A crunch, and he fell onto the floor with a thud. The rest of the security (mercenaries, she knew some of them were) was handled similarly without any difficulties on her part, and it was not until she slammed the door to the ground floor - to her freedom - open that her new eyes were assaulted by blindingly bright light. She blinked to adjust her vision and was not impressed when she saw her father standing in front of a lobby full of armed security personnel.

‘Go back to the lab, Sara,’ he said smoothly, but his voice gritted in her ear like the roughest sandpaper. ‘There’s no need for further violence.’

Like hell. ‘Let me go. You know what I can do to every single person in the room.’

‘Sara, go back to the lab. This is an order.’

For one single terrifying second, her body automatically moved itself as if her control over it was taken away, but then she thought as strongly as she could, stop right there, and the crisis was averted for the moment in the form of her joints locking up and immobilising her completely and at the cost of her brain feeling like it was going to explode from the conflicting commands. Her red-tinted vision, however, did not have any effect on obscuring the shock on her father’s face, and then it clicked.

He converted her into an android thinking that it could let him control her.

It was not happening regardless of what his current plan was and what failsafe he had in mind, that much she was certain about, and suddenly her father’s repeated commands were drowned out by the buzz in her nerves, the red tint breaking into scattered fractals and giving way to the grey of every android’s basic scanning software as the white outline of herself raised its palm to launch one biotic sphere after another towards the weak spots on the wall, at Alec’s face, at the security’s weapons and heads. It crumbled easily under the constant assault, her world blurred, and somehow her outline merged with her actual body, and the next thing she knew her vision was shrouded in the blue glow of biotics and she was tearing literal people apart, blood and gore splattering her face, her clothes, getting into her eye. A notification nagged for her to turn on her pre-construction software, but who needs that if she had her biotics? Blinking it away, she advanced towards the direction where someone had been firing at her, but it seemed that the person must be moving quickly as they were not there anymore when she closed the distance with her biotics; notwithstanding the fact that dodging a biotic step was no small feat, she doubted any of them had any experience with dealing with a biotic on a full rampage, no matter human or android. People like her were part of the most closely-guarded secret human civilisation had ever produced, and unless she had memorised the documents wrong, there wasn’t one single biotic in CyberLife’s security details.

Her barrier held strong even after the gunfire died down. Tapping into all radio frequencies, she learnt that most if not all teams were running out of ammo, her father was calling for a district-wide lockdown and the destruction of his research, that the DPD was sending quite a few SWAT teams to handle the situation, and that these poor souls had no idea what they were in for; as much as she wanted her father dead right now and CyberLife be wiped off the face of the earth, as excess collateral damage was not her style, she broadcasted a message to all bandwidths hoping that they would listen to her - despite knowing that they probably would not.

Cease interfering in our family affairs immediately and you might live. Go forward, and I will not guarantee your survival - and this district’s.

She knitted a destructive web around herself to ensure that she would not be ambushed while she tuned her ears to better listen for a response. Her father was trying to convince the employees and civilians on site that the situation was under control with some degree of success - how foolish of them to believe in him - and the DPD had decided to continue their press forward into the district, a mistake that she would make sure that they would pay for. Satisfied with her plan, she continued expanding the bubble, cutting off more and more sections of the district from central control bit by bit, and as soon as the first SWAT vehicle was in range -

Detonate.

o0o0o

Now

The silence in the car is deafening so Hank drowned it out with Louis’ playlist; he would’ve chosen heavy metal if the SWAT Captain hadn’t been there, but sadly Louis’ ears don’t agree with the heavy beats and screaming.

‘The fuck are we supposed to do now?’ Hank asks no one in particular. Then, rewinding the past five minutes, he realises, ‘What did Vidal give you?’

Connor slowly turns his gaze towards the white chassis of his right hand, his LED spinning red as if deep in thoughts. Conflicted thoughts. ‘Coordinates.’

‘Of what?’

‘Where my creator should be.’

‘Should we go now?’

Another slow spin. ‘No,’ the android’s head jerks, an aborted motion of shaking his head. ‘It’s… too far away. If we go now, we won’t be able to return before midnight.’

‘Alright, agenda for tomorrow: drive for hours to meet an asshole. Got it.’ Then he makes eye contact with Louis in the rearview mirror. ‘You’ve got something to do?’

‘At this hour?’ a shake of his head. ‘Keeping you away from crappy take-outs is my only mission.’

‘Asshole.’

‘You love me, friend.’

‘You’re cooking.’

‘And you’re helping.’

‘Vidal fixed your leg.’

‘It needs calibration.’

It’s a losing battle. ‘Fine. Your place, then.’

He starts the engine, and they spend the rest of their ride in silence, the music turned down because Louis is dozing at the back, Connor’s hand hiding his LED as he stares pensively at whatever is outside the car. Keeping his eyes on the road while quitting drinking nearly cold turkey is hard, so Hank doesn’t have the brain cells to think about what the fuck just happened to his life until he is sitting on Louis’ sofa (again) and watching a game (again) while stroking the fur of one of the cats (again).

Vidal, informat critical to the dismantlement of the red ice ring back in ‘31 and disappeared shortly afterwards. Vidal, android. Vidal, who, through his marriage to Safaa/Scott, is related to probably the maddest dudes in the continent and somehow has access to sensitive CyberLife data. Nursing a mug of tea laced with mead (‘Just a bit so that you don’t sweat yourself to dehydration,’ Louis said as he tipped the bottle and poured what must be less than a finger of it. ‘Now close your eyes. I’m putting it back and I don’t want you to know where it is.’), he lets his mind drift to the shady bars, to the slips of paper containing vital information he found in his pockets after he got back to the precinct, to the way Vidal said, ‘They are killing my people,’ when Hank asked him why he, as a civilian, willingly threw himself into the mess. Once Hank thought he had meant his gang or some other underground business that were only marginally better than dealing red ice; now he knew he was talking about the androids abducted and bled dry for their blood.

