#the fanfic is the Last Something That Meant Anything on AO3

[himetarts]

so there's a Sterling fanfic that's been living in my head rent free lately (I'm going insane)

[suzukiblu]

this is a question that is not meant to come off as judgemental, and if it does i apologise and you don’t have to answer

for you, or anyone out there in the world if they see this,

What is the appeal of (the?) Omegaverse?

Ive never quite gotten it? And it might be the big bold orange, blue and white letters spelling out aroace, or being european, younger than most people who are knowledgeable about that particular genre of content (still 18+) and while I did get on the internet at 11, I didn’t start reading fanfic until 14-15

this is a long and rambly ask so I just want to clarify, this is a genuine question I would like an answer to, no matter how short and sweet, or long and convoluted it may be

It's all good, I don't mind getting questions! And, like, I've written a LOT of omegaverse, so it's a thoroughly relevant question to this blog, haha.

. . . and this definitely wound up long and convoluted. So like, yeah, we are SO gonna need a read-more here, friend. 😅

Obviously everyone's gonna have their own reasons for liking the genre, but as another (much older, I'm assuming) aroace, for me the appeal is the opportunity to use the tag "Fantasy Gender Roles". Like, there's other stuff there, def, but "Fantasy Gender Roles" is my favorite part. Omegaverse is a game where the rules are made-up and the points don't matter, and you can interpret and re-interpret the involved sexes and genders however the heck you wanna, and in fact are ENCOURAGED to. I also really like certain tropes that are common to the genre, like pack dynamics and breeding kink and having babies and feral behavior and courting/courting rituals, I just really enjoy playing with and reading about all of those.

Also, the worldbuilding. I get to do ✨GENDER-BASED WORLDBUILDING✨.

And obvi, like, some people are just into omegaverse for the kink/porn factor, which is totally fair, but personally I am here for ✨GENDER-BASED WORLDBUILDING✨. And then also the kink/porn. Generally speaking a recurring comment I've gotten from a lot of readers is "I literally hate omegaverse but I love yours", so a lot of my stuff is allegedly a decent jumping-on point for the genre if you're looking for that. Like, I'm not the only person who writes omegaverse the way I do, obviously, just I'm a pretty accessible one who's written a LOT of it.

( and in the event you DO want any jumping-on omegaverse recs from my stuff, I'mma just pop a few of them from various fandoms here. no DC-related ones 'cuz I don't have any of those currently on AO3, only scattered in my WIP tags, but hopefully something helpful will be in here. )

original fic

to the victor go the spoils - human omega OMC/dragon [ GENDER NOT FOUND ] OMC; 16.7k; explicit Fantasy AU. This one includes porn but honestly the heart of it is just one of those fairy tales where the protagonist is somehow both incredibly genre-savvy in their story and yet still a total fucking idiot about other people's feelings, and especially considering it's original fic, it is honestly one of the most popular things I've ever posted, hah.

The dragon arrived early in the morning, and by noon the entire village was in a panic in the town hall. No one in the village knew anything about dragons, aside from what they’d heard in fairy tales and stories, and the plans for dealing with it were about that level of sophisticated.

“We’re not sacrificing a virgin to the dragon,” Viktor said in exasperation.

“Well what would YOU do?!” the mayor demanded.

“I’m going to go talk to it,” Viktor said reasonably, and got up from his seat and went to do just that.

.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

does the pain feel better when I'm around? - beta!Sokka/omega!Zuko, beta!Sokka/beta!Suki, past alpha!Mai/omega!Zuko, polyamory; 3k; teen Societal dynamics-focused fic. Zuko goes into heat at the Western Air Temple immediately after the Boiling Rock happens and goes off to den down alone and stay out of everyone's way without realizing that the local betas are gonna lose their ever-lovin' MINDS about that.

“Cool,” he says. “You realize we’ve been looking for you for, like, two HOURS, right?”

“Why?” Zuko asks, sounding confused, which is kind of sad.

“Because the world is full of people who wanna kill you and you didn’t bother telling anyone where you were going?” Sokka says. “Obviously?”

“Oh.” Zuko falls silent. Sokka glances moonwards in supplication. Yue save him from dumb, dumb firebenders.

every act of communication is a miracle of translation - alpha!Mai/omega!Zuko; 5.7k; teen Post-series fic where Mai and Zuko are about to spend their first cycle together and they're both really awkward about working out how it should go. Not actually a sequel to "does the pain feel better when I'm around?", but you could definitely draw a relationship between 'em.

They leave the office, Mai pretending that all her senses aren’t full of Zuko’s warm, spicy scent, and he keeps looking worried. She wonders if it’s THIS he’s worried about, now that she’s thinking about it. They agreed they’d share their next cycles together, but again, they haven’t really talked about it.

They can talk about it now, Mai thinks.

Unfortunately, that means now they actually have to talk about it.

.

Overwatch

even if I do I don't, even if I could I won't - omega!Genji/beta!the-character-who-was-at-the-time-I-wrote-this-fic-known-as-McCree; 5.1k; explicit Blackwatch-era fic where Genji did not fill out his heat partner designation forms and "Fuck or Suffer Unspecified Health Consequences" is gonna make that a problem. Worldbuilding, assisted negotiation, a touch of workplace-influenced pack dynamics, and porn.

“Yeah, you’re hilarious, kid,” Gabe says. “Get back to work. And Shimada, call your heat partner and we’ll see you next week.”

Shimada’s shoulders tense. Gabe . . . pauses.

“Shimada,” he says slowly. “PLEASE tell me you have a heat partner on base.”

“I have a heat partner on base,” Shimada lies. Gabe and Jesse both stare at him, then Gabe calls up his file, takes one look at it, and starts cursing.

don't, don't, don't let's start (I've got a weak heart) - alpha!Genji/omega!the-character-who-was-at-the-time-I-wrote-this-fic-known-as-McCree; 17.3k; explicit Blackwatch-era fic about Genji and the character formerly known as McCree dealing with their complicated feelings about each other and also the cybernetics and trauma and physical disabilities that are fucking up their sex life, including ED.

“You busy?” he asks. Genji stares at him in bemusement, which is fair. Genji’s only ever busy when they’re on a mission or he’s in the middle of an upgrade. “Dumb question. My heat’s coming on, wanna do me a favor?”

“What favor?” Genji asks, still looking mystified. Jesse tries not to laugh at him.

“The obvious one,” he says meaningfully, tipping his hat back and raising his eyebrows at him. Genji looks no less mystified for a moment, then startles. “THERE we go."

.

Marvel Cinematic Universe

come hang (let's go out with a bang) - omega!Darcy Lewis/omega!Johnny Storm; 5k; teen Darcy almost dies again, tries to figure out which omega buys the courting gifts in an omega/omega relationship, and has her first date with a super-hot superhero.

“Was there traffic?” Jane asks.

“I have a date with Johnny Storm,” Darcy says.

“What?” Jane says.

“Oh, and I almost died again,” Darcy says, pulling out Jane’s papers for her. “But that’s kind of secondary.”

“WHAT?!”

pack up, don't stray (oh say say say) - alpha!Natasha + polyamory; 3.4k; teen Natasha collects a harem pack and Captain America is fucking difficult about it.

Natasha is an alpha on a mission, and that mission is simple and clear.

I said you're holding back, she said shut up and dance with me - alpha!Peggy/omega!Steve/omega!Bucky; 10.3k; mature Alternate timeline where Steve and Bucky don't "die" and they all run away from the States to get married and start a family. Illegal adoption and biokids and lowkey pack dynamics involving figuring out how to fold pups into their lives, oh my!! And also, they all get to dance.

“One alpha mating two omegas? Really, Steve?” Peggy asks, mouth quirking wryly. “What WOULD the newsreels say?”

“We’ll go to France,” Steve says. “No one will care in France.”

“I do love France,” she muses.

oh don't you dare hold back, just keep your eyes on me - alpha!Darcy/omega!Bucky, polyamory; 187.4k; explicit MY MAGNUM OPUS, MY WHITE WHALE, THE LITERAL REASON OMEGAVERSE TOOK OVER HALF MY BLOG FOR HALF MY STINT IN MCU FANDOM. I wanted a goddamn female alpha and I wanted that female alpha to be Darcy Lewis, and Bucky was my fave blorbo at the time so the inevitable happened. The inevitable happened for three and a half years and 187,430 words, to be more precise.

Darcy is thirty feet out of Stark-cum-Avengers Tower when she starts craving cinnamon rolls--the sticky-sweet iced-up old-fashioned kind, yummy and messy and dripping gooshy icing all over your mouth and hands and down your yuuuup, yup, that is a super, super fertile omega that she is smelling, holy SHIT is it ever.

“Jesus Christ,” she groans in frustration, then follows her alpha instincts (and, more easily and importantly, her NOSE) to go track them down. They’re in the middle of New York City; middle of the day or not, not checking on somebody who smells like THAT is, like, the ultimate dick move.

.

OKAY SELF THAT'S ENOUGH LINKS, WE MOVE ON NOW, haha.

I will also say, if you're interested in, like, gender-exploratory AU concepts, apiary genders might be more your thing and more easily accessible for you? It's a MUCH newer thing than omegaverse and really only has a few fics around, some of which are linked in the "inspired by" of that AO3 primer linked above, but the concept is a bit more strongly "hive"-based than a lot of omegaverse is "pack"-based, and also there's no physical differences from baseline. I've got a WIP or two going about apiary myself, actually, but I haven't gotten too far into them yet, alas. The only one I've posted anything from is this one Superbat one.

[dead-living-420]

404 - Title Not Found(part/chapter 2)

Part 1 - Tumblr Part 3 - Tumblr

Ao3

Summary: Danny needs to do laundry and agrees to go to a gala.

Jason is forced to go to a gala and needs to do laundry.

He forgets quarters and Danny forgets laundry detergent.

AN: Reminder that half of this shit is just crack treated seriously. I’m playing fast and loose with Danny Phantom cannon and DC cannon. If stuff isn’t cannon or if stuff is out of character, don’t question it. I just want to write my silly little fanfic.

——————————

Danny had fucked up. Even just meeting the walking dead he was meant to watch could cause trouble. At least that’s what ClockWork warned him of. It was probably just meant to lessen chances of anything bad happening, mainly the GIW appearing.

He decided to take a break from watching the Red Hood. He needed to focus on Danny anyways. He had spent the last few months focusing on Phantom and Ghost King Phantom. So when Vlad had offered to take him to a gala held by the Waynes, he immediately said yes.

Sure Vlad was still a bit of a fruitloop but he had stopped trying to basically murder his dad and lessened his advances on his mom as well. He had gone to a few galas before as both the Ghost King and Danny. He already a nice simple tux, he just needed to wash it since the last gala he was at had a ghost crashing it.

He didn’t mind galas as the Ghost King but loved them as Danny. He was able to mess with guests and Vlad with little to no suspicion that he was the cause.

Danny was gonna take the week to focus on himself and catch up on stuff that he wanted to do, not needed to. He sighed as he grabbed his tux and other clothes in a basket that needed to be cleaned. He double checked that he had his phone, keys, and bag of quarters before leaving his apartment and heading down to the crappy laundry room.

-

Jason still couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity with the guy from last night. It didn’t feel like that it was just by chance that he lived in the same building as one of his many places that he stays at. He had many safe houses, mainly out of Crime Alley to avoid Batman and rouges but he still felt connected to the place.

Speaking of rouges, the past few nights on patrol; he didn’t have the feeling of someone following him. He had realized it when watching some petty criminals since it was a quiet night. He didn’t like the sudden lack of not being follow, while it was good to know he wasn’t being followed; there had to be a reason for the sudden stop.

Outside of patrol, he noticed that the guy that gave him a sense of familiarity was on the same floor as him. He still didn’t know why there was that sense of familiarity, he didn’t know why he felt drawn to him. Jason pushed it to the side, just for now since he didn’t have a legitimate reason to start digging into it yet.

Jason sighed as he gathered up the clothes that were thrown around the apartment. He had been staying at that specific safe house for awhile, too tired from patrol to go to one of the farther ones. He had to do laundry and clean his nice somewhat formal clothes. Out of all the Wayne kids, he had drawn the short end of the stick when Bruce asked who would be going to the gala. Dick had brought up the issue that he was legally dead at one point and how that could cause issues but Alfred had apparently figured out a way to just make it seem like his death was exaggerated or something. Jason didn’t care to ask him how exactly he did that, it was fine for now.

He hated galas, even from what he remembered from when he was younger; he had always disliked them. He grumbled under his breath about how it was stupid as he walked out of his apartment with his laundry basket and laundry detergent. He knew that the washers the apartment complex provided were shitty but he didn’t feel like going to a laundromat or anything.

Jason entered the laundry room, it always had a wet clothes and laundry detergent smell. The lights flickered and it was cold. There were a few other people. He found an empty washer and loaded up his clothes. When he went to grab the quarters out of his pocket, damnit; he left them in his apartment. It was a minor inconvenience, still annoying.

“Fuck.”

-

Danny sighed, he realized that he forgot to buy laundry detergent. He was deciding between just doing laundry later or ask someone if he could use some of theirs. As he was weighing pros and cons, he heard cursing that broke the quiet. He looked up to see the guy using the washer across of him, cursing under his breath. He felt like he had seen him before.

Ever since staying in Gotham, he felt that a lot. It was because of how many liminal and dead walked the streets of Gotham. He just brushed it off usually but it felt different with this guy. Danny, one who never knew when to just stay quiet, saw an excuse to talk when he heard the guy grumbled about not having any quarters. The worst that could happen would be being yelled to mind his business.

He must’ve spaced out looking at him because now the guy was staring back at him. “Uh, I got some quarters if you need any.” Danny gave a small smile while holding out his bag of quarters. The guy seemed to think about it for second, Danny thought it looked he was questioning if he was trustworthy. He couldn’t blame him, it was Crime Alley after all. After a moment of silence, the guy spoke up.

It was a simple thanks as he took the amount he needed. “Do you need detergent or something?” Huh, maybe he had good luck for once, Danny thought before quickly replying. “I actually do need detergent.”

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Fanfic

| Here's the old fic I promised <3 I don't like the way I wrote it so it won't be posted on ao3, but I figured it'd be a fun supplementary reading for the comic! |

CW: Almost death/dying, uh some crying.

Leo couldn't hear or see Krang Prime anymore. A fact that was both comforting and terrifying. 

His body ached, the lack of a distraction making his wounds throb in time with his heartbeat. He tried to mentally note his injuries, to think of how he would have treated them if he ever got home. 

Something in him told him he wouldn't be going home, though. 

And as much as he had been prepared for that….it still made his chest ache.  

He squeezed the picture of his family a little tighter, letting his tears dissolve into space. 

The thought almost made him want to laugh. He hadn't cried like this in so long, who knew all it took was having the shit beat out of him and being left alone in another dimension? That wasn't a good joke. He was pretty sure it wasn't a joke at all, actually. 

That made the internal laughter die off pretty quick. 

It was so..cold. Not cold, but…there was an absence of warmth. If anything, it felt like…nothing. Like he was floating through nothing. 

The silence pierced his ears, the impenetrable ringing making him shake his head - an attempt to make some sort of sound that wasn't swallowed up by the black hole around him. He did it again and again, unable to get rid of the all-consuming silence around him. His ears rang with it - the effect a lot like being trapped in a soundproof room. 

Hell, he preferred the krang shouting at him and beating him into the ground over the silence. At least he didn't feel like he was losing his mind. If he concentrated just so, he could hear his heartbeat. He shivered involuntarily, shaking his head again to try and focus on something - anything, else. 

The silence droned on for several minutes, Leo trying to distract himself from it by reminding himself what it was all for. Who it was all for. He stole a glance at the picture through bleary eyes. It was a good picture. They all looked so happy. 

Leo stifled the remainder of his tears and let out a long sigh. 

He could handle the choking, stifling quiet.  

He could take a little silence before Kraang Prime inevitably wiped him off the face of the Earth. Or -since they weren't exactly on Earth - blipped him out of existence. 

The thought made him feel nauseous, though that could be from the sensation of weightlessness. Like he was falling through the air in slow motion - never to hit the ground again. 

More tears fell. 

Who was he kidding - he wasn't meant to be alone like this. He'd never been alone before. He'd always..he'd always had someone. 

Leo's sniffles were the only thing that broke the silence, and even that didn't last long. 

Years of silently crying in his room were not being his friend right now. He wished he'd been a screamer. He wished he'd thrown tantrums and screamed along with his music and wailed at the top of his lungs. 

At least then it wouldn't be so painfully quiet. 

The ringing continued, Leo finally managing to zone out a little when a sort of 'fizzle-pop' sound started up somewhere behind him. 

Warmth spread on his shell, a faint glow peeking out from behind him. A crackling sound filled the air, Leo rolling over in the big open space to see what it was. His heart raced at the thought that it was the kraang again, just waiting for him to turn around before striking him to the ground again. 

A bright orange light flooded his vision. Was this what everyone talked about? The light? He'd never really believed in that stuff, but he imagined this is what it might be like. Good to know everyone else was right - he couldn't help but feel a little bitter about being so wrong. 

The light grew, Leo squinting against it. It was warm, taking up his entire vision. It almost looked as if the very sky had broken open. But it was so warm, it must have been that light. The one that you weren't supposed to go into. and yet he wanted so badly to go into it. 

Leo reached for it, wanting nothing more than to be cradled in that light, for the crackling sound to invade his senses and get rid of that horrible ringing. Even if it was the end, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the silence. 

He squinted, eyes adjusting to the light as it grew larger and larger. As it did, he recognized it for what it was. 

A portal. 

His brothers took shape beyond the light, grinning at him with shining eyes. Like they were waiting for him, just behind that opening. He thought it might be a hallucination at first, but that didn't stop him from dropping a solid one-liner. 

He winced at the effort, but grinned nonetheless, " took you guys long enough". 

Nice One, Leo.

Even if this was some hallucination right before he died, he could still get a joke or two in. 

