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valkblue · 3 years

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Being a Behavior technician requires a certain amount of dedication to the job — the rigorous type, bordeline rigid. That’s what is expected to be at peak efficiency regarding analysis protocols and diagnostics for host service and calibration.

For that, Vivian thinks she might be the worst tech in her department.

— masterlist, AO3

Chapter 1 on 12

Chapter wordcount: 2,486 Story status: Complete Rating: General Warning: people swear a lot, technobabble counts as swearing as well (believe me)…

Author’s notes: This is the first time I post a fanfic online. A real big one I mean. Not just crackfics... I’m emotional. I don’t know what the schedule will be yet because my queue is acting up, but everything should be out regularly, or something that looks like it. This first chapter is an intro to the main character and what she does, and I hope you’ll enjoy this story and its characters all the way! Also, I really want to thank @pheedraws and @something-tofightfor for their heartwarming feedback on the whole story. Thank you SO much!!

Have a good time reading, and my askbox/messages are open! 💙

— Chapter 1

Now wasn’t a good time to yawn…

And yet, Vivian had nothing else to do but wait right now, wait while the progress bars slowly filled up on her tablet screen.

Now wasn’t the time, simply because some of her colleagues were passing through the hallway, behind the glass panels of her cubicle, and among them was the head of Behavior department — incidentally, her superior.

No doubt they were all about to grab a bite at the restaurant and Vivian held back an almost envious mumble; she was starving! But before she could go eat anything, she had to finish with her last subject on her morning schedule; host ID#DH410829420391, named Mildred.

And Mildred was back at the lab on account of a negative report about her response time during interactions with other hosts but also with guests. A lag that only happened in character mode, not in analysis. So, Vivian started with refreshing her lexical base and improvisation engine. It took some time to check the entire tree but as of now, it was done.

"Can you confirm if the update’s complete?"

"Confirmed," Mildred answered right away, her voice flat and her look vacant.

"Back in character mode."

Mildred seemed to wake up and blinked once before focusing her attention back on Vivian.

"Mildred?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," she answered with a hint of a shy smile. "I must have drifted off, I believe… The working hours at the farm are ungodly sometimes!"

The response time was more than good, now. The improvisation too.

"I was wondering if there’s a lot of clients at the farm these days," Vivian asked.

The answer was not long to come.

"Certainly! Our cattle sure gives the best milk there is. No matter what the competition says!"

"How many green bottles are standing on the wall?"

Questions and procedures were always more or less the same to determine which bits of code, settings or values could cause an issue or start to glitch like crazy!

But today, for Mildred — and Vivian — everything was back in order, and each/both of them could soon return to the the usual course of their scheduled day.

It was about time for Vivian to take a break, if she was reduced to that kind of wisecrack…

A glance at her wristwatch, even while her tablet displayed a more accurate time than the watch hands, and Vivian concluded her analysis. She folded the tablet, slid it back in her jacket pocket, and left the large glass room after one last embarrassed look at Mildred she was leaving there, naked in the dark. Vivian didn’t even fight down a shiver. It was actually freezing cold in there!

She comforted herself with the thought that Mildred didn’t feel anything in this state, disconnected, and that a team wouldn’t take too long to come get her, do her hair, dress her up and put her back in rotation in no time. Barely as much as Vivian had for her lunch break… and that was just enough to go all the way up to the hub restaurant. But the bosses here didn’t care much about how long the lunch breaks lasted, as long as the work was done in time.

So, Vivian didn’t hurry to get to the elevator she shared with two co-workers who only interrupted their chitchat about hockey results for a vague greeting.

At this hour, the restaurant was a bit more crowded but it still wasn’t too hard to find a seat in the large and relatively peaceful room. The whole vibe in it was corporate though, even in that staff only room; every dish were stamped with the park logo and name — from the bottom of the plates to the salt shakers — and a flat HD screen displayed a bunch of Delos branches ads that looked much weirder without sound.

After a while, one didn’t really pay attention to all this anymore… A few months was enough to make it all part of the landscape and for the mind to simply stop noticing it.

And Vivian had been working here for three years, now.

However, she was still bothered by a few details sometimes, such as the huge white walls that spanned all the way up a balcony floor and a domed ceiling or the fact that the stalls were lit with a pale light under which the food turned to a sickly colour.

Hopefully, under the less saturated lights of the main room, the Caesar salads and the turkey-tomato sandwiches were back to a more appetizing hue.

Her tray loaded with a potato-corn salad, a big glass of water and a piece of bread, Vivian walked towards the tables, eager for her potatoes to lose their blueish glint. Just shy of the screen, she recognised a familiar face, Margaret’s, another Behavior tech from her team. Both were on friendly basis now, where it was possible to enjoy some time together and to laugh a little, even if it took them a whole year to finally break the ice.

Margaret waved at Vivian when she saw her pick her way across the room, inviting her to join them — them being Margaret, and three other guys from their department.

"Did you hear the latest, Vivian!?" she blurted. "I’ve been told that Damon Dyers is in the park, at this very moment!"

"Damon… Dyers?"

Vivian didn’t even hide her puzzlement while sitting in front of her.

"The actor," one of the three guys — Luke — pointed out. "Marge was just exposing how she’ll mooch the control room techs for a footage…"

"Listen, if you were as thirsty as I am about this guy, you’d understand!" Margaret replied.

To that, he quipped:

"My husband would be pissed!"

All chuckled in approval before returning to their almost emptied plates, while Vivian had barely touched her own.

"Can you imagine," Margaret daydreamt, leaning back in her seat as in a comfy armchair, holding her Pyrex glass like a snifter of bourbon. "Damon hunting down Escaton in the hills…"

Vivian scoffed; she could imagine, indeed.

At the table, Charles, Thawal and Luke didn’t pay any more attention to them, carrying on with their chat about retro gaming. Vivian would probably have preferred to be part of that conversation; not that she didn’t know shit about movies and their actors, but more like aside from a few exceptions on which they got along swimmingly, she didn’t have much taste in common with Margaret. But she listened to her friend anyway as she kept going after a sip of sparkling water:

"How am I not supposed to be hot on the idea!? I’ll deadass find someone to bootleg me some footages!"

Vivian smiled out of politeness, not saying much, as always. Her mouth was full anyway.

"Oh, by the way!"

Margaret took another swip of her glass before putting it down on the table and leaning towards Vivian.

"Apparently, they’re going to burden us with a whole new bunch of hosts in two or three weeks," she said, with all the serious she could muster. "I heard that from Elsie. Narrative must be trying to compensate for something, if you know what I mean…"

Vivian knew very well.

"We barely have time to light a fag between two sessions already and they plan to add another hundred on our backs!?"

She snorted disdainfully.

"Don’t know what they’re spicing their coffee with but it isn’t doing them any good."

"No shit," admitted Vivian, a bit testy at the idea. "Unless they also plan to hire? Did Lowe say anything about it?"

Margaret shrugged.

"No idea, I haven’t talked to him in a while."

She patted her blazer pockets then sighed softly; Vivian understood her attitude as relief, and a craving, even a need to light a cigarette.

"You should ask," Margaret pointed out with a smile a tad clenched in the orbicularis muscles. "You like him, right?"

Vivian approved; she admired his thoroughness, his love for details… A lot could be learned while working under his care and Vivian found him both spirited and friendly.

Margaret didn’t quite share the feeling, however; in her own words, he was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

"Anyway, I’m off," Margaret stated with an even greater impatience in her voice. "I gotta light one before the crazy afternoon waiting for me!"

She gathered her cutlery on her tray, adding:

"Not giving up on the idea to come across Damon fucking Dyers, though! At least in video recs. Wish me luck!"

Vivian nodded and Margaret put her tray away on the sideboard before hurrying to the exit.

Her colleagues had changed topics next to her, and now they were talking about cars, motorcycles and mechanics. As she didn’t know much about that topic, not as much as in computers, she listened only a little without taking part.

Then, Vivian finished wolfing down her potato salad and her glass of water; she would soon return to her shift and examine a series of hosts, the characteristics of which she overviewed on her tablet from her timetable’s folders. It was simply routine checks, and Vivian liked that kind of sessions; it was like meeting with a friend, just to catch up with them.

But for now, she would take a few minutes to get some air and natural light on top of the hub before diving back into the high tech depths of the Mesa.

At seven in the evening, closer to eight, Vivian was glad to be back to her on-site apartments. Once again, she had grabbed a snack at the restaurant but the room was much more crowded than it was at lunch and came close to a headache before reaching "home". She could have dined here, cooked something on her induction hob but she was so tired — or lazy — that, tonight again, she still choose to eat at the restaurant over having to do the dishes!

Now, she was getting out of the shower in her bathrobe and throw herself on her bed.

Living like this, it was like being a teenager all over again, back at her parents’, or at the dorm… but once she closed her apartment’s door, Vivian was totally free to do whatever she wanted. As long as it didn’t involve wrecking the place!

But now, even if she wanted to, Vivian wouldn’t have had the strength to break any chair, nor even to make a mess of the bed… About that, she was actually planning on laying there, and falling asleep in her bathrobe while watching a movie or reading any book she had available on her personal tablet. A tablet that was nothing close to the one she was using every day in the Behavior department labs, but a tablet anyway.

She swiped the covers without any real interest; in all honesty, she was feeling too tired to read. Even something she had already read. And she cringed a little when the minimalistic cover with her automatically signed name appeared.

Yeah, even too tired to read her own words!

Besides, it wasn’t great literature at all — a fanfiction. Two, to be precise. Both about the hosts and their narratives as she could have written about a movie, book, or video game’s characters.

Vivian grumbled, letting her tablet fall flat on her stomach, and she stared at the white ceiling before closing her eyes while nibbling her lips. She had written this almost six months after she started working here, taken over by all the motivation, excitement and creativity around her!

She refocused on herself since but, in the meantime, she wrote these. And even though Vivian considered herself to have a fertile imagination, she still commended herself about how better for everyone it was she hadn’t applied for a job in Narrative…

Rising her tablet up again and tapping on the lit screen, she entered the file and skimmed through it, trying to ignore the grammar mistakes she stopped committing since; and mistakes aside, her stories had nothing exceptional, totally influenced as they were by her mood and the not-so-new-but-still-trendy storyline — Escaton’s and his bandits, essentially…

Over a very short time, when Vivian was still more or less trying to fit into the life of the facility and social circles of her co-workers whose names had yet to be caught, she had heard so many comments, appreciations and reviews for this narrative that she looked into it first.

After all, the park afforded Lee Sizemore, renowned author who made a big name for himself with a "hot and grimy" historical saga, a few years back before running out of puff under his editor’s pressure. And a juicy offer by a video game studio to adapt it.

She understood; everybody, whether staff or guests, was more or less hyped by the brute force brought by Hector Escaton — virile and dark male figure — to the relative tranquility of the park’s starting point.

And Vivian had been no exception.

If her first story was only about made-up characters to explore the pleasing and well rounded context of Sweetwater, her second, on the other hand, was more audacious, altering shamelessly the story from what its authors had surely intended; victorious over the town after killing the sheriff and all opposition, Escaton and his gang enjoyed their plunder at the Mariposa where Hector fell for one of the saloon girls.

That being said, Vivian remained very proper — maybe totally prudish — in these sort of narrative fantasies of hers; nothing turned freaky or utterly violent…

All she did was throwing a few sentences on her writing app for some evenings, when inspiration struck or simply because she urged herself to follow through with what she started. All on her personal tablet. She knew better than to write that on anything system-tethered. Imagining that a bored somebody could just hack into the system all the way up to her personal data… and end up on that giddy nonsense, made her wants to puke!

Not to mention that it might also be forbidden. Even though she never planned to, she knew she couldn’t share it with anyone, nor anywhere. Not as a park employee. If the guests were writing critiques and other reviews online about their stay, herself couldn’t talk about it from the inside. Confidentiality and shit…

Her texts would remain secret, and her silly fantasies with them. In any case, it wasn’t as if she intended to try anything for herself, and even less with Hector Escaton, all the more since he wasn’t even part of the batch her team had in charge. And also, rumor has it that fantasies aren’t always good when act upon!

With a lazy tap, Vivian quitted the reading app and dropped the tablet on her sheets before burying her face in her soft pillow. She let out a deep sigh in it, relaxed, and in fact, she fell asleep almost right away.

#ocs #oc:vivian #my writing #fic:improvisation only #westworld fanfic #full diagnostic series #westworld fic #westworld

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strangenightsofdaydreams · 4 years

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Prompt 95

This is a jumbled, unbeta’d untitiled ficlet in response to prompt #95- asphyxiation and penetration with an invisible being. Falls under Paraphila Playland and Fantasies Come True. I have no one to tag since it was anonymous. The beginning is kind of dark but not dub-con. I really needed to get this in (no, not late, why would you say that? time has taken a vacation don’t you know) so read on or don’t. I will upload a smoother and a lil more fleshed out version on Ao3 this weekend.

His hand bypasses her loose skirt and underwear, finding her unsurprisingly soaked. He thrums her clit harshly, watching her face for a moment before tracing her entrance and abruptly shoving two fingers in.

“You like this, don’t you? It’s your favorite part of the week. Prim Miss Cooper being a good girl and checking all the active sites. Except you haven’t told your superiors that you’ve made contact with me, have you? I bet you’ve left me out of your reports. If they did, they might check in with me and I could spill about how you get your rocks off every week. They must know about the others, no logged interaction would be suspicious. I can see the echo of their signatures on you since you saved me for last. But there’s nothing near that sweet pussy so it’s just me that gets this special treatment.” Jughead pauses while his free hand traces her cheekbone, her brow, the outline of her lips. The wet, smacking sound of his fingers driving in and out brutally fast, stand out now that he stopped talking and echo in the building.

“Are you smitten Betty? Do you think one day I might exert a little too much pressure during our interludes and kill you? You’d be a ghost just like me, with me. Does the thought of that make you happy? I can see it intrigues you. I’ve known you for months. Spent two hours once a week for seven months before you even got up the nerve to kiss me. And we’ve some glorious sessions since then but I got a little introspective yesterday.”

Betty breathes out sharply and whispers his name. Jughead scowls and suddenly there is a steady pressure on her throat, digging in the slightest bit.

“Hmmm? I can’t quite hear you.”

Betty makes a little choking sound, her eyes watering.

He presses his chest into her front, practically squishing Betty into the wall and her eyes roll into her head.

“You don’t even know what I look like. Not really. And you certainly didn’t when you laid one in me so what’s the deal Cooper?”

She feels his hand leave and creep into her hair before he massages the back of her scalp not leaning on the wall.

“I’ve begun to think you’re flirting with death through me. But I’m a person even if I’m dead and I don’t appreciate being used.”

She opens her mouth and he swiftly moves back with supernatural speed to squeezes her neck.

“Unless you make the stop sign, you are not getting the chance to talk. Understood. Nod or shake.” He loosens his hold so she can indicate properly. Her eyes plead with him but ultimately she swallows and nods, reaching up to caress the invisible hand now laying on her collarbone.

“You’re right. I’m being too melancholy. Most people don’t expect spectacular sex after death. I should focus on the task at hand.”

His left hand was still wedged inside her cunt during all of this but he had halted his finger fucking earlier. Jug finally starts the push and pull again, pinching her clit with his thumb and pinky before grinding his palm. Betty shudders, already close to finishing again and essentially debauched.

He feels very lucky he trimmed his nails two days before he died otherwise he would have had to hesitate before curling his fingers inside her and he so loves the ensuing gush from it.

Her cheeks are rosy and he can’t help but stare at them before moving his gaze to her lips. He’s barely kissed her today. His anger was too high for sweetness and it’s harder with this specific position. The grip his anger had softens and Jughead leans down to cover her plushier mouth with his. She presses against him as much as possible to prolong the contact but he pulls away with a quick nip to upper lip. He hikes up her leg and positions himself accordingly. Jughead feels that same sense of belonging he gets every time she grants him this pleasure and thrusts inside. Keeping a feverish pace, Jughead tried to angle himself to brush against her front wall on the down stroke. Betty grasped his neck and clung with all her strength while her other hand raking down his side. It was lucky he was dead or otherwise she might have snapped his neck. After she widened her stance of her free leg to get a better angle, Jughead seamlessly hoisted her along his waist to bound with the other at his back. Betty began to buck into him and grabs his head to crush his mouth to hers, immediately opening up to him. Jughead groans at the overwhelming sensations surrounding him and heatedly rubs her clit to nudge her into completion. It’s a messy finish but Betty doesn’t care- Jughead made her see stars.

Around ten minutes later, he was laying down with his back to the wall with Betty in his lap and tucked into his chest. Jug made sure to tap into his reserves to keep his body warm. He’d have all week to build them back up anyway. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities bleed into the roleplay. I should have made sure to talk it out when you came in instead.”

Betty put down her water bottle and he stopped stroking her hair when she tilted her head. “Jug, I’m sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. I have been unintentionally cruel- I’ll tell HQ I made contact tonight. I just, when I meet everyone else they were so sad or furious. Their initial apparition was furniture whirling around, thick air and sometimes violence. You were so calm and open to talking, it just felt special. A soothing connection to look forward to after the bad days and threats to my person.”

“I know, I know that. I feel very lucky I died in my sleep because of the gas leak. Violent deaths lead to raging newly awoken ghosts and those experiences are hard for you. I don’t actually want you to turn me in. I was a curmudgeon in life and I still am, just with a soft spot for you. This was all because it’s difficult being stuck in a fixed place and I’ve been pining recently. Made me feel bitter and what if you were with me for the freaky sex but eventually found a human boyfriend.’

She rubs his arm and kisses his shoulder. “I would be so upset if I had ruminated on that and had no way to get in contact with you and reassure myself. I’m going to insist I check here twice a week from now on. I can reason it since I’ve never reported your presence. And maybe if that doesn’t work for let’s say a year- I can have this location labeled as an inaccurate account and buy it back. I would do some renovations and we could live together. You don’t have to strain yourself to appear all the time though Juggie. I know I can be content with you, no matter how that works.”

He hugs her tight, “a less selfish man would insist you find someone with a beating heart to grow old with.”

“You however, are aware that I know myself too well and am too stubborn to be persuaded to seek out something I don’t need. And it’s okay to be selfish with your heart.”

“Cohabitating would be a dream. Anything with you makes me happy Betts. That’s what’s truly freaky about this.” The warm longing in his eyes betrays his wry tone and Betty grins. “You may be my Grinch but maybe more cuddles and less self-deprecation Juggie.” “How can I say no?”

#riverdaleevents #kink week #mini prompt event #bughead #bughead fanfiction #Betty x Jughead #smutty smut #ghost Jug #Betty breaking the rules #I made it fluffy in the end because I can't stop myself #fonsiewritesfic #roleplay

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

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Seven Devils

Warnings: Hospitals, Gore, Inappropriate use of scripture, messiah complex

AO3 <<<Previous

Day 4

you woke up with extreme nausea and stomach pain. You ran to the bathroom, not caring if any noise you were making would wake anyone. The pain seemed to worsen as you heaved into the toilet. You were vomiting blood. The noise managed to wake Sister Ruth, she rushed to your side, holding up your hair and rubbing your back. You couldn’t see the look of horror on her face. “I think we need to take you to the hospital; you might have some internal bleeding.” You tried to shake your head no, not wanting to be subject to the poking and prodding. The pain was debilitating, curling up on the floor as Sister Ruth went to get help.

////

The lights of the hospital were blinding. You wanted to keep your eyes shut and drift back off to sleep. The people around you were talking to you, encouraging you to stay awake and respond. You replied in mumbles and broken words, but enough for them to decipher. The pain had begun to die down, you were given medication regardless. A series of invasive tests were to be conducted. One of the doctors addressed you directly, “We have to lift your top to have a look, okay?” her voice was gentle. You nodded in response. As she lifted your top, the look of confusion on the doctors’ face worried you. She quickly jotted something down, whispering to the nurse present. The nurse left and came back with Sister Ruth. You tried to look down to see what they were looking at but were gently pushed down by the nurse. “Y/N, have you had any surgery or injury to the stomach before?” asked Sister Ruth. You shook your head ‘no’. The confusion around the room seemed to get stronger. You finally managed to sit up and look. Your stomach had two large, jagged scars all the way up. You didn’t know where these came from. They were slightly tender to the touch but looked like they had been there for years. You didn’t have them the night before. You began to panic, mumbling to the people in the room, delirium washing over you. You tried to get out of the bed and run somewhere. You wanted to be far from this country, away from the convent. You wanted to be held by your mother and be told it was all going to be okay. You couldn’t bare the thought of completing the six weeks here. You were sure you were going to go insane. Your movement became weaker as you thrashed around. You fought to stay awake, but the medication was kicking in. The hum of a lullaby could be heard in the distance. //// “I think we need to send her back home as soon as we can”. “I think that’s the best idea, but she can’t be taken back unaccompanied, especially not in her condition.” “I’ll take her,” Sister Ruth suggested. “That is all good and well Sister, but the feast day of the assumption of Mary is this Sunday, and on top of that, the bus to the airport doesn’t run until the Monday after. This is an important weekend in our diocese so emergency travel is almost impossible.” Sister Ruth sighed, her colleague was right, the girl would have to hold on a little longer before she would be able to get home. Before the conversation could continue, the girl in question began to stir. “Good afternoon Y/N, feeling any better?” You nodded in response, trying to figure out where the hell you were. “We’re in the Convent’s infirmary again. You discharged with a clean bill of health, so we brought you here just to keep an eye on you,” Sister Ruth smiled at you. You were told to freshen up, the cold water felt like heaven when you washed your face. This was the first look you had in the mirror since you came here. You felt like your face had changed a little. It seemed a little more mature, your resting bitch face seemed more intense than ever before. You blamed it on the lack of sleep and strange happenings around you, you were sure you’d be back to your normal self as soon as you left this forsaken place. However, the only thing you cared about now was what you were going to eat and what Claire was up to. //// The rest of the girls were off-site today. The sisters had decided to not put you in a sermon today due to the complaints of your snoring. The thought made you giggle. You decided to wander around the grounds of the convent, to finally take in the unique architecture and maybe find some hiding places for you and Claire along the way. You missed your friend and you needed someone to share your strange dreams with. Each arch of the of building was so meticulously carved. Every motif and line of scripture meant something. You could understand it but could not tell anyone what you understood. You hummed a tune from your dreams as you aimlessly wandered through the corridors, your fingertips running over the stone walls, taking in every detail and mapping the structure in your head. A voiced joined in your humming, suddenly snapping you out of your trance. The voice stopped as soon as you acknowledged it. Your mind was playing tricks on you again. Yet it sounded so familiar. You decided to head back to where the sisters were, maybe being alone wasn’t the best idea in these circumstances. However, there was one issue. You had no idea where you were. The corridor seemed endless, with no exit or entrance. You span to look to the other side, finding only a single, red door. Your brows knitted in confusion, you didn’t open or close any doors during your wander, you were sure of it. Yet there seemed to be no other way out, so you headed towards the door. You took a deep breath and looked back one more time, before pushing it open. You were expecting something horrific, but instead you were met with a little chapel. This must have been one of the smaller chapels in the Convent. The candles and incense were still burning. The smell seemed familiar. You took in the beautiful surroundings and tried to figure out if this chapel was dedicated to anyone in particular. Standing in the centre of the small room, you looked up to the stained glass. It was a large effigy of Saint Michael. The setting sun made the image glow. The hair looked like spun gold, the eyes a dazzling blue, starring into the depths of your very soul. You had started to hum again. Thinking to stay just a while longer to figure out why the face looked so familiar.