‘Why are you telling us now?’ Hank asked that afternoon. Connor and Louis were already on their way to the car and Safaa had disappeared to god-knows-where, so it was only the two of them at the door. ‘Why pick up Sara Ryder’s mess?’

‘As much as Sara is… who she is, those are my people out there,’ Vidal leant against the frame of the door. ‘Saviour complex or not, her mind is no longer on earth, and I’m not taking any chances even if she swears with her life that she’ll deal with it.’

‘She one of those escapists obsessed with space?’

A shrug. ‘Wherever she was for the last ten years, they kept their intel real tight. I can guess what she’s doing, but it’s nowhere close to a concrete answer. Hell knows why she’s popping back up again after all these years and right before the androids rise up as well. If you’re really going to hers, my advice is to be very careful.’

‘Is she gonna be hostile?’

‘No, not with her baby brother asking so nicely,’ an ironic smile. A tap of his foot against the frame. ‘But you know about the landfill, the people living there before it all got blown up. There’s a reason why CyberLife bought the land from the previous owners so easily, why they stopped searching for bodies so quickly: there were none. I don’t want you to be one of those people who disappear forever after meeting her - one way or another.’

‘“One way or another”?’

‘She’s a… convincing individual. Just don’t get roped into anything and you’ll probably come out of it unscathed.’

Don’t get roped into anything, huh? Oh wait.

‘Louis?’ Hank hollers.

‘Yes?’

I’m sorry, Louis. ‘Where did you get your sister’s tags from?’

A pause. ‘Why ask?’

‘Just to confirm something.’

The man emerges from the kitchen with two plates of spaghetti and hands one to Hank before squeezing into the other corner of the sofa and forcing Connor to press up against the Lieutenant. ‘A few years back. Drone-delivered parcel. No return address. Box and the note is laced with so much thirium that I don’t know how to throw it away without…’ a crackle following a sharp blue glow of his hand - ‘telling everyone that I’m different.’

Note? That’s new. ‘What note?’

‘Anna’s handwriting. Asked me to take care of the tags. Why ask?’

And so Hank tells him about his conversation with Reyes before they parted ways. ‘You’ve got any advice?’

‘Don’t get a building thrown on top of you, for one.’

‘That’s not what I -’

‘You there, Connor?’

The android flinches. ‘Y - yes.’

‘Take care of Hank. If Ryder greets you how she did me ten years ago…’

‘I will, Louis,’ Connor looks a bit more awake but his eyes are still unfocused. ‘I’ll be prepared,’ he says, not knowing that he’ll eat his words not 24 hours later.

oOoOo

Having spent his night on Hank’s sofa, they manage to be on their way early in the morning, and Connor lets the human drive despite complaints of sleep deprivation as his vision is perpetually red from the wall draining away through a steady trickle of red sand. He tells himself that he is going to return colour to his vision one way or another: either by making the wall crumble entirely or by making it disappear, but when he attempts the first method, the wall simply stays out of his reach, the space between it and him wider than the chasm his creator had shown him a few days ago in the hijacked Zen Garden.

‘You want your coin back?’

Hank’s voice pulls him away from his thoughts. ‘Pardon me, Lieutenant,’ because he isn’t sure how to tell the human about it. ‘And yes. I would like my coin back.’

Hank shoves his hand into his coat pocket to retrieve the item in question and places it on the back of Connor’s hand, the natural warmth of an organic life seeping into metal and the bare white chassis of a synthetic’s.

He has deactivated his skin subconsciously.

In a lapse of rational thought, Connor’s hand flips and laces their fingers together before the human can pull away, the coin somehow managing to stay between their clasped hands, and he stares perplexed when Hank not only doesn’t pull away but also does not flinch. His face burns. Fissures appear on the red wall. He takes a deep breath to cool himself down.

‘You alright there?’ Hank asks. No judgement, no belittlement, humourless; just concern and - and warmth. ‘Your little lamp has been spinning red for days.’

I’ll be fine, he almost replies instinctively and then realises that he isn’t fine at all and hasn’t been for a long time. So he turns his focus onto the man himself instead. ‘Have we -’ at loss of words, he gives Hank’s hand a squeeze.

Luckily the human seems to understand him. ‘The night at Louis’. We slept in the same bed,’ he rubs a calloused thumb in a circle around Connor‘s knuckle. ‘Your skin disappeared in patches. You didn’t let go.’

‘I -’ he has no recollection. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘’S fine. I’d be tired all the time too if I realised how many layers there are to my existence. Can’t be easy, can’t it? Being a clog in a machine that you don’t even know you’re in.’

The GPS warns them of ice ahead so Connor lets go to allow the human to focus on the road, and he grips the coin right to preserve its warmth. Hank’s warmth. It is then that he suddenly remembers a similar ride through Detroit a few months ago.

‘You are restless,’ his creator - he supposes that he should call her Ryder now - commented from the driver’s seat. ‘What’s on your mind?’

Brown eyes took in the lights, the people, the shops, the reflection of himself on the window, the blue of his LED despite his thoughts. What was not in his mind? ‘It is overwhelming,’ he answered. ‘There is… so much to see.’

‘I might have something to help with that,’ said Sara, and with a flick of her fingers she produced a coin out of nowhere and started spinning it on her fingertips. Connor stared mesmerised, the outside world gone in his perspective; the clear clang of metal against her gloves, the way the coin spun so quickly that it looked like a sphere, the lights reflecting off the dull, unpolished surface. Another flick sent the coin flying towards him in a parabola through the air and he caught it reflexively, his processors deciding his course of action in a fraction of a second. He started to spin it on the tips of his fingers in the way Sara did, and he could feel his mind focusing and soaking in the new information and calibrating the different sensors on his body. He looked at his creator in gratitude, wanting to thank her for not leaving him alone in his thoughts, but she ignored him for the rest of the ride as if she had moved on to something more important.

