#wait- shit- should I tag disabled character?

[h-didanart]

I saw the confession blog ask, and I am kindly asking for the kitty moons

Oh yeah, that

Ahem, the creator of “Bloodmoon RETIRED?! In VRChat” (I forgot to make a fake thumbnail for that) brings you a new exciting episode! (Whose thumbnail I also forgot)

Bloodmoon TURNS INTO A CAT?! In VRChat

Expect to see this written out at some point in the future, there will be fluff, Solbro behavior, Sun getting a sliver of revenge on the twins because let’s be honest they aren’t the greatest people, more fluff, and maybe, just maybe, if the stars align and all the components come together, pet regression

And now imma ramble about their design ok—

They needed to have long hair, I can’t explain why, they just had to. So I looked up long haired fluffy cats, there were Ragdolls and Persians and Maine Coons but the one I went with was Turkish Angora. They are athletic, they are agile, have long hair, and despite being known for their white coats come in various different coat colors.

Bloodmoon specifically has a mostly black coat with bits of red over their face and legs and tail, with a white snout and belly. Their hair is matted on some places and their whiskers are bent oddly. They struggle a bit to walk and hate the feeling of the tangles. Overall these translations indicate the twins aren’t really in good shape. Oh yeah, they have prosthetics too, the repairs had to be translated somehow, so they’re a double amputee cat. And I’m thinking of making their left eye a prosthetic as well or just not having them have it. Do cats get glass eyes? I don’t think they do… Either way, Harvest likes these legs way more than what they have in their actual body.

In regards of cat behavior, they are very much a feral cat, untrusting of people, defensive, the like.

They exclusively only meow at Solar and let him pet them and carry them and stuff because, y’know, trust. Granted they do spend some time during their transformation mad at him because they think he caused this somehow— which he actually didn’t —but end up kinda just accepting it and rolling with it.

Speaking of their time spent, let’s talk about how this plays out!

So Bloodmoon’s in the Daycare helping Solar do stuff, they take a detour through the ball pit to avoid passing through the area separating the play structures, then boom, portal malfunction, they’re a cat now. Solar immediately runs to see if they’re ok, and ends up almost dying of laughter at seeing them like a cat, they struggle to get out of the ball pit and Solar picks them up, still laughing.

Due to the laughter the twins believe Solar to have caused this but unfortunately can’t ask or communicate that thought at the moment, they cannot speak as a cat. They grumpily lay on Sol’s arms as he carries them to the front desk. Solar tries to figure out how long they’ll stay like that, having gone through this with the whole family already, all the while Bloodmoon tries to get adjusted to their new body, kinda freaking out upon realizing they had leg prosthetics but quickly getting used to them, the fact Harvest doesn’t feel like shit when looking at the legs definitely helping that.

After a bit Solar turns to the twins and tells them that apparently they’ll stay like that for a few hours, at which point Bloodmoon realizes that Solar probably didn’t play a prank on them, they hop off the desk and start circling Solar, wanting to go do something, before being abruptly cut off by Sun entering the Daycare and accidentally hitting them with the door.

Sun immediately starts apologizing to the cute little kitty and trying to soothe them, the twins start hissing and backing away the second they regain their bearings. Solar picks them up, quickly explaining that the cute little kitty was actually Bloodmoon. Sun grimaces at that before tilting his head and finding amusement in their predicament. The twins hiss at him.

Despite not getting along at all Sun does start to fuzz over Bloodmoon, seeing their matted hair and bent whiskers, and offers to help Solar care for them. Solar looks down at the twins who give him a ‘for the love of god do not leave us alone with this guy’ look, and asks if maybe Sun could just tell him what to do.

Cue Sun helping Solar brush the twin’s hair, getting them some cat food, and taking a bunch of blackmail material pictures. By the time Sun leaves he finds he actually kinda enjoyed being around Bloodmoon. To quote him directly: “I see how you got attached to them now”

And then Bloodmoon would hang around Solar in the Theatre, watching as he restocked the shelves and greeted people and the like. By the end of Solar’s shift, the twins are curled up on his lap getting pet as they start falling asleep.

And it is then that they turn back to normal.

Solar is startled by the sudden shift but overall glad that the twins were back to how they were. He nudges them awake, trying to tell them that they were normal again. They kinda just sleepily look up at him before nuzzling against his chest and curling up once more. They’re still purring. Sol tries to shake them awake again but is once again startled, only now by a small meow from the smaller bot. And so he sits there for who knows how long

Turns out Bloody and Harvest like being cats.

Who would’ve thunk it?

[goldpilot22]

WAIT YOU HAVE LAB KIDS ;__; TELL ME EVERYTHING

OK OK SO. tysm for the ask and sorry for taking so long to answer this oopsies I got distracted badly. (redesigned a few of the labkids and then wanted to redesign the rest of them and then forgor) also this is gonna be a bit messy on account of it is 2 am woopsies. and also uhhh warning for lotsa body horror type stuff and fucked up science things and also most of it is kind of a metaphor for how the education system fails some kids?

ok so. the Hopkins Demonology Lab is trying to create artificial demons. for... reasons. what demons are, though, is pretty fuckin' weird - they're basically like. things that look like some kind of animal or other on the outside just with red eyes, but have the ability to 'evert' or turn themselves inside out and basically go bodyhorror gore monster mode. this is generally a big risk to the whole "bodily integrity and not dying" thing, so demons are generally regarded as pests because they tend to cause problems and then die about it. the bigger ones can cause more problems and are worse at dying, but in general they're just an inconvenience. the lab is trying to change that. specifically, it's trying to create human demons. although, creating them isn't the hard part- creating ones that don't die is the hard part. because the lab demonkids are humans, they're better at putting their bodies back together, but because they're artificially created, things have a tendency to go wrong anyway...

ok and here are some of the characters:

first the ones I don't got (regular) art of (I have some art of them but it's either gore, body horror, or outdated, and I'll put it under a readmore at the bottom of the post)

Oliver Izolde: formerly a regular human, who volunteered to get experimented on for... some reason. probably so he could pay his rent. he's one of the most successful experiments there. and also a huge bully to a lot of the less successful ones, especially Emery.

August Watkins: another one in Oliver's group. possibly an orphan who joined the experiments because it was better than his current life. they regret this very much now! this is because he learned something that Dr. Hopkins didn't want anyone finding out, and she made sure they're incapable of telling anyone. and then decided to do more experiments on them since it was too much of a risk to keep letting them leave the facility. he's basically incapable of using his demon powers because he is very squeamish and faints instantly on the sight of his own internals.

Miles Landon: not an experiment, she's a lab assistant... but they relate more to the experiments than to their bosses. on account of their bosses are, not the nicest exactly.

ok and now ones I do have art of!

Nashville Hopkins: no one's entirely sure what this guy's deal is. he's in his own experimental group separate from both the former-regular-human ones and the fully artificial ones. some of the other experiments (and Miles) wonder if Nash might be Dr. Hopkins' son, but she maintains plausible deniability about that since he doesn't look like her aside from their hair color, and he needed a last name in order to have an official identity and stuff. and that's because he's actually allowed to be out and about, since his powers are fully under control. (that's because he wears a sort of power restricting collar. he'd sort of explode without it so he don't mind.) he often runs errands for the lab, does Dr. Hopkins' grocery shopping, etc.

Enzo: one of the artificial demon kids. he's like 8 when stuff starts going wrong... he starts struggling to complete his exercises, moving less, etc. the 'doctors' at the lab (they do not have medical degrees) brush this off as him just being lazy, but actually his body is destabilizing. while that's all going down, he's besties with Elodie so they get put in the same containment area together.

Elodie: another artificial demonkid, also about 8. like Enzo, she's starting to destabilize. she's also one of the more relatively successful experiments, and gets pushed to try to strengthen her powers more. this is painful for her and she's stressed all the time, which gets brushed off as her just being angry/defiant.

Emery: one of the more... sort of successful artificial ones. they're 19 and haven't destabilized yet, but they also can't fully evert, only partially (and they have a tendency to make eyes where they really shouldn't, unintentionally.) they're one of Dr. Hopkins' favorites, but are kind of not a fan of this because she thinks they're just too stupid to distrust her like most of the others do. (they're autistic and she's terrible.) they help with the younger experiment kids, basically helping them do their exercises, making sure they eat, helping Miles secretly teach them how to read, etc. they're also 6'4 and built like a brick shithouse so the Doc likes to have them around to... help intimidate auditors or whoever else comes around to pry into her business. not that she needs the help!

after Enzo and Elodie both completely destabilize on the same day, causing serious damage to the facility, Emery loses the last remnants of their trust in the 'doctors', and pretty soon after that they escape the place with Miles' help. (Miles also lies to their bosses and says she don't know what happened.)

they're the true protagonist of RETW! they're a member of Gavin's party, and like him they're a "hero" which means basically wandering do-gooder... they help people out, fix things, etc. in comparison to Gavin who's uh. a demonslayer. things don't go too great there but not in the way you'd think. here's them post-escape. they got a sword almost the size of their self

oh and then some time later this kid joins the party... they're like 10 ish, they have Problems, Emery recognizes them, and they keep changing what they say their name is... sometimes Elodie and sometimes Enzo.

ok and now here's the more gorey arts! warning for body horror of various sorts, eye horror?, mouth gore, and a little bit of boob

August and Dr. Hopkins

Emery (cursed pre untwinkification design) and Oliver

Emery (cursed twink version again) and Dr. Harwell (I didn't mention her in this post oopsies. she's Dr. Hopkins' subordinate, and seemingly meaner than her boss but the bar is a lot higher than she realizes. they sorta have a good cop bad cop dynamic sometimes. also doc harwell has a crush on doc hopkins because I love evil woman yuri. and divorce. doc hopkins is extremely divorced. the divorce is plot relevant. im going on a tangent)

[thesnailkiwi]

1, 2, 8, 12, 17, 18, 19, 22, 23, and 25 for traffic life?

1. The character everyone gets wrong

Okay, see, I know people have different ideas and opinions and headcannons, but OH. MY. GOSH. DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED.

The MCYT fandom makes me want to scream half the time. I'm gonna say it. Everyone gets BadBoyHalo wrong. Skeppy, Tommyinnit, JSchlatt, Stressmonster, Niki, and a bunch more, too. Half the time I want to explode in this fandom, so I stick with fanart, unless it's flower husbands. Because most FH shippers can read the characters well.

Musical theatre. People always (well, okay, not *always*) get Heather McNamara wrong when acting. I've seen so many awful versions. And Jenna Rolan from Be More Chill, especially when writing fanfic. Though, lemme tell you, all the characters in Be Less Single (BMC dating sim fan game) were spot on. Perfect, I tell you.

2. Compelling argument why my fave would never top or bottom

OKAY SO LISTEN UP, FUCKERS. MICHAEL MELL IS A SWITCH AND I STAND BY THAT.

Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

8. Common fandom opinion everyone is wrong about

I'm overthinking. This could either mean opinions ABOUT fandom or fandom discourse. I'm assuming the latter.

I dunno man. I don't pay attention much to other people's opinions. I mean, if they badmouth my blorbos, I will have a compelling argument why the are the best being to exist. Headcannon-wise? I mean, okay, I really don't want this taken the wrong way *at all*. But I don't like it when people include [insert character] is trans/queer/pronouns/mental disability if it doesnt have anything to do with the fafic/story that's being told. I understand if you project or write a vent fic or whatever, because those are things to get out of your brain, or if you headcannon this or that, I get it. But if it has no relevance at all to the story, *if it isn't even mentioned*, DONT PUT IT IN THE GODDAMN TAGS.

It's not really a heated opinion, but I needed that out there.

I don't really like to shit on other people's headcannons. But if the opinion is "glup shitto is a bad character", OR FUKIGN WHATEVER THE FUCK THE MCYT SPACE DID TO NIKI, then I will fight you.

WAIT WAIT DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON TOMMYINNIT X HERMITCRAFT. OR TOMMYINNIT X EMPIRES. UGH. I HATE IT SO MUCH.

12. The unpopular character I like and everyone else hates

Okay. Listen. Purpled. Barely anyone paid attention to that guy because he wasn't a "main character" (there were none in the DSMP, people.) And everyone doesn't like his character after what he did to Slime. But I feel like he's a super deep character that gets overlooked. Quackity literally blew up his house and forced him to go live in Las Nevadas. Quackity also took a lot more from him, too. And when he killed/kidnapped Slime, he was projecting and let all of his grief out on the thing that Quackity cared about, since everything Purpled loved was taken from him.

17. There should be more of this type of fic/art

Okay okay okay. But like, guys. Coffee shop au's. It's simple, right? It's one of the most well known. BUT JESUS, BMC FANDOM, THERE ARE LIKE 5 TOTAL ON AO3. SOULMATE ONES, TOO.

Speaking of soulmates, the Hermitcraft/Life series doesn't have that many non-canon function ones. Like, I want to see timers. Or strings. Or the characters see color for the first time. Or the place their soulmate touches them first changes colors. There's not many.

18. It's absolutely criminal the fandom has been sleeping on...

The MCYT fandom has been sleeping on a bunch of damned bricks, don't even get me started.

There's too much to put for the MCYT fandom.

The BMC fandom has been sleeping on the wholeass line of "If Christine likes me in the end, will I be able to pretend I didn't fail my one real friend?" And all of the hidden stuff in the music. Like how in the broadway version, in The Play, the backtrack plays LGW when Jeremy gives Christine the Mtn Dew Red.

19. I'm mad/ashamed/horrified that I like...

I'm not answering this one. I apologize, but these heinous words do not need to be said to the entire world.

22. The favorite part of Canon everyone ignores

MCYT: everyone ignores smaller creators and literally the entire Canon. So all of it.

BMC: okay, listen, the silver hair the squip has is an absolute banger, okay??? And let's talk about that entire couch scene where Christine rejects Jeremy.

23. The ship I'm unwillingly coming around to

Majorwood. Kill me. I hate it so much omg but like, it slaps.

25. Annoying common fandom complaint

Uh, guys, it's okay to like the Era when ranboo and tubbo were friends. It's not taboo. I still go back and watch vods.

Sorry that one genuinely pisses me off whenever I see people like, "I wish that never happened". Like, guys, don't ignore important parts of what got ranboo to who he is and where he is today. Educate the young boobers. It's not wrong to like when two people are friends.

Then I hate it when people complain about shipping convex and are like "they're brothers!" No, they're not. That's your headcannon, not mine. Same with Grian and Jimmy. They aren't brothers. You can ship them if you want, just don't make it weird.

Anyway, thank you as per usual for sending me the ask, trash the beloved

[nprescott]

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

This blog will contain dark themes. Life is Strange and therefore this blog will contain a lot of triggers. I will tag them as cw trigger ( as in it is extremely present) or cw trigger ment (as if it is implied or loosely mentioned. The following triggers are incredibly common in regards to Nathan and may not always be tagged

Child abuse / abuse

Drugs / drugging / alcohol / addiction / drug abuse

gaslighting / grooming

mental illness / psychosis

self harm / suicidal ideation

Death / murder

Guns

Internalized homophobia

Nathan is incredibly mentally ill and toxic. That being said: the following things are not going to be tolerated here (your characters can still do these things but i will not be harassed by this shit ooc):

Calling Nathan a rapist. He's not.

Being ableist to Nathan due to his significant mental health issues

Insisting Nathan is a certain sexuality (I hc him as bisexual and this is non debatable).

Assuming things about his relationships with other characters that isn't stated in the game.

Forcing me to adhere to the canon of bts and whatever else. i mostly only follow the original 5 episodes and i am highly critical of the 5th episode though maybe that will change once i finish my replay.

Some bullet points to keep in mind with me

I am 100% intolerant of any bigots. Racists, sexists, any lgbt+-phobia will get you blocked.

If you are also a multi please state what muse you are sending something from. Thanks.

If you delete/move your blog constantly, I might hesitate to interact.

I am multi-ship. I will never practice exclusives due to past experiences.

Mutuals only. 18+ only.

I don't write smut due to past experiences

Off limits stuff that gets you blocked: minor/adult pairings, incest

I'm not interested in writing with anyone right-leaning. I think people one that should stay away from my space.

I'm heavily affiliated with @/unrealization and he gets priority.

Excessive vague blogging is a block.

Extreme and constant negativity will be a block.

I have no timer on threads. Take as long as you want. But be honest, waiting for 6+ months while you are doing other things us disheartening and I might not want to interact anymore. Especially if there is NO COMMUNICATION.

I'm queer. My experience is valid and I won't accept people invalidating it. If I get a whiff of you using trans people as a fetish, I'm blocking you.