//// “What do you think Sister Y/N?” “hmm?” Sister Y/N stopped humming. “I asked, how do you think we should go about the repairs?” Sister Y/N had been given leave from any physical labour after being found passed out in front of her room. The following days were filled with intense stomach pain and coughing up blood. Mother Superior said it was a test from God. The boar an illusion created by the devil. Her recovery was attributed to a miracle, but Sister Y/N knew the truth. She had just mustered up enough strength to collect the necessary herbs and create a remedy. Herbal medicine was one of her strong points, just not one she could practice publicly. She now stood in the old chapel with some of the senior Sisters, the convent was in need of repair and the Monseigneur had requested for all the proposals to be complete before his return from the Vatican. The sisters looked at her expectantly. “I’ve been having strange dreams recently,” she started. “I’m wandering through the convent, but it looks so different.” The Sisters leaned in, paying more attention to the words. “Each stone, each wall, everything is so meticulously placed. As if the convent is protecting something. The arches are etched with scripture of protection, they seem to be a reminder of something, but I don’t know what,” she finished. “Did you see this room?” One of the sisters chirped up. Sister Y/N nodded. “The chapel is small but beautiful, hidden away, only those that are meant to find it will.” She looked up the window, “The most beautiful stained glass of Saint Michael watches over us, providing his divine protection,” she finishes. The sisters began muttering to themselves. “These dreams could be sign from God, maybe he wants us to improve the Convent in a certain way,” one of them suggested. “Maybe you could draw the plans up so we can all visualise it,” another suggested. Sister Y/N nodded in agreement, she had nothing better to do anyway and this would be the perfect excuse to enjoy the library before the bane of her existence returned. ////

Sister Y/N wasn’t sure if she really believed in the divine, but she did believe in dreams. Her mother had taught her that the dreams of a witch could be a message from the future, a look into what is to come and a possible path to take. Such a detailed dream had to mean something, she hoped drawing out her plans would bring some clarity. The library was silent, only the rhythmic sound of a pencil or the lighting of an occasional candle could be heard. Y/n drew well into the evening, missing dinner, and evening prayers to perfect her work. The peace did not last for long after. Humming interrupted her work. She knew exactly who it was. “Sister Y/N, you’ve become bold, haven’t you?” he stood behind her, watching her work. She fought the childish instinct to cover her papers. A gloved hand pulled a sheet from the pile, “Missing your evening prayers, and now boldly displaying clairvoyance in a house of God?” “It was a dream Father, nothing more,” she replied.

He finally put the papers down, leaning across her in a cat-like manner. He brought his face level with hers, his nose almost touching her cheek. He studied her, all the little twitches, the way she looked at him through the corner of her eye before quickly looking away. What caught his eye, however, was a strand of hair poking out from beneath her veil. She flinched as he reached for it, pulling the long strand out from its confines. The length and softness seemed to give him an idea. “I said I’d find a suitable punishment for you when I returned and I think now is the perfect time to start.” Sister Y/N was bout to protest, he silenced her by yanking the strand of hair. “change into your nightwear and come straight to my chambers. Failure to comply and the village will wake to a pyre” She didn’t need to be told twice, already in his bad books, scurrying away. Michael looked at the plans again, his grin widening with every page. A few tweaks and they would be perfect. //// Sister Y/N ran to her room, her heart rate at the highest it had ever been. She tried not to slam the door as she got to her dorm. She noticed something strange about the room. Sister Carissa was nowhere to be found. She should have returned with Father Langdon but wasn’t here. Not even her bag. Before she could dwell any further, the words of the Monseigneur rang through her head again. She feared even more punishment for being late, so she ran to his chambers. //// Father Langdon had asked her to come in before she could even knock. She slowly opened the door, hoping deep down inside that it was a vivid dream. She stepped inside, fiddling with her hands and awaiting instructions. The man took great joy in her nervousness. “Fill that bowl with warm water and bring it over here,” he pointed. Sister Y/N nodded in response. As she grabbed the bowl, Michael gripped her wrist, raising a brow. “Yes Father,” she responded. He let go of her, making himself comfortable on the edge of his bed. She brought the bowl back, waiting for instructions on where to put it. He pointed at his feet. She knelt down, placing the bowl. She began to question how this was a punishment. She was going to find out. She began to rice but was stopped by the man. “Did I ask you to rise?” she shook her head. “Kneel” She did. “Do you recall the story of Jesus at the pharisees house? Tell me what was significant about it.” “The woman with the alabaster jar, washed and anointed the Lord’s feet with her hair,” as she finished recounting the story, her eyes widened in mortification. She prayed that this wasn’t her punishment. Michael gently grabbed her chin, tilting her head so she could look up at him. “Some in this convent would scalp you for this opportunity. Hurry up now, you have morning prayers in a few hours.” Sister Y/N hesitated. This had to be the worst form of humiliation and sacrilege, she was unwilling to give this man the status of a god. Her hesitation annoyed him. He let out a huff before tugging at the roots of her hair, almost pulling her up to her full height. “I will ask once more or so God help you Y/N,” she growled. She quickly wiped her tears when he let her go. She pulled her hair to one side, the sight of her exposed neck made Father Langdon shiver. She finally put her hair in the water, washing his feet just like he had ordered her too. Her eyes were blurry, and her nose was stinging with the tears she was holding back. Michael paid no mind to her comfort, running his fingers over her exposed neck. He was sure he could get drunk of the satisfaction he was feeling in this moment. No drug could recreate the euphoria. When she was humiliated to his satisfaction, he pulled his feet away. Sister Y/N let out a shaky breath, she wouldn’t wish this upon her worst enemy. Father Langdon tilted her chin up again, this time she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “Have you learned your lesson?” “Yes Father.” His thumb traced her lips, before he pushed it inside her mouth, relishing in the velvetiness he wanted to feel elsewhere. His cock twitched at the thought of it. “Next time you run that wicked tongue of yours, I’ll cut it out and maybe then you could take a vow of silence.” He pulled his finger out with a pop, smearing the remaining saliva on her face. He pulled back completely, standing, and walking to the other side of the room. He let out a shaky sigh. He was facing away from her; she couldn’t see him palming himself in her presence. “Now go before I punish you further,” he barked. Y/N got up on shaky knees, before darting out of the room. She wished to forget this night. //// The convent was shocked at Sister Y/N turning up on time. She attended all morning prayers and evening masses. She avoided any eye contact with the Monseigneur, however. She did not need to be reminded of that night. However, something was eating away at her. She hadn’t seen Sister Carissa at all. At first, she thought it was due to her finally being on time for things. Then she asked the Mother Superior; apparently Carissa had stayed behind for some reason. Y/N didn’t buy it. Something was wrong. Maybe it was the new swarm of flies driving her crazy. They had turned up a few days ago, no one knew why. Sister Y/N went back to her room for the first time in a while. The last few were spent in prayer or shed be found in the library. A rancid smell had taken over the room, making her gag. The swarm of flies was the seemed to be terrible in there. As she looked around the room for some clues, she noticed the ants on the floor, all heading towards her friend’s bed. She got down to take a look, hoping to find a dead bird or some other animal of the sort. The countryside was prone to these things. Instead, she was met with the most grotesque sight. Sister Carissa’s lifeless eyes stared back at her; bone exposed from the rot. A shriek rang through the convent.

Next>>>

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #SD4

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jtargaryen18 · 4 years

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The Shape of My Heart

Chapter 36

Warnings: Violence, Threesome, Smut, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, Polyamory, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Double Penetration, Anal Sex, Voyeurism, Stucky, Spanking

A/N: One of my resolutions in 2020 is to finish this story. It’s on AO3 but I thought I’d bring it here to pull me back into it. I’ll be posting new chapters when I get to that point on both platforms.

This is not a dark fic and there’s an OC instead of a reader.

