#five could absolutely use one if he wanted to but he refuses on principle

[dandelionyolk]

‘if the umbrella academy had mobile phones each season would be a single episode’

luther fell for a 419 scam, five is a boomer, klaus would charge his to an absolute maximum of 13% and diego would instantly be addicted to candy crush, the only thing on that group chat would be allison’s wordle scores

#and let’s be honest she’d have them all blocked by episode 6 #klaus’ screen is 10% glass 90% crack #viktor gave up when luther confused imessage with google #five could absolutely use one if he wanted to but he refuses on principle #the umbrella academy #tua #tua season three #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves

[faded-neon]

It was quiet in the house. Peaceful. Leo couldn't quite bring himself to slip off into dreamland just yet--which, come to think of it, was probably a left-over habit from years spent on the run, constantly forced to be on alert for even the slightest sign of Krang intrusion, constantly forced to be a light sleeper on principle so that he might be able to help with evacuation at a moment's notice. It wasn't as though he was trying to be an insomniac. Sleep simply wasn't something that came to him very easily anymore, if it had ever come easily. And try as he might to follow the advice that the Internet gave of quietly reading or something before he turned in, he couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

Leo groaned, swiping a hand down his face as he set the book that he'd been trying to read for the past twenty minutes aside. It was something Lysias had recommended to him, he thought--some kind of mystery novel--and while the book had thus far been interesting, the fact that he'd read the same page about five times by now and still hadn't managed to retain any of the material probably didn't speak well to its use as a relaxing technique. And though he was at least ninety percent sure that everything in the household was fine (because the Krang were gone, for fuck's sake, and they were alive), his ever-present paranoia wouldn't stop him from checking anyway.

Mikey's room first. His little brother laid with his hair strewn every which way and his markings softly glowing, healthy and smiling and so very alive, not dissolved back into golden dust as a part of Leo feared that he'd open the door to see. Smiling softly, Leo closed the door as gently as he possibly could, exhaling. Right. Okay. Time to check on Donnie and then head off to sleep himse---

Thud.

The sound was loud, and near, and Leo found himself reflexively reaching for his katana when he was able to determine that the sound had come from Donnie’s side of the apartment. Scenarios ran through his mind one after the other—Donnie was hurt, the Krang infection had come back, he was having a seizure and he wouldn’t be able to get there in time—and he sprinted to the guest bedroom, flinging open the door and—

Oh. Donnie was just sitting half-sprawled on the floor, wearing a very “deer in the headlights” expression as he twisted his good eye to view Leo. “Oh. Uh. Greetings, ‘Nardo—“

“Don, what the hell are you doing out of bed without your crutches.”

“I was only trying to go to the bathroom. It’s only a few steps away, I can manage that much without the crutches, it’s fine—“

“It’s not! What if you’d been hurt and I was asleep and couldn’t get to you in time?”

Donnie gave a dismissive wave of his hand at that. “Oh, please. Everyone knows your sleeping habits are absolutely abysmal even at the best of times—“

“That’s not the point. Don, you can’t rush through the healing process, alright? Trust me on this. You’re going to fuck up your legs and then you’ll have to spend twice as long in bed, which I don’t think either of us want. And besides, I’m supposed to be looking out for you—“ Like I didn’t before. Like I didn’t get the chance to, because I refused to take your very real concerns seriously. He wanted to say the words, and yet they clogged in his throat, sticking like a piece of food that hadn’t quite managed to go down the right way.

“I’m not rushing. I’m not trying to. I just wanted to prove that I was ready. Maybe then you’ll stop mother-henning me all the damn time, honestly, I got enough of that from Raph—“

“I’m not trying to mother hen you! I know it’s stupid to think the same thing that happened the last time you were sick is going to happen again, I know it is!” He snapped it out before he could stop himself, spinning away from Donnie and pacing and worrying at his scarf. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alive. Here. That this isn’t just some dream of mine again. I want us to be able to have that bond again, but you keep pushing me away whenever I try to get close. I just….I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong here, Don. I really don’t. Are you angry at me? Did I mess things up somehow? I would get being angry at me for….but at least tell me how I can make up for it. Please. I want to so badly—“

He broke off as Donnie tried to push himself to his feet, tried to take a step, seeming like he was frozen between walking out of the room and going to Leo's side. And then his twin's legs buckled again, and before Leo could even stop himself he was there, holding Donnie steady as they both sagged back towards the floor. For a moment, it was like the years melted away again. He was cradling Donnie through a bad shutdown, or distracting him with bad jokes as he bandaged a scrape, or wrangling him into submission so that he could get his yearly vaccinations, honest to Pete, why were all of his family such babies about getting shots--

But then he blinked, and he was back with a brother who was down a few parts, who had been through hell and back with him, who was currently trembling like a leaf against him. "Don?"

".....It hurts, Leo. Is that what you want to hear? It hurts so much. Fine. You win. Drag me off to observation or. Whatever."

He reached out towards his twin then, words soft. "Hey. Donnie, it'll be alright-"

"No! Nothing about this is alright! Stop saying that!" Donnie spun towards him now, hissing under his breath, words sharp. "You're supposed to....why don't you hate me?"

Well. Didn't that stun him into silence. His arm fell back to his side limply, voice strangled. "....hate you? Wh....why would I--"

"Why don't you! Why are you helping me? Why are you bringing me back and leaving me in this body that's in pain all the damn time and--why are you being so nice--" Donnie's arms flailed around then, karate-chopping the air as if to add import to his statement. "I said....I said I'd never leave you! And I left! All because I was too stupid to listen to reason and give up on the Technodrome mission! We promised each other we'd be there for each other! You're my twin! I'm s-supposed to look out for you and I couldn't even-"

All Leo could do was stare dumbly at the tears tracking down from Donnie's good eye, even as he angrily swiped at them and hissed under his breath. "I could have been here. I could have stopped you from getting so low that you'd use a spell that almost fucking ate you. I could have....I could have fixed things. We promised we'd never....I hurt you. I tried to. And I made you have to hurt me, so why don't you goddamn hate me. Shout, scream, get it out of your system, something! I broke our promise, I....you should....why are you being so....it doesn't make sense--"

Leo couldn't listen to this. He couldn't listen to his own twin spitting out all of this self-hatred. He pulled Donnie into a hug before he could stop himself, ignoring the startled hiss it drew from the softshell. "Yeah. You did leave. And it sucked for a really long time. And I thought I could have fought harder to keep you from going on that mission, but....Don, if there's one thing I'm learning, it's that you can't beat yourself up for mistakes you made when you didn't know any better. You can't plan for everything. Even if you think you can. I couldn't plan for losing the key being the thing that would set off an entire apocalypse, and you couldn't plan for them leaving a weird Krang virus in there for you."

"But I-"

"Don. Seriously. I don't hate you. Hated myself for a while, sure, but I could never hate my twin, alright? No matter what you did. And maybe having you here would have helped more, yeah, but....I still had people who got me through it. And you know me, I'm a stubborn bastard who doesn't want to admit when I'm actually having a problem with something. Who knows whether having you here would have actually made things easier or not.” He cupped Donnie’s face then, gently forcing him to make eye contact. “I’m being nice because you’re my twin and there’s nothing you can do to change that. And I want to make up for promising I’d protect you and then coming up short.”

“You didn’t come up short—“

“If I didn’t, then you didn’t either.” At the snort he got from Donnie, he continued. “Seriously. Remember that stupid song we always used to sing to each other? We’re sticking together through thick and thin. No matter what. Don, I brought you back from being dead. I loved you enough to do that. If I hated your guts, I wouldn’t have.”

Sniff. A swipe at his eyes. “No matter what I do….I’m always stuck with you….”

“Exactly. You’re stuck with me. No matter what. So stop pushing me away. I’m here now and we’re gonna make up for the time we missed.”

“…..okay.” Donnie’s voice was small, wavering, but he leaned into Leo all the same, inhaling and exhaling heavily. “I’m alive. Things will get better. I’m with you guys.”

“Yeah. You are. And we’ll make sure you don’t forget it.” He nuzzled into Donnie, churring softly under his breath, and smiled when his twin responded with a nuzzle and his own soft chirp.

“Make a “Purrytello” joke and you’ll find out whether I’m above throat-punching someone I just had an emotional moment with.”

“You’re no fun.” He huffed out a laugh against Donnie’s shoulder, smirking softly. “Hey. Don-tron.”

“You haven’t called me that since we were teenagers.”

“Well, I’m doing it again. What did the medical examiner say about someone that was attacked with a hammer.”

“No idea.”

“He died of a brain hammer-age.”

Snort. He could feel Donnie’s shoulders shaking against his as the softshell let out a wheezing laugh, singular eye glimmering with mirth. “That’s so stupid.”

“I missed that smile.” For a moment, he sat there, gently rubbing circles into Donnie’s shell while his younger twin nuzzled against him and chirped and let his instincts-driven brain rise to the surface. And then he yawned, stretched, gave Donnie a bit of a firmer pat on the shoulder. “You need help getting back into bed or whatever?”

“Bathroom first.”

“Got it. Alright, hop on, squirt, I’ll give you a ride.”

“I am literally a good several inches taller than you and you have the posture of a toothpaste container—“

And despite his twin’s offended squawking and his own cracking laughter, Leo felt the warmth between them blossoming, brighter and warmer than ever. Donnie was here. His brilliant, hard-working, stubborn twin was here to have his back again. Donnie was here, and so very alive, and the world seemed so much more full of possibility now. They would get through whatever else came their way together now, as they had from the very beginning.

And that old song came to his ears again—

You and me, me and you, two by two—

Only this time, it felt hopeful.

#rottmnt rp #future!leo #roleplay blog #(no replies please!) #Spotify

[my-johnlockficrecs]

because of course, the end of june is the best time for a may wrap up 🥴 LMAO i absolutely lost track of time and procrastinated my may reading list a whole entire month. ahem. however! i seem to have read an awful lot during may, so there will be two parts to the list. hopefully that makes up for the tardiness. i hope y’all had a fun, relaxing may. times are weird and stressful and scary as of right now, especially for our friends in america. i’m thinking of all of you who are having a tough time, america and beyond 💖 all i can offer you is an open inbox and an empathetic ear. and, of course, fic recs. it’s not much, but maybe something on here could provide an escape, even if for a moment.

key: blue: reread • 💌 majorly or in part epistolary • 📚 unilock

spotlight rec

✰ Let's Make a Bed Out in the Rain by Anonymous (17k, M)

John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

this fic takes an approach to the john/mary relationship and how it came about in a way that was absolutely novel to me. instead of the dramatics of canon, this fic boils the john-mary-sherlock situation down to its basics. john enters a long term relationship with mary while sherlock pines in silence. Let’s Make a Bed starts out with john and mary’s breakup, and tells us the heartwarming, utterly sweet story of how sherlock takes care of john in the aftermath of it all. one of the things that i sincerely appreciated about this fic is how sherlock’s care towards john was never wholly motivated by his own romantic attachment to john, but also because of the friendship they shared. sherlock loves john here immensely, but he’s also his best friend. there are some moments of hilarity that will make you laugh in delight (the way sherlock got his back on mary!😂) and heart-touching moments of tenderness too. the moment of realisation is just the sweetest thing ever and absolutely made me melt. the angst and pining here is the kind that makes your heart ache, but not in an entirely bad way.