I'm not taking sides in interpersonal drama unless we're really close or it goes beyond normal friends falling out into more yikes territory.

I am unable to talk to people every day. Don't take it personally.

I unfollow inactive accounts. You can refollow when you become active again

Obviously, sending anon hate is fucked up and if I find out you do it I will block you and/or tell the people you sent it to.

Communication is good. Be direct please.

I am a disabled person working full time, I cannot always be available.

All of us deserve respect, so I think it is important to be mindful of other people and remember that other people may not see things actually as you do and that's alright.

I am ok with duplicates following me ♥

I don't really do exclusives.

Another new addition: If I make repeated attempts to interact with you and you do not respond, I will just unfollow you. I am not talking about people with lower activity or hyperfixations on other fandoms. I am talking about repeated attempts to interact followed by the mutual complaining that people do not engage with that muse / with them in general. I will take that to mean you do not want ME to interact with them/you.

Updated: 1/22/2025:

This is not a dni. I will not be naming names. But someone in the community has been vague blogging and making me uncomfortable. I had their url entirely blacklisted as I did not want to block them due to fear of how they would react. I learned that they had been getting anon hate via a mutual and learned that they seemed to be implying I was sending it, or at least people I associate with. This person would often post things that seemed to 'cancel' my metas and hc posts. They acted like I was wrong for how I see Nathan and made a post I think was likely going after me for a post I made about how much Nathan meant to me. I dmed them and asked if it was about me and they did not confirm or deny it. From that point on, I had been very uncomfortable on my blog and paranoid due to my own issues. I wasn't sure if it was in my head. It kept happening which is what led me to blacklist their url. I wanted to unblacklist it when i was in a better headspace and could be more rational. Sadly, I suspect that I was indeed correct about the vague blogging due to their suddenly (very lowkey) implying that I had sent them hate.

I can say with my whole chest that I have never sent any anon hate to another person in my 10+ years on this site. I don't play games. All I will say: if you have an issue with me come say it. I am an adult. Or better yet, block me. Don't subtweet everything I post with slight deniability. Don't act like I'm a bad person for seeing this character differently than you do. Don't accuse me of bullshit. I haven't always been perfect, but I have never been a bully and I never will be. I really didn't want it to come to this and I def didn't want anyone to make a big deal out of it. I don't ever think anyone should ever get hate of any kind, esp for a fucking hobby like this. I have a zero tolerance policy on that shit.

Yeah, be respectful of people. Be kind. And be honest. If you can't do these or have the decency to approach me as an adult, I will just block you at this point.

[omegawolverine]

👀 mcc discourse? /gen

okay mcc discourse time everyone strap in

the three things i see people being pissed about most often are the lack of lgbt+ people in the event, the specific lgbt+ creators playing and, of course, technoblade being involved. so, let's break down why all three of these things are fucking dumb.

1) "there isnt enough lgbt+ creators".

this would be a fair argument that i could get behind...if not for the way mcc is set up for this specific event—and by that i mean it is a youtube sponsored event. the ccs involved need to have platforms on youtube to be able to participate to begin with, as it is a charity event. mcc doesn't have a lot of lgbt+ streamers involved this time around because a lot of those streamers straight up could not stream this event and scott literally said this himself.

on top of that, this isnt a "get invited and you can play!" event, it is a "you need to apply to be involved" event, meaning, if people dont meet the deadline, or they dont apply at fucking all, they cant play. that's not on fucking scott or anyone organizing mcc, that is on the ccs (if they even wanna be involved, i could not blame them for avoiding mcc after last times mess) who didnt apply in time/at all.

2) "there isnt enough diversity in the lgbt+ streamers" aka "im erasing people's identities and, again, disregarding the literal qualifications for this mcc which include having a youtube platform"

i keep seeing people bring up how every lgbt+ person in mcc is white and able bodied and neurotypical etc etc (which is an inaccurate statement anyways) as reasons why they "arent good enough" or they're bringing up how there "isnt any of [x] sexuality/gender involved" as if that's the organizers faults and i uh. i hate to break it to yall but, again, this is an apply to get in event. if these ccs that were "more diverse" (bc why the fuck are we referring to these ccs playing in fucking minecraft championship as some weird ass diversity characters instead of real life people who are more than their race, disability, etc.) met the requirements and were lgbt+ but just didnt apply, while a lot of other white, cis, neurotypical, able bodied, whatever the fuck else, did? yeah. nobody can change that. scott didnt just pick and chose who gets to play, there are literal rules for this event and also applications that are involved like?? hello????? and obviously i would love to see some more lgbt+ creators from different backgrounds with different identities in the cast, that would be awesome, but that is ultimately not up to the organizers. they cant force people to play. they cant skip people in the waiting lists. they can't have people who cant stream be involved in this mcc as their first event, both because it would be sad for them not to stream their first mcc and because it is a literal charity event.

and, to make things worse, a lot of people are saying there "isnt any trans people this mcc" which is just. a blatant lie. eret isnt cis and sqiashey is genderfluid, yall just dont like eret so you decide to refer to her as a "cis man" constantly, which is transphobic, and yall also dont know sqiashey so instead of doing research, you started running ur mouths and then didn't apologize when you got called on it.

like. even if eret was truly problematic, which i dont believe they are as they have apologized for every little mistake theyve made and dealt with the backlash from entitled little privileged teenagers online all while not complaining even the slightest bit, that still doesnt give you a right to misgender them and erase their identity as a non cis person entirely because you're mad over a fucking minecraft event like??? how fucking privileged you must be that this is what gets you heated. not any actual homophobia or transphobia, but apparently "lgbt+ people in minecraft not being diverse enough". choke.

3) "technoblade is a lesphobe, why is he in mcc"

tw on this section: i discuss my expierences with homophobia as an afab nblw briefly and reclaim the d slur (if you wanna read this section and avoid the homophobia discussion and/or d slur, skip from "as someone who is nblw" to "techno making a shitty joke").

all of techno's lesphobic comments are from 5+ years ago and were, at worst, jokes in poor taste. as someone who is nblw, i have had men follow me and my friend around and call us dykes for holding hands in a museum, i have had my family members harrass me for my sexuality and casually talk about how im gross and wrong for liking girls and i have been punished by literal teachers for showing "too much pda" with my past girlfriends despite the fact that ive never even kissed someone on campus before, just held hands and hugged. techno making some shitty jokes when he was a teenager years ago, while also having a plethora of examples of him being an lgbt+ ally, which does include lesbians, should not be treated the same way as literal bigots calling queer people slurs. and if you think it should be, you have had it fucking lucky.

yes, it is valid to be upset over these jokes, they're fucking weird and he shouldnt have made them, but to treat it with the exact same seriousness as a grown ass adult showing blatant homophobia in current times? no. fuck no.

extra notes bc there's some minor discourse points i left out: no, dream team shouldnt get to be involved in this event over other cishet ccs involved just because they have bigger platforms because this quite literally isnt about them, it's about lgbt+ people and they just didnt happen to get in. shut the fuck up. stop mentioning ant and velvet as people who shouldve been involved, they're quite literally together rn doing little daytrips and shit and they most likely dont wanna spend their time together playing fucking minecraft. also, stop saying techno should be replaced with ranboo (or anyone for that matter), it breaks ranboo's fucking boundaries and him donating 100k to the trevor project doesnt suddenly mean he gets to skip the mcc waiting list.

in conclusion: twitter stop whining over pride mcc, your privilege is showing.

(tagging @tauntwenthome bc you said you wanted to hear as well <3)

[lehhoh7822]

I posted 3,855 times in 2022

That's 3,609 more posts than 2021!

648 posts created (17%)

3,207 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@proudfreakmetarusonniku

@ruffboijuliaburnsides

@phantoids

@journal-number-3

@las-nevadas-corporate

I tagged 1,355 of my posts in 2022

#lr likes your art - 182 posts

#dsmp - 75 posts

#ua reblogs - 47 posts

#lehhohgoeszoom - 34 posts

#cdc reblogs - 29 posts

#cw food - 29 posts

#haha - 27 posts

#yeah - 27 posts

#passing ships - 27 posts

#creb - 26 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#you know i don’t remember what an ost is but there are many people who go by ranboo and followers knowing your music taste isn’t atypical

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

@americans how many blazes are you getting???

i see a lot of post complaining about blazed posts but im in australia so ive gotten literally like none

15 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

#4

you know i rewatched the whole minecraft bu the sky is eating the world thing where mr soot kept saying that he was being an iron slut

i am beign a whore for copper. i need more fucking copper. 64 of those only translate to 7 blocks (and there should be an extra one but there isn;t because... maht?)

listen I have this massive room and it’s made of snow. and copper. 

16 notes - Posted August 31, 2022

#3

“At this rate I see literally no difference between kicking your ass out of the balcony and not.” oh my god.

this is the bullshit that keeps my love of centricide going

how would one describe centricide, genuinely? EDIT: oh my god I am so sorry I forgot to mention this is a quote from the politi-girl fanfic series on ao3 sorry for forgetting to give credit to @politigirls on ao3

19 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

#2

you know, with all this reboot stuff, i just want to say that the ccs... idk, i feel like they dont completely get how funky the fans are. they’ll be real upset that you tore away the plot and characters and storylines they drew to love with a potential of everything failing more, and many will pull away

but even more so, i think many will stay.

im not sure if they realise that dsmp is really important to a lot of people, and how upsetting it would be to have it torn away after waiting and being paitient, endless fan content and community based around a plot that essentially got “Abandoned Work: Unfinished or Discontinued” slapped on it, but its important enough that even when you mock your fans for being there, even when you fuck them over, etc, etc, they will still watch because it was so good and they care enough and hope enough that theyll keep going until you reach really really shit

yeah lol. idk man

25 notes - Posted July 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

for me specifically as a teenager who has asthma, i just. maybe its just me, but i swear it can’t be. asthma is this frustrating creature who you get very sick of very quickly. when i have an asthma attack, i might be experiencing like. physcial struggle to breathe but cognitively im just annoyed and tired, and the most emotional reaction you’ll probably get out of me is just frustration or a little bit of fear if it goes on a little bit too long.

everyone is prickish about it, when i was younger i could never participate in sport and people thought i was so lucky when everything just hurt and my head was always light and the office ladies fucking despised me. no one wants to call it a real disability (what else is it? I dare you, tell me what a disability is), it makes you scared to do things, you dont want to run that race or try that sport because you know you won’t be able to do it. you need breaks while running. inhalers are more expensive the price stacks up over time 

like when i have an asthma attack, i literally cannot just breathe. that is the entire problem. i cannot do breathing exercises, it does not matter whehter or not i look you in the eyes, i need the medication for my chronic illness. 

i had this whole thing where a bunch of student in primary school like year 5-6 made videos about me, mocking me and calling me asthma attack girl, and pretending to have asthma attacks to be like look at (name) and how much shes faking!! and putting them online and they got a lot of shares. 

“stop doing that stupid wheezing thing and just breathe” “why are you coughing like that? don’t you want to breathe?” “look at me, no, NO, HEY, HEY, look at me and breathe in- NO NO, BREATHE in and hey no-” “you just lost control of yourself, you need to stay in control and not give in to the asthma”

like. fuck you. treat us with respect. also because your ableism is easy to clown on. 

91 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[marat]

Every fucking problem I have with The King's Man (2021) and even then im probably forgetting some: massive spoilers under the cut

Look I really fucking loved the first two movies, like these were movies where I actually felt a thrill when I left the theatre, I absolutely love rewatching them all the time. I'm not even an action movies guy, but I saw the first one on a plane and I just couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks. And like. I'm a history major. Just finished up a class that was vaguely about ww1. I have been hyped for this movie for well over a year, so it's not the historical aspect that bothers me, it's everything else.

- It feels like they relied on the "hey it's a guy from history!" schtick way too hard, and forgot to make an otherwise good movie

-when they aren't doing that schtick it's "cringe reference to the first two movies, just to remind you you could be watching one of those instead!" It's like instead of making a really good standalone movie, they just went "Hey, remember Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)? Haha yeah. Anyway here's Lenin"

-Specific thing that bothered me the goddamn most: the "Disabled Character Gets Fixed™ and is All Better Now" trope is a major plot point, like they could not manage to write a disabled character doing something heroic at all without Fixing him first like holy shit

-the first movie was about a poor kid joining this group of traditionalist, aristocrat spies, which led to a really interesting dynamic and somewhat of a depiction of class conflict. This movie culminates with the Duke of Oxford deciding that aristocrats are better at deciding things than governments, and making a secret group for aristocrats to 'solve' world problems. I guess it does set up the setting for the other two movies, but the weird demonization of the bolsheviks and lenin combined with the supposedly 'evil' motivations of the villain do not provide any kind of nuance other than "england good and aristocrats good"

-the movie is so fucking self defeating. the first half is all about watching a man be utterly opposed to violence due to witnessing tragedy. they literally recite fucking dulce et decorum est to drive that point home. the second half is that same guy being like "no my son is a glorious war hero and now i have to do more violence" LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL???? like they literally take that poem and go "Yes! Dulce et decorum EST!!!!!!"

-like the "my son was a glorious hero of war and so i should be like him and do violence" WILFRED OWEN IS ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE HOW DID YOU MISS THE POINT THAT HARD. also the "heroic action to save everyone" winds up being "convince the united states to join the war" so yaaayyyy more dead people. how did they miss the whole fucking point that bad

-i might be confused but im pretty sure the movie insinuated that its fictional character was the real author of dulce et decorum est which is. so fucking garbage.

-i saw all the rasputin stuff in the ads and i was like "ha that's a funny character to include!" but after rasputin there's a secret villain. they throw in. wait for it. fucking vladimir lenin. and he's depicted as this emotionless robot death man. it's fucking insane i almost laughed out loud he just single handedly kills all the romanovs at once

-the "rasputin as a predatory bisexual" bit was. hhhhggughh

-the main villain's motive is that he wants england destroyed for oppressing scotland and like? yeah okay that's acceptable honestly. rooting for that guy

-the one female character just kisses the male lead on the lips after absolutely no romantic chemistry and it's just fucking weird? she apologizes to a portrait of his dead wife beforehand?

-all the scenes meant to be funny are not funny and the scenes meant to be tragic are too funny

-the lead covers his dead wife's body with his jacket, and while he holds his screaming and crying son, the camera zooms in on the jacket's tag, which says kingsman. i was just staring at the screen like no they would not fucking do that that's too fucking embarrassing

-a lot of the sets just seemed pretty weird. idk how to explain it but i felt like i was watching a youtube video

-and everything was just so fucking hamfisted? like i expect corny shit from a kingsman movie because they're meant to be corny action movies. but this didnt feel like a movie trying to be a corny action movie, it felt like an action movie trying to take itself seriously and accidentally turning out shitty and corny

-the scene where conrad breaks down after the bombing is actually a pretty decent and moving scene. after spending a semester reading letters from dead boys on the frontlines of ww1, it was actually kind of gutting. So why'd they make his death look like a fuckin call of duty kill cam lol. that whole fucking scene was so dorky and nonsensical and just a fucking stupid as hell plot point

-like the whole fucking point is a guy is really against violence. doesn't want his son to go to war because he's seen the horrors of war. the son wants to go anyway, and gets killed by one of his fellow soldiers. they fucking recite dulce et decorum est, the most famous ww1 anti war poem, the entire purpose of which is to tell people to stop fucking glorifying dying for your country because it's a fucking sham. AND THEN THEY GO AND GLORIFY DYING FOR YOUR COUNTRY, KILLING FOR YOUR COUNTRY, AND GETTING MORE PEOPLE TO JOIN THE WAR. HOLY SHIT

-oh also it heavily references dulce et decorum est and doesnt even feature a gas attack. show us gas attacks

Things I Liked:

-the georgian dancing was pretty epic

-i like how they included the real life fact that alpine ibexes can scale 90° degree vertical inclines

-i really want the lead's leather jacket it's so cool

-i might add more to this in the future i just love criticizing films. at the same time i just feel really disappointed cause this just feels like a sort of. shit on what the original movie was. anyway time to watch kingsman the secret service

[maximumsunshine]

I posted 13,654 times in 2022

That's 7,084 more posts than 2021!

1,048 posts created (8%)

12,606 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mostlycatsmostly

@stickyfrogs

@maximum-mom

@catasters

@the-thinkingcat

I tagged 640 of my posts in 2022

#dracula daily - 43 posts

#wwdits - 10 posts

#ofmd - 10 posts

#wwdits spoilers - 9 posts

#yep - 9 posts

#star wars - 9 posts

#submission - 7 posts

#wait - 7 posts

#ok - 7 posts

#youtube - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i'm on my first time watching star wars (in inuniverse order) and understand nothing in universe that happens after the episode before this

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Dearest Tumblr. Please show me your darling baby kitty cats? I'll accept shittens too! Here is one of mine in trade! A darling good boy named Ash!