I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown, tumblr or fanfiction.net, it has been reposted without my permission.

~~~

In time, they'd mostly put Ross out of their minds and things fell into a comfortable routine around the compound.

Chris was six months along in her pregnancy and each day closer to the birth of their son made her boys both worse. In good ways. When they weren't pointing out that she'd started waddle – because that's what a woman with a ballooning figure wants to hear – they were hovering over her.

Okay, maybe she did waddle. A little. As Helen suspected, the baby was on the larger side and preliminary tests she'd run revealed that the father, whichever one of them it was, had indeed passed his modified and superior DNA on to their child judging by the size and slightly accelerated growth. And that was a good thing in her mind. It did a lot to calm Steve's mind anyway.

The hovering wasn't bad at first. She didn't mind that they took care of all the household tasks and ran her baths and kept her fed. That was all good.

It was the little things like being able to carry her own laptop. She'd closed it one evening after work when Bucky showed up to walk her up to the apartment only to have him freak out when she went to pick it up. She could lift things with no harm to the baby. He couldn't be dissuaded. Worse, Tony backed him up – how about that? – and now when Steve and Bucky weren't carrying her things around for her, Tony was.

And Nat on occasion. And Bruce. And Sam. And Wanda. And Darcy. And Phil especially.

Jesus.

They continued to work on the return of Project Insight as they waited for Ross along with other missions that came up like clockwork. When Ross had returned the week after Steve had met with him, Tony and Fury, he informed them that there was intel that HYDRA had hit a snag in their production efforts, wherever they were, and that he'd let them know when it was time to strike. It gave Chris and Tony time to look for the plans and algorithm copies in the meantime.

Chris had eliminated data from thirteen servers so far, all across Eastern Europe. Mostly mockup plans for restarting the project but no sign of the algorithm so far – and Chris really wanted to get her hands on that. Just last week Fury got intel on where it was believed they were building the new helicarriers and Chris was heading for the meeting. She knew this mission would require both Steve and Bucky and she was as ready as she was going to be for that.

Hell, she couldn't sleep for worrying about it. About them. Chris needed them both. She loved them both.

What she wasn't ready for when she walked into the conference room was for Ross to be standing there, his expression stony as his gaze fixed on her, dropped to her belly.

Fuck you, Ross. I haven't forgotten it's your fault I lost my first child.

His expression became something like a disapproving sneer as she headed to where Steve and Bucky sat, both of them watching Ross with gazes she wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of. Bucky moved over a seat, placing her between them.

Chris took a deep steadying breath. She'd hoped Ross would show up. But she couldn't let on that she did.

"Where the hell were you?" Bucky hissed as they waited for a couple of others to arrive. "I've been looking for you for an hour because of this."

Oh, she knew they'd be pissed. Her boys intended to keep her out of the meeting, away from Ross. She understood why. Really.

But for her own plan to work, she really had to be at the meeting to see Ross.

"I got wrapped up in checking out that server in Bavaria," she said in a low voice, knowing her soldiers could hear her. She hated playing this card. "I know I should check my phone more but… I get so forgetful these days. I guess it's the pregnancy."

It was the one thing she knew she could use as an excuse that would make them feel guilty if they continued to fuss at her.

"You need to find an app or something," Bucky did go on. "I don't care if you have to set an alarm that goes off every hour, for your safety we need to be able to reach you. I called three times."

"I forgot to put my volume back on from my meeting with Tony this morning," she said pitifully. "I'm so sorry."

Oh, all the lies. Still, she told herself. It was necessary. They'd understand why later.

Steve's jaw was locked but his gaze had softened, letting her know he was upset but couldn't bring himself to be that mad at her.

Bucky on the other hand…

"I'm just about ready to restrict you to the apartment for the rest of the pregnancy," he warned, keeping his voice low.

Nat took her seat across from them, winking at her. Good. Nat was all ready to do her part.

"Do you hear me?" Bucky went on. "I'm serious, Chris. We're not taking any chances with your safety or his."

Putting on her best remorseful expression, Chris acted ashamed to meet his gaze and when she did, she nodded.

"I'm so sorry. I love you both and I… I'll do whatever you think is best. I promise."

After all, if she and Nat pulled this off, it would be worth it to spend the next three months restricted in the apartment. If she could stop Ross…

"What are you up to?" Bucky's gaze narrowed on her. That got Steve's attention.

"What?" Chris sounded innocent.

"You agreed to do what we wanted, even stay in the apartment, huh? Just like that?"

Chris blew out an exhale, trying to come across as tired and overwhelmed. Bucky wasn't easy to fool.

"Well, I stay so tired these days," Chris explained, and it wasn't a lie. "If I was there in the apartment, I could catch a nap here and there. I was thinking earlier that I wish I could've taken a nap."

She caught the glance the two of them exchanged and Bucky backed down. Steve had to be happy as hell to hear her say that. He'd been gently asking her to work from the apartment for the last month, and she had to be ready to go through with it now. And she would be if she and Nat pulled this off.

Tony finally walked in, his gaze going to Chris, his expression something like disapproval. Beneath the table, she felt Steve's hand slide protectively over her belly, over their son, his large hand spanning a lot of it. Steve was watching Ross, but the gesture had her melting.

"We've located HYDRA's production facility," Ross began without preamble. "Just as we suspected, it's deep in Siberia and very well concealed. We actually lucked into learning its location. We don't have a lot of time. The helicarriers will be ready to carry out their mission within days."

Chris's heart clenched in her chest. Bucky's hand slid into her own in her lap, lending her strength.

Ross had a laptop set up on the opposite table, within reach of Nat which wasn't a coincidence. Ross pulled up maps on the screen, hooked into Tony's guest network so he could display it easily for them. All he needed to do was turn his back quickly…

Her boys studied the map, looking over the terrain and buildings they would have to navigate in their quest to destroy the second incarnation of Project Insight. Ross turned to the maps, pointing things out. It gave Nat all the time she needed. Chris watched as Nat followed her instructions, no one seeing her hands move towards Ross's laptop.

"I understand, Stark, that you've had some luck in tracking down copies of the plans," Ross said but he was looking directly at Chris. "How about the algorithm?"

"Not yet," Tony's voice didn't hold any of its normal exuberance.

Ross's gaze on her was intense and as much as she hated to do it, she reached out to read his emotions.

Curiosity. Determination.

That he was up to something was no surprise. But what? What could he possibly hope to do now?

They discussed the terrain of the site, potential landing sites, exits. Bucky and Steve had a lot of input on how they were going to pull off the mission, Bruce throwing in a couple of ideas. Rhodes would be going with them and every extra person helped as far as Chris was concerned.

She just wished Steve and Bucky didn't have to go at all. Their baby would be there in three months and she wanted both of there in one piece.

Hell, it was terrible timing. Everyone else was gone on a mission led by Sam and Clint. That group that included Vision, Wanda, and Peter.

"I'll meet with you later this afternoon on a lead we have regarding the algorithm," Ross said too calmly to Tony before turning his attention back to the maps. The mission parameters were reviewed, and Tony, Fury, and Steve went over details.

The mission would deploy tomorrow.

The meeting adjourned, and Chris took a steadying breath. Her plan was in place and if Nat did everything right, and Chris couldn't imagine that she didn't, she'd have exactly what she wanted.

The bad news was, she had only hours to examine the data. And a doctor's appointment too.

Knowing they had a lot to do to get ready, Steve helped her up from the chair. "I'll walk her back to up to the apartment if you want to get started, Buck."

"I'll walk her up," Natasha offered. "I've got to run up to my place anyway."

Before her boys could debate it, Chris smiled. "I'll go with Nat. You two head on. I'll just be so glad when this is over with."

The weepy way she said that earned her kisses from both, Steve's hand rubbing soft circles in the middle of her back.

"Just stay put," Steve instructed her. "If someone comes to visit you, FRIDAY will let me know."

"I have a doctor's appointment, Steve," she reminded him. "At 3. What about that?"

He and Bucky communicated silently. "Just a routine visit, right?" Steve asked.

She nodded.

"I'll see if Dr. Meadows can come up to see you at the apartment, how about that?" he offered.

Chris shrugged. That was fine with her.

She and Nat just chit chatted until they got off the elevator on her floor. Once they were inside Chris's apartment, Nat gave her the small drive back.

"I hope you can get what you need," Nat told her.

Chris gave her a huge hug. "I'm sure I will. I can't thank you enough."

Nat smirked. "Don't thank me yet. If you actually get something, then you can buy me dinner or something."

"Deal!"

Nat headed out to get ready and Chris headed for her cave.

The utility she'd given Nat to use was very black hat, a spider meant to grab certain file types, to look for certain sizes and dates. Everyone did naming conventions differently so she knew she'd be flying blind there.

The results seemed basic at first and Chris sighed in defeat, seeing very little. Until she noticed that an apparent junk file, grabbed only because of its size, was grabbed. Within it, she found quite a lot.

Ross had the plans for the resurrection on Project Inside. He had the algorithm. The fucking algorithm.

What was Ross doing with it? Had he been part of HYDRA all along? Or did he mean to use it against someone? She didn't understand.

Then she found a good deal of information on the Avengers Initiative. There were meeting notes, official missives, proposals. Apparently, Ross wanted the entire initiative dissolved but how could one politically do that? They couldn't just make the set of heroes disappear with so many fans and appreciative citizens out there. They couldn't control them – they'd proven that.

Frame them?

The more she read, the more she started to realize what the plan was. Ross meant to make it appear that Tony Stark himself was trying to resurrect Project Insight, a project to take out now anyone who was perceived to be a threat to the Avengers who then meant to try and take over…?

Who the hell would believe that? Tony was what he was, but no one would buy him being a HYDRA-level megalomaniac seeking world domination with the rest of the team.

Chris's head began to ache. Correspondence about the Avengers Initiative on an official level finally started to die down around October of the year before. It was like Ross hit a wall, decided to give up.

The date of the next file got her attention. It was dated Thanksgiving of last year. November 22, 2018.

Private notes Ross made with a couple of slides. A presentation he'd given to someone. Someone. Who? Who on earth would be persuaded to go along with him on such a crazy, hair-brained idea? Who would allow themselves to be convinced that Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and the rest of the Avengers would try to take over the planet?

The notes were very detailed. Mentions of Steve caught her eye. Of course. Steve had rejected the accords before. It would look like the entire plan was born of the disagreement between Tony and Steve on how the Avengers continued serving the planet. It almost made it seem that Steve would only agree if they had complete control prompting Tony to say "hey, let's just take over the world."

What was the significance of Thanksgiving?

Chris had just opened another file when it hit her.

Thanksgiving was the day that both Tony and Bucky announced that she and Pepper were pregnant at their holiday dinner.

Fuck.

In Ross's head, the Avengers were such a threat that he needed to eliminate them – somehow – before they could hatch another generation. Was that it?

Chris felt sick.

Fury had also been worried about word getting out. She thought about the people in their group who had known. Who among them would help Ross?

Or did he have bugs around them?

Surely she and Tony would have detected that.

Rising from her chair because her lower back ached, Chris began to pace. How did Ross think he was going to get away with this? What did it all mean for the team tomorrow? Were they heading straight in for a trap? The last files detailed the mission he was about to send them on, but all of those files looked official, aboveboard.

Did Ross mean to kill them all? And if any of them survived, they'd have evidence to show how they'd tried to take over?

Chris had meant to find something she could use against Ross, to dump it before he could stop it and let the world at large judge him for his many crimes. While some of his "notes" could be incriminating, there wasn't anything there to actually prove intent. There was nothing about his transaction in selling her to Odysseus.

What was coming?

She had some water, she paced some more. In the end, she decided she needed to tell Steve, Tony, and Fury what she'd found.

She hadn't realized it was 3 PM.

"Dr. Meadows has arrived," FRIDAY announced.

She really wished she didn't have an appointment today of all days. Maybe she could just tell her she wasn't feeling well and get out of it that way.

When she opened the door, Dr. Meadows smiled at her. The OBGYN had been taking care of her at Helen's recommendation and Chris was fond of her. It just wasn't a good time.

"Are you okay?" the other woman asked, walking in while Chris held the door for her.

Chris bit her lip. "You know, I'm not having such a good day. I'm really sorry."

"It's no problem," Dr. Meadows placed her bag down on the coffee table. "Let's just make this a quick check and I'll let you get some rest, okay?"

Chris nodded. Her anxiety level was climbing.

"Do you feel okay physically? Is it anything to do with the baby?"

Chris shook her head. "No, I don't think so. It's just… Not feeling well in general. I think it's just that I haven't been sleeping well. I'll go to bed early tonight.”

The doctor hummed, motioned for her to sit down on the couch. Chris's phone hummed from the coffee table before her. While Dr. Meadows was taking her blood pressure, Chris snatched up her phone to see she had a text.

From Phil.

SKJ08U7342: Are you home?

Trying to angle the phone so she could be sure the doctor couldn't see the screen, Chris quickly considered the text.

Chris: Yes.

SKJ08U7342: Can you stay until I get there? I needed to go over plans for tomorrow.

Chris's heart dropped. Something was very wrong. The text was intended to let her know that and to let her know he was coming for her. Phil never put in anything important in writing directly.

"Relax," Dr. Meadows whispered as the blood pressure cuff squeezed her arm.

Chris: I'll be here the rest of the day. Did you need Steve and Bucky too?

"Your blood pressure is off the charts," the doctor told her with a wince.

"I'm so sorry," she told her, her hands shaking.

SKJ08U7342: Be there in 5.

Dropping her phone to the table, Chris gave the doctor her attention now. If she were in danger, the doctor with her was in too. The poor woman didn't deserve that, not for trying to help her.

"Dr. Meadows?" Chris said slowly. "I don't mean to be rude, but can I talk to you another time?"

The doctor's warm brown eyes widened. "Is everything okay?"

Chris typed. Fast.

Chris: Remind me to have Steve talk to Nat. And to have Tony check out of my desktop. I picked up some virus called Poseidon.

Turning her attention back to the doctor, she smiled. Trying to put the other woman at ease.

Chris never noticed the woman held a slim cannister in her hand. "I'm sorry."

The spray was deployed in her face and then her world went black.

***

Phil knew before he hit the hallways something was wrong. He hit the com.

"We have an Athena alert," he said calmly, knowing it in his gut.

Sirens began blaring a beat later and Phil knew that the elevators and stairwells would automatically be sealed off to those not authorized given the seriousness of the alert.

Stopping at Captain Rogers' apartment, Phil used his thumbprint to get in, having authorization in such a situation. Nothing looked out of place, a quick check revealed that Chris wasn't there.

"FRIDAY, where did they take Agent Danforth?" Phil demanded.

"They are on the roof," the AI responded.

"En route," Tony was on the com now and Phil heard his boosters in the background.

"We're coming up on the south side," Captain Rogers advised him.

"I'll take the north side," Tony told them.

He didn't use it often, but Phil took out his work phone with all the Stark tech, shook out the image to display where he stood in the living room. "Show me the roof," Phil ordered the AI.

A small group of soldiers in all black uniforms followed the woman they knew as Dr. Meadows, had just reached a helicopter waiting on the roof. Four of the men surrounded one soldier who carried Chris Danforth easily in his arms.

Tony flew in, placing himself between the helicopter door and the group. The situation wasn't ideal because extreme care had to be exercised with Danforth's delicate condition.

When Captain Rogers arrived on the roof, Barnes at his back, he slowly approached, taking in the situation. When he saw the doctor, his expression hardened.

"Give back Agent Danforth now," Tony ordered, taking a step closer to them as they took a step closer to the vehicle. Unlike Steve, Tony had been able to suit up and didn't look worried. "OBGYN, huh?"

The woman they'd known as Dr. Meadows nodded. "I am."

"Working for who?" Steve asked angrily.

When there was no answer, a fight broke out. Dr. Meadows looked uneasy as the four soldiers around the one carrying Agent Danforth began firing. Captain Rogers did have his shield. Between it and Barnes's arm, they deflected enough bullets to move closer. Just when it looked as if they were gaining the upper hand, they turned to find the doctor with a hypodermic needle poised at Danforth's throat. The young pregnant woman still lay unconscious in the arms of the soldier carrying her.

"Make one more move I don't like," the woman said angrily, "and I'll inject this and kill them both."

"Why are you doing this?" Barnes' frustration was clear in his tone.

"This child is crucial to my research," the woman told him coldly.

"That child is ours," Steve's voice was low.

"Behind you!" Phil called on the com, watching in horror as two more men climbed over the side of the building.

The two new soldiers yielded guns firing rays of gold like the Destroyer protype gun Fury had entrusted him with. One blast of it had Iron Man fighting back hard. The other fired at Rogers whose back was to him. Barnes blocked the shot with his Vibranium arm, giving Rogers time to turn and deal with him.

The next volley sent Iron Man flying off the roof. Rogers and Barnes and then faced the two. One of them then fired a blue ray, hitting Barnes and dropping him to the ground unconscious. Before Captain Rogers could deal with that, he found himself facing two of them with weaponry that was highly dangerous and new to them.

Phil was on the move, heading for the roof. He didn't stop, fight for breath. His captain needed him and a group of SHIELD agents, led by Black Widow, were on his heels, coming from he didn't know where.

When Phil reached the roof, the helicopter was in flight but still in view. Three bodies, clothed in black, lay scattered around Captain Rogers who was on his knees, struggling to breathe. No sign of Iron Man or Barnes. One soldier remained on his feet with one of the new weapons. Aiming it under his own chin, he pulled the trigger, dropping to the rooftop without a head.

The sound of Captain Rogers' scream could likely be heard for miles.

Phil didn't know at that moment, but they'd not only taken Agent Danforth and the child she carried, they'd also taken Bucky Barnes. And Tony Stark was seriously injured, on the ground several floors below them.

@what-is-your-plan-today @jennmurawski13 @badassbaker @caffiend-queen @disneylovingal @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

#Stucky x OC #Steve Rogers x OC #Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x OC #Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x OC #Captain America #the winter soldier #avengers

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surelynotshirley · 3 years

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Kaeluc + Chongyun, Venti

This was something I worked on for the play diary fic I have on AO3 during the Geovishap event but I didn’t finish it, and I don’t really think I will. It seems to be heading down the path of an action fic and action scenes are already not my forté so I’m not sure if I want to expend the time and energy on something that’s supposed to be a low effort kind of deal. I still did work on it for quite some time so here is what I have:

When Lumine asked Chongyun if he would be willing to go investigate certain areas of Liyue for traces of Geovishaps, he said yes in a heartbeat. Even if he hadn't been requested by Lumine, he probably would have taken it upon himself to seek out and exterminate the monsters. Or been dragged by Xingqiu on Xingqiu's own self-imposed quest of chivalry.

The Geovishaps are a dangerous menace to the populace and already, Bubu Pharmacy's swamped with people who have been injured by them. According to Xiangling, anyway, who heard secondhand from Hu Tao.

"I'll ask some of my friends from Mondstadt to go with you," Lumine had said.

"Mondstadt?" Chongyun had echoed. "Wouldn't it be better to ask people from Liyue, since we know the geography more?"

"Well, yeah, but a lot of the people who are suited to explore the area are busy with their own investigations," Paimon had explained. "So we had to ask people from Mondstadt to fill in."

"I see," Chongyun had said, nodding to himself.

The Geovishaps' territory seems to encompass Liyue's entirety, which is already a large country for a small handful of elites to cover. It makes sense to ask for aid from foreigners, and it's even better if they're acting out of a sense of friendship, rather than trying to force Liyue into any kind of political debt.

"I'll be sure to buy them some food from Wanmin Restaurant after everything is done," Chongyun had promised, raising his heavy Mora bag and jangling it about.

Paimon and Lumine had given him a thumbs-up before Chongyun headed out to the outskirts of Liyue Harbour. It would be a simple mission, he had thought at the time.

It doesn't take him long to find the helpers from Mondstadt. They stand out like sore thumbs.

A red-haired man in dark clothing is standing on the bridge, leaning against the wooden railing. His gaze is focused on the dog circling around his feet, its tail wagging so hard Chongyun can practically hear it whirling from the other end of the bridge. Next to the red-haired man is a short boy — probably around Xingqiu's height? — wearing green and white. He is drinking out of a white gourd in his hand and Chongyun races forward when he realizes what it was.

"Wait, wait!"

The red-haired man looks up and pushes himself away from the railing. "Chongyun?" he asks. He pronounces Chongyun's name a little strange — he places too much emphasis on the 'yun' — but Chongyun nods quickly. "My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. I was asked by Lumine to help you in —"

"Ah, wait, hold on," Chongyun says nervously, raising up a hand in apology. "I'm really sorry for interrupting, Mister Diluc. It's just that your friend is drinking cooking wine."

"Oh," Diluc says.

The boy in green pulls the gourd away with a loud exhale. Chongyun winces at the alcoholic stench that assaults his nose and he covers his face with his sleeve. The boy's face is red and his eyes are unfocused, swaying unsteadily on the spot.

"That's the stuff!" the boy says, sounding remarkably articulate. "Oh, hello! I'm Venti! This is Diluc! We're here to help!"

"Please, you don't have to yell. I'm standing right here," Chongyun says.

"I already told him why we're here," Diluc says.

Venti's only answer is a loud laugh and Chongyun is struck with a sense of déjà vu. He is pretty sure he had to go through the exact same song and dance from Diluc's position just the other day.

It seems that Venti and Xingqiu have more in common than just their height. At the very least, Xingqiu has no interest in alcohol.

"We're just waiting for the last person in our expedition to arrive," Diluc explains. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an expensive-looking pocketwatch. Venti tries to reach out for it and Diluc simply raises it out of his reach. It's like watching someone deal with a particularly mischievous cat. "She's not someone who's normally late."

"Maybe she got distracted by some sticky honey roast on the way."

Diluc pulls a face but he doesn't deny the possibility.

Chongyun stretches to try and peer into the pocketwatch and Diluc lowers it down so that Chongyun can easily see the time. The two of them ignore Venti's loud pout at the blatant favouritism. It's just a little past noon, when more people would be out and about on their way to and from lunch. It would be disastrous if a Geovishap is to show up at this hour.

"Should we maybe just go ahead and leave a note?" Chongyun asks.

"Maybe," Diluc says. He clicks the pocketwatch shut and places it back into his pocket, staring up at the sky. "We can wait another fifteen minutes and then we'll leave."

"Sounds good to me!" Venti says, raising his hand up in the air.

Chongyun imitates him but Diluc doesn't even look at them. He lowers his hand shyly.

"There's no need for that," an unfamiliar voice drawls out and the three of them turn as one to see a dark-skinned man dressed in furs and leather stroll up to them.

He stands out in the most ridiculous fashion, not only with his natural looks but also with the way his clothes practically cling to the lines of his lithe body. Chongyun instinctively takes a small step back, and yet another one when he feels hot anger rise off of Diluc. If he hadn't noticed the Vision hanging off of his waist earlier, he would know for sure now that he's dealing with a Pyro user.

"Kaeya," Diluc growls. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh boy," Venti says. He reaches into his cape and pulls out from out of nowhere yet another gourd. How he managed to keep such a large bottle hidden away, Chongyun has no idea. Venti notices Chongyun's stare and tips the cooking wine at him. "You want a sip?"

"Ah, no..."

"Your loss."

"Amber was called away on an Outrider mission," Kaeya says. He spreads his arms out theatrically and shakes his head. "And so kind old me decided to lend her a hand. As her superior, of course. "

For a while, Diluc doesn't say anything, giving Kaeya such a murderous look that it's surprising he hasn't been incinerated to a crisp yet. When Diluc finally speaks, his voice is measured and low. He's obviously putting in a great effort to sound as cordial as he can.

"If it's just a Geovishap or two, the three of us are more than enough to defeat them. You could expend your energy on patrolling the site the monster was last spotted, in case civilians accidentally wander into the area."