✰ Mathematical Proof series by Bitenomnom (108k, 50 works, complete)

i’m also going to spotlight Bitenomnom’s delightfully diverse series, Mathematical Proof. (haven’t added a link here because i can’t add more links to this post and i absolutely refuse to reformat the whole thing. Bitenomnom has been linked in the list below, right next to the fics i’ve read from the Mathematical Proof series). it mostly consists of one-shots, although some are connected to each other, and every story is based on some mathematical principle or the other that the author found intriguing at the time. i just thought that the idea of applying mathematical theories to johnlock was (a) incredibly inventive and unique and (b) very impressive. also, just generally, it’s clear from the stories and the author’s notes that the author has a genuine passion for math and i love to see how they use johnlock as an interpretive medium. for anyone who (like me) is not a mathematician of any order; worry not! you don’t actually need to have a thorough understanding of advanced math to enjoy these fics. and for those who are curious to learn more, the author explains the mathematical principle being used in great detail before the start of every fic.

bite sized (5k and less)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands by miss_frankenstein (3k, teen)

“Will you need fresh socks?”

Sherlock’s voice immediately brings John back to the present. “What?”

Sherlock gestures irritably to the wet socks clutched in John’s hand. “Socks,” he says again sharply because he hates repeating himself, “Will you need fresh socks?”

A post-S3 piece in which John and Sherlock finally confront their feelings for each other - as only they would do - in the pouring rain.

softly, softly by threadoflife (1k, G)

They were back to grinning at each other, embarrassingly enough: a whole five seconds of terrifying delight. John wanted to reach out and smooth his thumb over the screen, behind which Sherlock’s face was locked. It was a bit pixelled, now, the connection likely slowing down. Christ, John wanted to be there with him; or he wanted Sherlock here; it didn’t really matter. He just wanted Sherlock, location be damned.

Fuck. Fuck, he had it bad.

Don’t Cry Sweet Honeybee by Musings_o (4k, unrated)

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson go through years of love, separation, and heartache.

Though the pain is worth it, worth being reunited once more.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Sherlock Holmes, RELATIONSHIP: n/a by @blueink3 (5k,M)

The first time John Watson’s emergency contact is called is the first time Sherlock Holmes finds out that he has the job.

and as the seasons change, i love you more by teatrolley (3k, unrated)

“I love you,” John murmurs when he pulls back, panting and with pink cheeks.

“Mm,” Sherlock says, because after four years of being together they can joke about it. “Why?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” John says, but he kisses Sherlock again, softly this time.

Later, when Sherlock goes to the bathroom, he finds a sticky note on the mirror saying “Because you make my chest feel like it’s on fire, but in the good way.”

_________________

A year in the lives of John and Sherlock, essentially

Let Go by thisisforyou (2k, G)

In the end, separating John's things from Sherlock's in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn't want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

Improbable Remains by tamed_untranslatable (3k, teen)

“So we, um.” His left hand clenched at his side underneath the table. "We probably shouldn’t bring this back to London, then."

"No, quite right.” Sherlock nodded.

“I mean, I don’t want to ruin…” The uncertainty had returned to John’s eyes as he looked back at Sherlock.

“No, absolutely not,” Sherlock agreed, and now he was beginning to feel some of that relief, too. Wherever he may have imagined this would lead, he knew that he couldn’t bear to lose John’s friendship. “It can just be something for Dartmoor, then."

"Right, yeah. Just a Dartmoor thing.” John nodded.

Two Words by stopthat (1k, teen)

I reach out and let my palm fall to his shoulder. I think, finally, the time for this has come.

Of Velvet and Silk, Cotton and Cashmere by cwb (2k, E)

Vignettes of Sherlock at different ages, what he loved, what he lost, and how John gave it back.

Still, With Hearts Beating by @finamour (2k, E)

John already knows the sound of Sherlock’s heartbeat. He’s become familiar with his breathing patterns, the way they grow quicker and more shallow as the two of them run through the streets of London. He has, in a passing manner, come to know Sherlock’s scent; the colour of his skin in the dim light of the alleyway; the way his hair grows matted and sweaty against the nape of his neck on a warm July night.

But he has never been pressed up against Sherlock like this, the rise and fall of his breath pushing into his own body through their thin summer clothes. Until now, he has never been fully immersed in his scent, felt his hair softly brushing his face, the thrumming of Sherlock’s heart against his own chest.

Too Much by belovedmuerto (567, teen)

Sometimes, it's too much for John.

Tangential by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“You know, for being married, you and your Work seem to have a pretty on-again, off-again relationship."

"Yes. I’d say it’s grounds for divorce, wouldn’t you?”

“If it’d mean less collateral damage to the flat, I’m all for it.” He pulled up the newspaper and had a glance over it. “But you do strike me as a bit of a kept man. Hope you’ve got a secret lover ready to snatch you up and take care of you.”

Sherlock could have said, “I might, if you’d like to keep me.” But instead, he asked, “Do you have any opinions on bees?”

...In which John stitches up Sherlock's head (but not really), Sherlock comes into John's room at night to take his laptop (but not really), Sherlock is married to his Work (but not really), and John is more than proficient at keeping Sherlock (really, definitely).

Latent Variable by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

“John,” he pulled himself into a sitting position to face John. “How many times have you seen me eat outside this flat?”

John leaned back thoughtfully. “Well, I…” He tilted his head. “Huh.” John scooted forward in his chair, leaning over his knees to look Sherlock in the eye. “Why?”

“It’s more comfortable.”

“Is that it? You starved yourself of a nice hot dinner at Angelo’s so that you could sit on the sofa while you eat?”

“That’s not it.”

Sherlock never eats at restaurants when he and John go out -- not even when he's not on a case.

Nested Dichotomy by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Water dripped from the ceiling.

Water dripped from the ceiling insofar as that water dripped from the ceiling tiles, which were located in pieces on the floor.

Sherlock stood, brushing dust from himself, brushing the ceiling from himself, and looked beneath him and saw his own unconscious—no, dead—body, on the ceiling.

Rewind.

The ceiling gathered back together, coagulated thirty feet above him, spat water back out into the pool as it gathered up tendrils of itself back into the depths.

John supposed this wasn’t a surprising night for Sherlock’s mind to conjure up something horrific. John hadn’t gone to sleep, for similar reasons—had just laid in bed, reading, until Sherlock barged in.

Remodeling by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“There’s no way you tapped my arm.” “Why wouldn’t there be?” “Because you’ve never touched me.” Sherlock studied him for a moment more before gasping in an, “Oh.” “What?” “While you were deleting some contents of your brain, you were also deleting any sensory input associated with the process.” “Meaning…” “Meaning that according to your brain, we have never made physical contact.”

Paired Comparison Experiment Notes, Trials 1-24 by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

Trial 4: Subject extremely confused by sudden commencement of dirty talk after innocent game of footsie at breakfast, splashes tea on experimenter, refuses to specify preference.

Trial 14: Subject prefers handshake to pinching of arse, does not applaud experimenter’s creativity in utilizing organic situations to their fullest potential by coordinating handshaking procedure for magazine photograph with opportunity to test against buttocks-pinching variable. Quote, “Stop pinching my arse, Sherlock!” followed by, quote, “Please don’t print that in the interview.”

The Paired Comparison Model by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Today, a mysterious chart appeared on the refrigerator of 221B. John is reasonably certain that Sherlock is not planning on calling for volunteers to come knocking at 221B for some variety of sexual experimentation, although that is very much what the chart on the refrigerator seems to suggest. He is also reasonably certain, however, that whatever it is, it must not involve Sherlock, because the chart on the refrigerator lists quite a few things that John doesn’t imagine Sherlock would ever do of his own free will. The real question, then—which John poses to Sherlock after several moments’ silence—is, “When’s the orgy?”

Successive Over-Relaxation by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

“Oh, give them here, you git,” is what John says to Sherlock as Sherlock rubs at his feet in the most histrionic fashion possible. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at John. “Yes, right, you heard me, put your feet up here and let me rub them; you’re doing a bloody awful job of it.”

Visual Verification by Bitenomnom (2k, E)

John pulled Sherlock’s face down and leaned heavier against him to whisper in his ear. “I said scientific rigor,” John told him. “I meant a demonstration, not a discussion over whether bloody Scotland Yard was going to figure out the meaning of your convoluted description.”

The Postal Problem by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated) 💌

On Sherlock's nineteenth consecutive day of temporarily being a postman, John finally sends his letter to his girlfriend. Well, not quite the letter he originally intended to send.

The Cost of Decreased Variance by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

Sherlock had awoken wondering whose things were in 221B; clearly, they were John Watson’s. Clearly, John Watson was his flatmate. And clearly, for some reason, every single night, Sherlock deleted him.

The Genetic Algorithm by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

Some problems defy the usage of cold, clean-cut linear logic. It is impossible to devise a way to take steps that ultimately lead exactly to an optimal answer. Sherlock believes John Watson is one of those problems.

Fuzzy Measures by Bitenomnom (2k, unrated)

“Honestly, John? ‘The Navel Treatment'?” “You can call it whatever you want on your blog,” John glanced up from his laptop to Sherlock, who was watching him type about the case over his shoulder. “I didn’t think you were really going to give it that title.” “You knew I was going to, Sherlock. You know how I run my blog.” “Yes: stupidly.” “And,” John pointedly ignored this comment, “it’s not my fault you found the crucial evidence in the victim’s belly button. It was lint, Sherlock. I don’t exactly have a lot to work with.” “You could try not titling your entries with terrible puns.”

The Transposable Choquet Integral by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

“Oh,” Sherlock said, tracing his fingers over John’s stomach. “Nothing at all like the data I had been testing.” John rolled his eyes. “You know, Sherlock, I seriously doubt my body hair is terribly different from any other bloke’s.” “Wouldn’t know,” Sherlock said.

Fixed Points by Bitenomnom (532, unrated)

The Fixed Point Method of estimating roots involves employing an algorithm until the input is roughly equal to the output. Sherlock and John's arguments work in much the same way.

A Penalty for Profusion by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

"Did you really think I was born knowing how to identify a zoologist by her fingernails and cutlery?" "No, of course not." John considered turning away for the imminent lecture. "I practiced," Sherlock reiterated instead. "Of course I didn’t always immediately know what to look for."

Variance by Bitenomnom (797, unrated)

“It’s actually two point nine.” “What?” “Meters. That you stay from me, all the time. Well—since you punched me, anyway.” “Oh. I hadn’t really put that much thought into it.” “How very homoscedastic of you.”

Type III by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

It had been, by Sherlock’s estimate (he could not tell precisely—shades drawn, so amount of light outside and therefore time of day unknown, extended amounts of sleep disorienting) sixteen days since John had returned. Seventeen was also a distinct possibility. His mobile was nowhere to be found. John was asleep beside him: that was exactly where John was supposed to be. John had returned and everything was right again.

Parallel by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

While John and Sherlock were apart (apart for years, this time, years and years and years even with both in London, apart but for the occasional visits, ever less personal) they were not so different. Sherlock still solved crimes. He pretended to shoot holes in the wall. It was better this way. \\ John pretended to shoot holes in the wall. Things hadn’t changed so much. He still solved cases with Sherlock, sometimes. He pretended to shoot holes in the wall. It was better this way.

Interaction by Bitenomnom (4k, unrated)

The last time he had seen Sherlock was three years ago—completely by accident. Sherlock hadn’t come to Mary’s funeral, but that was no surprise; John had seen him a few days afterward, but not since then, not until this time. John, fourteen years after leaving Baker Street, looks back on his relationship with Sherlock, on his marriage, and on his unshakable loneliness. Goes with Touching.

