#that also happens to intersect with Something Else that people vaguely care about

[yume-fanfare]

also i hated those days in between fine event story releases. can we not do that again ever

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), slow burn, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: here's part 4, i hope it brings you at least some answers! (if not, i know part 5 definitely will!) (and also remember there'll be 5 more parts after that!)

Wordcount: 2.8K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

It wasn't insanely cold at all, but it felt nice to hug your coat tighter to your body, arms folded over and shoulders hunched up, as you made your way down the street.

You weren't crying, but knew you would the second you'd get home. Kind of wanted to now, not that you knew exactly why, but you'd definitely watch something sad if the tears wouldn't come on their own accord.

Maybe the thought of Joe fucking hating you would be enough. Because that kind of was it, wasn't it? Joe only was mildly friendly sometimes because you were friends with his best friend's fiancé. That was it. No other reason. Just had to be nice because you and Mark were a weird package-deal he now had to deal with just because he was friends with Poppy.

Well... tough.

Jesus, you were all over the place. Thoughts going from, why does he hate me? to, so what if he does?

Just as you turned a corner, you heard someone run up behind you. There were people about all over, so footsteps nearing didn't necessarily mean they had anything to do with you. But then before you knew it, someone fell into step next to you.

Joe.

Stubborn as you were, you just kept walking and didn't acknowledge him. Didn't say anything, and then, in some sort of weird power play, neither did he.

Silence.

Arms crossed. Shoulders high. Eyes down at your feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

With every step it became more and more annoying that he was just... there. That he followed you. That he was now walking with you, and that he wasn't fucking saying anything.

Not that you wanted to talk.

You kind of wanted him to leave.

But you could rise above it. Try to be the bigger person. Keyword being try.

You came up to an intersection and you knew that Joe needed to take a left to make it to his place. Instead, Joe took a right and kept up the pace next to you.

"What are you doing?" you refused to look at him still.

"Walking you home,"

It made you grunt under your breath a little, so annoyed by the fact that Joe followed the code of chivalry just so he could tell Mark and Poppy that he'd done the right thing. This wasn't a genuine thing. Joe didn't care about your safety more than he did his own standing with his friends.

"You don't need to, I'm fine on my own, thanks," and you sped up, but Joe followed suit and you secretly debated stopping all together to see if he would too.

"I know you will be," Joe said, voice sort of flat, void of any emotion towards you at all. "But you do understand that Mark would skin me alive if I didn't at least make sure you got home all right,"

How the fuck did him admitting to walking you home for his own sake rather than yours make him suddenly feel more sincere?

It's because honesty was still honesty, even if you didn't like the truth. It softened you a little despite everything, just, a little flicker of, at least you're not lying to me.

But you buried your kinder feelings quickly, shook them off and forced your thoughts elsewhere. There were enough other people about, enough hustle and bustle happening all around you for you to divide attention. There was plenty to look at, plenty to listen to and plenty to think of.

Walking beside Joe without sharing any words only really became weird when the streets became quieter and emptier as you got closer to your flat.

It was silent for a while, just the sound of your in-sync footsteps following you. You realised you were growing more and more annoyed at the sight of your old jeans and ratty trainers next to Joe's pressed trousers and shiny loafers.

So pretentious, you thought.

It's just his style, you thought immediately after, berating yourself for thinking mean shit all the time. Just because Joe didn't like you - potentially hated you - didn't mean you had to think mean shit of him in return. You could be the adult here. The grown-up who was above all of this dumb teenage behaviour.

"I'm sorry," Joe suddenly said, "I shouldn't have said–"

"That's okay," you lied, not needing his apology.

Joe accepted your interruption, and another silence took over.

Rise above, you thought to yourself. Rise above all of it.

When you had to wait at a crossing, you suddenly sighed, loudly.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped the way–"

"That's okay," Joe said, copying your earlier interjection and you were scared to look up at him in case he was smiling.

You weren't going to accept it quite as easily though.

"It's just," you inhaled a sharp breath, "I don't know, I made a shitty comment and I regret it and I'm sure you've heard it a million times before, because I have too, and," you winced in true regret.

"What do you mean?"

Cool. Joe was going to make you repeat yourself. Rub salt into that wound. Sure. Why the fuck not?

"Do people not constantly ask you if you're dating Poppy?"

"Only everyone," Joe said, and you could hear his smile as he said it. You still refused to look. "Especially, my mum," Joe then added, and you couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped you.

You quickly reeled it all back in though. Cleared your throat. Kept your smile to yourself, and your eyes down where they had been for most of your walk.

You assumed Joe would elaborate, but it stayed quiet next to you.

Awkward and familiarly distant, exactly like you knew Joe to be.

Suddenly, Joe jogged a few steps ahead as you walked past a pub, and you saw him reach for the door - not to the pub, but to the place next to the pub. You slowed to a halt.

"Gelato?"

Joe couldn't just say ice cream like a normal person, could he?

"My treat," Joe waited patiently, the door to the ice cream place held open by one hand, whilst the other resided in one of his pockets. It was past 10 by now, but there were still people inside getting their sugary fix of Italian desert and you were about to say no, until you stomach growled.

You'd barely had any food tonight, and even though it wasn't exactly the type of weather to indulge in a cold treat, you actually really craved something sweet. Looking at all the bright colours of frozen goodness behind the glass only confirmed that for you.

You gave an exaggerated sigh, playing now, and said "Fine," through an eye roll. As if saying yes to ice cream was a favour you were doing Joe, and not the solution you needed to sober up a little.

The smallest of smiles appeared on Joe's face, head tipping down as you walked past him, stepping inside, before he followed you.

Five minutes later, you were sat at a small table, both with little tubs of beautiful ice cream and little plastic colourful spoons, shoveling straciatella and pistachio goodness into your gobs.

You were practically groaning over how good it was.

"How's yours?" you asked when Joe didn't seem half as into it as you were.

Ever silent, ever cumbersome.

"Oh, s'good," he said before he went in for another bite, and you had to really resist the urge to reach over and go for a spoonful from his portion.

It was like Joe read your mind, because, before you had even really finished your thought, he nonchalantly slid his tub of ice cream across the table.

You just looked at it for a moment as he still held it in his hands, and then tapped it against the surface, signaling for you to dig in.

Interesting.

You took a small spoonful, and Joe was right. That was good. Yours was better though.

Were you the type of people to share ice cream together?

No. Far from it, actually.

But did you?

"Mine's better,"

Yes, you did.

You copied Joe, sliding your tub over to his side of the table for him to have a taste of yours.

Joe took a far larger glob of ice cream from you than you'd taken from him, but you didn't say anything. He'd paid, and you had just claimed that yours was better, so you let it slide.

Joe narrowed his eyes up at the ceiling and worked the taste of your choice of ice cream into his mouth before swallowing and concluding, "Yea, that's good too."

Not agreeing, not disagreeing, but a secret third nonthreatening thing: light diplomacy. It kind of made you chuckle at how safe Joe was being. Earlier you'd been full force trying to ruffle each other's feathers all over. Now, it was careful words, and silence.

You decided to take advantage.

"I feel bad,"

Joe's eyes shot up to look at you.

"I shouldn't have said anything about the picture of you and Poppy," and you kind of meant it.

"I don't know why I brought it up. It was stupid, you can do whatever you want in your own house, it's - it's not fair of me to assume anything, and,"

Joe was about to say something, so you upped your volume to make sure he'd let you finish.

"And, I want to say sorry, I can be... I don't know, vengeful and unforgiving if I don't use my brain, so, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything about it."

Joe listened, and then looked at his last few bites of ice cream before he chuckled.

Laughed.

For a moment you thought he was laughing at you, and you could feel your defenses itch. You were absolutely ready to fall right back into snarky comments and glares.

But then Joe squeezed his eyes shut, scrunched up his nose and said,

"It's unbelievable how much you and Poppy are alike,"

You eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

"Honestly, it's remarkable. Might as well be the same person."

You'd heard Mark say this time and time again, but you were curious what similarities Joe could see. He barely knew you, after all.

"Alike how?"

"Well, for starters," Joe made big eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "Vengeful and unforgiving? Tick," Joe said as he pretended to tick an item off an imaginary list. "Apologising for it? Tick,"

You huffed a laugh, and saw Joe smile too.

"No, I'm joking," Joe continued, "But sometimes she... tonight Poppy got drunk just because she..." Joe paused, and you thought you could sense a little hesitation. "She forgot to use her brain and got a little vengeful and a little unforgiving," Joe finished, keeping things vague and unclear.

"Was it about Mark?" you pried.

Joe just smiled at you.

"She worries too much,"

You mimicked ticking that off whatever imaginary list Joe'd been writing on, because you fucking worried about everything all of the time. Joe huffed a laugh at it, and another short silence fell where you finished your ice cream and then watched Joe finish his.

"I know Poppy gets jealous sometimes," you confessed. "It's truly unnecessary, because I would never, ever. Never. With Mark, I mean," and you visibly shuddered at the thought. "Absolutely not," you weren't sure if you needed Joe to know, or if you hoped that he'd tell Poppy that you said that.

"It's not that," Joe said, which kind of threw you for a loop. "That's not what she worries about,"

And like you weren't in the middle of a somewhat civilized conversation, especially considering it was the two of you doing the talking, Joe collected your empty tubs and spoons and got up, ready to leave. He dumped the rubbish into a bin near the front, and then kindly held open the door for you again as you headed out.

Outside, you carried on the walk over to your flat, but this time, it was a lot more leisurely than before. Slower steps. Hands in your pockets instead of crossed over your chest. Shoulders relaxed. The air not quite as... hostile as before.

You looked at Joe and wondered if you were going to have to ask him what he meant earlier. You could practically see him think. Go over what to reveal to you, and what not to. For Poppy's privacy, you were sure.

Giving him a minute seemed to do the trick, because suddenly, he spoke.

"She worries that you know Mark better than she does... that you mean more to him than she ever will,"

Silly, you thought. Didn't say it.

"She's always like, am I still only second best to him?"

"Oh my God," you didn't want to sound like you thought that was the dumbest thing you'd ever heard, but that just slipped right out.

"No, I know," Joe smiled, immediately agreeing. "Trust me, I know,"

"Second best?" you repeated. "Does she really think that?"

Joe just sort of nodded.

"But we're not... we're not even in the same rankings. I might top the scales when it comes to all of his friends, but, Poppy is... she should hear how he can go on about her. It get's a little gross, sometimes. She really doesn't need to worry,"

Was this why Poppy had so intensely told you that you were important to her at the bar? Had Poppy and Joe talked, and had she shared all of her vengeful and unforgiving thoughts before using her brain and apologising? Was telling you she loved you with your face squished in her hands her way of apologising to you?

"Can you tell her for me? I'll do it myself too, but I imagine it'll stick more when you tell her,"

You rounded the corner into your street.

"I will. It's not... it's not always like that, though," Joe said.

"Oh, no, of course," you got it.

Everyone had their moments, didn't they?

"But can you blame her?" Joe suddenly said, and you turned your head to look at him. Joe had his eyes aimed at the pavement.

"What are you implying?" you asked cautiously.

"Well," Joe started, and if you weren't mistaken, you could see his jaw clench a little. Was that annoyance?

Was Joe annoyed with you?

For fucking what?

You'd been right before. There was definitely some sort of real hatred within Joe that was all specifically curated for you.

Great. Just, so great.

You immediately grew defensive, felt it bubble up in your gut, but tried to keep it there until you knew for sure it was needed.

"Mark's very protective," Joe said pointedly, immediately making you frown.

You wanted to argue, and tried to think of things to prove him wrong, but your mind faltered and words got stuck in your throat. All you could come up with were memories of your earlier teens where Mark's protectiveness was exactly what had made you become friends.

"Guess so," you mumbled quietly, sort of deflated, not really wanting to get into it.

Besides, you'd reached your flat, so rounding of your conversation was smarter than delving into a whole other conversation you would then need to have by your front door. Oh man, even just thinking of rounding off a stuttery conversation with awkward goodbyes made you cringe.

"But you're right," Joe said loudly as you pulled your keys from your pocket.

"The framed photo is a little weird, given that I cropped the two of you out,"

You stilled entirely and just looked at him. Looked to see if you could find a hint of humour. Anything to indicate he wasn't being serious. You came up blank.

"I'll see about replacing it,"

You just sort of blinked at him.

He didn't need to actually go and replace it, what the fuck.

You were a loss for words, completely unable to think of the right words to say, so you just stood there and said nothing until it became weird.

"Good night," Joe then said with a small smile as he nodded his head down at you before turning on his heel and walking back the way you'd come. A few steps out he looked over his shoulder, lips pressed into a tight smile and he waved.

Motherfucker waved at you with wiggling fingers and a kind face and Jesus fucking Christ.

It was dead silent in your street, and you really had to force yourself not to watch Joe walk away, not to listen to Joe walk away, until he was out completely out of sight.

Inside, you pulled your phone out and opened your text thread with Mark. You had one really important question to ask him, and it couldn't wait 'til morning.

"hey, quick q, why the fuck don't Joe and I get plus ones to your wedding?"

---

The Taglisted: 

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

[spurious]

⭐️⭐️!

(fic writer commentary asks)

me: getting this ask and going back and forth for three hours about whether it's too much to just go off on a fucking dissertation about O I Think We Should Be Brethren

actually, you know what, fuck it, we ball!!!! i'm extremely proud of this story and i can allow myself to talk about it.

For the moment I'm just going to talk about chapter one, because I started writing my thoughts and it got.........................................long, but if anyone's actually interested in the following two chapters I am fully willing to get into those as well.

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP.

Walt Whitman's Live Oak, With Moss #4 reads, in its entirety, as follows:

This moment as I sit alone, yearning and            pensive, it seems to me there are other           men, in other lands, yearning and            pensive.  It seems to me I can look over and behold            them, in Germany, France, Spain—Or           far away in China, India, in           Russia—talking other dialects,  And it seems to me if I could know those            men I should love them as I love           men in my own lands;  It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful,            benevolent, as any in my own lands;  O I think we should be brethren—I            think I should be happy with            them.

So my initial notes for this were the sort of vague idea of exploring my headcanon of John being gay, and wanting to sort of chart some of his experiences with finding/looking for/failing to achieve a queer community? And how that would intersect with his having, you know. Joined the military, traveled to exotic locations, met interesting people, and killed them (as they used to say). This is also how I ended up starting to read that fascinating book about gay us military history, because I really just had no frame of reference for what John's experiences might've been like.

Anyway, I wrote the first paragraph or so one night when I couldn't sleep and was just laying in bed mentally writing lines (honestly good job to me for not thinking I'd remember in the morning and then...not lmao).

Initially I just started writing, thinking about this kind of...handful of formative queer experiences that John might've had, and then after a while it became evident that this was gonna be...kind of long...so I made a separate note attempting to diagram out the different biographical beats I wanted to hit (thanks stargate wiki and also so many information websites about the US air force). So I just sort of ending up writing my way through these different points of John's life, through the twin lenses of loving flying and loving men, and all of his understanding of the tension that existed there; all of which leads him to learn that his feelings need to be sort of ruthlessly compartmentalized for, essentially, his own safety.

Also while writing the first chapter of this fic I had a week or so where I just vivid-dreamed about airplanes and flying? Literally never happened to me before but ok

I think one of my favorite bits in the early section of the first chapter is John driving down to Edwards just hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the test flights. There’s something just really pure and sweet about it to me, and it sticks out as an impactful moment even though nothing really happens.

The section beginning with In Asia, John learns a few more things. is where I really think I started to hit a stride in terms of the overall voice of the story, the sort of barren sadness of it all, mixed with that quiet desperate little spark of hope.