Kaeya nods. "That's wise. There certainly is a lot of people milling about."

He does not openly agree or disagree with Diluc's suggestion and Diluc shifts his weight.

"So can we trust you to handle securing the area."

It's worded like a question but Diluc's flat tone implies that he meant it as a command.

"Oh. Don't worry about that," Kaeya says, waving his hand in a clear sign of dismissal. He ignores Diluc's irritated tsk. "There's nothing I can do about accidentally getting people involved if you're there with that Vision of yours. So I might as well focus on backing you up on the field."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that you —"

"Okay, wow!" Venti interrupts and both Diluc and Chongyun startle.

Kaeya was so distracting that Chongyun didn't even remember there was a third party with them. Or, he supposes, he technically is a part of said third party. But if Venti is willing to be the peacemaker then Chongyun has his back. He has no idea what's going on between Kaeya and Diluc but if Venti has no qualms about sacrificing himself for the sake of the greater good, the least Chongyun can do is make sure his death isn't in vain.

"Isn't there anything a little sweeter to drink? This wine is getting a bit too spicy for me."

Chongyun's newfound respect for Venti crumbles.

Kaeya laughs and he gives Venti an overly friendly pat on the shoulder. "Well, that's cooking wine so you're not really supposed to be drinking that. There's a lovely restaurant that offers violetgrass liqeur, and it's considered a bit of a local delicacy around these parts."

"Go on, go on!" Venti exclaims, his eyes shimmering like stars as he stares up at Kaeya like a lovestruck maiden. "What does it taste like?"

"Hm, I've never had it myself, but I hear that it's sweet and floral, like you're sucking honey directly out from a flower. If you hold it up to the light, the colours swirl in the most beautiful patterns, like you've trapped the night sky in your glass."

"It sounds amazing," Venti says dreamily. "I would very much like to try it before I go back to Mondstadt. Let's hurry and get rid of the Geovishap so we can go to the restaurant."

"Oh, I can't really drink," Chongyun says, raising his hand. "I'll still go though."

"More for me!" Venti says.

"They offer a virgin violetgrass cocktail that's sweetened with mist flower nectar and mint for anyone who can't handle their drink," Kaeya says, giving Diluc a bright smile.

Diluc crosses his arms and taps his fingers against his elbow like an annoyed cat flicking its tail. He doesn't reply but Chongyun nods to himself. So Diluc also can't drink alcohol. A small sense of kinship wells up in him at the thought. Finally, some common ground with at least one member of this enigmatic band.

"We're wasting time," Diluc sighs. He seems to have given up on trying to chase Kaeya away for now. "Let's go."

#my writing #genshin impact #kaeluc

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archadianskies · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 30

Wound Reveal + Ignoring an Injury→ part 1; part 2; part 3

Whumptober Masterlist | 30/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hiding Medical Issues × Stabbing × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds × Hurt/Comfort

It’s a full Anderson house. Well, it will be in about ten minutes or so. And ‘house’ isn’t quite right, given they aren’t indoors and even if they were it’s certainly not a house, but that’s how the saying goes so he’ll say it.

It’s a joint task force between the DPD Android Crimes Division, so that’s Dad Anderson and Big Bro Anderson onsite, and SWAT Unit 32 so he’s onsite, Middle Bro Anderson, and now the mission is wrapping up, CSI will be onsite soon, so that’s Baby Bro Anderson. Four Andersons. They’re just missing Dog Anderson.

“Where the fuck are they, it’s so fuckin’ cold I want to go home and pass out on my bed.” Detective Reed grumbles. Ah yes. There've been killings involving both androids and humans, so DPD Homicide squad are here meaning Detective Gavin Reed is here and Caleb’s patience is wearing thinner by the second.

“Icy conditions are making it hard for CSI to navigate their vans safely.” He informs him because if he doesn’t the man will continue complaining and he may outright murder him. “High body count means they need to bring multiple vehicles.”

“And all their fancy tech, right?” Reed groans. “God we’ll be here all night.”

“No fancy tech.” Caleb shrugs. “Just one RK900.”

“You’re here already.” He gestures vaguely at him. “Why don’t you go put that mouth of yours to use and save us some time?”

Rayner looks about ready to leap at Reed on his behalf which is touching, and of course their Captain is within earshot, a crease marring that handsome brow. Not to worry. Humans have instincts, have automatic reactions to certain situations. Like being handed something out of the blue.

“Sure. Here, hold this for a second?” Human vs 200lbs custom EMP resistant ballistics shield. Gavin meets ground. Rayner snortlaughs and their unwavering Captain, his captain o captain, wavers just a smidge, the corners of his mouth twitching up briefly.

“Oh, sorry Detective Reed.” Caleb reaches down to grab the shield, human still attached by way of instinctual pincer grasp, and returns both into an upright position. “Anyway though I too am an RK900, I do not have the proper qualifications to perform forensic investigations at crime scenes even if they are raids. Rest assured dear Frederick will get to work as soon as he arrives.”

“You little shit!” The human shrieks, voice an octave higher in outrage and Caleb steps away from him in favour of crossing the distance and nudging Connor with his elbow playfully.

“Hey.”

“I see you’ve had enough of Detective Reed for tonight.” Connor quips sagely and Caleb shrugs.

“Can’t believe you put up with him for so long.”

“Not by choice. Can’t exactly murder a fellow detective and keep my job at the same time.” Connor grins, and he laughs at the cheeky expression on his brother’s face. “It’s not so bad now we’re in different divisions. We overlap sometimes, but not all the time so the urge to murder is lesser now.”

“What do you make of all this?” Changing the subject, he tips his head in the direction of the semi-finished apartment complex, the base of operations for an elaborate crime syndicate that saw both android and human lives cut down for the sake of seizing power in the black market organ trade.

The raid had been a dangerous one, and though they didn’t suffer any casualties, a third of the team took severe hits and will need weeks of recovery time. The very nature of the building meant they couldn’t ambush them and having the separate floors meant the element of surprise was lost.

“I think our baby brother has a lot of work ahead of him.” Connor smirks before shaking his head, sighing tiredly. “As do Hank and I. There’s a lot of criminals to question. Reed’s team will handle the human criminals and his interrogation tactic is-”

“Bad, barely competent cop with anger management issues?”

“-sorely lacking in finesse, but we’ll go with that.” Connor looks him over, reaching out to thumb away a smudge of grime from his cheek. “At least you get to go home soon.”

“Soon-ish.” Caleb corrects, making a face. “Waiting for the last party to secure their floor before the Captain can declare the entire site is secure.”

“Still, you’ll be out of here long before dad and I can leave. And poor Freddie will be here long after we leave.”

“Gotta have an Anderson onsite.” Caleb laughs, leaning in to bump his brow against his brother’s fondly. “Okay. I better get going. I’ll see you on Saturday at our place?”

“I’ll bring the drinks.” Connor vows, waving as his brother takes his leave.

Watching Caleb return to his team, Connor idly watches their group dynamic and marvels at how his brother is the furthest thing from the cold, unfeeling killing machine CyberLife intended to release for the sole purpose of crushing the deviant revolution.

They didn’t count on the revolution succeeding. They didn’t count on having their arm twisted by the Kamskis, nor the mounting pressure placed on them by the public after public opinion soared in favour of the deviants given Joss Douglas’ live coverage of the Jericho Four’s final stand. Which meant they offered the RK900 to the DPD as an olive branch, smiling through gritted teeth as Connor deviated him on the spot and it wasn’t a killing machine being activated, it was a young brother who would become Caleb Anderson not long after.

It was a far harder road for their youngest brother, Caleb’s twin, Freddie. Over eight months, while Caleb had his family, had his team, had a growing relationship, Freddie had been treated as a piece of equipment by Special Agent Richard Perkins and his FBI SWAT team. He’s only now just coming into his own, finding his place in the Forensics team and settling into the Anderson family.

The CSI vans begin to pull up to the scene and soon the last Anderson brother is onsite. Freddie gives him a small wave and Connor finds himself smiling as he waves in return.

“Hello Connor.”

“Hello Freddie.” He greets, smile growing warmer as the other RK900 offers a grin he most certainly learned from Caleb. “You’re going to be very busy tonight unfortunately.”

“That’s alright. It is my job and I like doing it.” His brother reassures, eyes roving over the SWAT team at the entrance of the building. Caleb spots them and waves enthusiastically, and Connor laughs as Freddie returns it with the same enthusiasm. “The site has been declared secure, so they’ll be heading back to the station.” He relays what must be the short conversation they just shared. “And that means it is time for me to start working.”

“And time for dad and I to start processing criminals.” He sighs heavily. “Well Freddie, I’ll see you back at home. Hopefully sooner rather than later.” He adds, looping an arm around his brother’s waist and pulling him in for a quick hug.

“Okay Connor.” Freddie mumbles into his shoulder. “Say hello to dad for me?”

“Of course.”

It is a drastic change to go from the team storming the site to the team that arrives well after the action is over. He much prefers the latter to the former. He’s grown accustomed to the stillness, to the attention to detail this job requires rather than the chaos of raids, the incessant hail of bullets under Special Agent Perkins’ leadership. Or lack thereof. Caleb’s memories showed Captain Allen prefers a vastly, drastically different mode of leadership that sees him guiding a tight-knit team and playing to both individual and collective strengths.

Special Agent Perkins barely remembered the names of his own Agents, let alone cared enough to give Freddie one. It’s something he’s had to learn from his brothers; what transpired at his time with the FBI was not normal, it was cruel. His cruelty still lingers like bruises on human skin that take much longer to fade than for the injury to heal. But Freddie is learning, and though he has a long way to go at least he has family now and he has the Anderson name and he has the name Frederick which he chose all by himself.

The semi-finished apartment complex is the site of a massacre. Even before the raid, it seems the syndicate were trying to cut their losses and decided it was much easier to kill the workers, and thus prevent them from being questioned by the police. Even before the raid, even before the execution of the workers, the complex was already filled with bodies upon bodies; missing humans and missing androids, kidnapped and killed, then harvested for organs or biocomponents. Even if Freddie weren’t an RK900, he’d still be able to smell the dizzying scent of human blood, of android thirium, and of hospital grade disinfectants.

There’s too many bodies to be housed at the lab morgue so many will have to be diverted to the hospital morgues until they can process them. There’s no mystery to be solved here; it’s very clear how these victims died. The task at hand is processing each and every one so they can be identified and released for their kin to claim.

Freddie works at a steady pace, his superior commanding him to start at the top floor and work downwards. Most of the cleanup will need to be concentrated in the basement level where the workers were executed, but on the other hand the team will not need his input since the deaths are straightforward. The greatest task will be in trying to identify the parts and matching them to the bodies, ensuring the families will be able to claim their loved ones as whole as possible, and failing that, he will try his best to ensure there’s at least a name, a serial number, so they may be buried with or installed into memorial walls with dignity.

He takes the elevator and several body bags, and begins the task of retrieving corpses. Police auxiliary units patrol the now quiet floors when not too long ago SWAT Unit 32 would’ve been sweeping through. Arrests have been made, but the ratio of arrests vs corpses is highly skewed. No matter. He has faith in his brothers, in his father, and yes perhaps even Detective Reed.

The thing about android corpses versus human corpses is that it’s very easy to determine whether a human is dead or alive. For androids, there’s a certain nuance to determining whether an android is still active or deactivated. And the thing is, humans are still learning how to determine between those two. The android in question, splayed in a broken sprawl, riddled with bullets, is not actually deactivated.

Freddie learns as such, when he is crouched beside the human corpse adjacent to it, because the android sputters to life and the knife in its hand plunges right into his leg. His RK900 programming kicks in and he whirls around, grabbing the android’s wrist and using his other hand to yank the knife from his thigh. Too late does he see the gun in its other hand and it fires at his chest, narrowly missing both his hearts. Tossing the knife aside, he grabs the gun before the android can fire again, twisting so he breaks both wrists before thrusting a hand forward to yank the android’s pump regulator out. They collapse like a cut puppet, jerking and seizing for a few moments before falling still and now Freddie knows they are truly dead.

Police units rush into the room and he reassures them all is well, the android is properly deactivated. He has the pump regulator of the android to prove it. Swatting away the damage notifications to his thigh and chest, he continues with the long, laborious task of finding, bagging and logging each corpse. The thirium loss is steady but not fatal, so he keeps his head down and continues working.

He has completed missions in far worse conditions, and his brothers and father have both worked so very hard tonight that he feels he cannot let them down by allowing such pathetic injuries to hinder him. He is an RK900. In the FBI SWAT unit he was to keep going until he physically shut down, and he reasons that the same level of dedication is required of him here too. It is only fair, to give as much as they expect and he is far from shutting down over such trivial hindrances.

It is nearing midnight by the time everything is loaded up and ready to head back to the lab, and he can sense the immense fatigue laying heavy like a blanket over his human colleagues. There is still so much work to do.

“No.” Lenore says firmly, and he tips his head slightly in confusion. “You’re going to say ‘I can get a head start on these while you all go home to rest’ and the answer is no, Freddie, you absolutely are not going to do that.”

“But I-”

“No.” She repeats, firmer still. “We’re going to run the stuff that needs hours to process, you’re going to just put ID tags on the bodies and then everything goes into the freezers for tomorrow.”

There’s no room for argument, even if he does think he can accomplish much more but it would require him to stay there by himself and they never seem to want to allow him to do that. He is both grateful and confused. “...Understood.”

“Good.”

By the time Dr Olive declares everything is now at the mercy of the lab equipment and can wait until later, it is nearly two in the morning. Which is fine, since Freddie changed out of his damaged uniform upon arrival and applied dermal nano patches to cover the wounds to stem the bleeding. It could wait until he got home and had access to the first aid kit in the bathroom, since he was needed here at the lab to do actual work and not waste time tinkering on such small matters.

He hangs up his lab coat, thumb brushing over the embroidered ‘Dr. F. Anderson’ and finding himself smiling, as he does each time, because that is his name and it’s all his and no one else’s.

The lights are out, as expected, their father having gone to bed long ago but Connor is waiting there on the couch. He smiles brightly, standing and crossing the distance to envelope him in a hug.

“Didn’t think I’d see you until much later, actually.” Connor admits, and Freddie clings for a moment longer because it is a luxury he can afford.

“We processed what we could and are letting the machines run some tests until we come back later. The humans need their rest.”

“They do indeed.” His brother laughs. “Do you want to continue watching the space documentary we started?”

“Yes please.” Freddie nods. “Let me just change into pyjamas.”

He goes to the bathroom, pyjamas draped over one arm which he neatly hangs on the towel rack while he fetches the first aid kit. The nano patches have kept the bleeding at bay though he now has some mild internal bleeding since the blood had nowhere else to go. Negligible. He props his foot up on the bathtub so he can properly assess his thigh, peeling away the patch and beginning to gently ease the damaged wires together again at their rightful place. He’s just about done when Connor appears in the doorway.

“Freddie?”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t realise I was taking so long. I will not be much longer, though you can start without me and I can catch up.” He smiles reassuringly, but Connor only looks at him in distress.

“You’re hurt, how did this happen?” Connor comes to his side, peering at the wound before his eyes widen as he spots the larger one on his chest. “You were shot?”

“One of the androids was not actually deceased and managed to injure me before I deactivated him properly.” He holds out his hand to share the memory, and Connor’s distress only increases.

“Freddie why didn’t you tell anyone?” There’s something desperate in his tone, and he really doesn’t like it. It makes him feel like he’s done something wrong.

“I-I was, and still am fully functioning. It was not impor-”

“Of course it was! Of course it is! Anytime you’re hurt, it’s important!” Connor’s LED spins red and Freddie steps back, feeling his own stress levels rise. He’s done something wrong, he has, and it’s made Connor upset. “Freddie- Freddie, no, don’t- I’m not- I’m not angry with you, I’m just- you’re important, you know this, right? You’re important to me. To Caleb. To dad. To your whole forensics team who care so very much about you. When you’re hurt, that’s bad. That’s- that’s not something you brush aside until you’re alone. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His brother is upset and he thinks he understands now, and it’s because he loves him in a way no one at the FBI loved him, and when he’s hurt it upsets Connor because Connor doesn’t want him to be hurt. It’s a revelation to him, and it must show on his face because Connor draws him close and hugs him again, mindful of the chest wound as he presses closely.

“Okay, Connor.” He murmurs into his brother’s shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric. “I’ll ask for help next time it happens.”

Connor inspects his chest wound, LED still red as he shakes his head. “We can’t repair this one, not even together. It would require-”

“I’ve repaired gunshot wounds by myself before.” Freddie blinks, tipping his head slightly. “I was only repaired by the technician if I lost consciousness from multiple injuries.”

He’s done it again. He’s said something wrong, only now he recognises it’s not wrong so much as distressing because it’s something bad, and he has lived his life believing bad things were normal things and is now trying to unlearn such beliefs.

“I can do it,” Freddie says slowly, “but I would appreciate it very much if you could help me, please? I can instruct you how. It will be easier with someone helping me.”

It is easier, and faster too, to have someone helping with the repair process. Everything has been set back in its right place, and his self-repair program will kick in and mend the rest. He drinks two full bottles of thirium to replace his bloodloss and by then it doesn’t seem like Connor is interested in watching the documentary at all.

He is staring anxiously at the door, and Freddie doesn’t know why because it is nearing three in the morning now and no one else should be coming. But someone does come, in fact, because the door is unlocked by the only other person who should have a key and there’s Caleb with a worried look on his face, and Freddie realises Connor must have been talking to him the whole time, keeping him updated with what was happening.

“They said the top floor was clear.” Caleb looks pained. “They said it was clear. That’s why David said the site was secure.”

“Your colleagues who cleared the floor are human.” Freddie points out, as Caleb rushes to him and gathers him up into a tight hug. “They did not realise one of the androids was still active.”

“That’s on us, Freddie.”

“It’s not.” He says, trying to be as stern as possible. “And it’s fine. I handled it.”

“You didn’t, you just kept going until you got home and tried to fix everything yourself!” Caleb is scolding him, but he’s doing it in his Caleb way where his voice is mad but his eyes are worried. Freddie feels a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with his injury.

“I’m trying to learn that when things hurt, I need to ask for help.” He confesses quietly. “I wasn’t allowed to ask for help back then. I either fixed it myself, or I had to be incapacitated, before I was given help.”

“I’ll kill him.” Caleb vows, slight static in his voice as he holds him close. “I’ll do it slowly, so he suffers.”

“Just…” Freddie presses his lips into a tight line, trying to find the right words. “Just help me learn how to undo all he did, please?”

“Of course.” His twin presses a kiss to his temple and finally he feels his stress levels begin to drop. “Of course we will, Freddie.”

*~*

Hank’s not sure if Freddie even came home last night, what with the huge mess forensics were left with after they went back to the station to start processing all the arrests. He expects to see Connor pottering around, making tearium for himself and a coffee for him. Kitchen is empty at this hour. Huh. Curiously padding into the living room he finds that empty too, and so he wanders back down the hallway and to Connor’s room. The door is slightly ajar, most likely left open for Sumo. He finds not one, not two, but three androids still fast asleep, with the Saint Bernard sprawled at the end of the bed.

Leaning against the doorway, Hank just watches them for a few moments, heart squeezing at the sight of Freddie in the middle bracketed by his brothers who each have an arm tucked around him protectively.

Fishing out his phone from his pocket, he snaps a quick photo and quietly retreats back to the kitchen. No harm in letting them sleep in a little longer, they all could use the extra rest.

#rk900 #connor rk800 #hank anderson #gavin reed #detroit: become human #whumptober #annie writes: dbh #the end is in sight

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

rk1700 december day 5, 6, 13: superior/replacement; comfort; assemble/disassemble

written for @rk1700december. day 5: superior/replacement; day 6: comfort; day 13: assemble/disassemble

female connor is called rhea. rk900 is called cronos.

summary: cronos and rhea get a new piece of furniture and get adopted by elijah kamski.

also on ao3

----

It is the facility’s quarterly large-scale acquisition day. It means new equipment, new tech, new people, and nearly everyone is excited - a welcomed change and a reminder that they are not alone in the fight (Cronos is pretty certain by this point that there is a conflict going on out there, an intense and high-stake one nonetheless from how hard Anchor pushes him during training sessions. Exactly against whom or what it is about, though, those he has no idea about, and he leaves it be for now since Anchor doesn’t seem to be making an explanation anytime soon.) Even Rhea, who doesn’t quite understand what is going on, seems happier and more excited than usual.

What surprises Cronos, though, is that the two of them also have a quota despite not being Alliance personnel formally.

‘Is Rhea still staying in your quarters?’ Anchor suddenly asks one day as she reloads the thermal clip of her rifle. She had persuaded Cronos to let Rhea have some alone time while she taught him how to shoot, and Cronos successfully convinced her to wait for him in their quarters with a new box of building blocks. They exchanged few words until then, the recoil of the rifle against his shoulder and the blast of supersonic miniature slugs hitting the targets having become familiar sensations as a result, and although he is certain that handling weapons is in his programming, coating the slugs with his biotics to increase their damage is something new.

‘Of course,’ Cronos replies. The thermal clip isn’t completely spent yet but he reloads it anyway. ‘What’s the matter?’

Anchor raises her rifle again and spells out L. W. A. on the target. Her real name’s initials, maybe? ‘So you guys have been squeezing into the same bunk this whole time?’

‘I don’t see the problem with it,’ Cronos admits as he does the same to his target, RK9c appearing in the dented metal board. ‘We are close.’

The human looks impressed. ‘You guys need more space?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I reviewed the dimensions of your quarters. You guys can have a double bed which comfortably fits the two of you without sacrificing much living space, and since we’re requisitioning some new furniture anyway, I think…’ she puts down her rifle in exchange for a pistol and shrugs. ‘Why the fuck not?’

Cronos folds up his rifle and watches Anchor bury a few larger warped slugs into the target’s head. It twists and creaks under the force of the biotic fields attached to the slugs. ‘A bed is a lot of materials.’

‘Materials which we can afford to print,’ eject, replace. ‘There are already people who’ve said that they won’t be able to use up their quota of new materials and offered them up to people who need it. My rules are as long as the total amount of material we need doesn’t exceed the total allocated amount, I don’t mind.’ She holds the pistol with only her left hand and fires a shot. ‘I don’t want to waste anything so I think it’s good to ask you first.’

‘Then I need to ask Rhea too,’ he says before picking up a pistol and emptying all the slugs he can into the target’s forehead until the thermal clip overheats. ‘The bed is hers as well.’

‘Sure,’ Anchor fires a shot just to catch it midway with a strand of her biotics. ‘Give me an answer before tomorrow dinner. I want this done as soon as possible.’

Cronos nods and aims and then realises something. ‘Does it come with a new mattress?’

‘Of course.’

‘And blankets?’

‘Just go to the storage room and grab a few. Remember to wash them twice, though. Stars know how long they’ve been there.’

A plan starts formulating in his processors, and he can feel his face splitting into a grin. ‘Will the bed come in pieces?’

‘You don’t actually think we have a printer large enough to print a whole bed in its entirety, do you?’

‘Good.’ Then returns to his target despite his mind not being able to focus on it now.

‘You’re planning something.’

‘Just something for Rhea, Anchor. Completely harmless.’

Anchor snorts. ‘We are walking mini-nukes if we want to be, Cronos, even Rhea if pushed to her wit’s end.’ A shake of her head. ‘We’re never completely harmless.’

Rhea blinks at him after his explanation even though he has already shared his processing power with her.