2,032 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#4

Ok so i don't actually know much of anything about the plot of Dracula. Somehow I've managed to avoid major spoilers despite being on tumblr over 10 years and following people like @thebibliosphere and other goths interested in vampires. Which frankly this is the best job tumblr has ever done keeping the lid on a major piece of media? Though judging by the Dracula Daily tag I think maybe we all of us collectively (except maybe Joy) only like Dracula in theory and no one has actually read the book? Which is why this site has turned into the best book club ever. But i digress.

I don't actually know Jonathan's fate? I'm not even making assumptions. But what I'm dying to know (no one tell me) is if that crucifex he only took to end an awkward social interaction actually is how he somehow ends this book alive. You know. *Should* he end this book alive.

Like i know crucifixes repell Dracula. But I also know that part (most?) of the book takes place in London. Does our boy have a chance to learn before he goes home why he was given it? Or does he immediately take it off after returning home and toss it in a drawer? I assume it comes into play later? But how much later? I guess I'll keep tuning in and find out.

I'm thriving. First the blorbos on OFMD now the blorbo in my email. This is a great season for special interests that make my brain go ping!

I'm just so glad to experience both with tumblr and not well after. I'm not usually in the thick of fandom.

2,266 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#3

I want to check interest in a possible project. If I spent the first 23 weeks of 2023 running a newsletter sending out a chapter of Frankenstein a week, for us to weekly Frankenstein like we are running daily dracula, except there aren't any dates. It would just be a chapter a week sent out in order, would anyone be interested? We'd just read it together and fucking meme it like we are Dracula. Just really running with the Tumblr as a book club idea.

I'm right now just checking interest. This would be a lot of work so I'm not doing it if there is zero interest. So some sort of response beyond general likes that can mean anything would be lovely.

Putting this in the Dracula Daily tag. But I also want to tag @thebibliosphere because I feel like Joy is the ticket to making this happen. (Or at least find out if anyone wants it.)

9,314 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

#2

I have a good disability accommodation story.

I use a medium sized backpack instead of an over the shoulder bag, because chronic pain has my shoulders all jacked up and when really carrying it I need to distribute the weight. I pass as femme so it's essentially a purse (which I'll call it) that holds like my cash and cards and keys but also my epipens and inhaler and other medical essentials.

I took my 10yo to the art museum today. About 20 minutes into our visit I was told they have a bag policy and while my bag was essentially small enough i could keep it, they need it by my side so I'm not knocking it into shit via it being on my back. Some people just aren't aware of their surroundings sometimes, blanket policy. Cool i get it. They really just needed me to single shoulder it. So I did. But like another 10 minutes in despite switching between shoulders, I just couldn't. Disability just made it impossible. So back on my back it went i was just really really careful.

Of course I was approached again though by someone new. I patiently and politely explained I knew and understood the rule but disability made it so I couldn't single shoulder my bag, I really did need to distribute the weight.

And she was like, welp ok we'll just get you a sticker for your bag so security camera guy will know you're an exception to the rule I'll be right back. 2 minutes later she was back with a shiny sticker and that was that.

In a museum full of priceless art I get the bag size and how you carry it (people really do be backing into a monet with their fucking backpacks) rules. But they were happy to accommodate me without me laying out my medical history. I didn't have to explain why my shoulders are fucked up. I didn't give them the details of last weeks especially bad pinched nerve. I simply said i was disabled. I don't even think i needed to offer up the part about distributing the weight. I just offered that bit up freely so it made general sense to them. And they gave me a reasonable accommodation and stickered me so i could explore and not be stopped every 5 feet. And in return i did actually work really hard to mind my bag in relation to the art around it.

I just really appreciate when the world goes right!

11,231 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Want Frankenstein bit by bit in your email twice a week starting in February of 2023? We're doing this Dracula Daily style! Twice a week (Wednesday and Sunday) I'll drop a section of the book, in written order, in your email and we'll meme poor Victor and cheer on Adam together! If you want to join in this, this is your chance to sign up!

I think substack will have an archive for anyone late to the party, but hopefully by spreading the word now (May 2022), we can all start together on February 1 2023. February 1 was chosen because it's after Dracula Daily ends, and also Mary Shelley's death anniversary. I think she'd like this shenanigans. She'd have a blast with tumblr!

Anyway, please join us in the fun and feel free to reblog this so word gets out with the sign up link!

13,757 notes - Posted May 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[quaelgeist333]

I posted 6,758 times in 2022

That's 5,701 more posts than 2021!

57 posts created (1%)

6,701 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pocketspores

@meenah

@sootslash

@pigeocore

@jivs-jam

I tagged 138 of my posts in 2022

#warriors - 37 posts

#warrior cats - 25 posts

#pokemon - 14 posts

#wc - 10 posts

#my art - 8 posts

#sexyman descendants - 8 posts

#tf2 medic kids - 8 posts

#frecklewish - 7 posts

#garry kids - 7 posts

#warrior cats au - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#bob mortimer will always be my vc for him idc if the rest of the cats are american whenever i try to figure out voices he will always

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Decided to give the sexyman descendant sibling groups individual tags for myself and others convenience

They're pretty obvious with being #garry kids and #tf2 medic kids

6 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#4

Be gay do crime is their motto!

Some stuff

Thing on nose is also a piercing!

Less unhinged like their dad(s?), because they actually have friends who they can rely on and good parents.

Will offer to do your top surgery when they finish education

Knows german, english and latin

Has multiple replicas of the cane in case of something happening to it

The e bass idea comes from ludwig being able to play iirc violin, And basses are background, necessary and support but can play on their own

Can't wait to share all stuff that group facts

8 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#3

I need to rant about this because it happens time and time again

Person: able bodied people introducing a disablrd character just to have them to be sad about it and suddenly being cured and being happy is ableist

Other person, umprompted: YEAH WELL I'M DISABLED AND WISH I WAS CURED SO IT'S NOT

OH MY GOD SHUT UP, YOU'RE A PERFECT EXAMPLE WHY IT'S BAD, THAT SHIT TEACHES DISABLED PEOPLE THEY'RE BAD AND SHOULD FEEL BAD AND HOPE FOR A MAGICAL CURE BECAUSE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN YOU'RE USELESS WHICH IS SHITTY.

Picture a child that's disabled, may it be by birth or by accident, they never see people like them and makes them sad. Then they hear of a show with someone with their disability and they're excited, but when they watch the character is either belittled or is just used as pity that apparently it makes them useless and that they're wrong until they're "fixed" and everything is great. Imagine the sadness of that child, maybe the start of self hate.

Because it's likely they will never ever see a character that isn't that or just toxic positivity, imagine the resentment at themself.

Congratulations, you wanting this stuff to maintain causes this to happen to a lot of kids.

11 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

#2

The tf2 comic isn't out yet because one of the bot snipers eats a gun and always crashes the stuff where they save the script

14 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I look at this fucked up character and analyze for a bit before going "oh, they had a hellish childhood with lack of good parental support, having lost much of their autonomy, probably even having people try getting rid of it once and for all by trying to control their emotions making them cling to anything where they can get autonomy, even if it's murder or any other violence because that's the biggest factor of autonomy, being able to decide if someone lives or dies." and adding them to my kin list

16 notes - Posted September 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[iholli]

I posted 657 times in 2021

92 posts created (14%)

565 posts reblogged (86%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 6.1 posts.

I added 512 tags in 2021

#the suicide squad - 80 posts

#ratcatcher 2 - 74 posts

#loki - 60 posts

#hurricane ida - 53 posts

#signal boost - 49 posts

#entrapdak - 43 posts

#sebastian the rat - 43 posts

#donation post - 41 posts

#cleo cazo - 35 posts

#loki spoilers - 34 posts

Longest Tag: 105 characters

#this is in direct response to the shitting on st-ggy bc you are literally no better than the straights rn

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Hi Tumblr, you get an art post from me, as a treat. bc my singular braincell has been going batshit all week with "what if Megamind was a rat" so now you get the cast of Megamind but ✨ furry ✨ aka Ratmind

66 notes • Posted 2021-04-30 01:40:10 GMT

#4

Instagram you'd better not be lying about this

69 notes • Posted 2021-08-14 02:42:18 GMT

#3

okay but like. I spent literally the entire first four seasons of She-Ra absolutely 100% certain Glimmadora was going to be endgame and then s5 was like wait what the fuck? so yeah c*tradora was a fucking joke tbh

90 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 15:26:10 GMT

#2

I have no chill and I'm tired of Hordak being left out bc I find him rly relatable and think he could resonate well with a lot of people if not for uwu muh Catra uwu so being me I'm talking shit on Twitter. I haven't gotten piled on in ages, this should be fun.

Fuck your ableism, She-Ra babies. Entrapta at a party without the ONE person who never treated her like fucking garbage, and being left out as fucking usual. Ten years into the future and nothing gets to change for her? Fuck you. Entrapta deserves better, she deserves to have her lab partner, and Hordak deserves the same opportunity at redemption that Catra got for her half assed apologizing.

131 notes • Posted 2021-05-15 21:52:31 GMT

#1

wait what’s wrong w catradora lol

There's many, many, many essays explaining why c*tradora is bad but to sum it up, the girl who spent literally the entire show learning to be her own person instead of what everybody else wants becomes catgirl lesbian gf because that's what she wants (guilt trips) her to do. even though two seasons ago Adora decided she didn't want anything more to do with the catgirl who LITERALLY (almost) DESTROYED THE UNIVERSE (and killed Angella in the process) because Catra is physically and emotionally abusive, manipulative, selfish, and frankly just a cruel person. Which c*tradora fans ignore in favor of the Canon Lesbian Relationship Saving The World™ (Adora could've done it herself, and really saved everyone with Hordak, but w/e) and it's okay because Catra was abused and made a very half-assed apology to everyone, including the disabled woman she manipulated repeatedly and then sent to her (intended) death.

140 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 01:43:01 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ofgentleresolve-a]

MUN AND MUSE QUESTIONS ♡

list 5 of your muse’s favourite sensations.

ONE // warm sunlight streaming through the window as you wake up; it might burn too TWO // moist soil, fresh leaves or stems, and any kind of plant between your fingers THREE // blue light from a screen late into the night; you’re so engaged you forget what time it is FOUR // head pats from a loved ones, the security it gives you FIVE // the sound of laughter coming from a kitchen along with the sound of a gas stove being lit

do they have any pet peeves?

condescension of any kind especially since he’s disabled with only one working arm. he’ll tell you if he needs help, thank you very much! jaywalking, unnecessarily loud noises if it’s while he’s teaching or in the library ( apartment’s a different story- ray’s already a loudmouth ), and texting/being on your phone when he’s hanging out with you. that’s just rude!

their comfort read? (could be a book, magazine, comics, etc)

hm....he’s not as big of a reader as he’d like to be, but i’d probably say probably a shounen manga like naruto or bleach. actually fairy tail. that’s his comfort read manga wise. but if you’re looking for something more literary- the little prince.

if the book they are reading turns out to be shit, do they push through just for the sake of finishing it, or do they move on and find something else?

in the past, lamon was that guy who finishes everything he starts, but ever since his car accident, he has to force himself to put it down and go do something else. he has to remind himself he’s only reading this for fun and therefore, if he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to see it thru. he might feel guilty for a little while about not finishing it, but he moves on relatively quickly.

their comfort tv show / film?

so many. when he was recovering from his accident, he watched a lot of animated stuff to get him thru the process. he watches lots of animated cartoons/anime so the list right now includes fairy tail, avatar the last airbender, food wars ( for the food ), naruto, bleach, norigami, etc.

a song that is currently stuck in their head? (or multiple)

anything by porter robinson- mirror, get your wish, look at the sky. porter robinson is his comfort music. if he’s in a low place, catch him in the closet, listening exclusively to porter robinson.

the next three questions are for you. do you have anything special in common with your character?

eeep. there’s a lot actually?? i mean lamon manifested at first as all of my high school and college anxieties times three. he’s his own person of course, but of all of the muses i have, lamon might be the most similar to me ( and mana’s husband comes in second place ). or at the very least, we process emotions very similarly in which we take a little longer to like actually feel our emotions?? our brains are like messy rooms- when something happens, i tend think something like ‘okay i know i should be feeling something here and i don’t quite know what it is yet, but it’s there’ and then the emotion reveals itself and i’m like ‘oh there it is!’ lam has a similar process. other things though- our taste in music is very similar. we’re both suckers for animated content too. oh and i like to think his character development from his original conception actually very much mirrors mine?? like his backstory got a little dark there and his personality, very fragile. i wasn’t in a great spot either. and then as i started to recover, i got sad just thinking about him so i decided to change his backstory so it was lighter and his personality so it was more vivacious. i also think we both these days have developed an ‘idgaf’ attitude towards the minor details in life.

what brings you the most joy about writing this character, right now?

hmmmm, i haven’t written him nearly as much as i want to, BUT i do like how layered his personality is. bc on one hand, he presents himself as apathetic and rather cold, but in actuality, he’s quite passionate?? hotheaded?? also v soft and sweet with his friends?? i just wanna explore all the relationships for him bc he also had a rough past few years so GIVE HIM FRIENDS PLS

who would win in a fight, you or them?

 he definitely has the height and weight advantage, but i think i have a fighting chance? for one thing i’m pretty sure i have a little more of a fiery personality than he does. he might be able to decimate me emotionally though.

any advice from your muse?

"sometimes life is just one long terrible joke. and by one long terrible joke, i mean you have to wait for the punchline to come before it all makes sense. wait for it. drink a baja blast. make a comment to the person sitting next to you. get into a conversation about the necessity of toilet lids. maybe go strangle that person if they suggest eating pickle flavored ice cream to pass time. sooner or later, it’ll all make sense.”

tagged by : @undrowns and @mythvoiced ( thank you both so much!! i’m late jskldfjsl ) tagging: @gwyynbleidd ( for quinn! ) @astralglam @bloodxhound @phantombs @everqi @grantsluck @svmmercmance @oplitis​ and you!! steal it, i’m curious now!!

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of The Spheres Chapter 1: Terran Tarantella

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, implied murder

Characters: Loki(Marvel), Heimdall(Marvel)

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:   

“I see a bad moon a-rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today”

                       Creedence Clearwater Revival

A small group of men, and one woman gathered in a small room; the kind that seemed like a storage closet from the outside, the kind that had cameras installed, but not functioning. Beyond this room, the basic hustle of running a government rushed on, but within it, all heads were turned to a handful of hand written documents scattered over the table.

“And you're absolutely sure this translation is correct?” One of them asked.

“Yes.” The woman said. “Well, as much as I can be. Old Norse is a contentious language, but this is written so much more clearly than most of our primary sources.” She gestured to the letter in question, written in gold ink on purple parchment. It was a museum quality piece of work, and it would likely never see the inside of one. Its contents were just too incriminating. Especially since the President seemed to be seriously considering it.

“Hm. Well then, we should probably chose someone shouldn't we?” He said.

“Mister President?” The translator asked. “Are you sure? I've been quite plain about what this says. What is being asked of us. It's...reprehensible. And frankly, I am surprised that King Thor would even allow it.”

“Ma'am, this is a culture that is old beyond reckoning.” Another man-one of the generals? She couldn't keep them straight-piped in. “An alien race on top of that. It's only to be expected that they would have customs that are unfamiliar, even repugnant to us. We should keep an open mind.”

It was ridiculous. She knew for a fact that many of the people in this room and beyond held virulent hatred for several cultures that existed on Earth. There was no reason they should be showing this kind of cultural sensitivity to a bunch of aliens who just showed up and started making demands. Especially that one...

“I ask you to understand that sometimes we make hard sacrifices for the good of all.” The President said. “Asgard is a galactic superpower.”

“Was.” She pointed out. “Now they're a bunch of refugees.”

The President gave her an annoyed glance. “They will no doubt regain their power shortly. Their technology is wildly advanced. And if we go along with the occasional weird little whim they have, they will be grateful. So America gains access to Asgardian tech. Imagine how many people could have their lives bettered by Asgardian friendship.”

The translator couldn't help but wonder since when this man gave a shit about bettering the lives of others. It was disgusting, that this was probably just another path to money and power for him. Even moreso that no one else in the room was questioning this, even a little bit. They were all known for eating scraps from his table anyway, and likely looking to grab some of those benefits for themselves. At what expense?