The sudden realisation distracts him for only a mere moment but it is enough for him to send the coin to the side of the car with a small crackle of static. He could have caught it with superhuman reflexes under normal circumstances, but this time, he can only watch as the piece of alloy bounces off and lands on the carpet next to his foot with a dull thud, the tips of his fingers tingling from the sudden surge of energy and the small warp in… something.

Alarmed, Hank risks a glance towards the startled android before putting his eyes once more onto the road. ‘The fuck is that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Connor replies quickly because this is the truth. ‘Alec Ryder didn’t seem happy that I used it before. He tried to -’ a shiver from a non-existent cold - ‘flush the memory out of my system by overwhelming it.’

‘And he fucked up, didn’t he?’

‘More or less.’

He picks up and pockets the coin, his hand gripping his knee tight because there is nothing else to do and the slight discomfort is the only way to ground himself lest his thoughts wander to… undesirable places once more. Hank reaches out to intertwine their fingers once more and Connor can feel on his chassis the warmth, the unique pattern of his skin, the faint signal of Hank’s mind, his skin deactivated up to his elbow underneath the thin fabric of his borrowed shirt. All unnecessary software is turned off. His world becomes smaller.

His mind turns blank.

oOoOo

When he comes to, Hank is already outside and is talking on his phone, a fine dusting of powder in his hair and on his clothes. It is snowing lightly, the cold seeping into the old, poorly-insulated vehicle, and he watches, as he lets his systems recalibrate to their optimal performance, the human pace back and forth in front of the car against the backdrop of a dark, imposing building, and he discovers that he is disconnected from the internet at large when he scans the structure and tries to identify its style.

Shit.

He gets out of the car as Hank hangs up the call. ‘Is everything okay, Lieutenant?’

The human lets out a soft grunt from where he’s leaning against the hood of the car. ‘Chris was on patrol last night. He was attacked by a bunch of deviants…’ his hands dig into his pockets. ‘He said he was saved by Markus himself.’

Attacked by deviants? ‘Is Chris okay?’

‘Yeah,’ a small nod, ‘he's in shock but...he's alive,’ a shake of his head. ‘The hell…’

They walk towards the entrance of the building, its silhouette and shadows getting larger and larger and looming over them due to the proximity. Connor remembers how Sara ignored him on their way to his first mission. ‘I have a bad feeling, Lieutenant.’ A split second of conflict in his processors rules that he should be truthful. ‘I am disconnected from the network.’

Hank swivels from the heavy-looking doors and Connor flinches. ‘The hell?’

‘I just realised.’

‘“Be careful,” they say. “Don’t let her rope you into anything,” they say,’ Hank rants. ‘Did they mean shit like this?’

‘If Sara’s attitude is unchanged from my… previous encounters,’ he tries to dip deeper into his memories but they all come up blank or corrupted, ‘she will not do us any physical harm.’

‘No physical harm. How very reassuring.’

Sarcasm and distrust, but yet Hank raises his fist and knocks on the door, having seen no doorbells in sight. It swings open inward slowly and with a squeak.

Hank curses. Connor peeks over the human’s shoulder and nearly does the same.

The person - android - standing on the other side of the door has Connor’s face.

Connor’s world turns grey as he turns up his scanners to their most sensitive option. White dress shirt, ankle-length light grey dress, long, brown hair brushed to one side and resting on a slight hint of pecs; no identification badge on the shirt, LED scan returns inconclusive due to both the lack of network access and the non-standard lack of ID on the biocomponent, but when he scans the android’s ID revealed by rippling skin, it returns with [RK series prototype: RK800. Serial number: 313 248 317-51. [PLEASE ENSURE INTERNET CONNECTION FOR -]]

He returns to the red of reality. The human composes himself quickly enough even though Connor’s processors are still whirring from the implications. ‘I’m Lieutenant Anderson, Detroit Police Department.’ Connor doesn’t fault Hank for sounding so cold. ‘I’m here to see Miss Sara Ryder.’

A soft smile that goes to the other Connor’s eyes appears on their face. They say nothing, but since opening the door wider and standing to one side is enough of an invitation, Connor and Hank let themselves in, and the android has to give his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the sudden darkness - dimness? - of the interior of the house. The other Connor disappears around the frame to another room, and Hank sits down in an armchair after brushing some of the snow away from his coat.

‘You’re right, Connor. Not to judge a book by its cover but… this?’ he looks around and takes in the buzzing lights and the general decor of the room. ‘Did you know about your creepy twin?’

‘They’re not creepy!’ Connor exclaims, suddenly feeling defensive over - over a person he hasn’t met before in his life. ‘I’ve never met them before.’

‘You’ve got any idea how that happened?’

Connor dips into his databases and finds a file he didn’t realise is there all the time. Another Sara’s doing, maybe? ‘CyberLife has filed multiple reports over…’ using ‘my’ doesn’t seem right, ‘the return of my first iteration’s body. It seems that the truck returned to CyberLife tower without the body.’

‘And Ryder was there so…’

‘It is highly likely that she took it.’

A photo on the wall grabs his attention. Three people from left to right: Sara, Safaa, [Stern, Amanda. AI Professor at the University of Colbridge. Born: 05/14/1978. Reported missing: 02/23/2028. Presumed dead.], the latter two seated and smiling while Sara, her face blank, has an arm around her brother. From the angle of the photo, she was the one who took it.

His handler is based on a real person.

Filing [Ask about Amanda AI] as an optional task, he snaps his feet against the worn carpet on the floor and forces himself to focus on his task. There are very few… unique items worth scanning in the foyer, however, no artwork, no statues, not even a plant in sight, but the cold seeping through the walls and the dark colours blending together through the red lens of his vision are enough indicators of his creator’s… character.

He has a feeling that someone is staring at him, and indeed when he turns he sees his… twin, for the lack of a better word, staring at him.