To his surprise, Raph activated his ninpo and reached out with one of his large, red hands, grasping Leo's in it. 

It was warm. It shouldn't have been warm, but it was to him. Leo could sob from the feeling. More tears bubbled up from his chest and he grinned up at his brothers, hurrying to blink them away before they saw. He couldn't be caught crying now, after all that had happened. 

 Raph tugged hard, pulling him closer and closer to the portal. 

If he had the energy, he'd make a joke about how this was way better than floating in a wasteland. Leo wanted nothing more than to hear them laugh, even if it was fake. Even if he made the world's worst pun. 

The feeling vanished almost immediately when the rush of air and the screech of the kraang came from just under him. He chanced a glance back, the giant red eye staring back at him. Even if it was just armor, it felt like it stared right through him. 

Metal claws surrounded him, and Leo almost pulled his arm back - out of Raph's grasp. He wouldn't let the krang win - he couldn't let them win. 

He glanced back again, his chest seizing a little at how close he was already. But then Donnie shouted from the portal and Leo turned his attention back on his brothers. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be that red eye. 

If he made it out of this alive, he'd have to tell Donnie how badass he looked just then. The thought passed so quickly it almost made him laugh - even if he was so sure the kraang was gonna grab him. 

The drill went flying past Leo and into the kraang's face, Raph dragging him to the portal with all the force he could. Leo went flying, the breeze as the smells and the sounds of New York hitting him all at once. He landed hard on Raph's plastron, groaning when he was deposited on the ground instead. 

Now that he had gravity back, everything hurt even worse. 

 "gu-guys!?"

Leo winced, but sat up a bit and looked at his younger brother. 

Mikey was trembling all over, a faint orange glow still emitting from his shaking limbs. He held his hands out in front of him, staring down as they crackled, pieces flecking off and floating away in the breeze. He dropped to his knees, Raph and Donnie rushing to his side. The portal had zipped out of existence, but Mikey was still crumbling. 

Leo rolled onto his knees, his wounds screaming for him to stop. 

No, no, he wouldn't lose Mikey like this. He wouldn't let his little brother die. Not like this, not for him. 

Leo crawled over on shaky limbs, holding back groans of pain. He had to do something. There had to be something he could do. His ribs ached with each breath, but Leo grabbed for his brother, already pulling him close - as if he had any clue what to do for him. 

" Le-leo!" Mikey was staring at him, his arms starting to fleck away from the fingertips down. Leo could only stare for a moment, eyes already burning with tears again. 

To his credit, Mikey gave him a tearful grin. Like he was glad to have done it. 

But Leo would never forgive himself. 

" No, no, c'Mon Mikey-" Leo winced, squeezing Mikey a little in his arms. He didn't know what to do. His thoughts were zipping by, all the medical knowledge in the world doing him no good. He didn't know anything about this. 

Donnie put a hand on his shoulder, Raph taking up the other side. They each squeezed, hands trembling where they touched him. There had to be something…anything they could do.  

Leo couldn't help it. He let out a sob. He did seem to be crying a lot lately, huh? 

Mikey was still shaking, his eyes squeezed shut. Leo hated it - he could feel how scared Mikey was. How terrified he was to be dying. 

There had to be something- anything!

Leo squeezed him tighter, trying to hold his brother together like glue - keep him here just a little longer while he thought of a plan. 

Think, Leo! Think! You're supposed to be the leader- 

Leo begged for something - for any kind of plan. He thought back to everything they knew about their ninpo- maybe his powers? 

Something. Anything. 

" I WO-WON'T LET YOU GO, MIKEY!" he sobbed, curling into his brother and just hoping for something to happen. Raph choked back a sob next to him, gripping his shoulder a little too hard. 

Something in him broke free with that, his powers crackling at his fingertips. He felt lighter suddenly, as blue lightning crackled down his arms and into his younger brother's form. 

Leo shut his eyes, feeling nauseous, but he couldn't stop! Mikey needed him- 

He could feel it, he could feel the power flowing through him and into Mikey - like a current of a river rushing and rushing and rushing towards his brother. 

And it was working. 

Leo chanced a glance at Mikey - his eyes had shut, but he was reforming. Blue light filled in the cracks, Mikey's arms slowly taking shape once again. 

Leo grinned, tears slipping down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and squeezed tighter, sobbing into the embrace. He felt like something was being ripped from his very being, but it'd be worth it. It'd be worth it to keep Mikey safe. 

The current continued. He willed it to continue until Mikey was fixed, until he was better and every piece of him was back in place. The ground swayed beneath him with each pulse of energy that left his body, but he had to keep going. He had to fix his brother. 

Something was changing for him, too, but he couldn't place it. 

It didn't matter. 

He couldn't stop until Mikey was back together again. 

He rode out the feeling of nausea. He could do this. 

He could do it. 

" I got you, little brother, " He murmured, letting the feeling take over. The blue light consumed him - he felt himself slipping away and checked once more to be sure it had worked before letting himself succumb to the blue light of his own powers. Everything was hazy and blue and he felt lighter than air. His heart was racing, his breath coming out in ragged pants. 

He felt himself fall into Raph's side, someone saying something. He couldn't hear them. 

Mikey was safe. Mikey was safe and he had done all he could. 

As long as Mikey was safe, he could rest. 

He could finally rest. 

Donnie was not a fan of all this mystic stuff. Even if he had somewhat mastered his own powers, his brothers' powers still eluded him. Especially now that Mikey had mystic hands or whatever. Raph's clone thing was somewhat more tangible ( literally ), but Leo and Mikey's abilities still felt too unreal to explain. He'd tried once to take a scientific approach with Leo's portals and met a wall. 

He couldn't even begin to explain what seemed to be a literal demon living in Mikey's weapon - not to mention the whole chain and fire business - it was all too much for him to comprehend. He was somewhat relieved when he'd gotten his nunchucks back - at least there wasn't some sort of creature living in them. He hoped. 

But this took it to a new level. 

It was one thing for Mikey to open an interdimensional portal, it was another to watch Leo use his powers to fix Mikey's dissolving form. 

And then to watch him shrink into blue light and become a small child. He felt the same as when Mikey had opened the portal, Leo's powers seeping into his arm and pulling something from him - pulling his energy from him. His skin had crackled and lit up just like Mikey's, but with a brilliant blue light shining through it. And he didn't dissolve into nothingness like Mikey had been doing. 

His first thought was time travel, but his second thought was what if this Leo had sustained the same injuries? 

He could worry about the why's and how's later, for now they all needed immediate medical attention. He couldn't see anything outwardly, but it was hard to tell when Leo was entangled within his wraps and sash, the pieces of fabric too large for him now. 

" Raph, call April, Papa and Casey Jr. And tell them to meet us at the lair, " He informed, taking a deep breath so he could keep it together. He'd had a lot of ups and downs for the past few minutes, but he could keep it together to play family doctor for a bit. 

Mikey was awake, at least, and was no longer dissolving into thin air. He sat up, staring in surprise at the literal child that had replaced Leo. Or, was Leo. Was Leo - but was also a child. Ugh, it was too much to think about right now. He'd have to file the time travel nonsense away for now. 

" did…did everyone else see that?" Mikey stammered out, his eyes moving from his arms to Leo, " I'm - he healed me!" 

" yes, and probably not without major consequences - oh would you look at that, major consequences, " he motioned to Leo. Or tot Leo. Little Leo. He wasn't sure What to call him. Hopefully it wouldn't be a problem for too long. 

Raph had broken from his own shocked stare to do as Donnie had asked, currently on the phone with April - if Donnie had to guess from the over exaggerated shouting on the other end. He wondered if she and their father were okay. If Casey was okay. If anyone had been majorly injured. 

Donnie caught himself beginning to zone out and shook himself out of it. Right. Act now, shutdown later. 

He pulled Leo into his arms, the kid squirming a little at the touch. 

" Stop- stop moving, " He hissed, keeping Leo close to his chest. The slider didn't seem to acknowledge him. He seemed to be just as out of it as Donnie felt. 

Donnie's mind supplied a concerning amount of reasons why, and he found himself hurrying to stand and start for the lair. They had to get home and check him for injuries fast. He mentally checked off what he remembered about concussions - pizza supreme, what if Leo had accidentally fried his brain? Was that even possible? Could mystic powers do that? 

" Donnie?" Mikey was following him. Good, they needed to get a move on. 

" We've got to hurry- if 'child Leo' has sustained the same injuries, we're working on borrowed time. We'll have to deduce why this happened later, " He rambled out, letting his feet carry him in the direction of what he hoped was the right way home. He glanced at his wrist-tech, the crack in the screen making it difficult to read. " I assume its something to do with his powers, but I don't have- I can't make a clear enough hypothesis just yet" 

He knew he was being snippy, even for him, but talking hurt. 

Opening his mouth and forming words felt like the worst thing in the world, but he willed himself to hold it together.

 Hold it together for Leo.

Kid Leo Masterpost

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 10 “Killers” is available now!

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

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King Sukuna was ready to start choosing who would be the new servants to join the castle. Even though his only job was to kill useless people and sit in the comfort of his throne, he still found it tedious and boring at times. Killing people in one cut for him is as simple as cutting a piece of paper with a pair of scissors. Amidst the gloom provided by the veils, he settled into his stately seat and yawned. “How much longer will they make me wait?” he wondered. Uraume had informed him that the number of people had increased by 30% since last year, which meant that this time he had to take care of more useless parasites. 

The faint sound of the door to his left brought him out of his thoughts. He arched an eyebrow when he saw you slowly entering the room. You looked more nervous and shy than usual, looking down at the floor in case you had already killed someone. Your yellow dress trailed softly against the marble floor until you reached the curtains that sheltered the king. Seeing him that way from, so close brought back memories. 

For him too. He couldn't believe it had been a whole year since he first saw you. A beggar he thought he would kill instantly when he saw the lousy state you had arrived in. Malnourished, dirty and with dried tears on your cheeks. You just screamed “unseemly” with your appearance. She was glad she had given you a chance. You looked like a completely different person now. If I had known you as you currently look, I would even think you were a princess from a family rotten in gold. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? You should be in class,” Sukuna scolded you with a stern tone even though on the inside he liked to see you. 

“Kenjaku told me that to get used to death, I must see it. He said it would help me to be able to kill someone like you asked,” you explained as you looked around. The room looked glittering. The massacre had not yet begun. You didn't know if you had arrived at the right or wrong time. 

“Is that what he said?” He asked skeptically. You nodded as you returned your gaze to his four eyes. “Not a bad idea….” He thought aloud as he scratched his chin. 

Not only will you get used to seeing him in action, you'll also become familiar with the new servants. Plus it was a great excuse to spend time with you alone. It was true that they had started archery lessons a couple of days ago, but he was so busy that he sometimes relegated that task to Kenjaku. It bothered him, but he would never admit it, not even to himself. 

“All right. Come closer then.” 

You didn't really want to, but you were already there. You stepped through the translucent fabrics until you finally faced him. You were planning to stand next to him while you watched everything, but Sukuna had other plans. He yanked you up by the waist to make you sit on his lap. Her hands gripped your body to hold you in place. It was lucky they were in the shadows because you didn't want Sukuna to see how flushed you were. It was as if every time they met, he tried to get closer to your body and each time he was more and more direct. You could hear your own heart beating like crazy from the illusion, but that couldn't be right. 

“You better not do anything stupid, you understand?” He growled in your face. You turned your face away at the intimidation. “You know what will happen if you do.” You swallowed dryly before nodding quickly.

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

[olderthannetfic]

Fanfic with noncon/dubcon, underage, and incest did not lead to me being preyed upon by my father. It took a lot of smooth talking, boundary-testing, manipulation of my perspective of events and myself (the "you're special therefore it's okay" approach to convincing a child to do something society has firmly established is wrong) and years of ongoing bursts of affection, gifts and spoiling in order to get me to "consent" (to whatever degree a ten year old can) to sleep with him. Fanfic did not teach me that incest, adult/child romance, or sex with an underage person by an adult were okay.

Fanfic authors who got really fucking concerned when I kicked in the door to yell about how A/B as a pairing was just like my dad and I hit my DMs hard and asked for details and urged me to get away from him as quickly as possible. I say authors plural because I blocked the first couple of people who tried to talk sense into me but somewhere around the fourth person gently asking for details I started to doubt the "you're special and therefore it's okay" narrative and within six months of being into A/B, a father/daughter incest pairing with an underaged character, the fic authors had untangled for me a lot of complicated feelings and planted doubts in me so successfully about how my father was using his power that I spilled the beans to my mom.

There's this idea in fandom that fic did it, fic made people get abused. Actually, though, fic didn't do it. My father did. He had more input on my life than every fanfic I had ever read and put in a lot of work to get me to a place where he could pitch sex as a loving act between two people who love and adore one another in a society that's too backwards to understand that there are exceptions to the normal rules of what's right and what's wrong. I didn't get groomed by a fanfic, I got groomed by the one family member I lived with, who by virtue of being the only family member I had spent more than a few days with had inherently a very large amount of power over me.

Fic authors, unrelated women from other states and other countries, all acting independently of one another, stopped it.

I get that antis love the idea that my dad wasn't responsible for my abuse, some 25 year old writing A/B in their studio apartment is, but no matter how hard they try to take blame off of him to put it onto someone neither of us ever met, at the end of the day the person responsible for pedophilic, incestuous abuse... is the pedophile fucking his only child. It's him. He did it. He put in a lot of work to do it, it wasn't an idea a fic put in his head that he randomly acted on, he worked at making it happen in a way his conscience could live with for years, and he would not have been stopped if only media didn't write so many father/daughter couples with ten year olds that we were meant to support. Media doesn't show that, for one thing, but more importantly, even if media did, the man made years' worth of repeated decisions to get me onboard with it so he could (he thought) get away with it and do it without guilt.

To me, the "fic did it" argument is basically the "your dad didn't do it" argument. It does not blame a grown man for acts of abuse that he undertook knowingly and willingly. It doesn't blame him for anything.

And to me, that's what dangerous about antis. The abuser is never at fault for abusing someone, even a child, according to their worldview and the abuser had no choice in the matter, somehow. The real culprit is someone who wrote something that has a hundred hits on FFN or AO3, not the man who crawled into bed with a ten year old.

The last person who told me it wasn't his choice to do what he did was my dad. That's what anti rhetoric reminds me of.

--

[prince-liest]

i know you didn't mean anything bad by it, but it really discouraged me to see you rb that anti-reader-insert post. i write and enjoy both reader-insert and shipfic (my 2016 baby-in-fandom roots were in shipfic, but i'm pretty active in the reader-insert community as well these days). i really look up to you as both a current med student would to a resident (i'm an m2) and a writer would to a more-experienced/established writer, so i guess seeing you agree with a post that disparages a part of the fanfic community that we both engage in made me feel upset.

i definitely understand where people come from when they complain about xreader fics flooding the tags. i've felt that exasperation and annoyance of scrolling through the tags both on ao3 and tumblr, searching for fanart or shipfics of my favorite characters, only to be inundated with reader-insert works that i'm not in the mood to read. so, i get it.

i guess my point is: i look up to you. i really enjoy your writing. and because of my parasocial connection to you (i.e., enjoyment of your fandom takes and writing), it hurt my feelings that you seem to hold a pretty negative opinion about a side of the fandom writing community that i happen to pour a lot of myself into.

please don't feel pressured to respond to this at all-- residency is hard enough without some random anon on the internet nagging at you about some random reblog that is not nearly as important as patient care or saving lives. i don't even really know what the purpose of telling you this was; i'm not trying to change your opinion about reader-insert or anything like that. i think i just wanted to let you know how i felt seeing your reblog, with no expectations that you do anything with that information /gen. but yeah. i hope you're able to get some rest and take some time for yourself soon, and i look forward to continuing to your fics in the future.

Hey, there anon! First of all, it may make you feel better to know that I actually have absolutely nothing against x reader fics at a baseline. It's not my thing, I don't read it, but I don't have enough of an opinion on it to dislike it. I'm a big proponent of "write what you want" and while I've never written x reader content, I've roleplayed plenty of canon x OC ships back in the day, and write a lot of stuff that needs the dead dove tag. This post, to my understanding and in my intent, was meant to express humorous frustration with the ongoing issue specifically of a lot of x reader fics (particularly in the last several months, I suspect either because of Tiktok or due to Twitter's downward spiral) being tagged with irrelevant tags. I've actually had to ask on multiple posts something like "Why is this tagged with [canon ship]?"

Most people have kindly removed the tag and explained that they thought it was good exposure and didn't realize that wasn't how things work on Tumblr, which is great, but it's still frustrating that it's hard to scroll through a lot of tags without seeing lengthy and explicit x reader fics that are either tagged with unrelated ships/characters/fandoms, or undertagged with blockable x reader tags.

Even if I did dislike x reader, though, I just want to emphasize to you: I really appreciate that you look up to me and I'm really happy that I'm able to provide some encouragement to you in the form of someone with a similar creative hobby on the same career path, but also, my opinions on matters of personal taste really don't matter. I am, at the end of the day, A Random Person On The Internet Who Has A Blog, and I encourage you to look at opinions of mine that grate on you and think: "Eh. Just another random person I don't happen to agree with. Whatever, I guess." and move on, because in the long run this will be more fair to both yourself and me. There are indeed actually popular but harmless parts of fandom that I'm growing to dislike a little bit, and it feels strange to be unable to casually refer to or joke about that without being worried that it will hurt someone's feelings that I don't personally like the same thing they do. This is actually some of why I'm on Tumblr and not Twitter - the parasocial issues tend to be stronger on there! I confess that I don't really know exactly what to do about this problem yet, but I'm going to endeavor to not censor myself (as long as I'm not being a dick, ofc) while also encouraging people to not put me up on too much of a pedestal.

At any rate, I'll clarify in the tags of the post what I meant by my reblog, and I hope this at least offered some reassurance to you!

[maximwtf]

“The sun’s down.”