Writing directly about John's relationship with Nancy in a story where he's explicitly, textually gay was an interesting exercise. My read on the whole situation is that he did care for her, and that he thought, to some degree or another, that he could make it work--that maybe friendship would be enough, that he could give her what she needed, and anyway, what the hell else was he going to do? Live his truth?

So the bit with Nancy is where I ended up getting into the sort of recurring motif of marriage vows (the playlist for this fic being called "till death" and all that). In terms of writing the breakup, I tried to use the small amount of screentime we get of Nancy, where she just seems sort of...sad, for John, like that he's like this? And idk, she probably could've, would've been angry, but she strikes me as this very in-control woman who would have planned out this conversation beforehand, not really wanting it to devolve into a whole..."scene", or whatever (since I tend to imagine Nancy is of a similar WASPy stock to John, iykwim). And John, I think, would just go along, because like, that's how he ended up in the marriage in the first place, for one thing, but again, I believe he cared for her and he'd, like. Want her to be happy?

The divorce is fast, and John finds out that, for all that the brass loves a family man, there's plenty of room in the chain of command for an unattached loner who doesn't care if he dies.

This is just a line I like. Like, John knows exactly what his value to the military is, I think.

So anyway, then I proceeded to give myself several million feelings about John and Holland? Honestly from Phantoms I immediately read the relationship as a romantic one, at least on John's end. Like yes it's a showing of his usual Sheppardian recklessness when someone important to him is in danger, but...I just think he's in love, it makes sense to me that he would've had this just absolutely fucking devastating experience? That he would've fallen in love with this sort-of-mostly-straight guy and convinced himself he could live on these little scraps of affection, and then it ends with the person he loves just fucking. Dying? That's how you end up depressed in Antarctica!!!

I spent a lot of time reading transcripts and rewatching snatches of episodes while writing this (mostly ch2, but) and when I got to this bit of Phantoms I just fucking lost it:

HOLLAND (weakly): Sheppard, when we get out of here, I'll make sure I say something really nice at your court martial. SHEPPARD (smiling): Yeah. Come visit me in Leavenworth, huh? HOLLAND: No. It's way too depressing. SHEPPARD: Yeah.

And it's EVEN FUCKING WORSE in the actual episode than it is in text. Like it seems as though Holland's trying to make a joke when he says no, but John just...takes it? Like yeah, of course, you wouldn't want to do that for me. About this guy he's sacrificing his career and his life for? He just goes, yep sure wouldn't expect you to put yourself out even a little bit? IT IS JUST DEVASTATING. AWFUL. Fucking horrible and absolutely perfect angst content for me and my fic lmao. god. I cannot believe how sad that exchange is.

Soooooo you know. I think John went into that rescue thinking he would either save Holland and get a court martial, or he would die. And I think for quite a while afterward, he believes that he should've died in that desert, and everything afterward is extra innings he didn't really deserve.

[isntthatwrite]

if i was anything, i'd be everything - 12th house

astrology tangent: from my perspective, houses tend to be the thing that separates the astrology enthusiasts from the Vaguely Curious But Not That Into It. houses kind of ask that you really learn the material and apply it, think a little deeper, etc etc. my perspective. anyway, the 12th house in astrology is probably the first of the houses i began to seek more information on. discovering i have a luminary (my moon) in the 12th house was a trip.

we follow the houses through a life cycle- born in the 1st house, going all the way around until the 12th, the end of the cycle. 12th is where we review everything before we die, but we are not yet ready to let go. it's like how in older age, you remember bits and pieces - less of the details and more of the feelings. the feelings will never die. to me, 12th house has always felt like i've had the feelings and am looking back reflectively, but i have no recollection of the experience itself. like i'm reviewing a life i haven't even experienced myself. here, i attempt to elaborate.

----

pulling a line from carrie bradshaw after hearing Big was engaged - after the relationship ends, where does the love go? except my focus is neither of those bozos. it's the concept of this intangible- what happens to feeling once it's time to leave? what happens to this part of you that does not die after it's been born? what happens when you're born into a house of memories?

on a cellular level, i can never forget any of it. the conscious memories always lied dormant, which i speculate is why it was so easy to begin to feel them again when given the prompt. it takes time to make peace with reality. some of us never belonged in linear time to begin with. some of us have a physical response to what has never happened to us on this plane of existence, and it makes us look insane to the external eye. i could never put it to words and i thought for all this time it would be useless to try -- maybe it still is -- maybe i don't mind it being useless. in the grand scheme of it, no one can tell me what matters to me like i can. nobody writes the thesis statement for the essay that makes no sense and elicits criticism for its incoherence and complete rejection of mandatory structure. nobody remembers the writer who is too old to live and too young to die.

i am enrolled in film 1101 and watching a homemade psychedelic mind trip of a final project by a freshman who is exploring fantastical concepts he doesn't believe in and immediately fails class critique. i am trapped at the intersection of the dreamers and the realists and i remind them they are more alike than they are opposite. at the end of it all, we become the same thing over and over recursively until we no longer can be differentiated. i love you in the sense that our molecular structure was once interwoven and i never forgot, i just needed to see again. i love you in the sense that i would never deny that we forever change each other every time we meet, and we always arrive at exactly the time we need, each and every time. we are there exactly as long as we need to be and not a second more - but there we always were and always will be. i speak like this about everyone, past present and future, because they all coexist. much like everyone i've ever loved, time also can no longer be differentiated. the smell in the air reminds me of yesterday, 5 years ago, a day soon to come, the rest of my life and i know these things all to be true with no evidence to provide until it can be demonstrated in the linear scope. by that point, no one will care, but it was never going to matter to anyone but myself. i can only bear witness to myself in here, i cannot see anyone else despite my best efforts

state change is the only thing most people will recognize. i've left, i've started again, i've done something markedly new and different and i have stopped the old. nobody saw what i did before the change. nobody saw what brought me there, how hard it was to be in the state of inbetween, incapable of witness and intangible to everyone including myself. it hurts to be here because i do not know where anything is going, how i'll know when it arrives, anything more than i will just have to hope.

i have faith in what i cannot yet see. i look delusional for it. i know the joy i will experience because it lives within me and i have felt it throughout time. einstein's "spooky action at a distance" or quantum entanglement is an attempt to describe and quantify this phenomenon that many of us viscerally know and feel (whether we admit it or not)- the pieces of us that live within each other and activate as the years go on and influence each other without ever having solid evidence as to why. i never had to even know you to have been influenced. we share the same state and have no idea until perhaps one day in this life, we meet. over and over, the universe creates parallels, pieces of each other will live together / separate / in some bizarre in between state of together yet separate / forever influenced though intentionally separate. in minor ways, we are always preparing for what will be coming. meeting people changes our lives forever.

being born honors an entire previous lineage. i love who i never knew but always will be. there i once was, there we once were, there we always will be - i can never be without you. i reject the notion that i can never know the women who came before me who didn't live at the same time as i did, i'm more them that i can ever cognitively realize. i feel pain when visiting places i never even knew you suffered in. i speak what was hidden without a clue as to why i'm saying it. you cannot put me in the box that hurt her. i won't fit. i am the opportunity to try again and i do not have the option to go back in. i am crying out in pain because she wished she could, i wake up confused as to why i'm crying -- i'm crying for us all, so she can finally be free and at peace -- she deserved it long ago

i think there is this universally believed concept that anyone can give anyone advice on how they can receive closure and move on.

(https://www.tumblr.com/mitskiarthistory/612950940503441408/illustration-for-goodnight-moon-clement-hurd)

[five-rivers]

Loved Chapter 5

Sort of wanted to do something more elaborate with this, but it just wasn't happening. Meh.

.

“But you aren’t really real, are you?”

Tucker’s question killed the mood fast than a bullet. Danny and Sam stared at him from their side of the blanket nest.

“You want to rephrase that?” asked Sam, glaring, arms crossed.

“Uh,” said Tucker, sweat starting to form on his upper lip. “I mean, clearly you’re real, just… maybe not entirely physical? You, it’s,” he made a sort of twisting gesture with one of his hands. “People who aren’t from here can’t see you. They can’t even touch you. That sort of implies that you’re not on the same level of reality as them.” He shrugged. “You call the other place the Dream, right? Maybe you’re in, like, a kind of daydream or something.”

Danny twisted a corner of a blanket in his hands. “No,” he said.

“Danny,” started Tucker.

“No,” repeated Danny. “I can’t—” He noticed he was breathing heavily, his eyes unfocused enough that he could see—No. “Tucker, I don’t—I don’t think I even have free will anymore.” No matter how much he Loved Clockwork and craved Love in return, no matter how glad he was that the dark future would never come to pass, that grated at times. “I need—” He gulped air.

(Before, if he was this panicked, his heart would be thundering in his chest. Now, it was far too quiet.)

Sam put a hand on his back, steadying. Tucker reached out, too, but hesitated, unsure.

“I need to be real,” he said. He needed to still exist, still be human, at least in part. He couldn’t lose that, too. No matter what else he might gain.

“You are real,” said Tucker. “I’m sorry, I—” He cursed lightly under his breath, “—I wasn’t thinking. It’s just… Maybe something you should think about. Maybe—Maybe you aren’t coming completely out of… I don’t know. Wherever you go.”

“Maybe,” said Danny, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “Maybe. I just. Not right now.”

“Okay,” said Tucker. “Yeah. What were we talking about before?”

“Who cares?” asked Sam. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“That sounds good,” said Danny.

.

Danny woke up first the next morning, which was somewhat unusual. Sam was definitely a night-owl, but Tucker woke up fairly early. He stepped over them, feet silent on the floor. Almost as if they weren’t really there.

He shook his head. Not now.

He went to the bathroom and took care of things slowly, deliberately, as if to impress upon his body that he was human.

Sam and Tucker still weren’t awake when he came back. Also, when he thought about it, the rest of the house was eerily silent as well.

No… There was music. Was that coming from outside? He closed his eyes to listen better and caught himself drifting off while standing.

That was abnormal. He knelt and shook Sam and Tucker’s shoulders. They didn’t stir.

Someone was here. And they were here without Danny knowing. That was bad. That was really bad.

He went to his parents’ room. They were asleep, too.

There was a nonzero possibility that he was the only one awake. (Assuming he had ever been awake in the first place and not, as Tucker put it, daydreaming.)

He went out, following the music. Music suggested Ember, but this didn’t seem to be her style. She preferred motion, energy, vibrance. This was quieter, subtler.

Then again, none of the others made sense.

(At least, Danny liked to pretend they didn’t.)

The music wasn’t louder outside, but it was clearer. The scent of something sweet floated on the air. Something warm. Like honey.

Was something buzzing?

Danny shook his head again, forcing himself back into awareness. Maybe he should try and figure out what was going on from inside the Dream. It wasn’t possible to fall asleep there. At least, Danny never had.

(Assuming he wasn’t always partially in the Dream, like Tucker said.)

On the other hand, it often helped to observe what was going on in the real world, on the surface of things, before diving. As messy as fights could be in the real world, winning them in the Dream was harder.

He forged on, periodically pinching himself. He wasn’t the only one on the streets, but he was the only one on the streets that wasn’t passed out. It looked like there had been some car crashes.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the middle of an intersection, looking away from him. She was built like a centaur, except the lower part of her body more closely resembled a massive deer than a horse. An elk, perhaps. Both her deer-portion and her human-portion had night-black skin, studded with white stars. Antlers curved and branched above her curly hair. A crown of red flowers sat on her head. She wore no other clothes.

Danny did not notice any of this at first. No, what first jumped out at him was the unmistakable chain of Love binding him to her and vice versa.

He’d never met anyone like this, so—

She turned to face Danny. But she didn’t have a face. She had a mask. A well-made mask that had both eye-holes and a mouth with lips that seemed to curve. It was also covered with pulsing, swirling, hypnotic patterns. Black and white chased each other across the mask, not respecting the mask’s physical curves.

Danny could feel his mind start to go fuzzy. Felt the ground go soft under him as he sank into the Dream. A distant part of him wanted to look away, but the rest of him could only blink slowly, captivated.

“Come,” she said in a fascinating combination of an out-loud voice and a True Voice, tugging lightly on the chain that attached Danny to her.

Danny complied, trotting out into the intersection. When he was most of the way there, she turned away again.

“Follow,” she ordered.

Danny did, vaguely noting how rapidly the sidewalks and concrete buildings of Amity Park flowed into smoothly rolling hills covered in grass and flowers. The air grew heavier. Hotter. The perfume of the flowers combined with the buzzing of the bees and the gentle music served to make Danny even drowsier than before.

Still, he could hardly nod off in this situation, walking behind her, Love connecting them.

Sluggishly, belatedly, a name came to mind. “Nocturne,” he said. The name tasted like milk and honey, like chamomile tea, like sleep. She stopped and inclined her head slightly towards him. “You’re different from before.”

“We haven’t met,” she said. Then she turned more fully, the lips on her mask curving into a smile. “Has our parent been showing you Dreams of me? Perhaps I looked more like this.” She changed, her body warping before Danny’s eyes to become an impossibly tall man completely covered in starry black robes. Except, of course, for his mask and curved, ram-like horns. “This is as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Danny nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, and looked around. Amity Park was nowhere in sight. The hills were a little lumpy, as if the grass and moss were growing over oddly shaped rocks.

“Let’s sit,” said Nocturn, lowering himself elegantly to the ground.

Danny followed, movements clumsy and blurred by sleep. He blinked, and found his hands occupied by a large mug. He looked up at Nocturne. Had he given this to Danny, or…?

Nocturne smiled. Danny looked away, not feeling like getting caught in the hypnotic swirls of his mask again. There was something off about those rocks under the grass. Something about their shape…

Then he saw it and inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Bodies. They were bodies. Still breathing, but…

He looked back at Nocturne. He’d known Nocturne was being too nice to him. He was new to being other, but not new to being a younger sibling. Older siblings only acted like this when they had set up everything in their favor. When they wanted something.

Even knowing this, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Could he fall asleep in the Dream?

“What are you doing to them?” he asked. “How do I wake them up.”

Nocturne hummed. “I have an idea. Play a game with me, sibling, and I’ll tell you.”

“What kind of game?”

“You ask me a question, and for every answer I give you, I get something from you.”

“Like, an answer from me,” said Danny, trying to clarify his position, “or something else?”

Nocturne’s smile showed teeth.

“If I play this game,” said Danny, “I have to be able to say when it ends.” He didn’t want to be dancing around conversational pitfalls every time he interacted with Nocturne, after all. They were siblings.

(And though Love was not trust, it was Love. And Love was undeniable.)

“Of course,” agreed Nocturne, easily.

“Alright, then,” said Danny. He adjusted his grip on the mug.

The grass was crawling. He blinked, hard, and shook his head, dislodging two bees that had landed on his ear.

“How do I wake them up?” he asked.

“You can’t,” said Nocturne.

Danny paused, waiting for Nocturne to take what he wanted.

“You have other questions.”

“Aren’t you going to take something from me, for the question?”

“Yes, I am.”

Danny pursed his lips, realizing he had just wasted a question.

“If I can’t wake them, who or what can?”

“I could. Or they could wake themselves.”

Danny mulled over what that could mean. He had no idea where to start with the second part, but the first…

“What would I have to do, to get you to wake them?”

“You—”

The chain around Danny’s neck went taut, pulling him through the fabric of the Dream at breakneck speeds. He was in Clockwork, his sibling behind him.

You must not bully your sibling, my dear. I have enough love for both of you. You do not need to be jealous.

Danny swayed. Now that so much of the tension between him and Nocturne was gone, he was no longer able to use it to support his wakefulness.

Drink your milk, little Love. You’ll be able to find your friends.

Danny nodded sleepily and tipped the mug back. He didn’t remember what happened after that.