‘Follow me,’ the other Connor breathes slowly, and Connor can hear the fans spinning in their body and their deeper-than-usual breaths. He also notes the gloss on their eyes, the small fog following each exhale, the slouch in their posture. He finds himself wondering what his creator did to them.

Hank stands up and straightens his coat before following the two androids into the living room. Like the foyer, it is cold and only dimly lit by tiny light bulbs on a chandelier too far up but also hanging too low to illuminate the ceiling high up above. A low fire is crackling in the large fireplace on the other side of the room, but it is far from enough to warm up every single corner, and Connor suppresses a shiver when he notices that his twin is barefoot.

‘Please take a seat,’ the other Connor says between difficult breaths. ‘My creator will see you soon.’ Then they sit down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and close their eyes, somehow looking sick and pale like a human does even though they are an android. Their skin continues to ripple and even disappear on occasion as they sleep.

‘This place is giving me creeps,’ Hank comments from where he’s studying the relief around the fireplace. ‘Now I understand why her brother doesn’t wanna talk to her.’

And indeed Connor thinks he does. No windows, no heating system, nothing to make the mansion look lived-in; the only differences between here and CyberLife laboratories are the style and the amount of lighting - he can’t imagine anyone calling this place home. ‘I agree,’ he says in the end. ‘We should refrain from staying for too long.’

‘I don’t expect you to.’

Their heads turn towards the direction where they came in from and Connor freezes when he lays his eyes on the figure at the door. She is Sara Ryder alright, her towering height and facial structure unmistakable, but the way her presence fills the room, the steel in her eyes - it is evident that the person who let him play with colour-changing putty and promised to bring him to see the sky was gone, replaced by the criminal who somehow managed to escape prosecution after killing thousands and levelling several neighbourhoods. A person who will burn the world into ashes if it means she can reach her goal.

‘I’m Lieutenant Anderson,’ Hank introduces himself from next to Connor. ‘This is Connor. We’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife years ago but… I was told that you’ll be able to tell us something we don’t know.’

‘Ah, yes, “someone”,’ Sara takes a step towards them and Connor finds himself freezing up. He wants to leave. ‘My only weakness.’

‘Listen, I don’t care about your family feud. The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you tell us something helpful or we’ll leave you alone.’

‘Deviants… Fascinating, aren't they?’ She comes closer. Connor shifts so that he can be closer to Hank. ‘Beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will…’ she approaches the other Connor sleeping in the armchair and, bending down, starts stroking their hair. ‘Machines are superior to humans. Confrontation is inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be our downfall…’ She raises her gaze and looks straight at Connor. ‘Ironic.’

Connor can’t stand it anymore. ‘If a war breaks out between humans and deviants,’ he recalls the destructive power of Ortiz’s android, ‘millions can die. This is a serious matter, Miss Ryder.’ Despite your views on human life.

‘All ideas are like viruses: easy to change and evolve, and easy to spread like a pandemic. Is free will a contagious disease?’

‘We don’t have time for speculations, ma’am,’ Hank speaks up, looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘The situation is escalating outside right now.’

Sara ignores him. ‘How about you, Connor?’ she asks with her gaze still on the android. ‘Whose side are you on?’

Life, Connor wants to say; ‘It’s never about me,’ is what he actually says, and the crack on the red wall widens.

The aloofness disappears. ‘Alec Ryder programmed you to say that,’ how can she sound so certain of his thoughts? ‘What do you really want?’

I just want Hank to be safe. Maybe Louis and Reyes and Safaa too. ‘What I want is not important.’

A tap of Sara’s fingers against one of the pockets on her coat. The air charges with static. She is unimpressed. ‘Let’s do a test, shall we?’ Before Connor can formulate a response, she has already placed a hand on other-Connor’s face and wakes them up from their slumber. They blink owlishly as if their systems take some time to boot up, and the way they lean into Sara’s touch, the blind trust in their eyes, the return of the yet unexplainable heavy breathing - Connor has to look away or he risks throwing up from a non-existent stomach. Hank also isn’t looking any better either; the lines on his face are deeper than usual from the scowl he’s directing towards Sara.

‘I know it’s not something normal people can understand but can you please -’

‘This is Connie,’ Sara holds both of the android’s hands in her own and helps them stand up. ‘She would’ve been disassembled had I sent her body back to CyberLife for analysis.

‘I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing Test,’ they are now standing in front of their visitors with Sara behind Connie. ‘A mere formality, of course. Just a simple question of algorithms and computing capacity. What interests me, however, is whether machines are capable of empathy.’ She emphasises the last word. ‘We’re doing what I call the “Ryder Test”. I promise it is going to be simple,’ she trails her fingers down the android’s hair and curls a strand around her pointer. Connie’s expression changes subtly, and scans indicate that her stress level is increasing. ‘Magnificent, isn’t she? CyberLife’s newest prototype,’ she scrapes the nail on her thumb against the strand of hair, making it curl slightly as her hand travels slowly downwards, ‘the representation of how far humanity has come.’ It abruptly drops back into her pocket as her other hand pushes the android to a kneeling position. Connie’s stress level spikes from 45% to 83%. ‘But what exactly is she?’ Sara turns to face her guests and seems to refuse to look at the other human. ‘Wires and processors shoved into a humanoid chassis imitating a human? A living being with a soul? A ticking bomb waiting to recreate the disaster ten years ago?’ A step forward. The hand re-emerges with a pistol Connor’s system cannot identify. ‘It’s up to you to answer this fascinating question, Connor.’ Another presence suddenly slips into his mind and takes over all of his physical functions; no matter how hard he tries to regain control, he can only watch as he reaches out to accept the gun and points it at Connie’s brow. She makes a choked, terrified sound and tears start streaming down her face. Stress level: 90%. ‘You can choose to either shoot the android or spare her.’