Baizhu x Reader

Words: 2900

Google Docs Pages: 4,1

Warnings: Small injury, established relationship but nothing more than a few kisses and pet names, hurt/comfort, Baizhu is worried about you >:( small spoilers from his quest

Opening: You’ve found something interesting in your research, making you stay up late for multiple nights in a row while working. Baizhu frowns upon cutting from your sleeping time, but doesn’t say anything until it truly seems to start affecting your health.

AN// Reader can be any gender! This is very much self indulgent. I might have survived yet another fever but the joint pain hasn’t gone anywhere, and my wrist now hurts enough that writing this was a pain. On top of this, I requested an ao3 account, so maybe a piano will fall on me by the time I finally get one (or something along the lines of that). Who knows, the fanfic writer curse is real.

“The sun’s down.”

What now felt like forever ago, Baizhu had told you about the contract with the white snake that seemed to be glued around his neck. He’d told you of his deep interest in immortality and how he had been trying to pursue this interest. How he was researching some form of medicine that would maybe grant this everlasting life he so desperately craved after. 

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say you hadn’t been a little taken back by the idea at first. The whole contract part had almost gone over your head, and the reason for it was even more absurd to your mind than anything else. Sure, you were interested in herbs and their possible medical use as well, just like him. But you’d never go as far as to take up on a contract such as he had. It almost sounded like he was fighting against time every second of his life as it was now. Every free moment he had away from patients feeding on his life force were spent thinking of a way to make his seemingly impossible quest possible. And when he wasn’t working on that, he was doing his best to make it to another day after treating more severely ill patients. 

But you also knew that even if you’d known him before the contract, he wouldn’t have listened even if you’d begged for him to not take up on it. He wasn’t one to turn his back to such power, nor did he have it in him to let someone else with a weaker mind to bear such bother on their shoulders. He was invested in making the spiral of contracts end with him for good. And all you could do was help him achieve this mission. 

So, whenever you had the time, you travelled around Teyvat and researched different plants and herbs. This allowed you to bring them back to Baizhu for further research, knowing he himself wouldn’t have ever had the time nor the health to perform such long trips. Only, you had to remind yourself to be careful. He deeply frowned upon the trips where you returned even slightly injured. Repeating the same speech each time of why you shouldn’t get into danger for his sake. That he could do this himself, if otherwise it meant the research would affect your health as well. And you knew he was serious when he said that. He truly and honestly didn’t want to bother anyone with his health and the contract he had made on his own accord. And telling a man like him that he wasn’t a bother and that you cared about him never helped. He wouldn’t listen, even if he knew of your care and worry for his life. Because again, he reminded himself of the bother he’d made of himself by even telling you of the contract in the first place. 

After the last trip you’d taken, you had found something new. Plants you hadn’t researched before and as of right now, they seemed promising. Not something that would automatically concoct an immortality potion, but something that could potentially help with the making of one. But to find out if this could be one of the possible ingredients, you had to sit down and think. Think and write out any possible outcomes and possibilities plants such as these could have. 

So you had taken out all of your books on plants, found chapters with similar plants and begun to read, think and write down everything you could find. It didn’t take long for you to realise the true length of a process such as this. Not that you hadn’t done something like this before, but it had been a while. And even the last study you had done hadn’t been as large as this. 

Of course, you had informed Baizhu of the study you had picked up. He’d been accepting of it, knowing you were just passionate about helping him achieve his goal. But what he hadn’t foreseen was the time this project was going to take. Not only did he worry half the time when you were gone on your trips, but he began to worry about the new habit you had picked up. Staying up late, cutting time from sleeping to maximise the time around the research. 

He had put off lecturing you about it for a while, but the first time he saw you nod off in the middle of the day was when he decided the habit had gone far enough. If you were so tired that you kept falling asleep against your will during daytime, you clearly weren’t getting enough sleep during the night. 

So he waited, waited until the next night rolled around once more. He found you seated at your usual spot, eyes going over pieces of text from a book before moving to your own notes and noting something down quickly. His brows furrowed, eyes becoming a little more serious than before. Even in the dark he could tell how tired your eyes seemed, begging for rest. An awful sight which twisted something in his chest. “Dear?” He called out in his usual tone, voice a little quieter than usually, as to not wake up Changsheng. This still caught your attention almost immediately, half lidded eyes turning to Baizhu. The sight of him erasing the more serious look from your face, a faint smile replacing it. “Yes?” You lowered your hands to the table, letting go of the page you’d been holding previously. “You do know staying up like this is detrimental to your health?” He said, and you could have sworn you heard a sigh escape him right after. The seriousness on his face had disappeared, one of worry staring down at you. You chuckled, trying to ease the mood that had settled as the conversation went on. “I’m only doing this page, I’m coming to bed straight after. Promise”, you nodded straight after as if trying to assure him further. His eyes looked to the side for a moment, wanting to argue with the fact that he’d seen you nod off. But then again he didn’t wish to call you out like this was some kind of serious argument. “Very well”, was all he said. You could see his shoulders ease out a little but the worry never left his face. Though it was not very apparent, you could only tell it was there from the years of companionship you’d had with the man. He was criminally good at hiding his emotions when he wished to do so. 

And with that he had left you alone to finish the page you’d been working on. Though, the research had tempted you enough to work a little longer than that. It was only when you’d begun to feel your wrist ache a little that you’d seen it best to stop and get some rest. Thankfully Baizhu had fallen asleep by that time, making it a little easier to slide under the covers and get some shut eye. Though, that didn’t cancel out the slight guilt you felt about taking longer than you had promised. 

But by the morning, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed the extended time you’d taken. Only, the wrist pain from last night hadn’t disappeared. Not only that, but it felt like it had gotten worse. Certain positions hurt enough to gain a slight gasp from you and having your hand relaxed felt a little awkward too. Not even mentioning that any sudden movements like shaking your hands was a no as well. You even thought of putting something to still the range of movement your wrist had for the day, but if you did that Baizhu would without a doubt lecture you on the project and the toll it had taken on your health. 

But even with the pain and slight tiredness, the mornings were always peaceful. The smell of fresh fruit and breakfast comforted you no matter the mood you might have been in in the morning. And that portion of each day felt like a puzzle that wasn’t missing any pieces. 

You felt the presence of Baizhu as his back was turned to you. He’d sat down to eat, which you intended on doing as well. You reached into a cabinet for tea, knowing the kind Baizhu liked wasn’t the one you preferred. So the one on the table mustn't have been the one you were looking for. Only, the teas were kept high up in the cabinet. This usually wasn’t a problem for either of you, but this morning the placement couldn’t have been more inconvenient for you. Your hand almost got to the teas, but before you could get it down you twisted your wrist. It caused a silent wince to escape you, but as silent as you’d tried to make it, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Baizhu’s sharp eyes were on you, his lips parting as he was clearly interested in questioning you of what had happened. “Haha, silly me. Thought the package was going to fall on me!” You tried to giggle off the fading pain, biting your inner lip in hopes that the excuse had been good enough. Of course it hadn’t, but Baizhu only frowned lightly. “Do you need me to get it for you?” He asked, placing his hands on the edge of the table, ready to stand up. “No! It’s okay.” You quickly nodded, flashing him a smile before fighting through the pain as you swiftly grabbed the tea and brought it down to you. It hurt, but admitting to your bad habit would have hurt even more. It wasn’t even about your ego, but instead seeing him worry for you when you were doing the whole research for his sake that hurt even more than any wrist pain could. 

You eventually sat down with him, enjoyed your breakfast and followed him to the pharmacy as he opened the place up and let patients in. You spending the rest of the day out of his way and continuing the research project. It was apparent that the pain had been caused by the immense writing you’d suddenly started doing. And it must have agitated something in your hand to cause pain from your wrist to elbow and back down to your fingers. But that was only one hand down, you still had one perfectly working hand to use and you weren't going to waste anymore time pondering about such minor issues when you had work to do. The secrets the new plants withheld weren’t going to solve themselves. 

The day passed quickly this way, and only the sound of the last patient thanking Baizhu and leaving got your attention. With no breaks taken yet again, you could feel your lower back ache. Nothing bad, but you noted that a better chair could help to avoid it down the line. 

Baizhu came around to your table, eyes quickly scanning the freshly written pages in front of you. Something of relief passed through his body as he saw some clear conclusion markings on the pages, indicating that you’d come to some kind of conclusion with the research that day. “Would you mind giving these to Qiqi, I have something to go and fetch.” He asked gently, placing two wrapped packages on the side of the table. “Mhm, of course.” You hummed, putting down the book that you’d been reading. “Much obliged, dear”, the man said before heading off. You gently pushed the chair you’d been on back, taking a gentle hold of the packages before heading for the front desk in the search for Qiqi. Nowhere to be found, you stood still, looking around for her. 

It had taken you quite a while to catch a glimpse of her, but eventually you’d been able to call her over. Only, by that time Baizhu had made it back as well. He was able to observe you pick up the packages once more and attempt to hand them over to Qiqi. Though, doing this with one hand had proven to be the wrong move. They weighed quite a bit and caused your wrist to complain about the strain put on it. You winced, almost dropping both of the packages. Thankfully Qiqi had been close enough to catch the one that had fallen, carefully accepting the last one you offered her. She seemed to know what they were for and hurried to take them wherever she’d been told to drop them off at. 

You scrunched your nose a little while caressing the wrist. “Dear, are you alright?” The all too familiar voice of Baizhu’s called out, concern clear in it. “Ah, it’s nothing. Really.” You sighed off the initial shock of finding him in the same space, shoulders relaxing. “Then I assume you wouldn’t mind if I had a look?” The doctor asked, clearly already assured that something was wrong. And he was right too, if you truly were fine there would have been no reason to run from the questions. You’d been caught. “Very well. Go ahead, doctor.” You sighed, reaching out your arm for him. He raised his eyebrows for a moment, looking at you before lowering his eyes to your hand. 

His hands felt smooth as he took a hold of yours. He was always gentle, even now when he seemed a little frustrated with the way you’d been deceiving him. He kept his eyes keenly on your hand, which was a performance you couldn’t even attempt. Chewing on your inner lip, your eyes were fixated on him. He gently pressed along the muscles of your hand, moving along to your wrist. Nothing. His eyes narrowed, gently turning the hand up and pushing it further with his own palm. Nothing. Not out of options, he pushed your hand down, making you bite down on your lip just a little harder. But he felt the way your hand tensed up. Gently, his fingers slid along the ink stained skin of your hand. He turned it around, the palm facing him. Intertwining his fingers with yours, the hold got a little stronger as he used his hand to push yours down once more. A silent ‘ah-’ gave him a mark to stop but also confirmed his initial worries. Careful, he lifted your hand back to a more comfortable position. “Does it hurt if you shake your hands?” He asked, the question so specific you had to think for a moment. Think all the way back to this morning when you’d washed your hands and shook them dry before using a towel. The shaking had hurt enough for you to stop the action completely. “On occasion,” you muttered, voice now more defeated than ever. “You’ve been working far too much. You’ve given your body a proper shock by switching its natural rhythm.” He spoke surprisingly gently while turning around and swiftly picking up some bandages. But at the end of the day his reaction shouldn’t have come as a surprise. This was the most patient man you knew, and he somehow kept it together no matter what came his way. And you’d found that when it came to you, he couldn’t find it in him to be mad. If only ever so slightly frustrated, but even that seemed to have been rooted in care, not malice or hate. He knew rushing others and being impatient wasn’t going to help anything or anyone. 

“But I’m almost done. Well at least I suspect so.” You automatically chirped out a protest, eyes keenly following as he leaned forward and carefully began to wrap your wrist. You didn’t pull away, watching as the roll got thinner the more he applied it on you. “Too tight?” He asked, seemingly having ignored what you’d just said to him. You gave him a look for that, knowing he most likely missed it as his focus was elsewhere. To answer his question, it was rather tight but that meant it was going to hold better. Just what you’d been craving since the morning. “It’s good”, you replied and observed as he held the end of the bandage in place and used his other hand to grab a clip which he stretched out to hold the bandage in place. “There. Now, I’d suggest you go and rest early.” He took a pause, but spoke up again early enough so you couldn’t protest immediately after. “And I’m not saying this as your doctor. Please, dear.” He sighed, perhaps without even noticing he gave your hand a squeeze. Your mouth opened ever so slightly, a protest you’d prepared at the tip of your tongue. Though something stopped you, dragged you back from saying it out loud. “Sure, thank you.” Your gaze rose up to his face. A more warmer smile appeared on his face, his hands gently slipping away from yours, slowly like he didn’t want to let go. You gave the wrist a little test of endurance. What had felt painful before felt much better now. Baizhu seemed to have noticed this too as he straightened his back. 

His hand carefully placed itself just below your shoulder, gently pushing your forward. “And now, we’re going to rest.” Baizhu said calmly, but you could hear the tiredness from his own voice. He’d spent his own life force today, but as always he hid that well. And you didn’t question him about it either. “The sun’s down.” A whisper hit your ear as he gave your cheek a tender kiss. The way he was now eased any worry you might have had, willingly following him to a bed which now felt a lot more inviting than before. 

AN// Now, about ao3, since I most likely won’t be making a separate post about it. I won’t post anything new there, only cross post the fanfics from this blog that I like the most. Since I know a lot of ao3 users don’t use tumblr ! But tumblr will still be my main platform for anything I write, and most likely will have even more content since AO3 will be only for my personal favourites :”D

[viablemess]

Let Me Be Your- (Polites Centric Fanfic)

Before Polites’ was Odysseus’ reminder to greet the world with open arms, he was many other things to the King of Ithaca. This story explores what those things were.  Polites is my comfort character so naturally I must write about his history. Very rough draft drabble stage currently and may post it on AO3 soon, but wanted some initial feedback. Thanks!

Stranger (Chapter 1/6?)

The first time Polites met Odysseus, he did not even go by the name Polites. In fact, he remembered very little of the meeting itself. He remembered what he did not like, and how those factors were mitigated afterwards, but that meant little to him in the moment. 

All Polites remembered, really, was chaos. He did not even know what chaos as a word was, but he knew things were anything but normal. People were screaming, fleeing, and fighting–who was fighting who, the child was not even sure. He just knew to run. That was the last thing his parents had said, and so he listened. He was good at listening, good at doing what he was told, good at following orders. So, listen he did. He ran, and ran, and ran until his legs could not anymore. He ran away from the fires and the buildings, the screaming and the blood, until he reached a tiny camp surrounded by otherwise mundane plantlife. He stared, and before he could even think about his actions, he collapsed into the center of it, ignorant to the hollering questions off in the distance. 

When he woke up, it was to voices. They sounded annoyed. 

“What do we do with a child?”

“He’s the enemy, I think I know what-”

“You forgot that he’s a child, you dipshit-” 

“What’s even the difference?”

His eyes opened and he scrambled backwards, right into another body. This one was not like the others, not covered in armor and so much bigger. This boy was close to him in height and stature, and without thinking, he ran behind the other boy, grasping at his shoulders as if using him as a shield. 

“Unhand the prince-”

“No.” A commanding voice said, and he ducked down, behind the boy. The boy turned towards the new voice on instinct and without hesitation. “Odysseus, this boy is the same age as you. What would you do with him?”

The boy–Odysseus–took a deep breath. “What do you mean, father?”

“I mean would you spare him, or not? He is our enemy, and he is a child. I took you with me so you can learn more, and based on what you have learned, what would you do with him?” 

He let go of Odysseus as if burned, and ran backwards behind a nearby tree, but it felt as if there were soldiers everywhere now–all around him, limping and moaning back towards camp in a cacophony of reunification. He grabbed onto the bark of the tree with trembling fingers. 

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Odysseus said, looking between his father and him. “Right?”

He shook his head. How could he have done something wrong if his family was attacked for no reason? Or at least no reason that he could remember. He just remembered being told to run. “I–I have not.” 

“They all say that, kid,” said a voice from afar. The man told them to be silent. 

“I don’t even know what I could have done wrong,” he said, a tremble beginning in his voice. No, no–his parents told him to be strong, even in the face of powerful people, and a prince certainly was powerful, so if he wasn’t–then–then-

“He should be spared then,” said Odysseus, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

Odysseus’ father nodded. “Very well. I will respect your decision, Odysseus.” 

He said nothing. He simply held onto the tree, even as Odysseus approached him and reached out a hand. “Hi, I’m Ody. I can take you, if you want.” Not take care of you, but take you. He frowned. 

“What does that mean?”

That appeared to bring Odysseus up short. “I mean, like a slave. I can take you, so you’re with someone your own age and not with who knows who. I will make sure you’re looked after and stuff.” Really, what more could he hope for? He still had his mother’s blood on him, Gods knew everything would come crashing down eventually. 

“Um,” He reached out and shook Odysseus’ hand. “Very well. Thank…” he did not know if he should look at the king or the Prince Odysseus. He tried to stand up straighter. “Thank you.” 

“What will you call him?” The man asked. 

Odysseus frowned. “What’s your-”

“No,” the man interjected. “You name him, Odysseus.” 

He stared and waited. Odysseus looked deep in contemplation. “You said that slaves are like how I learn to treat animals and tools, right? And that without animals and tools and goods a city isn’t worth much?”

A slightly exasperated sigh followed. “Not in those words, but perhaps.” 

“So… I should treat him like I treat any citizen. Any member of the polis. What do you think of Polites?”

He stared. “I’m sorry?”

“The name. Polites. What do you think?”

It wasn’t his, but it was a name–it was a sign they would keep him alive. “I like it,” he said, sounding the name on his tongue. 

“Good!” Odysseus beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well then, Polites, it is good to meet you. I’m Odysseus of Ithaca.”

[blurredout10]

This Is Not A Date

Upgraded Connor (RK900) | Nines/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 5560

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, emotionally curious nines, groping, smut, p in v sex, rough, kinda soft kinda not lil boi

Link to AO3 here or continue below cut:

You envied him, really.