.

“Hundreds of Amity Park citizens are still in comas as health officials race to find the cause of the mysterious event. Some say that gas leaks are to…”

Danny tuned out the TV and glared at his cereal. He knew he had fallen asleep in the Dream and had done something, but the memory was beyond him. Maybe whatever it had been was beyond an even partially human mind.

Or whatever kind of mind Danny had.

His fingers twitched. He was going to go down again later today, to see if Clockwork would help him find everyone else. If they could be found at all. He didn’t want to. He was angry. Angry that this had happened, that it was still happening. Amity Park was his, and Nocturne had no right to try and steal and break and—

The terrible part, was that even though he was angry, his general desire to reach out to Nocturne, to lean on their Love… That had not diminished.

He looked forward to seeing them again.

The news continued to talk about the coma victims.

[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[celticrune]

I forgot to send an ask but I'm here now!! Can I get some, hmm. 7 on the usual criminals + Althea? 20 to be nice and 21 to be mean? :3c

i love you but curse you for making me do fashion

7: How they like to dress Keiji: Already answered! You cannot trap me!

Val: They live at this intersection I've just coined called formal biker fashion. They have a beat-up biker jacket that's their comfort jacket and they like dressing to match it, in sturdy boots and a black skinny jean or a cargo pant so they have room for more knives. They wear a lot of scarves when it's cool enough for it, because they like the face hiding potential and it makes them feel less exposed.

Then on the other end there's a nice fitted waistcoat, slacks, and leather boots for when they're at work or school or just want to look professional. or a proper suit, with levels of formality depending on the occasion. It depends on where they are between "Perceive me as professional and capable" and "Do Not Perceive Me"

Tanwen: Colours, florals, and all the dresses and skirts. Also wears hairbands cause they're cute. Her bodytype's changed a bit since i made this but it's still v accurate to her fashion sense, so here she is in the Sims 4

Jay: Boring. Plain and functional, favouring clothes with a lotta pockets because he's a magpie when it comes to collecting rocks. Also usually on the more worn-out side because he wears clothes until they're literally falling apart

Althea: Slut, but make it classy. She likes to regularly go shopping and keep an eye on what's in fashion, with bonus points for good cleavage or a boob window. She's got the money for big brands and likes to spend it, though she fortunately does have enough taste to not buy clothes just for the logo. She's got a strong sense of style, even though I don't really know how to describe it other than 'when i see a fun femme outfit and think oh fuck that's hot'

Oh! Also heels, she's a monster about wearing heels. Which is fun cause she's already 180cm, so she's the tall gf dream

20: Their reaction to a mystery love letter Keiji: Laughter because this has got to be a joke, then mounting confusion and disbelief when he actually reads it and it's. not?? a joke???? He is that anime guy who laughs at the confession letter while the confessor is just around the corner so their poor heart is broken and then later realises oh

He'll make a big ol' deal about not caring and roasting anyone else for thinking he's a good target to confess to, but also? he's keeping it and hiding it, not that he'll ever admit to that or ever act on it

Val: *concern.jpg*. They are quite wary about relationships (they know they're a handful), and someone who would write a letter seems like someone admiring them from afar, who therefore... would not have an accurate image of them and who they actually are. They will take it as the compliment it is but, if they know or find out who it's from, with a gentle rejection.

Tanwen: A letter?? For her?? Oh gosh that's so sweet but who could it be that's so strange oh gosh oh no it's really sweet and really really flustering why did they not sign it?? Now she's going to have no idea who it is?? It could be anyone!!

Aka she's going to be so flustered and awkward the next time she's at school/where she got the letter and she's gonna try to be a very clumsy detective and find out who sent it. And probably only end up flustering more in the process, but fortunately that's nothing new.

Jay: ".......Huh."

Althea: :3 Someone has a cruuuuush~~ :3. She's going to have so much fun playing detective and trying to figure out who it was (and then probably flirting with said person and flustering them terribly but never actually doing more than stringing them along, because she doesn't do relationships and emotional vulnerability is scary, and anyone shy or romantic enough to write a letter instead of saying something is likely not someone she'd actually take note of)

21: How they react to pain [physical pain edition, cause emotional pain is too variable to give one easy answer] Keiji: ;)))))))). Boy's a) stubborn b) usually pretty used to pain c) really really bad at letting himself be vulnerable and d) a masochist.

He only admits or shows something hurts when he stops being able to hide it, which means by then it's bad. He's very much like a cat in that sense, you gotta keep an eye on him or he'll hide every injury until it goes away on its own or he physically cannot hide it anymore.

Then there's the [NSFW] part of him being a masochist and kink being a good way to get at his issues and to force him to let his guard down, and especially pain being a good way to overload his senses til he's proper down and vulnerable. But that is a whole separate conversation, and not so much purely about how he deals with physical pain.

Val: They're not as tough as Keiji, but they do tend to have experience handling pain and maintaining their calm throughout. They recognise when injuries would be or become debilitating and make sure they receive medical treatment before that point, but if there is important work to be done they do have a tendency to push past their pain or discomfort to get said things done. They are at least sensible enough to follow doctor's orders though, so that puts them decently high up in the list of self-care capable OC's

Tanwen: She doesn't like pain!! She doesn't get Val or Keiji!! She will easily ignore her own discomfort while there are other people hurting, but she's a crybaby when it comes to her own pain. She tries to play it tough but it doesn't take a lot to get her eyes watering, or to actually make her cry

Jay: A tank. Similar to when it comes to illness, he's so used to being the caretaker and the one that others rely on that he forgets he sometimes needs to be taken care of, too. He'll wrap a bandage around it when he remembers too, but it's definitely not a priority. He's also gotten a pretty good pain tolerance from working the forge, and the accidents that inevitably happened there

He is the guy that will stagger on his feet well after the battle is done and touch a hand to his stomach so it comes away stained with blood, and he just manages a surprised/exasperated curse before he stumbles back against a nearby wall. It's tasty

Althea: Does not like pain 2.0. Also the least experience with first aid, she knows how to stick on a bandaid and vaguely knows cuts need to be cleaned?? That's about it, she's a sensible regular human being who just goes to the doctor when something's wrong. She won't easily cry from pain, but she will complain a lot and demand attention for her terrible suffering

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 1)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions child loss, loss of a spouse, survivor’s guilt, vague references to suicide/suicidal thoughts after loss of child (all located in the first 500 words, so it’s brief and not too dark, but please take care) and violence, swearing, and action/fighting.

Summary: What if Marcus’s wife didn’t actually die? What if she and a few others were kidnapped during an attack on Heroics’ HQ, and then held captive for years without realizing? If the only thing you “remember” from your past is that your husband and daughter were killed, well, you surely wouldn’t want to go back to the people who you believe did it. But maybe, with the help of a tenacious child and some re-awaking parental instincts, you’ll be able to break through the brainwashing and forced amnesia, and find your way home.

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry

A/N: This is my first We Can Be Heroes fic, and first reader fic, so please be gentle. I’ve got the rest of the story outlined, so I hope I can get down to writing and posting it soonish, but my RL is busy and doesn’t leave much time/energy for quick updates. If you like it and want me to do a taglist, let me know so you can know when I update again. Also a big thank you to the amazing Jay @disgruntledspacedad​ and her fic The Right Thing for inspiring this one, and for allowing me to use her wife!reader idea. Please go check her blog out, and give her some love <3

AO3 Masterlist

---

“You’ve been in a terrible accident, Doctor, and I regret to inform you of your husband’s and daughter’s passing. Our rescue and recovery efforts after the incident were unfortunately unsuccessful, and you have our deepest sympathies.”

It took months for those words to even sink into you; months before you even remembered anything about who you were... the accident, or the attack, as it was more commonly known by you and the other victims, took your entire life away in an instant. You survived, physically, but at the cost of your partner? Your child? All the memories of your life together? How could you be worth it?

“Your transcripts and accomplishments are phenomenal, Doctor, and I’m in need of talented and capable individuals such as yourself to help right the wrongs, and demand justice, from those who have committed such heinous acts against us. The Heroics are murderers, destroyers of peace, and they have gotten away with their crimes for far too long. They’ve been praised and applauded and worshipped as gods while all they truly are, are terrorists. How many more innocent lives can we allow to be lost to their carelessness? ‘For the greater good’ is quite the insult when the people saying such things aren’t the ones losing their families to the chaos, wouldn’t you agree? Join me, Doctor, and we can make a difference.”

It was easy decision for you, even in the early days of your recovery. From the distant and foggy memories of your past, your anguish in what you could recall, you knew that if you could stop someone else from having to feel the loss and pain that comes from losing their spouse and children, you would do so in a heartbeat.

Your husband had been an incredible man, your Everything, you would imagine, going by the ache in your heart when you thought of being without him. His name, his appearance; that was all lost to you when you lost him. His existence in what could be healed of your memories was just a shadow, a shade, the vague impression of the man you loved. You remembered his warmth, his kindness and gentleness, his love and devotion to you and the child you created together.

And your beautiful baby girl... if thoughts of your husband left your heart aching, then thoughts of your daughter left you in unparalleled agony, completely inconsolable. You tried to avoid thinking of her, if you were being honest, tried to leave all what-ifs and could’ve/should’ve/would‘ve’s behind... you had worked with people, mothers, who had lost children before, had seen them tear themselves apart in their grief, taking the blame for something that was in no way their fault; you had seen them destroy their lives with their hoarded guilt and perceived crimes... you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for that, those falsehoods, you had to be alive if you wanted to honour your child and husband’s sacrifice.  

“We will make them pay for what they’ve done to us, Doctor, I promise you that. Together, we can get justice for your husband, for your little Missy.”

---

Marcus knew something was wrong as soon as his commlink started transmitting static instead of his teammates’ conversations. The Heroics had been deployed to stop a hoard of rogue security androids that were infected by a virus or something (he couldn’t usually follow the technobabble), which had led them to escape their testing facility and target nearby civilians with their advanced weapons technology.

Evacuating the citizens trapped in the line of fire was the team’s first objective, and once the area was cleared of potential victims, they moved onto the containment and neutralization of the enemy combatants. The Heroics team was decently cohesive; they could work together to ensure the protection of innocent lives while in a firefight, but once the civilians were in the clear and the stakes not so high, the supersized egos of the members emerged with a fiery passion. This particular firefight was no different.

“Hey ‘Legend, bet you a week of incident reports that my count is higher!” Miracle Guy’s voice broke out over the ‘link, as eager to show-boat as ever, from where he was steadily piling up his deactivated attackers.

“I’ll take that action, Miracle, easy. It’ll be like taking candy from a baby!” Crimson Legend wasn’t the type of person who could ignore a bet, especially one issued from Miracle.  “You’re probably so behind already that you don’t even stand a chance, ha!”

Of course, they just had to make it a game, keep the superiority contest going; like a single mistake couldn’t cost them a life or a limb. And just to further prove how amazingly mature the rest of Marcus’s team of Adult Superheroes were, they all started in on the bet too.  

“If I beat your totals, I want a week off from training!”

“Ha! Like any of you have a chance of winning against me! I want my on-call weekend, off”

“If I win, you’re all my personal slaves for the rest of the day!”

Did Marcus say Adult Superheroes? He meant infants.  

And they had started the mission so well, communicating and strategizing, actual teamwork instead of bickering and joking around like children. Hell, even their children didn’t get into as much trouble as their parents could.  

“Guys, it’s really not the best time to be playing around. We need to focus on-” He was cut off by the loud static burst of an out-of-range radio. Shit. That’s not good. If his comms unit was fried, he couldn’t direct his teammates, couldn’t keep track of them, couldn’t help them.

They were pretty spread out by now, giving everyone room to use their powers without worrying about another Heroic getting caught in the blast zone. He knew from their most recent locational sound off that Crushing Low and Invisi Girl were working together near the intersection two streets over from him, and if he could make his way over to them, he could figure out what was going on.

Marcus needed to know if it was just his commlink that was out of commission, or if their entire network had gone down. The former scenario was a minor inconvenience, the latter was a major issue. Either he’d have to lead his team by correspondence, or he’d have to worry about them being completely alone in the field, without support from HQ, and without any chance of backup or rescue.  

He couldn’t worry about the details now, he had to keep focused on finishing off the seemingly endless wave of androids. Androids with guns. Androids with guns that he was trying to kill with a pair of katanas... Maybe he hadn’t thought his primary weapon for this mission out very well... It was just something that he’d have to come back to later. For now: sword, robot, teammates.

---

They didn’t pay him enough for this. He should have gone into acting like he had planned before his powers manifested. This sort of shit didn’t happen to actors.  

Marcus had destroyed all the androids delaying him from reaching his nearest teammates and was finally able to move to their location with relative ease and only minor distraction. He could see Crushing Low laying waste to the few remaining functional robots in the area, and could assume that Invisi Girl was around somewhere, disabling any downed but not dead enemies while protecting ‘Low’s back.  

He was proven right when he heard a feminine voice call for him to “hit the deck, Moreno!”.

“Thanks Vis! You two doing alright? What’s your comms sitch?” He stood back up straight, just missing being nailed in the head by a flying metal limb had it not been for her heads-up.

“We’re a-okay! Comms are out though. No known damage to them, no knocks or surges, might be the tech, or it might be the channel. We’ll have to see what Tech-No thinks.” She was still invisible, but Marcus could imagine her animated expressions and movements. She was one of the most... normal... of the Heroics, if normal could ever be used to describe any of the team. Reliable and observant, with a good sense of battle strategy. He greatly appreciated her skills and efficiency in the field; she and Tech-No being the most down-to-earth of the Heroics, most willing to help him keep the peace between the rest of them.

“I’ll watch Low’s back if you can go find Tech. We need to know what’s going on, ASAP. If all the comms are down, and Tech can’t get them back up, I need you to find everyone and tell them to meet back at the robotics facility. Get Miracle and Fast to help if you can. If anyone’s injured, they’re your first priority, okay? Thanks, Vis.”

---

Getting every member of the Heroics team back together took nearly an hour, all coming fresh from the fight but thankfully not too banged up or bruised. They set up a perimeter once enough of the team had arrived to their meeting spot, allowing Tech-No to deep-dive into  investigating their communications malfunction.

“It’s the network, not our comms. We’re dealing with a drop either from HQ’s side, or a forced drop here from RFI. But considering the standard distance and all the buildings and stuff around us, a radio frequency jammer wouldn’t be able to block our communications network as far out as we were. We must assume that the problem comes from HQ. which presents further concerns, obviously. I designed most of the technology there myself, so I know exactly how much work it would be to take down the whole system. We need to consider this as part of a bigger plot, and plan accordingly.” Tech-No’s eventual explanation hang heavy in the air, no one willing to break the silence following it... If something had happened to HQ… Their co-workers were there, their friends, their children…  

Marcus thought of his daughter and wife. They were both there today. His wife worked in the medical centre, and they brought their daughter there for daycare. If something happened there... shit. If he was panicking about his family already, his teammates were doing the same. He had to head this off. He couldn’t let this get out of control. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. It was time to be Marcus Moreno the leader of the Heroics, not Marcus the husband and father. Lead by example, they’re all counting on you.

“We have no proof that anything is actually wrong, and until we know for sure why we can’t reach them, we need to do our jobs. Finish the mission. We’ve always trusted our people to hold down the fort at home so we can help people out here, and they’ve never let us down before. We are not going to doubt them now, understood? Whatever happened? We know HQ is doing their best to keep our loved ones safe. So, we finish up here, quickly and thoroughly, and then we head back to base. Let’s get moving,” He met his teammates’ eyes, allowed them to witness his own fears, but also his stubborn determination. He wasn’t asking them to ignore or dismiss their worries, but rather, put it into finishing the mission so they could go home sooner.  