She decided to start looking for another job.

“Asgardian friendship would certainly be a boon for our country.” She said. “Do you have further need of me?” She wanted out of here badly now. She didn't want to be in the room while they made this awful choice.

“No.” The president said. He tapped one of his men on the arm. “Escort her out, would you?”

With relief, she followed the man out of the room.

She never made it to her car.

                                                                               ******

Loki wandered through the dark and cramped byways, to the furthest reaches of their new settlement, past the places where the rest of his people felt safe, past where even he felt safe. These outside places were no longer the haunts of petty criminals or undesirables exactly, not that he feared such unsavories. No, these rough walls were now the lair of the most notorious and hidden Asgardian of all. So mythical was she, that almost no one knew she still lived.

Gullveig the witch. If stories were to be believed, she was the first witch. If stories were to be believed, she had been killed three times, and returned each time. If stories were to be believed, that meant she was now beyond death.

If stories were to be believed, that meant he was as well.

But that was not why he was here.

In all the whispers, in all the screamed confessions, all the gibbering of those who had visited her, her power was very real. Real and terrible, for she could grant any wish, any wish at all, and sometimes that was far more than the wisher actually wanted. Word a wish poorly, and it would be granted. Fail to think through the consequences of a wish, and it would still be granted. It was why she had been killed so many times in the first place. But that was the fault of the wishers, not Gullveig herself.

And Loki had thought through this wish, and knew what it would cost him. But the gains...if he had calculated correctly, predicted correctly, the gains for Asgard could be immense. Steeling himself, he found the one area that appeared to be lit, and entered.

“You have returned again.” She said in her cracked and watery voice. Her back was to him, and she appeared to be warming her hands over a tiny fire in a glowing crucible. Fires-real fires-were strictly forbidden within the confines of Asgard right now, but it was debatable whether those embers counted as a real fire, debatable whether she lived within Asgard. On the edge of things, always as she liked it. “So you are truly committed?”

“I am.” Loki said. “I have made my decision.”

The old witch cackled in amusement. “It may be your last! After this, you will be different. You know this, yes? This person who stands in my doorway? He will no longer exist.”

“That is by design.” Loki said.

She turned to face him. She was, by far, the oldest Asgardian he had ever seen; bent, wizened, wrinkled and scraggly. She didn't look the part of a witch. She wasn't horrifying to look at, simply old, frail, wrapped in a pale shawl. She wasn't frightening at all, except that he knew her to be older than his father's father, and that she had one, single-minded focus in life that transcended any morality or ethics she might have ever had.

“Did you bring me what I want?” she asked.

“Yes.” He offered up a sizable sack, filled with every last scrap of gold that he owned. He had pried it from his armor, stripped it from his jewelry, and pricked out every last shimmering thread from his royal wardrobe. His, and only his: she would not accept any that he had taken from someone else. This had to be his sacrifice to make-the first of several.

Gold was all she ever wanted. Anyone could buy her services, if only they offered gold. Sometimes she didn't care where they got it, but as a ruler, he was a special case. No one knew what she did with it. Surely, she had collected enough over the millennia to build a palace out of it, but it was never anywhere to be seen.

She smiled at the sight of it, seemed to stand straighter, move more spryly.

“Now, for yours.” She plunged her claw-like fingers into the crucible, stirring the embers and ashes with rapidly blackening talons. She plucked forth a glowing ring, strewn with runes, and shook it, blowing ashes from the darkening metal. Using her tattered apron, she polished the ring until it shone even in the weak light of her tiny hovel.

It was not gold, which she would never have parted with, but platinum, a metal that just happened to be fairly abundant in their new settlement. He did not know if the powers of Midgard were aware of the riches to be found in the place they had allotted to Asgard, but he would certainly see that Asgard got to claim them.

The glow and runes had thoroughly faded from the ring before she set it on his palm, with the instruction 'not to put it on until you mean it'. But he knew exactly what he was going to do with it. He had taken the opportunity while Thor slept the long and powerful sleep of an Asgardian ruler, to send a message to the country of most of his brother's friends. The country he had tried to conquer. It was a message that promised things, as in days of old. A promise of power, of friendship, of mutual benefit, in exchange for a life. The simplest and most common of agreements.

Perhaps that might make up for his earlier...indiscretion.

He vanished the ring to his magical hiding place, and exited Gullveig's home. While Thor slept, Loki ruled, and it wouldn't do for him to be missed. Winding along through long, rough corridors, until he returned to the well-lit and finished walls of Asgard's new buildings, he found Heimdall and his advisors waiting. Perfect. He needed to tell them to expect a visitor soon.

                                                                            ******

“There. I think that's everybody within the parameters.” One worker said, pushing back from his computer.

“Let me check.” His partner leaned over the keyboard. “Lessee...age range, yeah...unmarried, yeah...less than twelve thousand a year, yeah...anti-Party sentiments on social media...arrest record, yeah...'other undesirable'? That's pretty cold.”

“This whole thing is cold.” He agreed. “But the projected benefits are worth it. Whoever's chosen will be contributing more than their current life is worth.”

“Cold as ice. Well, let's do this.” His partner hit the sort command, the program sifting through millions of names before settling on one at random.

“Well, there's our unlucky lady.” He said, pulling up all the personal information the computer had. “Sorry about this, miss, but maybe you should've made better life choices. Either way, your sacrifice will usher in a new age of prosperity for us.”

“Well, when do we get her?”

“We've got people in her town. We'll just send them a message tomorrow. Well, sleep tight, miss. There's no telling what that freak is going to do to you.”

“Fucking frigid, man.”

                                                                             ******

With a groan, you pulled yourself out of bed. Another day, another dollar. Never quite enough dollars for the amount of days you spent though.

You found your cane and hobbled to the shower, wasting precious morning moments under the warm spray. You probably wouldn't get a chance to bathe this evening. You would be going to a protest-you had finished your sign last night, and it should be dry by now.

You didn't bother to turn on the lights; the sun was peeking through your window, and it wasn't like your studio apartment had much clutter to trip over anyway.

Getting your leg attached, and grabbing a slice of buttered bread, you just barely caught the bus to work.

It was simple data entry, but it-barely-paid the bills. And it didn't require you to stand for hours, or be constantly walking back and forth, or talking directly to customers, so you were thankful to have it.

You'd still be voting for better conditions though, and surreptitiously trying to unionize. You, and everyone there were still being exploited, and it wouldn't do to just accept that, simply because it could be worse.

Now if only Betty had called in...Nope, she hadn't. It was practically every day lately, that you prayed for your ultra-conservative coworker to just stay home, but she never did. She bragged to you-or within earshot of you-very often about her perfect attendance. You could never prove that she was doing it as a jab to your occasional medical related absences, but you wouldn't put it past her.

She noticed you slipping your sign under your desk.

“That's inappropriate.” She said with unconcealed disgust. Ugh, the twit would hate protesters. She somehow thought she was closer to those power-hungry hangers-on that the regime seemed to draw out of the woodwork. She had much more in common with the people crawling in the streets than she ever would with the so-called 'president' and his cronies, and she would actually benefit from the changes you were all marching for, but her pointy, oyster-white nose was so far in the air that she would never see it.

“It's none of your business.” You grumbled, slipping into your chair, and setting your cane aside. You wouldn't be getting up from there for the next few hours.

“It is my business to know whether I share a cubicle wall with a violent thug!” She trilled sanctimoniously.

“Okay, first of all, that kind of accusation is inappropriate, and prohibited by company policy. Second of all, what am I gonna do? Limp at you?”

“If you decide to get aggressive with me, I can't escape. I have to run down the stairs, but you can beat me to any floor, just by using the elevator!”

“This again? Give it a rest!” You were this close to reporting her. Again. Maybe if you did it enough times, somebody would actually do something about it.

Betty held a genuine grudge over the fact that you were the only employee on this floor who got to use the janky old service elevator. Everybody else had to use the stairs. Never mind that it was literally the only way for you to even get to your desk. No, if there was something that some people were allowed to do, but Betty wasn't, it was clearly incontestable proof of oppression against Betty herself. Also, if the 'wrong sort' of people were allowed to do the same things Betty was, well that was also anti-Betty oppression. She just wanted so badly to be able to claim oppression, that she didn't realize that she actually was being oppressed by the people she wanted just as desperately to emulate.

She was exhausting.

“Good morning you two! Hey Betty, you got those numbers for me yet?” Saved by the boss. Well, not really. He didn't like you, but he didn't like Betty either. He didn't hate either of you. He was just the boss-make believe friendly, but distant, concerned with other things. However, he disliked when employees wasted time, and Betty did. A lot. That's what happened when someone was an incorrigible gossip.

Betty slunk back to her desk, cowed for at least a few minutes. He handed you a bit more work to do, then meandered down the aisle, greeting other employees, and handing out more work on his way to his own tiny office. He wasn't all that important either, in the scheme of things. It was really amazing how many people kept their gaze so fixed on the people in power that they couldn't see them pouring quicksand around their feet.

But you would lend your voice to the march on their behalf anyway. They deserved better too. Maybe they'd see it someday, instead of continuing to fight against their own interests.

For now, though, you would concentrate on your work.

The morning came and went, your little lunch alarm signaling its death. You grabbed your cane and walked slowly and carefully to the break room. You kept a week's worth of small lunches in baggies in the fridge here. Salami, little cheese slices, crackers, cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, and grapes. Not much, but tasty and filling, and you got all the food groups. There was an unspoken rule about not messing with other people's food that, thankfully, nobody in the office had ever broken; at least not while you'd been here.

You could see into the tidy lines of cubicles from the break room, and while you crunched away at your carrots, you noticed something worrying. There were two men in matching suits and shades talking to Betty. She spoke to them animatedly, gesturing at your cubicle. One of the men peeked inside.

Oh, you didn't like that at all.

You didn't actually have anything to hide, but you knew damn well that didn't matter. If these were cops-or worse-they would find whatever it was they wanted to find, one way or another.

By the time you got back from your lunch break, the men had disappeared, but Betty still had a distressingly smug grin on her face. You checked every drawer and every cranny of your desk: nothing had been taken, and nothing had been left behind. You went back to work, trying to ignore the anxiousness that was creeping up your back.

You had just finished and sent your last spreadsheet when your boss opened his door and called you to his office. You slowly made your way there, trying not to pay attention to the malice sparkling in Betty's face, or how your other coworkers glanced at you with pity or distrust.

The suspicious pair of men were hiding out in your boss' office, and you'd never seen him looking more uncomfortable.

One of the men positioned himself closer to the door behind you, not that you could run anyway.

“Um...Do you know why I called you in here?” Your boss asked.

“I assume it has something to do with your new friends.” You said sourly. This was going bad, you could see it a mile off. You honestly didn't know why they were here, or what they wanted. “Seriously though, no I don't. Why have you called me in here?”

You'd make him say it at least.

“Er, well, unfortunately your employment with us has been, well, terminated. So, if you would just gather up your things-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” You interrupted.  “On what grounds? Because these guys said so?”

'These guys' said nothing.

“No, no, it's, uh...your arrest record...”

“That's ridiculous! Why didn't you fire me two months ago then, when it happened? Because you know it was pure bullcrap, that's why! You saw the footage; I never threw anything at that cop! He tripped over some garbage that was already there, then turned around, knocked me down, and hit me with my own cane. They let me out the same day because they knew they had nothing. Cane's still bent.”

“Look, I'm sorry, but you're fired. I'm sorry. Now go on, get out of here.”

And take them with you seemed to be the unspoken plea. You stormed out of the office with as much dignity as you could, spoke to no one, shoved the meager contents of your desk into your purse, gabbed your sign, and got into the old service elevator for the last time.

You would be reporting this, to anybody who would listen. It was completely unacceptable. And now you would have to go through the ordeal of applying either for unemployment, or disability. You hoped your savings would last long enough for your appeals to go through.

You spotted their reflections in a display window on the way to the bus stop. The two men from the office were following you now. Were they feds? Had Betty and your spineless boss sold you out to the feds? You hadn't even done anything!

You almost expected it when they dragged you into an alley, a pungent-smelling cloth held tight over your face, muffling your voice. It made you cough, but that also made you inhale, and in moments, soft blackness wrapped around you.

[dumb-hat]

Character Sheet - Evander Winsome

—————- Link to blank template!

Rules: Things in brackets are meant only as guidelines, to be erased and your answers written in place of. Things separated by | are for bolding and italicising.

Tagged by: No one! I saw this reblogged by @mooglemeet​, so I went ahead and grabbed it directly from @bluespiritfire​. Link to the blank template is up above! Tagging: No one specific/anyone who wants to. Feel free to tag me back so I can see it!

Name: Evander Winsome Age: 26 Pronouns: He/him Birthdate: 12th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

~~PLACE OF ORIGIN~~ Race: Hyur From the First: Interracial heritage:

Hometown/city: Limsa Lominsa Current residence/popular haunt:Ul’dah

~~APPEARANCE~~

Eyes: brown | blue | green | gold | red | purple | multicoloured | other (amber) Hair: brunette | black | blonde | red (ginger or crimson?) | grey/white (aged or natural?) | multicoloured | none | other (…) Hair type: straight | curly | ringlets | wavy | wiry | frizzy | voluminous | thin | other (unruly) Hair style: A shaggy mop deeply in need of a trim, permanent hat hair. (It’s Aymeric hair. I can’t imagine he’ll ever wear the outfit, but the hair was worth it!) Body type: beefy | curvaceous | fat | lean | muscular | petite | skinny | stocky | other (…) Height: short | tall | specific measurement (5′9) Skin: ashen | caucasian | dark | fair | freckled | olive | tanned | other Facial features: birthmark | beard (stubble) | face paint | fur | scales | scars | tattoos | other (…) Body features: birthmark | beard | ears (anything unique about them) | face paint | fur | missing limb/s | scales | scars | tail | tattoos | other (…)

Favourite/commonly used clothes:

~~SKILLS~~ DoL/DoH Botanist | Fisher | Miner | Alchemist | Armorer | Blacksmith | Carpenter | Culinarian | Goldsmith | Leatherworker | Weaver fun | profit | self-sustainability

~~COMBAT~~ Main discipline Gladiator/Paladin | Marauder/Warrior | Dark Knight | Gunbreaker | Astrologian | Conjurer/White Mage | Arcanist/Scholar/Summoner | Thaumaturge/Black Mage | Blue Mage | Red Mage | Pugilist/Monk | Lancer/Dragoon | Rogue/Ninja | Samurai | Archer/Bard | Machinist | Dancer

Secondary/Tertiary/Extra Classes Gladiator/Paladin | Marauder/Warrior | Dark Knight | Gunbreaker | Astrologian | Conjurer/White Mage | Arcanist/Scholar/Summoner | Thaumaturge/Black Mage | Blue Mage | Red Mage | Pugilist/Monk | Lancer/Dragoon | Rogue/Ninja | Samurai | Archer/Bard | Machinist | Dancer

Fighting style aggressive | cautious | hard-and-fast | tactical | defensive | protective | all out | wait-and-see | charge in headlong | reckless | self-sacrificing | party-oriented | loner |

Any difficulties with magical/physical disciplines? Nothing in particular

~~PERSONALITY TRAITS~~ abrasive | abusive | accepting | aggressive | analytical | anxious | arrogant | assertive | brave | bossy | calm | caring | cautious | cheerful | chronic liar | confident | controlling | cowardly | creative/inventive | cunning | curious | determined | disinterested | envious | fearless | frosty | frugal | generous | greedy | gullible | honest | humorous | impatient | impulsive | indifferent | insecure | intelligent | irresponsible | jealous | just | kind | loyal | lustful | manipulative | materialistic | meek | modest | money-driven | naïve | narcissistic | oblivious | overbearing | patient | passive | perceptive | possessive | prickly | quiet | relaxed | religious | sarcastic | secretive | self-assured | self-conscious | self-deprecating | selfish | selfless | spiritual | strict | stubborn | tired | thoughtful | unpredictable | virtuous | vocal | wary | wise | other

~~LIKES~~ Environment: forest | city streets | markets | the beach | open sea/on the water | mountains | jungle | battlefield | being at home | surrounded by books | other (…) Weather: wind | snow | rain | sunshine | storms | cloudy days Flavors: sweet | salty | sour | bitter | spicy | tart | gamey | spiced | fruity | nutty | leafy greens | other Textures: silk | velvet | cotton | metal | leather | water | spongy | dry granules (sand, sugar, etc) | other (…) Favorite Dish: Dzo steak & popotoes (small, seasoned and baked ones are best, but he won’t turn away mashed or fried) Favorite Color: Whites, browns, grays Favorite Sound: Soft, quiet breaths; glasses tinking together, machinery clicking into place Favorite Smell: Juniper, jasmine, iris; citrus and sandalwood, hard liquor Favorite Place: Anywhere he can find a good drink and great company Favorite Holiday: the Moonfire Faire Other: Evander likes free-spirited people, people who know how to relax, people who aren’t afraid to call him out on his shit, but also aren’t too eager to do so

~~DISLIKES~~ Environment: forest | city streets | markets | the beach | open sea/on the water | mountains | jungle | battlefield | being at home | surrounded by books | other (…) Weather: wind | snow | rain | sunshine | storms | cloudy days Flavors: sweet | salty | sour | bitter | spicy | tart | gamey | spiced | fruity | nutty | leafy greens | other Textures: silk | velvet | cotton | metal | leather | water | spongy | dry granules (sand, sugar, etc) | other (sticky) Least Favorite Dish: Emerald soup, lutefisk. In general, he shies away from things that are really bitter or cloyingly sweet. Least Favorite Color: Really, really, really bright greens, yellows and pinks. Think neon.  Least Favorite Sound: Pained screams, metal grinding against metal Least Favorite Smell: Blood, rot, vomit Least Favorite Place: Jail Least Favorite Holiday: Starlight Other: He has a general disdain for nobility, law enforcement and people who take everything too seriously.