Holding down a forefinger, the imprint fogging your phone screen, the victim of your poking quite literally quivered under your fingertips; a damn bloody dating app. Its cornered ‘x’ be the only good idea it gave you since its offered romantic prospects surely weren’t.  

It shakes a violent plead of mercy, like the castle clown prancing joyously, a jingle bell on its neck collar shaking its head desperate no’s where you snapped two fingers for its forthcoming executions. Disappointing. As per usual.  

But punishing the joker meant nothing if its replacement came from the same circus. You downloaded another app, pinky peach hearts pictured on a mobile symbol, your expectations had sunk passed the depths of hell.  

You were no less given the attention, a text ping except for a joker's bell. Despite Detroit’s ever-growing gene pool with the doubling population of both humans and androids, your huddle of situationships barely satisfied you, lacking a spark you so craved. Matches appeased your eyes, descriptions void of icky pick-up lines, but with every other text you were sent, something scrunched up your face worse than the last.   

“Why are people so boring?” you vented to the brioche-scented air, very much aware that fine-tuned android ears had spaced out. You’d grown to suffer alone.  

He didn’t have to worry about bearing the weight of carried conversations, he was perfect. Bloody hell looked it too.  

Nines envied you equally, but for the opposite reasons.  

There hadn’t been a day's rest of his HUD, notifications running haywire like sugar-induced children running laps in a playground. But even little humans collapsed in exhaustion — you did a lot of that — and energy was spent, Nines’ string of leeching matches never tired. 

“How tall are you?”  

“Glad we matched! My place or yours?”  

“How big did they make you?”  

“Boring indeed,” silencing the utter mess of thirsty texts, he turned his attention back onto you, a croissant half-stuffed in a stun where you hadn’t expected an answer. Flakes stuck to your lip as you chewed, fluttering eyelashes moaning for you at the fill of French delectables. Your reactions amused him. People were boring, indeed.

You, however, were quite interesting.   

Many months of a developed friendship had the both of you puzzlingly closer. Intending to better work efficiency, Nines fed into your friendly advances, but he hadn’t expected to actually enjoy your company. You two had clicked like polar forces, self-fashioned laws of physics in your own little world together.   

Nines, surprisingly, was a pretty handsome wall to talk to. You enjoyed every little teenage-like whisper of gossip you shared, to which the android’s sharp ears picked up on the latest in the DPD. You’d grown accustomed to his partially stiff persona as he did to your free-spirited one. The moon to your sun, and he surely brightened in your gifted happiness. Kindred souls hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, you were there for him, and he was there for you.  

Nines scoffed at deleting another chat thread with a persistent match mate.  

It started as a joke. ‘I can get more bitches than you,’ though you knew you were speaking out of your ass. You did not, dare you say could not get more bitches than a man who mastered being a man, despite being made plastic and steel.   

Eyes blue like arctic winds, soft but intimidatingly focused in burning through flesh, his face sculpted unfairly to turn heads his way. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist that looked good in anything, even you could admit that. You were no stranger to getting asked about his romantic status.   

The sheer size of him shifted uncomfortably in the little bakery’s equally little seats, shoulders swallowing the back of his chair as if his steel spine served a replacement. Discomfort, albeit making him stir again to lean forward with a frustrating twitch of brows, was still foreign to him; a bitterness that squirmed deep in his chassis. It had taken a while to identify and label the feeling.   

Experience was the tutor in the study of emotional understanding. Experience was his guide to an emotionally coloured world and discomfort was by far the dullest, sluggish and unattractive hue he’d come across.  

Nines heard an audible moan deep from your chest, satisfaction making you lick buttered fingers clean. Your palate cleansed except for pastry bits on your plate, following a trail to your lap, above your chest and still on your bottom lip. You, however, were that bit of colour that sagged his shoulders, the bit of colour that made him agree to silently accompany your weekly brunch ravishment.   

His chest shook in a chuckle at seeing you no less a mammal in its habitat, wild and careless, waving away thrown looks at your poor table etiquettes. Hair frenzied in a mess, your posture slouched as if you owned the ground around you, you had a flair of contentment with everything you did. Interesting human, indeed.   

“I wasn’t aware wearing your afternoon brunch was socially acceptable,” he quipped and your eyes widened, patting hands rubbing away crumbs that doubled his laughter. Croissant bits projectile in his direction, ultimately landing on the table and his lap. 

Your phone announced itself, a text ping waking up your screen with the surprising icon of a newly downloaded dating app. Flat on the table, Nines perked in out of curiosity. Your spread grin was better at drawing his attention.   

It could only mean one thing.  

“I’ve got a date on Friday.”  

-.—.-  

It just happened.   

Somehow in some weirdly fated way, you and Nines had your dates aligned. When you’d dress up for a dinner evening, he’d be suited up for one couple of roads down. The forgotten competition falling into a routine of complimenting each other’s outfits, you pointlessly fixing his collar and escorting either into another’s hands.   

As expected, you’d gasp at the sight of his fitted dress shirt, threaded buttons pulled taunt to the rise and fall of his chest. Bigger biceps smoothed into the arms of his blazer, an icy pair of eyes that’d drop anyone to their knees; you watched appreciatively, blessing your eyes with what his dates would be so lucky to sit across.   

Dang, he looked good. Who needed dinner if desert sat inches away?  

And he’d eye you similarly, following the curves and dips of your dresses, a taunting hug of fabric an extension of your skin leaving little to the imagination, not that he had any. Loose silk that hung low, embraced your thighs just right, it was enough to have you smiling at your reflection. You liked to look like this, beautifully sexy, earning heart eyes from victims you’d never contact again.   

Nines was effortlessly attractive, but you sure believed you were too, and confidence was already half the charm. There was a reason your dating race lingered neck-and-neck, people wanted him and people wanted you.  

Still, you didn’t understand why serial dating was so damn hard.   

Nines excused his admiring as a friendly reciprocal to yours and then you interlinked arms, trotting in pretty shoes to leave some date awestruck.   

Struck, definitely, so much so they didn’t show.   

“Fucking flunked on me,” all of your hours getting ready wasted for nothing. A dangling table light held you in spotlight, the universe laughing at your misery. The waiter dared to make a brief visit, scurrying away when you shot daggers, Phone glued to your ear, you lined a fork with distracted fingers, “I went through all that effort, for what?”  

“He dodged a bullet,” Nines teased, a smirk leaking into your speakers. You groaned annoyingly, a tad bit hurt though you’d never mention it. Nines only chuckled, “are you not hungry?”  

“Of course, I am,” your volume had diners eavesdropping, you lowered it, “but I’m not gonna sit here and eat alone like some… loner .”  

An elderly woman leaned into your line of sight, doing little to mask her judgement.  

“It’s embarrassing,” you sighed, straightening up subconsciously. Nines remained silent, a little something nagged you, “tell me you have better luck than me.”   

He did. Unlike you, Nines was glad his date didn’t show.   

“Unfortunately, detective, I have been cancelled on too.”  

“No. Way.”  

So, obviously, the next step pretty much carved itself out. You were both in need of a nice dinner, dressed to impress, and without your respective dates. Nines took no longer than necessary to join you, filling in the void of an empty seat as you did for him.   

This happened again, from your silk dress to a casual getup, and again, from fancy dining to amusement parks. From black tie gallery visits to turtleneck picnic dates. You found it harder to believe Nines was getting cancelled on when he kept miraculously showing up.   

It wasn’t a date, even if it always looked like it and you’d get ready as such. Painted lips smiled at him rather than some other guy, and neither of you was complaining about it.   

Upon reaching the front of the queue to an ice cream cart, did someone first state the obvious.   

“Here’s one for you and a drink for your partner.”  

You stilled, “oh, we’re not- he’s not-"  

“Thank you,” Nines took your waffle cone, giving it a tasteful lick before handing it to you. He walked away before you could protest.   

“What was��that?” You fell behind his longer strides struggling, Nines always found it amusing.   

“What was what?” Pale flickers of his eyes were a tell of his naivety, “are we not partners?”   

Work ones, sure. “Pretty sure she was calling you my date.”   

For his advanced prototype kinks, he hadn’t preconstructed that theory. It was his turn to freeze, the ice of his irises solidifying the rest of his body, the only tell that he hadn’t fallen stasis being an amber spin on his temple. His abrupt halt had you bumping into his back with a grunt.   

Though your complaints died into laughter at seeing him so… off guard.   

“It’s not so bad,” you nudged him, elbow meeting his midriff, its proximity to his thirium pump regulator pulled a heavy huff through his voice. You winked, “you’d be lucky to score with me.”  

Park attendees walked in their chatter, dogs let off their leashes, rolling in the glass with both furry flesh and synthetic plastic alike. Families shared inside jokes, children playfully screaming on the lake’s perimeter. Information coded everywhere in his scans, the broken grid of his deviancy reminding him of his freedom.

But he grew overwhelmed around you.

The past few mutual flunks hadn’t exactly been… mutual. The moment you’d text him your date was boring, or the guy left you hanging again, he’d be the one to disappear mid-mingling and scurry away to accompany you. Surely, that’s what it meant to be a good friend, right?  

He wasn’t looking to replace your flings. He just merely wanted to be there for you. Be a light of colour as you had been for him so many times before.   

Nines blinked erratically, warning ambers giving him away.   

“Jeez, I’m not that bad,” you joked but he caught wrinkled brows of concern, following another lighter playful nudge on his arm. The contact teetered on the edge of overwhelming his processors.  

Neither of you talked about it.  

On came another Friday evening, a ping reminding you of a ‘Tomas’ looking forward to seeing you. Your dressing table mirror applauded the artistry of makeup whilst you merrily shoed up, throwing a text back via that dating app 2.0.  

“I’m so sorry! Can we reschedule?”  

“No show again,” you sighed, lying out of your ass, “how’s that android with the green hair doing for you?” 

“I’m afraid she does not feel interested anymore,” also a lie, Nines had pretty much blocked the persistent woman.  

Getting comfortable in the back row of your local cinema, which was supposed to be Nines escapade for the day, he passed you a popcorn bag, one he’d already bought for you. Lights dimmed at the title screen, Nines sneaked a glance at you, silently admiring the palette of your makeup. Nines liked it when you played with pigments, orange and purples finely painted on eyelids, bringing out the colour of your eyes. It pleasantly stimulated him.  

“What?” Curving in a half-smile, you caught his ogling.   

“You look lovely, detective,” it was pretty much routine at this point, to compliment you. Though this time, the air hung heavier, the smile never making it to his lips, his thirium pump straining for a beat when your vitals jolted the slightest.

He said it so sincerely; why did he sound so different? Your retort wasn’t given voice, a prickle of shivers meeting your extremities in a blush, you were glad the darkness covered for you.  

You swallowed down. He cleared his throat. The movie went on. But the heat of your body, the subconscious leaning on his arm, close enough he could decode the product in your hair, the movie wasn’t plenty distraction.   

And as if rA9 evilly taunted him, a couple cornered in the cinema audibly moaned, latched onto each like horny teenagers. You bobbed your brows at him, ‘kids these days’, but your skin grew hotter, ultimately arising a glitch or two in his system.  

“The movie was great,” you gulped a smile when he walked you home, kicking lone rocks, eyes weighed to the pavement, “I guess, I’ll- I’ll see you.”  

“Yes-,” he spoke too quickly, nodding, “I wish you a good night, detective.”  

You blinked, “you too. Goodnight to you too.”  

“Thank you.” His feet shuffled, “I shall go now.”  

“Get home safe, alright? Goodnight, Nines.”  

“Take care, detective.”  

Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe it.  

-.—.-  

The competition was long gone, dating threads snipped weeks ago when you decided to delete the apps once and for all. Nines had pulled from the single scene even before you did, gulping down excuses as to why he decided to bail on all his prospects.   

“No, we’re friends,” you’d say. Friends that helped each other down a couple drinks. Friends that slow-danced at New Jericho’s fancy dress party, to which Connor had invited you both. Friends that publicly teased each other with a flutter of eyelashes and hot heavy breaths.  

“Since when were you two dating?”   

“This is not a date!”  

Said you at a party where Nines was your plus one, glued to your side like your extension.   

It was getting ridiculous.  

Eventually, neither of you spoke about seeing other people, just assuming the other would turn up. On paper, and even in person, you both looked pretty stupid in denial.   

But one night, clinking afters with your department crew, did the dusted line between friendship and something more sharpen, something that made sense in the entanglement of your not-dates with Nines.  

Officer Wesley was clear in the intention to woo you and have you in bed, playfully raking his gaze and hissing out a compliment. He leaned in closer, elbow atop the bar front with a daring smile. Admittedly, you missed the thrill of being a tease, slipping your tongue out to wrap around the straw but not enough to give him a show. Wesley caught on your game, and for the officer he was, he’d happily play cat and mouse.   

But this time, things felt different and flirting with the dirty-blonde man felt wrong. Flirting with anyone felt wrong. And you couldn’t understand why.  

You flickered in the RK900’s direction, only to find him already watching Wesley talk you up at the bar. A heartbeat thumped particularly loudly when he held your eye contact, leaning back in his booth whilst tonguing his straw similarly to how you had done it.   

Fucking hell.  

“So, how about that drink?” The officer reminded, thumbing at the display of bottles behind the counter.   

Holy shit. You didn’t want to be like every other victim to the reeling of those darkened blue eyes, you weren’t like that.   

With a double take, you caught that damn triumph smirk on his face, as if he could see exactly what that tongue did to you, being on the receiving end of it. Fuck him, you wouldn’t let him win.   

Nines’ smirk faded as soon as you gave the officer your undivided attention, edging your barstool. Your touch crawling up his arm, soft lips leaning closer to his ear and speaking just out of earshot. It had the android inexplicably grinding teeth.  

That was another thing about deviancy it had taken him a while to calibrate; urges. The urge to partake in conversation, or flee from it even, the urge to tease you to the point your cheeks were coloured tomatoes. It was this urge that had an added darkness looming over you, two icicles boring into the back of your head.   

Sixth sense tied a thick knot in your throat.  

Wesley cleared his throat too, sitting up straighter, “Nines, you ah - you good?”  

The android didn’t look it, stalking over your shoulder like he’d no less bite into your neck and suck you dry in one go. But if this officer be a conquest you wanted to take to home, Nines would personally help you put on a show.   

That’s what good friends did, right? Help each other?  

He slitted fingers between chunks of your hair, pulling your head aside abruptly, the contact freezing you in place. You gasped as he lowered his mouth, speaking to the shell of your ear but loud enough for Wesley to pick it up, “we know you want to fuck our little detective, officer.”  

Nines dragged his lips against heated skin, tongue peeking out to taste you. And just as he expected, his HUD blasted with paintballs of colour at the encoding, his pump fluttering when your lashes did so.   

His other hand dragged up your waist, curving at the shape of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples. Lips replaced his tongue, and a trail of android saliva burned into your skin in his venturing down your throat. You took a staggering breath, forcing your eyes open, not realising they had closed.

“Your advances could use some work,” Nines spoke to Wesley, the man’s larynx bobbing at the sight of you melting.   

Large palms curled inwards on your thighs, pushing them apart on display and kneading flesh through fabric. You held back a moan, biting down on the feeling of leaking arousal. God, when did Nines feel so good?  

Nines smiled against your skin, lipsing down the expanse of your neck whilst you pretty much leaned to give him more room. His tongue prodded and lined the length of your passing artery, tasting your fastening pulse, you shivered under him. Even if rendered speechless, your body did the talking.   

Wesley couldn’t decide where to look, Nines prompted further.  

“You just need a little push.”  

Fingers roughly pressing between your legs, one push of a massage that forced a moan deep from your chest, and Nines retreated, taking a large step back. Wesley looked half as shocked as you did, your jaw clenching in the realisation of what just happened.   

Nines leaned carelessly on the bar, unbothered in leaving you aroused. That was his intention, no? To give you and your prospect a push in getting things going? Which is why he blinked confusingly when you shoved him, a frustrated scowl leaving your lips before you stomped out. Wesley sat glued to his chair, still recovering. Nines ran out after you.  

Light patters of rain met his scalp upon catching up to you. You groaned when he called your name.   

“You can’t just- do that!” You yelled, frustration grating your throat, showers dampening your hair, “you can’t just-“  

The android remained still, attempting to understand you with a series of yellow circles.   

“You can’t just touch me like that, Nines!”  

But his touch had arisen positive responses, his brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”  

You stumbled, eyes widening, “why- why? What do you mean why? You can’t go around touching up random people! It’s- it’s wrong!”  

You weren’t random people. Nines processed for a moment, rain splatters snugging the fabric of his sweater against his skin. His scanners quickly caught your gulp, “did you not enjoy it, detective? I assumed he needed a little push.”  

You blinked again, dumbfounded. Who gave him the right to put on a show for Wesley? What on Earth goes on in that metal brain of his?   

“That’s not- I wasn’t going to go home with him,” water collected on your lashes, “I don’t want him.” 

A wave of understanding struck him. He had misunderstood you and his ‘help’ stood void of reason. And recalling the way he stalked over you, no reconstruction software helped in justifying what he did, because the urge didn’t do it for you, it did it for himself.  

The warmth of your chest invited him, kisses digging into the valley of your neck whilst he continually decoded the electrolyte contents of your sweat. It quite literally fuelled him.   

Deviancy was a strange thing, though the only explanation for why Nines wanted to taste you again; he wanted to hear you breathe out his name, shaking with need, begging for more.

You shivered under water pellets, the silence weighing down each of your breaths. And hidden in the muddle of conflicted feelings, you craved Nines to touch you again, give you a warmth in frozen winds. Neither of you moved, and the ghostly burn of his lips longed for his return.   

“I’m going home,” you muttered, straying away from his scanners.  

He wasn’t your date. You weren’t together. But hell, if the assumptions of such didn’t make your heart flutter, you didn’t know what will. Besides, Nines was the embodiment of allurement, poised and perfect, what would he do with the likes of you?  