No one fought him; thankfully just picked their tasks and headed out.  

“Tech, we need transport. Now. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done, alright?” Marcus refused to acknowledge the slight tremble in his voice, tried to breathe around the lump in his throat and the dread sinking in his stomach. He desperately stopped himself from thinking about coincidences and probabilities. This was all a fluke, a random string of events that didn’t mean anything more was going on. They’d be able to laugh about it when they got home and saw everything was just as they’d left it. He had to believe that. He didn’t have any other choice.

—-

Transport home turned out to be a military helicopter big enough to fit the whole team, in addition to the fully outfitted squad of soldiers already inside.

“According to the press release your director gave, there was small but powerful group of gifted individuals who invaded Heroics’ Headquarters, intending to either kidnap or kill certain “important personnel” within the building. Didn’t specify much more than that, other than that your organization would be dedicating as much manpower as they could to bring “those who would cause such destruction and terror” to justice. The address was filmed in the parking lot, but there were a lot of emergency responders and vehicle in the background. I’m sorry we can’t tell you anything more, but well, we were scrambled to your location ASAP, barely had time for the news we got...” The staff sergeant sitting across from Marcus briefed the team about what the intel they had on the HQ attack. And that was what it was. An attack. The thing they all feared most.

“Thank you for the information, and for the ride back home; we lost communication in the middle of a battle, with no clue as to why. Now, at least, we have an idea of what we should expect when we arrive.” The mention of “important personnel” jump-started Marcus’s heart into overdrive. That was the code phrase they used when describing their most vulnerable people to the public, non-combatants and injured persons usually; a smokescreen meant to dissuade targeted attacks, and shift attention away from those who couldn’t protect themselves in the case of an emergency. It was also the code that frequently represented their children.  

The families of the Heroics were classified as high-risk targets; villains and enemies of their organization didn’t often have the moral decency to leave their loved ones out of the fight. So, to afford as much anonymity and protection possible, any time the team had to reference their partners and children in physical records and documentation, it was under that code phrase.  

This attack was centred on their kids.  

What kind of monster do you have to be to go after a bunch of kindergarten and primary school children?

Fuck.

The only good news was that there was no mention of the attack being a success.  

So, all the Heroics knew for certain was that a group of villains had tried to get to their children, and while obviously causing significant damage to HQ, they had been stopped. Were unsuccessful. The Home Team had saved the day again.  

Marcus thanked every deity he could think of for keeping his and his friends’ kids safe.  

The rest of the flight home was quiet. Him and teammates finally able to get some rest after all the fighting and panic, and the soldiers conversing just loud enough to be heard over the headsets and hum of the chopper’s motors.  

He was pulled back from the edge of unconsciousness he had been drifting along for a while when the pilot gave them their five-minute ETA.

They were home at long last, and everything was going to be just fine.

---

[Next Part]

[etirabys]

The solution to “the lesbians I read about aren’t horrible enough” is, of course, to roll your own. Here’s what I’ve been dreaming up recently (warning: this story idea was simply formed by throwing together every lesbian fiction nutrient I currently feel deprived of, I have not designed it to be ‘good’ at all):

Frances Hareva is a military strategist for the ruling planet of an interplanetary civilization, Mars Delta. Actually, she’s not the military strategist – Zlanna is. Zlanna is the AI who takes input from a massive interplanetary surveillance network and provides most of the brainpower for the job. But the values and core decisionmaking is provided by a human hooked up to Zlanna, who is constantly trained for alignment with the collective will of her planet. Some three years into this extremely demanding job that's damaging her brain in certain ways, Frances orders a hit on a ruling family of a rebellious colony planet, Ftam Quedir. She leaves alive the adoptive daughter, Safi.

Safi is a product of heavy genetic engineering, and Frances predicts she will become an influential moderate representative of pro-gene-engineering, an ethical and material issue that's promising to be divisive enough to lead to interplanetary war. Frances has had very little meaningful human contact for several years, and while doing a job that involves spying on millions of people, some of the people she watches have drifted into the friend-shaped hole. Something that is not quite apparent to her superiors, or to Frances herself until she recommends/orders the assassination, is that she’s become very fond of Safi while surveilling the Quediram clan, and has clouded judgment about her.

Soon after making that call, Frances has a nervous breakdown that impedes her relationship with the AI, and is quietly shipped off to a university to spend all her efforts getting an art degree under a false name, which her superiors figure is a humane way of getting rid of her in a way that doesn't embarrass them.

Safi had an ambiguous relationship with her family, who took her in and gave her a very good life, but also were terrible in some ways. Several months into growing into an interplanetary activist of the exact type that Frances expected her to be, Safi realizes that someone meant to set her on this life path by killing her family, rage quits, and disappears from the public eye. She spends time tracking down everyone involved in the hit so she can ruin their lives. She's 18 and a hothead, more than Frances knew.

Frances is on the top of the hit list, so Safi enrolls in the university she's hiding out at as an undergrad (thereby, yes, making this a college fic – look, I've always wanted to write one), also in disguise. She manages to make contact with Frances by enrolling in a class with her. Frances obviously recognizes her but has no idea what Safi is doing here; Safi's first layer of disguise to almost everyone is "normal vaguely foreign student", her second layer of disguise to Frances specifically is "Safi, but she wants a normal life for a while and an education on the ruling planet, and has no idea who Frances is".

There's some dancing around for a while where Safi befriends Frances, maybe roping her into some intensive and actually interesting school project. Safi spends these months trying to ruin Frances's life in RELATIVELY MUNDANE, PETTY WAYS like guilt-tripping her, getting her apartment burgled, and outing her in a planetary culture where being a lesbian is mildly to moderately stigmatized because it's strongly associated with the semi-fringe monarchist movement, all while observing her to design a coup de grace optimized to make Frances as miserable as possible. Meanwhile, in normal life, they are forming a surprisingly strong connection. (They may make out a bit at this point, Safi arranging it so that Frances immediately turns her down but gets flustered and guilty about it, because Safi is playing a sexually inexperienced undergrad who'll be crushed if the first gay contact she tries to make goes badly.)

Safi quickly figures out that, after all that work tracking down her nemesis, Frances is a total wreck of a person who isn't at all satisfying to ruin because she’s already a huge mess. Lots of rage sloshing around with nowhere to go. Also by this point they definitely want to bang each other and are horrified by it. There's a big confrontation where they shed their secret identities, where Safi really lays it in and then leaves. Frances, in the aftermath, decides that her redemption lies in shaping up and being a satisfying enemy for Safi to take down, and so does everything she can to get herself together and become the perfect political rival...

("Eti, please stop, we get it, you kink on –")

With Frances taking the lead on the shape of their new relationship, Safi steps into the dance, into a Locke-and-Demosthenes dynamic where what they say in public is largely reflective of real personal differences in opinion, but also a deliberate partnership to optimize the debate between them itself to lead their civilization away from war. They do this without ever coordinating personally on their goals.

(They say things like "That said, Miss Frances, I cannot wait to take your argument apart. You have published a 35 page supplementary tract on your views since then and I have read it with interest. ... Attached is my 44-point list of objections, follow up questions, and what I believe to be convincing takedowns to the general Mars Deltan audience with an open mind.")

// At this point I lose conviction in what happens next – I’ve filled something out but it’s not inspired, the stuff I really care about is [gestures above].

This is the case for the next several years or so. They are completely and stupidly obsessed with each other and spy on each other. Safi goes and has a defiantly prolific sex life, hoping that Frances will be upset about it. Frances, incidentally, is not, but she tries to return the favor by going on some dates (which Safi does get het up about) although she's too demi to actually sleep with anyone. Eventually, they start a secret line of correspondence – probably Safi starts it after Frances misses too many therapy appointments and says something snippy about it – that over time turns into what's undeniably love letters.

At some point, one of them has a real personal crisis and the other one just materializes at their doorstep. The one who's having a crisis ignores everyone else, grabs their visitor's hand, and pulls her into the bedroom. They don't leave for a couple of days.

More faffing about Whether We Can Do This, which is rendered moot by the fact that they find it impossible to stay away from each other. Agony. Frances comes up with a long, multi-year plan for arranging their public lives to intersect in a way that naturally culminates in their getting married. Safi shoots off five emails arguing about the pre-nup and quibbling about the strategy, before belatedly realizing that Frances just proposed marriage and Safi... wanted it so obviously much that she never even considered contesting the premise of the plan.

There are some hiccups but they execute this fine and get married. Oh shit oh shit oh shit what now. Frances might be sufficiently neuroatypical that, Derek Parfit style, she can't handle actually living with her spouse and they largely conduct their relationship over the phone and meet once a week to talk irl, cuddle, and fuck.

[ey8508]

Impermanence [ 无常 ]

Rumors and Secrets: Li Zeyan / Victor

[From the beginning to the end, he only cared about the most common thing.]

Note:

R&S for this card (CG above)

Chapter SPOILERS up to Season 2: Chapter 2-5 (read at your own risk)

Contains 4 chapters

Translation isn’t 100% accurate (or include grammar errors)

Every part for LZ’s dialogue would be in “this setting”

Do not repost to any other site (reblog is fine)

Chapter 1 Page 1 The night breeze was slightly cool, and the feathers slowly fell, like a misty dream. A feather was lying on Li Zeyan's palm, and he looked down for a long time as if he wanted to engrave this small white shadow in his pupils.  The girl asked him before leaving, what he would be like if all the external burdens were removed.  Maybe it's like this feather. He thought it was very light, small, and lying quietly in the boundless night, just like the countless feathers on the feet. At this moment, he, like everyone else, stayed in place listening to the countdown of the clock.  He believes that he will be saved in the future, but what about after that? Page 2 A gust of wind blew off the feathers on his palm, and Li Zeyan watched it land slowly, and sighed softly. I said I believed in her power, but I was still a little worried.  He spent so long waiting for a miracle, and the girl faced the whole world, how much did she have to pay? He took the pocket watch from his pocket.  The once shocking crack has been repaired since, and his fingertips lined up the smooth glass dial, and he seemed to see a light that did not belong to the eternal night in an instant. The distorted feeling of time and space suddenly wrapped him, and in a moment it led him to an unknown path- Page 3 Familiar streets, traffic lights alternately lit up at intersections, scenes tumbling thousands of times in memory, unfolded before his eyes again.  He breathed a sigh of relief. Lianyu City seemed to be calm again, the sun was good, and someone in and out of the supermarket on the street was carrying a bag. She did it, as he always believed. But after observing around, Li Zeyan found that there was a trace of violation in this familiarity.  He raised his eyes to look in the direction of Hua Rui. The building has fewer floors and the facade has not been changed to a glass curtain wall.  According to his memory, Hua Rui in front of him should be what it was when it was first established. Page 4 Did you go back in time?  Why did the pocket watch send him here? Li Zeyan was about to look away when the clear sky suddenly started to rain.  He subconsciously walked to the house spear on the side, and the moment he turned, but suddenly was alert to the petite figure. Li Zeyan suddenly stopped. The girl is walking towards a crossroad not far away.  Her face seemed a little more tender than she thought, she stared at the other side of the road blankly, took a small step forward, and stopped again, as if she was stunned about something.  Li Zeyan looked in her direction, and across the road was actually himself a few years ago. Page 5 He carefully recalled the past fragments in his memory, after the kidnapping in childhood, until later accidentally rescued the girl on the road, before that, he seemed to have never seen her. The signal light flashed several times, from green to red.  The girl in front of her has not taken any steps, and the opposite herself is ready to move on. Li Zeyan frowned as he watched this scene, and doubts grew in his heart.  Could it be that during those 17 years, did he cross her? Wanting to answer his doubts, he tried to get closer, but found that he could not get close to her.  The world seems to be repelling his existence. Page 6 As if hearing his wish, the world suddenly became quiet, and time seemed to pause.  Someone behind him tugged at his cuff, and he looked back and saw a little boy in a weird dress looking up at him. "It's better not to be discovered by her." The little boy in front of him was about seven or eight years old, smiling at him with a calm tone that was not suitable for his age. "Don't worry, this is the world you were in before, and you have indeed successfully traveled to the future of this world." Page 7 The little boy pointed to the direction behind him, "But there cannot be two identical beings in the same world, so you can't do anything here, and you won't stay for long. Li Zeyan frowned slightly, squatting down and looking at him. "Who are you and why do you know this?" "I know everything in this world, and I know why you came here." The little boy looked down at him and tilted his head slightly. "You are great, but the future is always full of variables. If you are not prepared,  everything will not go as desired." Page 8 The little boy slowly put away his smile.  Li Zeyan looked at his eyes, and the bright pupils seemed to reflect the light and shadow of the whole world. After a long time, he stood up and nodded slightly. "I know." The little boy laughed again, as if he had sensed something, and waved at him.  The distorted feeling of time and space strikes back, Li Zeyan finally raised his eyes and looked deeply at the familiar intersection. The scene that seemed to be about to be missed just now was printed in his mind.  He understands that after every choice there will be countless variables, but for this alone, he must make sure that nothing is lost. Chapter 2 Page 1 Back to the present time, Li Zeyan still has some characteristics.  Occasionally, he also imagined the future, whether it was good or bad, tacitly acquiescing to the premise that he would meet her.  But if there is no meeting, let her fight the world alone... He has no doubt that after facing the world’s greatest danger, she will grow better, stronger, and be able to stand alone. But the world is not destroyed, there are still many things to do in the future, and there may be many unexpected dangers.... And he promised her that he would never leave her alone. Page 2 There is no new crack in the pocket watch, and he still has the opportunity to reconfirm and look into the far future.  Li Zeyan used Evol again, and the pointer of the pocket watch rotated, chasing the time year after year.  At the moment of stepping into the vortex, the pocket watch suddenly made a continuous sound of "crack", and dense cracks covered the dial.  The familiar tearing sensation climbed to every inch of his skin, and a fierce pressure came from his chest, as if he was walking forward in a rush of countercurrent.  A huge loud noise appeared out of thin air in the otherwise quiet space, like playing an upside-down disc, screaming vaguely and harshly. Anyone's first response to suffering is to escape, but the consciousness he struggled to maintain is still reminding himself that time is running out and he must get there before the day. Page 3 When the ears finally calmed down, the cold sweat had filled Li Zeyan's clothes.  He held on to the wall beside him and took a few deep breaths.  When the dizziness subsided and his vision recovered, he carefully opened his palm to check the pocket watch. Fortunately, the pocket watch was not broken, and his judgment was not wrong. Li Zeyan observed his environment.  This seemed to be the inpatient department of a hospital. There were no people in the corridor, so when he turned his head, he easily saw the girl walking towards this side. Page 4 Li Zeyan walked to the corner and watched her walk into a ward.  This time the girl looks like she remembers, but she has a more confident expression, and her tone of voice is polite and generous when she greets the people in the ward. Li Zeyan smiled slightly, his eyes were filled with comfort and pride that he didn't even notice. After a while, the girl opened the door and left, frowning slightly, as if thinking about something.  Soon, the alarm sound of the instrument suddenly sounded in the ward just now, and the girl ran back after hearing the sound. A dark figure sprang from the ward with a cold light flashing in his hand and went straight to the girl. Page 5 "Be careful!" Li Zeyan shouted almost subconsciously, and the girl quickly reacted at the same moment, turning and running to his direction.  Just when he thought that the crisis could be changed, the instrument in the ward rang again, and the girl looked back. The man in black who's face couldn't be seen was getting closer and closer, and the sharp blade in his hand always declared a bright threat. The time of the whole world seemed to stop at this moment. Page 6 The blood in his body seemed to freeze instantly, and circulation came back after a long time... At this time, he sharply pulled his nerves.  From beginning to end, he only cared about such a simple thing: I hope she will live safely, no matter how the world evolves, he will come to her again. But right now, what he worries most still happened.  He could not see the result of that scene, and the huge repulsion urged the pocket watch in his hand.  However, just seeing her being chased by danger was enough to make his long-silent fear all come to his heart. This is not the future he wants to see. He does not accept such a situation. Even if it is only a small possibility, he will never allow. Page 7 The sharp pain of the body enveloped the throbbing of the heart, and he finally closed his eyes, and the flow of time brought him back to the original point. This pain made him clearly realize that he still needs to do more preparation. Chapter 3 Page 1 When Wei Qian received Li Zeyan's call, there was not much time left before the end. The long-standing habits made him subconsciously act in response. The task given to him by Li Zeyan is not difficult. Contact an Evolver who has the ability to transmit sound. Wei Qian remembers that this person is a member of Wumingdao and his contact information should be on the list.  The phone vibrated again, Wei Qian picked it up and took a look, then widen his eyes in surprise. It was Li Zeyan’s text. He said, ‘I’m sorry, for troubling you at this hour.’ Page 2 In his impression, the CEO rarely speaks in this tone. Although he is a strict boss, he never gives useless tasks.  Even if he is asked to deal with some personal arrangements occasionally, it is definitely not a "trouble".  Wei Qian just froze for a moment, and then quickly responded. "President, you are welcome, this is what I should do." Perhaps it is because everyone has to be beaten back to the original point by force majeure, and many people no longer care about their social relationships.  But Wei Qian didn't think so. His life creed always looked upward. Even if it was just a small favor, letting him know that there are people in this world who needs him, it is not a waste of time. Page 3 Li Zeyan walked out of the bathroom and put on a clean casual shirt. When he returned to the present from that hospital, he almost lost his strength and had to hold the table to stabilize his figure, accidentally knocking down a stack of documents.  He noticed that the form that fell out was a list of personnel compiled at the beginning of Wuming Island, and it simply recorded the identity and ability information of each members.  Li Zeyan's mind flashed through many records on the list, and finally stopped on an Evolver that once interested him.