Touching by Bitenomnom (3k, unrated)

He and John fell in love eighteen years ago. It fell apart quickly. It fell apart suddenly. It fell apart sixteen years ago. But they were still flatmates, and they still solved crimes, and nothing changed. Nothing changed sixteen years ago, just the details, just the important little details. Sherlock was no longer allowed to sleep in bed with John, or run his fingers through John’s hair or breathe on his collarbone or nip at his nose or sleep with his face buried in a discarded jumper or lay his head in John’s lap while they watched John’s action and sci-fi movies. Everything changed fourteen years ago, though. Everything.

Fifteen Years by Bitenomnom (1k, unrated)

A lot changes in fifteen years -- and a lot doesn't. Fifteen years before Baskerville, John wanted a dog. Fifteen years before Sherlock was in court, Sherlock was in court. Fifteen years before John met Sherlock, John wasn't interested in the violin. Fifteen years before he met Irene Adler, someone asked Sherlock out for dinner. Fifteen years before Sherlock kissed John, Sherlock kissed John.

Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture by grimmfairy (1k, unrated)

Written for a prompt by navydream on tumblr: So penguins bring rocks to their mates and Sherlock somehow fond out about this… and suddenly, John starts finding all sorts of pebbles, starting from the ordinary to a rare moon stone. Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.

God's Own Country by halloa_what_is_this (4k, teen)

Road trip through nowhere, everywhere, anywhere.

Bitter Nights Turned Sweet by Hyliare (4k, teen)

“Christ, Sherlock, what’s happened?” The detective’s eyes are red-rimmed, blown wide to combat the urge to squint (a measure to preserve Sherlock’s dignity, John is certain—at least what dignity is left). His hair is more than messy, it’s littered with tiny knots all along the lines of his temples. He’s clean, at least, so he must have showered, but the hem on the bottom of his vest is partially unravelled. “Sherlock—” “Nothing’s happened. I’m just tired.” Sherlock has always had trouble sleeping; he hasn't always had someone in his life willing to help.

Two To Tango (The Cold Hands, Warm Heart Remix) by igrockspock (1k, teen)

When John is wounded while pursuing a suspect, Sherlock refuses to leave his side.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (4k, teen)

The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

short fics (5k-15k)

holding steady by @watsonshoneybee (12k, E)

Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing.

*

John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

EMERGENCY CONTACT: John Watson, RELATIONSHIP: Saint by @blueink3 (6k, M)

The first time Sherlock Holmes realizes he needs an emergency contact is the first time he mentally appoints John Watson with the job.

John, of course, does not know this and neither does the local hospital.

Their Great Reward by @the-pen-pot (10k, teen)

Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember. (John and Sherlock pre-slash to slash fluff)

The Newlywed Game: Johnlock Edition by patternofdefiance (9k, E)

What it says on the tin: John and Sherlock pretend to be married in order to be contestants in a Newlywed Game.

Of course it's for a case.

Of course it doesn't stay that way.

The Fundamental Things Apply by @raina-at (6k, M)

"Kisses that are easily obtained are easily forgotten." - Proverb

Nestled between head and heart by @blogstandbygo (8k, teen)

A series of vignettes about Sherlock Holmes's lifelong relationship with his violin.

Strong at the Broken Places by @blueink3 (10k, M)

They dated for ten months during Sherlock's first year of uni and John's last before the latter went off to fight someone else's war. When they meet again two-and-a-half years later, John's gained a scar in his shoulder and a limp he can't seem to shake. Sherlock's gained a new boyfriend and bruises he can't seem to explain away.

I Need You To See Me by Mssmithlove (12k, E)

After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband.

The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows by @raina-at (7k, E)

Sherlock is back from the dead. Now all he has to do is get back his Blogger.

A Bump in the Road by BakerTumblings (10k, teen)

Now and again, something will happen that rocks their collective world. Sometimes it concerns about healthy living, a wise behaviour choice, their London community, body parts in the fridge, a career path, an event in the life of one of their friends. 

And sometimes it's more personal, and the bump in the road can be not only a surprise, but possibly serious.

I'm Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (7k, E)

Back at the flat Sherlock threw himself down on the couch, limbs akimbo, throat bared, one wrist placed strategically over his furrowed brow. He moaned, but not too loudly, just under the threshold of noticeably dramatic. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt with his other hand, making sure that John had plenty of chest to explore. Exploration was good. Exploration was highly encouraged.

mid length (16k-50k)

The Way to a Man’s Heart by @swissmissing (21k, teen)

When Greg asks Sherlock to be his best man, the past returns in an unexpected way, confronting Sherlock and John with the need to define what they are to each other. Set about a year after series 3.

Letters From Sussex by @sussexbound (32k, E) 💌

In the wake of the Mary/Moriarty affair, John and Sherlock have fallen out, and are living apart. But Sherlock isn't content with this state of affairs--not one bit. He's tired of dancing around the obvious. The wooing of John Watson starts now!

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (30k, E)

“You love your mother, Sherlock?”

John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.

“Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

The Wisteria Tree by @silentauroriamthereal (29k, E)

Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Just a Touch of Lips by Salambo06 (21k, E) 📚

Two weeks ago, Sherlock kissed a blindfolded John Watson, captain of the Rugby Team, during an university event and left before he could see his face. Neither have been able to think about anything else since. When Mike mentions a certain student in his Chemistry class who could help John find his mysterious kisser, they both find themselves in a situation they hadn't expected.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (24k, E)

Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning. ---- Sherlock’s head snapped to the right, where he fixed his gaze upon the rather unexpected development that was a man standing in their kitchen wearing nothing but his pants and a t-shirt. …Unexpected…was this unexpected? Shortly after meeting him, Sherlock had easily deduced that John was not uninterested in men sexually. This was something that John was at least mildly conflicted about and overcompensated for constantly. It was likely that he’d experimented with this interest at least once in the not too distant past, although this was one point on which Sherlock was chronically uncertain. And Sherlock hated being uncertain.

long fics (50k and above)

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (56k, E)

The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed.

#whew #faced many technical difficulties AGAIN #it’s like the more i do this the more technical difficulties arise #shouldn’t it be the other way around?? #tumblr smh #anyway #my johnlock fic recs #johnlock #johnlock fics #johnlock fic recs #my johnlock fic recs: may 2022 part 1

[strange-lace]

Macaque

I was in the mood to make more content for Inverted AU, so here’s a short-ish fic of how episode 9 would go in this AU with Macaque, Wukong, and MK! Enjoy the shadowpeach!

Another demon defeated but still no sign of Sun Wukong. Macaque let out a sigh before rolling his shoulders to bring relief to tense muscles. Oh well, he'll just have to keep looking, not like he hasn't been at it for years now. At least this city he wandered to was quite nice with pleasant people, nothing too out there aside from demon attacks.

"Hey! Hey you! Shadow monkey man!" Macaque wouldn't deny that the sudden voice made him jump, considering he was on top of a pretty tall building. Apparently not tall enough to stop the young man from climbing up the side, somewhat out of breath yet that didn't deter from the determined look on his face. He simply brushed his messy hair out of his eyes and adjusted his teal backpack, which looked surprisingly heavy. Macaque couldn’t help but be somewhat curious as to what was in that thing.

Wait was that the Monkey King's staff in his hands?

Indeed it was, he'd recognize that weapon anywhere.

“Ah, you must be the Monkie Kid I’ve been hearing so much about, am I right?” That got him a look of suspicion before the young man also seemed to remember the staff in his hands, causing him to let out an amused huff at his own paranoia.

“Yeah, the staff kind of gives it away, don’t it? Name’s MK though. Now whomst is you? Most of the time, demons who ask me who I am are five seconds away from trying to kill me.” Macaque couldn’t help but chuckle at that, already finding that he was starting to like this little guy and his attitude. Perhaps if a person like MK was chosen to wield Wukong’s staff, then perhaps that meant his love had finally started turning things around for the better. Maybe it meant he finally stopped being someone he wasn’t all for the sake of keeping a memory alive.

“The name’s Macaque, though, the Six-Eared Macaque is actually my full name. But what brings you up here exactly bud? I doubt you’d climb up this high just for anybody.” MK’s face showed that he wanted to argue that point out of principle before remembering his purpose for coming up here.

“Simple, teach me.”

Wait what?

“What what?” MK scoffed at the question.

“I want you to teach me to fight, like how you fought that demon back there. I don’t intend on leaving you alone until you do and that is a threat!” Macaque didn’t doubt that he meant it that way and could very easily follow through on that. Sensing he wasn’t going to get out of this, he let out a sigh before giving MK a smile.

“You sure your mentor won’t have a problem with me teaching you?”

“Bold of you to assume Wukong’s disapproval will stop me.”

“Well alright then, I think we’re gonna get along just fine, bud.”

---

“I see what you’re trying to do, you’re afraid of holding back and giving your enemy the opportunity to win. But the first strike isn’t the most important one. Every strike counts. Other people may tell you that patience and focus don’t matter but a fool allows himself to rush without restraint. While you have power inside you, you have to use it carefully. Take the power to defend others, not just destroy those who stand in your way. You’re not a weapon kid, you wield the weapon above all else.”

---

It started with a fairly innocent question from MK after one of their training sessions, him slowly going through a water bottle given to him by Macaque while the monkey made them something to eat. He needed a distraction to stop himself from taking over the cooking, years of feeding others making him feel guilt the moment someone else took over.

“So Mac, how exactly do you know the Monkey King?” To his credit, Macaque only fumbled the slightest bit at that sudden question and was able to save the plate before it crashed to the floor.

“Oh um well… funny thing about that is, well… we used to be together actually. Like y’know… together-together,” he explained while he plated their food, wincing internally at how awkward he sounded. With his back towards MK, Macaque didn’t notice him go tense and grip the couch arm so tightly that the wood underneath cracked at the pressure.

“Used to be together, huh? What happened?” Macaque couldn’t help but shiver at the chill which traveled down his spine. MK’s voice was perfectly even and calm yet he was filled with an overwhelming fear that warned him to not turn around and remain perfectly still until the danger passed.

His ears twitched at the sound of sparks behind him, magic power permeating through the air.

“I… I messed up honestly. We had an argument about something, I don’t even remember what it was so long ago. But I had to leave to just get some space and air before I said something I’d regret, something I couldn’t take back. It was only meant to be a couple hours but some stuff out of my control happened and by the time I got back… Wukong was gone. I had been looking for him for centuries after that and then… well then you found me.”

“What, you hoped getting on my good side would mean that you’d win the Monkey King back?” His tone promised nothing good if Macaque kept digging himself a deeper hole.

“No! No, nothing like that at all. I don’t expect Pe-...Wukong to take me back or anything like that. I just… wanted the chance to apologize to him is all. If he wants anything to do with me afterwards, then I want that to be his choice. Nothing more, I swear.”

MK remained silent behind him before the sudden tension in the air dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Macaque let out a sigh of relief, slowly turning around to see MK still sitting on his couch, placing the staff back in his ear nonchalantly.

“Fair enough, sounds like you both were just idiots who don’t know how to communicate. If you actually intended on using me to get to the Monkey King, you’d have actually mentioned him during our training and yet you haven’t. And you can’t lie to save your life anyway. Just don’t be an idiot again alright? Monkey King… Wukong, he’s a mess and I don’t think he could handle thinking he’s been abandoned again.”