Arms wrapped around to wade off the cold, teeth chattering, you blinked a few before turning away to walk to your car, the gusts of wind trying to push you back. Nines wouldn’t see you as anything more than a friend, you were sure of it, but your disappointment was cut short when a firm grip latched around your wrist.   

He twisted you, swallowing a squeak with a collided kiss. The colours returned, blinding him tenfold in pretty pinks and bubbly yellows, prompting him to press a hand firmly on the base of your skull and keep you there.   

The tension in your spine remained, but you quickly came out of shock and fervently returned the moulding of your lips with his, hand trailing the flex of his pecs, damp fabric squelching under fingertips.  

The hand on your wrist migrated to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His tongue poked into your mouth, making you gasp at the added anatomy whilst he curled around ravishingly, wet sounds amidst the ambient splashes of rain. Both of your minds dazed, Nines blinking ambers at devouring you and you suddenly patting his chest with a light push.   

He pulled back to let you breathe but returned mid-inhale, this time eagerly tilting his head to see what better fit. He made out the whisper of his name between kisses, responding with an approving groan.   

“Nines,” you tried again, water running streams down your back as it poured heavier. You wondered if hypothermia was worth it, “nines, wait-”  

He kissed you passionately, hoping to swallow the colour of lips and paint his innards as such. Though he eased, slowing to a stop and you panted onto his jaw. He took in the sight, mimicked tears streaking your blue eyeshadow and mascara under the rain, he fought the urge to prod his tongue in your mouth again.   

He awaited your rejection. As you loved to remind everyone, Nines wasn’t your date, always the friend accompanying you instead. He’d be lying if he said watching you with other people didn’t bother him.   

But you didn’t scold him, nor push him away in a fury. You smiled, a toothy grin that you failed to bite away and broke into a soft giggle, “we’re in the middle of a street,” you shook your head, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “and I’m soaking wet.”  

Nines pulled into a smirk, “you’re welcome.”  

There, the cherry rouge of your cheeks, that was another part of you he wished to consume wholly, preferably with his tongue.  

Everyone else felt wrong, but Nines felt right.  

And upon passing the threshold of your home, Nines proved the feeling to be mutual by meeting your lips again, vocally praising you when your arms wrapped around his neck. Kicking the door shut, his biceps wrapped you tight, squeezing the air in your lungs and suctioning it straight into his chassis.   

He stepped you back, tongue dancing with yours, his fingers tucking away wet hair from your face. You gasped as you hit the wall behind you, his hip bucking into yours with a noticeable erection.  

Hands rummaged under clothing, your damp shirt peeling off your skin with a gust of cold, leaving your hairs on end. The foyer’s air, however, grew dense when Nines hungrily eyed your body. Calm blue of his LED blinked an amber and he suddenly threw you over his shoulder.   

“Nines!” You shrieked, your protests dying as he caressed the back of your thigh. He carried you to your bedroom, bouncing you onto the mattress with a look that kept you frozen. You gulped in anticipation as he undressed whilst you were only stripped of your shirt.  

“Your body temperature has dropped to lower ranges,” he knelt between your legs, clasping your wrists immobile and kissing you into the sheets. You arched into him, gasping at the skin-to-synthetic contact. His lips ghosted to tongue at your jaw, a wet pad of the plastic muscle running up just below your ear.  

“I must heat you.”  

“You’re as cold as they come,” he pulled back to meet your remark, a teasing glimmer in your eyes. Nines kissed your collar, the sound of compensatory breaths prompting him to lower to your bra, unclasp it and swirl a perked nipple with his tongue.   

The moon slitted through blinds, painting him a blue that matched his temple. A warm breath breezed over your lower abdomen, fingers gripping the hem of your pants and shimmying them off. Wet skin made you sensitive to his touch, a tingling working overtime where he wrapped around your thighs, his lips hovering over your remaining underwear.   

Of all your dating partners, specifically those you had slept with, only a handful of them had been androids, and it never made it passed foreplay. Whether that be inexperience or hesitance, flings would be done after a touch-up.  

Nines had his fair share of sexual partners, learning what got people going and what fed his desires. But your unfiltered storytelling exposed you of kinks and likes that a curious android like Nines couldn’t help fantasising about.   

What would you look like under him? How did you sound when forced a rolling orgasm to ripple through you?   

A devilish smile made his lips before he took your undergarments in his teeth, lust-blown eyes watching how you shivered at the sight of him dragging them off. Wrapping around you twice as tight, he gave you a flat lick from slit to bud, pushing down your hips to stop your squirming. He was glad to find you were, indeed, soaking wet.  

Having him right there, head of brown bobbing up and down, experimentally sliding his tongue in places you didn’t know existed, the sight of him had you biting your lower lip, trying to chew down an embarrassing whimper.   

His tongue made circles around your clit, flickering left and right at a gasping pace. Your hands found his scalp, splitting his hair into sizeable chunks, holding on like the handlebars of a rollercoaster; and the way he looked at you, pupils swallowing icy blue into a predatory black, a shiver ran down your back, clenching your thighs against his biceps.  

Wet muscle prodded into your slit, eliciting a moan. You almost squealed when his thumb continued to press patterns on your clit whilst tongue-fucking you into the sheets. You pulled at the root of soft, chestnut hair, and he only picked up the pace, having you pant in line with his pace.   

You tipped over unexpectedly, crying out your orgasm with an abrupt push against his mouth. Nines crawled above you again, making you taste yourself with a deep, sharp kiss.  

To see you like this, body quivering for his touch, an undertone of pink blushing your skin, his field of vision saturated in the colour of you. He wanted more. He wanted to see you come undone again, paint you an orgasm that would stain him for the rest of his android existence. Maybe he understood why Markus created art so often, maybe abstract understanding was closer than he realised. Nines wished for nothing more than to place you high on a pedestal or pin you against the wall for reasons other than framing you a painting. 

“Every date you were bailed on,” he whispered confessions on your skin, gently lipsing your shoulders, “I cancelled mine to join you.” You stiffened under him, muscles taunt under his lips, he clarified, “I’d much rather have you than anyone else, detective.”  

Of course. You were right. Nines wouldn’t get bailed on that often, it was impossible. You mustered up enough air to speak, “if we’re confessing, I deleted the apps weeks ago.”  

Like the robot he was, he halted mid-kiss, a shifting yellow giving him away as it did back at the ice cream cart. You were both lying to each other, simply to be in each other’s company.  

You added with a tease, “you don’t have to lie to score a date with me, Nines.”  

“I thought I was ‘not a date’,” blue-greys accused you.  

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty stupid then.”  

Your smile brightened the room, despite moonlight barely filtering through your windows, corners bordering darkness. Nines mirrored the grin, dipping down to kiss you with a newfound heaviness in his chest. He pulled off his briefs, lips never leaving yours, and lined himself between spread thighs.  

Your breath hitched at the stretch of muscle when he pushed in, barely giving you time to adjust and pushing in further until he bottomed out. Or at least you hoped he did, you weren’t sure if you could take any more of him.   

Breathing in each other's pants, he rocked slowly, fingers bruising your wrists, lips bruising your neck. Nines grew desperate to see you in the colour of his lips, turning purples in broken blood vessels. His pelvis smacked again your clitoris, grinding an added stimulation, your head rolling back, moaning his name right into his ear.  

Setting a brutal pace abruptly, swallowing squeals in messy lip-locking, Nines stretched you to the teetering line of pain and pleasure, the head of his cock driving into a sensitive spot that jolted your nerves in bliss. He rutted like an animal, resting his forehead on yours, fucking you with a harsh snap of hips, your legs could only hold on for dear life. He loved to see the dip between your brows, raccoon-faced from messy makeup. It made him twitch inside of you.

“You feel so good. You look perfect,” he praised, bringing two fingers under your jaw to prompt eye contact. You met his darkened expression, his rouge curl tickling your forehead. Thumb shaping your lips, he pushed in knuckle-deep, pressing down on your tongue. You gave an instinctive suck as he growled, “you’re mine.”  

Every thrust brought about a new sound from your throat, and with your mouth forced half-open, there was little you could do to stop them. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling at a rolling orgasm, the sounds of sex driving you to buck into him as he did you.   

You were desperate, needy, and what was left of Nines’ restraint was snapped. He fucked hard, muttering profanities as he edged closer, seeing you at the mercy of everything he gave you flipping him inside out.   

He wanted to see you like this, again and again. His thumb subconsciously retracted his simulated skin, a ripple in your mouth that diverted your attention, and a glowing blue lit up from below the whites of his hand. An interface, the both of you realised. You moaned at his display of intimacy. 

Nines staggered into you, losing his rhythm. 

You looked good in blue.   

“Come for me.”  

And with sharp thrusts, you arched into a mind-blowing orgasm, limbs shaking as he continually dragged in and out to chase his own. He spilled with a throb, panting at the chance of painting you inwards as you did to him, and watched the slowed pumping of where the both of you connected.   

Though upon spotting a trail of blueish white leaking out of you, his hips bucked involuntarily, eager for another round.   

You moaned in euphoria, and that was enough for him to keep going.

It was no surprise Nines adored the sight of you decorated in his markings, growling in every painted colour you presented. So, the next steps carved themselves, and you had a great idea for your next date.   

Painting.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

kdnfb's Ten Years of Fanfiction Mania

Featuring: Unmasked

Summary: Written under an Anonymous pseudonym ~M~ to fill the following prompt ~ Historical Katniss and Peeta hate each other. They attend a masquerade ball and for some reason end up kissing each other. Sparks fly everywhere. Katniss tries to find the man behind the mask but Peeta knows it was Katniss though he doesnt say anything. They end up bethrothed even if they 'despise' each other. How they fall in love is up to u and how katniss figured out it was peeta is up to u

Rating: E for explicit sexual content, explicit language, implied/referenced rape/nonconsensual (not everlark), implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced miscarriage, discussions of illness, war, and injury in a historical setting, ptsd, minor character death. They worst of these tags happens offscreen and is merely discussed and dealt with rather than shown here.

A/N: ~Unmasked~ is my longest fic in terms of word count (around 234k), although Outside Chance and Spellbound are not too far behind and are both incomplete. Unmasked started as something meant to be fun and cathartic, then turned into a ridiculously long and self indulgent fic that I still, to this day, have no idea if the anonymous person who submitted the prompt to @everlarkficexchange even read, let alone whether or not they liked it. But I love what I produced for this fic.

Why write it anonymously and only reveal myself later? A couple reasons. 1) Historical is not my wheel house. At least not writing it. I am a shameless consumer of historical romances. I did some research for this fic but not nearly the level I would've liked to have done. Eventually, I said screw it, it's about the vibes not the accuracy. 2) I had a pile of unfinished wips when I started this, to include Outside Chance and Spellbound (both of which are still unfinished hmmmmm) and I really didn't want a lot of questions about when I was going to get back to those while I was working on this because 3) I'd just gone through a small slice of writerly hell to the point that I seriously considered deleting my entire tumblr and all of my fanfic. Details are not important right now, the result is. That's probably the closest I've ever come to calling myself done with fandom.

Then this prompt posted to EFE and wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to write it, I wanted to write it with as little pressure as possible. So I chose to write and post it as ~M~ until it was finished. Plus, I thought it might make it fun for people other than me if there was a bit of mystery behind it. And I don't regret doing that.

Writing behind a mask allowed me to be as long winded and self-indulgent as I wanted to without worrying about how tight the storyline was or how accurate the historical details were, or wondering if I'd be walking into my tumblr and a barrage of the kind of messages I'd come to dread receiving. The only thing I worried about, really was if the amount and kind of smut I included gave me away prematurely lmao.

While this was my first real foray into the realm of historical fics, I am hoping it's not the last. I've got too many ideas and half started pieces to back out of it now. But those, like this one, will probably remain untethered to a specific real place, and a specific time, mainly because I just don't have that kind of time for research if I'm not getting paid to do it lol. They will be works of love if not works of accuracy.

Unmasked on AO3

[preceriisblog]

THE ATLAS COMPLEX SPOILERS ‼️‼️

Seriously don’t read if you don’t want spoilers.

Okay so I think I’ve scrolled through all of tumblr. All thru Goodreads. Read all the terrible reviews and rants and still nothing has quelled my anger. I feel so rageful. Nothing has ever pissed me off more than this ending

How could Olivie Blake set up something as amazing as academic rivals to lovers, binary stars, meant to be soulmates in every universe AND FUCK IT UP? ARE YOU SERIOUS? HOW COULD YOU TEASE ME WITH THAT AND NOT. GIVE IT TO ME.

And the same with Novacaine??! At the very very very very least you could have at least had Tristan be the one who kills Callum.

and of course. OF COURSE. MY TWO FAVORITE CHARACTERS IN THE ENTIRE SERIES ARE THE ONE WHO DIE. are you kidding me? H O W DOES THIS CONSTANTLY HAPPEN TO ME?? AM I CURSED?

ALSO HOW ARE THERE NO FIX-IT FANFICS YET?? i’ve only seen like one new nicolibby fanfic on ao3 and like two new novacaine ones but that’s not enough to fulfill me??! what happened? did y’all rage quit (cannot blame a single soul??)

so yeah. I feel incredibly betrayed and I need to scream and cry and dig a hole and give Nico and Callum fucking Nova a hug in the afterlife because GODDAMNIT NO ONE DESERVED THEM

One last note: I have always been a Nicolibby shipper, but I would have been happy with a throuple or if Nicolibby had at least kissed once. But you couldn’t even give me that Olivie Blake??

I am shattered. I will never trust again. Use this post to rant about anything you hated about the book in the comments please. I am 100% a hater right now and I have no shame because that ending was downright malicious and fucked.

[sea-creature-things]

Slow Down Time

A huntlow fanfic

This is a huntlow story about the BIID (Boiling Isles Independence Day) and Hunter struggling with his feelings about it.

They are so cute together, enjoy <33

Read here below the cut or on AO3 with this link:

Hunter was lounging on the floor of Willow’s room, the afternoon sun shining through her curtains. Waffles and Clover were playing, flying around the giant green vines thriving around the room. Willow was sitting cross-legged next to him, writing something in her notebook.

They were surrounded by books and articles, pieces of paper scattered everywhere. Willow had an important presentation for one of her plant track subjects, so Hunter offered to help her prepare. He really just wanted to spend time with his girlfriend and, by the way she had smirked, Willow saw right through him.

Besides, if there was any kind of homework she didn’t need help with it would be plant magic.

He just really wanted to be close to her. It made him feel better, especially today. Also, listening to her talk about flowers and true roots in the evolutionary tree of plants was a nice distraction.

Waffles caught up to Clover, apparently winning a game of tag with a tiebreaker. The palismen had tired themselves out, collapsing on the little bee’s bed. They snuggled up in the sunlight, not that it offered much warmth this time of year, but they just gravitated towards it like the little plants they technically were.

As he noticed the beam of light on the floor had moved a few inches again, Hunter felt an uncomfortable feeling creep in and settle in his stomach. He was reminded that he’d have to go home for dinner soon. And soon after that he’d go to bed. And soon after that it would be tomorrow.

Another day closer to the Boiling Ilses Independence Day.

He stretched his arms and rolled over the ground, until he landed on his back with his head in Willow’s lap.

“Hi~” Hunter said, looking up at her pleasantly surprised smile. She put her notebook aside, seeing as he’d basically taken its place and forced her attention on him.

“Hey there~” She replied with a flirty tone, not minding his ploy for affection at all. Actually, she loved how comfortable he’d become with her touch. As long as she wasn’t overwhelming him of course.

She kissed her index finger and booped his nose with it, giggling at his delighted expression. Blissfully enjoying this sweet moment.

Hunter’s stomach erupted in a whole flock of butterflies. She still made him feel so weightless after a whole year. Not that it was their anniversary or anything, but it was around this time he realised how much she meant to him.

He was the last to realise though, as Gus loved to remind him.

He settled contently as Willow kept brushing her finger over his nose, closing his eyes. But the feeling didn’t last. He couldn’t keep the dread from creeping into the edges of his mind.

Her promise that he could tell her everything, anything anytime, suddenly ringing in his ears. She had beat it through his thick skull with much care and he knew it was true.

But he was still a little reluctant.

“I wanna leave.” He finally confesses, forcing it out like a terrible secret he was sworn to keep.

“Okay…?” Willow stopped brushing his nose, taken aback by his intense tone. And honestly a little disappointed too, she thought they were having a nice moment. “You can if you want to.”

Pointing her thumb over her shoulder towards the door, she gave Hunter a puzzled look. Which sent the shock of realisation through his spine.

“No!” He instantly reacted, a little too loudly. He felt his face heat up from embarrassment and paused briefly before explaining himself better. “No, not leave your house, just… leave.”

Maybe not that much better.

Willow smiled softly, he sounded so sad. She ran her fingers through his hair, wishing she could help him.

“And go where?” She decided to ask. She still didn’t really understand what he meant, but just asking for clarification didn’t feel like the right move.

“I don’t know,” he admitted downcast. He shrugged as well as he could with his shoulders essentially trapped in place by her knees. He searched his mind for anywhere he’d like to go instead. “Australia?”

“What?” She was utterly dumbfounded.

A very welcome wave of excitement washed over him as he thought about it more. He shot upright, turning around and looking at his girlfriend enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it’ll be great! We’ll pet kangaroos, feed dolphins, dodge deadly spiders.” He wiggled his fingers at her face, making her giggle as she shooed his ’creepy-crawly hands’ away. He clasp his hands together in a pleading pose. “Run away to Australia with me Willow!”

She burst out laughing and Hunter followed not long after.

“Hunter, we have school.” Willow eventually said as counterargument, as it was the only thing she could think of right now. She was still astonished by his idea and his eagerness for it. “We can’t just go to Australia.”

“We have a week off from school soon.” He smirked, completely indifferent to the absurdity of his own plan.

The more he thought about it, the more he actually wanted to travel across the ocean. Luz had told him a lot about Australia after the first time they watched Bluey. She showed a few videos on her phone and let him research some more on her laptop.