The pocket watch can no longer bear more pressure, and the countdown to the future is constantly approaching. He is not sure what he will be like after the end. He must change everything now. Page 4 Wei Qian’s message came in time, saying that the Evolver had been contacted and he is now on Huapu Street.  Li Zeyan asked Wei Qian to send him Souvenir's address not far from Huapu Street, where they could meet. Not much time, but enough.  He must be able to do more. Chapter 4 Page 1 When Li Zeyan arrived, Souvenir had put up the store closing sign, and a young man was sitting at a small table outside the store and playing with his mobile phone.  When the young man saw Li Zeyan, he was taken aback and blinked. "You, are you the boss of Wumingdao? You’re  the one who is often on the news." "Hello, this is Li Zeyan." Seeing Li Zeyan stretched out his hand to him, the young man hurriedly put down his mobile phone and stood up and shook his hand firmly. Page 2 The meteors in the sky became denser, and the two of them did not say much, and went straight to the subject.  In summary, the youth’s ability is to “send” the voice at a specific point, and at the selected time point, directly convey what they want to say to the designated person.  Although you can choose any time, the number of messages in a short time is limited. The young man looked at Li Zeyan's frowning eyebrows, and tried his best to think about the words. "You can understand it as a microphone. My Evol is the line connecting two paper tubes, but after all, it's just a line. It's hard to talk like face to face." Li Zeyan thought for a moment and nodded. "How many times can I leave a message?" Page 3 "According to the time span you choose, you can stay about four times. But if I work hard, I can do it again." " Thank you." The young man looked at Li Zeyan and didn't feel any hesitation from him. He didn't seem to be worried about the outcome of this incident. "That... Have you ever been through this crisis? Mr. Li, you do this to make sure we can survive" "I am sure." " Why?" Page 4 "Because I saw that future." The youth froze for a moment, "But even if this message is successful, the future may not develop as you want." Li Zeyan looked at him, and seemed to be looking at a figure that emerged in his mind. "It doesn't matter. The future is still very long, I have the patience." He is always patient, waiting for her to get the hang of it. The young man unlocked his mobile phone and handed it to Li Zeyan. Page 5 "I'll give you a reminder later, just say it as if you were calling." Li Zeyan took the phone and looked at the blank call interface.  He still likes to talk about important things in person, but it is undeniable that there is often a time difference between people.  As the little boy said, many things are probabilistic events and will not be as you desire. He cares about results more than form. The young man began to use his abilities, and a slight electric current sounded in his ears and ripples appeared on the interface of the phone.  A feather suddenly fell from mid-air, slowly staying on the small table between the two of them. The evening breeze turned it slightly, and the soft feather gently rubbed his little finger. Page 6 Li Zeyan bent his knuckles subconsciously, and in a daze he could still feel the girl's slender fingers hooking on him, chanting various promises. They still have many unfinished agreements.  Only when you meet again can you keep the appointment. "The timing is set, is President Li ready?" Li Zeyan recovered and put the phone to his ear.  The young man cleared his throat and closed his eyes. "Hello Miss MC, here is a message from the past. President Li, you can say it." Page 7 Li Zeyan thought of the back standing still at the intersection, gently curved his mouth. " Dummy..." "Why are you hesitating?" The bell rang over the city, and the expected end had arrived.  The dense meteor shower is like someone who has burnt a match in the night, illuminating the eternal night with dazzling white light. Page 8 Li Zeyan looked up and saw a nearly transparent light curtain shrouded under the white light.  The body seemed to lighten a bit, and the ability to melt into bone and blood was summoned from a distance, as if someone was pulling him to his side. The hands on the clock tower stagnated briefly, and in the next instant, they moved slightly in the counterclockwise direction.

[detroitbydark]

Part 8

Characters: Commander Fox/Reader

Summary: things are getting interesting

Warnings: mentions of past smut but nothing really steamy.

A/N: this needs to be done as I’m tired of staring at it. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

Padme Amidala was a dream to work with; polite, considerate, appreciative. Truly one of the few people in the Galactic Senate that Fox truly enjoyed. Her ability to rally those around her to her cause and spark loyalty in her followers was something he couldn’t help but admire and though her strong willed personality had put them at odds at times (when keeping her safe out weighed her desire to throw herself headlong into danger) he would always consider himself a fan.

Which made it all the more irritating that he was on detail for Raxallian Thrug, the sniveling chakaar from Cantonica. Every vile cliche Fox had ever heard about politicians was on display in Thrug. Deceitful, underhanded, slimy- the list went on and on.

Fox stands at attention behind his current charge as he leans to the aide at his side and whispers what amounted to filth into his ear as Senator Amidala gave an impassioned plea for aide to the outer rim, heavily under siege from seppie forces.

Did Thrug not realize Fox could hear every disgusting comment he made about Amidala or did he simply not care what a clone may or may not hear. Clenching his hands into fists, Fox wasn’t sure what option bothered him more.

Trying to block the senator out he looks past him, scanning the crowd for any anomalies, anything that stood out or could indicate an issue.

Rule’s voice crackles through his helmet comms. “She’s really worked up over this”.

Aside from the HUD and the various other bells and whistles the buckets were equipped with, the ability for private comms was one of the biggest perks in Fox’s eyes. No one ever needed to know they were talking.

“Seems to be, yeah” he hums in agreement.

“She said to say ‘hi’ earlier. You think she’s got a crush too?” Rule teases.

Fox rolls his eyes behind his visor. He doesn’t justify that with a response. Padmé Amidala was not interested in the likes of him, she merely cared about those around her. Even if she did, his interest lay elsewhere.

Interest wasn’t the right word though was it? Not after what he’d done. Not after what he’d said. He’d said those words, those words, to not one other soul in his life. He honestly had never even thought about the phrase before he was quieting her with it. They had just been one of the many things he- and many other troopers- absorbed over time about their progenitor’s culture. Mando’a spread like wildfire when spoken in barracks and war zones across the galaxy. They were just men without history, without a background or roots, looking for meaning and belonging outside of someone else’s war.

He’d been supremely thankful (and also a little miffed) when she hadn’t questioned him any further on his amorous declaration. Hadn’t she even been curious? Obviously she didn’t feel the same. How could she?

He’d taken her in a way he’d only dreamt about, done something he had relegated to his most private fantasies. But she’d encouraged it. She’d asked for more. For more explanation, for more of everything. Even now the memory of spilling inside her, of the way she’d sobbed out her release and quaked in his arms sent a thrill through Fox. He was a man nursing a borderline obsession and it was going to end badly for the both of them if he wasn’t careful.

“Commander?” Rules voice breaks hesitantly into his thoughts.

“I hear you, Rule. Whatcha got?”

“I’m not sure sir. I just got a flash of something in quadrant three, northwest corner. HUD picked up a wonky looking heat signature.”

Fox’s eyes scan to the coordinates that pop up on his display, a balcony two levels above where he stood guard behind Thrug. It should have been unoccupied. That was the game plan, no guests above Guard eyesight.

“Ryk?” Fox’s voice is brisk as his mind starts working through the possibilities, adrenaline slowly seeping into his system. “Come stand with the good senator while I look into this.”

“Yes Commander?”

Fox has approximately three minutes to think of all the horrible possibilities. Snipers, Bombs, Seppie Sympathizers. Each one offers a new and more complicated amount of paperwork. And more headaches.

Always the headaches. They were getting worse each week. More frequent. More intense. More of a pain in his ass.

Mouse had noticed. Mouse always noticed. This morning she’d crawled over him, still only in his shirt, and gone digging through the ‘fresher cabinet til she’d found a bottle of pain pills. She’d come back with the bottle, water, and a cool cloth for his head. He would have fallen to his knees and worshipped her if his head hadn’t caused such a revolt. She’d laid with him, legs straddling his hips and body sprawled over his, before the sun came up and done her weird little miracle massage along his forehead even though he knew she was exhausted. It had helped but hadn’t cured him. Even now the dull ache followed him.

Ryk slips into Thrugs box and if the politician registers one clone has traded places with the other, Fox will be surprised.

He takes the steps up to the supposedly empty balcony dragging his deece from the holster as he gets to the door, eyes drop to the weapon to check settings. The door is slightly ajar and he can see a quick flash of movement through the crack.

He counts silently to three before his boot connects with the door control, slamming it open. It’s a tense moment as he finds himself face to face with the singing blue plasma blade of a lightsaber and a pair of blasters, identical to his, pointed dead center mass at his being.

“Commander Fox” Anakin Skywalker’s voice is cool as it greets him. The curse that escapes from Captain Rex at his side is less than formal.

“Fierfek, Fox…” he grumbles lowly, something Fox vaguely hears as something about shooting his shebs off.

General Skywalker retracts his blade and both clones lower their blasters, pausing for a tense moment before holstering the weapons.

“General. Captain. This area is off limits. If I may ask, why are you up here?” He aims for stern military Commander but he can’t help the cringe under his bucket as Skywalker raises a brow in his direction. “With all do respect General” he adds as on afterthought.

Rex must sense the brewing tension between the pair as he steps into speak for his general. “We were just trying to get a good spot to listen to Senator Amidala speak. We’re both fans.” A look passes between the pair that Fox can’t decipher. Skywalker rolls his eyes at his captain before turning back to Fox.

There was no love lost between the general and the Commander. Too much had happened that set their paths intersecting- and not for the better- for them to meet with anything but anxiety (from Fox) and thinly veiled contempt (from the Jedi).

The Jedi waves his hand dismissively turning his back to the clones. It raises the small hairs on the back of Fox’s neck. He should be used to this by now, the brush off, the outright disdain that he and his men had been forced to become accustomed too. In the name of obedience and loyalty he has to handle the general’s brush off with an acceptance that he doesn’t feel.

He turns stiffly as the roar of the crowd rises up to them. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Skywalker staring down at the young Senator with a look in his eyes that felt, at once, both foreign and all too familiar to Fox.

“Fox?” Rex’s voice rises over the sounds below. “I was wondering if I could talk to you? I was going to just stop at your office but since your here now-“

Fox’s bucket cocks to the side. anything Rex has to say to him wouldn’t be in front of the Jedi. “my office is fine. I’ll be there all afternoon”

Rex looks as if he’s about to argue but he stops and gives him a nod of affirmation. There was history between them and if something had to come of it then it would be on Fox’s terms. In private.

“Commander? You ok?” Ryk’s voice crackles through his helmet comms.

“Yeah, Ryk, nothing worth seeing here.”

———-

Your body throbs dully, the pleasant soreness from last night sending a shiver down your spine each time you think back on it. Everytime you think of Fox your body reacts, a warm flush of color to your cheeks or a full feeling in your chest that can only be one thing. Kriff. You were in deep and you couldn’t help the smile that played on your lips when you thought about him.

You move through the cafeteria line, slowly gathering a few things for a light lunch. You weren’t particularly hungry but you grab a sandwich and a bag of protato chips along with a small cup of fruit. And the largest mug of caf available because you were exhausted. Fox had not let you be done after your initial romp. Your cheeks flame hot as you remember waking in the middle of the night to his tongue lapping are your cunt and the soft groans he made between praising you for taking him so well and telling you how much he wanted to have you again and again.

You wonder if anyone can tell the filthy thoughts you're having, how you were remembering Fox cleaning up his release that had leaked from your overly full core.

You needed a cold shower. Or your Commander.

“Mouse!” Sargent Wren elbows through a trio of troopers to get to you. He smiles brightly as he places his own food on your tray and takes it from you. “I’ll carry that.”

You give it up, knowing that there was no use in arguing. Wren falls in at your side as he grabs a pair of ration bars and adds it to the tray.

“For later” he explains. You’d never in your life seen people that could put away so much food. Hound had once explained it was due to a higher than normal metabolism and, while they’d been engineered to run on the dense ration bars alone, if given the option, each clone could put away seemingly half his weight in food at each meal. Nearly every one you’d met had a viscous sweet tooth on top of it. You’d learned the hard way after the candy stash you’d kept in your desk drawer had been discovered and raided but a group of “unknown perpetrators“.

Ryk and Rule had promised to look into it, Rule with bits of chocolate still clinging to his lip.

“All by yourself today?” Wren asks conversationally as the pair of you find an unoccupied table. You know what he’s asking. You’ll have to inform Fox that the pair of you were the worst kept secret in the Guard.

“Senator Amidala had a speech today. He’s pulling protection detail.”

“With Amidala?” Wren has shoved a large bite of sandwich in his mouth and struggles to swallow as he asks the question. You push a canteen of water to him.

“No. Thrug I believe.” The Sargent makes a sound of understanding as he gulps down a drink. He coughs once as the food goes down.

“That sounds about right. Since The incident with Skywalker’s Padawan he hasn’t been pulling detail with the senator. Word is General Skywalker is a bit protective over her. Unfortunately the Commander is a two time loser in the generals eyes.”

The fruit in your cup is a bit too ripe, but you eat it regardless, chewing thoughtfully. Wren is right. You hadn’t noticed the change but now that it was pointed out you wonder how you’d missed it. Maybe Fox wasn’t the only one carrying on an unheard of affair, not that you could blame the Jedi. You’d only met once (and for a second at that) but you’d found Padmé Amidala to be courteous and warm, much more like senators Chuchi and Organa than the loud blustering career politicians from other worlds.

You keep your mouth shut. If you'd learned one thing it was best to stay out of matters involving Jedi. Public opinion on the war and the order itself had been wavering as of late. Your concern was with Fox and the men of the Coruscant Guard and while what happened with the Senate and the war would affect them on a grand scale you’d come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t control that. You could, however, control things in their daily lives. Make things easier in little ways. It was a small consolation but it was what you could offer.