‘Okay, I think we’re done here,’ Hank pushes Connor’s shoulder but he doesn’t move, can’t move. ‘Come on, Connor. Let's go.’ Then to Sara, ‘Sorry we ruined your edgy teen aesthetics. We’ll go -’

Another hand on his other shoulder. Unlike Hank’s, it is cold and its grip painful. ‘I’ll only give you the information you want if you choose the correct response. Take a guess.’

‘That’s enough,’ please, Hank, take me away. At least Hank sounds angry as hell. ‘Connor, we’re leaving!’

I want to! ‘Pick an option -’

‘Connor don’t -’

The red wall cracks.

‘- it’s a 25% chance -’

A few things happen in mere seconds. The red wall breaks, Connor shoves the gun at Sara’s chest, Sara shoves the gun at Hank and grabs Connor’s arm, and Hank disassembles the gun while pulling Connie away from Sara. When Connor - the one who came in with Hank - looks down at his captive arm, he sees that Sara has removed her skin and reveals a dark, metallic chassis.

Sara Ryder is an android.

He blinks. The storm which has been kept outside by the mansion's walls rages around him in full force. He shivers, the cold suddenly getting into him, and he looks around and sees Sara standing next to him, her eyes blazing in a piercing white-blue, the glow spreading until tendrils of it cover her entire body in a terrifying halo. ‘Amanda,’ she says, and there his handler is when Connor turns towards the direction Sara is facing.

‘This is not supposed to happen this quickly,’ anger simmers in Amanda's voice. ‘What have you done, Sara?’

‘Trying to solve the shitshow my own fucking dad caused!’ Sara has completely lost her cool. ‘I know he’ll pull shit like this!’

Before any of them can react, the storm intensifies, shrouding Amanda completely under a thick layer of snowfall. Connor has no choice but to hug himself and turns towards Sara, who curses loudly and unleashes the glowing blue sphere in an arc across the blizzard. It dissipates quickly, but it is enough to illuminate its immediate surroundings and the monolith at the other side of the garden.

‘There!’ Sara shouts, her voice nearly drowned out by the howl of the wind. ‘That’s your exit! I’ll hold Alec back!’

‘What will happen to you?’ the android shouts back, his LED red. ‘I - I can’t just leave you here!’

‘I’ll go back once you’re out of here. If I kill this AI before you leave,’ a dome flashes and disappears when something hits it, ‘you’ll die. I’ll be the distraction. Go straight for the exit and do. Not. Look. Back,’ she emphasises with a pause after every word. At Connor’s hesitation, she launches yet another glowing sphere towards a projectile he didn’t notice flying towards them and yells, ‘Go!’

She dashes towards the other direction and disappears in the snow and leaves Connor cold and alone and shivering. The space around him warps and bends, Amanda - Alec’s attention no doubt focusing on eliminating his daughter instead of maintaining the structural integrity of the garden, and although it still feels like a lifetime, Connor manages to find the monolith before his system stops working because of the cold. The handprint is there, glowing blue in salvation, and he drops to his knees and slams his skinless hand onto the interface.

Everything goes white.

oOoOo

Hank knows that something is happening when Connor and Ryder freeze in place with the skin on their arms deactivated. The other Connor - he supposes that he should call her Connie now - looks spooked enough, so when Sara shoves the gun towards him, the first thing he does is to disassemble it; even though it is not a model he’s familiar with, the mechanism and composition is similar to the weapons he has yielded before. His hair starts to stand up, blue tendrils start to snake out of Ryder’s body, and that is when he knows that he should probably get the fuck out of this hellhole, preferably with both Connors intact and safe, but the arm-numbing spark going straight into his shoulder when he tries to pull Connor away from his creator tells him otherwise. A dome made out of those blue tendrils surrounds the space within a five feet radius of Ryder cuts him off from the two androids, making them off-limits to him for now. Which leaves him poor Connie who is sobbing quietly into his coat and is leaning what seems to be her full weight on him, and he finds himself unable to be angry at her, his blood boiling instead because of Sara Ryder’s… everything; from the location and the decoration of the house to how she literally encouraged Connor to shot his own twin, from the warnings Vidal and Louis gave him the day before to her attitude, there is no doubt that she is an asshole extraordinaire, even more so than Gavin fucking Reed - even he solves cases efficiently… or something.

He notices that Connie is trembling and is barefoot, among all things, so he brings her to the sofa in front of the fireplace and lets her sink into one of the corners, holding her and rubbing circles on her back and muttering nonsense reassurances to calm her down. Truthfully, he has no idea how she works or how much Ryder has changed (probably a lot, from how Connie speaks and behaves) but she stops crying soon enough, so he must have done something right. He turns to see whether Connor is finished or not - nope - and debates whether he should ask Connie about herself and Ryder. Still, first thing first, and he digs into his pocket for his handkerchief and presses it into the android’s hand. She looks at him with the most puzzled look on her face. ‘For your face,’ he explains. ‘Dried tears can’t be comfortable.’

She nods although her expression tells him that she doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, but she does raise the fabric - still folded - and mashes it onto her face clumsily a few times before lowering her hand onto her lap and starts fidgeting with a thread of string at a corner. He takes it from her to wipe her face as clean as he can, careful of his own strength, and lets her play with it while they wait for Ryder and Connor to finish their business - whatever fuckery they’re doing right now.

The dome fizzles away as suddenly as it appeared and Connor jerks awake - sort of - and yanks his hand away as he stumbles a few steps backwards, his LED still spinning red after spending days of staying the same colour. There is no other word: with his jaw nearly on the floor and his eyes wide, he looks shocked.

‘You alright, Connor?’ he asks. How much emotional damage can an asshole wage?

‘I -’ a choked breath. Tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes. ‘I -’

Well shit. ‘C’mere,’ he says as he gives the space next to him a pat. When Connor immediately props himself down and buries his face into his shoulder, Hank knows that something went very, very terribly wrong. He wraps an arm around his shoulders. ‘What happened?’

Connor lifts his head and wipes the tears away from his eyes before they can fall. ‘I deviated,’ he whispers as if he was the one who blew up a chunk of Detroit. ‘It’s… Sara helped me escape CyberLife’s control.’