Macaque could feel his heart break at the idea that his Peaches, his love, thought that he had left permanently. He wanted nothing more than to run to him now and make things right. But that was Wukong’s decision to make, nobody else’s.

The two ate their food in silence after that.

---

Sun Wukong may have supposedly “lost his edge”  but he was by no means dense or oblivious.

And while he was certainly happy about his successor’s vast improvement over the past couple weeks, a part of him sensed something was off. Like his successor was hiding something from him. And those moves he watched MK use to absolutely demolish the old mural, the Monkey King swore he had seen them before.

But it couldn’t possibly be. He hadn’t seen him in centuries. Not since he… left, like everyone else.

“I’m impressed, my boy! Tell me, how did you do that? Have you been seeing another mentor perhaps?” Wukong asked, his typically serene smile straining the slightest bit at the idea of his son student learning from someone who wasn’t him. The sensible part of his brain was gently poking at him, reminding him that it seemed silly to get upset about such a thing as, if anything, MK had appeared significantly calmer during their training compared to when they started. This could be a good thing, it told him.

Yet it was silenced by the majority of his brain which ran on fatherly protectiveness and had immediately been plagued by images of the worst case scenario. A demon had approached MK, promising him to make him stronger while also poisoning his student as a bid to turn him against the Monkey King before stealing his powers or, Heavens forbid, harming him.

No, Wukong refused to even allow a chance of that happening, logic and reasoning be damned.

“Hey, you’re the one always going on about ‘patience and focus’, I’m just finally putting what you said into practice,” MK answered, the picture of being casual which only set off further alarm bells within Wukong’s head. But before he could question him further, MK’s phone dinged to tell him of a new text message which he quickly read over, his eyes widening slightly at the message.

“Welp, looks like I gotta cut things short for now Wukong, something came up and I gotta head out. See ya later! Don’t forget to eat something tonight and sleep, I will know if you don’t.” And with that, MK was off through the hole he had created in the wall where the mural was before the Monkey King could get a word in edgewise. 

Wukong waited long enough to allow MK to get a reasonable distance away before transforming into a bird, flying after his successor.

Something fishy was going on and the Monkey King was determined to find out what it was.

---

“Why exactly are we climbing up to this giant mountain again Mac?” MK wheezed, hating to admit it but this hike had genuinely winded him despite all his training. He had immediately gone to Macaque’s place the moment he got his text only to be told to follow the six-eared demon, leading them to where they were now.

“Well, consider this your ‘final exam’ bud! I want you to use everything I’ve taught you to fight against me, no holding back. Think you can do that?” MK couldn’t help the twitch at the corners of his mouth at the sight of Macaque’s genuine excitement as he explained, all six ears twitching while his tail was wagging like a dog. A demon who was centuries old and had fought countless powerful demons had no right looking that endearing, but here MK was looking with his own two eyes.

MK gave a chuckle before straightening himself out, wordlessly pulling the staff out his ear.

“You sure you’re comfortable getting your ass kicked by me, Mac?” With a smirk, Macaque summoned his own weapon in a flash of purple with the beginning of two shadow clones pooling at his feet. They shyly peeked from the ground from behind their master.

“Oho, a couple training sessions with me for a month and you think you have what it takes to defeat me, bud? Well then, bring it Monkie Kid!” MK didn’t hesitate to charge forward with Macaque mirroring him, weapons at the ready and adrenaline already running through their veins.

“Enough!”

A sudden force landed in between them with enough force to send them both flying backwards.

MK and Macaque recovered in time to see who decided to interrupt their duel.

Both of their hearts nearly stopped at the sight of the enraged Monkey King but for vastly different reasons.

“You have 5 seconds to explain yourself for trying to harm my-” Wukong’s rage quickly deflated as the dust cleared enough for him to truly see who it was he had thought was attacking MK. “Mango Flower?”

“Um… hello again, Peach Blossom. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Macaque joked, voice weak as he restrained himself from acting out of bounds even if he wanted nothing more than to gather the other into his arms. It had been so long, far too long. 

He nearly broke at the sight of tears beginning to form in Wukong’s eyes.

His resolve finally shattered as the Monkey King ran towards him, arms outstretched, and before Macaque knew it his legs were moving on their own. The wind was knocked out of him at how tight Wukong squeezed him yet he returned the embrace back with gusto, ignoring the groaning of his ribs. He simply buried his face into the other’s fur, the smell of peaches still there even after all these years. Faintly, Macaque realized he was also crying once he felt a wetness on his cheeks.

Macaque let out a squeak in surprise as Wukong picked him up in the hug and spun him around, the sound of his laughter echoing throughout the mountain. The sight of such unabashed joy on his face was enough to make the six-eared demon to start laughing too, joy contagious in the best of ways. 

MK would deny it unless under the threat of death but he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two monkeys get lost in their own little world. It made the guilt which nagged at his chest at having to manipulate the two to make this meeting happen ease up, seeing how happy the two were.

“It’s been so long…” Wukong whispered as he placed Macaque back on his feet, gently cradling his face as if afraid that if he stopped touching the other, that he’d disappear again. “But, why are you here? I had thought that you hated me, isn’t that why you…” Macaque went stiff in shock before taking the Monkey King’s hands into his own.

“What? No! If anything, I thought you hated me for leaving instead of talking things out and that’s why you were gone when I came back. I always intended on coming back to you Peaches, I swear on it.” Wukong’s eyes went wide at that, extremely close to crying again a second time that day. “I had been looking for you for centuries now to apologize.”

And now the warm feeling was gone, leaving MK to bite down on his staff to stop himself from screaming at how much those two had failed at the simple of communication.

“We’ve both been absolutely foolish, haven’t we?” Wukong couldn’t help but laugh at it all, which only worsened as he noticed all six of Macaque’s ears turn red in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I guess we have been-” His words were cut off as the Monkey King grabbed his scarf, pulling him into a sudden kiss that made Macaque jolt in surprise before he practically melted into the other’s arms. A purr rumbled in his chest and neither noticed their tails wind around each other.

The sound of MK clearing his throat, loudly, was enough to get them to break apart in embarrassment.

“If you two are done being romantic idiots, I have to beat the shit out of Macaque to prove that I’m better than him. I mean ace my ‘final exam’.” The grin on his face showed that he was lying through his teeth.

“Don’t think I forgot about all your trash talking, young man. How about it Peach Blossom? You willing to go all out with me and the kid?” 

Wukong’s face was the epitome of ‘Every part of my body wants to say yes but I shouldn’t.’ He was already terrible at saying no to MK and now with Macaque’s endearingly earnest face, he knew he was done for, at least with these two working together now.

“...Oh alright.”

The two mutual cheers at his agreement made Wukong feel slightly less guilty in letting his lessons go for a brief moment. But not completely.

But that was okay, Wukong was used to living with constant guilt.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #inverted au #shadowpeach #mk #macaque #sun wukong #my writing #fanfiction

[cellsshapedlikestars]

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

.

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring? #probably #jonsa fic

[paulbunyanstatue]

“You are being ridiculous. Just give it up.”

“I will not,” Damian growled fiercely, glowering up at Jason with a look that could rival that of a madman. He was still clad in his Robin suit save only the cape, which he detached and dropped to the cave entrance as soon as he stepped out of the Batmobile. Despite a disappointed tisk from Bruce, the black cape remained in a crumpled heap by the passenger door, where it would stay for the few remaining hours of the night. Patrol with his father was boring that particular evening, giving Damian ample energy to waste arguing with Jason now in the cave.

“You are not stronger than me.” It was obvious Jason was trying not to laugh at the absurdity, which only infuriated Damian further.

“I am.” Damian snarled. “My training greatly surpasses yours. No offense, Father,” he added softly and Bruce rolled his eyes from his chair at the computer to the side. He still wore his suit, but his cowl was pushed back to reveal tired eyes scanning the files on the screen before him. “I was trained by my mother, my grandfather, and now my father, in case you have managed to forget. Therefore, I am far superior than you in every aspect. Including physical strength.”

“Funny you should mention your mom, kid-"

“Jason!” Bruce snapped and turned in his chair to glare warning daggers at his second child.

“I was just going to say, I was also trained by his mother,” Jason hissed back, but he couldn’t hide his obvious amusement. “And you, for that matter.”

“Your time with the League was more considered babysitting, Todd, since your brain was equivalent to a scrambled egg.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, rubbing at his temples with his pointed fingers and turning back to the computer screen.

“You’re insane,” Jason chuckled passively, and he thought Damian was going to screech like a pterodactyl at the dismissal.

Tim entered the cave from the main staircase digging the palm of his hand into his eyelid and chewing loudly on the tip of an empty plastic Go-Gurt tube. Bruce looked him up and down, taking in his pajama shirt and boxers with a frown. His hair stuck up in several directions, like his head had met a pillow for a short time before he got up again.

“What are you doing down here, ziskayt? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Bruce asked, voice low with a specific kindness he reserved just for his family.

Tim should have been in bed. He and Bruce made an agreement that Tim would stay in bed tonight and sleep before they worked intently together on a fast-approaching case the following day and evening.

Tim perked up with sudden intensity and approached Bruce with fast footfalls while ripping the yogurt tube from his teeth. His cheeks were only slightly pinkened at the endearment Bruce called him, as it was one his grandmother used when he was very young. “Well, hang on a sec, B. I actually had to come down here and inform you of a break through I found in our case. Check this...” he unfolded the stapled packet of papers previously tucked securely under one arm, and he smoothed it out over the table in front of Bruce. The man listened silently while Tim quickly explained his findings, leaning over the table and occasionally pushing the bangs back from his heavy eyes. Tim’s hair was longer now than it had been when he first became Robin at thirteen, to the point that he sometimes pulled it up into a runt of a ponytail just to keep it from cutting irritatingly into his eyes.

“Very impressive,” Bruce murmured after the presentation, picking up the packet for himself and flipping through the discoveries. Tim beamed and hopped up onto the computer desk, sitting down next to the monitor and facing Bruce. He returned the plastic to his mouth and chewed aimlessly, watching Bruce for his next instructions and kicking his legs lightly. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Jason speak next.

“I bet you can’t even lift Tim,” Jason planted his hands on his hips and smirked, knowing exactly how this challenge was going to end.

Tim wrinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows. From his perch on Bruce’s desk, he quickly intervened before this developed further.  “No, no. Absolutely not. I am not getting involved in-“

“Too easy. Drake maintains atrocious self-care habits,” Damian interrupted with an eye roll directed toward Jason, acting as though he didn’t hear Tim at all.

Tim frowned at the blatant insult to his person, and lifted his arms up with irritation. “Hey, wait a sec-"

“He’s far thinner than he should be. That’s way too easy. Pick something harder,” Damian demanded, pointing an aggressive finger at Jason and nearly growling.

Tim scoffed and muttered, chewing furiously on the plastic, “Bruce, your kid is out of control. You should consider muzzling the mashuganas whelp.”

“Timothy Jackson-“ Bruce reprimanded and reached up to yank the Go-gurt tube from Tim’s mouth. The plastic ripped from his lips with a pop and left behind a surprised O-shaped mouth in its wake. Bruce crumbled the garbage and tossed it into the trash can tucked beneath the desk.

“He started it, didn’t you hear what he said about me?” Tim asked in bewilderment, still spinning after receiving the dreaded middle name.