It was more than some, who claimed to be for clone rights, did. A glance around the cafeteria shows the self segregation, clones and civilian contractors at separate tables not mixing or interacting. A group of troopers to your right argues good naturedly in Mando’a. Wren smothers a smile as he listens in.

“What’s so funny?”

Wren looks up at you, confusion then clarity lights his face, “just a joke” he gestures toward the other clones. “It’s stupid” he dismisses.

You huff a breath. Maybe you wanted to hear a stupid joke. Not for the first time you wished you knew the language the troopers bantered in.

“Really Mouse it’s not even that funny. Like, ‘your mother’ jokes? We don’t even have mothers.” Wren rapidly tries to explain and hold up your hand for him to stop.

“It’s fine. I get it. You’d think I’d have picked up some Mando’a by this point anyway.”

Wren shrugs as if agreeing with you. “I could teach you a few words if you want?” He offers. He waits while you think. “Come on” he presses.

You shrug, “ok, cyar’ika” you throw back at him.

His flashes a toothy grin, “easy- and I can guess where you’ve been hearing that one- beloved, darling. It’s a term of endearment but I’m sure you’ve learned that by now.”

You fight back a blush, hiding behind a big gulp of caf. “Something like that.”

He goes on unprompted with simple words for child, mother/father, outsiders, Jedi. You try to burn each into your memory.

“Al’verde Fox” he offers and you shrug.

“Leader Fox?”

“Close! Very close Mous’ika” Wren is an enthusiastic teacher. He makes an encouraging gesture with his hands, “try again”.

You think carefully before your next attempt, “Commander Fox?”

Wren slaps his hand against the table with a laugh. You jump slightly at the loud noise. “Yes! Good job! Now” he offers, “you tell me something and I’ll translate it”

The words don’t even pause at your lips before they slip out. Your accent is atrocious and you're not sure if it comes out correct. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”.

The phrase catches Wren mid-drink and he seems to choke before he’s able to swallow down the liquid on his mouth. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“Yes, wow” he sobers “wanna tell me where you heard that doozy? Or should I guess?”

“Well are you going to tell me what it means or what?”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum” he repeats, the words flowing off his tongue easily and without the stilted tone you’d used “I know you forever” he says softly.

It’s a pretty phrase and you say as much.

“Pretty is an understatement. It’s the Mando equivalent to a declaration of love.”

———

Fox paces his office floor as he flips through screen after screen of requisitions. This was the part of his job he hated most. The supply clerk was in charge of getting all orders together, but as Commander, he had to give final authorization for every order going through. It was mind numbing, monotonous.

A soft knock comes mid step and he gives a sharp bark to enter. Between dealing with Thrug, his unexpected run in with Skywalker and the Captain of the 501st, and the new stress inducing realization of the depth of his emotions for his little Mouse,Fox feels off-kilter. He doesn’t like it.

Mouse enters bearing a ration bar, a mug, and a smile that makes him forget his raw nerves.

“Caf?” He asks enthusiastically. She shakes her head and gives him a skeptical smile.

“Tea. A little less stimulating this late in the afternoon.” She sets both on his desk before leaning against the duraplast and taking him in.

“What?”

Something soft tugs at the corner of her mouth. She shrugs, “just wondering why you're trying to wear a tread through the floor. That’s all.”

The eye roll he gives is big and dramatic and she chuckles quietly. He moves to the desk, tossing the datapad down. It doesn’t take much to work her bottom back onto the surface and step between her legs. She looks hesitant, staring up at him, her lip between her teeth in that telling way of hers.

“Something wrong, Cyar’ika?” Gently, his gloved hand cups her cheek and she tips softly into it. He places a soft kiss on the crown of her head before her eyes flutter shut. She’s so kriffing soft. He scarcely believes he’s allowed to handle anything so delicate and fragile. Fox’s fingers slip to her chin and angle her mouth up to him.

“Was your day really that bad?” She probes. Fox can feel her feet hooking behind his knees and pulling in til he was flush with her body.

“S’much better now” he’s being purposefully evasive. Mouse didn’t need to worry about the things that had been weighing heavily on him, nor did he want her to realize that she was one of them. He slides his mouth over hers, sharing his breath and taking in hers in return in a soft reverent meditation masquerading as a kiss. Being wrapped up in his precious girl does seem to make everything better, the tension pressing in on his chest eases. The soft sigh that slips past her lips as his teeth nip at her is the best thing he’s heard all day.

One hand splays across his chest while the other grips behind his neck. She mewls sweetly as his tongue tastes her. Sweet girl tastes like caf-

“Commander Fox-“ Fox has missed the tell-tale slide of the door and curses mentally.

Mouse makes a distressed noise as the deep voice cuts through the room. She pushes ineffectively against Fox’s chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. Fox doesn’t move as Mouse scoots back enough to slip her legs from around him and rise to her feet. She looks up wide-eyed and accusing, as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing. Her cheeks are a vivid shade of pink. Her look is one of absolute embarrassment.

He wants to lean in and kiss her swollen lips again, tell her there’s nothing to fear or worry about because he had her. Of course, he can’t do that but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to. He watches as she smooths her skirt and mutters something about getting back to work.

Fox can feel eyes burning into his back. He knew the voice as well as he knew his own. Some believed that clones were interchangeable but any person who’d spent any amount of time should be able to tell him or Rex from their other vode. Little things like accents they’d picked, how they worded their thoughts. How they carried themselves.

“Captain Rex. It’s customary to knock before entering.” Fox spins to see his visitor turning away from his furiously blushing secretary as she scurries past him and out the door.

“My deepest apologies” What Rex says and his tone don’t exactly match up. Fox has a feeling he’s given the Captain free entertainment and a serious bit of gossip to bring back to the front. “I was unaware you were preoccupied with- such an important engagement.”

Fox smiles, a thing full of teeth and thinly veiled menace. “I can understand how you wouldn’t understand such things, ner vod.”

Rex’s helmet shakes and Fox can hear the quick huff of dark laughter that filters through his vocoder before he’s reaching up to remove his helmet. “I'm really sorry about that. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was” Fox agrees, moving to sit at his desk and motioning for Rex to sit across from him. He hesitates a moment and Fox wonders if he’s ever been offered a seat in any meeting. Is he relegated to standing over the shoulder of Skywalker like a well healed akk dog? He doesn’t ask. “What can I do for you today?”

Rex sits straight, his face a composed mask. This wasn’t a social call though that was no different from any interactions they’d had before.

“I need to apologize for the incident with my shinies.” The stiff pseudo apology catches Fox off guard. He sits quietly for a moment. The two clones staring at one another.

“Ok.”

“Ok? That’s it?” Rex’s voice is wary.

“Am I supposed to throw a fit? Yell and scream that I want their buckets on a platter? What would you have me say Captain?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose, “look I get it. Trust me. Since-“ he angles away from the other clone. “I get I’m not ever going to win a popularity contest and yeah, it was not kriffing fun. Actually, it was about the least amount of fun I’ve had in a while but what am I supposed to demand? Demotion? Reconditioning?”

Rex flinches at the last word.

“Exactly” Fox feels as if he’s made his point. “So if that’s all you wanted…” he lets the words hang in the air between them. Rex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not it.”

Fox can feel what’s coming next, always knew it would come.

“I need to know about that day. I need to know why you killed Fives.”

The Captain’s stare is unyielding and Fox feels like he’s under a microscope, rigid and without escape while the clone across from him dissects each move and every word he’s about to say. He’s never backed down for a fight in his life but right now, right here? He wants to do nothing more than get away.

“He had a gun.” Fox draws a steadying breath but his voice comes out shaky and he's disgusted at his own weakness washes over him. “I told him to stand down. I told him to get on his knees. Even after he grabbed the kriffing thing I told him not to do it. I-“

“Why didn’t you just stun him” Rex’s voice rises above his, anger bleeding into every word as he leans forward, planting his hands on the desk as he rises to his feet.

The invasion of space throws Fox off. He rolls his shoulders briefly trying to ease the tension that was growing there. The spot behind his eyes throbs. “The settings were wrong. I- I don’t know how but the kriffing setting was wrong.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that”

Something in the arch of the captain’s brow, the accusatory nature of what he was in insinuating sparks white hot rage in Fox’s chest. The photos on the wall rattle as he rises to his feet, his fist meeting the wall behind him.

“What are you saying?!”he asks turning on the blonde clone. “Are you inferring that I had it out for him? A vod I’d never met? That I went looking to kill a brother?”

Rex flinches back. Fox’s knuckles throb. He focuses on the growing ache, uses it to stay grounded. His voice is low, a pained snarl.

“His death will never leave me. I pulled the trigger that ended his life. Do you know- can you understand what that feels like?”

“He said this was bigger than us” Rex pushes on, seemingly paying no mind to what Fox had said.

“And that means I was in on a conspiracy?”

“Damn it, Fox” Rex growls, “you said you don’t know how your blaster ended up throwing bolts!”

Something about that catches Fox right in the gut, steals air from his lungs. As quickly as his rage had swollen it subsides and he’s left to sink back down to his desk, forehead cradled in his head.

“Bigger than us” he repeats Rex’s words- Fives words- quietly.

“He mentioned a conspiracy to Kix” the blonde clone doesn’t sit but he’s posture loosens.

“Conspiracy?”

“Something that went all the way to the top. Said the clones and the Jedi were in great danger.”

“Tell me more.”

[bookspined]

❝ that’s all history is after all: scar tissue. ❞

{ cis-man, he/him }  huh, who’s FROY GUTIERREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SCORPIUS MALFOY. he is a TWENTY-TWO year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is A HEALING APPRENTICE. he is known for being CAPTIOUS, RETICENT, FACETIOUS, DISMISSIVE, and DRAMATIC but also RESOURCEFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS, FERVENT, INNOVATIVE, and OBSERVANT, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IN DREAMS BY BEN HOWARD. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { merry, 24, gmt, she/they }

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (MCU), Simon Tam (Firefly), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins) 

pinterest [blood, medical imagery tw]

wanted connection ideas

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-three Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Lucius Malfoy & Astoria Céline Malfoy (née Greengrass) [Not biologically Astoria’s due to her health, if you ever point this out he’ll flay your eyeballs] Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: His pet toad, Jarvis, recently passed away. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovative, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventive, logical, practical skills and self assertion; lack of attachment to people outside his circle and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubborn. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic  

HOGWARTS HOUSE ANALYSIS

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well. After a few years he leant into the sarcastic vague-snobbishness to hide the core of overwhelming anxiety.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t really due to him being a model student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on. 

Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest. Some people he beat just to spite cause he hates them. It worked, whatever.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Even though the war culminated far earlier in this verse I imagine Scor would have had to have been relatively sheltered as a child if not for how emotionally sensitive and prone to periods of ill-health he was, it was definitely for his own safety. He is still the grandson of a known high-ranking Death Eater and that made him a media target and put one on his back for anyone else that might happen to be watching. 

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, potion-making, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic are what define him to the Order. While everyone kind of knows who he hung out with at school and who his friends are he is deliberately very mischievous with releasing rumours and misleading people. He deliberately keeps his cards very close to his chest so most people don’t know that he is aligned with anyone, he usually uses glamours or a scarf to conceal his identity if he has to. 

While he is knowledgeable about healing and anatomy, he is the WORST at taking care of himself. The literal embodiment of Healers make the worst patients, tends to forgo sleep and basic bodily needs if he’s locked into what he’s focusing on. Sometimes needs reminders to sleep and eat, like a child. 

Healing is the most satisfying part of his life and he would never give it up, he likes to experiment as he has a fascination with magic and muggle science and where they might intersect. A fucking nerd honestly. While he thinks he’s being fairly subtle about it a large part of his academic life has been doused in research into blood maledictions, for obvious reasons. He does his best not to flutter too obviously around his Mum. She is capable and ten times stronger than he is. 

Lives in a small studio flat in Diagon Alley that is mostly stacks of books and makeshift shelves.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm, his existence is an endless heat seeking mission. 

Went to one Slug Club meeting and used his time to verbally berate and or challenge most of the contacts in attendance, he was not asked to return. 

Potions Club, Charms Club, used to sometimes be willing to be dragged to Dueling Club but didn’t enjoy himself. 

Plays quite a bit of chess.

Bruises like a fucking peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled. 

Is a very skilled pianist almost entirely due to his Grandmother’s tutelage. 

Surprisingly great with children/toddlers/babies, no one including himself expected this, he mostly feared them beforehand. 

Bit of a mummy’s boy in that he practically GLOWS when people talk of Astoria’s achievements. 

When he has time off from healing he will have chipped black nail varnish on. 

Highly intelligent but rarely manages to match a pair of socks, chews his quills but no one else’s. 

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

[ CREDIT : CHARACTER PSD template by @karmahelper (defunct url) I tried to find a current social this week by messaging around but couldn’t find anything unfortunately. Forgot to copy this over from the google doc! ]

[gallavictorious]

11x01 Reaction Post

Random thoughts on and reactions to 11x01; no careful analysis or anything, just the bits and pieces that's not likely to make it into meta proper but which I still want to make note of so I can go back later and remember what my initial reaction to the episode was (since my impressions are likely to change as the season unfolds). Mostly Gallavich related, because duh, but there's disordered rambling on a bit of everything. Under a cut (God I miss LJ sometimes) because this got long.

Ian looks damned good as the homocidal muscle. I don't do AU:s, but if I did... On the other hand, Frank as a member of the Chicago “Eight” looks like a werewolf. Less interested in that AU. And listen, I get that they couldn't get Emmy Rossum for this, but I really miss Fiona showing up in a few random olden day pictures. She's gone, but she's still a Gallagher dammit! Carl at the slaughter house looked weird – and part of me thought that was appropriate because slightly off editing would be a sweet way of communicating that it's all bollocks, but the rest of shots looked okay (Debbie as a milk maid and Frank as the aforementioned werewolf) or good (everything else) so no.

The sound of a baby crying is a horror matched only by persistent lack of sleep so I feel for Lip and Tami so much. Here's to all parents who managed to get through the first year without murdering anybody! I think that maybe you don't get enough credit... I, for instance, want to kill someone just hearing Freddie cry in the background for half a minute. Not sure it bodes too well for their relationship for them to be so ready to spend every night apart like Lip suggests, but a, what wouldn't you do for a good night's sleep, and b, love the thought of Lip spending more time at the old house. Could see them breaking up during the course of the season, though. Not sure how I feel about that – Tami's my favourite out of Lip's love interests, but having too many of the couples staying together all through the finale wouldn't feel quite right (for Shameless) and I don't see them breaking up Ian and Mickey or Kev and V. Don't really expect Sandy or Debbie to last either, but since it's more of a casual thing it might have more of a casual end.

Do you remember when the promo dropped and there was Concern about That Look on Ian's face after he kisses Mickey, and I tag theorized about it being because Mickey stole his coffee? Turns out there wasn't really A Look in the actual episode, but I sure as hell was right about the coffee, and I want noted somewhere. Maybe there should also be a small diploma? A golden statue seems a little over the top, but I mean, if you insist...

I appreciate that Ian is very adament about it being their money but when Mickey thinks it's their breakfast it's suddenly every man for himself. Do you share or not, Ian? Hmm? (Let the record show that I'm joking, please. Ian is damned right to take his toast back, and I say this as a “person most likely to steal their partner's toast right out of their hand”. I also love that Mickey completely gives up on breakfast when he can't have Ian's toast and just grabs a beer instead.) The kitchen scene is glorious and I just really like their dynamic here; the casual kiss, “I only make breakfast for husbands who have jobs”, how relaxed it is even when Ian's a bit annoyed, Mickey being so... Mickey. I do wonder what went through his head when Ian started talking about their wedding present money, though – he seems worried for a moment, but then shrugs it off, and that could be either bravado or just actual lack of concern. I tend mostly towards the latter, since Mickey quite genuinely figures this isn't a big deal (even though he still recognizes that Ian will probably think it one). Please note that he immediately offers to get money when Ian mentions that they need more of it coming in. Not his fault Ian vetoes his methods, right? (Also love that Ian's objection is due to him not wanting to be separated from Mickey, rather than any moral qualms about robbing stores.)