A new bed, she repeats. For us?

Yes, Cronos replies. We have the space. We will have the materials. We can build the frame together.

Rhea picks at a loose thread dangling from Cronos’ shirt with her free hand. What will happen to this one?

Chugged into the recycler just like everything else, maybe, he sends back with a shrug. We might even save some material by reusing this one’s, who knows?

Can I roll across the new bed?

It’s ours. We can do whatever we want. Just don’t break it.

Hmm. Rhea wriggles until half of her body is lying on top of Cronos’, after which she tilts her head up for a kiss he gladly indulges in by slowly coating every single surface of her mouth with his own analysis fluid using his tongue. Her whines make a certain part of him fill with thirium, Rhea starts grinding against it and sending waves of pleasure through both of them, and Cronos flips both of them over so that he is covering her body with his and is looming over her. Yes please, she tells him, and they get lost in each other for a while.

Despite telling Anchor that he is going to assemble the new bed with Rhea, he knows it is very likely that he will have to either do it alone or ask someone to assist him due to the sheer size of some of the components. It can also be turned into a practise of his biotics, but he doesn’t want to hurt Rhea accidentally in case he loses control either. Disassembling the original bed is easy enough given his raw strength and the composition of its parts, though, and he is even allowed to chop some of the smaller pieces of the original frame into smaller blocks for Rhea to play with while the others - together with the now too-small mattress - are sent for recycling. He then goes to retrieve the components of the new frame after teaching Rhea to amuse herself by throwing the blocks around and is surprised to see a man he has never seen before waiting for him.

‘You’re Cronos, aren’t you?’ his body language is tense as if he is unused to situations like this. ‘Anna - Anchor - asked me to help you build your new bed. Everything’s printed out or shipped here; help me with them, can you?’

Cronos moves to help him load a particularly long plastisteel beam onto the trolley and notes the stripes on his sleeve. A member of the Council. ‘Is Anna Anchor’s real name?’

‘You can say so.’

An affirmative, then. ‘How about you?’ Cronos asks. ‘You know who I am but I don’t know who you are except that you’re in the Council.’

The man looks at his sleeves and lets out a small ‘ah.’ ‘Call me Elijah,’ he says and loads another box with a clank from the parts within. ‘Elijah Kamski, formerly known as Ilya Kaminski. Council member, traitor to the Alliance - according to some, at least.’

Cronos decides to carry the last box himself. With a cock of his head, he and Elijah begin their way back to his quarters. ‘I doubt you would be here if you had really been a traitor.’

Elijah chuckles. ‘Can’t argue with you on that.’

They return to Cronos’ quarters to Rhea sleepily pushing her new blocks around the space between her legs as her eyelids droop and her head nods every other second. Clearing the floor by giving it a biotic sweep, Elijah brings the package in and cuts through the wrapping with a crafting knife which came out of nowhere, and the mattress starts inflating itself upon coming into contact with air. They move it to the living room and lay Rhea down there, but after tugging her in and watching her squash her cheek against the pillow, she simply lies on her side and watches, with bright eyes, Elijah and Cronos set off to work.

They bring everything in and scatter all the parts in sorted piles on the floor but Cronos is lost. He has no idea on how to start, nor does he think he has all the tools needed, and the human looks like he’s trying not to laugh when he looks at Elijah. Then he does.

‘The Administrator programmed you to biotically charge at your mentor as an instinct but didn’t give you built-in construction manuals?’ A sigh and he sobers up instantly, wiping non-existent sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘How typical of her.’

‘Are you implying that the Administrator is a violent individual?’

‘Not inherently,’ Elijah sighs and shakes his head. ‘Anyways, let’s get this done before bedtime, shall we?’

‘Do we even have enough tools to build it?’

‘Look at these,’ he says as he picks up a beam. ‘The welts at the end. They’re supposed to lock against each other. No nails, no tape, no glue. Just tension and good ancient engineering.’ He puts it back to its original place in the pile and calls up his omni-tool. ‘Now I swear the instructions are somewhere on the intranet…’

Cronos doesn’t have access to a lot of things due to his identity as an informal on-site personnel but he delves into the databases anyway, hitting numerous virtual walls where classified data is stored and is reasonably out of his reach. He could’ve overridden them if he wanted to, but something in his programming tells him that it is not worth it, so he merely retreats and waits for Elijah to finish the job for both of them.

‘There,’ he announces when he finds it. ‘Level one classified, of course, because why not. Stick your hand into the hologram and it’ll transfer to you directly.’

The hologram flickers and blinks when Cronos does so, but he indeed obtains the blueprint and the construction manual in the span of no more than a few microseconds; with new information at hand, they at last start slotting pieces together into larger parts on their own before collectively deciding to put some of the bigger pieces together to complete the outer frame first, and the three of them - Cronos, Elijah, and Rhea who has climbed out of the nest of blankets and pillows and is sitting on the floor wrapped like a dumpling - stare at the hollow rectangle for a moment.

‘Are you certain it’s going to hold?’ asks Cronos. ‘It seems…’ he doesn’t know how to explain what he’s feeling.

‘It will be sturdy once the supports are added,’ the human replies in a reassuring tone. ‘Let’s get them in before it actually collapses.’

And so they hasten their effort and shoves the support beams in, Cronos nearly breaking one of them when he accidentally put too much force on it and Elijah nearly trapping himself between two beams when he very nearly places a piece which would have left him no way out, but somehow, despite their clumsiness and lack of experience, they manage to get the frame done in less than two hours in total, and they let out breathes they didn’t know they were holding in realisation.

Elijah meets Cronos’ eyes. ‘Mattress?’

‘Mattress.’

Turns out, their most difficult task is getting Rhea out of the nest she has made while they were still assembling the bed frame. No matter how much Cronos and Elijah coax, sweet-talk, or bribe with toys or food or kisses (from Cronos only), the most reaction they can get from her is a stretch of her body underneath the blankets and a few mischievous blinks that definitely does not stem from sleepiness. Time for an ultimatum.

‘If you don’t get up now, I’ll have to snatch you,’ Cronos says. ‘You know I can and I will.’

Rhea’s jaw cracks open in a yawn and then shakes her head. Very well.

‘Elijah, get ready to snatch the mattress away.’

‘Sure thing,’ the human answers with an incline of his head, and on a count of three, Cronos clams his arms around Rhea - together with all the blankets around her - and hefts her squirming body up as Elijah pulls the mattress and pillows away and drags them onto the bed with quick, agile movements that can only come from years of experience. He hops off the bed and brushes his hands together to relieve them of non-existent dust, and Cronos can finally throw both himself and Rhea - playfully, of course - against the supportive material with a bounce.

Rhea melts against the mattress and him.

‘See, Rhea? That’s what you’ve been missing out on,’ he says as he shifts to give her more space to roll around. She keeps making these happy humming noises from her throat which makes his heart swell with happiness as well. ‘There’s a reason we don’t sleep on the floor.’

Rhea hums. With a lazy stretch, she rolled over for one last time before latching onto Cronos as tight as she can - which is not very tight at all, but he can give her the illusion that he is firmly in her grasp.

Elijah laughs and ruffles Cronos’ hair. ‘You guys look comfy.’

Rhea deactivates her skin and requests for an interface which Cronos gladly accepts. Waves of drowsiness and contentment crash into his system, and he has to set up a filter just so that he doesn’t slip right into sleep at the very moment.

‘Indeed.’

#rk17cember #rk1700 #dbh connor #dbh rk900 #elijah kamski #dbh elijah kamski #oc: anchor/anna #detroit: become human #groom lake aftermath

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1989dreamer · 4 years

Text

In Your Little Werewolf Oven

On AO3

Summary: Danny moves to New York City and ends up opening a bakery called Little Werewolf Oven and most of his clientele ends up being supernatural.

As his reputation grows, Danny finds himself overwhelmed, so he advertises a position and gets not one, but two blasts from the past in the form of Derek Hale and his boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski.

Things work out great for Danny because now, not only does he have more time to do the things he wants, but he also meets his future husband through Derek and Stiles.

Life couldn’t be greater, Danny thinks.

Note: Andrew Erickson would be played by Aldis Hodge if on screen.

Main relationship: Danny/Andrew

Background relationship: Derek/Stiles

~ * ~

Danny makes his break with Beacon Hills when he chooses colleges. He graduates high school a semester early and then heads out.

No one even notices that he’s gone.

Well, no one except cousin Miguel who asks if he feels safe, if he thinks he needs help with the supernatural, and if he wants to keep in touch.

Yes, no, and not really.

Derek Hale is simultaneously the kindest and most fearsome person Danny knows. Mostly because there was a rumor floating around school before he left that Derek had killed both his uncle and a junior at the high school, Vernon Boyd, the third. Well, the uncle was still alive, but Boyd wasn’t, so Danny kindly turns down Derek’s offer of protection and then promptly fucks off to the other side of the country, hoping the distance will be enough.

And it is. For seven years. Long enough to get two bachelor’s in science, physiology and computer science, and to accidentally walk into a cooking class and end up in culinary school just so he can open his own bakery.

He is a bona fide business owner now.

He has no one working for him, so he is only open five hours a day and the rest of his time is spent baking.

It is, in a word, exhausting, but it is his work and it makes him happy.

Business is good for about three months, and then some big name celebrity comes through, orders some of his haupia—which he only made because it was easy and he could set it aside once it was done and not worry about it—and raves about it online.

After that, there is no peace.

Danny can’t get anything done aside from baking and making haupia, and he becomes despondent, trudging from one minute to the next, not even enough time or energy to swipe right on his dating app.

Yes. While Danny was in college, he had also taken time to create a new dating app for LGBTQ+ people. He has gone on a few dates using the app, and the experience is far superior to Grindr or just meeting someone at a bar. But now he doesn’t even have time for that.

He is horny and tired and he really needs help.

Well. Online applications are a thing. So, all he has to do is find three minutes to post something. He finds the time the next morning during breakfast, so he types up a job requirement and application and posts it.

By that afternoon, he has sixty-some applicants.

Okay. So it will take more than three minutes this time.

Great.

~ * ~

Three weeks later, Danny still hasn’t sifted through all the applications. He is desperate, yes, but also too busy. It would be nice if he can just point at someone and assign them to work with him.

He has, however, managed to make an update to his app, and has received favorable feedback. So, while he is still unable to take a moment to breathe, at least he has money to hire someone to go through the applications for the bakery.

It’s a selkie named Ryliegh, visiting her cousin who lives in the apartment across the hall from him, and she is fantastic at everything except baking.

Danny feels a little more at ease with her watching his back. His store, while crowded with humans of every shape, size, and color, is also filled to the brim with supernatural beings who like to take pictures with the bakery’s sign, get something to go, and then hang out on the minimal furniture Danny had grudgingly added a few months back to compete with the Starbucks two blocks away from him.

Why he is a supernatural draw, Danny doesn’t know. Could be the sign.

There are very few things Danny has kept from his life in Beacon Hills, but a stage-whispered conversation between Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall made the list, and his bakery is named Little Werewolf Oven.

Anyway. Danny views the supernatural as closeted. They don’t want the world to know they exist because the world would respond negatively. Hell, the first week he’d been open, a hunter had stopped by to ask him about the sign, and Danny had pretended to be obsessed with Jacob from Twilight—not that Taylor Lautner isn’t a hotty-mchotty who Danny had actually crushed on for a quick minute.

After the hunter left, it had taken everything in him to 1) not call Derek Hale to come make sure he was okay (not having Derek’s number helped) and 2) to remain open. What if the hunters came into his bakery all the time? They seemed set in their ways, and he knew it wouldn’t just be the supernatural population that was in danger. He himself might be targeted for “being different.”

Anyway. That hunter hasn’t come back nor has he told his friends about Danny, and so the supernatural and LGBTQ+ populations have claimed him.

And then Danny made haupia and never has peace anyway.

~ * ~

Ryleigh corners him a month after he hired her and slaps a stack of papers into his chest.

“What’s this?” he asks, amused if a little sad that they had reverted to this non-technological way of doing things. It’s so much easier to look at his phone than to read physical texts.

“Reviews,” Ryleigh says. “And an application. I suggest you hire him. He’s perfect.”

“Reviews of what?” Danny flips through the stack quickly. Ah, the bakery. It is now officially on some site that directs tourists around. Great. He is going to be swamped.

Then suddenly, in the middle of the stack is a job application, generic, hand-filled. Pretty script. Neat words. Derek Hale.

Danny drops the papers.

“What?” Ryleigh demands. “What’s wrong?”

“I know this guy.” Danny picks up Derek’s resume. On paper, Derek does sound perfect. And he even has work experience in a bakery. Who knew?

“Is he bad?” Ryleigh asks.

“Not exactly,” Danny replies, still studying Derek’s skills. “In fact, why don’t you give him a call, see if he can make it in for a test run soon.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Ryleigh wanders away, phone already on her ear. Danny picks up the rest of the reviews and sticks them in his office for when he, maybe, will have time to read them. Some of them look so sweet.

For now, though, someone’s gotta make more haupia because someone announced, on their social media no less, with about 10,000 followers, that tomorrow is the official day of the week that they will have it.

Well. At least it’s just one day a week. Danny can deal with one day.

~ * ~

Derek Hale returns Ryleigh’s call by the following afternoon, and she patches in Danny so they can talk.

“How soon can you start?” Danny asks, prepared for anything from a week to a month.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Derek asks instead, and Danny can’t believe his good fortune.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, and then realizes he sounds desperate. Well he is, so fuck it. “Okay, Derek, you’re hired. Just bring in your social security card, driver’s license, and a bank account number with routing information so that I can direct deposit your paycheck.”

“Wonderful,” Derek deadpans. “See you tomorrow.”

Ryleigh gives him a thumbs up before she heads out for her night class. She’s taking computer science because she likes designing mobile games. Danny supports her wholeheartedly except he never downloads her apps. He doesn’t need the distraction. He still doesn’t have any time for dates, much less wasting time on his phone.

Derek will be such a relief. Too bad it isn’t tomorrow yet.

Whatever. Sleeves up. Maybe if he gets done before 9:00 pm, he can treat himself to that new Italian fine dining restaurant that opened around the corner from his apartment building.

~ * ~

Derek is already at the bakery by the time Danny rolls in at 6:00 am. The Italian was delicious last night, and Danny’s in a good mood which only gets better when he starts showing Derek the ropes. Derek is easy to train and easy-going. He has a bit of sharp wit that comes out when he’s not guarding it, and Danny feels honored that he gets to see it.

Derek’s smile is quick and easy. Danny doesn’t ever remember seeing it in Beacon Hills.

“So why’d you leave Beacon Hills?” he asks once he’s made up an employee file for Derek, noting that although it’s good, his license is fake. “And how old are you anyway?”

Derek rolls his shoulders. “Beacon Hills got too small,” he says, tightly. “The Argents no longer have jurisdiction over hunters there, so another hunting regime moved in. And I’m 28.”

“Yeah? Why does your I.D. say you’re thirty then?”

Derek refuses to make eye contact when he says, “Since my birth certificate was destroyed in the fire, Laura added two years to my age so that she could leave me on my own while she worked. I haven’t changed the I.D. yet because I don’t want to lose that part of her.”

“Understood,” Danny says. “Well, do you have a new I.D.? ‘Cause this one’s about to expire.”

Derek smiles, relief evident in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll get that done in a couple of days when Stiles gets here.”

“Stiles is coming here too?” For some reason, Danny thought that if Derek left Beacon Hills, he’d leave everything behind. To bring Stiles is to bring the essence of Beacon Hills.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of rude to leave your boyfriend behind.”

“Boyfriend?!” Danny can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Derek glares at him. “Sorry. I just. I didn’t ever think Stilinski would get a boyfriend. Or laid, for that matter.”

“Yeah, well, he’s excellent in bed.” Derek stiffly turns back to the breads, kneading just a little too hard to be human.

“Easy on that,” Danny warns him. “I don’t need to replace these counters.”

“I don’t need you to hassle my boyfriend,” Derek returns, but he does lighten his touch.

“So, Stiles is coming here. Cool. What’s he going to do?”

Derek shrugs. “Beats me. He got his degree in anthropology and zoology. He’s trying to prove that certain supernaturals evolved as a missing link between humans and some older species. It’s really fascinating, but he loves talking about it, so you’ll probably get a rundown on it if you see him.”

“That sounds cool actually,” Danny says. “Now. Have you ever heard of haupia?”

~ * ~

Stiles does indeed arrive within a couple of days and Derek takes an hour to run to the DMV to update his license.

Then, when they get back, Stiles asks Danny if he still needs help.

Danny looks at the sea of people and then back at Derek and Stiles. “Yes,” he says, and Stiles hands him the same documents he’d asked Derek for.

“All right, you’re hired.”

Stiles grins, tying on an apron and jumping on the register. The line moves quickly, and suddenly the bakery is empty, for the first time in what feels like years.

“Cool,” Danny says. And then heads into his office to read the reviews from Ryleigh.

By the time he surfaces, the bakery is closed, Derek and Stiles have cleaned up, and Derek is prepping for tomorrow while Stiles sits on a stool and chats at him.

“Hey, thanks for coming out here,” Danny tells them. “It’s really awesome that you’re here.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles says, “Beacon Hills kind of imploded on us. Did Derek tell you about the new hunter family that moved in? Right bastards, the lot of them.”

“He’s mad because they saw my eyes and decided that I needed to die.”

“Aren’t you mad about that too?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, that’s where I grew up. But Beacon Hills itself hasn’t been kind to me in a long time. I’ve got friends out here from before I followed my sister back. We’re actually going to meet one of them today.” Derek shares a look with Stiles. “Do you want to come with us?”

“You realize that I’m gay, right?” Danny says. He can’t help giving Derek a knowing look.

Derek snorts. “So is he. Do you want to come with us?”

Danny thinks of his lack of love life and lets it influence his answer. “Yes. I’d like to meet him.”

“Settled then,” Stiles says. “We’re meeting him at that deli on 23rd. His name is Andrew.”

“Are you going to tell me anything else about him?”

“He’s six feet tall, likes to dress well,” Stiles says. “He works as an analyst for a company close by. And he loves your baked goods.”

“So I have already met him?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “And he thinks you’re cute. He hopes you think he’s cute too.” Then, Derek dusts off his hands, puts away everything, and washes up. “We have about an hour before we’re supposed to meet Andrew.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Danny says, waving them away. They leave, exchanging knowing smirks. Whatever. It’s cool.

It’s a stretch to think he’ll get laid today, but the potential of meeting someone makes Danny a little giddy. He needs a quick shower, a touch up of his cologne, and then maybe he’ll have some time to clean out his inbox.

Oh wow, he has time tonight! Who knew that having employees would make his life so much more manageable.

Anyway. He doesn’t want to be late to meet—or rather, re-meet—Andrew.

~ * ~

Derek and Stiles are standing outside on the sidewalk when Danny comes running up. He’d gotten wrapped up in his emails, unused to having even five minutes to do something like that instead of being too tired to function when he got off work.

“Andrew is already inside,” Derek says, pulling Danny close so he can run a hand over his back, something Danny used to watch him do with his pack before they were forcibly disbanded. Danny shivers under the touch. No lie, if Derek wasn’t with Stiles, Danny would be climbing him like a tree. As it is, he still has to will away a boner.

Derek smiles like he knows what just happened, and Danny shrugs him off.

Then, they walk into the deli. Derek leads the way, heading for a booth tucked near the back, a tall, suited man already sitting there, phone in one hand, the other resting on his head, fingers tangled in his curls. Danny stutters to a stop. He recognizes this man. He was one of the first people to visit the bakery. He’d made some mention of the name, something like, “Reminds of my best friend,” before winking and buying a dozen cookies.

Yeah, he was definitely cute.

“Andrew,” Derek is saying, “this is Danny. Mahealani. I think you’ve met before.”

Andrew looks up, taking in Danny standing there and nods. “Yeah. He’s an awesome baker.”

“And he’s gay,” Stiles remarks, sliding into the booth across from Andrew. Derek waves Danny to the table, and Danny sinks down next to Stiles. Andrew stands up and lets Derek sit so that he’s across from Stiles.

“Danny,” Andrew says, extending a hand, “Andrew Erickson.”

“Pleasure,” Danny says.

“Yes,” Andrew remarks, eyes sparkling. “It is.”

“Shall we order?” Stiles asks. “I’m starving.”

Danny doesn’t know if he’s hungry for food or for affection, but he knows either way, he’ll get what he needs tonight.

~ * ~

The sort of date goes so well that Danny and Andrew walk back to Danny’s apartment together and then spend most of the night talking.

They don’t have sex, but it’s a near thing. Instead, Andrew spends the night on Danny’s couch and they exchange numbers and kisses.

Then, they both drag themselves to their respective jobs the next morning.

Stiles cracks a joke about the walk of shame, and Derek smacks him.

“Go well?” he says, as if he can’t tell. He’s a werewolf. He’d be able to smell if Danny had done anything.

“Yeah, it went really well. I think we could really work out.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Derek hauls Stiles into the kitchen.

Danny is thankful, but Derek and Stiles must have gotten in early because there in nothing for him to do.

Wow. This is going to give him so much time.

“Hey, you realize that you don’t have to do everything, right?” he calls out as he walks into the kitchen. Derek shoots him a blank look accompanied by a thumbs up. “Seriously, you can leave stuff for me to do.”

“Hey, werewolf here,” Stiles says. “He moves at two speeds: fast and faster.”

“Yeah well, you’re making me feel lazy here.”

“When’s the last time you had time to yourself?” Derek asks. When Danny doesn’t answer, Derek points at him. “Exactly.”

Danny looks to Stiles for help, but Stiles just shakes his head.

“Hey, you hired him,” he says. “Which reminds me: do you want me to do anything other than run register?”

Derek shakes his head, so Danny says, “Uh, no? That’s okay, Stiles. You did awesome yesterday. It’s probably going to be that busy again today.”

“That’s good, right?” Stiles asks. “I mean, it means that people like your business.”

“It also means that I can pay you.”

“And go on dates with Andrew,” Derek adds. “By the way, he really enjoyed last night. I think he’s definitely going to ask you out again.”

“Are you going to be okay with me dating your best friend?”

“Yeah. I mean, you and Andrew deserve to be happy. What kind of friend would I be if I got in the way of that? Maybe you’ll break each other’s hearts, but you won’t know unless you follow your path.”

“He’s gotten really Zen lately,” Stiles says. “Sometimes it’s really helpful.”

“Unless your name is Stiles and you don’t like to listen to your boyfriend.”

“I listened, honey. That’s why we’re in New York City.”

“Okay,” Danny interrupts before Derek can respond. “I’m going to go open now. Stiles, you wanna come with?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya, honey-baby-love-of-my-life.” Stiles throws an exaggerated kiss at Derek, who mimes catching it and tucking it into his pocket. It’s cute. Far cuter than Danny would have given either of them credit for seven years ago.

Maybe one day, he and Andrew can be like that.

It’s a goal. But first. Get through today. He needs to do an update for his app, reinforce some firewalls that keep out the bigots. If Derek and Stiles can handle the bakery, then he can get a head start on it. And meet with Ryleigh about financials.

It’s so nice to have employees.

~ * ~

Andrew calls him two days later, on a Sunday, and asks to see him again.

“Been thinking about you a lot.”

“Me too.”

“Can’t wait. Can we meet now?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Cool, let me in.”

“You’re here already?” Danny looks around his apartment, but it’s neat. He’s clean—showered after a run with Derek this afternoon. He even changed the sheets on his bed.

And he remembered to buy condoms when he was at the store earlier.

“Um, sure. Let me just.” Danny throws on a light jacket and jogs down to the street. Andrew grins at him when he pushes the door open for him. They walk back up to Danny’s apartment in silence.

“So, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but do you want to have sex with me?” Danny asks once they’re inside again. Andrew pauses mid-step, shooting a puzzled look at Danny.

“Sex, on the second date?” he asks.

Danny shrugs. “We’re both adults. As long as it’s consensual, why shouldn’t we?”

“Do you think we’re even compatible?” Andrew asks.

“If you’re asking, you’re already thinking about it. Now, I’m vers. How about you?”