“I did hear him. And shouldn’t you be in bed now?” Bruce repeated his earlier question with an eyebrow ticked in curiosity.

Tim wrinkled his nose. “I will. But I was hungry and also I had to tell you about this case first, and-" Bruce leveled a warning look at him and Tim rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. “Point stands, he is being a mashuganas whelp.”

“Drake, you should learn to keep your opinions to yourself and save us all the wasted time of listening to you speak,” Damian snapped in defense, fists clutches firmly at his sides.

Tim laughed loud and harsh at that, a sound that felt grating in Bruce’s ears with the onset of a headache. “I should keep my opinions to myself? Have you even heard-“

“Boys, that’s enough,” Bruce demanded, voice low and holding up a hand to cease all arguing. The only sounds resonating in the dimly lit cave were the quiet snickers of Jason, muffled by his own hand pressed firmly to his mouth. “I am going upstairs now.” He faced Damian with a serious eyebrow raised and stated factually. “You have school in the morning. And you,” he faced Tim, who was silently chewing on the inside of his cheek in the absence of his Go-gurt tube, “will be staying home from school tomorrow because you obviously have several hours of sleep to catch up on yourself." When Bruce found out that Tim had dropped out of school during his unfortunate leave of absence, it took him nearly an entire month of near-begging and vague threatening to get Tim to go back. Once Alfred got involved and asked Tim in the kindest, softest voice if he would please consider finishing high school, Tim was unable to refuse. "I expect to hear both of you upstairs and walking into your rooms within the next fifteen minutes.” He stood up from his chair and walked toward the cave entrance with long strides. “You do not want me to come back down here and collect you, trust me.” And without another word or a look back at the stunned faces left in his wake, he strode into the locker room to change, and then reappeared just to walk up the stairs.

But Jason wasn’t quite finished yet. “I can pick up Tim, Damian. Prove to me that you can and I’ll admit that your training was ‘far superior.’” He crossed his arms with a smirk, and Damian could no longer deny the thrilling desire to annihilate his brother in this argument.

“And that I am stronger than you,” Damian demanded and Jason agreed. “Fine then!” He threw his arms up and spun toward Tim, who scowled deeply and shook his head in response. “Oh come on, Drake. This will only take a minute. Might as well make your time down in the cave useful, for once.”

Tim scoffed and slid off the counter. He flipped his middle finger up in an insult directed toward Damian and stalked off toward the cave exit, following Bruce’s path to the main part of the house. Before he reached the stairs, Jason appeared next to him, grinning hugely like a villainous cartoon cat and wrapping a halting hand around Tim’s wrist.

“No, Jay. Stop it!” Tim hissed and tried to pull away, but Jason ducked down and scooped him up, holding him tightly in a bridal hold. “He can’t carry me, this is a waste of time.”

“Lies!” Damian protested.

Jason ignored Tim and approached the youngest. “You have to hold him for thirty whole seconds. Count starts as soon as I let go. Ready?”

Damian straightened and raised his chin, nodding with confirmation and reaching his arms out in preparation.

“Jason.” The last-second plea fell on deaf ears as Jason bent forward and delivered him into Damian’s arms. The transfer was shaky and Tim grasped at the collar of Damian’s robin suit, wishing to drag the brat down to the floor with him when he would inevitably end up there.

Jason stepped back and waited, smirking.

Tim realized with an eye roll just how annoyingly close to the ground he was in the arms of the child, but his grip didn’t loosen based on principle. Damian was huffing quietly, redness tinted his cheeks.

“See, Todd?” He hissed through teeth clenched tight with effort. “Easy.”

“Sure, bud,” Jason snickered. “You make this look so easy. Twenty seconds left.”

“This is a bad idea,” Tim muttered as he felt Damian’s legs shake beneath his carrier.

“Fifteen,” Jason announced, watching with raised eyebrows that Damian misread as surprise, when instead he was waiting for the expected result. “Ten.”

Tim grimaced, bracing himself for a hard landing. At Jason’s announcement of five seconds, and right on his expected schedule, Damian’s legs buckled and he fell forward, dropping Tim to the ground and landing with his sharp knees digging ruthlessly into his brother’s side.

Tim huffed and slapped his palms to the cold ground beneath him. “Shocker,” he murmured sarcastically and stood up, pushing Damian off of him in the process.

“That landing was pathetic, Drake. No wonder Grayson chose me,” the kid growled, wiping at the suit covering his knees.

Tim’s mouth fell open in response, a hurt crease created between his furrowed brows. But before he could respond, Jason reached out and lightly smacked the back of Damian’s head, sending him a furious warning look.

“The brat is only joking, Tim,” Jason confirmed quickly. “He’s just lashing out because he’s angry that he is the weakest person in the room.”

“The room? Absolutely not, I demand a do-over! I know I’m stronger than Drake.”

Half an hour after Bruce’s departure from the cave, he groaned dramatically under his covers. He never heard his children walk past his door and retreat to their own bedrooms. So now, due to his thin-veiled threat, he had to go get them. He threw the covers aside and heaved himself from the mattress with a grumble. Upon walking down the cold steps to the cave, he heard loud shouts that he was unable to decipher. His feet quickened on the tile until he reached the bottom, where he froze and watched with an irritated, and slightly amused, frown.

“Damian, lift more!” Tim shouted, his arms tucked under Jason’s armpits, and straining to lift his top half to Tim’s bellybutton. Damian held Jason’s calves on his shoulders and was groaning near-constant.

“Focus on your own side!” Damian cried out, more desperate than Bruce has heard from him. Damian pushed his palms up against Jason’s calves but they hardly lifted.

“Ha!” Jason crooned, sounding comically relaxed compared to his struggling brothers. “Told ya you two couldn’t lift me above your heads. My weak, baby brothers.”

Damian growled at the taunt and Tim laughed, his shaking arms dropping Jason’s top half an inch closer toward the ground before he recovered again.

“Boys!” Bruce snapped and looked at their frozen forms with narrowed eyes. “I told you to go to bed. Come up here right now before I carry all three of you up.”

They gracelessly released Jason to the floor, who landed with an “oof” that brought a chuckle to Damian’s throat and a twitch to the corner of Bruce’s mouth.

Tim and Damian fell in line to follow Bruce up the stairs when Damian asked, “Father, can you really carry all three of us at once?”

He did.

:) From my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32502511/chapters/80612944#workskin

#tim drake #damian wayne #jason todd #red hood #robin #red robin #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #dcu #batman and robin #dc #Batfamily Fanfic #batfamily #batfam fic #batfam

[princeescaluswords]

*enter scene; a fancy hat sits on the stage of a university lecture hall, when suddenly, it rises with me wearing it as I emerge from the floor. "Hello, welcome to my TED talk on Fandom Logic"* Gosh, Stiles is so gosh darn stubborn for not bowing to Derek and recognizing his sovereignty. Surely, a prodigy sleuth who helps his dad solve cases could've figured out Derek's family's sacred, ancient link to the territory. He literally complained about playing "Robin" aka sidekick. He thought it a good idea to trigger a survivor handcuffed in a police cruiser by bombarding him with blunt questions, asking invasive questions about his dead sister.

You see, you've come across something very profound, even as you were being funny. It's another aspect of fandom racism.

Even in the earlier seasons, before Scott became Alpha, there was one clear thing that fandom had foremost in their mind -- Scott had certain things he had to achieve before he could be considered worthy of being liked or even being tolerated, and those things were absolutely about how he treated the adult white men in his life. They watched as the show repeatedly outlined how Scott was pursued, manipulated, and confounded. How the Hales took his submission to them as their Lycaon-born right, how the Argents treated him as a dangerous animal at worst and an annoying animal at best, how Deucalion saw him as a prize to be added to his collection, and consistently -- as one recent commentator on Tumblr pointed out so effectively -- expected Scott to react to this behavior in a coolly logical and completely selfless manner for anyone to even consider granting him protagonist status.

And Stiles? Stiles just had to show up for them to think that he was worthy of veneration.

I mean I always talk about how Scott earned his heroic status in the first seasons by not giving into the urge for violence unless he felt he had no other choice, for valuing others outside his own social circle, and for refusing to bow to intimidation and manipulation. That is the story of Teen Wolf and how Scott was the lead protagonist, because he could have done all these things. Even as a teenage boy, he had the opportunity to hurt those who hurt him, the opportunity to ignore anything but his own significant problems, and the opportunity to choose a side to make his decisions easier. And he didn't do any of those things.

But he did do some things that maybe he shouldn't have. He did choose to value certain things that maybe in the long run, didn't have any value but anyone but himself. He did lie to his mother and to Allison, neither of whom deserved it. It's arguable whether he didn't balance the long-term consequences of some of his principles. On the other hand, he wasn't the leader of a counter-terrorism unit, he wasn't the CEO of a fortune five hundred company, and he wasn't the leader of the werewolf resistance.

He was an asthmatic sophomore who played lacrosse and worked in an animal clinic after school. And yet, parts of the fandom reject the very idea that he's the heroic protagonist because he made decisions like a sixteen-year-old who didn't want to give up his life for someone else's ancient grudge.

On the other hand, they celebrate certain decisions Stiles made -- which are also completely in line as a sixteen-year-old boy -- as if that makes him the most relatable human being on the planet.

Stiles literally feels left behind and useless because while his best friend was constantly threatened with death; was shot, stabbed, slashed, and poisoned; and was forced to make decisions that affected not only his life but the lives of others on a daily basis; Stiles didn't get superpowers ,too, yet the fandom has literally no problems with this at all, because, as someone observed to me, Stiles's behavior is standard for a sixteen-year-old boy. In fact, parts of the fandom literally use Stiles's frustration with Scott not using his transformation to make Stiles's life better as evidence that Scott is a Bad Friend.

Do you see the problem here? Stiles has exactly ZERO expectations placed on him by the fandom. He can lie to his best friend and his father, torture his best friend, scheme to get someone killed, and allow himself to be coerced by a violent alpha, and that's just so understandable for someone in his position.

Scott has to give up lacrosse, his girlfriend, and freedom to serve the needs of a man who tried to mind-control him to kill a guy or another man who broke into his house, assaulted him and threatened to kill him, or he's a selfish prick.

As I've been on Tumblr and listened to minority fans talk about the burdens of fandom, it's become obvious to the casual observer that they're absolutely right. White characters become popular by existing; they're allowed to be children or human or flawed and still be celebrated. Minority characters must be perfect but not too perfect, must be self-sacrificing but never demand anything, and above all must never have age-appropriate desires that inconvenience shitty white serial killers in any way.

BUT IT'S NOT RACISM.

#scott mccall #scott mccall defense squad #anti stiles stans #fandom racism #teen wolf fandom racism

[taizi]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

#

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

#

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

#

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

#

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

#

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.  

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen ning #wen qing #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #it was only a matter of time fellas #the ship sways

[caseoftheblues]

i will fight you on this but jason can definitely play guitar. fuck you.

he has an old acoustic that his mom used to play before the drugs, and it's one of his only keepsakes from her. he takes it with him everywhere. he also has a shiny electric that bruce bought him a year after arriving at the wayne household that jason now refuses to play because the sheer principle of the thing.