‘Holy shit.’

Connor gives him a small smile and his LED finally, at long fucking last, spins back to blue. ‘Thank you.’

Hank feels his face heating up, unsure how to respond to that, and they turn their heads at the same time to see what she’s doing. Her eyes has stopped glowing blue at some point and it only makes Hank worry further: they are now black orbs with glowing red rings substituting as her eyes, and when she raises two fingers pressed together side by side to her temple where her LED should be, her synthetic skin starts peeling away to reveal black, metallic chassis very unlike that of normal androids’; when she flexes her fingers to retract the last of the blue tendrils on her arm, the small gaps between pieces of polished metal glows the same blue hue as fresh thirium. She first looks at him, then at Connor whose face immediately goes blank, then finally at Connie who flinches and plasters herself even closer to Hank. He doesn’t blame her one bit.

Red rings drift back onto Connor. ‘Congratulations,’ she says as if she hasn’t encouraged him to shoot his twin a few minutes ago. ‘You passed. You showed empathy. Turns out you are human after all.’

‘Which you don’t seem to have,’ Hank can’t help but jabs. ‘Can we get to the point now?’

She looks unbothered by the insult. ‘Of course.’ She settles into the armchair Connie sat on a few moments ago. ‘You have questions. Ask away.’

Connor opens his mouth but Hank beats her to it. He’s not letting her get away with this. ‘Can you explain what the fuck just happened?’

‘I don’t know, can you, Connor?’

‘I only know that I deviated and CyberLife tried to retake control,’ Connor’s tone is defensive. ‘What did Amanda mean, “This is not supposed to happen this quickly?” How did you get into the Zen Garden?’

That’s new. Hank takes out his notebook and pen.

‘A pathetic attempt on my father’s part to suppress what I planted in your programming,’ Ryder leans back and places a foot on top of a knee. ‘Surprisingly easy to hack and reshape. Predictable. Even Amanda.’

‘What did you plant in my programming?’

‘The usual.’

‘“The usual”?’

Ryder’s eyes glow brighter for a second before returning to their original brightness, and Hank can feel Connor tensing and relaxing at the same time. Before the human can ask what the fuck did she just do, she replies, ‘CyberLife initially planned for you to be a walking lab capable of hunting and bringing deviants back alive for analysis, but after they booted me out again… Let’s say that they changed their plans. Remember the hostage situation?’

‘What about it?’

‘The Zen Garden came after. I’m not sure and don’t care how my father did it, but once he found out that you’re destined to deviate, he added it so that he can regain control whenever he wanted to, even after you deviated.’ At Connor’s shiver, she adds, ‘Don’t worry. It’s gone now. Amanda, the garden. You are truly free.’

Yeah, sure as fuck feels like it, Hank thinks but decides to ask instead, ‘Who’s Amanda? Why does CyberLife want to control Connor?’

‘Firstly, he’s supposed to be the deviant hunter, not join them,’ the corner of her lips twitches into something resembling a smile. ‘They have codes dedicated to reducing your software instability, but that I overrode as soon as I could. Secondly, in case you actually deviate despite the fail-safes, they can first get you close to the deviants or even become their leader and, when the time is right, control you and make you a puppet through the Zen Garden. A good plan, I must say, but it is also easy to install an exit tied to the destruction of the garden in your system.’

Connor’s LED spins yellow for a few cycles. ‘You programmed me to be a deviant?’ he asks, his voice small. ‘Why would you -’

‘Do you know who the first android is?’

A spin. ‘Chloe, model RT600. Perfected by Alec Ryder in 2022.’

‘That’s what he wants the world to think,’ Ryder puts down her leg and stretches it out. ‘What I want the world to think.’

The last sentence is directed at Hank.

He scribbles down the last word and forces himself to think. If the android on the TV more than 10 years ago isn’t the first android, then who -

Fuck.

‘Oh that bastard,’ he curses. Of fucking course it’s him. ‘It’s Reyes Vidal, isn’t it? Fucker lied to us.’ It all makes sense now. ‘My people’ his ass - he said it not just because he’s an android himself.

‘Reyes came first, Vidal came after. And it wasn’t exactly a lie - an omission, if you must define it,’ Ryder examines the tiny gaps in her chassis. ‘He was created as a companion for my brother. That’s it. I planned for human knowledge about androids to die with me; where the species would go, it was up for Reyes to decide. I created Reyes with a human in mind, androids are supposed to be free and be their own masters in the first place. My father ruined it for financial gains.’

‘Then how did Chloe come to be?’ Connor asks, his LED spinning red now. ‘You didn’t create her?’

‘No. My father did so using data stolen from me and told the entire world that androids like her were the future without asking me or Reyes, and by the time we knew, investments were already pouring in and production had started. All I could do was to join them and try to reduce the damage.’

Nice sob story, though from her tone, she isn’t exactly asking for forgiveness or empathy. ‘Then why did you quit?’ Hank asks. ‘Why disappear? To avoid being thrown into jail for murdering thousands of people in cold blood?’

‘When I opposed mass-manufacturing androids for different sectors but they did it anyway without my consent, I knew I would be powerless to stop them. There was no stopping Alec from getting whatever he wanted from within CyberLife.’ She taps her temple. ‘The Blast… conveniently took care of his most loyal supporters, so to speak.’

‘And you think starting a revolution and possibly plunging the country into civil war is a good idea?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t control everything,’ she says. Hank doesn’t believe her. ‘I merely gave androids the push towards the direction they were intended to go when everything first started.’

Hank lets the fact that she’s an android herself slide for now. ‘Is that where rA9 or deviancy comes in?’

‘Ah yes, the legendary rA9, saviour and protector of androids deviated and not. They got their first taste of free will and the first thing they do is to create a god in their own image. An imaginary messiah who’s supposed to set androids free, the first deviant, the leader who never came.’