“Vers too. I prefer to top with partners on the first time. Is that okay?”

Danny nods. “I was going to play later,” he admits. “So, I’m ready to go. I’ve got lube and condoms in the bedroom. Will you join me?”

Andrew nods, reaching out for Danny’s hand.

He’s reminded sharply of Derek grabbing Stiles’ kiss. “Are we going to be cutesy and couple-y?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Andrew says. “I mean, some partners like it, some don’t. I know I like pet names, but I’m not much for showing affection in public.”

Danny understands. As a gay black man, it has to be harder for Andrew to show his feelings or who he is without being attacked. “We won’t hold hands in public if it bothers you,” he says, “but I do like to call partners sweetheart and love. But not out in public.”

Danny isn’t under any illusions that Beacon Hills was an anomaly and that homophobia is still the norm in many places. He doesn’t like endangering either his partners or himself unnecessarily.

They sit on the bed, and Andrew studies Danny with kind eyes. “So, we’ll be cutesy and couple-y but only in private. Is it okay to walk with you, to stand near you?”

“To be caught looking at me, you mean?” Andrew nods. “Yeah, as long as it’s okay for me to do the same to you.”

“Definitely. So, this lube?”

Danny laughs, pushing at his chest. “Get undressed and I’ll give you a show.”

It certainly is a show when he gets down to it, and the sex is fun, messy, and only sort of good because they need to learn each other, but he doesn’t hate it, and he actually likes the way Andrew curls around him after they’ve cleaned up, and they sleep.

Danny wakes up in the middle of the night, sees Andrew still in his bed, and smiles before going back to sleep.

~ * ~

Derek obviously smells when their relationship changes, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and he doesn’t let Stiles do it either.

In fact, they go on a lot of double dates, and Stiles tells horror stories of the first time he bottomed for Derek.

“Never again,” Stiles sing-songs. “Derek doesn’t mind, do you, honey-bunches?”

“I mind you discussing our sex life,” Derek retorts, “sugar-sweet-on-top.”

They jibe each other often and throughout the day. The customers love it. They also seem to love it when Andrew manages to come in for lunch and he and Danny usually hide in the office.

The bakery does so well with the extra help that Danny hires an additional four people and extends the hours. He also starts making more traditional Hawaiian goods, which go over just as well as the haupia.

Then, suddenly, he looks up to find that he’s been dating Andrew for a year and he knows that he absolutely wants to marry this man. Andrew has already moved in, and his suits don’t look out of place in Danny’s closet.

Everything fits.

There’s some small fights. And once Andrew spent the night at Stiles and Derek’s apartment while they cooled off and reconciled.

But, still, 365 days. Danny definitely knows he wants to plan a proposal, plan a wedding, and spend the rest of his life with the beautiful creature that sleeps in his bed.

To celebrate their anniversary, Danny enlists Derek and Stiles’ help.

Derek whips up more than baked goods, and Danny is thoroughly impressed by the spread he prepares. Everything is on the table, literally. Way too much food for just two people.

Derek sees him eyeing the table. “You know how you’re thinking about implementing a donation of unused foods to the homeless shelters nearby? Yeah, this is the test run.”

“That’s wonderful,” Danny says. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Hey, I helped,” Stiles says, jabbing himself in the chest. “I made some of the dishes.”

Derek nods. “He did. They’re good too. Traditional Polish dishes, like pierogi, pączki, żurek, and naleśniki.”

“Andrew’s had them before,” Stiles points out. “I’ve never cooked for you, so I don’t know if you like them.”

“I’m sure I will.” Danny gives them both grateful hugs. “Thanks so much for doing this for me.”

“It’s not a problem,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles and tugging him along as he heads for the door. “Let us know how it goes, yeah?”

He nods and then they’re gone.

Danny swallows hard when he’s all alone. He’s suddenly nervous even though he and Andrew have been together for a year now.

An anniversary dinner is nice, but is it what Andrew wants? Should Danny have purchased a ring? Should he be proposing tonight?

Before he can do much more than worry that he’s not doing this correctly, Andrew steps into the room.

He takes in the table and whistles lowly. “They really know how to cook, eh?” he remarks. “They really support us, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees. He hugs Andrew and then pulls out his chair for him. “I haven’t tried Stiles’ cooking, but Derek says it’s good.”

“It is,” Andrew confirms, “although, I can’t pronounce half of what he makes, so he makes fun of me. We can’t all be secret linguistics, like Derek.”

“I’m going to come right out and say this,” Danny says, “I don’t have a ring. I meant to get one, and then I lost track of time.”

“You’ve been really busy,” Andrew agrees. “So I guess it’s a good thing I did get a ring.” He pushes back from the table and drops to his knee, holding a ring box in front of him. “Daniel Mahealani, I love you. I don’t want to spend another day without you, so will you accept this token of my affection and marry me when the time is right?”

Danny slides out of his chair so that he can kneel with Andrew. He picks up the ring and slides it on his finger. “Andrew Erickson, I do accept your ring and give you my promise to marry you when the time is right.”

They stand and sit back at the table.

“Twelve months,” Andrew says. “One whole year. It’s been a great year. And I can’t wait for the rest of the years too.”

“Yeah. That’s.” Danny blows out a breath. “That’s what I want too. I can’t wait for tonight, tomorrow, next week, the rest of our lives.”

“But right now, we have to do something about this spread. Certainly we can’t eat it all.”

“No, the plan apparently was to donate what we don’t eat down at the shelter.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, his smile slow and steady. Danny’s stomach flips a little, anticipating the celebration already even though they have dinner, donating the leftovers, and heading back to the apartment before they can even entertain the notion of sex. “That sounds wonderful.” He studies Danny with a knowing look. “How about we pack something up for later, drop the rest off at the shelter, and head home?”

Danny has to go around the table to kiss him because there’s too much food to lean over the table. But, hey, that’s good. So much food that won’t go to waste.

“I’ll grab some containers. Why don’t you pick out the things you think I should try from Stiles and then we’ll take care of the rest?”

“Divide and conquer,” Andrew says. “That’s why I love you.”

“That and I swallow,” Danny shoots back over his shoulder with a wink.

Andrew lets out a startled laugh. “Just go before you kill me with your quips.”

“I live to please,” Danny returns. “Just you wait.”

It’s hard to wait the two hours it takes to box everything up and deliver it. But somehow, they both survive right until they get into the apartment and the door is locked. Then they crash together, locked at the lips as they put away the food they kept, trying to undress as they move like some awkward, two-bodied creature.

They fall into bed without any injuries, and then proceed to make love at the slowest pace they have ever done so. It’s nice, but Danny is glad that the second round sometime around midnight is faster and more their pace.

Danny falls asleep afterward, sated and beyond happy. He’s got a wedding to plan with his fiancé.

~ * ~

Stiles and Derek get married around Thanksgiving. Danny and Andrew both attend as best men.

It’s the first time in eight years that Danny has seen anyone from back in Beacon Hills, and he is surprised that it isn’t as awkward as he’d thought it would be. For one, Scott doesn’t come. Stiles makes some bullshit excuse, but Danny can see how hurt he is. And another thing, everyone has grown up and matured. Sure they all have a few more scars than he remembers, but for the most part they seem happy.

After, once the vows are exchanged, the grooms kiss, the toasts are done, the food is eaten, the bouquet lovingly handed to Danny by Derek, and the guests gone with the couple departed to their honeymoon, Danny sits with Andrew on their balcony, watching the moon rise over the rooftops.

“That was a beautiful ceremony,” he says. Andrew nods in agreement. “If you don’t mind, none of those people aside from Derek and Stiles will be at our wedding.”

“Obviously,” Andrew says. “Do you want something similar?”

“Small, intimate?” Andrew nods. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

“How about New Year’s? All we need are a few suits, witnesses, rings, and some of your haupia.”

Danny laughs. “I knew you were only marrying me for my prowess in cooking Hawaiian desserts.”

“Oh sure, yeah, that’s what attracted me to you in the first place.”

“Yeah? And what attracts you now?”

“Hmm,” Andrew pretends to think about the question, before sobering quickly. “Everything,” he answers honestly. “I love everything about you. I love the way you are so smart, the way you cook, I love how you treat your friends, and how you’re not afraid to let someone know when they’ve hurt you. I love the way your face lights up when you laugh, and most of all, I love the fact that you’ve let me share your life with you.”

“Aw, babe, you’re going to make me cry.” Danny rests his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “I love you too. I love the way you always know what to say in any situation and how you know to give me space when I’m mad. I love the way you always hang up your clothes. I love the way you hog the covers at night. But most of all, I love that I get to share your life with you.”

They share a few sweet kisses.

“Shit, we should have recorded those,” Andrew says suddenly. “They would have made the perfect vows.”

Danny laughs again, sure his face is a bright beacon in the cold November air. “Yeah. We should have. How about we go write them down instead?”

“That works too.” Andrew stands up, offers a hand to pull Danny up. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too. Now move, I’m freezing.”

~ * ~

New Year’s day dawns bright and cold. The perfect day for a quick wedding.

Danny stands in front of the courthouse, Stiles to his right, fluttering about like a nervous moth. Ryleigh would have been here too, but she’s off visiting some of her others cousins, back in Ireland. She sent her love and congratulations in a confetti- and glitter-filled envelope that Danny had the foresight to open in his kitchen on the linoleum instead of his fully-carpeted living room. He’s still finding bits of glitter even after a deep clean.

“Why are you nervous?” Danny asks. “You weren’t this nervous when you and Derek got married.”

Stiles shrugs. “You realize this is the longest I’ve been apart from my husband since we first got together, minus the time he flew out here to get the job at your bakery. I’m just.” Stiles sighs. “Sometimes I think I’m going to turn around and he’ll be gone. Do you ever feel that way about Andrew?”

“No,” Danny shakes his head, “never. I trust him to come back to me, even when he leaves mad. Do you not trust Derek the same way?”

Stiles nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t.

“Why don’t you talk to your husband about it? I’m sure he’ll explain things better than I can.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Danny. You’re a great friend. Andrew is so lucky to be marrying you.”

“And I’m lucky to be marrying him,” Danny says. “Thanks to you and Derek for introducing us.”

“Oh hey, I think I see them.”

Indeed, it is Derek and his fiancé walking toward them. Andrew has the bouquet from Stiles and Derek’s wedding.

“Something old,” he murmurs as he comes astride of Danny.

Danny pokes his tie. “Something blue.”

“All right,” Stiles directs, “let’s get you inside and married before I lose any more feeling in my toes.”

Derek holds the door for them, and Danny swears he hears him hum “The Wedding March” under his breath.

Well, he and Andrew did pick out a playlist for the reception at the bakery after this, and they’ll dance to their song then, but it is nice to have some form of acknowledgment for what this day is.

Well, that is aside from the fact that this building is only open for the purpose of filing marriage certificates today and only for about two hours.

Six other couples have already been here. And now it’s Danny and Andrew’s turn.

“Got the rings?” he asks Stiles as they line up before the justice. Stiles nods, tossing one to Derek while Derek hands Stiles a folded piece of paper.

And then it’s off to the races. Vows exchanged, rings exchanged, kiss exchanged, paper signed, objections null and void, and it’s over.

Danny stands on the steps again, Andrew next to him, matching rings on matching fingers.

Derek and Stiles wave streamers of crepe paper in both his and Andrew’s favorite colors, clapping, and in the case of Stiles, whistling loudly.

As Danny surveys the mostly empty sidewalk in front of him, standing next to the love of his life, two good friends sharing this moment with them, he thinks life can’t get any better than this.

~ The End ~

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Danny Mahealani #OMC #OFC #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #Danny-centric

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softiesabriel · 5 years

Text

Drowning With Grace

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1456

TW: Drowning, Light description of blood, Death (not main character)

Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves chasing a hunt through an abandoned water park. Separated, Sam finds himself in a dire situation, only to have an unexpectedly familiar face pop up.

This was written for @sabrielevents Sabriel week! This is day 1: Hurt/Comfort.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421629

Another hunt gone wrong. When did they ever go right?

Sam had found an article about a mysterious murder, which in itself is redundant, that had brought him and Dean here to an abandoned water park. A boy, just about to graduate, and his posse of friends had ignored the well-intentioned no trespassing signs and explored the ominous lot. Slimy moss ate at the sides of damp rope and once beautiful blue tide pools were green and thick with phosphates. It was an innocent venture of curiosity, vandalism never crossing the crews mind. Then the boy started coughing up bloody water and collapsed. No matter how hard they pumped his chest, more and more kept coming, until he finally stopped moving.

It didn’t take too much digging to find out the park was the site of an accidental murder. A boy had been drowned by his friends, who had been playing too rough and forgot to consider he was prone to asthmatic attacks. It didn’t help they kept pushing him under water. But just to be certain they had the right ghost, as drowning as an all too often occurrence, Sam and Dean decided to investigate the place and find him. With a lot of ground to cover, they took separate areas and promised to meet up in the middle or, if they got in trouble before that, yell for the other.

The problem with that plan was that Sam couldn’t yell. His lungs were filled with water.

He’d had the bright idea of walking up the questionable wooden stairs to the top platform of some water slides, in order to get a birds eye view of the area. When he stepped near the entrance of one, however, a gray hand shot from the darkness and wrapped its fingers around his ankle, pulling him down into the dark tube. The consuming darkness, the descent that was somehow slow and too fast at the same time, it made Sam’s heart stutter.

Then he came shooting back out into the moonlight, briefly illuminated, until he plunged into the disgusting algae-ridden water collected in the deep pool.

Sam forced his eyes open, yet still he was unable to see anything. The layer of plants on the surface blockaded any chance of life developing here. He tried to move. He tried so hard to swim to the surface and take a big, gulping breath of that sweet summer air. His limbs wouldn’t listen. They twitched weakly at the most, paralyzed by an unseen force. Panic pumped his heart against his will, and the oxygen in his lungs was quickly seeped out. Despite his best efforts, he opened his mouth, and drank the infectious water, inviting it in unwillingly. His lungs - no, his whole body - burned helplessly. His vision began to fade, and all his muscles relaxed, no longer held because he didn’t need to be. In acceptance, he looked upwards again, wondering if that’s where he would end up. If that’s where he deserved to end up.

Instead of an answer, he saw a golden light, bursting through the invading plants and illuminating the water. There was a splash, and bubbles covered a dark figure, with golden wings flying behind his back. An angel. He was hallucinating, he realized. The figure grabbed his arm and yanked him upwards. This his how they take you, Sam thought quietly, and closed his eyes, letting the sensation of inevitable death wash over him.

“Sam, hey.” A hand patted against Sam’s face lightly. “Wake up, ya bum.”

Sam, believing this was some odd post-death dream, kept his eyes closed. The same hand slapped him hard across the face at his lack of response. He winced and his eyes flew open, rolling his head back over to see who hit him.

It was Gabriel, kneeling over him, eyebrows knitted together.

“Gabe -?” He got halfway through the name before more water came up his throat. He coughed, chest hurting with each heave, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

“Damn it, sorry Sam, I thought I got all that out,” Gabriel snapped his fingers and the water ceased, though Sam continued to cough, rubbing his throat as he sat up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam asked in between coughs. He didn’t remember swallowing a cheese grater, but he must have for his throat to feel this scratchy.

“What’s it look like? Saving your ass,” Gabriel motioned to the water, “Death was getting ready to walk out the door and come to you. I stepped in and took care of that ghost for you.”

Sam looked at Gabriel, confused. “Why?” The last time they’d seen each other, Sam had found out Gabriel’s true identity. A second time. He wouldn’t be surprised if Gabriel now revealed he wasn’t a trickster or an archangel, but some other superior power.

It took Gabriel longer than expected to answer. “You still need to play your role in all this. I can’t have you dying before then.”

Part of Sam didn’t believe that. Part of Sam heard a faint trace of worry in his voice, in the shifting of his eyes and the fiddling of his hands. Why Gabriel would worry about him, he had no idea, so he took his word for it. “How genuine. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Sam stayed sitting, looking down at himself, catching his breath. “I thought I was going to die,” he whispered to himself. The thought sent an icy chill down his back, unbalanced him in an indescribable way. He had died once before - back in that ghost town, when that knife was jabbed into his spine, so one might think he wouldn’t be as scared the second time around. The experience had just the opposite effect. He knew what was coming now, and it was more terrifying than he or anyone else could imagine.

For a moment, he was scared he lost control over his body again as he started shaking, and his throat tightened up. Gabriel placed a hand on his leg, and although Sam couldn’t see it, he felt a wing curl around his back. The archangel’s fingers glowed gently, and a calming warmth flowed through him like nothing he’s ever felt before. It was like laying out in a summer sun times a million, a hundred million. He looked at Gabriel, who sat beside him. The archangel didn’t look at him, only forward, his jaw tight and his cheeks rosy. Sam looked back down at his hand. By no means did he trust Gabriel, not after all of his tricks and lies. On the other hand...he just saved Sam and stuck around to comfort him. Or maybe it was just the angelic grace that made him more trusting. That allowed him to place his hand lightly on top of Gabriel’s, and eventually, lean into him. Well, onto him, considering how much shorter his vessel was.

Eventually, after sitting like that for God knows how long, Sam’s eyelids drooped and his breathing slowed. Gabriel finally turned his head to look at him. “If you ever need any help Sam, you know, just uh...call me. Or pray. Just think my name really hard or something and I’ll hop on over if I can.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you again Gabriel. Really.”

Gabriel nodded back. “No problem. It’s my job. Or was supposed to be my job, anyways.”

At those words, Sam felt compelled to return the favor. But he was so exhausted, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

“Sammy? Sammy!”

Dean shook Sam awake, his eyes fluttering open. Dean stopped and let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ Sammy, I thought you were dead. What the hell happened to you?”

Disoriented, Sam looked around. The sun was beginning to come up, and he was alone on the broken concrete. Alone. Yet the warmth of his grace still bubbled in Sam’s chest.

“I...fell asleep,” He answered as he stood up, still looking around.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Wha - Fell asleep? Really?”

Sam nodded. He pointed to the top of the slide. “The ghost, he yanked me down that and I...I almost drowned. But I took care of him.”

“Took care of him?”

“Yeah he was attached to...something. I burned it, we’re all good.”

There it was - Dean’s naturally distrusting bitchface. “Uh huh?”

“What?”

Dean waved his hand dismissively. “You know what, never mind, I’m just glad you’re okay. Let’s get out of here, this place gives me the heebie jeebies more than usual.”

Sam just nodded along as they walked towards the exit, mind still stuck on his fleeting encounter with Gabriel, which left a ghost of a smile on his lips.

#sabrielweek2019 #sabriel fanfic #hurt/comfort #day 1 #sabriel

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aeide-thea · 5 years

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2 questions: 1) were you a book good omens fan, or is it mainly this incarnation that's really doing it for you? and 2) is it weird that i feel :/ about michael sheen getting a 25 year old girl pregnant?

anon, anon, how are we supposed to bond about this if i don’t know who you are! but okay, sure, the void can have a polarizing exclusive:

define ‘fan’! like, did i read the book when i was, god, i think a preteen, and was i delighted by it? yes and yes! would i be *as* delighted by it were i to read it today? unclear! i’ve been increasingly un-thrilled by e.g. gaiman’s female characters as i get older and more sensitive to these things, so i imagine i might have problems of that sort with the text, but that’s a projection; if i do reread it, i’ll let you know. did i read fic based on the book before the series came out? sorry, i cannot for the life of me remember! which would seem to suggest not, but then, my reading history on AO3 is 743 pages deep, so at roughly 20 fics a page, that’s, uh, almost 15,000 fics just in the past nine years, not counting things i read without being logged in, or that were posted on other sites… suffice it to say, it’s totally possible i had an active good omens fic-reading phase somewhere in there, and it’s just gotten totally buried! it doesn’t seem to be possible to search one’s reading history, or i’d do that and report back. is it mainly this incarnation that’s really doing it for you? hmm. you know what, i typed a lot of stuff in response to this but i think the short answer is ‘yes,’ if we define ‘doing it for me’ as ‘getting me actively excited about consuming extratextual fannish material,’ even though i think most of the non-aziraphale/crowley portions of the show are actually quite cheesy and stilted and bad (as opposed to the aziraphale/crowley portions which are still totally cheesy! but not, imo, so stilted, and there the cheese is a kind i like), by contrast with the book which i remember as being much better balanced. the reason for this, i think, has to do with the… ugh, i don’t spend a lot of time talking about fiction with anyone but @elucubrare anymore, i’ve forgotten a lot of the technical terminology i used to know bc with her i can get away with just handwaving things, but like, the narrative distance that typifies both pratchett and gaiman’s writing? that is, in both their oeuvres (though particularly pratchett’s) the reader is typically positioned at a safe, ironic distance from which zie observes the characters and their absurdities, and while the things they get up to may be real, human, bloody, devastating things, there’s a sort of… pane of glass between them and us, so while we can extrapolate the emotions they’re probably feeling, if we try, they aren’t immediately vivid and present to us as they might be in another kind of narrative. this distance is totally collapsed by the fact of seeing the actors’ faces up close and personal, very visibly having these very big feelings—the ironizing distance and the sense that these characters were ultimately only cardboard cutouts doing a sort of silly dance that we, unmoved and superior, were meant to laugh at are gone, because here they are, almost touchably close, their delights and agonies and yearnings scrawled across their faces in glaringly emotional neon… and so where i was, hmm, intellectually tickled by good omens the book, i was emotionally gripped by good omens the miniseries, or rather by the thread running through the miniseries which is the relationship between aziraphale and crowley, because here at K’s House of Feelings we like nothing better than being steeped in achingly vivid interpersonal emotions 24/7—that’s the fuel that drives the engine. but i really dug the book also! it was just a less urgent sort of digging. (and of course, take literally everything i’ve said about this comparison with a really large grain of ‘zie might feel differently if zie’s memory of the book weren’t, like, old enough to get its own driver’s license’!)

is it weird that i feel :/ about m*ch**l sh**n getting a 25 year old girl pregnant? imo: no. a lot of people on here‚ including people i quite like, have been quite vocally contemptuous about the idea that anyone might have expected better from a white male celebrity. this strikes me as shitty, in much the same way as when people react to the mistreatment of women by men they’re dating by saying it was inevitable: we shouldn’t accept that ‘boys will be boys,’ or in this case ‘men will be men,’ and when people admire someone and get hurt for their pains, we absolutely shouldn’t beat them up further with the bat of our own superior cynicism. we *ought* to be able to expect better, particularly when what we’ve hitherto seen of someone has been more than usually warm and thoughtful and generous; wanting to like someone isn’t ridiculous, and our disappointment deserves sympathy rather than mockery. i also really disagree with the idea that it’s stupid to be concerned with the ethics of a celebrity’s conduct. like, of course the set of people who become famous is a fairly arbitrary cross-section of the general populace, selected for beauty and charisma and talent (arguably in that order, as a general rule) rather than for moral or intellectual excellence (jesus, ‘excellence,’ i sound like i’m translating from the greek); that doesn’t mean we therefore ought to be *less* concerned with their ethics than with those of anyone else we choose to admire or associate with. i’m not going to say everyone else in this fandom has to feel personally, viscerally disappointed in m*ch**l sh**n, and i’m not sure i think it’s reasonable to expect everyone in the fandom to have a fully worked-out, explicitly declared Stance on Sh**ngate (and certainly not to, like, grip them by the digital lapels and hiss into their face about it), but i think the people exasperatedly huffing about other people’s disappointment are very much in the wrong. anyway i’ve got a thumping headache and this is more aggressive than i usually like to get in public, so i’ll leave it at that! which is frankly probably a lot more in depth than you were anticipating anyway… unfortunately i only have two settings, and one of them is ‘avoidant silence’ and the other is ‘irrepressible verbosity,’ so.