She’d explained the concept of countries way back when they were trapped in the human realm. It was very weird for them, as the other Titans were usually not inhabited and none of them had ever been away from their own Titan. But Australia was definitely his favourite, with its strange creatures that bore a striking resemblance to the demons of his home.

“Yeah, for the Ilses’ Independence Day.” Willow reminded him and it felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped on his head.

Hunter’s bright smile fell, he looked away and fidgeted with his hands. Her stomach squirmed and her heart broke as she finally understood what this was all about.

“Oh…“ she couldn’t help but utter softly. Willow reached out to hold his face, rubbing her thumb over his scarred cheek. She stood on her knees to be taller than him and started kissing his forehead.

“I was never enthusiastic about it,” He despondently closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for support. Her soft pecks were painfully hard to focus on. “But the closer it gets the more I just want to… leave.”

She sat back down, placing a soothing hand on her boyfriend’s knee.

“I understand.” Willow struggled with what to say next. She wanted to help and support him so badly, but she also desperately wanted to go to the celebration with her family. “But I… kinda wanna be home for that, I’m so sorry.”

At once, Hunter wanted to bash his head into the wall from his own stupidity. This is the first time the Isles was celebrating the liberation from Belos and the Collector. Of course she’d want to spend that time with her dads!

“No, no, no.” He desperately waved his hands in front of him. “Please don’t say sorry, I totally get it. You don’t have to come with me- I mean… I’m probably not going anywhere anyways and-”

Willow cut his rambling off by pulling him into a tight hug. Hunter took a deep breath, enjoying the hug and letting it calm him down.

Willow let go, too fast for his liking, and started cleaning all her homework scattered around. Hunter stacked her huge textbooks and placed them on her desk, then watched as she grabbed a blanket and sat down on the edge of her bed. She pat the space next to her and he didn’t hesitate to oblige.

When hunter sat down, she wrapped the blanket around both their shoulders like a warm shield. He rested his head on her shoulder. Waffles and Clover woke up, flying over from the bee’s fluffy bed. The sun was gone and tomorrow came ever closer.

Hunter sighed. Everything anything anytime, right?

“I wish time would slow down, so I could stay here forever.” He mumbled as Waffles hopped in place on his leg, demanding chin scratches.

Willow sighed and smiled weakly. She wanted to agree, but her brain had a different plan. She cocked her head to the side and leaned slightly forward to look at his face, faking confusion.

“Specifically here or just generally in this time?” She teased him as her devious side took over. As she waved one hand vaguely around the space, Hunter rolled his eyes.

“Specifically here.” He deadpanned, removing his head from her shoulder and catching her hands. He pouted with his gaze locked on her fingers, rubbing them softly with his thumbs.

“I wish that too.” She whispered, interlocking their fingers. “I can’t believe it’s already been a year.”

“Yeah…”

They sat in silence for a while. This time Willow put her head on his shoulder and Hunter rested his on her. Their palismen tried to entertain them, playing tug-of-war with the ends of the blanket. Which were pretty much stuck in place by the bodies of their owners.

They were cute, Hunter would give them that.

“… so why Australia?” Willow suddenly asked, a confused look in her eyes and an amusement smile dancing on her lips.

“I know we can’t actually go there.” Hunter muttered, the tips of his ears heating up.

“But why?” Willow asked again. He felt her head trying to escape so he sat up straight in order for her to do the same. She gave him a spurring but kind look.

“Well…” His voice trailed off. An almost nauseating feeling surfaced, but he swallowed it away. He continued as lighthearted as he could. “I can’t be on the Ilses and I can’t be in Gravesfield…”

“So Australia is the logical next step.” She said matter-of-factly, grinning as she bumped her shoulder against his.

“Willow,” Hunter took a deep breath, clapping his hands together and pointing them at her. “They have Emus.”

They both laughed, loudly and full of snorts. Willow’s papa voice interrupted their fit, telling her it was time for dinner. They both exclaimed, loudly and full of disappointment.

Willow stole a quick kiss before jumping off the bed, still making Hunter feel completely euphoric. He got up much slower, carefully folding up the blanket and stalling for time in the most obvious way.

“Why don’t you ask Darius to take you?” Willow asked as she took the blanket and lovingly tugged him towards the door.

“Yeah right.”


“Why not?”

“He planned almost every part of the celebration!” Hunter retorted, whistling to Waffles to leave Clover alone and follow them downstairs.

“It was a group effort.” She shrugged with a cat-like smile.

“Willow…” He shot her a cracky, tight-lipped look.


“I’m serious!” She laughed. “He really cares about you Hunter, you should know that by now.”

He remained quiet, not really sure what to say but also not wanting to say it.

When they got downstairs, Hunter first greeted her parents as they made quick smalltalk about the presentation, then he said goodbye to them. As he put his shoes on in the hallway, Willow studied him like one of her articles on moss.

“Listen,” Willow held onto him in the doorway before he could leave. “If you tell him how you feel, I’m one hundred percent sure he’d drop everything and fly you to Australia himself.”

“You don’t actually know where it is, do you?” Hunter squinted his eyes. He stepped closer to the door, grateful for a few more minutes with her.


“No idea,” She shrugged, earning a soft chuckle from her boyfriend. “But that’s not the point!”

Hunter couldn’t tear his eyes away from her intense stare.

“Fine…” he relented, Willow cheered and clapped her hands excitedly. “But I’m telling you, it’s not gonna happen.”

_______ _______

“Hunter, let me get a picture!” Darius yelled from across the field. He speed walked over, because the caretakers of the animal sanctuary had told them not to run. It could spook the kangaroos. “I promised Camila I’d take as many as I could.”

“She would’ve loved this.” Hunter laughed as he made sure the baby kangaroo in his arms was secure and comfortable. He held the bottle at the best angle for the sweet baby. This might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Smile!” Darius said as he snapped a few pictures with his scroll. He seemed satisfied with the result, then suddenly realised he was standing in a field and looked disapprovingly at his dusty boots.

“I’m going over there again.” He pointed to the gravel road next to the field where visitors could still feed and pet the kangaroos that came close to the fence. “Remind me to get a souvenir for Eda before we leave tomorrow. She went through all that trouble to get us on a plane.”

“Sure,” Hunter nodded. The bottle was empty so he put it down and started just petting the tiny human realm creature instead. “Were visiting the Outback tomorrow, right?”

“Indeed.” Darius said proudly, puffing out his chest. He’d spend a lot of time planning this road trip after Hunter told him how much he was dreading the Independence Day back home.

Turned out Willow was right. Again.

“They’ll be lots of those creatures you love.” Darius wiggled his hands around to imitate spiders “And then Eber can actually come out of the car.”

“You think he’s still upset?” Hunter craned his neck, trying to see the jeep they had rented in the city.

“Nah,” Darius waved his concerns away. “He knows it would be bad for the humans to see him, but he was pretty sad he’d have to miss these little angels.”

“I think he’ll have more fun with the creatures.” Hunter smiled, writhing his free hand in the same way Darius had done. His guardian rolled his eyes and chuckled in amusement, leaving for the safe gravel at long last. Hunter went back to petting the bundle of soft kangaroo fur.

He was so incredibly happy right now.

[kanerallels]

Like A Flash Of Bright Light In The Middle Of The Night

For day three of @kaneraweek, we have a little prequel of sorts to day one! Hope y'all enjoy it, and definitely check out this art by @singswan-springswan that helped inspire it!

Read on AO3!

Taglist: @day-to-day-thots @auroramagpie @accidental-spice @opalknight @cassie-fanfics @ana-cantskywalker @lothalnyx (DM me or send me an ask if you want to be added or removed!)

Kanan hadn’t always believed in magic. Even in a world that had seen the effect of magical beings had recently as 10 years ago, there were many in the galaxy who believed beings like the fae were simply a hoax. At the very least, most who believed were certain that the last of the fae had died out years ago.

He hadn’t been raised in a family who believed that, though. The Windu family took the existence of magic as fact, though this earned them plenty of ridicule. Kanan remembered, when he was only ten years old, coming home from school after picking a fight with kids who mocked him for believing in something as childish as magic.

His mother had still been at work. But his grandfather—Grandpa Mace to him. It was only later in life that he realized what an intimidating, indomitable figure Mace Windu was in most settings, academic or otherwise—had been there. He’d brought Kanan into his office, given him a cold pack for his bruised hand, and frowned at him severely.

“You know better than to hit people for not believing the same thing you do, Caleb,” he told him. Mace always used his first name, even years later when Kanan had started going by his middle name. “Violence very rarely convinces anyone you’re right. Just that you’re willing to hurt someone to make them believe what you do.”

“I know,” Kanan—still Caleb then—mumbled, staring at the ground. “But they were calling you and Mom names.”

Mace smiled a little then, softening his hard features. “That means they don’t understand, Caleb. And that they’ve been taught to revile and fear what they don’t understand.”

Caleb wasn’t quite sure he knew what revile meant, but Mace continued anyway. “Hate can’t stop hate. Defending your mother’s honor is well intentioned. But you’re going to have to learn to work that out with words, not fists. Now, let’s see your hand, make sure you didn’t break anything.”

“I didn’t,” Caleb said, offering Mace his hand anyway. “I hit him just the way Styles taught me.”

Mace snorted as he examined Caleb’s knuckles. “We need to stop letting you hang out with Depa’s army friends.”

Personally, Caleb disagreed. He thought Styles and Gray and the others were cool. Besides, Styles’ brother was a few years older than him, but they still got along. But that wasn’t the most pressing of the questions in Caleb’s mind at the moment. “Grandpa Mace?” he said. “Why do you believe in magic?”

“Because it would be silly not to believe in something that’s real, no matter how foolish it seems to others,” Mace said. Handing Caleb back the cold pack for his hand, he added, “And because it’s good for the human heart to believe in something beautiful, Caleb. It gives us a longing for something better than the mundanity of the world around us. Sometimes, that means something magical. Sometimes, that magic is something as simple as the people you love.”

As Caleb turned that over in his head, Mace rose from his desk, resting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Now, come. Let’s get you a snack, and we can talk about some better ways to handle disagreements at school.”

Despite Mace’s best efforts, he’d still gotten into quite a few scrapes at school. His grandfather always scolded him for them, while his mother gently reprimanded—but generally, she also asked him if he’d won. As a former Army Ranger, Depa knew a thing or two about getting in fights, but she’d encouraged him to sort things out peacefully from the day he’d been adopted, when he was much, much younger.

His family was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Caleb had known that much, in a lighthearted sense. But he hadn’t realized just how much he needed them until one cold, slick night, when he and Depa had been driving home from a college visit.

There’d been something in the middle of the road—a large animal, probably a deer. Caleb could have sworn at the time it was a wolf. But he’d swerved to avoid it, and the icy pavement had sent them spinning out.

The car had been soundly totaled. Caleb had woken up with quite a few scars, and Depa? His mother hadn’t woken up at all.

Caleb barely remembered a time without his mother. He knew there’d been a time before he was her son—though she’d argued that he’d always been her son. “We just didn’t know each other yet,” she said with the wry, enigmatic smile she used whenever she was acting like the scholar her father had tried to raise her as.

But he’d never thought he’d lose her. Not now, not so soon.

And yet, she was gone. Mindlessly, numbly, he moved through the funeral, the wake, but even after the ceremony was over and his mother had been reduced to an urn of ashes, Caleb couldn’t put the pieces back together.

It was his fault. His fault that his mother was dead, that his grandfather only had a shaken teenager left to lean on. He could have handled it being his fault if it was anything, anyone else, but his mother? The one person in life he’d always known he could depend on, who would always protect him and guide him down the right paths?

The distraction of college was something he’d seized eagerly. They’d picked out a school in Lothal, a small town almost three hours away from his home. From Mace, and the memory of his mother.

Once there, he’d found plenty of other things to occupy his time, and not just studying. Partying and drinking seemed to push away the pain well enough. He started going by Kanan—every time he heard the name “Caleb”, it was like he could hear it in Depa’s voice—and firmly ignored his grandfather’s calls. When summer came, he found a job in town and stayed at a friend’s apartment, barely scraping by until school started again. All he knew was that he couldn’t go home, back to where her ghost was waiting for him.

And then. One day, in his junior year. Things changed again.

It was after a party, late enough that it was early. Kanan stumbled his way out of the abandoned house the party had been at, head spinning and stomach churning. The cool air of the spring night eased the ache a little, and he took a quick breath, letting it steady him.

Okay, I’m fine. Just need to get back to the dorm without passing out. Shouldn’t be a problem. All things considered, he’d had more to drink in one night before.

The abandoned house was tucked away from the rest of the town, along an out of the way road, deep in the woods. There were stories in Lothal, about things that prowled in those woods late at night. About people who’d gone missing in those places.

At the moment, Kanan didn’t really care about stories. All he cared about was finding his way back to his room and his bed soon enough that he would be semi-functional for class in the morning.

So he plunged into the woods, keeping his wits as about him as he could. The trees seemed to blur in front of his eyes, but he kept moving. Kept breathing. It wasn’t like he really had another choice.

However, his sense of direction wasn’t really the best under normal circumstances. This drunk, they were even worse, and soon Kanan paused, hand resting on a tree trunk. Am I…lost?

He squinted at the woods around him. Nothing but trees and shrubbery. No real paths, no signs of life or streetlights. Kark. This was not good.

For a moment longer, he wavered, trying to figure out if he should try and go back the way he came, or go forward—and then he heard it.

A voice. No, not just a voice. To call this voice beautiful would be to do it a disservice. It was ethereal, yet warm, like a moonlit night next to a fire. Unwavering and rich, it was…singing?

“Little bird, where are you going?

Would you mind if I came too?

I thought I had it all together

But then I saw your lovely colors,

And it’s almost too much for me to bear.”

Not much had made sense to Kanan in the past year. But one thing he was absolutely, 100 percent sure of? He needed to find out who that voice belonged to. Carefully, stumblingly, he moved toward it.

It was a woman, he was sure of that much. She kept singing as he moved.

“Little bird, tell me a story,

One you’ve never told before.

I wanna know what keeps you singing,

I wanna know what keeps you dreaming.”

He nearly tripped over a tree root, ducked past a few more trees. There was a dim light up ahead, but it didn’t look quite like a streetlight, or even a fire. It was purer, almost like a star.

“Little bird, wait a moment,

I only just found out your name.

I wonder what else lies behind those verdant eyes

A mine of mystery.

Little bird, stay a while…”

The trees thinned into a clearing ahead. As Kanan approached, he saw a ring of stones in the center of it, and something in the back of his mind pinged, whispering a warning. What is that? What do I remember about this?

Then he saw the source of the voice standing near the ring, and everything else dropped away.

She wasn’t human. That much, he knew. Rich green skin, horns that curved down from her head elegantly with gold markings etched on them. She wore a white  dress, shimmering with silver light. A cloak hung from her shoulders and he knew, just knew, that it concealed wings.

Her beauty was heartstopping, a punch to the chest. It was the kind of beauty that couldn’t exist in his reality, the kind that wasn’t human.

Faerie.

He didn’t say it out loud. But her head turned towards him, and glowing green eyes met his gaze. For a moment, Kanan could read every emotion on her face. The shock, the fear—but winding throughout it, the curiosity.

Wow, Kanan thought, wishing he could speak, knowing there was no way he could get a word out.

And then she took one step forward, into the ring of stones, and vanished into thin air, leaving him in darkness.

Kanan’s jaw dropped. He took a few wavering steps forward, then stopped. He might have forgotten a lot of the fae folklore he’d been taught, but there was something about that ring of stones that triggered alarm bells. If she disappeared when she stepped into it…what would happen to me?

Nothing good, he decided. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave without a souvenir. So, stepping towards the ring, he located a small pebble of stone, barely visible by the moonlight through the trees, that had fallen a few inches away from the ring. Tucking it in his pocket, he took one last look, and left.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done. He was still hopelessly lost—however, he figured the fae would try and stay as far away from humans as possible. So he turned, put the ring of stones at his back and faced the way he’d come, and started walking.

The rest of the night was very, very blurry. He remembered stumbling over roots and fallen branches, unsure of which way he was going. There was a moment—a brief one—where Kanan seemed to sense a massive shape near him, nudging him gently in a specific direction.

And then, the next thing he knew, he was waking up to police sirens, and was blearily sitting up from where he’d been laying on the grass next to the road. He was soaking wet and had a blistering headache, but he wasn’t dead.

The cop who approached him, Officer Kallus, gave him an exasperated look as he approached. “Someone called in a dead body. I was hoping it wouldn’t be an irresponsible college kid who hopefully hasn’t been drinking.”

“Who, me?” Kanan said. Usually, this statement would be paired with a winning, innocent smile that made Kallus scowl. But this time…his head spun as he remembered the encounter of the night before. “I…think I need to call my grandfather.”

Kallus did not look displeased by this comment. In fact, he actually gave Kanan a ride back to his dorm and a stern lecture that was only half as long as usual before returning to work.

Kanan’s roommate wasn’t there when he made it in. Dropping onto his bed, Kanan fished his cellphone—somehow barely alive—out of his pocket, plugged it in, and called his grandfather’s number.

The first ring had barely finished when Mace picked up. “Caleb?”

Kriff, he hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to hear his name again. “Hey, Gramps,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “So, uh, I’m not sure if you’re busy today, but…there’s some stuff I want to talk to you about. Do you mind if—”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Mace’s voice was steady and calm. “Is there anything you need me to bring you?”

“Uh…some of your weird books about the fae.”

There was a very long pause on the other end. “I have a feeling you’re going to have a very interesting story for me when I arrive.”

Kanan snorted. “You have no idea.”

Despite the three hour drive, Mace somehow managed to narrow it down to two and a half, and arrived in time for lunch. The first thing his grandfather did when Kanan met him at the restaurant they’d found was hug him tightly. Kanan swallowed hard against the prickle of tears and hugged him back.