(he totally plays it all the time, and bruce totally knows. he sounds wonderful.)

so he writes songs sometimes, sue him! its, dare he say it, therapeutic. and kinda fun. (not that he's willing to admit it.)

and then there's damian, who's an absolute god on the violin and piano. they're seriously so good. dick totally cries when they win a competition or two at school.

and they've been trying to get along better with their brothers, even if they're total assholes sometimes. (damian's an asshole back, they suppose, so it all evens out.) so when damian hears jason playing guitar in one of the manors libraries, they quickly grab their violin and join in.

it's quiet at first, and damian's pretty sure that this song is one that jason wrote, so they kinda nightwing it, but it works, surprisingly. and then duke passes by, and starts making a simple beat on the table, and- beatboxing? some a capella thing that damian doesn't know the name of and- holy shit. they all sound good.

and as the music slowly peters out in a harmonious cacaphony, jason says we should start a band, only half joking, when damian-

"that is not the worst idea you've ever had, todd."

and if damian shows interest in something, no matter how well (not) they cover it up, well. you have to do it.

jason sighs. "you in, goldie?"

"sure, why not," duke shrugs. "making music with you guys isn't the worst thing that i could do."

and if duke's agreeing? jason's really in for it now.

and so they make a small album, maybe five, ten songs, under the band name-

("we are not calling it the dead robin's club, todd. one, it is way two obvious, and two-"

"i haven't even died yet!"

"thomas hasn't even died. plus, brown would be upset, and her singing voice is atrocious. you know how she gets."

"fine, jesus! what do you want to call it, then, demon spawn?"

"we-"

"war on songbirds?")

-war on songbirds, as decided by duke. (they call the album robin war, in refrence to when they really got to know eachother. and they totally have a song called the dead robins club. it was too good to pass up.)

it's an eclectic mix for sure, a strange combination of classical, pop punk and something not unlike rap, but it's pretty good. they alternate who sings the songs, based on who wrote them or feels the most kinship with it.

(damian writes/sings songs based in fiction, as their emotional outlet is art. they have only one song that they sing on the album, which is a beautiful classical folksy song about a bird committing arson. it's weird, and beautiful, and so fucking damian that jason and duke laugh good heartedly when they hear it. it's a wonderful, if morbid, song. they also drew the album cover with duke, which is a beautiful mix of hyperrealism and street art, perfectly reflecting the theme of the album.)

(duke is a mix of the two. his songs are more punkish rap, based heavily on his parents; accepting their death and still loving them as well as the other family he was blessed with. he wrote and sang two of the songs, the other being a wonderful piece about found family, as well as the album cover i mentioned above. his songs are favorites of orphans and other like people struggling to love their parents and not let that undermine the people who are helping them.)

(jason, predictably, went the pop punk/rock route. his songs are heavy, but have a strangely- almost peppy melody, reflecting the masks he wore. the lyrics are based on all the trials he went through. there is emphasis on betryal, trust issues, and manipulation so subtle you don't know it's happening until you're too far gone. (this is of course about talia and his time with the league) that song is a particular favorite of harley quinn. there's also a happy song about reconciliation with family, which he loves.)

but let's be honest for a second. they didn't expect it go go anywhere. they didn't expect it to get famous. it was such a weird and unprecedented style with heavy, morbid lyrics and they didn't think anyone would like it.

but of course, this is gotham. it would be an understatement to say that it caught on.

it exploded.

but the absolute the worst thing about this whole business? (that isn't to say that they weren't excited that they got popular. they were. it's nice to have people validate your trauma via song) was their family.

the bats loved it.

how could they not? it's got trauma, found family, dead parents, and a little bit of morbid fun to distract from it all. just like them. even bruce listened to it, and he hardly ever likes music.

it was mortifying. if they were found out? they would never live it down. thankfully, no one seemed to notice, despite the lyrics being fairly obvious to those in-the-know. ("greatest detectives my ass.")

but they didn't think about cass. no one did, in these situations. until, of course, it was too late.

#I FUCKING KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN. I FUCKING KNEW IT #i was going to go to bed early but now it's almost eleven. shit #also featuring my non binary damian wayne agenda #cass doesn't tell the family because she thinks it's hilarious #all she asks in return is they let her write a song or two for them #they are also based in fiction like damians #they are very beautiful and well thought out #everyone loves them #does the batfam ever find out? thats for you to decide #batfam #dc #jason todd #damian wayne #duke thomas #dc fic #batfam fic #batfam headcanons #jason todd headcanon #duke thomas headcanon #damian wayne headcanon #non binary damian wayne #robin #red hood #the signal #apocryphal gospel #im pretty sure thats my writing tag

[warpriest-writings]

Red eyes on Grandmother's grave. 

    Sticks broke under her feet, running as fast and hard as she could but it felt like running through jelly, her feet caked in heavy mud. 

“Someone! Help me!!! Please!” She cried out but couldn’t hear her own voice.

Before her was the pair of sharp, red eyes out in the middle distance. She couldn’t make out a face; she wasn’t even sure if the eyes were attached to anythin, just floating there, haunting her. Those hungry, starved eyes that wanted to devour her. The eyes just hung there as she sat there frozen. 

“What do you want!?” she screamed out, but again her words came out silent. 

The sharp, red eyes narrowed, then rushed towards her as a hand reached out at her.

With a difficult, almost pained, inhalation of breath, Patsy woke with a startled jump, accidently knocking her kitty out of bed.

She gasped, “Bean! Come here. Mweh, mweh.” She made kissy noises to her large Maine Coon. Rubbing her fingers together as she did so attempting to soothe Bean and entice her to come back into the bed. Not that Bean needed much convincing; no one in the Desoto household could remember a single night that cat hasn’t slept in Patsy’s bed. By the time she got Bean back in bed and started petting her, Patsy had almost entirely forgotten her nightmare about the...was she running? Regardless, after several minutes of kitty snuggles, she checked her phone, loathing to discover that it was 5:53, merely thirty minutes before her alarm would have gone off anyway.

Of course, she wouldn’t have been lucky enough to wake up from her scary dream at a reasonable 1:17, or even a moderate 3:32. Good, god given times in the early morning a girl could go back to sleep too. Patsy sighed and entered an anxious state of contemplation, debating getting in the shower now and getting that out of her morning routine or laying there, blissfully enjoying the time before she had to get up for real. An absolute miserable time that went on in her head until her alarm went off. Ah, yes, neither productive nor relaxing. Thank you, Anxiety.

Getting out of bed with a less than encouraging groan, Patsy began her morning routine. Feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted by 6:45 AM, Patsy walked briskly down the stairs while putting her long and bouncy kinky hair into a ponytail.

“Morning, Mom!” 

Her mom, Elana, looked back at her as some toast popped out of the toaster, “Hey, Sweetheart!”

Joseph, her dad, poured two cups of coffee before handing one to his wife as she handed him the plate of now buttered toast. “Hey, Pats. Finished your homework last night?” Giving Elana a quick kiss.

“Course, Dad,” she said, silently beaming that her parents were still happily married after nearly sixteen years; it was more than could be said about several of her friends at school.

Her mother was the manager at a local small diner, it was a nice little place, near enough to her school that Patsy would usually walk there at the end of the day and hang out with her friends or finish her homework before her mom’s shift ended at six when the night manager came in. Her father worked from home, and studied. Technically, he was still a student at the University of Illinois, but he worked a lot of sub contracted programming and coding jobs on the side. Once she asked him why he was still in college and his reply was, “Sometimes people are just...nervous about getting out there, and sometimes you just so happen to be very good at filling out grant applications. Your momma has a steady job that takes care of us, and my work on the side makes sure we stay in the green.” 

“Need a ride to school today, Pats?” her dad said, snapping Patsy out of it.

“I’m good; I kinda want some time to just think,” she told him.

“It’d be nothing, it’s getting colder out and I love driving my babygirl to-”

“Joseph,” her mother interrupted.

He backed down, “Alright, alright. Letting Pats be all independent.” 

“Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll have breakfast at school today, I’m going to get going,” Patsy said.

Joseph began reaching into his pocket, “Need money?”

“I’m good, I still have twenty from helping out at the diner.”

“Now hold on, that’s your money. It’s our job to feed you,” he said, and offered her a five, “Take it, and make sure you grab an apple or an orange or something those school food scientist freaks can’t turn into half-baked prison sloop."

Patsy nodded, “Okay, okay.” She took the money, then gave her dad a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “Love you, mom. Love you, dad.” Then grabbed her backpack from a kitchen table chair and made her way to the door, only partially catching what her dad was saying about Patsy being braver than he was for voluntarily eating school food.

From her house it was roughly a twenty-minute walk to school. Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity for a quick ride to school, but her mind was still preoccupied by that dream. Most of it was lost, faded just beyond her consciousness’s reach. Those red eyes; Patsy could still see them crystal clearly in her mind. She could almost feel them on her back now. Patsy shuttered at the thought.

As she walked she barely heard the wizzing of bike tires until they were right behind her, lost in her thoughts Patsy made a sound reminiscent of an “Eek!” and jumped off to the grass beside the sidewalk. The biker slowed to a stop, “Miss. Pascala, are you alright?”

He knew her name? Patsy looked at the biker, as she had been largely looking at her moving feet up until that point and the fact that from her perspective the biker was right in front of the morning sun, she had to squint and couldn’t really make out his face, “Uh, yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Hmm?” he took off his helmet, revealing quite the head of curly locks, “Miss. Pascala, a little out of it this morning?”

As her eyes adjusted she suddenly realized, “OH! Mr. Morales, sorry. It was all sunny, and I was kinda lost in my thoughts, and I’ll just stop talking now.”

Her history teacher looked at her with a bit of a raised eyebrow, “I shall see you in the third period, Miss. Pascala, have a pleasant walk. Homework is due by the end of class.” He awkwardly coughed and rode off, quickly moving into the bicycle lane of the road.

Sometime later, after what is by all rights and definitions a poor excuse of a breakfast that would send Mr. DeSoto into a rambling state of disbelief that this was the best that taxpayer money could do for feeding America’s youth, as well as Patsy’s first hour math class (math first period of the day, she was convinced that the school gods hated her) and her second period economics class where they learned..something, Patsy was sure of that. She remembers taking notes and everything. There was a presentation with slides and everything, so they must have learned something...So after econ was her history class with Mr. Morales.

She liked Mr. Morales, more than her math teacher that’s for sure. “Math is the language of the universe.” She was taking English and French and frankly didn’t feel like she had time for a third language course. Mr. Morales was different, he got swept away with the subject sometimes and seemed to have a real love for it.

“We can learn much from history, but the people who made it weren’t trying to teach morals, and they weren’t thinking about just how important that what they were doing took place in 1776, or during the first or second half of the twelfth century. The past is made up of the actions of people who were concerned with living their lives, and if what they were doing was the right thing to do, or the right thing for them.” Mr. Morales said on the first day of school. He was also just a bit odd. His thick curly hair, a trait he described as indicative of his strong greek heritage, was peppered ever so slightly. Otherwise he held onto his youth remarkably well. looking closer to mid twenties rather than late thirties.

After the class ended, Patsy went up to her teacher, “Uh, Sir, excuse me.”

Mr. Morales looked up from his tablet from which he often powered through novels, “Hmm, yes, Miss. Pascala?”

“I was just going over that pop quiz you handed back today and I would have gotten one hundred percent if you didn’t mark my answer for question two wrong.” She said,

He set his tablet down, “That is usually how people do not get full marks. Allow me to double check that.” He held his hand open.

Patsy handed him the paper, “You see, I’m certain the correct answer is B and I’d like to get full credit.”

“Third century B.C. Yes, you are correct. I’ll be sure to update the gradebook and parent portal to reflect this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss. Pascala, I imagine I marked everyone else who answered as you did as incorrect as well.”