~~HOBBIES~~ art (what medium/s?) | adventuring | cooking | fighting/sparring | finance | gardening | golden saucer attractions (Lord of Verminion, chocobo racing, Doman mahjong, triple triad) | hiking | hunting (game or hunt marks) | lacks hobbies | music | physical sports | reading (almost anything he can get his hands on, though he regards romance novels as a kind of quiet, not-quite-guilty pleasure) | running | scrapbooking | sewing/knitting/other needlework | sightseeing | socializing | swimming | training | writing | other (…)

~~RELATIONSHIPS~~ Parents/Legal Guardian/Parental Figure: mother | father | aunt and/or uncle | grandparents | adoptive | foster | mentor | family friend/godparents | other Siblings: One older brother; deceased Children: None that he knows of Romantic: single | unrequited | crushing | dating | engaged | married | divorced/separated | widow/widower | recently split | it’s complicated (I mean, not to him. To him, it makes total sense. Well, most of it does.) | other (…) Friends: Evander tends to befriend and trust people fairly easily, though it can take him a bit to really open up. Once you’ve hit that point, you’ve likely got a friend for life. Rivals/Enemies: To the best of his knowledge, he’s left these all behind somewhere or other, thanks largely to his restless need to wander. That said, there’s surely a few lurking in the past and there’s always room for more, of course!

Any special gestures of affection they have with people in their life? He’ll often make complaining noises about paying for drinks and dinner, but he’ll do it every time and would be slightly hurt if people didn’t let him.

~~HAVE DEALT WITH/IS DEALING WITH~~ abuse (ongoing or recovering, verbal or physical) | acceptance | a new relationship (unlikely friendship, step-sibling/parent, etc) | a new romance | betrayal | broken heart | budgeting | bullying | caution | confidence | crisis of faith | depression | grief | health issues | how to trust | learning from a mistake (as in “doesn’t enough) | loss | love | new people | new place | opening up to someone/others | parenthood | physical changes (loss of a limb or other sense, inability to do things previously able to) | politics | PTSD | poverty | racism | reconciling previously held beliefs | responsibility | sacrifice (self or of another) | self-acceptance | self-esteem | to value myself | to value others | trauma (medical, mental, emotional) | war | wealth | other (…)

How are they dealing with the most prominent of the above? How does it affect their in day-to-day life, if at all? Poorly, typically.

~~ODDS AND ENDS~~ Notable Weapons He doesn’t have any particular bond with any of his weapons, really. He sees them as tools, and ones that he uses only reluctantly. He sometimes enjoys tinkering with the ones he builds, but that’s more of a hobby than anything. 

Notable Mounts He has various vehicles and machines he likes to fuss over and drive around, but he’s particularly fond of his SDS Fenrir.

In addition to his chocobo—a particularly stubborn beast named Doreen—he’s also fond of his battlesheep, Doctor One and a colossal crab he’s dubbed St. Barnabus.

Notable Minion/s Besides Doctor One and St. Barnabas, Evander is especially fond of various clockworks, automata, wind-ups and models that he’s put together. His favorite is a drone modeled after a Magitek bit that he’s named Valencia.

Keepsakes/Mementos

A pendant in the shape of a swan, a few too many flasks

Chronic Illnesses or Disabilities Evander lives with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. I’ve written about it a few places, most notably at length here and in brief here. How do they deal with these? Depends on the day, really. This isn’t really a thing he has a name for, so it’s not a thing he can easily address. He’s got a sloppily slapped together set coping mechanisms that work about half the time, if he’s lucky. Other than that, he mostly hopes for good days full of things he can convince himself he’s interested in.

Education Level He likes it when people underestimate him, so he’s not always quick to admit to the formal Ishgardian education afforded to him by the family that took him in when he left Limsa Lominsa. He’ll often try to pass it off as eclectic, self-driven studies... Which, admittedly, also played a big part in shaping him. 

Habits There’s a lot of excess in his life. He drinks too much. He eats too much. He stays up too late, too long, and then sleeps too late, too long. He’s almost always got a flask or four on his person, and he often finds that he’s picking up the dinner or drink tab wherever he goes. 

Other Nothing immediately springs to mind, but I’m sure there’s like a dozen things I should put here. This thing has been sitting in my drafts for god-knows-how-long, so I’m just glad to finally get it out there. 

[afni-fics]

Red Robin: In Hindsight - Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento)

In Hindsight: Chapter 1 (In the Present... Memento) (3266 words) by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary:

What if bleeding out in a Middle Eastern hotel room was not the first time Timothy Drake-Wayne and Tamara Fox met? What if they were actually childhood best friends, but life and circumstance forced them apart for years to the point of forgetting each other?

Concept/Prompt: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: It's another rough night in Gotham City. The Scarecrow is on the loose and the Bats are out in force trying to recapture him. Unfortunately, Red Robin got hit with large dose of fear toxin and had to retreat to a safe place to administer the antidote and wait for it to kick in. The closest safe place just happens to be Tam Fox's apartment.

(A/N: All "In the Present..." events take place post-Red Robin #26)

---

"--ed Robin? Can you hea--"

Tim groaned softly as he slowly clawed his way back into some semblance of consciousness. Almost by reflex, he began going down a silent mental checklist to determine his current situation:

"Uniform, cowl, belts in place... Still Red Robin... Not disarmed... Not disabled... Okay...

"No sounds of combat... City noises muffled... Carpet beneath me... Indoors... Apartment?... So far so good...

"Groggy... Vision blurry... Hearing ok... Movements sluggish... Drugged maybe?... I can work with this..."

"Tim? Are you... alright?"

"And that was my real name... Well shit."

Gingerly, Tim tried to push himself up off the floor. A glance around himself revealed he had been lying amidst what appeared to be the remains of a wooden bookshelf along with its contents and a disturbingly large amount of shattered glass in some unlucky civilian's living room. Then his head turned to the source of the voice that had pulled him back to awareness. A lump rose uncomfortably into his throat.

"Tam?"

Kneeling a yard or so away from him was Tamara Fox, with a nervous wide-eyed expression, clutching an empty auto-injector pen with an orange label that Tim recognized from his own utility belt stash as fear toxin antidote. 

Tim felt a spike of panic as he looked into Tam's face. "Oh God!" he exclaimed as he tried get to his feet as quickly as he could. "Are you alright?! Did I hurt you?!" Unfortunately, as soon as he got to his feet, the world pitched sideways and he nearly felt fell back to the floor, were it not for Tam rising to her own feet to help steady him.

"Woah there!" Tam said as she tried to help the unbalanced vigilante stay upright. "I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm ok." Then she glanced around the apartment with a weary sigh. "My living room, on the other hand, not so much."

Tim grimaced as he followed her gaze around the room. Near as he could figure, he could visualize how he must have crashed through the glass balcony door while trying to grapple between buildings, based on the gaping hole letting all the cold Gotham air in from her balcony. Following the shard pattern of the broken glass on the floor, he could see how he must have been flying with some speed and hadn't even been able to slow his descent before crashing, if the evidence of the demolished bookshelf that had been leaning against the wall opposite the balcony and the prominent new aches in his own body was any indication.

"I heard on the news that the Scarecrow was on the loose," Tam said as she tried to ease him to the sofa so he could sit down. "I guess you got hit with fear toxin?"

Tim nodded as he sat down, then pushed back his cowl to reveal his face, savoring the cool air as it hit his skin. "Last thing I remember is trying to get somewhere safe to take the antidote and ride things out," he murmured as he scrubbed his face with his hands. "I thought I was trying to get to a safehouse we have in the area."

Tam sat down on the arm of the sofa, her back to the recovering vigilante, and looked at the empty antidote pen in her hand. "And yet you ended up here..." she mused.

"I'm really, really sorry Tam," Tim apologized as he raked his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "I don't know what happened or what I was thinking with the fear toxin took hold." He dared to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? I really didn't hurt you?"

Tam shrugged, then glanced back at him out of the corner of her own eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Whatever that Scarecrow put in that toxin didn't make you go crazy violent or anything." She looked back at the remains of her bookshelf where she'd found him curled up in a fetal position, disturbingly still and silent. "You... you'd gone completely catatonic." She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "Nothing I said or did reached you, and for a bit the antidote didn't seem to be working. I thought..." Tam shook her head and got to her feet. "It doesn't matter what I thought. The antidote kicked in finally and you'll be ok now, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be ok." Tim watched sadly as Tam immediately knelt down to gather up some of the books that had been scattered by the destruction of their shelves. As she worked, he made a few mental notes about the effects of the Scarecrow's new fear toxin. The old toxin was known for triggering horrific visions and violent reactions in its victims. This new version, triggering catatonia instead of violence, could potentially be a greater threat against anyone in Gotham's vigilante family seeking to subdue the villain.

Tim ought to have been reaching out to Batman and the rest of his family to warn them about this new variant.

However, he couldn't get his mind off the fact that somewhere in the back of his brain, while Scarecrow's fear toxin was trying to take root, the closest safe place he instinctively tried to go to was Tamara Fox's home... no matter how broken their friendship was right now.

"Here. Let me help," Tim offered as he cautiously got to his feet and tested his balance, which was better than it was earlier. 

Tam tried to wave him away, though, as she set a stack of books on the sofa and out of the way. "Don't worry about it," she said in a tense voice as she reached for what looked like an old leather bound book. "It's fine. I'm fine. Shouldn't you be getting ba--"

Whatever she was about to say was cut off abruptly when, upon trying to lift up the book by its spine, about thirty pages full of photographs spilled out all over the floor. Tam could only stare at the mess of her beloved childhood memories scattered at her feet, until she felt hot tears begin to fill her eyes.

"Goddamnit," she snapped softly in frustration, her voice breaking slightly as she closed her eyes tightly. "Well isn't this just a perfect metaphor for my life right now?"

Tim looked and felt absolutely gutted the moment he saw and heard all those photo album pages spill onto the floor. For a moment, he was as frozen in place as Tam, unable to do anything except stare at those pictures, at Tam's precious memories scattered haphazardly around her

However, as Tam sank to the floor with another frustrated sob, clutching the remains of her album tight to her chest. he finally jolted into movement. 

"I am so... so sorry Tam," he apologized with deep, sincere regret as he knelt beside her and began to carefully gather up the photo pages. The childhood photographer he once was chided him mercilessly in the back of his mind for being the cause of this damage. 

Tam sniffled a little and used her free hand to try and scrub the tears from her eyes. "I know... I know..." she murmured as she recomposed herself, set aside the remains of the album cover, and started collecting some of of the photo pages herself. Between the two of them, it should've taken no time at all to pick up all the pictures.

At least, that's how it should have been.

Though the light in the living room wasn't the greatest, only a single nearby floor lamp close to the sofa provided any illumination, Tim kept pausing every now and then to take closer looks at the images, slowing his progress.

These were all clearly pictures of Tam and her family back when she was a child in and around her childhood home when she was maybe nine or ten years old. Everyone looked happy, or at the very least content. He also recognized a younger Lucius Fox interspersed among the pages as well as who he assumed was Tam's mom, her older sister Tiffany, and her younger brother Luke when he was still a toddler.

They were nice photos full of what looked like warm, happy memories.

So why were they giving him such a strange nagging feeling of deja vu?

Tim noticed the corner of a photo that had been dislodged from its album page. Unlike the other photos in the album which were all standard 4"x6" glossy prints, this one appeared to be more squarish in shape with an obvious white border that was thicker at one end.  "A Polaroid?" Tim thought to himself curiously as he tugged the photo out from under the other pages. "I haven't seen one of those in years..."

Then, as Tim got a good look at the photo, his breath caught in his throat.

In the photo a young boy and girl were sitting close together on a wooden porch swing, both smiling brightly on a warm summer day. The girl was hugging the boy, who looked a few years younger, as he appeared to have both arms outstretched in front of him just off the image, as if he had been holding the Polaroid camera to take the picture. On the white section of the photograph right beneath the image are words written in black marker by a childish hand.

"Timber & Tami - July 19, 20XX"

About that moment, Tam noticed the photo in Tim's hand. Her gaze softened. "That's my favorite picture," she said fondly as she reached out to tilt the image slightly her way, though she didn't try to take it from Tim. 

"Who... was he?"

Tam couldn't help the sad, nostalgic smile that formed on her lips. "He was my best friend." She sighed softly as she continued reminiscing. "He lived next door to me and was raised by his grandma. We practically grew up together because Nana was always babysitting me while my parents were at work."

She glanced at the photos in her hands, and the ones still on the floor. "He was such a geek about cameras and photography," she chuckled warmly. "I remember, Nana gave him this vintage Polaroid camera for his eighth birthday. He was so excited, you'd think he'd won the lotto. I think... this was the first picture he ever took with it." She glanced at the photos in her hands and still on the floor. "He took most of these other ones too, and he gave me the album for my birthday before--"

"Before?"

Tam sighed. "Before his Nana got sick, and he had to move away."

It took a long minute, but finally Tam noticed Tim was strangely quiet. When she turned her attention from the photos to him, she was startled to see him staring at her with an intense wide-eyed expression she'd never seen in those blue eyes before. For the first time in the year since she'd met him, he looked like he was close to tears.

He looked at her like he was staring at a ghost.

Tam felt a tendril of unease coil in her chest. "Tim? What's wro--"

"Tami?" he whispered to her in a small, vulnerable tone. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion and completely unguarded. "Is it really you?"

At first Tam was confused. She glanced between the Polaroid photo held in Tim's now trembling hand before her gaze drifted back up to his face and looked into eyes that were suddenly more familiar than they'd ever been before.

Suddenly, her world shifted.

Tam's own brown eyes went wide with shock as she tried to stifle a gasp with her hands. Then, slowly, she lowered her fingers from her lips.

"Timber?" 

The tears that had been threatening to escape Tim's startled blue eyes finally coursed down his cheeks with Tam's word. There was so much emotion warring on his face, and while his mouth opened and closed, nothing seemed able to come out. 

Tim reached out for Tam, who was still frozen in her own silent shock.

But before he could reach her, Tim's communicator began to ping, cutting through the silence between them and making both of them jump. Tim's hand retracted away sharply, as if he'd been burned. After taking a second to compose himself, he reached up to press a button on the communicator in his ear.

"Red here," he said, his voice all business, all Red Robin, but stretched tight to near the point of breaking.

"Thank goodness," Oracle's synthesized voice on the comm crackled to life. "Batman and Robin need backup. Batgirl and Nightwing both got hit with fear toxin, but their trackers haven't moved in several minutes."

Tim rose grimly to his feet and turned toward the doorless balcony. "Crane's got a new variant. Triggers catatonia instead of fight or flight. The current antidote works, but takes longer to kick in." He checked his belts to see how many more doses of antidote he had. "If they're immobile either they took the antidote and we're just waiting for it to take effect, or they went catatonic before they could administer in the first place." He sighed as he pulled out his grapple gun to insert a new cartridge. "Who's closest to my location?"

"Nightwing. Sending you coordinates for both."

"I'll be there soon. Make sure to warn B and Robin about the variant. Red out."