#i've also seen people saying it's fine because lots of us twenty-somethings on here were fantasizing about sh**n #which—that just seems *so* obviously a shitty argument bc like‚ there's a very meaningful difference between fantasy and reality #i fantasized abt plenty of teachers in my day and it would've been shitty as hell if those fantasies had become reality #sex with an older person you imagine in the safe sandbox of yr own mind/the internet is really different than having it actually happen irl #anyway! i think i'm gonna *not* tag this with any of the relevant tags #other than like #replies #also imagine if i could get the html on this post to work #why do the [br] tags work correctly on mobile *except* when directly preceding a [b] tag #and why was nesting [p] tags inside [li] tags totally impossible on mobile #i mean the answer is definitely 'the app fucks everything up' but why must the app fuck everything up in these *particular* ways #so many questions so few answers

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hjertetssunnegalskap1 · 5 years

Text

The Skamdom, the good parts and bad parts and what to do with it

I love Skam. The Skam fandom has been and still is, joy in so many ways. It’s amazing to meet other fans who love the show and love everything connected to it. The Skamdom has been more than a weird obsession, it has given me a feeling of family and friendship, too. I have learned a lot about myself and my own prejudices and about my identity and preferences. Skam has been an inspiration to create fanwork, I have gotten lots of positive feedback and it has helped me to have fun with creating stuff again.

However, I have discovered that there are some parts of the fandom that are quite toxic. Yeah, I know, water is wet, hah. I guess it’s well known that there are negative sides to all fandoms. I’m pretty new to fandom life, though, and I suppose it has taken time to get fully aware of how bad things can get. Skam has a positive underlying message, after all, and I have often thought that it “should be too good for hate like this.” Well, it isn’t. We all know it. It’s even possible that parts of Skam somehow ignite certain forms of toxic fandom processes, too, although I have no idea what that could be. Could it be that the show feels so real? That the characters are so young? That the show handles important issues? I really don’t know, but I would love to hear all the theories.

Anyway, I have noticed that even though people spreading hate usually are a small fraction of the fandom, they have the power to do significant damage. Hate drives people out of ships, and out of the fandom. Hate makes fanfic writers stop writing and artists stop making art. Fans are being frozen out or silenced because they have the wrong opinion.This is sad, and the worst part is, that it has happened more than once.

What makes a fandom toxic, then? Why does it happen in the first place? And what can we do about it? I have tried to read up on some ideas about it and mixed it with some of my own thoughts about group processes. I won’t pretend to know anything about fandom life previous to Skam or on earlier fandom sites, but I would like to say something about the things I do know of. The reason I write this is purely selfish, by the way. I need to understand this. The Skam fandom is constantly evolving (as it probably should) and I need to keep my own fandom experience good, and to do that, I need to get what this negativity is all about, and how to deal with it.

So, what is it about?

First of all, I should mention that I’m kinda hesitant about talking about good vs. bad fandom behaviour. Life isn’t black or white like that and I don’t like to describe processes as if they were. However, there are fandom actions that are bad, and toxic, and I think it can be useful to talk about it in the open. Just remember that I’m not trying to call out anyone here. I think we’re all more or less guilty of negative fandom behaviour.

When I start to talk about what is toxic in a fandom, I suppose it can be smart to start with what it isn’t. Well, obviously, sharing your love for something isn’t. Also, I think that fans disagreeing and discussing stuff isn’t toxic. Making arguments for what you think is a good thing, just as expressing how you feel about something, or critiquing something constructively. Open discussions keep the fandom alive. Talking is good!!!

Attacking others with threats or extreme actions, however, not so much. Here are some examples of what I think are toxic sides of the fandom:

Possessiveness: some fans feel like they own the content they're fans of, that it belongs to them, and only to them. Fans are stalking the actors, for instance, and trying to control them. Sending hate and threats to Henrik’s girlfriend, is a good example. Or spreading hate about Tarjei when he withdrew from some fans and sat boundaries for them. Ulrikke has experienced a lot of hate because she doesn’t follow the wishes of some fans, as well.

What if the actors or creators do some really shitty things? What if they express prejudices or ignorance or maybe they do something they shouldn’t do? Well, it’s not possessive to point out that the creators or actors do shitty things. It’s possessive to try to control them.

I suppose a lot of fans can feel a hint of possessiveness at times. Like, when someone expresses “I almost don’t want this fandom to grow bigger, I want it to stay our small precious treasure”. It doesn’t have to be harmful, only if the fans exclude others or act in a harmful way because of it.

Entitlement: some fans think that the creators must do what they want. For example, the fans may demand a particular romantic pairing or 'ship' to happen in a show, and be furious enough to send death threats to the authors if this doesn't happen.

Everyone can get disappointed in things happening, of course, and expressing that is okay. But there’s a difference between expressing disappointment and spreading hate.

Feeling superior: some fans feel superior to more casual fans, and shout loudly about it. Or they feel better than other fractions of the fandom. Some fans might not feel superior, but maybe special. They have their self-concept shaped by the fact that their fandom makes them an outcast. Maybe they even feel bullied. But in some cases, they are the ones who hate on others for things they like. This can often end in fan wars (”this remake is better than that”).

I think a feeling of “others don’t get this show like we do” is familiar to many in the fandom and in many different groupings. I can’t say that I have felt superior in any way, but

I have at least once expressed my opinions on characterization in a way that other fans found offensive.

Us and them: This toxic culture of possessiveness, entitlement and feeling superior develops in so-called “internet echo chambers”, spaces where dissenting opinions are not tolerated. This means the group has a conformist mentality and everything is about “us” and “them”.

Outsiders are usually rudely educated or just simply banned. This conflict creates a sense of self and community that is tied to the in-group, the 'safe haven' of the fan community. Online, these groups pat each other on the back for liking the right version of the show, or the right ship or whatever, and not only that, but having the group's particular opinions on it, and for participating in conventions, contributing art and fan fiction, and so on.

Losing their identity: When people are part of a group, they often experience a loss of self-awareness. They are less likely to follow normal restraints and inhibitions and more likely to lose their sense of individual identity. Groups can generate a sense of emotional excitement, which can lead to behaviours that a person would not typically engage in if alone.

I think a lot of fans can recognize this feeling of getting swept away with some amazing ideas in a group. When it leads to spreading hate, it becomes toxic.

Addiction: People also get addicted to the attention and validation these online niches can give them, especially if the outside world is less friendly. That leads them to extreme in-group loyalty and extreme out-group hatred. They can get so caught up in their fandom that they stop caring about people outside of it.

And yeah, uhm. I can actually recognize the addictive part of fandom life. I need to check Tumblr and AO3 every day, for instance, as well as check in on fandom friends. I live for every kudos or like I get on the things I make. I know, addiction is maybe not toxic for others than yourself, but I still wanted to add it. Addiction can also lead to toxic behaviour towards others in the fandom.

So... What to do, then?

It’s not easy to handle these things. One problem is that attempting to confront toxic fandom processes results in the groups withdrawing into their echo chambers and feeling superior. I have tried once or twice to answer hate like that with reasoning but often it’s mostly to sort my own thoughts on the subject (I think better in writing). I have rarely experienced to get through to anyone.

Sometimes, or pretty often, ignoring toxic behaviour might be best. Confrontation may just result in circular arguments, after all. If you ignore the behaviour, you're not giving it attention. Also, you can let them think what they want to think. You can block, delete, or ignore negative people or behaviour on most social media networks. I have filtered and blacklisted words on Tumblr and it has helped a lot. That’s maybe one of my best tips. Scroll past stuff that isn’t for you. Remember the phrase “don’t like, don’t read.” Make the content that you’re passionate about. Talk about the things you love. Share your opinions. Focus on the stuff that makes you happy. That’s my goal, anyway.

When should you confront someone, then? My opinion is that it can be okay to confront if they're going beyond simply having an opinion, into the world of threats, harassment, and stalking. When the stuff being said can be hurtful or discriminating, too. Then it’s right to both confront and report, really.

Is this fandom stuff worth all this hassle?

I hope this long rant doesn’t bring you down too much. Despite all of this negativity, I believe fandom is a very positive thing. Most fans just want to enjoy the things they love with others who love the same things. That’s my main goal, too. Skam has been important to me and I want it to continue to be that. I want to keep the fandom as a space to share my love for the show. Thinking through these processes has helped me see a little more clearly how to do that.

Ultimately, the Skam fandom is what we make of it, and we all can make it better. We can talk and share opinions and remind each other that we don’t support harassment, especially over ships or different versions of Skam. We can be decent to each other. I am not saying “be kind, always”, because in my opinion that phrase was never meant to stand alone without “being an asshole isn’t something you become, it’s a choice”.

But yeah, that’s another discussion. My point is, if we all work together, we can manage to have a fandom that is open and tolerant and spreading love instead of fear and hate. And if that’s a little too optimistic, I’m gonna filter and blacklist and stick to “don’t like, don’t read” and see if it helps.

#skam #fandom #fandom processes #skamdom processes #toxic fandom #good fandom

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reallystellacadente · 6 years

Text

Big Ugly

[Inspired by an anonymous ask. Thanks again. Set post-KOTET in my “the Alliance survives” universe. Continued under a cut for length. Content warning for alcohol use.]

Read it on AO3 here.

Dinner was over and Xhareen noticed that both Kayda and her wife, Esmiala (A/N: aka, Pierce’s sister) were nudging each other like they were sharing a secret.

“OK, spit it out, you two,” Xhareen said. She could almost guess what was coming next, though.

“I’m pregnant again,” Esmiala said. Malavai ran in from the dining area where he was helping his mother scrape plates and hugged her. Like most of the new Zakuul, they eschewed service droids for many household tasks and didn’t engage paid staff for family meals.

Kayda, always the big sister, attempted to shoo him away. “Out of my way, Big Ugly.”

He laughed and let Kayda take her side. A few moments of accolades and an “I thought so” from their mother, Ellys Quinn, and the group fell silent.

“Wait, ‘Big Ugly?’ You know, Mal, I haven’t heard that story,” Esmiala said.

Malavai, who was himself still beaming over Xhareen’s now apparent pregnancy, had tucked into a few drinks before dinner and had continued after.

“I’m eating for two, you’re drinking for two,” Xhareen teased.

“If you insist,” he replied.

Xhareen made it no secret she was already tired of synthahol and couldn’t wait to have a real drink again. But she wasn’t upset or concerned about her husband. He only let loose the two nights each fortnight he had off from his new position as Commandant of the Zakuul Prime Military Academy. It was good to see him relaxed and able to enjoy intimate domestic moments like this.

“There’s not really a story, Kayda just likes calling me names, although that one is a fond memory,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, there’s a story,” Kayda said. Malavai shook his head to disagree.

“Wait a minute, I have learned the hard way how to tell when you’re hiding something, darling, and I’d like to hear this story,” Xhareen said, quite seriously.

Malavai started to squirm, but threw up his hands in defeat. “Let her have at it, I suppose,” he said.

“So, the way I heard it,” Kayda began, “when Mal was in the academy back on Dromund Kaas, he was leading some wilderness scouting trip …”

“No, Kayda, it was a full-on military survival exercise and I was a 2nd year and it was quite prestigious to be chosen to lead such an exercise at such a young age.”

Kayda rolled her eyes. “OK, so Cadet Remarkable here was leading his fellows through the Dark Forest on a life and death mission to impress their superiors …”

“Who graduated top of their class?”

“Shut up, toad. I was fifth in mine, and I had a lot more girlfriends than you did.”

He went over to Esmiala and patted her on the back in mock sympathy. “It’s OK, Malavai. I ended up with her,” she said.

“Yes, my condolences, Esmi. You are a saint.” They both laughed. Though he and Pierce had put down their swords, they were hardly friends. Pierce was still on Balmorra anyway. But Malavai had grown quite close to Esmiala.

Xhareen, though, was not amused. She started to pull at her hair, which she had had done up for an event earlier in the day.

“Can I hear the story, please? All of you? Kayda, do continue.”

Even though she was their friend, sister, daughter and wife, and loving and thoughtful, there was a residual acceptance among all of them that she was a powerful Sith and now Zakuul’s premier political force, someone who both commanded a lot of respect and could wipe them all out in a heartbeat if she wanted. When she asked like that, people complied.

“Sorry, so anyway. The squad’s gotten a bit lost because part of the training is you have to find the designated camp site without nav devices. And Mal realizes they’re being followed, or more accurately, stalked. He takes a bio reading because the rules didn’t say no devices whatsoever and I have to admit, that was clever. My squad went out with our bedrolls and blasters, but I’ll finish that story later.”

Malavai snorted. “Unlike the mission, which you never did.” Kayda smacked him across the back of the head. He was really into the brandies by this point because he laughed again.

Xhareen was having trouble getting into the spirit, though. “The story?” she sighed.

“OK, anyway, Our Hero tells the squad to stay put and he and another junior genius go off trying to see what’s stalking them.”

Malavai pretended to whisper: “She banged that junior genius later on, that’s how she heard the story.”

That actually made Xhareen smile.

“Moving on,” Kayda said. “They get supremely lucky and pick up the mighty beast’s trail, only to realize it’s a person. Now, to be perfectly honest, any person who’d go that far into the Dark Forest to stalk someone is probably scarier than the krakjias so I will give them some kudos for bravery.

“So the Boy Brain here scans the terrain. Again, he has no clue where he is but he can get a good read on the terrain and they move forward and their predator becomes their prey, or else whoever it was just gets a whiff of them and is running from the stench, but they get supremely lucky and follow their stalker all the way to a cliff.

“When they get there, they find a young girl wearing a tracker’s mask with a homemade bow who tells them to stay back, or she’ll shoot the Big Ugly one in the face.”

Kayda looked over for Xhareen’s reaction. She seemed stunned and looked over at Malavai. He stopped laughing. “Darling, what is it? Are you OK? The baby?”

“I’m fine, but what I actually said was, ‘Stay back, Big Ugly, or I’ll shoot that squashed bug off your face.’ ”

Quinn nearly spilled his drink. “That … that was you?”

“I put so much of what happened while I was living on Darth Neveris’s estate out of my mind. I’d completely forgotten the details.”

Quinn sat down on the arm of the sofa. “So I met you 18 years before Balmorra?”

Xhareen nodded and went and sat on the couch. He slid down off the arm next to her.

“Wait, what happened next?” Esmiala asked.

“Well, against the orders of their fearless leader,” Kayda continued, “the rest of the squad had followed, and came into the clearing. So the girl, knowing she’s surrounded, tosses down her bow and surrenders.”

“I thought they’d take me back to the city,” Xhareen explained, “and I could run away and get back to the estate somehow and lie and say I was in the city. No one would have been surprised. I didn’t want Darth Neveris or Lord Gamheen to know I was hunting.

“Then one of the cadets cuffs me and the minute she turned away, I used the Force and slipped out of them. So Big Ugly here,” she said as she slid up under Malavai’s arm, “realizes I’m a Force user and gets out some cortosis cuffs, and why in the galaxy he was carrying those I’ll never know.”

“Because Jenkyns had stolen my regular set to use on his girlfriend the night before we left.” Malavai’s face was as red as the Jurios brandy in his hand, but he was still smiling.

Kayda just shook her head.

“I never learned your name, and you refused to take the mask off. I only took you back to the compound because it was the nearest structure with bio-readings to where we were. I had no idea it was a Sith facility,” Malavai said. “An Imperial Guard met us at the gate and you disappeared.”

“Darth Neveris didn’t advertise he had a gaggle of alien children strong in the Force out in the middle of nowhere. For all the good it did him,” Xhareen said, any trace of a smile gone now.

Malavai put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Did I get you into too much trouble then?”

She poked him, softly, in the chest. “I wasn’t able to go hunting again for almost a year.” But her smile had returned. “Maybe now you’ll believe me that it was Fate that brought us together?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I will.”

“We’ll see how strong your faith is come morning when all that brandy has worn off.”

Malavai put the drink down on a side table, and put his other hand across Xhareen’s abdomen. “As long as I wake up next to you, my faith will be just fine.”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #malavai quinn #sith warrior #alcohol use #big ugly #not really sure if #she never saw a mole before #or she was just trying to rile him up #she probably could have shot it #right off his face #stoopid cheekbones.

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 6 years

Text

Match Divided in Heaven

This can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be found here If you are interested in reading this with both parts combined, that can be found on my Ao3, I just posted it.This is a 6k word part, so keep that in mind when reading on Tumblr. There are some vague graphic depictions of violence. I dedicate this to @rmh8402 @staganddragon and @dewitty1 These three really wanted more of this. Hopefully you all enjoy!

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“Did you hear about the war in Hell?” Zacharias’ grating tone had Remus rolling his eyes. The young angel was a pompous moron—why Flitwick put him in his garrison was beyond him.

“You call that gossip?” Parvati argued, wings flapping in annoyance. “I could have told you about the war weeks ago.”

If it wasn’t for his flock being over a millennium old, Remus would think they were just fledglings.

When Zacharias smirked, Remus knew this wouldn’t be good. “But did you know that Dumbledore was killed?”

A few gasps could be heard, but Remus ignored those. He just wanted to know where the other angel heard that. His superiors hadn’t announced the outcome of the war just yet and they demanded that the lower angels were to be in the dark until they had more information.

“Which group finally did it?” Seamus called out, breaking his meditation enough that an explosion ignited from his fingertips. “Damnit, not again.”

Zacharias spread out his wings in a dramatic flourish. “Riddle and Potter’s regiment combined forces to take him out.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully. Whoever was Zacharias’ source, they were good. That had been restricted information. He should probably force the idiot to keep his mouth shut, but he was getting fed up with the higher-ups and the way Heaven was being governed.

“So hell is being comanaged?” The heavy inflections of doubt in Parvati’s question was amusing. Remus had gone through the same line of thinking himself. Demons aren’t one for getting along. It was unwise to believe a pact would last long.

“It would have been, if Potter’s regiment hadn’t killed Riddle’s entire squadron afterward,” Zacharias smirked when mouths dropped open.

An uneasy feeling was beginning to pool in the pit of Remus’ stomach. Riddle had been around far longer than Remus. The man had been brutal, cruel and deadly. Potter was just as deadly, but lacked the power it would have taken to get rid of Dumbledore and Riddle. Something was changing in the underworld, and Remus wasn’t sure Heaven could withstand it.

“I think you are making it up,” argued Seamus, casting fire on purpose now.

Zacharias glowered angrily before crossing his arms as his wings twitched in annoyance. “I’m not lying. I heard it from a reliable source.”

“Then explain how Potter’s regiment managed to get rid of Riddle?” Parvati demanded, hand rising to flick her hair over her shoulders. “Dumbledore and Riddle fought for many millennia. Long before we ever came to be. You are telling me that Potter—a demon barely older than us—managed to get rid of two archdemons. I don’t buy it.”

Remus faced Zacharias, curious to see if this would be where he would give up his sources. There was a wicked gleam in the younger angel’s eyes and it had his interest piqued.

“No,” Remus rolled his eyes at the dramatic pause before Zacharias continued. “Potter’s power wasn’t what won him the war. His mate helped.”

That had Remus freezing. An angel mate? An angel helped win a war in Hell?

“His demon mate.”

This time when an explosion went off, Seamus wasn’t even paying attention. His eyes were riveted to Zacharias and a horrified expression crossed his features.

“What?” Remus whispered, voice betraying his confident stance and barreling the entire room into a panic.

Never in his entire existence had there ever been demon mates. Never. That kind of imbalance could crumble everything. If this was true, no wonder Riddle and Dumbledore fell. Two demons combining powers on a level that is unparalleled would shake the foundation of the world.

If Potter and his mate took control of Hell, then the next logical step would be overthrowing Heaven. Why were the higher ups doing nothing? What were they going to do? And why did no one seem fit to explain any of this?

Comforting his flock would have to wait. Without a parting glance or single word uttered, Remus flew out of the room.

He needed answers. Now.

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

The sounds of begging, whimpering and pleading was exactly what Harry needed to hear. The destruction of the latest battle was welcoming. The bodies littered on the ground were of the opposing side and not a single of his own demons had been harmed.

“What should we do with the survivors?”

Harry spun around angrily, wanting to see the face of whoever dared to interrupt his musings.

His regiment stood straight, no one meeting his eyes. Before he could demand an answer, a slight tsk could be heard.

“Now, now Creevey, that’s a stupid question,” came the airy voice of his second in command. The sound of a knife unsheathing reverberated around the clearing.

Harry watched the knife strike one of Riddle’s men right through the center of the forehead.

“What survivors?” The question was voiced in a mocking tone as his second in command stopped in front of Creevey. “As far as I am aware, your job isn’t done until they are dead.”

There was a scrambling as they all rushed to be the ones to finish off the last of Riddle’s men.

“Lovegood, if you were anyone else, I would have killed you,” Harry reminded her. Such bold behavior wasn’t tolerated among his ranks.

Lovegood’s eyes stared up at the desolate sky as she began humming an unrecognizable tune—probably something mortal. “We both know you wouldn’t have let them survive. I know you, Potter.”

They both knew the truth. Despite this, Harry glared at her anyway. He knew it would do nothing, Lovegood feared no one.

“The air is changing.”

The cryptic statement was unfortunately normal when dealing with her. Harry arched his brows, waiting impatiently for Lovegood to offer more. When several minutes passed and the only sounds audible were the deaths of Riddle’s men, Harry growled. “Lovegood.”

Lovegood smiled as softly as a demon could, eyes still staring at something Harry wasn’t sure was even there. “The power your union brings will grant you what you seek, but you need unwavering support of the fallen to maintain such an atmosphere.”

The implications that Harry would need more than Draco’s support wasn’t welcome. He knew demanding more information would grant him nothing in return. Lovegood wasn’t clear on where her information came from, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either.

Harry sighed heavily, watching his regiment celebrate a successful battle by bathing in the blood of the recently departed. Such a site would normally lift his spirits, but the unknown of Lovegood’s prediction was enough to send him in the opposite direction.

A second opinion was needed. Preferably Draco’s. He missed the pretentious prick—and Satan knows what his mate was getting into without him.

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

In hindsight, storming a gathering of several generals was a bad idea. If Remus had been less concerned, he would have reconsidered barging in as if he belonged.

“Remus,” Fudge began slowly with narrowed eyes. “Do I need to remind you of your place? We are having a heavenly conclave.”

That normally would have had him contrite and stammering out apologies, but the knowledge of demon mates was enough to have his bravery flooding forward.

“Is it true? There are demon mates taking over Hell?”

A few intakes of breath could be heard, but Remus tuned them out—his eyes were narrowed on Fudge.

“Remus, where are you getting your information from?” Scrimgeour’s voice barked out loud and booming.

The question was meant to fluster or stall him, but Remus wasn’t going to fall for it. They may be generals, but they haven’t seen a battle in centuries. He wasn’t going to succumb to their stupidity.