Okay, the gag ball. Would they really keep it like that if they were actually using it? Maybe either of them just tossed it there after taking it off, I suppose... Yeah, I don't know. Not what I'd imagined them being into, but that might be my own extreme lack of enthusiasm for gag balls and harnesses talking. Either they're into it and if so, you do you, boys, or it was a gift and they're keeping it around and semi-prominently on display for shits and giggles. (But if it was a gift, they did try it at least once, right?)

Mickey in the bath remains stupidly and surprisingly gorgerous. Incidentally, I really don't think his question about the meds is any indication of him not thinking them important, but there's little wonder that Ian bristles at the mention of them. Maybe not be an ass just to prove a point, eh, Mick?

I've already talked about how hard Ian is trying here but let's just take another moment to congratulate our boy on his persistent attempts at mature communication. Though he might have given some actual consideration to Mickey not wanting to save the money if he's really serious about them making decisions together... But he gets there! I think this whole situation – which would royally piss most people, including me, off – is actually particularly difficult for Ian, because he might well see Mickey's behavior as uncomfortably reminiscent of Frank and Monica's destructive habits and yeah, that would fuck him up. And still! He forces himself to calm down! He takes Mickey's hand! He refuses to let himself be distracted by Mickey looking SO INSANELY PRETTY I CANNOT EVEN UNDERSTAND IT! Ian, I salute you!

[starwars_eu_nerd_mode]KORRIBAN! YES! HA! TAKE THAT DISNEY! You take your new so-called “canon” and your “Moraband” and you fuck right off. I salute you, Bitcoin Boy![/starwars_eu_nerd_mode]

Ah, the porch scene... This one I do have a bunch of thoughs on that will probably make it into meta proper one day, so I'll leave it for now. It was the one that took the most thinking about for me to square (still not a lot, it should be noted), but now I'm actually very happy about it. (Full disclosure: none of their scenes feel quite right the first time I see them these days, because I'm just so very on edge about what's to come that I kind of miss the forest for all the trees you know? It's not a Shameless thing – it's always like this when I'm extremely invested in something and have waited for it for some time. Will it fit with how I see the characters? Will it be cringey? Will Mickey suddenly profess a love for hideous Hawaii shirts? Also, what are they saying because English is hard... But then I watch them a couple of times and they sink in and I start to get giddy over them. I guess watching actual canon unfold always requires a little bit of re-calibration if you've been busy fanoning while waiting for it to arrive, and while I love that sort of interpretative work, there’s also the fear that the show will veer off into a direction I cannot easily follow.)

Mickey's insistence that he spelled monogamy wrong does genuinely amuse me. Not to mention the whole “No more parking tickets for me!” - “You don't have a car, dumbass.” Also, Mickey being friendly with Carl kills me, in a good way. Family FTW!

Frank's storyline fails to stir even the vaguest hint of interest in me, as per usual. For all his talk of family in this episode, the lack of interaction with any of his kids is striking. If he's to have any value at all this season I'll need him to get involved in the rest of the Gallagher's storylines (which seems like it might be happening at least for a bit later on, so I'm vaguely hopeful?). I find but faint intrigue in Carl's and Debbie's stuff, but it doesn’t annoy me either so I'll call it a win. Kev and V are (almost) always a delight, but do anyone else feel like their kids are only props, even to them? I don't know... I just don't think there's a connection or sense of realness to their relationship, you know? Maybe it's just me... Anyway, here's to hoping V turning pageant mom changes all that! Oh, and I'll need Liam to have some more screentime and stuff to do.

The Tommy and Kermit thing was weird. Eh. Whatever.

Sandy is so gorgerous. I can't. The Milkoviches really be bringing it this episode.

This is only the second season I've watched episode by episode as it airs (other one was S6) and it's a curiuos experience. I think that by and large, and particularly in later seasons, Shameless works better when you binge it, but I love the delightful anticipation of waiting for a new episode and the feverent discussion that follows. Sometimes I also despair over the ferverent discussion that follows, but... you know. It is what it is. Admittedly, any attempts at meta this early in the season is a precarious venture at best, since we don't have the whole story, and it might be wiser to abstain but it's just so much fun, so I'm not very likely to stop.

All in all, I love the Gallavich stuff, am intrigued by Lip & Tami and Kev & V's lives, okay with whatever Debbie and Carl's got going on, hot for Sandy, bored by Frank, and missing Liam. It sets up a lot of promising things, but as an episode all unto itself it felt a bit empty – probably because there were no real plots and the storylines didn't intersect as much as I would have liked them to. Shameless is best when it's about family, which both the show and Frank seems to recognize, but there's little narrative follow-through on that realization in this episode; everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. Adored the Lip and Ian convo, and that house party scene was wonderful, but so short. Think we'll get more of all of them together going forward, though, and more actual plots too, so I'm very excited about it all. Can't wait for Sunday!

[allmydokkuns]

Long post but uhh I don't know if you can insert a cut on mobile so sorry in advance, skip if you're not abut reading about Lan Xichen and ABO-verse characterization I guess? Vague spoilers for MDZS if you haven't read or watched it yet too, lmk if I miss a smth u think I should tag for

Okay y'all don't come at me with a pitchfork or anything but like... I've read my way through so. Much. A/B/O fic in MDZS/The Untamed ship tags and I kinda can see y'all Alpha Twin Jades if I squint, and I have opinions on the stereotypes/tropes but I can't focus enough to pin down why it bothers me so I'll just drop this take for y'all:

Instead of alpha Lan Xichen, how bout omega Lan Xichen who's supersensitive to pack/intersect dynamics growing up in the hyper repressive Cloud Recesses that further encourages him as sect heir and then leader to not make ripples and just compromise or mediate like the world's gonna end bc he just doesn't feel safe on a biological level if tensions are high and shits bout to go down?

Like hear me out, he leaves his home on fire never knowing if he'll return or ever see his family again and he feels uprooted in all the worst ways, head and heart screaming in equal measure that is your pack, you were sworn to nurture them how could you let it get this far with Obey shufu, that might be his dying wish and If anything happens to Wangji, Gusu Lan will need another heir and suddenly, he runs into Meng Yao, who smells like a safe haven, someone he can trust, someone who is not a threat.

Like you can even interpret his status as the number one ranked gongsi as him refining a natural talent through overcompensating because internalized biases? I like to imagine Wangji being petty when people say shit like that about his big brother around him from a very young age, because in comparison to Wangji's more distant personality, xiongzhang's warmth and natural empathic drive to take care of Gusu Lan is obviously much better suited to the role of leader (less stuff said about the fiasco that was Qingheng-jun's marriage, the better, and this is an interesting dynamic to have no matter what Wangji ends up presenting as).

It would fit in well with why Xichen seems to still believe in Meng Yao for far longer than anyone else does, why he always seems to walk a tightrope between trying past the point of no return and failing to reconcile, and why he tends to emphasize the group to the detriment of the components of said group. Him equating the well-being of his pack(s) with safety is just a hornet's nest of unresolved issues just waiting to become angst fodder. I'm aware this is more of a cultural thing, but honestly the aggressive independence of an alpha don't jibe for me for him (though it might be interesting to see someone interpret how his emotional repression interacts with alpha Xichen instincts, and how that all comes to a head instead?) because Xichen's seclusion after Guanyin Temple like this has more angst potential if his secondary pack disintegrates so spectacularly (and he blames himself) while at the same time Wangji has finally found Wei Wuxian again and while on some level Lan Xichen is happy for his Didi, on some instinctual level Lan Huan is going DANGER DANGER DANGER bc this is the guy that Wangji would have broken himself for, no one is allowed to do that to my brother and especially not you, guy who's been playing with his heart with a little dash of why are you leaving? All these years I know you loved him but why do you get to be happy at the cost of my own happiness? I have no brothers left, not you, not Huaisang, not the ones I've killed. Where is my safety now?

Alternatively, him failing to reconcile his sworn brothers + Wei Wuxian coming back into their lives just to rip a Jin Guangyao-sized hole in his life takes on a different flavor if Xichen is an alpha or a beta like imagine him getting real protectively aggressive over the one brother left that he can still claim as his without reservation. Like he's inclined to think more kindly about Wei Wuxian after everything but boy oh boy what a great time for all that repressed anger, despair and guilt that you didn't have time for when you were bandaging your baby brother's back and being a caregiver for a recovering young'un and being Sect Leader at the same time to suddenly come out, huh. I think Xichen got robbed not being able to actually get fucking pissed at him on Wangji's behalf. We could use some cathartically mad Xichen in the fandom. Like I know y'all like to joke that Jiang Cheng is angry grape but 1) let them both have some kind of venting mechanism because that's better than simply containing it, arguably and 2) I'd argue that when Jiang Cheng actually does get mad and not just irritated it's not without some reason. I've seen sad Xichen, happy Xichen, smooth af Xichen, drunk Xichen, "I know something that you don't" Xichen, etc., but angry Xichen? Also, guilty Xichen is a rare flavor hereabouts

Like you could also interpret Xichen as a beta who's always kind of skirting the edge of the dynamic between the other 2/3rds of 3zun who are each one of the other two secondary genders (one of each in the Triad) which might also explain how he seems to be so unruffled all the time; rather than sublimating his instincts or leaning so hard into them he doesn't know how not to be politely protective, he kind of exists in a space where scent/genders doesn't subconsciously play in as much to his behavior (or even make that a Gusu Lan Sect specialty idk) and just. Steers people into that which tends to be kinda mediating in a nudging way I don't know I'm getting fuzzy on the details but world building fam.

Anyway I think the idea of Xichen having to navigate a world in which he has to deal with people who pepper him with microaggressions about his secondary gender if he presents as omega or a world where his status as a beta blinds him just enough to the degree and real nature of the tension in the brotherhood is kind of fascinating, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[sam-roulette]

rip to the alt Sasha survives s3 “the slaughter ritual is a battle of the bands wherein one of the 4 main mechanisms albums has the key to ending the world” crack au for being quite literally impossible to write 

so here’s how it was meant to go down:

- Jon gets kidnapped by Alfred Grifter himself and when he’s returned to the archives he has all 4 Mechs albums and also punches Tim in the face in a slightly slaughter-induced haze

- Jon immediately snapping out of it and being so apologetic he tells Tim to punch him back so they’re even. Tim, tiredly, tells him that no. He is not going to punch him back. “You don’t have to worry about if it hurts,” that’s. Not The Point.

- there’s some slaughter juice on the albums so everyone starts getting a little bloodthirsty, a fact that becomes apparent as the Archives splits along party lines- Jon is convinced High Noon Over Camelot is the world-ender, while Sasha insists that it’s The Bifrost Incident. Tim’s on  Sasha’s side; Martin says he’s impartial but implies Jon may have a point, and only chooses Once Upon A Time to keep up the veneer of not being biased. 

- Sasha manages to convince Tim to grab Ulysses Dies At Dawn so that none of the other possible combatants have it Just In Case that’s the one that ends the world so that she can stop him. Tim questions who’s gonna stop Sasha if he can’t get close once Red Signal starts and she says not to worry, I’ve got a plan

- the plan is she gets Not!Sasha out the basement to be her bandmate, promises it that it can eat her after the competition and (it can’t because of ) threatens it with a suspiciously high voltage taser. She has no plans to let it eat her later. She is a liar 

- Tim, predictably, does not take this well. Sasha tries joking that he doesn’t get her “artistic vision” and Tim says he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Sasha gets taken again. The argument gets more heated from there.

- Turns out, things between Sasha and Tim didn’t get magically better once Sasha was spat out the table at the start of s3

- and in fact Tim has been more distant and unsure of how to act around her, since even if she’s His Sasha, he has NO memories of her- just what Sasha says and vague half-recollections that he can’t tell if its something the Stranger put in him or if its the hazy remnants of this woman that he loved once. 

- Sasha finds herself being treated like a stranger by Tim, and while it’s not really bad per se- Tim isn’t cruel to people- it still Hurts when she tries to reach out to him, when it looks like he’s obviously hurting, and he just. Doesn’t Open Up. It doesn’t help that he can’t be in the same room as Jon for long and that he can’t look Martin in the eye, and it doesn’t help that it’s only after Literally Threatening To Leave that Jon cracks and admits everything that happened in s2

- The day of the contest is getting nearer. Martin is suddenly very suspiciously good at the violin despite never having lessons growing up, which he jokes is a “natural affinity for strings”. He’s been on the phone a suspicious amount.

- The day before the contest and tensions are high in the Archives. Jon’s locked himself in his office to do “vocal exercises”. Martin hums everywhere. Tim and Sasha are coordinating on The Bifrost Incident, but Tim keeps it strictly professional and terse, and it’s slowly driving Sasha up the wall.

- Finally, Tim says, “During this... we won’t hurt each other, right? While we’re in there- we can keep our heads on straight.”

- “Of course not.” Sasha replies, immediate. “You’d never hurt me.”

- “... Right.”

- The day arrives and it’s revealed that Jon, Martin, Sasha, and Tim are the Only combatants. It was Grifter’s game to get them to fight each other the entire time, in a strictly organized battle-like way. Not!Sasha gets a pass as Sasha’s “pet” and Sasha very quickly steps on its foot to keep it from saying anything that might disqualify them.

- Listen the actual battle itself ? Is messy as fuck to figure out. like we never actually properly figured out the rules. we have a spreadsheet of like which number placement every song in all 4 albums were and everything and while some combinations would’ve made for some SICK turn based combat would’ve been an absolute Nightmare to actually carry out

- each song actually has an effect and transforms both the stage and audience as the show goes on- so there’s a bit where Jon has The Hanged Man Rusts and that garners complete silence as it accidentally prophesies the rest of the story, Thor causes Sasha to actually begin to spark with lightning, cool stuff

- the only truly comprehensible bit was round 4. Hellfire, Sirens, Cinders’ Song, and Sigyn.

- Hellfire sees Jon give into the Slaughter energy more than any other point as the entire audience starts fighting each other in religious ecstasy, the other stages where the assistants are isolated beginning the melt and warp. Sasha helps Tim back up just before he slips into the flame below and Martin tries to climb higher as the hands of congregation reach for him, or past him, or to grab Anything

- Sirens cuts through the last bit before it all goes truly to hell as Tim picks up a guitar and starts lulling everything down to a sense of normalcy. There’s a moment, at the intersection of when Jon stops trying to scream the last dying cry of Gallahad’s maddened ramblings and the audience returning to their seats and his voice acapella filling the hall- we can chase away your worries- where there is Perfect Clarity. Tim could stop after this moment. Before the end of the verse, he could stop, and maybe it’d put an end to this.