Once the comm was disconnected, Tim bowed his head. When he spoke, his Red Robin tone was nowhere to be heard. "I'm sorry Tam..." he whispered, voice full of regret and longing and... something else neither of them could identify. "I have to go--"

But as he turned to glance back timidly at her, Tim's eyes went wide when he suddenly found himself tightly wrapped up in a pair of soft warm arms. His breath hitched in his chest as he felt, more than heard, Tam sob into his shoulder, "It's you."

Without even thinking, Tim wrapped his arms around Tam, pulling her closer and tucking his own face into the crook of her neck. He held her tighter than he ever had before in this past year. All his emotions felt raw and exposed, but in this moment that was ok.

This was his Tami...

His big sister...

His best friend...

His first-- 

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Tim pulled back slightly, just enough to speak clearly. "I need to go."

Tam pulled back slowly too, until just their hands were interlaced. Finally, she raised her gaze to meet his. "Be careful," she whispered. The weight of so many other things they wished to say to one another hangs in the space between them, and they both know it.

Tim nodded wordlessly. Then, with painful reluctance, he slipped his fingers from her grasp, pulled his cowl back on launched a grappling line out of Tam's apartment. He spares just one final backward glance, his expression masked almost completely by his cowl, before launching himself into back into the night.

Once Tam can no longer see his silhouette against Gotham's skyline, she shivers as a cold wind cuts through her apartment. As she kneels down again to gather her photos, she pulls out her phone with a free hand.

"Hello?"

"Daddy?"

"Tami? What's wrong?"

At the sound of naked concern in her father's voice, Tam's couldn't hold back the tears as they stream down her face or the way her voice trembled and made her feel ten-years-old and broken-hearted in a way she never thought she'd ever feel again.

"Nothing..? Everything..? I don't know..? Can you pick me up please? Can I come home?"

"Of course. Where are you?"

"The apartment." 

"Stay right there, baby. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"I will."

Once the call was ended, Tam's eyes fell on that precious old Polaroid photo. With another sob, she gathered it up and held it close as she cried softly until her father arrived.

[hellchilde]

The Thing With Feathers

wow it feels like ten million years since i posted a real fic

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén, Song Lan | Song Zichen & Xiao Xingchen, Xiao Xingchen & Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei

Characters: Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Disabled Character, Blindness, Blind Xiǎo Xīngchén, Lack of Communication, Established Relationship, brief scene with blood, Recreational Drug Use, (but it's just weed), Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cock Warming, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation Vibes

Words: 8970

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to throw your life into sharp focus it to stumble over a dying criminal in the street and let it consume your life.

Or: Xiao Xingchen finds Xue Yang injured alongside the road and the rhythm of the carefully constructed life he has with Song Lan no longer seems entirely stable.

It happens when he's walking home from class.

This time, the reason for Xiao Xingchen's loss of vision is not so noble or meaningful. Sometimes things happen for a reason, but sometimes things just happen and it's shit luck and you have to make due with the cards you're dealt. Sometimes you're too young when your vision deteriorates to nothing, but at least that means you don't have to see their pitying looks in the encroaching darkness. But sometimes, there is a good man who is there for you and can help you pick up the pieces when your life changes too quickly for you to deal with. That is a spot of good luck, because this man is someone you love and could picture a life with, even if it's not the life your parents had intended, or the life you set out to start back when the possibilities were endless. This time, Xiao Xingchen learns the lines of Song Lan's face with his fingertips before his sight is completely gone, and lets him reshape their lives to accommodate this unforeseen obstacle to what could have been a story of happily ever after.

With a white cane in hand and a determined set to his face, Xiao Xingchen walks the increasingly familiar path between home, subway, school, subway, home. Never did he plan on learning a new language in his late twenties, but that language is braille, and he refuses to be totally helpless in a world designed against him. Audiobooks help, but he can't listen to them while he walks, has to stay vigilant with his remaining senses or let himself be pummeled by people who won't see him. Shame the onus has to be on him. So it might be dark, but maybe it's not, when he trips over something and sprawls inelegantly, embarrassingly to the ground. His cheeks and ears are burning, he dropped his cane but finds it quickly. Stupid, stupid, he should have felt it.

He reaches back to feel what he tripped over, and feels fabric, flesh. He gropes his way up, increasingly concerned when the person doesn't move or make a sound, and he smells blood. Then finally he feels the blood, sticky and warm but cooling, and is worried he is feeling a corpse until he feels the chest rise and fall and hears the wheeze of breath. He snatches his hands away, worried, and scrambles for the phone in his pocket. It has a voice-to-text option, and that makes up for the lack of buttons. He's never had to dial 9-1-1, and he thinks his voice on the line to the operator is nervous and panicked. He can't even tell her for certain which street he's on, except that it's five blocks from the campus where he had class.

That must be enough. The EMT's arrive and take stock of the situation, and they reassure him, and when he asks them if he can ride in the ambulance, they agree without too much argument. The ride to the hospital is horrible, though, because he has no idea where he's going or how far away and every turn makes him motion sick. He still doesn't consider leaving behind the man he found. The emergency room is chaotic, but one of the EMT's spares the time to lead him out to the waiting room, and someone eventually gets him some water.

“He's in surgery, and then they'll be admitting him for observation,” one of the staff says to him. He's already given his report to the police, explained his innocent side. He's not a suspect for what appears to be a violent crime, but they took his contact information. Otherwise, Xiao Xingchen doesn't know much. “You don't know him, so … you can go home if you want. I'm sure he would appreciate the kindness of a stranger.”

“Were you able to find an emergency contact?” he asks. So far, he has been the only visitor present.

“No,” the staff says. “Don't worry, the police are looking into it.”

“I would prefer to stay with him,” Xiao Xingchen says, because he does always try to be noble, even without a sword in his hands.

The staff member, maybe a nurse or a receptionist but probably not a doctor, reaches out to touch his hands where they're clasped protectively around his cane. He makes a face because he wouldn't have accepted the touch if asked permission, but at least it's kind. “You're a good man,” the staff member says. “We'll help you to the waiting room near where he'll be resting.”

At some point, someone gives him a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a cup of coffee. The sandwich is ham and soggy, but he eats a little of it, and the coffee tastes old and watery. At some point, Xiao Xingchen sleeps in his chair. At some point, someone informs him that the man made it through surgery and is sleeping. At some point, Xiao Xingchen awakens to the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“You didn't come home,” Song Lan's voice says, strained. “I was worried.”

“I'll be home soon,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “I have to make sure he made it through. I'm the one who found him, it's my responsibility.” He doesn't like the hospital, which is cold and antiseptic, and his chair isn't comfortable. He's still going to stay. He has to, even if he has to rely on the kindness of strangers to find the bathroom.

Song Lan sighs, too familiar with this side of him. “Call me to come pick you up,” he says quietly. “The hospital isn't far.”

Xiao Xingchen says goodbye and hangs up and only resents a little that the offer makes him feel helpless. He rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty and sore, and locates the remains of his soggy sandwich to at least get something in his stomach. He listens to the sounds of the hospital around him, beeping machines and ringing phones and quiet voices and people rushing by in non-skid shoes. He seems to be politely ignored, or perhaps forgotten, but he doesn't know how long it's supposed to take until he learns what happened.

At some point, another member of staff approaches him and sits beside him, clearing her throat softly. “I have some news, Mr. Xiao,” she says, accented Mandarin. He tries not to be insulted that they think his English isn't good. “The police have found out the identity of the man you found. Apparently … he's wanted for murder, and some other crimes. He works for some very bad men.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns, the information hard to take in. A criminal? He saved a criminal?

“You did a good thing,” she continues. “They'll bring him in to face justice. They wanted me to thank you.”

He manages to nod, trying not to reveal how shaken he is by the news. Why should it bother him so much? He doesn't know this man and has no connection to him other than finding him mostly dead on his walk to the subway. And yet he still feels betrayed. He did something good, he saved a man, and he turns out to be a criminal. It doesn't feel fair, but so little in his life feels fair.

His intentions have been to stay until the man wakes up and introduce himself, get to know him, but he no longer wants that. Instead he digs out his phone as soon as the nurse leaves and dials Song Lan's number to request a ride and pulls himself to his feet, legs feeling stiff from a long night spent in an uncomfortable chair. He still has that feeling that he should at least peek in on the man that he saved, but then, what's the use in that when he hasn't peeked at anything since his vision gave up on him?

It doesn't take very much help from others to make it down to the front of the building and out the doors – the elevator had braille, and the flow of traffic was relatively logical. He takes a breath of fresh air and stands by the curb to wait for Song Lan, his cane clasped in his hands. He hasn't bothered to ask the time, but by the temperature outside and the birds and the angle of the sun he can feel on his skin, he guesses it's midmorning. He's been out all night. No wonder Song Lan was worried.

He hears the car, and the door opens, and there's Song Lan's voice instructing him to get in. He reaches out to feel the edge of the car door and then climbs inside, settling gratefully into the familiar passenger seat to let Song Lan pull away from the hospital.

“Did he wake up?” Song Lan asks after a few moments of silence.

“I don't know,” Xiao Xingchen replies, collapsing his cane back down to make more room in the footwell for his legs. “They told me they found out who he was. A criminal wanted for murder, with mob connections. I didn't want to stay after that. I'm sure they'll arrest him.” He's still not sure how he feels about that. Bad, bad, like there's rocks in his stomach.

Song Lan thinks about that, his driving much smoother than that of the ambulance, mindful of not taking the turns too quickly. “Well, it's a good thing he's off the streets,” he says at last. “And good that you didn't let him die. It's best that he faces the consequences of what he's done.”

Xiao Xingchen nods and chews on his bottom lip, turning towards the window to feel the sun on his face. He's tired, more tired than before, and he thinks he'll sleep all day even if it'll totally throw off his sleep schedule. He feels depressed, for no reason he can put a finger on. How had he been the one to stumble on that man?

He takes Song Lan's help here and there to get inside, finding it reassuring to always reach out and find him there, and then they are safely behind a door and he finds the bed and collapses into it. When he wakes up again, Song Lan is stretched out beside him, breathing deep and even in sleep. Xiao Xingchen sighs, rolls over, and scoots unobtrusively out of bed to find the cigarettes he has hidden in a corner of the closet in case of emergency. He secludes himself on the fire escape to smoke in peace and rub his temple while he attempts to figure out what he's feeling.

He hasn't figured it out by the time he's finished one cigarette, and he has just enough self control to cut himself off after one, then retreats back inside to at least pretend to do some work.

~

The next time Xiao Xingchen hears about Xue Yang (which is the name of the man he saved, that murderer and mobster and … rapist, for all he knew) he is on the news. He emerges from their bedroom one morning in search of the coffee pot and some breakfast, and Song Lan actually has the TV on, a rare occurrence this early in the morning.

“... released from City Hospital this morning, in custody of the police,” the reporter says. “Xue Yang has known connections with alleged crime lord Wen Ruohan, and charges against him include murder, arson, assault, armed robbery, and fraud. Yang will be facing these charges in a court of law, following investigation into the listed charges, and is currently being kept in custody at an undisclosed location. Yang was found two weeks ago by a civilian on the street following a vicious stabbing, supposedly an attempt on his life carried out by a rival gang. The investigation into Yang's attack is still ongoing with no suspects.”

Xiao Xingchen feels his face fold into a frown, and he steps forward until he finds Song Lan, letting him press a bowl into his hands and starting to eat without really tasting.

“I guess he can walk now,” Song Lan comments with a dry voice.

“What does he look like?” It doesn't matter. Xiao Xingchen still wants to know, to satisfy some perverse curiosity about that evil man he happened to save from bleeding out on the street.

“Like a punk,” Song Lan says. “Like a smug little punk. Like he's going to get away with all of it.” He sets his bowl down and leans in to kiss Xingchen's cheek, running his hand over the other as if he can smooth out the frustration there. “Don't listen to too much of this. I'll be back tonight.” And then he leaves, the sound of his footsteps circling the kitchen island, pausing to pick up his coat and bag, pausing to slip on his shoes, and then the sound of the front door.

Xiao Xingchen takes a few more bites of the food – it's oatmeal, and it's alright, but it's not the way he would have prepared it – and the news is still on in the background, now on to some other story that he cares less about. He puts the bowl down and goes for coffee next, still half the pot left and soy creamer set out nearby. Thoughtful. Song Lan takes care of him.

He doesn't follow the direction. He gets his tablet and sets it up to search for this Wen Ruohan guy. He doesn't keep enough track of the news to have any idea about organized crime, but once his tablet understands what he's asking of it, it pulls up some articles. The text reader's voice renders the shocking events dry and bland, but at least it's something. It makes it sound like Wen Ruohan has fingers in pretty much every bit of crime in the city, maybe further out too. Not surprising that a criminal like Xue Yang would take up with him, do some of his dirty work. The top of the pack never lets that kind of thing touch him. That's why they can't make anything stick when it comes to bringing charges against him. The movies get that much right.

His next search is for Xue Yang himself. Most of what pulls up is the recent stuff about him being in the hospital, the stabbing, the murder charge they want him for this time. Few of the articles he finds come with image descriptions, so if there are pictures, he doesn't know what they are. He can access the public parts of Xue Yang's criminal record. People keep getting his name wrong, calling him “Mr. Yang.” He listens to the text reader list the dates and bare-bones facts of the previous charges. Some of them he had been arrested for, served time. Others seemed to disappear too quickly.

When Song Lan comes home, he is still on the couch, bent over his tablet, hair uncombed and falling over his shoulders and still wearing the loungewear he had put on that morning, which doesn't really count as clothes. He startles when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, too wrapped up in what he had been listening to and thinking about to pay attention to the sound of the door opening or Song Lan saying his name.

“What are you … oh,” Song Lan says, and Xiao Xingchen feels the presence of him reading over his shoulder. “I see you didn't follow my advice.”

“I wanted to know more,” Xiao Xingchen says, feeling oddly defensive. He switches the tablet dark so Song Lan can't read over his shoulder. “Maybe he's a smug punk, but I saved him. I want to know what kind of man I saved.” Why he's weirdly obsessive about this, he still doesn't understand. Why he wants to know more of these dark details. It isn't like it gives him a thrill – well, not a good thrill, that would be kind of sick. It isn't like he's ever even interacted with Xue Yang. Except that he spent a good portion of one day covered in his blood and waiting for him to wake up at the hospital, and for some reason that made it feel like Xue Yang owed him something.

Song Lan sighs so it stirs the hairs on the top of his head, then pets them down again. Not the first time Xiao Xingchen has forgotten to comb his hair, especially on days he stays in. It's a worried kind of touch. “Will you please turn it off for a little while for dinner?”

Xiao Xingchen considers being contrary and refusing, but his stomach rumbles as a reminder that he only broke away long enough to eat some pickles and crackers in a lunch that required minimal effort but could hardly be counted as real food. He submits, then, pulling Song Lan's hand down from his head to kiss his inner wrist. He rises to his feet to follow Song Lan to the table, sits beside him and takes the prepared plate. Song Lan must have guessed some of his mood that morning, because a couple of the dishes are among his favorites from this particular restaurant.

That softens him, and he feels a little bad for considering being contrary or brushing off Song Lan's worry as being patronizing. Guilty, even. Doesn't Song Lan have enough to deal with without his boyfriend being bratty? It's the unfortunate truth of their circumstances that Song Lan shoulders more of the financial responsibilities, more of the housekeeping, more of the cooking. Xiao Xingchen does what he can, and he's gotten to be a pretty fair hand at cooking even without being able to read labels. It's still more for Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen finishes up his pad see ew, wipes his mouth clean, and gets up to drape himself over Song Lan's lap. His chopsticks clatter lightly on the edge of the plate, and then his hands settle on Xiao Xingchen's waist. Xingchen feels a smile spread over his face, and his hands slide into Song Lan's hair, and he leans in for a kiss.

Being intimate like this has changed. As his sight faded, his other senses sharpened. In some ways it's useful, like being able to so distinctly smell the differences between spices, but his skin is now also more sensitive. Every touch, every brush of lips or teeth, has the potential to be overwhelming. It had caught him off-guard at first, the sheer electricity of it lighting him up more vividly than any lit room. It had been intense enough to scare him, and hence to scare Song Lan, and since then his touches had grown increasingly light and gentle, wary of startling him again. Or perhaps it is that Song Lan is no longer so certain of sharing himself with someone who can no longer see him. He has never been the most touchy-feely person, and Xiao Xingchen wouldn't blame him if the shine of their relationship had faded by now. Occupying that strange liminal space where he was part caretaker, part boyfriend – that can't be easy.

So how can Xiao Xingchen ask for that firmer touch, the way they could get so carried away with each other the way they used to when they were younger and more carefree? What right does he have to demand even more?