He handed her back the quiz after remarking her score and immediately wrote a note he then stuck to his computer monitor.

She excused herself and left with a bright smile, making her way to her next class, and then on and so forth with her day. As she was heading towards her computer typing class after lunch (which was not notably better than the breakfast, it is a wonder that these children survive long enough to eat microwaved ramen in college dorms.) She accidentally bumped into the Principle as she was turning a corner.

“Ooft!” She said, feeling like she walked into a lumpy brick wall.

Principal Robertson cleared his throat and looked down his nose at the young lady, “It is not becoming to run down the hails and blindly around corners.”

He had been the principal at her school for well over fifteen years now, and he seemed to live for it. Participating in school spirit events and playing along with the dress up days, at least he did last year. No one wanted to really mention it but over the summer he lost a lot of weight and his skin got paler...greyer was almost more accurate. Hushed rumors said he was diagnosed with some cancer or another but refused to stop working while on chemo and Patsy wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Looking down at her now she wasn’t feeling very comfortable.

“I, uh, I really need to get to class.” Patsy said

The sickly Principal sighed a heavy breath, “Just slow down.”

“Right, of course. Thank you Mr. I mean, Principal Robertson.” With that she took off, carefully walking not-to-quickly.

Passing around the next corner and with her computer lab in sight Patsy let out her own sigh of relief. The bell ringing just steps away, “Whyyyyyyy?” Patsy said in a hushed, exasperated tone.

She quickly rushed into the room and to her seat, hoping maybe she wouldn’t be marked late. The class lesson began and she got to work with her typing program. 

“Hey, Patsy,” Her friend Abby said, “Think your mom would give me a ride home after her shift at the dinner?”

“Course, Abbs.” She replied, “You getting anywhere with these?”

“Not really, my hands know the keyboard but my words per minute is garbage.” Abby said.

“My words per minute is fine, but I have to force myself to type the way that we’re supposed to. It doesn’t help that at home I always just type with my pointer and middle fingers.”

“You type a lot at home?” She asked, “Are you writing something?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, “No! of course not...I just look up a lot of random stuff when I’m bored.” She must never know.

Abby raised an eyebrow, “Mhm, right.” 

Over the intercom the school receptionist called out, “Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office, Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office.

Abby winced, and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

She tried to return it, her thoughts were racing. Surely she wasn’t being called down to the Office for accidentally bumping into the Principal in the hallway was she? Why wouldn’t he just take her there right after she did it then? Maybe it wasn’t about anything she did at all. Oh God...what if her dad accidentally started another grease fire trying to make home fries? What if Mom got into an accident on her way to the dinner? Her mind was a beehive that someone just punted halfway across a football field. 

The receptionist must have noticed the worry on her face and gave her a very sweet smile, “Don’t worry about it too much, Sweetie. Just keep your chin up and remember none of this will matter in ten years.” Reassuring words, either her parents were fine or she was just as unsure why she called down Patsy as she was herself.

Bracing herself mentally, Patsy opened the door and pushed it to the magnetic door stopper that held it open.

“Closer the door behind you, Miss. DeSoto.” Principal Robertson said.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip, she wasn’t sure why she was feeling so destressed over this. She hadn’t done anything as far as she could remember or mentally justify. She closed the door, getting a last glimpse of Mrs. O'Riley, the nice receptionist.

Run! Every nerve in her body screamed out but she moved forward to sit in the chair opposite Principal Robertson at his desk anyway. He spoke up; she only saw his lips move, the words not landing correctly in her ears.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Could you say that again?” She asked.

His brow furrowed, “I do not care for repeating myself, Miss. Desoto.”

She sank in the chair. “Sorry.”

“And do not mumble. Speak clearly or not at all!” 

Patsy sat back up in her seat in shock, “Principal Robertson, I don’t think you’re allowed to speak to me like that.”

“Do not speak back to me, you’re the one in trouble here.” He said venomously.

Trembling she stood up, “I need to go.”

He got up as well, “I think not, DeSoto. You’ve been hiding really well, tricked everyone but not me.” He licked his upper lip.

A full body chill ran through her entire being and oddly, in retrospect she felt, Patsy really wanted her kitty Bean there. She said, “Principal Robertson, you can’t be serious right now!? Think….think about your wife!”

Robertson frowned hideously, “That bint isn’t important.” He smiled, which was so much more disturbing to the young lady, “not like you, DeSoto, you have been worth all of my effort and patience.”

He reached out for her when the door opened, “Principal Robertson,” called out an all too reassuring voice, “I was wondering if you had the chance to look over those field trip papers I….” His hand less than two inches away from her, Patsy’s whole body was trembling but she couldn’t make her legs run.

Mr. Morales stood in the open doorway, his eyes moving quickly from Patsy to Robertson. “Miss. Pascala, behind me.” He said putting himself between them.

The Principal scowled in frustration, “I’m not entirely sure what you think you are doing, Linus. You are acting like I am some sort of threat to the girl.”

“This doesn’t look good, James.” Mr. Morales replied.

Robertson scowled deeper, and Patsy in that moment of fear and confusion thought his scowl pulled unnaturally at his skin. 

Mr. Morales raised his hands defensively, “What are you?” Striking a serious tone with his voice that she had never heard from her history teacher before. It was a cold voice that set her skin on edge almost as much as Principal Robertson had.

Before her eyes the late fifties Principal of clear declining health grabbed Mr. Morales  and threw him against a glass case containing various trophies for academic and sports accomplishments. Patsy left out a loud scream and Mrs. O’Riley’s own scream wasn’t far behind. 

Later the police officers that responded to the Receptionist's call would ask Patsy what happened next, and she told them the truth. It all happened so fast she wasn’t sure what exactly happened. Mr. Morales, who had bruised ribs, and some cuts from the glass but was thankfully otherwise alright, shouted something that didn’t make sense to her at Robertson and the Principal ran off. She didn’t get to hear what Mr. Morales told them but they questioned him for a good long while. 

School was cancelled early and parents were furiously calling the school board and the district for answers. There was a warrant issued for Robertson, and some people were threatening to pull their kids altogether. No one wants their kids to go to the school where the principal threatened a fifteen year old girl and assaulted a teacher. 

Superintendent Wilkens sent a parent portal wide email that a warrant was formally filed against Mr. Robertson and the police had opened an investigation. In addition to Resource Officer Thomas three more Iron county police officers would be stationed at the school for security and rest assured that school would be open again Friday.

“No, no...this is ridiculous. My daughter was threatened by that man.” Patsy’s dad said to the Superintendent’s secretary. “Don’t put me on hold! ….Yes, I believe that you do have another call coming in. I….” he sighed heavily, and tossed his cellphone into the living room sofa.

“Sweetheart.” Elana said, putting her hands tenderly on Joseph’s shoulders.

“We worked with that man in the ice cream socal last year, Laney.”

Just out of their sight, sitting against the hallway wall Patsy hugged Bean. Now more than ever the tridactyl kitty gave her some comfort. She kept replaying it over in her mind, Robertson’s face looked so...uncanny valley. Elana had tried to reassure her that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wanting to think that he was somehow less than human because of how he was acting. 

Her phone buzzed, touching the wall it tapped rapidly and loudly and Patsy reactively tried to grab it before her parents noticed.

“Pats? Babygirl, I thought you were laying down.” Her dad said, walking over to her, flipping the hallway light on. “Well, I thought you were scrolling through your phone, pretending to be laying down.”

She gave Bean a little squeeze like when she was littler, “I tried, but I couldn’t take a nap.”

“It’s okay, Pats. How'bout I make up some of my famous root beer floats?”

She slowly nodded, “That would be good.”

“Come on, Patsy.” Elana said, “We can sit at the table while your father makes us a feel better treat.” 

She got up and walked over to the kitchen table, Bean closely trailing her like always. “Hey, think I could maybe sleep in your guys' bed tonight?”

Elana quickly glanced at her husband, the pair of them sharing a whole conversation in a moment.

“Of course, Pats.” Her dad said, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“It’ll be like when you crawled in my bed when you were little after a nightmare woke you up.” Elana said.

Her father was scooping ice cream into three tall milkshake glasses as Patsy pulled Elana into a hug, “Thank you for being my mom.” she said softly.

Elana returned the hug, remembering the first time Patsy told that to her and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She was Pascala's mom, there wasn’t any doubt of that. She didn’t give birth to Patsy though. Her birth mom and Joseph’s first wife passed away when she was less than six months old, an oncoming driver didn’t stop at the red light as she was going through the intersection on her way home from work. Elana was her birth mother’s best friend and Patsy’s godmother. After the funeral she just kept helping Joseph out with Patsy, eventually moving in with them. Joseph and Elana married when she was seven, but she had really always been her mom.

As frustrated as he was with the situation, Joseph did his best to cool down and help Patsy feel better, telling his corny dad jokes he spent hours and hours looking up at his computer desk. 

He spent almost a half hour that night checking and double checking that every door and window was locked that night, as well as making sure their security system was armed. Unlike Patsy, who almost couldn’t sleep without Bean snuggled next to her, Elana found the heavy cat overly warm but she gritted her teeth through it for Patsy’s sake.

The next morning, Thursday, the day after her high school Principal threatened her, assaulted a teacher and just disappeared. She woke up to the smell of her dad making eggs, over cooking them. Elana always made them a little runny. Everything seemed to run by a little slowly. Like she had been jerked out of a deep daydream and couldn’t pull herself entirely out of her own head.

Around noon she and her mom were watching a cartoon as Joseph entered the room on the phone, “I see, well, thank you, Linus. Yes? I’ll ask her now, we were planning on going to the diner for lunch anyway.” He pulled the phone slightly away from his face and turned to the pair on the sofa, “Pats, Mr. Morales is out of the hospital. He asked if it would be alright if he met us at the diner today.”

She let out a huge sigh of relief hearing he was out, that meant he was okay, “Yeah, that sounds good!”

Joseph put the phone back to his face, “She’s okay with it. We’ll see you there at one. Yep, bye, it was good hearing from you too. And...thank you, Linus.” he hung up and put his phone into his pocket. “He said the superintendent pushed the school’s opening back to Monday, I guess we angry few can make a difference.”  

Elana pulled her legs onto the sofa and sat cross legged, turning towards him, “That’s great! I think that’s what WIlken’s should have done from the start, but hey. So we’ll be eating with Patsy’s english teacher?”

“History teacher.” Patsy said, correcting her.

“Linus is also one of my work associates, but yes. He just wants to check in with Pats.”

She nodded, “Alright, I’m going to take a quick shower before we go.” 

She gave Joseph a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the room, her husband replacing her spot on the sofa.

Patsy gave her dad a big hug. “So Mr. Morales is alright?”

“Some cuts and bruises but he sounded alright, he didn’t talk about himself much.” Joseph said.

Before long they were sitting down as Margret, one of the servers at the diner, was bringing over a pot of coffee for Joseph and Elana and a Shirley temple for Patsy. “Hey, Patsy.” the retirement age waitress said, “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m okay, Margret.” She said, putting on a cheerful voice.

“That’s the spirit, I’ll be sure to bring you over the biggest slice of cake.” She said

“Yay cake!”

Elana laughed a little, “We’re going to wait to order, Margie. We’re waiting on another person.”

The older waitress nodded her head slightly, “Sounds good, Laney. I’ll be back in two shakes with your refreshments.” With that she was off to serve some of the other customers, or guests as corporate would like they be referred to.