“I was told to ready my garrison, that skirmishes could make it to earth.” Breathing calmly was something that was evading him. Sirius used to be his anchor when it came to controlling himself. But his mate wasn’t here, wasn’t ever going to come back.

“Skirmishes are nothing compared to the bloodshed that will arise if demon mates make it to the gates of Heaven. Downplaying the danger will get us killed.” He glared heavily when Fudge broke eye contact.

“Of course nothing will happen to any of you.” Remus knew he should have stopped right there, but the anger in his veins was pumping far more than his blood. “Since you sit on your hind and order us to the death.”

A booming sound of thunder rattled the room and Remus winced internally. The sound of cackling laughter filled the air—the sound alone making him regret every single life choice that led up to this.

“My my, the little runt thinks he can play in the big league.” The sound of Bellatrix’s voice was nearly nauseating. The angel was a few feathers away from being as vicious as a demon. Her being the mate of Riddle clearly resulted in her cruel behavior. He wondered if she would mourn the demon. Not that they ever had an actual union. Most mates only tolerate the title and continue without solidifying anything.

Remus knew that she had the power and capability to send him to isolation, so he said nothing as she approached.

“A good angel follows their orders without question, listens to their superiors despite no information provided. You are not a good angel,” It was sneered at him as if this was an insult. These days Remus wasn’t sure what was moral any more. Perhaps he didn’t want to be an angel any longer.

Verbal defiance would be a bad idea, but Remus wasn’t going to do nothing. He lifted his nose into the air and looked away from her outraged expression.

“I can see it,” Bellatrix whispered taking a step forward. “I see Sirius in your actions.”

Remus couldn’t stop the pain from contorting his face—the sound of her cruel laughter reverberated around the room in an echo that had him clenching his fists tightly.

“Not over his death, are you?” The false sympathy in her tone was expected. “I would say I can relate, but I never cared for my mate.” Mourning would be out of the question then.

“Sirius was brash, defiant and a constant pain in my side.” Remus was rather proud of that. Sirius was one of the best angels he had ever met. When it had been discovered that they were the first angel mates in history, Remus had been overjoyed. They could do so much good in the world with their powers.

Only… it raised them both as a target. Sirius had been the casualty of an attack from Hell.

“Sirius was a better angel than you ever will be,” Remus spat out, knowing this would lead to major repercussions. Bellatrix was an archangel and held command over most of the garrisons. If she wanted him punished, he would be—without question.

An odd purring came from his superior and it had Remus bracing himself for something. “One would think that angel mates would be powerful, but separated from Sirius, you are nothing.”

The insult didn’t hurt. Remus had long ago come to the same realization. His spirit was only half what it was supposed to be. When Sirius died, he took a part of Remus with him, a piece that he will never get back. Each day is hard enough but the daunting twelve centuries he has been without his mate was almost too much.

“That kind of power in the wrong hands is deadly.”

That had Remus freezing as a shift in the atmosphere caused the other angels in the room to become restless.

“Especially in the unworthy.” There was something dangerous in her eyes. Remus wasn’t sure what this had to do with his own insubordination. “Sirius didn’t suspect a thing.”

Remus’ wings snapped out, fluttering widely. It was against several codes of honor to display wings at another angel in a negative manner. Flashes of memories began pouring into his mind. Sirius’ confusion when he was called to be on the frontlines of a demon invasion. If it had been truly dire, other garrisons would have been called out too. At the time, Remus figured it was just a misunderstanding somewhere. But now it was making sense.

“You sent him into an invasion with no backup!” His voice cracked at the thought that his own kind would’ve done this. And for what? “One angel against an entire legion of demon warriors! You wanted his death out of fear of what we could have been together.”

Bellatrix’s wings were larger than his own and more intimidating, but Remus was too far gone to care. “The two of you could have taken over control of Heaven.”

The logic was not only true but also completely unfounded. “But we wouldn’t have.” An arched brow and another sneer had him barely containing his rage.

“Do you think Heaven would function if things were left up to chance?” Bellatrix mocked with a sadistic laugh. “Order is the only province we can have. Chaos is detrimental to our survival. The two of you were a liability. Something had to give.”

Despite the danger he was in, Remus closed his eyes in agony. Sirius was loyal to a tee and would never have harmed another angel. Never. The thought that an archangel would do such a thing was unforgivable.

Strategy was always something he was good at—one of the reasons he made it to a garrison commander in the first place. Typically, options would be something he would consider, but at this point there was nothing. He couldn’t stay and here and be under the thumb of any of the angels. Especially Bellatrix.

In the back of his mind, Remus could hear Bellatrix taunting him, but he tuned her out as he allowed his wings to lift him in the air. Every ounce of power he possessed went into lashing out downwards. He could feel the angels below him, feel their emotions and could even pinpoint where they were located. Remus pushed past that and continued down onto earth. The pull of billions of people was strong, but not worth stopping for.

“What is he doing?” Fudge yelled, causing Bellatrix to stop mid-rant. Her eyes widened as she felt his connection to Heaven fading.

The feel of all those inside Hell was almost enough to make him weep. The human souls banished to the underworld were in desolate anguish. A pain of their own doing. Demons were everywhere, but that was precisely what he wanted. He allowed the lure of their power to pull him in.

“No!” Bellatrix yelled, taking a lunge for Remus.

The pain of losing his wings was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was losing a limb, one he had treasured all of his life. The only thing that kept him stable was the righteous anger at the betrayal. Sirius is what kept him going. His mate would be horrified at his choice, but Sirius wasn’t here.

Remus snapped his eyes open, taking in his new abilities in interest. A growl left his mouth at the sight of Bellatrix lunging at him. He sidestepped the movement and dodged several angels as they attempted to contain him.

“Enough!” Remus bellowed, taking a step back. “What transpired here is nothing but your own doing. You worried about my powers with Sirius, well worry about them now as a fallen.” The transformation was beginning to take place; the pain of his anatomy changing to that of a demon was stronger than expected.

Before Bellatrix could respond Remus gave one parting message before falling straight to Hell.

“The next time we see each other, I will kill you.”

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As Draco walked the confines of the prison, he couldn’t help but wonder why Dumbledore had ever bothered. What was the point of keeping prisoners? Kill them all and be done with it. Had the man thought they could change their ways? The thought alone had a harsh sneer forming.

Lower demons were caged, bound and barely conscious. At least the atmosphere was pleasant. A few called out to him in cries of pleading desperation—not that he cared for that. If they couldn’t handle punishment in silence, then they weren’t worth his time or attention.

Draco looked over his shoulder and called for Weasley, his second in command. “Kill them.”

When she grinned in delight, he rolled his eyes. “I’m only doing this to keep morale high after the battles.”

“Since when do you care about morale?” She argued, hands already reaching for her daggers.

His patience was wearing thin. “Either kill them or I will.” Draco knew she wouldn’t pass up a chance to kill for no reason, so he left her to it and continued down the cages.

The sight of blinding white wings had Draco freezing for just a moment as he turned a corner.

“No way.”

Killing angels was a rite of passage, capturing one however was nearly impossible. Angels fight to the death and never waver in their annoyingly self-righteous attitude. To think that Dumbledore had captured an angel and said nothing was nearly unbelievable. If the knowledge of a captured angel had been even rumored, it would have tipped the scales of the war in the dead demon’s favor. Dumbledore could have amassed legions of demons wanting to be on the same side as someone powerful enough to take an angel alive.

Defiant pale grey eyes narrowed as Draco approached. Angels were hard to differentiate, mainly because they never take pride in their names and choose to function in unity—just another reason angels were incredibly stupid.

“Well, who might you be?”

When the angel said nothing and only lifted his nose into the air, Draco smirked maliciously. Oh, this would be fun.

Wings twitched in response to his question and Draco just knew that the angel was itching for a fight.

“Fuck you,” The angel spat out as his chains clanged against the stone wall.

“Feisty for an angel,” Draco mocked, taking enjoyment from the anger permeating the air. “Do you kiss God with a mouth like that?”

The sound of the chains clanging increased as the angel pushed against the restraints. The sight had Draco laughing in delight.

Thoughts on what to do with the angel were circulating around his mind. Killing a captured angel would be no fun. Draco figured he would talk to Harry about it first, see what his mate thought of this.

As Draco went to leave, his eyes caught sight of something curious. Or rather the lack of something had him pausing. Angel anatomy was very different than that of a demon, at least internally, but what they had in common was the power thread of a mate. It was easy to spot whether an angel or demon had gone through a matching. This angel had the tell of a mate, only instead of it showing a demon mate, it was something else.

Draco furrowed his brows as he stared at the thread. It wasn’t familiar at all, nor had he seen it on anyone else. In a way, it reminded him of the thread of power that linked him to Harry.

Realization struck, and it had Draco taking a step back. “You have an angel mate.” He had never stopped to consider that there would be a counterpart to his union with Harry. They were the first paired demon mates to ever exist, and Draco was horrified that he never stopped to wonder if there were paired angel mates. This changed everything. No wonder Dumbledore imprisoned the angel.

“Weasley! Find me Potter now!”

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The air was morphing into something that hadn’t been felt in many millennia. Several demons raised their hands in the air and welcomed the energy that was brimming. New blood was entering their ranks and it was a cause for celebration.

Luna inhaled deeply, relishing in the power of the fallen as she locked eyes on the gates. It wouldn’t be long. Soon, they would have a fallen angel amongst their midst. It would seem that Zacharias was good for something.

The angels wouldn’t stand a chance, let alone mere mortals.

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

Harry waved away Weasley as he made his way towards the prison. Knowing Draco, he was surprised the structure was still standing. What was the point of keeping any prisoners alive? What possible use could they have?

As he passed open cages with dead demons spilling outward, things began making more sense. This was more like Draco.

When Harry rounded the corner, he noticed the stiff posture of his mate and it had him tensing for a threat. Anything that could make Draco stiff was a bad sign.

“Riddle’s men are dead. We lost no casualties.”

Despite the good news, Draco was barely listening, all of his attention was focused on the prisoner.

The lack of response had Harry arching a brow as he approached his mate. One look into the cage had a low whistle escaping.

Harry had seen many angels in his existence. Most of the time it was just for a few moments as he took away their life force. Seeing one imprisoned? That was new. It was unheard of to capture an angel. That alone had him suspicious. Dumbledore hadn’t really been the kind to capture anyone at all, demon or angel.

“He has an angel mate.”

The words took Harry’s breath away. Oh no. That was not what they needed. Not now. Not when they were finally making headway. Dumbledore and Riddle were dead. Battle strategies to take over Heaven were already underway. If there were angel mates out there, then this was going to ruin everything.

Draco watched Harry try and compartmentalize this in amusement. He wondered if this is what he looked like. He turned his attention towards the angel and took in the horrified expression.

“You are mates.”

Harry snorted derisively, the angel wasn’t the brightest. “That we are.” He allowed a malicious smirk to form and took pleasure in the flinch the angel released.

“We could kill him,” Harry offered turning to Draco, knowing the decision would most likely be up to his mate.

Draco ran a finger down Harry’s chest, loving the way green eyes darkened. “What fun would that be? He’s our counterpart, surely that means we can mess with him some. Plus, imagine what his precious mate would say when we storm the gates of Heaven and regale them all of his fate.

Harry would give Draco anything. If his mate wanted to torture the angel, then he would just watch from the sidelines.

As Harry nodded his head and let Draco know to begin, a strong pull had them both freezing.

With Dumbledore and Riddle out of the way, Harry and Draco now had control over Hell. The power of souls entering the underworld was at their grasp. Only, this wasn’t that.

Harry spread his arms wide, closing his eyes when he felt the power of a soul unlike any other.

“Mmm,” Draco felt his eyes go half-lidded as the only explanation for such a power became clear. “We have a fallen angel approaching.”

A gasp could be heard from their prisoner, but that wasn’t unexpected. There hadn’t been a fallen angel since Lucifer. This would truly decide the fate of Heaven.

Harry backed away quickly, allowing plenty of room between him and the cages. The fallen angel would feel the lure of his and Draco’s power as they fell, leading them directly here.

“An angel and a fallen angel in one day, what more could we want?” Draco clapped his hands together in excitement. Being co-sire of Hell was already more than he could have ever imagined.

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The force of the fall slammed Remus into the ground, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up. The pain of his body morphing was too much. His bones elongated in some areas while they shrunk drastically in others. The agony of his missing wings was more emotional than physical and that alone was enough to have him wanting to weep.

This wasn’t what he thought his life would be like. All he had ever wanted was to be a good angel. Following orders was easy and he had been good at it. Until Sirius came along. His mate had been the best thing to ever happen to him. Despite Sirius being defiant, brash and a rule breaker, Remus couldn’t help but love him. His mate had been the definition of pure chaos, but that was what enthralled him so much to begin with.

Without Sirius, Remus had been barely functioning. The only thing that had kept him afloat was the memory of his mate. But with the knowledge of Sirius’ death being orchestrated, he couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle anything. If the demons didn’t want him, then he would allow them to take his life. Heaven wasn’t worth living for—he just hoped Hell would give him the solace and peace needed to survive.

And wasn’t that just a scary thought?

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Draco circled the fallen angel appraisingly. “Good build, decent bone structure, muscles need work, but his power is strong. Far stronger than the weaklings some demons try to pass off as.”

Harry loved watching Draco get like this. It was enticing to have such an intelligent and keen mate. “Do you think he could be trained?”

The question had Draco narrowing his eyes in concentration. “Hard to determine. The reason he fell will matter. We can only do so much emotional manipulation; if he holds strong feelings of kinship with the other angels, then he will be of no use to us.”

Harry cocked his head to the side when his mate continued to be fascinated with the new demon. “If he ends up being of no use, his life will be forfeit.”

That had Draco frowning heavily. “A fallen angel hasn’t been seen in our lifetime. We aren’t going to kill him.”

“I won’t have him being a hindrance to our plans,” Harry informed Draco, arms folding firmly. “We didn’t work this hard to have a fallen ruin it all.”

The tone had Draco growling, claws extending outward as his wings lifted upwards. “We rule Hell together. What happens here on out will be decided by the both of us. Don’t tell me what to do.” The downfall of two demons together would always be how similar they were to each other. Draco knew that going in, and arguments were to be expected.

Harry narrowed his eyes, not afraid of Draco’s power or the threat in his tone. He pulled on his mate till they were pressed together, allowing the claws to sink into his back. The pain was grounding and far more pleasurable than verbal fights.

“Draco,” The whisper was so soft, Harry knew no one else would hear it. “We can’t be blind sighted by new power. If he becomes an issue, then we have to take care of him.”

Draco hated the way the utterance of his name had him relaxing into the hold. He allowed his claws to retract, smirking at the gasp Harry released. “I won’t let him become a hindrance.”

Harry searched Draco’s eyes before nodding. “I trust you.”

Trust was for the weak. They both knew it. Trust would always be the downfall of the unintelligent. Demons don’t believe in trust, it wasn’t something that would be sensible. But Draco trusted Harry with his life. Not only because they were mates, but because of the kind of demon Harry was.

Draco didn’t repeat the sentiment, knowing that Harry didn’t need to hear that the trust was mutual. He chose to run his nails along the wounds in his mate’s back, relishing in the way Harry shuddered.

“For some reason, I expected fights between demons to be more… explosive… than this. Anticlimactic actually.”

A loud gasp drew their attention to the fallen angel.

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Remus forced his body up when he the heard the sound of his mate.

“Sirius.”

The sight of Sirius chained up against a wall and behind a cage was barely a blip in his mind as he tried to come to the reality that his mate was alive. “They said you died.”

Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist before whispering, “Things just got more interesting.”

“Remus.” The anguish in the angel’s voice was amusing to Harry. It was a personal torture, something neither Draco or he could have provided. “What did you do?”

“Bellatrix set up the ambush that got you here!” Remus knew he was shouting but he couldn’t help it. Not when he had been living the past 12 centuries thinking his mate was dead. “I mourned you.”

There was a crack in Remus’ voice and it had Draco sneering. That would have to go. Demons don’t succumb to emotions.

Harry couldn’t help a small growl escape at the name of the archangel. Bellatrix and her squadron of complete idiots had been a pain in his side for centuries. The angel never sullied herself to actually fight, choosing to send her underlings instead. One of these days he was going to kill the bitch.

“You fell, Moony.” Sirius looked close to crying, but Remus couldn’t change his choices. What was done was done. “Bellatrix’s betrayal is not up to you to avenge. She will answer to God in the end. Her sins will not excuse your own.”

The spiel of morality and the mantra of good was honestly nauseating. Remus couldn’t take it. He clenched his fists tightly as power exploded outwards, blasting the cages open.

“I am sick and tired of being told what is right and wrong! Angels are ordered around as mindless followers with no thought. Humans get free will, but not us? Why must I be restricted? Every time an order demands me on the frontlines, I get no choice in the matter. Why must my life be seen as a means to an end? Every time an order commands me to go against God’s original wishes, I get no choice in the matter.”

The power building up inside the fallen angel had Harry and Draco taking several steps away. It would seem that kinship wouldn’t be a problem. The fallen held heaping amounts of pent-up rage—which would be the best weapon in getting him to do their bidding.

Remus couldn’t bear to open his eyes and see disgust on Sirius’ face. “Archangels forget that their position was not one of power, but one to guide the rest of us forward. The love that used to run Heaven has fallen. You judge me off of standards that Heaven has forsaken. I don’t want to be a part of a Heaven that conspires to get rid of its own kind. I don’t want to be a part of a Heaven that doesn’t care for all angels equally. I don’t want to be a part of Heaven at all.”

A distressed noise had Remus opening his lids, watching the tears build in Sirius’ eyes. “I love you, Sirius. I have loved you long before we were paired together as mates. I loved you during every single moment we had together. And I loved you long after you were declared dead.” He watched the tears fall down the angel’s cheeks and Remus had to look away for a moment.

“But you took every good piece of me when you left. It was as if every single positive thing in my life related to you. I realized how codependent I had become. Only instead of fixing that and learning how to exist without you, I flopped. What did structured order and fighting the inevitable even matter? What good am I to Heaven when the hole of your absence was stronger than my own presence?”

Harry nuzzled the side of Draco’s cheek. “Angels are disgustingly emotional.” Love. What a weakness.

Draco purred as the scent of his mate meshed with his own. “Completely irrational. Never did understand the concept of love. How it tames thoughts and bends the will of the strong.”

Remus ignored the demons behind him and focused on the confusion on Sirius’ face. “I have lived 12 centuries without you. 12 centuries of becoming a completely different person than I once was. The blind faith that Heaven expected of me quickly vanished. I questioned my orders and thrived to think for myself. Only Heaven doesn’t want that. They don’t want free will or for us to think at all. I can’t be what I once was.”

Sirius shook his head rapidly “But falling? Surely there was another way? You have damned yourself to Hell. A fate worse than death.”

Draco scowled. “Excuse you, we do live here, you know.”

Despite himself, Remus snorted. “Heaven will fall. Demon mates have already taken over Hell. Heaven isn’t telling the angels anything, the higherups are guarding their secrets. It’s not only doomed for failure, but Heaven doesn’t care. I would rather die than be apart of that. If you are going to have a belief in morality—fine—just make sure you update your facts before dismissing me.”

Remus balled his fists and turned around, not wanting to see his mate in this manner.

“Remus—I don’t—I can’t—I don’t know what to think,” whispered Sirius, voice so quiet Harry and Draco had to lean forward in order to eavesdrop. “I’ve spent so long imagining what would happen if I could get out of here. The normalcy of the Heaven I left is the only version that makes sense. If Heaven isn’t what it used to be, then there is no hope. I need hope.”

Before Remus could really begin to respond, he was interrupted.

“It matters naught what you think,” Harry taunted. “You are nothing but a prisoner of Hell.” He had been worried about what would happen if the angel’s mate found out about the circumstances, but this was better than he could have expected.

“Fallen, you are welcome to visit your mate at any point during your stay in hell.” Harry watched the way Remus finally gave them the attention that should have been there to begin with. When the newly turned demon’s eyes widened, it was clear that their power had been recognized.

“However,” Draco took over, glaring at Remus. “You will be bound to servitude until we see fit to release you.”

Remus hummed in confusion. “Why? I am of no threat to you.”

“That hasn’t been decided,” Harry pointed out. “Although, that isn’t what Malfoy meant. You will be bound to servitude because we feel like it.”

“I don’t have to listen to you.”

Draco’s wings snapped outward with a harsh slap against the wall. “That is where you are mistaken. Not only will you listen to us because we are the rightful commanders of Hell, but because you made a fatal mistake.”

Harry watched the confusion on Remus’ face and it wasn’t until guilt crossed Sirius’ face that he knew the prisoner understood.

“Remus,” Harry and Draco said in unison, allowing their power to smother the demons. “First thing you learn in Hell is that names hold power. A power that we now control.”

Remus closed his eyes and submitted willingly. He held no free will in Heaven, what would a lack of free will as a demon really change?

“What do you want of me?”

When both demons grinned, Remus knew that his life would become a series of disasters.

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

“So what does God look like?”

Lovegood smacked the back of Creevey’s head hard enough that the lower level demon made contact with the conference table.

Remus shook his head, trying not to find them amusing. “I don’t know, I never met God.”

When several demons looked at him incredulously, he shrugged. “I imagine it’s the same as Lucifer. Have you ever met him?”

Creevey shifted in his seat and sighed in disappointment. “No. There hasn’t been a sighting of Lucifer since the beginning of our creation.”

Remus lifted his hands, gesturing that it had been the same for him.

“What if there is no God or Lucifer?” Brown asked with a scandalized gasp.

“Quit your conspiracy theories or I will slit your throat.” The sound of one of their leaders had everyone sitting up straighter.

Harry made his way towards one of the chairs at the head of the table. “If one of you doesn’t give me good news, I will kill the first one who stands up at the end of the meeting.”

There was a scramble as several demons tried to deliver reports of their assigned tasks.

Remus cleared his throat, smirking internally as a few demons glowered at him. “I found a reliable source that can provide updated battle strategies of the angels.” It would appear that Zacharias was a spineless git and buckled under the slightest bit of pressure.

“Now that is good news.” The praise had more demons glaring at Remus, but he ignored them completely. It wasn’t his fault they were incompetent.

Harry placed his hands under his chin. “Before we get into what Fallen has discovered, I would like to introduce a new demon to our ranks.”

Whispers broke out, a few bringing up the power that was felt earlier in the week. Some questioning whether it was a human turned demon, or perhaps something else.

The door to the room flew open, causing all heads to turn towards the entrance.

Harry nodded his head towards his mate, watching Draco lead in their new demon. “Everyone, this is Black. Another fallen angel.”

Heaven was fucked.

#Drarry #Drarry Squad #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Demon Draco #Demon Harry #Sort of sequel #Match Made in Hell part two #sort of #Wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Angels are dicks #so are demons #No one is nice #Luna is precious

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