He still kisses Song Lan wild and reckless, soft lips and sharp teeth catching at Song Lan's mouth, kissing the flavor of Thai food off his lips. Song Lan sighs against him, hands slipping up under Xiao Xingchen's oversized cardigan and the t-shirt underneath, circling against his waist. There are calluses on his fingers, just rough enough to feel, and at least while they're kissing Song Lan isn't protesting. Xingchen squirms slightly, trying to get his hands to slide down, as if he could wiggle them down. They stay where they are, though Song Lan's grip tightens, starting to dig into his skin.

Xiao Xingchen breaks the kiss to pant softly against Song Lan's lips, only now realizing that he has one hand tangled up in his hair, the other pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady thud of Song Lan's heart beneath his skin. His own heartbeat feels like it's echoing that beat, knocking up hopefully against his ribs. Maybe this time … maybe this time it would work out. Maybe this time he could somehow convey the kind of attention he was craving, and maybe Song Lan would be amenable to fucking his brains out.

Sure enough, Song Lan shifts his grip, finally down even if it is over his yoga pants, cups his ass and stands up with him clinging koala-style. Xiao Xingchen has no intention of letting go, pressing kisses into Song Lan's jaw, his throat, over his lips, wherever he can reach, his arms settling around Song Lan's strong shoulders and his back arching to press closer against him. This is better, this is closer to what he wants.

Song Lan deposits him on the bed, doesn't drop him, just setting him carefully on the mattress like fine china. But still he crawls over him, whispers kisses into his skin, teeth scraping lightly down his throat. The light touches make Xiao Xingchen gasp and writhe, his skin feeling so oversensitive that he can't even stand still wearing his clothes. Song Lan hovers over him, on his hands and knees, still barely touching him except for the brush of his lips.

“Zichen,” he breathes, needy, eager.

Song Lan pulls back, and Xingchen can just weather the feeling of being watched, breathing and trying not to feel self-conscious beneath the weight of Song Lan's gaze. His fingers are still in Song Lan's hair, twisting and trying to pull him back down. He bears it for a few moments, then stretches up to try and find his lips.

But before he can make it, Song Lan's hand takes his own, unpeeling his fingers from his hair and kissing his palm before pressing his hand to Xingchen's chest and sitting up. The gesture has an air of finality to it, and Xiao Xingchen can't help it, he covers his face with his hands. It's like being blind has erased any ability he had to control his expression, and he can only imagine what his face is doing right now, because it certainly feels all twisted up and hurt and mad and frustrated.

“I'm sorry,” Song Lan says, because he isn't good at reading people but he isn't blind, and he sounds regretful. “I'm sorry, it just wasn't...”

Xiao Xingchen rolls away, taking a moment, then sits up, his back facing Song Lan. “It's fine,” he says, as though merely saying the words will make it so, and he knows his voice sounds too tight. “It's fine,” he repeats. He wishes there was a switch in his body that he could just turn off, rather than having to sit with the coiling warmth still lingering in his stomach, refusing to dissipate just because Song Lan is no longer touching him.

He feels Song Lan touch his hair lightly, then the shift of the mattress as he stands up. The ensuite shower turns on shortly after, and entertains the vindictive thought of forcing his way in and pushing Song Lan up on the shower wall and just...

He doesn't know what. Song Lan had already made his “no” very clear, and Xiao Xingchen has no intention of crossing that particular boundary. He knows there wouldn't be any coming back from that. Taking care of himself feels equally out of the question. It's not what he craves, and doing it alone feels empty.

He goes to clean up after their dinner, finding some comfort in scrubbing off the plates and plunging his hands in the soapy water. It doesn't perfectly redirect his energy, but it takes the edge off. Then he steps out to the fire escape again, retreats, cowardice. The cold, damp wind slaps him in the face, and he takes a lungful of the foggy air, pressing his back into the wrought iron to feel it dig in.

He should tell Song Lan. There are things he should say, explanations, verbalizing his desire and upset and love and frustration. How it feels to be treated as an invalid, even when Song Lan does it so soft and gentle. Song Lan will tell his part too, the part where his desire can't always keep up with Xingchen's and that particular quirk where touching makes his skin crawl, where he treasures Xingchen and wants to protect him by wrapping him up tight in bubble wrap, kept and sweet and placed high on a shelf never to be touched.

He kicks the fire escape, just to make himself feel a little better, and wedges himself in. He should have brought his tablet. He could have done more research. Without it, he just listens to the sounds of the city at night, traffic and ambulances, someone singing, a baby crying in the distance. He lets it all flow and melt around him, lets his body relax into becoming the ambient temperature of the fog, cold and misty and amorphous.

By the time Xiao Xingchen retreats back inside, his thoughts are as cool and calm as the air outside. He slips into bed, fitting into the space behind Song Lan, slotting in, his knees in the crook behind Song Lan's knees, his cold nose tucked against the back of his neck. Song Lan smells clean, and Xingchen feels sorry for earlier, silly for letting himself get carried away. He's happy here. He is happy.

That thought circles his brain as he drifts off to sleep.

~

Time passes. Xiao Xingchen dials back his research to what he thinks is a normal amount of interest. There is always news to follow – Xue Yang seems to be at the same time the media's darling and their favorite villain. The tabloids keep commenting on how he looks, calling him angelic and sweet-faced while at the same time condemning him for what seemed like an ever-increasing number of crimes. Song Lan quickly learns to simply leave him to it, and in return Xingchen can moderate himself so he doesn't lose entire days to sitting on the couch and burying himself in news and police reports.

Life is pretty much normal. There's a routine, a rhythm, comfortable and familiar. Xiao Xingchen further adjusts to life in a world that isn't built to accommodate him, his steps ever more certain on his path. He can visualize his future stretching before him, and none of it looks bad. No surprises, no tragedy. He figures losing his sight is bad enough to fulfill the quota for drama for this lifetime.

Xiao Xingchen listens to the trial when it starts. From what he can tell, this is apparently very fast, but he doesn't know enough about the American justice system to confirm that. There's plenty of media coverage on it, but despite their efforts to highlight the most exciting parts, the trial itself seems to be fairly dull, nothing like the TV shows. That doesn't decrease Xiao Xingchen's interest, but it does help to prevent him from focusing too much on it.

Song Lan has a launch party for work. Xiao Xingchen doesn't know enough about computers to know what it's really for, some piece of software or another, something Song Lan has been working on for months. It's a cause for celebration, and while Xingchen doesn't relish the need to dress up, he lets Song Lan help him with it. Most of his wardrobe is in interchangeable shades of neutral, white and black and gray – he made sure of that before his sight was gone. But it's better to be safe than sorry and accidentally choose something inappropriate or clashing. Anyway, he knows Song Lan quietly enjoys dressing him, making sure he looks nice. It suits the same part of his personality that's so good at the nitty-gritty details of code, a fierce, strict streak of perfectionism.

Xiao Xingchen has no doubt that they make a sharp picture when they arrive. He left his cane at home, since it would be too cumbersome in a party setting, and thus holds Song Lan's arm to navigate their way inside. It's a club, it smells like a club, alcohol and bodies and several layers of perfume and cologne, and there's music playing with a low bassline that reverberates in his ribcage. It's probably dark, which means that people will be asking all night long why he's wearing his dark tinted glasses. Hopefully sticking close against Song Lan's side will decrease the need to explain.

Parties like this are always a little awkward. Xingchen is friendly and willing, but he doesn't speak the same language as these technology prodigies. Maybe he could have wandered and found other partners of Song Lan's coworkers, but he was always wary of losing track of Song Lan in an unfamiliar place. And Song Lan is good, he's considerate, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in whatever conversation he gets involved in that Xingchen falls by the wayside despite being attached to his arm.

It's still fun and interesting to be out of the apartment, chatting with people, picking canapes off the trays, accepting the drink that Song Lan passes to him. It's one of the fruity ones that he likes, but strong enough that he can taste the alcohol under the juice. He's playing the role of arm candy tonight, but he lets it be fun, lets himself be the sweet and sparkly juxtaposition to Song Lan's dry, serious demeanor. Song Lan's coworkers forgive him easily when he doesn't know the more technical details and humor him by talking about other, more accessible topics.

Inevitably, though, they turn back to talking shop, and Xingchen tries to follow but it all starts to sound like gibberish. He sighs and ceases to pay much attention to the conversation since they're not really paying attention to him, and he sips his drink, wishing the music were better. Though, of course, the inevitable result of sipping a drink all evening is that he has to use the bathroom. Xingchen realizes it with some dismay. There's no good way to bring it up without sounding like a complaining toddler, but he doesn't even know which way to point himself to find it if he were to just wander off. So he just … waits. Song Lan will have to go eventually as well.

Except the situation is steadily growing towards urgent, and Song Lan shows no indication of breaking away from his conversation, focused the way he can get sometime. Xiao Xingchen starts to fidget anxiously, hoping to somehow telepathically convey what he needs. Unfortunately, he doesn't magically develop psychic powers. He's inches from giving in to the embarrassment of asking to be escorted to the bathroom when he feels another hand on his free arm.

“Hi,” a female voice says, one that he doesn't recognize. “Song Lan, do you mind if I borrow him for a minute?”

Xiao Xingchen could curse, and desperately hopes that Song Lan makes up an excuse to keep him from being pulled to another conversation with strangers. He can't focus on being friendly when his body is screaming at him. He feels Song Lan look up in surprise, finally breaking from his own conversation.

“Oh, right, of course,” he says, gently taking Xingchen's hand from his arm to pass him over to the woman. “Xingchen, this is Wen Qing. She's a doctor and a friend.”

“Alright,” Xingchen says, voice cracking, shooting Song Lan what he hopes is a desperate look before Wen Qing tugs him away. He's panicking, he thinks he might die, he wants the earth to swallow him up. He clears his throat and touches Wen Qing's hand, her pace never slowing. “I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, but...”

Before he can finish, she pulls him through a doorway. Their footsteps turn echo-y, and he feels a glimmer of hope. She continues pulling, then places his hand on what feels like the handle of a urinal. He makes a sound, desperate still, and feels for the edges of the porcelain before letting go of her entirely so he can relieve himself.

“You looked like you were suffering over there,” she says, only far enough away to give him the space he needs to get the job done. “I know how Song Lan can get too intense in his conversations and forget the world around him.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, shooting a small smile in the direction of her voice. “Unfamiliar places are always a little difficult, especially without my cane. I hope it wasn't too obvious.”

“Not to the tech nerds,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder to help lead him over to the sinks after he gets his slacks fastened up. “They might be geniuses, but they're oblivious to any kind of subtlety. Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Xiao Xingchen says again, washing his hands and then relaxing a hip against the sink. He isn't in a rush to go back out to the music he doesn't like. “So you're a doctor?”

“Cardiac surgeon,” Wen Qing clarifies. “I normally don't get to see below the belt. But don't worry, I'll remain professional.” It sounds like she's smiling too. Xingchen isn't surprised to find that she's friends with Song Lan, with that dry kind of humor.

“I wasn't too worried about it,” Xingchen says. “Do you come to a lot of these things?”

“A few. I was dating one of them for a while, made some friends. They keep inviting me, and the appetizers are good, and every once in a while I get to help somebody's poor boyfriend find the bathroom.” He feels her pull his jacket straight, adjusting his collar slightly. “So. Been together long?”

“Since college,” Xingchen tells her. Maybe she isn't very close with Song Lan, to have not heard the story before. “Actually, we met in the airport when I arrived in America. I was so lost and overwhelmed, and he stepped in to help me find my way in a new country and a big city. It was just a happy coincidence that we ended up going to the same school while he was getting his graduate degree. And then from there, it's basically just history.”

Wen Qing laughs and touches his shoulder again. “Somehow, I doubt it's 'just history,' but we can leave it at that, if you want,” she says. “That's very sweet. I'm just glad you look as lost by all their talk as I am. Do you smoke?”

“Ah...” He doesn't want to lie, but also isn't sure about how likely it is his answer would get back around to Song Lan.

“Doesn't matter,” she says quickly, taking his arm again to lead him out. “Come hang out with the wives. We're all the wives, regardless of gender.”

Together, they wind through the party, past snippets of conversation and a speaker rolling out bassline in waves. Wen Qing pulls him out of a door, and the sound of music is dampened. A comforting cloud of cigarette smoke wafts around them, and there's a soft hum of conversation.

“Hey, wives,” Wen Qing crows. “I bring fresh blood.”

“One of us,” someone chants, and Xiao Xingchen grins and gives an irreverent salute.

The wives are apparently the company he was craving. He no longer has to pretend to understand or be interested in the technobabble, and instead he can pluck crackers smothered in cream cheese and prosciutto off of the platter that they stole from the catering staff and sip from the bottle of wine that they had also stolen. He can listen to one of them chatter about a thesis project on Emily Dickinson and steal drags from cigarettes and blunts passed to him. It's closer to the way he and Song Lan operated in college, parting for their own friend groups before drifting back together, and the wives are closer to the kind of people he would choose for friends, free to be bohemian while their significant others take advantage of the tech boom and bring home the bacon.

Xiao Xingchen hasn't bothered to check the time on his phone, but it feels late by the quality of the air and the conversation. They've stopped talking about anything of substance, and he's leaning on Wen Qing's shoulder. He's a little drunk and a little high and feeling soft and easy. Song Lan's touch doesn't even startle him when it comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Let's go home,” he suggests in a low murmur, and Xingchen peels himself up. The wives moan and complain, and someone reaches for him, fingers catching on the edge of his jacket with a soft cry of, “Chen-chen, don't leave us!”

Xiao Xingchen gives his goodbyes and makes his promises to stay in touch – his phone is full of their phone numbers. He leans on Song Lan to make their way out and down to meet their car. They slide into the back seat, and their hands find each other on the seat, fingers folding together in the most intimate touch Song Lan would allow in public.

“Time's it?” Xiao Xingchen asks, sleepy and smiley and soft.

“Close to one,” Song Lan replies. He sounds a little drunk too, and his thumb runs over the space between Xingchen's thumb and index finger, fitting into the hollow. “Did you have fun?”

“Mmm,” he hums and smiles more. “They were nice. Wen Qing was helpful, and you know how useless I am when you talk shop.”

“I should have known you'd get along with them. I should have introduced you earlier. I'm sorry you were bored with me.” He snorts softly. “Chen-chen.”

Xiao Xingchen's giggle is significantly less dignified, but at least it's not too loud out of consideration for their poor driver. “You know I can't help if they think I'm cute!”

Song Lan doesn't protest, but he doesn't have to. They're back home, and he thanks the driver, and comes around to help Xingchen out of the car and back into their building. They're quiet due to the late hour, so the sound of the keys feels like it echoes in the still night air. Xiao Xingchen lets himself inside with a sigh of relief and kicks his shoes off, and opens his mouth to suggest they go to bed only to have Song Lan's lips and teeth and tongue providing an effective gag.

Song Lan backs him against the wall in the entryway, and his hands span Xingchen's waist, broad and solid. Xingchen can taste the alcohol in his breath, but he probably tastes the same. His head spins, his stomach flips, feeling simultaneously over- and under-fed on those canapes, but thrilled with possibility. The kiss is rough, with teeth, not like delicate good morning kisses or gentle good night ones that he's gotten used to. This kiss demands, and expects him to answer – and so he does.

Xiao Xingchen moans into it and grips back at Song Lan's shirt, returning the kiss with equal fervor. Sleep is no longer on his mind. Instead, he has to get his hands on Song Lan's skin or he might just evaporate. He tugs until he can get Song Lan's shirt out of his slacks and he can slide his hands underneath, flat against the skin of his stomach. His skin is warm, solid, and he can feel the frantic rate of his breathing beneath his touch. It feels like a dream, like it's so much that it can't be real, and at the same time it's so real, so perfect, everything he wants.

It feels like Song Lan needs this as badly as he does. With hands tight around Xingchen's arms he pulls him away from the wall, further into the apartment. Xiao Xingchen assumes they'll go to the bedroom, to the bed as usual, but he finds himself bent forward over the couch instead, the familiar fabric under his fingers and the back digging into his stomach. Song Lan presses against him, rubs against his ass, pushes his shirt up and runs his hands over his back. Xiao Xingchen lets out a shaky breath and pushes back against him, just as demanding and desperate.