- His eyes land on Sasha. Before he can stop himself, the verse is finished. Sleep in peace and serenity. Then he can’t stop singing anymore, and Sasha watches the drowsy smile suddenly bloom across Tim’s cheeks

- It’s when Martin, never once looking in Jon’s direction, jumps from his platform to Tim’s that Sasha knows something’s wrong. Because she wants to do the same thing. So she takes a page out of the real Ulysses’ playbook- she has the Not!Them tie her to one of the beams on her stage and promise, no matter what she says next, to never untie her. Not until someone else starts singing

- Just as Sasha predicted, she starts getting odd herself. Tim is looking in her direction, so longingly as he sings that she Knows it could only really be for Her, that he wants her to just lay in his embrace and be well taken care of- and she stops wanting anything beyond it. So she struggles. She hisses and bites and kicks and screams to try and break free of the rope while Tim smiles, beckoning, so they can finally have that reunion they’ve both wanted. The one where they hold each other and say that it’s okay, that they have each other, that it’s Safe

- Someone unties Sasha. It feels like Tim’s arms around her and she melts, no longer recognizing the pretty man singing on stage. Not!Tim looks back at Tim from across the gap, holding Sasha tenderly, and grins. Tim stops singing, for just a moment, surrounded by legions except for the sole person he wants to see most in the world, in  the arms of something that doesn’t even look remotely like him

- The moment’s enough and, as Martin sees Jon looking strangely adoringly at Tim, he realizes that wait a fucking minute. And immediately gets so jealous he hijacks Tim’s spotlight and restores actual equilibrium with Cinders’ Song. Tim is once again left alone on stage, strangely desolate against the large setting.

- Sasha regains her balance and tries to answer it all with Sigyn, but the Not!Them refuses to stop looking like a mockery of Tim. Jon is kind enough to take Lyf’s narration while Not!Tim is “kind” enough to take Loki’s lines. Sasha tries to appeal- why back away? This time I’ll stay; come stand at my side as we make them pay... 

- When she sings “remember your wife!” Not!Tim says, “I don’t recall,” playfully, mocking. He mocks when he says “She’s still enthralled,” one part disgust for Sasha’s feelings and one part gleeful accusation to Tim- look what you did to her. She still feels the effect of your song, even now.

- anyway long story short everything gets more and more screwy as everyone is magically made to forget that they’re supposed to be stopping this thing and start only wanting to be the one to get to their finale quickest. Blood and Whiskey sees Sasha nearly lose an ear from a bullet. Underworld Blues has Tim nearly causing hell to freeze over with his chilling plea as Orpheus. No Happy Ending signals the first of the audience member deaths.

- It also signals when Grifter leaves weapons on the stage and has the team go at it. It’s not really so bad, at first- Jon and Martin forget about fighting somewhere along the way and kiss, Sasha is knocked out for a few seconds and is somewhat conscious, which is Not a good state to enter Red Signal in, and Tim is trying desperately to figure out where to go next

- Tim has Ties That Bind as a last attempt to gain control of the situation and very nearly manages to snap Sasha out of the absolute maddened hell state she’s about the enter. If only he could find it in himself to omit some lyrics- if only he could find it in himself to be less bitter when singing I was betrayed by the one I was to wed.

- There was no more love there - my heartstrings long since cut...

-There was no more love there.

- “Ah.” Is Sasha’s last coherent thought, “I see.”

- “So that’s how it is.”

- Martin’s mic cuts out. Jon’s mic cuts out. Tim’s mic cuts out on the last line.

- Sasha picks herself off the ground, slowly. Far more slowly than the words falling out of her mouth. Not words- an incantation. A Chant.

- y’ai ngah Yog-Sothoth...

- turns out Jon’s not the only one who can do a mean incantation. And unlike Jon, Sasha’s had some vocal training at some point in heavy metal. Make of that what you will

- The guitars kick in at the end to dive straight into Ragnarok I and Alfred Grifter announces that the winner is Sasha James amidst the screaming and destruction of the roof caving in reverse, showing a blood red sky. The Not!Them has disappeared, presumably already running into the faceless crowd to find a new body for the incoming new world Jon’s trying to get to safety and Martin’s begging Tim to hide, that there’s not gonna be getting through to Sasha now

- But Tim knows the album because he worked with her on this. For this scenario. Just in case. He knows it’s safe enough to move when Sasha-as-Sigyn questions I know this man, why is he here...? Knows to hold still, make himself as small as possible, when she begins Ragnarok II. The crowd isn’t so lucky and they melt into each other, a mosh pit of rock n roll violence that flashes and gleams with pocket knife and piercing and heels and nails. Just barely manages to make a run for it as Sasha takes on the final lines as the Void.

- Envy your dead for now unfurled / this madness follows to consume / your world. 

- Tim is just close enough in ear shot to yell, not even attempting to sing at this point with a throat as dry as his is, “You- don’t I know you?” The world tries to skip Ragnarok III to get to IV. Tim tries to be louder even with the rubble giving way under his hands, “Weren’t we friends?”

- The gentle piano kicks in instead. Tim could nearly cry with relief when Sasha turns his way and, even if she doesn’t look like she fully gets it yet, answers, “Once- I remember. And now, when it ends...”

- In harmony. The first they’ve managed in a long while. Where are you going?

- “For vengeance...?” Sasha left uncertain. Answered in a songbird lilting voice, “For love.”

- There is no mention of death. Only an immediate harmony as they both sing Perhaps that’s enough!

- The guitar that comes on isn’t the end of Ragnarok III. It’s the lonely riff of Thor as Sasha hauls herself up with a drum mallet she steals from the broken down remains of backstage. Sung, almost like a tune a soldier marches to, fury like thunderbolts burns in my veins...

- She smashes Grifter over the head and feeds him into the mosh pit to be torn to shreds. As his shriek of laughter echoes off of the walls, she takes the mallet to the lonely speaker at the back of the hall, playing the final riffs, and destroys it.

- The world stops ending. Everyone is left in the wreckage, passed out and bloody. Jon pokes his head out from a trap door in the ground. Martin mutters from offstage somewhere. Sasha is heaving out breaths as she stares at the broken equipment, still clutching the hammer she threw in the works.

- Cue the moment where she finally turns to face Tim. They look at each other. Then, they’re grinning, and they’re starting to run. They end up toppling onto the ground together, laughing with wild relief, arms tight around each other the entire way through as Tim’s the first one to let loose the first catharsis tears.

- Tim tells her that was the coolest damn thing he ever did see. Sasha says she’s sorry for almost ending the world to have him see that, and Tim’s just going are you kidding ??? This was the best way this could have ended up!

- And Sasha says that it wouldn’t have happened if not for Tim stepping in like he did. And Tim says he’s sorry too, for everything. For the way he acted, and Sasha says that none of them were in their right minds, but Tim still insists that being in right mind or Not, he made some shitty choices there-

- and of course Sasha kisses him. Tells him he was simply brilliant. And Tim grins and kisses her and tells her that no no no SHE was absolutely brilliant, she had TRUE star power-

- and it’s not like before. Tim still can’t remember everything, and the memories Sasha has of the Archives before the Not!Them leave a sour taste in her mouth after she’s released. Tim is gonna need a long time before he can really go back to being his cheerful self, and Sasha needs time to come to terms with missing so much of her own life. But 

- But at least they can lay together at night and find a little peace and serenity in the interim.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Thrall

A Horror Septics Short

(Just a thing I wrote to try and get back into practice of writing. Check the tags for this one.)

The sun has set, and the tall buildings cast deep shadows on the streets below, shadows that are only broken by pools of yellow streetlamp light. In a busy city like this, there should be bustling pedestrians even this late at night, but instead, there are only two in the dead empty street. A pair of young men—or one of them is closer to a boy, really—who look alike enough to be related. The younger, shorter one has glasses and is wearing a simple white T-shirt. The older, taller one is wearing a black hoodie and carrying a cardboard box.

“We should not be out this late,” the younger one mutters, eyes darting about, lingering on the shadows.

“Well, there wasn’t much of a choice, if we wanted to get this done by tomorrow,” the older one replies. He makes sure to keep a tight grip on the box. “It’s not my fault the car didn’t start.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Shut up, Kas.”

Kas huffs, but it’s only to cover up his nerves. “We could have asked Ma—”

“No, I am not calling our parents. They would murder me for breaking the car.”

“So it was your fault.”

“Wh—no, I said shut up!” The older one splutters. “It’s not that far a walk, anyway. Leave it alone.”

The two walk in silence for a few moments, their footsteps echoing on the sidewalk, loud in the strangely silent city. Kas’s head is on a swivel, darting about side to side. As they walk, he inches closer to the older one. Then suddenly, he grabs his arm. The older one yelps. “Kaspar, what the fuck?!”

“I saw something, Dirk,” Kaspar insists in a whisper. “Something moving. You know we shouldn’t go out at night. This isn’t worth dying over.” He starts to pull on Dirk’s arm. “We can just go over to the nearest building and call Mama from in there.”

“We’re not going to die.” Dirk shrugs off Kaspar’s grip. “We are ten minutes from home, what could possibly be out here to kill us?”

Kaspar looks at him with wide eyes. “You know what.”

Dirk hesitates, then scoffs. “That’s just an urban legend. People made it up to connect some unsolved cases. Cases that didn’t relate to each other in anything other than surface details.”

“Tell that to Marlene’s cousin who got torn to shreds.”

There’s a lengthy pause. Dirk looks more uneasy at the reminder, but he keeps up his bravado. “We are ten minutes from home,” he repeats. “And the two of us are together. Nothing’s going to happen to the two of us in such a short period of time. Now let’s hurry.” He picks up the pace, leaving Kaspar to catch up.

They reach an intersection. Only about a minute passes before Kaspar gasps and grabs Dirk’s arm again. Dirk jumps and shakes him off. “Kas, seriously, we’re fine.”

“There was definitely something moving.” Kaspar doesn’t walk, frozen in place. He stares down the street branching off to the left.

“Oh my—it’s probably just a lost cat.” Dirk squares his shoulders and marches off in the direction Kaspar is staring. “If we see it, then you will calm down.”

“Dirk!”

Dirk doesn’t look back. Though he’s confidently heading off, his grip on the box is tight and nervous. His eyes are locked forward, scanning for any movement. Then he suddenly stops. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Kaspar stops too. “Are you...talking about my footsteps?”

“No, it was something else.” The two fall quiet. After a moment, there’s a strange sound. Like a cat or dog skittering across the ground, but more...metallic. Like dropping a bunch of metal parts on the sidewalk. In unison, they turn towards the sound. Dirk gasps. “Something did move.”

“Fucking—I told you!” Kaspar backs away.

“Hey, it wasn’t big. I still think it must be a cat, not much larger than that.” Still, Dirk pauses for an abnormal amount of time before walking towards the movement. Kaspar reluctantly follows.

There’s another movement, coming from a nearby alley between buildings. Dirk’s head snaps towards it, and he cautiously approaches. Poking his head inside, he first feels relief. “See, I was right, it was just...a...” He trails off, eyes widening as he steps back.

“What? What is it?” Kaspar steps up next to him, only to have the same reaction as the horror dawns on him. 

The impression of a cat hadn’t come out of nowhere. The thing has four legs and is roughly the size of one. But the resemblance ends there. The “legs” are spindly, made of metal, but the rest of the body is...alive. Red muscle in the vague form of a patched-together body and head, piled on top of bones and metal plates. Wires burst from the sides, dripping blood. There are two green eyes in the “head,” one firmly in a metal socket and one dangling from an optic nerve. 

The creature wobbles on its thin legs. The eye in the head rolls, and the dangling one bounces with every step. Red splatters on the concrete, but almost instantly dried to brown stains.

The two are frozen, too shocked to move or say anything else. Then Dirk screams. 

The creature suddenly snaps to attention, both eyes locking onto the two young men. In a flash, it runs towards them, moving faster than it should have been able to. Dirk drops the box he’s holding, but can’t move beyond that. Kaspar grabs him by the arms and pulls as he sprints in the other direction. Dirk stumbles, but quickly catches on. The sound of metal legs scrabbling against concrete pursues them out of the alley and down the street. Neither of them turn to look, hearts pounding as their instincts screamed at them to get away from this unnatural creature.

There’s a strange squishing noise behind them, and the scrabbling stops.

Even after hearing that, they continue to run until they’re able to round a corner, at which point they both stop, panting heavily. Kaspar leans heavily against Dirk, who leans heavily against the nearest wall. After catching his breath, Dirk hisses out, “What the fuck was that?!”

“I-I-I don’t know,” Kaspar spluttered. “I don’t—don’t know.” He peeks back around the corner of the building in an extremely reluctant manner. “It’s...not there anymore.”

Dirk also peers around the corner. “No...it’s there.” He points.

After a few seconds of making sure the creature wasn’t still moving, the two step out from behind the building. Surprisingly, Kaspar is the first one to approach the creature lying on the sidewalk. It’s twitching faintly, legs collapsed and its own dangling eye trapped under its body. There’s a long, sharp length of metal going straight through its body and pinning it to the ground. “What is that...thing that stabbed it?” Kaspar asks slowly.

“Ah...I think that’s an amputation knife,” Dirk says.

“What?!”

“They used to use them in battles, where there wasn’t proper medical care available,” Dirk explains.

“...how do you know that?” Kaspar asks, stunned.

“Wikipedia thread searching.”

“And you can recognize it on sight.”

“Shut up.”

The banter is just a cover for how unnerved they really are. Neither of them can look away from the creature as it persistently wiggles under the blade. “Should we...go back to get the box?” Kaspar asks after a while. He edges slowly around the creature, giving it a wide berth.

“Fuck the box! Hey, get back over here.” Dirk similarly circles around to the other side of the creature. It tries to twist its head to follow him, but can’t quite make it. “You were right, I was an idiot. L-let’s just—just go back hom—”

Neither of them heard the fast approaching footsteps before they suddenly each felt a sharp pain in their necks. In almost comical unison, they gasp and fall over as they suddenly lose balance. Only a few seconds of fuzzy vision later, blackness overcomes both of them.

The next morning, the first early passerbys find the two still unconscious on the sidewalk. It’s strange—not necessarily finding two bodies on the street, but seeing them move again. Dirk wakes up first, blinking in confusion at the early morning light and the group of people gathered around him.

“Oh, you are awake,” a man says, surprised. “Ah...are you feeling okay?”

“I’m...fine,” Dirk says slowly, looking around.

“Mama, can you really take naps in the street?” a young girl asks her mother.

“Do you know what happened?” A teenager asks.

“I can drive you to the hospital,” an older woman offers.

What...did happen? Is anything that he remembers from last night even real? Or was it just him imagining it? He glances around again, noticing Kaspar, who was starting to wake up. Another glance around, and then he notices it. There’s a spot on the sidewalk that looks like it was stabbed, surrounded by a reddish brown smear. Dirk’s eyes widen, then he immediately look away. “Actually, I am feeling a little fuzzy.”

Kaspar wakes up with a groan, opening his eyes to squint through his glasses. “Dirk?” he asks weakly. “What...happened?”

“Well...I’m not sure,” Dirk says slowly.

Kaspar stares at him, then around at the bystanders, and nods. “Right. I’m not sure either.”

Even in a town as strange as Achmatze, the city where people disappeared when the sun went down, they knew to keep this to themselves. After all, who would believe them?

If either of them had bothered to look behind them that night, they would have noticed that one of the alleyways didn’t actually lead to the other side of the street. Rather, it connected to a long hallway, rooms and corridors branching and twisting off and creating a maze of white, stained walls. Luckily, they didn’t see anything. Otherwise they might not have been found the next morning. Or at least, they might not have been found alive.

The alleyway is just a normal alley this morning, the entrance to the strange corridors having disappeared. But they’re still out there. The hallways branch off of the world and extend into the blank space next to it.

And deep inside the hallways, there is a room, locked with a steel door. The room is filled with steel cages, one of which holds the creature from the night before, skittering and emitting a low electric whine. And it’s not alone. Other creatures, similarly made of flesh and metal, pace inside the other cages. They range from cat-sized to almost horse-sized. The bigger they are, the more green eyes dot their bodies.

The room is locked and barred with a metal slab. Until this night, the door had been long neglected. The thing living in the hallways did not want to go inside unless necessary. But hopefully, this was just an isolated incident. Hopefully, it was not turning its attention here once again.