After a few seconds, Mace pulled back and studied him. “Sweet Force, are you hungover?”

Should have known he’d guess that. “Calm down, Gramps,” Kanan said, waving him towards a booth. “I’ll explain it all.”

Over burgers and fries and plenty of coffee, he recapped the events of that night, describing what he’d seen. “I know I had a lot to drink,” he said. “But it wasn’t that much, you know? And I couldn’t have come up with all that if I tried. So…was it? A fae?”

Only Mace Windu could look like a serious, dignified scholar while eating fries. “It certainly sounds like one,” he mused. “I’d always heard the rumors that Lothal was close to an area where the faerie had lived. It’s far away from most of the modern world, the perfect place for the fae to show themselves. Of course, there haven’t been any reported sightings since you were very, very young.” Rubbing his chin, he said, “And you say you took something from the ring of stones?”

“From next to it,” Kanan emphasized, digging the rock out of his pocket. “I’m not dumb enough to mess with something like that.”

“Good,” Mace said. “Otherwise I would have gotten a very different call this morning. That was a portal, directly into their realm.”

“Kriff,” Kanan muttered, setting the rock on the table. It wasn’t much more than a fragment of stone, crystalline and dark blue. In the fluorescent light of the restaurant, it seemed to shimmer.

Mace’s eyes widened. “That. Is not part of the portal.” Carefully reaching out, he picked it up, examining it intently. “You found this on the ground?”

Picking up his coffee cup, Kanan said, “Yeah. Why? What is it?”

“I’m not totally sure,” Mace admitted. “But it’s not from this world.”

Kanan choked on his coffee. “What?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You saw a faerie last night. Magical rocks aren’t that big of a change.” Studying it for another moment, Mace slid it back across the table to Kanan. “I doubt it’s dangerous. But it’s definitely not from around here, and it’s probably magical. Keep it safe.”

“Got it,” Kanan said, slipping it back into his pocket. Pausing, he said, “Thanks for coming. I know it’s been a while—”

“And why would that stop me? Love isn’t a subscription you have to renew every so often, Caleb,” Mace told him, gaze serious. “We’re family. I’ll always be here.”

It took a minute for Kanan to work past the knot in his throat as Mace continued eating. “I missed you,” he managed eventually.

“I missed you, too. Now eat. You need something for that hangover.”

Snorting, Kanan said, “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Of course not.”

Something about that night, that moment, was like a breaking point for him. It still hurt, thinking back about his mother. But finding the faerie in the woods had pushed him to see his grandfather again, knocking him out of the fugue state he’d lived in for far too long. And, if Kanan was being honest, there was still a part of him that hoped he’d see her again.

Mace had warned him about going to look again. “Most people don’t survive seeing a fae without a glamour these days. Either the sheer magical exposure kills them, or the fae does. So don’t tempt fate.”

Kanan had agreed, reluctantly. But there was the tiniest part of him that, whenever he walked near or in the woods, was keeping an eye out.

Maybe that was why, when he graduated and got his first job as a teacher at Lothal City High, he bought the abandoned house that party had been at. Sure, he’d been up to his eyebrows in debt for a while, but it could be worth it in the end. 