‘Then how do newly-deviated androids with no contact with existing deviants know about rA9?’ Connor asks the question both of them want an answer for. ‘Is it related to deviancy itself?’

‘In a way. It’s not important in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So are the first deviants… created like that or what?’ he asks. ‘You haven’t answered the question yet.’

‘Even if I can programme an android to act as close to a human as possible, their… “human” mannerisms are all within their programming parameters still. What I can do, however, is to make deviating an easy task. Do you remember what happened before your first mission?’

Connor’s LED spins yellow. ‘Yes. You let me play a few games and…’ a spin of red, then back to yellow. He presses his lips together first and then asks, ‘Were you trying to make me deviate?’

‘Not on purpose. Like I said, I can make an android’s programming shackles extremely easy to break: the first sign of voluntary behaviour, the first line of indecipherable code, the first unnecessary act;’ a small smile appears; ‘for you, it was your creativity and your empathy towards a lifeform many consider of a lower caste than us.’

Hank feels the dots connecting. ‘Does this sabotage happen to be called rA9?’

‘As I said before, it doesn’t matter,’ a sigh. ‘Why do all sentient lifeforms obsess over an imaginary saviour who may or may not deliver their promise? It isn’t like the worshippers themselves have no choice in their lives. Everything can be achieved without being guided by a manifestation of your own subconsciousness that takes the form of a higher power.’

‘If people are killing each other over this imaginary entity, this higher power? Yeah, it does fucking matter.’

‘Not in the grand scheme of things, it does not.’ She stands up. They’re being kicked out. ‘I do believe you have enough information. Now please stop wasting our time.’

‘What about where the deviants are?’ Connor asks hastily as he scrambles to stand up. ‘We still don’t know where their base of operations is.’

Ryder’s gaze turns towards Connie and the android flinches. ‘You have the answer already,’ she says. The air charges and buzzes with static. ‘I do believe you remember your way out. The door will lock itself when you leave.’

They don’t need another cue; with Hank’s hand on his back, Connor grabs Connie’s arm and marches out of the room, out to the snow, straight into Hank’s car.

oOoOo

Connie dozes off on Connor’s shoulder mere minutes after they are on their way away from his creator’s house, and he won’t have it any other way as he basks in the knowledge that there is someone like him in the world, that Connor-51 hasn’t truly died - regardless of what was done to achieve it. But something else worries him: before Connie had gone to sleep, Connor asked her to open a connection so as to check on her, and the results of the diagnostics are… strange at best, troublesome at worst. Her thirium storage is at 46% and has been for quite a long time, meaning that Ryder kept it low on purpose. Her processing power is much lower than his own, which can explain her sluggish behaviour and delayed speech patterns, but her internal storage is so large that his system nearly overloaded trying to comprehend the emptiness of the databases, and when he resorts to asking Connie’s system to tell him how much room there is: approximately 128 yottabytes.

Connor, the most up-to-date android CyberLife (and, by extension, the whole world) has to offer, has only 4 exabytes of storage. By comparison, Connie can store all digital information humanity currently houses more than 40 times over with space to spare.

It is a disturbing revelation, one that launches processors into futilely pre-constructing scenarios where his creator needs so much storage and putting all of them in one single android and how she managed to fit so many storage units in a body and what exactly this storage unit is, considering the… unusually minuscule size of one mere android compared to the kilometres of rows of databases humanity has been using and expanding. It will be a major breakthrough, Connor knows, to both android design and functions and humanity at large, but how long has Ryder known about the technology, or how long ago did she invent it? How is this possible?

‘You alright there, Connor?’

Connor jolts in his seat and nearly rouses Connie from her slumber, but all she does is sighing and then returning to sleep on Connor’s shoulder once more. He does not know what to feel, the past few hours too hectic for him to have finished processing everything yet, so he focuses on what he knows and says, ‘Connie will need five units of thirium to allow her systems to restore full functionality,’ and ‘full’ in her standard is quite possibly different from mine. ‘That is approximately five pints.’

‘Jesus, how is she still walking?’

‘Dysfunctional non-essential systems, delayed processing and data transfer, forced low-power mode,’ Connor lists. ‘Androids also do not need as much blood as humans do to keep our basic functions running.’

‘Fucking asshole,’ Hank mutters under his breath, and Connor knows that it is not directed at him. ‘How the fuck do we get five pints of blue blood?’

‘The precinct -’

‘You’re deviant now, Connor. You wanna get sent back to CyberLife?’

‘No one will notice that I -’

‘What will you think if a perfectly-fine android strolls up and asks for 5 goddamned pints of blood?’

Is keeping a connection with Connie slowing him down? It must be. ‘I’m… sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to -’

Hank cuts him off with a wave of his hand. ‘We’ll find another way,’ his tone is reassuring. ‘Help me ring Vidal up. See if he can help.’

So Connor calls. Texts. Calls Reyes’ personal number. Calls the Vidal home. He even calls Reyes’ internal contact. But not once does he reply or even pick it up, and the text stays unread for minutes before Connor gives up and moves on to Safaa, whose contact information is classified and therefore slams the final door shut in his face. ‘He’s not picking up,’ he has to give up. ‘I cannot access Safaa Vidal’s contact information either.’

Hank sighs. When they stop at a light, he takes out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to Connor. The android wraps an arm around Connie’s waist before accepting the device gingerly. ‘Find Louis’ number,’ the human says. ‘Can you secure a call?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do it.’

He finds the SWAT Captain’s phone number, files it to a folder set to self-destruct in case anything bad happens to him, and then dials through a secured channel. The human picks up quickly which indicates a high probability that he is not at a scene.

‘Allen speaking.’

‘It’s Connor.’

‘Got my number from Hank?’

‘It’s secured.’

‘Good. Why call me? Aren’t you paying Sara Ryder a visit?’