Finally, finally Song Lan reaches around to get his slacks unfastened, pushes at them impatiently, and locates the zipper to shove it down. Xiao Xingchen squirms to help get them down his legs and winds up with them stuck around his knees, but at least it's some relief. Song Lan seems to think that's enough; his fingers grip into the flesh of Xingchen's ass, squeezing and massaging and spreading. He pants into the couch cushions, his breath coming back hot and wet against his cheeks and the sensitive tip of his cock bumping up against the back of the couch in a way that isn't altogether pleasant but at least it is some sensation. He's hard, he needs it, his skin feels like it's sparking with heat at every brush of Song Lan's fingers.

He remembers with some despair that they don't have any lube in the living room and is just about ready to straighten up, drag Song Lan back to the bedroom so they can do it properly. Then he hears something tear and feels slick fingers slide against his ass. Song Lan came prepared. Such a good, thoughtful boyfriend, even if it is frankly out of character for him to anticipate sex like this. When it happens, if it happens, there's so much delicate kissing and foreplay and it's consistently in the bed or the shower where they're prepared. But he can't even speculate on it, Song Lan's fingers feel too good, pushing the lube inside him fast, impatient. He wants to spread his legs but he's trapped by his slacks and can only pant helplessly against the couch cushions.

Thoughtfully, Song Lan's clean hand reaches down to brush his hair out of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The fingers inside him spread once more, then slide out, and that's all the warning he really gets before he feels Song Lan's cock press steady and inexorable inside him.

The sound he lets out would be embarrassing under any other circumstance, low and broken and wet. It's been long enough that he almost can't handle the stretch. It's almost too much and makes him choke. His knees feel weak. His spit is making a wet spot on the couch cushions. Song Lan still doesn't stop, not until his hips are pressed flush against Xingchen's ass. His breath is coming heavy now, ragged. He's thoughtful again when he pauses to let then both get used to it, his hands resting on Xingchen's hips, one of them tacky with drying lube, and he pets soothingly at one hipbone like Xingchen is a skittish horse.

Like that, Xiao Xingchen remembers that he's supposed to breathe, and he takes a deep, shaking breath before letting it out loudly, and he can feel it relax down his spine. Song Lan pets him again, approvingly, then eases out of him only to slam back inside. Xiao Xingchen chokes on another cry, and that seems to encourage him, the pace rough and quick.

Time ceases to exist. Xingchen can't see, obviously, but the pleasure feels like starbursts of color in his mind. The apartment is very quiet, except for the wet slap of skin and too much lube (Song Lan was always careful like that) and their labored breathing, punctuated with moans and whimpers punched out of Xingchen's throat. It is so rough, he knows he is going to be sore, aching and remembering this for days. But it's so good too, Song Lan's cock stretching him and hollowing him out, making a space inside him. He's so hard it hurts, and his own cock is leaking. Song Lan's hand reaches down to cup it protectively, preventing it from smearing over the back of the couch. The pressure is maddening without friction to go with it, and Xingchen sobs out his pleasure, trembling and pushing back on him.

When he cums it's a punch to the gut, fingers white-knuckled against the couch cushions and a cry ripping out of his throat. His heart feels like it's hammering so hard that all he can hear for a few moments is the whoosh-whoosh of his heartbeat. But he realizes quickly that Song Lan has felt it. He drapes himself over Xingchen's back, fucking him hard and fast, racing towards the end. It must crash into him too, because he grunts and transforms into a heavy, shuddering weight, pressing him into the couch, his cock twitching inside.

Time still doesn't really exist. They might stay draped over that couch for hours, for all Xingchen can tell. His ass is sore, he can barely breathe, he's going to have bruises where the couch is digging into his midsection, and he feels like he hasn't been this happy in months. It's not just the sex – though, to be fair, the sex is amazing and a big part of it. It's what comes with the sex. He feels connected to Song Lan like this, special, needed. And then, taken care of, because eventually Song Lan straightens up and helps him up, drops down to help him work off his shoes and slacks so they can walk back to the bedroom. His arm supports Xingchen around the waist because he's for surewalking with a limp right now. He helps him get his shirt off and brushes his hair back over his shoulder and kisses his cheek, so sweet.

Xiao Xingchen makes to go to the bathroom. He still smells like smoke and wine and sex, and Song Lan won't want that in their bed. But before he can pull away, Song Lan pulls him back in close, nuzzles his hair and kisses him again in a way that makes his heart feel soft and warm, honey in his chest. He lets Song Lan lead him to bed, even though he has the distinct sensation of cum slowly starting to leak out of his body.

“Here, keep it in,” Song Lan rumbles low, curling up behind him and pressing his fingers into Xingchen, pressing it back inside. Xingchen sucks in a breath, his body feeling oversensitive and raw but good. It's not too much. Then there are some sounds behind him, and then he feels Song Lan's cock press into him again. That is almost too much, and he makes a small sound, not sure if he could handle a second round.

But it's not to fuck him. Song Lan settles, their bodies pressed close, fitting perfectly. Song Lan's nose presses into his shoulder, and he kisses there a few times. Without too much preamble, they fall asleep.

~

The next morning, of course, they are stuck together. It's a little disgusting, but there isn't a thing that Xiao Xingchen would have changed about the night before. He stirs a little, then makes a sound of complaint, his body protesting the movement from the waist down. Song Lan wakes up next, and Xingchen can practically hear his grimace when he remembers the position they were stuck in.

He's as careful as he can manage when he pulls away from Xingchen's body, pressing a gentle hand to his arm to indicate he should stay still. There are some bathroom sounds, water running, and then Song Lan returns with a warm, wet washcloth to gently wipe him clean. Xingchen has to bite his knuckle; his ass feels raw, sore and swollen. He can feel precisely how hard they went. He still doesn't regret a moment.

Song Lan treats him soft and sweet that morning, brings him breakfast in bed and combs his hair. They're both quiet, Xingchen because he's hesitant to say anything that will break the spell, and Song Lan because he seems exhausted from socializing so much the day before. Sometimes it's harder than others. Then to recuperate, he's quieter than usual, minimizing his interactions, sometimes even with Xingchen himself. Xingchen doesn't take it personally, and usually uses the time to indulge his own inner introvert and work on his own projects.

Nothing wrong with that, except that they continue to not talk about it. Xingchen can't make the shape of his desire into words, the way Song Lan's touch lights him up, the way he craves the desperate way they came together after the launch party. Song Lan's touches feel apologetic, half guilty, wary of pushing too far, like he's afraid of his own attraction. They haven't had to navigate anything like this before, where before they were coasting on instinct and now the waters feel choppy.

Xiao Xingchen finds it a welcome distraction to turn to the trial. There's no shortage of material – Xue Yang continues to be the media's darling or scapegoat by turns, sometimes both in the same article. He figures out how to find the best news channel to listen to what he can, certain amounts of testimony from witnesses and arguments from lawyers. He thinks its a small blessing that he himself was such a useless witness when it came to the stabbing incident, so he hasn't been called to court. In any case, that's how he first hears Xue Yang's voice, surprisingly young, always irreverent and teasing, even when he's supposed to be taking the court show seriously.

And it really does seem like a show. The prosecution is fighting as best they can, but the defense is barely working at all, their questions lazy and confident at the same time. The judge doesn't seem in any kind of hurry to help the prosecution when the defense steps out of line. Everything is played to the media like a huge circus, and everyone is marching towards a foregone conclusion.

Then, as quickly as it started, it's over. The media coverage disappears overnight. It's not old enough to be old news, but that's how it's treated. Xiao Xingchen has to search and search to find anything about the conclusion, and all he can find is basically a footnote stating that a settlement was reached, which sounds frankly preposterous. The charges against Xue Yang included murder! He hadn't thought it was possible that a settlement could be found against a potential murderer, especially when the prosecution had brought witnesses and evidence galore. It feels profoundly unfair, a sincere lack of justice, and he wonders how natural-born Americans feel about their supposed “justice system.”

His dissatisfaction with the finale of the trial makes it hard to put it all behind him. He struggles with sleeping and focusing on his projects and his studies, he's snappish and short-tempered and withdrawn from Song Lan. Even if Song Lan asked what is troubling him, he has no confidence that he could articulate it to any understandable degree. So Song Lan can't help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn't know how to help himself.

It's on a random day when Xingchen hears a knock on the door. That's unusual – Song Lan left for work, but he would have texted if he forgot his keys, and Xingchen doesn't think they're expecting any deliveries. He debates just leaving it, pretending he's not home, but the knock comes again, more insistent.

Heaving a big sigh, he picks himself up from where he had been lounging, attempting to read and feel somewhat productive but mostly just feeling listless. It crosses his mind that Song Lan might have gotten it in his head to do some kind of gesture, getting him flowers or something – not that flowers aren't thoughtful, but he thinks the gesture is now lost on him since he can't see them. He doesn't think he brushed his hair this morning, but this delivery man will just have to tolerate him looking a little messy. He finds the door and opens it, trying to put a pleasant expression on his face.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asks, and waits for a response.

None comes. He waits a few moments, then frowns. Was something dropped off? He considers bending to check for a box, but there's a feeling rising, a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched. But if there's someone there, why aren't they speaking? Why aren't they telling him why they're there? Belatedly, he realizes this might be some kind of burglar who could take advantage of him. He doesn't have a weapon, but there's an umbrella in the stand next to the door and knives in the kitchen, and though it's been years he still has his martial arts training. How much that will help, he doesn't know, he hasn't even attempted to fight anyone even to spar since he lost his sight, and he doesn't think running through the exercises and stretches in the morning will really help if someone actually attacks him.

Whoever is at the door still hasn't spoken, and it's making his nerves go haywire, his heart pounding even though he hasn't even moved. Maybe he's being stupid and getting freaked out over nothing. Maybe there's no one even there, and there's no reason for his skin to feel nervous cold/hot. “Hello?” he says again, this time significantly less confident, his voice giving out halfway through.

There's another few moments of silence, then a wild cackle, not an attractive laugh at all. It feels familiar, somehow, though it's not until Xue Yang speaks that Xiao Xingchen recognizes him.

“Wow. I guess you're real, huh?”

[desiraypark]

Fried Turkey: A Dramatic Saga (Final)

Clyde and Terry have a chat. Clyde x Sherri series Clyde x Sherri Xmas 2020 (Tag) Content: Fluff; family stuff; reminiscing; mentions of separation/ended relationships; question about disability. Featured Characters: Clyde Terry Simmons, Sr. Terry Simmons, Jr. (TJ) - late 20s Princess Miller (Sherri’s niece/Robyn’s daughter) - 20 months old Devon Miller, Jr. (DJ - Sherri’s nephew/Robyn’s son) - 4 years old Reminder of what the exterior of Clyde and Sherri’s house looks like:

CHRISTMAS EVE Sherri’s family had arrived around one o’clock in the morning but most of them were up and full of energy when Clyde left for work. He arrived home at about 6:30--later than usual because of the holiday traffic--and he didn’t have to unlock the door as he usually did. The front door was left opened and unlocked, and the first floor was busy, busy, busy. Terry was on the floor, playing with Princess and DJ was on the sofa, occupied with an electronic toy. TJ was in the dining room, pushing a broom around, and Clyde could hear his wife’s familiar laughter echoing from the kitchen.

“Good evenin’, everybody,” Clyde said, taking off his shoes.

“Hi Uncle Clyde!/Evenin’ Clyde!/gahbgb,” DJ, Terry, and Princess responded. 

Usually, Clyde would go straight for the kitchen to give Sherri a kiss (and a little swat on the butt if he was feeling frisky), but he thought it’d best to make his way upstairs and get cleaned up. He hung up his coat--the scent of the restaurant, coated in his uniform now wafting in his nostrils--and walked up the wooden steps. He’d just taken off his shirt when someone knocked on the bedroom door. That sure wasn’t Sherri coming to greet him.

“Yeah?”

“May I come in?” Terry asked. 

“Yes, sir.”

Terry took one step into the bedroom, Princess on his hip. 

“How’s about a tour of that shed of yours?” Terry asked. 

As opposed to taking off his pants like he really wanted to, Clyde took off his socks. “You don’t wanna wait until it’s light out?”

Terry smiled. A look of secrecy flashed in his eyes and he squinted them and nodded. “Let’s take a look at it this evening. If you don’t mind.”

Clyde took the hint--whatever was being hinted at--and nodded. “Alright.”

____________________ “This is a matter of great importance,” Terry said, throwing back a bottle of beer. 

Clyde did the same. They stood in the center of the old, unused, and unfinished shed. No chairs. Just standing under a single light bulb. 

“What y’all plan to do with it?” Terry asked. 

“Well, if we start havin’ kids, we figured on bringin’ everything in that third room upstairs in here. Might expand the wall if needed. Put a lil’ bar in.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

A near silence filled the air. There was a slight winter breeze in the air, and you could hear the faint sound of chatter from the kitchen. Princess was now under TJ’s watchful eye. The family, bustling with the festive spirit, probably hadn’t even noticed that Clyde and Terry were missing. 

“Would you think I’m an asshole if I asked to help with the turkey?” Terry finally asked. Clyde took another sip of his beer.

“Naw,” he responded. “I kept tellin’ Sherri to tell you to do it.”

Terry chuckled. “Well, you and I both know that nobody “tells” Sherri to do anything.”

Clyde’s eyebrows lifted and he chuckled, too. 

“Sherri was about...13, 14 when I started fryin’ the turkey. I can’t remember if it was for Thanksgiving or Christmas. It was just an experimental thing, at first. Just to see if I could do it...”

Becoming uncomfortable without chairs, Clyde and Terry shifted on their feet. Eventually, Terry turned to face Clyde, and in turn, Clyde reflected the action. Terry cleared his throat and continued. 

“Everybody liked it, but I think Sherri loved it the most. She would watch me unwrap it and prepare it and do all of the stuff you’re supposed to do to it. Then, she’d stand on the back porch with a fire extinguisher, watchin’ me cook it and everything. Even after she’d gone to college, she’d do that..”

A smile formed on Clyde’s face. Picturing Sherri with a fire extinguisher in her hand was the cutest mental image. 

“...I would make potato salad, greens, macaroni--you know, whatever me and Ramona felt like makin’ on any given year. But Sherri never stuck around to watch any of that. I don’t know what it was about that turkey, but she was my little cheerleader every year. I think she just wanted to make sure I didn’t get hurt, I suppose.”

“That sounds about right,” Clyde said.

“Yeah...” 

Terry drifted into his memories, then snatched himself back. “I’m not one of those fathers that’s scared to watch their kids grow up. Or their daughters, rather. But between the separation and my kids becomin’ adults, I lost so much with them. Ramona didn’t lose much. Sherri watched me fry the turkey. She still went to the grocery store with me, even when she was a teenager. Most kids like to stay up under their mama. But Sherri was my shadow.”

Terry took a swig of his beer. 

“When the kids started movin’ on from the separation, me and Sherri got back on friendlier terms again. Only about a year had passed where I didn’t fry a turkey. Then, the next year--after everything had gone down--Sherri called me and asked me if I could fry the turkey,” Terry said with a smiled. He continued on. 

“She came right on over to my house--see, this was before I was allowed back at Ramona’s house. Our house. Sherri came right on over to my house and watched me fry that turkey. But after that, she didn’t really come over much. She’d started workin’ and everything. So I’d just fry it by myself or at my mama’s house or somethin’.”

Silence befell them again. Terry completed his story, his explanation. And Clyde nodded, acknowledging its finish. 

“Me and my brother had started frying our turkey after I lost my arm. We ain’t do it every year. It started as a challenge for me, too. But I ain’t got no attachment to it. I think you should just do the honors, alone,” Clyde said.

“No...” Terry said. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have even asked to help you with it. Sherri wants you to do it. You’re her husband. This is y’all’s house. I’m just an old man that’s whinin’ about his kids gettin’ older.”

Clyde chuckled. “I’ve got somethin’ corny to say.”

“Can’t be cornier than all the shit I just spilled a few seconds ago.”

“I think the best Christmas present we can give Sherri, is to let her watch her dad and her husband prepare a turkey together, under her roof.”

Terry nodded and smiled. “I think you might be right, Clyde.

“We’ll figure it out. And she’ll probably get a kick out of watchin’ us figure it out.”

Terry laughed. “She sure would.”

Terry looked around the shed. “Let me know when y’all plan to get started on this shed, son. I would love to help you out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The men made their way out of the shed--Clyde flicking off the light switch before stepping out and closing the door.

“May I ask a personal question?” Terry asked as they walked back to the house.

“Sure.”

“Don’t take offense--I’m just curious. But how do...how do you fry a turkey? I can’t imagine that cookin’ anything is easy for you.”

“It has its hard moments. But I take my time and I stay kind to myself. And as you know, whenever I need help, before I can say the word, Sherri is already right there.”