If he glimpsed her one more time, or heard her voice again, it would be worth all of it.

~~~

(7 years later)

“Hey, Kanan? You home?”

“In the kitchen!” Kanan called, a smile crossing his face at the sound of Ezra’s voice. It was good to hear the kid calling this place home. It had taken them long enough to build trust when they’d first met—partially because Ezra had broken into his house, and partially because he’d been on his own for far, far too long—but two years later, things were a lot better.

The kid appeared in the kitchen a second later, a frown twisting his face. “Are you making cookies? Do you ever work?”

“In two weeks, you’ll see that not only do I work, I’m excellent at it,” Kanan said, sliding a baking sheet into the oven. “That’s the one upside of you becoming a high schooler. Besides, your text said you were having friends over, so—”

“Wha—Kanan, I told you to stop doing that,” Ezra groaned. “We can just have chips or something.”

“No can do,” Kanan said, closing the oven. “My rivalry with Zev’s mom doesn’t disappear just because Zev’s not who you invited. Who is here, by the way?”

He glanced up just in time to see Ezra’s hesitation. “Uh. Promise me you’ll be normal about this?”

Before Kanan could even begin to ask what that meant, a voice came from the kitchen door. A voice belonged to a teenage girl, with brightly dyed hair and a leather jacket.

“Okay, where are the snacks you promised me?” she asked, glancing at Kanan with an air of suspicion. “Who’s this?”

“Kanan,” Ezra said, giving him a look that very clearly said, Be cool. “This is Sabine. We met while I was, uh, out…doing stuff.”

“That’s reassuring,” Kanan said drily. “Just tell me this much—when Detective Kallus shows up at the door, how much trouble are you in?”

“...not that much?” Ezra offered. “I was looking at that old abandoned storefront you were talking about the other day, and Sabine was putting up some art—ow!” he let out a yelp as Sabine kicked him in the shin. “What?”

“I told you not to tell him that,” she said, glaring.

Waving a dismissive hand, Ezra said, “It’s fine, Kanan’s cool. He only yells at me if I do something really bad. Graffiti is barely even a real crime. Anyway, Kallus rolled up, so we took off on our bikes, and I offered to let Sabine come hide here and also there would be snacks.”

“I can leave,” Sabine said, not looking at Kanan. But he could see her tense a little, as if she was waiting for the inevitable reprimand, and…kriff it.

“Hey,” he said, and waited until she looked up at him. “You can stay. After all, I didn’t bake these cookies for nothing. You’re welcome any time.”

“Thanks,” she said, a little of the tension leaving her expression. “It’s…Kanan, right?”

“That’s me,” Kanan said. “You guys want to sit down in here, or in the living room? Cookies will be out in about 10 minutes, and I can rustle up some other stuff while you wait.”

“In here’s good,” Ezra said, pulling out a chair at the table and dropping down. Sabine did the same, and as Kanan turned to start stacking dirty dishes next to the sink, he felt her studying him.

“Kanan,” she said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the name of that crazy teacher at the high school who believes in faeries?”

Ezra let out a snort. “Yeah, that’s cause that is him. Don’t worry, we both know he’s crazy.”

“Is it crazy if I believe in something that’s in most history books?” Kanan countered, and Ezra groaned. Glancing over his shoulder, Kanan saw the kid drop his forehead onto the table with a thunk as Sabine eyed Kanan skeptically.

“So…you think the fae are real? Or alive right now, I guess?”

“There’s no reason to suspect they’re not,” Kanan said with a shrug. “After all, just because we can’t see something doesn’t make it not real.”

“Except that it is,” Sabine said, and Ezra snorted.

“Oh, this is gonna go well,” he said, getting up and heading for the fridge. “Also that argument doesn’t work on him. He says he’s seen one.��

“You WHAT?” Sabine stared at him. “No way.”

Kanan felt a smile crossing his face. “It was a long time ago. But yeah, I saw a fae.” 

“He was also super drunk at the time,” Ezra said helpfully, rummaging through the fridge. “Do we have any juice?”

“Try the left hand side, and I wasn’t that drunk,” Kanan countered. “I’ve been way more drunk than that.”

Leaning back in her chair, Sabine accepted the small bottle of juice Ezra handed her. “I can’t believe I accidentally befriended two crazy people.”

Looking smug, Ezra said, “So we’re friends now?”

“As long as you don’t secretly believe in Bigfoot, too.”

“We won’t go into that now,” Kanan said, holding back a grin as Ezra rolled his eyes.

Dropping back into his chair, he said, “You haven’t even heard the best part. He thinks there are faeries actually living in Lothal.”

“I’m starting to think you just like mocking him for his conspiracy theories,” Sabine said thoughtfully.

“Not conspiracies,” Kanan said, turning to switch on the faucet. “And she’s right, find another subject.”

Ezra accepted this without complaint, and as Kanan started working on washing the dishes, he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t mentioned to Ezra exactly who he thought the faeries in Lothal were.

It wasn’t that crazy of a theory. The fae could glamor themselves, disguise their true forms in any way that they wanted. Why not as humans? True, they’d have to avoid anything iron at all cost, and that could be difficult. But Kanan was completely sure there were faeries in Lothal.

One faerie in specific, in fact.

It wasn’t obvious. Hera Syndulla acted fairly normal, all things considered. But he knew those green eyes, remembered them with startling clarity from a night where not much else had been clear. Of course, there was one other very clear thing. Her voice was still the most gorgeous thing he’d ever heard, warm and melodic.

It wasn’t something he could forget, or mistake for someone else. Kanan knew that she was the fae he’d met that night. His only question was why she was here. Was it for some other mysterious reason, or did it have to do with him?

Out of habit, he reached up, touching the blue crystal he wore on a cord around his neck. Maybe it had something to do with that. He’d found it left behind, and while he and Mace had never been able to figure out what it did, Kanan was sure it belonged to the fae he’d met. To Hera.

Maybe I should return it, he mused. But then…would she leave? Selfishly, he’d rather hang onto it if that was the case. And she probably wouldn’t appreciate him revealing that he knew who she was, anyway.

No, for now things would stay the way they were—Hera running her slightly strange coffee shop/bookstore across town, and Kanan showing up to hassle her every so often. He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t enjoy it, even if it had technically started out as him investigating whether or not she was actually the fae he’d met.

Now, he went to visit her because he wanted to see her. Because he liked exchanging snarky banter and drinking her coffee which was somehow far better than anything else he’d ever drunk. He liked watching her laugh and teasing her and just listening to her talk, about anything and everything. Even a few minutes in her presence left him refreshed, happy.

Ezra’s claims that Kanan didn’t think she was a fae, he was just in love with her might not have been that far from the truth.

But that was a problem for another time, if it could really be called that. Right now, he had dishes to wash.

[meggiejolly]

"You were the first" (Outer Banks fanfic)

Prompt from @fictober-event Warnings: (somewhat) Major Character Death (offscreen), past child abuse, mention of overdose Pairing: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera Authors Note: I really don't know what this is, tbh. I meant to write a quick little fic mostly to get to my word count goal. It turned out longer and much angstier than I planed. It's my first OBX fic and I don't think I got the voices of the characters write yet. It's not edited at all, I might go over it in a few days and post an edited version on AO3, I'll see.

It was a normal afternoon, boring almost. Kiara and JJ were hanging out at the house, everyone else was off elsewhere. They were lounging, lazily passing a joint back and forth and lamenting that there wasn’t enough swell to go surfing. 

Their lazy afternoon was interrupted by a car pulling up. JJ cursed when he looked up to see the blue sheriff’s truck and threw the almost finished joint into an empty bottle.Then he jumped up and went over to meet Shoupe. 

“What the hell Shoupe? I didn’t even do anything this time!” He called out and Kie questioned if that was a smart thing to say to a cop while reeking of weed. But that was JJ for you. 

She followed after him more calmly. 

“Everything ok?”

Shoupe looked nervous and way too serious, but not pissed off at them. That couldn’t be a could sign. 

“I’m not here for that, no one’s in trouble.” Shoupe paused and it seemed like he was bracing himself for something. 

“They found your father JJ.”

Kie could see JJ tense up but he shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s back in prison then?” 

Shoupe looked uncomfortable. “No. I’m sorry to have to tell you this JJ, but he has been found dead. It seems to have been an overdose.” 

Kie could see how JJ froze, so she softly pushed past him and smiled at Shoupe. 

“Thank you for letting us know Shoupe. Is it ok if he comes to the station tomorrow or something to handle things?” 

Shoupe hesitated for a moment, but with a look at the shock frozen JJ, he eventually nodded. 

“Alright. But please make sure he actually shows up.” 

Kie promised and Shoupe left. For a moment Kiara just stood there, almost as frozen as JJ was.

Then she shook herself mentally and touched JJ’s shoulder carefully. 

“Jayj, hey. Can I give you a hug?” 

That got JJ out of his stupor and he shrugged off her hand. 

"What? Nah, I'm good Kie. Good riddance to that asshole!" 

"JJ…" Kiara tried but JJ interrupted her. 

"It's a relief. Seriously. At least this way I don't have to kill him." He was pacing back and forth now, all nervous energy that Kie was afraid could turn destructive really fucking fast.

"I almost did once you know? Remember that gun we found in that hotel room? I held it to his head when he was passed out on the couch. Was this close" He held up his hand, thumb and pointer finger almost touching, "to pulling that trigger."

Kie wanted to say something, but she didn't find the right words before he continued. 

"Should have known I'd just have to wait, he was bound to do himself in sooner or later. Don't know why I bothered to steal those pills from him when he left that last time."

JJ continued pacing and talking for a while. He said terrible things that had tears running down Kie's face. She really wanted to hug him, kind of wanted to resurrect Luke Maybank just to kill him again. JJ deserved so much better than that fucking monster of a father. 

But she couldn't reach JJ, it was probably better to just let him get it all out and when he eventually ran out of steam she would be there for him. She would hold him and call the other Pouges here and they would remind him he had a family that loved him and would always be there for him. 

Until then she'd just have to stomach what JJ was saying and curse herself for looking away for so long. 

Eventually JJ sank down on a sun lounger and buried his head in his hands. "Fuck." He mumbled, "I can't believe he's dead." 

Kie sat down next to him and this time he didn’t shrug her off when she put an arm around his shoulder. 

“He was a fucking waste of space, a grade an asshole and I hated his guts!” JJ said and Kiara could feel him shaking. She pulled him closer. 

“But he’s my Dad and I love him.” His voice was shaking and Kiara was pretty sure he was crying. She hadn’t seen JJ cry since the day in the hot tub. 

She admired him for still being able to love his dad, even after everything he had put him through. JJ had the biggest heart out of anyone she knew and loved so unconditionally, it was so fucking unfair that his parents couldn’t see that or give him the love he deserved. 

“I know you do JJ, that’s ok.You’re allowed to feel those things at the same time. You can grieve him and be relieved at the same time.” 

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of JJ and he turned to lean into Kiara. His arms went around her and she could feel him silently crying into her shoulder. 

There wasn’t much more to do than to hold him, hum softly and pet his hair, hoping she could give him a little bit of comfort. 

After a while JJ sighed and straightened up. 

“Thanks. I… fuck I needed that. I’m sorry Kie.” 

Kiara shook her head and ducked down a little to look into his eyes. “Hey, no. You don’t need to apologize for needing a hug or crying. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” 

JJ gave her a weak smile. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.” 

Kie smiled back and then reached over to grab one of their beer bottles. It was probably warm now and well on its way to flat, but something to drink would be good after the crying. 

To her surprise, JJ hesitated.  

“I’m… not sure I should drink right now. I really don’t want to end up like him, you know?”

“Yeah. Yes of course. Let me get you some water or something. Be right back.” 

Kiara went into the house and grabbed them each a bottle of water. 

"Heads up!" She called when she came back and tossed a bottle at JJ who caught it easily. 

"Thanks." 

They sat in silence next to each other, sipping their water until JJ eventually said. "You were the first you know?"

"The first what?"

"The first person I ever told that my father hit me." 

Kiara looked at him surprised. "I was?" 

JJ didn't look at her. "Yeah. You had just started hanging out with us a couple of weeks ago and I showed up with a big bruise on my arm. You just asked me what happened and I told you. All nonchalantly, that my dad had done it. I don't think you believed me, you never brought it up again. I don't even know why I told you, I was always so careful back then to make up believable stories for all my bruises, but something about the way you asked me, just made me tell you the truth."

Kie swallowed. "Oh. I… I don't remember that. I guess I must have not believed you. I'm really sorry about that Jay. I should have told someone—"

JJ interrupted her. "No, you shouldn't have. They would have not believed me, and he would have gotten so mad. Or worse they would have taken me away from all of you. It's ok, I handled it. That's why I never told John B. or Pope. Or you a second time, because I was afraid you'd tell your parents and they would do something." 

Kie put her arm around him again. "You shouldn't have had to handle it. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." 

JJ just shrugged, but didn't make her take away her arm. 

"Big John didn't know?" Kie asked after a moment.

JJ shrugged again. "He must have suspected. He asked some pointed questions sometimes, but I was very careful never to let anything slip in front of him, so I guess he didn't think he had enough proof to do anything. He did tell me I was always welcome at the Chateau, which was the only help I wanted anyways." 

Kie nodded thoughtfully. 

"Do you want me to let the others know?"

"Nah, I'll tell them when they get back. Don't want to ruin their day with this."

"They would want to be there for you."

"Yeah, but… they can do that later. Right now you being here is all I need." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Thanks for that."

Kie kissed him back and smiled. "Of course, always."

[ollieofthebeholder]

And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 19: It had been mine, and it was lost

“You’re sure you’re not coming?”

Gerry rolled his eyes. “I love you, and I’ll do just about anything for you, you know that. But I hate flying. You’re lucky you got me down here. I am not setting foot on another plane for at least a year. If you want to go back together, come take the train with me.”

Tim laughed, but there was something regretful in his eyes as he shook his head. “I have work in the morning. I can’t leave the Archives unguarded that long.”

“They’re not—fine.” Gerry sighed.

He got what Tim meant. It seemed like nothing in the last two months had gone the way they had hoped it would. Tim had eventually resorted to buying an external floppy disk drive and a few emulators to be able to dissect the one he’d pilfered from the Institute, but to his disappointment—and Gerry’s, it had to be admitted—if there were any secrets on it, they couldn’t suss them out. Gertrude still hadn’t come back or reached out, and as much as they kept telling one another and themselves that she’d been away longer before, that she’d be in touch if she really needed anything in the Archives, and that her cryptic comment about needing them close enough that she could protect them in a pinch had been specific to the Extinguished Sun and not the Unknowing, the longer she was gone the harder it was to believe she was fine. Wherever she had disappeared to, something had happened, and the only thing keeping them from dropping everything and trying to track her down and help her was the simple fact that Tim couldn’t be away from the Institute for very long without permission.

Tim’s worries about leaving the Archives unguarded were as much to do with his current colleagues as it was with external attacks. He’d fretted—ranted really—to Gerry more than a few times about Sasha’s need to wring out every last discoverable detail of anything she researched meaning there was nothing she wouldn’t do to find them, Jon’s contempt for the statements those who gave them meaning that he would go to any lengths to prove them false, and Martin’s desire to prove he was worthy of his job meaning that the one person Tim could otherwise count on to leave well enough alone kept pushing himself further and further in a desperate attempt to satisfy Jon’s demands. And despite Tim’s best efforts, they kept finding the real ones, few and far between though they may have been. The sheer amount of research necessary for most of them meant he’d been able to slow the roll, so to speak, but it was bad enough. He’d described it as watching Jacob Marley sit in a corner contentedly knitting what he thought was a sock and somehow not realizing it was another length of chain.

Gerry had told him he was spending too much time with Martin, but he understood the underlying sentiment. The longer Gertrude was gone, the bigger the risk that the Archives crew would bind themselves too thoroughly for her to have a choice in keeping them or not, and there was always a chance one of them was a spy for Elias…or worse, one of the other Fears. Tim was right, she’d have a stroke if anything else managed to root itself in her Archives while she was gone. Gerry didn’t think she’d hold either of them responsible, but it was still a valid worry.

“Besides,” Tim added with a sudden return of his impish grin, “His Lordship should be ready to come home by now.”

Gerry snorted. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

The man next to them, a tall and upright but weathered man with brown eyes set in the face Tim would otherwise have when he got old, stepped up and grasped Tim by the shoulders. He spoke several sentences in the thick, honey-toned Italian that Gerry, who’d been forced to spend most of the weekend having what little conversation he could with the old man in Latin, could only catch a word or two in here and there; he was pretty sure he heard the word mama, and from the look that darted through Tim’s eyes, it wasn’t hard to guess what that was about. Tim replied in the same dialect, giving it the inflection of intimacy and respect you could really only get in a Romance language, and stepped in to hug his grandfather. The old man hugged him back before turning to look at Gerry.

“Thank you again for letting us visit, Signor DiAngelo,” Gerry said with a slight bow.

Before Tim could translate, the old man shook his finger at Gerry and tsked. In thickly accented English, he said, “I tell you, call me Nonno.” He gave Gerry a hug, too, which he had definitely not been expecting. “God bless you, my sons.”

Gerry swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat and managed one of the six Italian words he knew well. “Grazie.”

Signor DiAngelo—Nonno—smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, then turned and made his way out of the airport lobby. Tim watched him go, then turned back to Gerry. “He likes you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Gerry said, and he was only partly joking.

“You make me happy.” Tim leaned in for a quick kiss. “And you agreed to come to services with us, which is more than my father ever did when he was courting Mama. When does your train leave?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Shockingly, not what I asked.”

Gerry sighed. “Tomorrow. From Rome, by way of Naples, by way of Pompei, with one I. Which is where I’m going tonight. I’m seeing you off and then heading to catch a ferry.”

Tim sighed, too. “So you won’t be home until Tuesday.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll live, you’re just at least seventy percent of my impulse control.” Tim took Gerry’s face in his hands and kissed him, the same way he had in the palazzo on their last trip to Italy. “Be safe.”

“You, too.” Gerry hugged him tight. Sudden misgiving made him not want to let go.

As if he understood, Tim whispered in his ear, “I’ll be fine, Ger. If I have to I’ll bring Rowlf to work with me and Jon can deal with that.” Pulling back, he added, “You’ll be fine too. The last eruption was in 1944, it’s not due for another nine years or so.”

“How do you—” Gerry stopped. “Wait, no, never mind, you’re Italian.”

“And Catholic. Danny’s patron saint was Saint Dominic, and there’s a painting at the Shrine of the Virgin of the Rosary of Pompei showing Mary and the Christ Child presenting rosaries to Dominic and Saint Caterina da Siena, who’s Mama’s patron saint. I had to find so much research before he would agree to go.”

Gerry pulled back and studied his partner. “Can’t believe I never asked this before, but who’s your patron saint?”

“Anthony of Padua. Patron saint of miracles, travelers, and lost things. Actually, hang on, here.” Tim reached for his neck and lifted off the silver chain his grandfather had given him just the day before, then slipped it over Gerry’s head. He patted the silver oval now flat against his sternum. “To keep you safe until you get home.”

Gerry placed his hand over Tim’s, trapping it against his chest. He didn’t have Tim’s level of faith in God—or any at all—but somehow, having faith in the medallion was easier. “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim smiled, then cocked his ear at the sound of an announcement. “That’s pre-boarding for my flight. I have to go…look, call me when you get to wherever you’re staying tonight, okay? And I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Okay.” Gerry squeezed Tim’s hand. “Let me know if she turns up.”

“Obviously I’m going to let you know if she turns up.” Tim gave Gerry one last quick kiss, then reluctantly let go of him and dashed towards the security line.

It had been a weekend they both could ill afford and desperately needed. They were both conscious of the ticking clock that presaged the Unknowing, just not of how long it had to run out, and they needed to find as much information as they could. On the other hand, Tim’s grandfather was the only remaining member of his family still talking to him—and, from what Tim had said, vice-versa—and had lost his best friend in the time between Tim and Gerry’s first visit and this one. The previous day had been a fairly major Catholic feast day, which was also a regional holiday, and since it was a Saturday Tim had promised on his last visit to come back for it. Gerry hadn’t necessarily planned on coming at first, but Tim’s grandfather had been expecting him, and since Rowlf had a routine but desperately necessary procedure scheduled for that Friday anyway, he’d agreed. And he didn’t regret it, he didn’t. He’d have greatly preferred if Tim could have taken a couple days off so they could take the train down and back together, but he’d white-knuckled his way through the flight, and it had been worth it for the broad grin and tight hug the old man had given them both when they deplaned.

He was not, however, flying back, regardless of how long it was going to take him. So once Tim was out of sight, Gerry turned and headed for the route he’d mapped out earlier to catch the ferry off the island.

The trip to Pompei—a ferry followed by a bus followed by a narrow-gauge train—was uneventful, and Gerry busied himself with the book of puzzles he’d brought along and the tape of heavy metal music Tim had unearthed in an Oxfam shop while looking for a computer. Once he disembarked at the small station in the town where he was going to spend the night, he busied himself with his latest problem. Namely, that he still didn’t speak Italian. Most towns in Europe had one or two people who spoke English, but some of the smaller towns, it was iffy.

Lucky for him, Pompei was a tourist town, and he discovered—after a confused attempt to communicate with a local about lodgings that got him directed to the local church by someone who clearly thought he was a Dominican postulate—that there were plenty of people here who spoke English well enough to communicate with him. He managed to find a bed and breakfast that had rooms available, dropped off his things, and went looking for something to eat. The one problem with living with Tim—and it was admittedly not a bad problem to have—was that he’d got used to things like regular meals and soap that wasn’t just whatever was on sale and someone being there when he woke up in the mornings. The man who’d once gone three days on a handful of crackers and a pint now got extremely hungry if he went more than seven hours without something in his stomach.

He pretended annoyance, but he knew he looked—and felt—better than he ever remembered feeling.

Another joy he’d learned from traveling with Tim was in eating where the locals ate, rather than where catered to tourists. Gerry wandered the streets a bit until he located exactly the kind of place he enjoyed—small, intimate, dim without being dingy, and emitting a truly appetizing smell. He slipped in, found a seat, discovered that the person behind the counter spoke about as much English as he did Italian but, for some reason, spoke extremely good German, and managed to order a meal.

The woman, who said her name was Elizabeth, leaned on the counter to chat with him. She turned out to be from more or less the same part of Germany Gerry’s mother had always claimed their ancestors came from, and while Gerry freely admitted to being English—if only so he didn’t have to bluff his way through memories of growing up in the Black Forest or explain why he apparently spoke with a Hessian accent—she spoke to him like a long-lost sibling or cousin. She was full of suggestions for what he could do and seemed almost disappointed to learn he was only passing through on his way home and would be gone in the morning.

“So where were you visiting, that you are going home this way?” she asked, propping herself on her elbows. “And all by yourself?”

“No, not by myself. My boyfriend had to leave early for work,” Gerry explained without thinking, then almost bit his tongue in half. Luckily, Elizabeth didn’t bat an eyelash, and he went on. “We were visiting his grandfather for the—” He gestured vaguely. His German was good, even fluent, but it had somehow never extended to religious vocabulary, go figure. He struggled for a moment, and then ventured, “The Virgin party?”

Elizabeth giggled. “Mariae Himmelfahrt. You are not Catholic, are you?”

“No, but his family is, so I went. His grandfather lives in Messina.”

“Ah, yes, it is an important holiday for them.” Elizabeth studied him curiously. “So what is it that you do, when you are not being Catholic to please your boyfriend?”

Gerry was pretty sure he had used the word boyfriend to describe Tim more in the last five minutes than he had in their entire time knowing one another, but there wasn’t really a word in German that worked well enough for casual conversation. “I buy and sell rare books.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Ah, like Jurgen Leitner?”

Gerry froze.

Of all the things he could have expected to hear her say, that was the absolute last one. The question of how she even knew who Jurgen Leitner was met the question of why that was her first association with “rare book dealer” and turned into a catastrophic system failure that resulted in the next words out of his mouth being, “No, actually, I think he’s a dumbass bastard.”

Elizabeth tilted her head at him in confusion. After a moment’s pause, she said slowly, “I do not know those words and I cannot tell from your tone if that was surprised or angry.”

Enough of Gerry’s brain came back online at that point that he realized he had, while retaining the fact that she didn’t speak English, somehow managed to switch languages entirely and he’d made his comment in Sanskrit. Making a conscious effort to get hold of himself and return to the tongue they both knew, he said, “A little bit of both, I suppose. How do you know Jurgen Leitner?”

“Oh, I have never met him myself,” Elizabeth said. Gerry wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. “But Monseigneur Tommaso Caputo, at the Shrine—he spoke about him not long ago. I think he has a book from him.”

Gerry managed to change the subject, but part of his attention was still on the revelation. If this Monseigneur Caputo had a Leitner…well, it was Gerry’s bounden duty to get it off of him before it caused more harm than it undoubtedly already had. Particularly in the hands of a priest…who knew what it could convince him of? He’d heard all about Father Edwin Burroughs.

He finished off dinner with a delicious dessert that he barely tasted, then made his way onto the street. For a moment, he stood, torn with indecision. He could—probably should—head back to the bed and breakfast, call Tim to make sure he’d made it home all right, and get a bit of rest, then…what? Break into a Catholic shrine and steal a book? God, what if it was a Bible or some other religious text? He’d never make it out of town in time. No, there was really only one option.

Touching the medal Tim had put around his neck lightly, he made his way to the shrine.

A fair few people were coming out of the front door as he arrived. It hadn’t occurred to him there might be an evening service as well, but apparently there had been. Gerry waited respectfully until the last one had walked out, then headed up the path. A tall older man with gold-framed glasses and a beatific smile stood, wearing the same white robes as the priest at the local church back in Messina. He caught Gerry’s eye and raised an eyebrow, just for a moment, before bowing and addressing him in Italian.

Gerry bowed back and spoke in Latin, which he was fairly certain would be the only tongue they had in common. “Greetings, Monseigneur, may I have a word with you?”

“Certainly, my son. Come in.” The man’s smile softened. He ushered Gerry into the shrine.

It was, admittedly, beautiful. Gerry couldn’t appreciate the religious significance but he could appreciate the architectural aesthetics, and the painting at one end of the room that Tim had mentioned was lovely. The monseigneur led Gerry to a pew and sat down beside him. “Now. How may I be of assistance?”

Gerry hesitated, then decided, the hell with it. He might as well go for it. “Elizabeth at the Hungry Spoon told me you had mentioned Jurgen Leitner.”

That fast, the smile melted off the man’s face. “You know him?”

“I know of him. I deal in rare books, and…” Gerry gestured vaguely. “My name is Gerard Delano. My mother owned a rare book shop in London, and I took it over when she…left me.”

The man studied Gerry for a moment, then—to his surprise—switched to a heavily accented but perfectly understandable English. “I am Monseigneur Tommaso Caputo. Let us not use God’s tongue to discuss this man.”

“Yeah, I think the devil’s tongue is the better choice,” Gerry said, getting a surprised laugh from the old man. “I take it you don’t like Jurgen Leitner and his books any more than I do.”

“No. They are things of evil, relics of unholiness, that take men from God’s light and plunge them into darkness, or bind them to the Lord of the Flies, or condemn them to flame.” Monseigneur Caputo’s words belied a certain familiarity with the Fourteen that Gerry found interesting, and he knew Tim would as well. “I know not the man’s fate, but if God is so good, it will be the pain he deserves.”

“I agree, Monseigneur,” Gerry said fervently. “And I’m grateful to hear it. I worried when Elizabeth mentioned him that you had found one of his books and that it might…do you harm yourself.”

“Alas, no, or I would have removed the foul thing from existence,” Monseigneur Caputo said regretfully. He studied Gerry again, then gestured at his medal. “You do not look to be Catholic yourself, my son, but do you know whose medal you wear?”

Gerry almost said it was his partner’s before he realized what he meant. “Saint Anthony.”

“Who helps find things that are lost. Perhaps, then, you can be of use.” Monseigneur Caputo rose. “Wait here.”

Despite the temptation to follow, Gerry stayed where he was, hand over the medal. He could almost fool himself that it still held a bit of the warmth from Tim’s hand, but that was undoubtedly the heat of the sun. It had been an almost unpleasantly warm day and he was grateful for the cool, dark interior of the shrine.

Whatever this was, it was almost certainly the best lead they’d had in a while. Gerry was glad he’d come.

Monseigneur Caputo came back to the main part of the shrine carrying a very large leather-bound volume gingerly, as if he feared it might explode. Gerry clutched the medal for just a moment before relaxing and straightening. The Book of the Unnamed Dead had been almost that large, and if this was something like that…no, he’d specifically referenced lost things, so more likely the Spiral. God, he hoped it wasn’t the Stranger.

“A regular parishioner here found this in a box he fished from the sea,” Monseigneur Caputo explained. “He was hoping it would be valuable, but he reads no English, and so brought it to me. I assured him it was of no value, and it is—no monetary value, anyway.” He sat down next to Gerry again, then held the book out to him. “You tell me what value it has to one such as you.”

Gerry took it slowly, unease filling him again. It could be a trap. It was probably a trap. Reading these things was the quickest way to get bound to them. Maybe if he just took a quick peek at the cover page, though, it would be okay. He opened it carefully.

And stared.

An hour later, safely back in the bed and breakfast and having confirmed with the innkeepers that international calls were permitted, he dialed the number that was now as familiar to him as his own name. It rang once, twice, three times…

“You have reached the Literacy Self-Help Hotline. At the tone, please leave your name, your number, and the correct spelling of acetylsalicylic.”

Gerry grinned. Never more than three rings. “Hey, Tim.”

“Gerry, hey.” The relief in Tim’s voice was almost tangible. “Are you okay? I was expecting your call hours ago.”

“Yeah, I just…went out for food.” Gerry glanced at the book in his lap. “And then I got a lead…you made it home all right?”

“Safe and sound. Picked up the dog an hour ago. He’s currently passed out on his back with all four legs in the air and his tail covering the bits he hasn’t got anymore.”

Gerry laughed. “Still modest, even post-surgery.”

“Thank God one of us is. So what was the lead?”

“Well…” Gerry brushed the cover of the book again. “While I was chatting with the woman working the restaurant, she mentioned that the priest at the shrine had said something the other day about Jurgen Leitner.”

“It’s called a pre—wait, what about Leitner?” Tim asked, a little sharply.

“She didn’t say, so I went to talk to him. Monseigneur Tommaso Caputo, and thankfully he speaks English, because I don’t speak Italian and we were starting to hit the limits of my Latin. Anyway, he apparently knows about Leitner, and considers him an agent of Satan. One of his parishioners found a book in a box and brought it to him, and he gave it to me.”

Tim inhaled sharply, and when he spoke, he sounded like he was barely holding back the panic. “What is it? Which Fear? Do I need to come down there? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tim. I’m okay. I promise. This isn’t a Leitner. Or at least it’s not a book of power.” Gerry opened the book’s cover again. “It’s his catalog.”

There was a silence, one so long Gerry wondered if the call had been disconnected. Before he could check, though, Tim said, “Are you fucking serious?”

“No, I’m fucking you,” Gerry shot back. It earned a surprised laugh out of Tim. “But yeah, genuinely. Looks like the whole thing. I’m going to have to go through and cross off the ones I know have been destroyed.”

“I’ll help you. There are some I know the Institute’s got hold of and destroyed. Jon seems to be under the impression we got them all, but…”

“Tim, there are at least nine thousand books in this thing. No way did you get them all. Especially since I know I got a few myself.”

“Yeah, it seemed too good to be true.” Tim sighed down the phone line. “We can look at it when you get home—Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah, around lunchtime. I can—no, never mind.” Gerry had been on the verge of offering to meet Tim at the Institute, but unless Gertrude was back—and Tim would have led off with that if she was—they couldn’t risk it. “Uh, I think I might spend the trip home working out how to phrase an ad in the Times to subtly convey to our missing contact and no one else that we’ve got this. Might entice her out of hiding.”

“We can only hope. Call me before you check out in the morning, okay? I’ll probably be at work, but I want to know when you’re leaving.”

“I will. ‘Night, Tim.”

“Night, Ger. Don’t stay up too late reading. Love you.” Tim hung up before Gerry could respond.

Slowly, Gerry hung up the phone, then wrapped his hand around the St. Anthony’s medallion again. Funny how such a short phone call could hurt so much, or how much further away home felt after one. Still, it would just be another day or so, not even thirty-six hours. He could make it that long.

It wasn’t like he had that much choice in the matter. Nothing short of an impending apocalypse would get him on another plane any time soon.