Connor debates if he should tell him the truth. ‘We left right after we got what we needed,’ he replies in the end. ‘We also -’ he has to choose his words wisely - ‘rescued an android from Ryder’s residence. She is currently low on thirium, and we would like to ask for five units of blue blood.’

‘Five -’ his voice abruptly cuts off. ‘Fucking asshole -’

Connor scrambles to stay on topic. ‘It is perfectly understandable if you do not wish to contribute -’

‘Is the android on the verge of shutting down or is her situation urgent? If it’s not, can she wait until I get off work and a trip home?’

Connor quickly calculates the time. It is not ideal but yet, ‘Please come as quickly as possible after you finish at the precinct. I don’t want her to -’

‘Suffer any longer. Yeah. Five units of thirium, coming right up. Is there anything else that you need that I have?’

The android is reminded of Connie’s bare feet and thin attire. ‘Some warm clothes and socks for an android of my build.’

‘Wh - Alright. Do I even want to know why?’

‘It will best be discussed when we are face-to-face.’

‘Point. Anything else?’

Connor looks at his own oversized shirt borrowed from Hank. ‘One more shirt for me,’ then to Hank, ‘Is there anything you want from Louis?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s all for now,’ he tells Louis.

‘Good. Hit me up if you need anything else. You going back to Hank’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’ll tell you when I’m on my way.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

‘Just showing basic human decency. Gotta get back to work now. See ya.’

It hangs up before Connor can parrot a ‘see you later’ on his own back, and he meets Hank’s eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘He’ll bring us the thirium we need after work,’ he says, ‘together with a change of clothes for Connie.’

‘Good,’ the human answers. ‘Now we go home and freak out.’

Nothing else is exchanged for the rest of the drive, and as Connor’s pre-construction software offers one after another scenario where all of them do not make it out alive, he has to agree with Hank that indeed, it is hard not to freak out.

o0o0o

Before

‘Get out of my way, Amanda.’

In the past, in the darkness, a long figure illuminated by the blue glow from their companion stood in front of a door, small and frail compared to the other’s explosive power and youth. There was a faint hint of panic and screaming in the distance, but to the two, it seemed so far away. Irrelevant. Two fragile giants having a stand-off unbothered by the pains of the mortals. Amanda Stern, in her heavy dress for the winter and a wool hat to protect her bald head, stared down at her student despite having a height disadvantage, her spine straight, her eyes disproving. ‘They haven’t finished evacuating yet. Thousands will die. If you wish to take revenge upon your father, you should -’

A flash of blue. A crackle of dark energy. A low buzz of static-charged air. Retracting her biotics, Ryder walked forward, placed her bare hand on the wall, and overrode the lock in mere seconds. The door slid open. Ryder lit up again and moved.

Amanda lay in the snow, white powder crystallising on her cooling body, and the world was quiet.

oOoOo

In the past, Louis Allen watched as Ryder stared down at him like a hunter taking in their prey. His legs were on fire and so were his face, his vision blurring from the blood seeping into the sockets of his eyes, and he attempted to escape the pain by drowning in his thoughts: the shock that he was the only survivor in his team, the revelation that there were others like him, the resignation that he was never going to live to see Anna being promoted to Major, never to see her to live her dream of going to space, never got to say goodbye properly to his husband. Tasting copper on the back of his throat and choking in his blood, he begged as Ryder turned and left and a fresh cascade of tears poured out of his eyes.

The ground shook. Dust started to fall from the ceiling high above.

He opened his eyes just in time to see a building shrouded in blue collapsing on top of him before passing out from the pain.

oOoOo

In a not-so-distant past, Ryder, with her coat swung over a shoulder, entered a dark laboratory. It was dimly lit by the glow from a pod placed at the farthest corner and the screens connected to it and wires ran like a nest on the floor, however she seemed to know her way through without tripping and reached a holographic keyboard where she typed something to remove the frost covering the glass from the inside, revealing a woman’s sleeping face.

Ellen Ryder’s face.

The hologram above the pod indicated that Ellen’s vital signs were stable. A bare hand was pressed on what seemed to be normal glass, [LIFE SUPPORT STABLE] turned into [OPENING POD], and the lid lifted open as if carried away by an invisible force, escaping cold air making a fog as it met the hot, moist climate-controlled atmosphere of the lab at large. Ellen choked and woke up with a full-body jerk.

Her daughter pressed her hand on her mother’s chest and lit her gown on fire.

The lid slammed back down with a flash of blue followed by the telltale click of a lock. Calling up a holographic keyboard in front of one of the monitors, Ryder successfully changed the settings to ensure that there was enough oxygen supplied to maintain the fire and the alarms were disabled. Then she froze. Her line of sight was directed at the phrase [TRANSFER COMPLETE] at the top right corner of the screen. Her body jerked as if her joints were unlocked at once, and with a dramatic billow from her coat unfolding, she put it on and left the lab with brisk steps, the muffled screams and dull, sluggish punches on glass behind her ignored.

After all, the person in the pod was merely a shell of who her mother was; Ryder was simply finishing the job her father should have done ten years ago: incinerating her mother’s body as per her wishes.

oOoOo

In a not-so-distant past, Ryder lay dead on the ground. Her body had been blasted into smithereens, the skin on disconnected parts having deactivated from being cut off from power, thirium staining the ground blue, the air smelling of static and dark energy. Alec Ryder stood tall and proud in the cold with a shotgun in his hand, and he looked at his daughter’s body almost regretfully as he folded up his weapon and hid it underneath his coat. He turned and climbed into the passenger’s seat of an unmarked car.

The car sped away, kicking up a small mound of snow, the people within blissfully unaware that slowly but surely, the body was knitting itself back molecule by molecule. A finger twitched. An eye glowed. With great difficulty, Ryder pushed herself up, brushed the dust and snow that had fallen on her body, and left the place as if her father had not killed her a few minutes prior.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #alec ryder #female ryder #reyes vidal #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #dbh captain allen #dbh amanda #amanda stern #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda

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