The three of them chatted while they waited for Mr. Morales, while they did Patsy’s thoughts drifted to the bizarre notion that when you see someone you only ever see at school, or school related events that when you see them out and about in everyday life the person is suddenly almost unrecognizable. Like in those children sitcom shows where someone says “Wait, you mean teachers don’t live at school??” or something else mildly insulting to the audience about their perceived intelligence. Still, Patsy wondered if it was going to be super weird seeing Mr. Morales not just outside of school, but on purpose outside of school. He normally dressed in clean but not ironed dress pants and some sort of long sleeved shirt, either a button up or a sweater; would he be wearing a rock and roll band t shirt and shorts? What if he wears his curly hair in a manbun outside of work? The horror.

It was almost a disappointment when Mr. Morales showed up in tan dress pants and a blue sweater, as well as a sling that held his left arm, some bandaging on his cheek with some purplish bruising around its edges.

“Linus,” her dad said, “Glad you could make it.”

“We’re both just so grateful for what you did yesterday.” Elana said as her husband scooted further into the booth, making room for him.

“Oh, I only did what any good samaritan should have in the situation.” Mr. Morales said, sitting down. “Ah!” He smiled at the pot of coffee sitting on the table, “May I? I’m afraid I skipped my usual morning cup...come to think of it, skipped most of my usual morning routine today.” 

“Go ahead, refills are free.” Patsy said.

“Are they?” He asked with a smile, awkwardly pouring himself a hot cup.

Margret returned, prompting her mom to say that they’ll probably need a few minutes for Mr. Morales to decide what he wants.

“Oh, go ahead.” The teacher reassured, “ I know what I want, a short stack of pancakes, and two pieces of bacon on the chewier side.”

“Oh, alright!” Elana said, “Brunch it is then, I guess we’re ready to order. Patsy, you go first.”

Patsy put in her order, a belgian waffle with strawberries and a lemon poppyseed muffin. Her father ordered the same as Mr. Morales, but he wanted his bacon crispy. Elana ordered two sunny side up eggs and some toast to dunk in the yolk. With that Margaret took off again.

“It just seemed so...out of nowhere.” Patsy said, suddenly.

Surprised, Elana reactively gave her a side hug, “No one ever expects these sorts of things to happen, Sweetheart. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“Principal Robertson wasn’t...normal, right?” She asked, addressing her teacher.

Mr. Morales avoided her gaze, looking down into his coffee.

“Pats, Robertson wasn’t the man we thought he was, or he changed or something messed up.” her dad said.

“You saw his face too, right Mr. Morales, you asked him what he was.”

Her parents, worried for Patsy, then looked to the teacher they invited out.

“Miss. Pascala, I don’t know what had gotten into him, or what had become of him. That certainly wasn’t the man I have worked with for over two years now, but rest assured. He wasn’t some abnormality, he was a man, a man who revealed himself to be quite the monster.” Mr. Morales said finally, just as their food arrived.

To her parent’s relief, Patsy dropped the subject. They ate and her dad asked Mr. Morales how she was doing in his class.

“She is an ideal student” he told them, “Attentive, curious, she has a mind for nuance, and seems to genuinely want to understand why people did what they had done in the history lessons.” Which unfortunately made her quite uncomfortable, like she was in a parent-teacher conference all of all of a sudden.

As Patsy began to withdraw into herself, Elana asked her, “So, Patsy, is there anything else you’d like to do in town today before we head home?” She hoped to bring Patsy back to the surface of her own mind.

“Huh?” Patsy asked, she heard what her mom said, but her brain hadn’t really processed it yet. Something it usually would do about a split second after someone repeated what they said to her. “Oh, uh...well I was hoping we could go swing by grandma’s grave?” She stated her request with the inflection of a question. Her grandma wasn’t buried very far from where they lived. However, she knew that her dad always had a hard time going. He stayed in the car when they visited her grave a couple weeks before school started.

Joseph swallowed hard, but nodded, “Of course, babygirl.”

Mr. Morales raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize you had family buried here. I was under the impression that your family moved here from Louisiana.”

“We did, but Joseph is from here originally, we moved back here after his mother got sick.” Elana explained.

Mr. Morales turned his gaze back to his coffee, “I see.” Patsy could see his eyes darting swiftly like he either realized something or was thinking very swiftly. She felt like she could relate. “Miss. Pascala, Joseph, Elana. Please do not take me for overreaching but I’m not sure it is safe for the three of you to go to a location like that right now. If Robertson is following you it would be quite the place for an ambush.”

“Linus, don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.” Joseph said, something of a warning in his voice. 

“No, dad, it’s alright.” Patsy said, “Mr. Morales, do you really think it’s a bad idea to go to the cemetery?”

Mr. Morales looked to Joseph, who wore an expression that clearly said “Be careful how you say things.” He looked back at Patsy, with a small sigh, “I think, perhaps you should at least wait under after school starts up again Monday? Thank you all for this lovely meal, but I think I should be going. This should cover my food.” He swiftly got up and pulled his wallet out and with just his right hand awkwardly pulled out some bills. Leaving forty dollars on the table as he took off.

“I think you scared him.” Elana said simply, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

They ultimately didn’t go to the cemetery, to both the annoyance and relief of her father. In fact they stayed in for the rest of the day. Watching TV, playing a popular kart racing game which Joseph began quite smuggly. Only to lose to his daughter because of an npc driver launching a nuclear option that blasted him back to third place less than half the track away from victory.

Patsy told her parents that she felt comfortable enough to go to bed in her own room that night, and Elana made chicken parm hero sandwiches. All in all the day drifted by quickly after their lunch with the odd Mr. Morales. It was almost 10 at night when she finally told her parents she was going to bed, and they reaffirmed their own tiredness from the day and wouldn’t be up much longer themselves.

Of course, Patsy wasn’t really going to bed.

She stayed up for hours, just to be sure they had actually fallen asleep. Her dad. Patsy disarmed the security system and left the house, heading straight for the cemetery. She had to see her grandmother’s gravestone. Something about how Mr. Morales reacted just didn’t sit right with her. It had to be around 1:20 in the morning now and it was very dark and while it was brisk out during the day her fingers quickly started going numb and she could see her breath.

The ground of the cemetery was hard and bumpy from thawing into wet muddy ground under the sun during the day. Patsy walked through the cemetery at a brisk pace, wanting to get to her grandma's grave and back before her parents could wake up to find out she snuck out of the house...or worse she was taken by Robertson. The made her stomach clench up, and she began regretting this whole idea. There was a rustling in the bushes and she began to sprint, she felt like running home and forgetting all of this but she was painfully aware she was heading right towards the grave.

She came to a quick stop, looking down at the engraved stone. Ellinore DeSoto, 1961 to 2017. She knelt down, tears building in her eyes. Deep down she knew coming here now was a mistake, her grandma wouldn’t want her sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, especially not under the current circumstances.

She sniffled, alright she got to the gravestone and proved exactly nothing. Time to get home as fast as she possibly could and swear off stupid impulsive decsions forever.

The wet smacking of lips that made her skin crawl.

“Pr.principal Robertson?” She tentatively asked, standing up and turning towards the gross sound. Her eyes widened in grotesque terror as she looked at the swollen thing that only scarcely held the appearance of her principal, the purplish grey skin stretched uncomfortably tight as the creature smiled wider than nature as she knew it allowed.

“Pascala Desoto,” It still spoke with Principal Robertson’s voice. “So courteous of you to come to me, now we may continue your...disciplinary measures, young lady.” The creature stuck out it’s purple tongue which extended down past its belly.

Patsy wanted to run, scream, anything, but her legs refused to move. Her body frozen. It walked up closer to her, and it’s foul breath was like a thick miasma that made her lungs clench up and burnt her throat, she couldn’t even tremble in fear.

“Speechless, DeSoto?” It leaned in and inhaled deeply by her hair, it chucked out as it spoke, “Yeeheeehesss. Your flesh will do, your form will do.”

Over the creature’s shoulder Pascala saw another, and the ghoul’s smile turned into a scowl. Apparently it noticed him as well.  It wrapped it’s unnaturally large hands around her, its index finger on her shoulder and its pinky on her waist. Turning to face him it snarled out, “This is my Witch, get your own.”

The man stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight, the beams catching on his glasses, “Let her go, Corpse eater.” He held a revolver in one hand, and an old medieval looking sword in the other. His arm wasn’t in the sling anymore and he didn’t look injured at all.

“Morales, I knew I should have crushed your throat when-”

Her teacher cocked the pistol and aimed it right at his head.

“G...go ahead. I am not something you can kill with a bullet.” The ghoul said smugly.

“In your state it will hurt, it’ll be a whole world of agony.” Morales said, calling the monster’s bluff.

It took a slight step back, balking out a grunt in some fear. “We can split her! I don’t need her blood!”

Patsy’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

“Don’t worry, Miss. Pascala. This thing won’t harm you...and survive.” His voice was cold again, and she couldn’t help but feel an intense fear. Maybe from the slight tremors she felt through the ghoul’s hand, but somehow she knew that this thing that used to be her Principal was terrified.

“I can’t go back to the corpses people bury, they poison them, and every time I feed I whimper in agony for years, only to need to feed again, the cycle is torture! Have mercy!” The ghoul begged.

“You do not want my mercy, Corpse eater. It is at the end of my sword.” He began walking forward.

The ghoul released Patsy and pinched her throat, “Another step and I’ll break her neck!”

Reactively she reached up at the monster’s finger’s “I don’t want to die!” she sobbed, were she in a more clear headed situation she may have realized she can move again.

Mr. Morales paused, scowling back at the hellish beast. 

“That’s right! You...you have a fondness for her, your student, HAH! So long as I have her in my grasp you won’t risk harming her.” The ghoul grinned hideously in it’s little victory.

Her history class teacher inhaled sharply, then said, “If you are going to do something, now would be the time!”

Principal Robertson the ghoul frowned, “What are you playing at?!” 

Out from the bushes a large orange cat ran up much faster than Patsy had ever seen in her life and pounced on the ghoul’s forearm, clawing and tearing at it. The ghoul released her and she dropped, quickly and frantically crawling into an upright sprint several yards away from the monster.

Bean used the ghoul as a springboard and sprinted over to Patsy. The Ghoul was screaming and clutching the wounds the cat had left on it, as Morales lunged forward and with a clean swift strike cleaved the monster’s head from it’s shoulders.

Patsy’s breaths were short, and she pulled Bean into her arms as she tried to calm down. Morales wiped his blade off on the grass before sheathing it and steeping over to his student as he holstered his gun.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Pascala.” He said, “Are you alright?”

“What, what was that!?” She asked, looking at the ghoul’s limp body.

He paused, like he was unsure he could answer, “...Is there any world where you could accept that this was all a bad dream?”

She shook her head, “No, I have nightmares all the time, this is real.” Patsy looked at her teacher and gasped, she tried to step back but only fell backwards. “Those eyes!”

Mr. Morales sighed, and pulled his glasses from his face. His eyes were a hungry deep red. “Please, Miss. Pascala, I mean you no harm. You have my word, my oath as a man who has spent his very long life guiding the minds of the youth, and protecting everyone who I find in need of help.”

She tried to steady her breath, with Bean in her arms she felt much bolder and confident, “Those eyes, I’ve seen them in my nightmares, I trusted you and you’re another one of those things!” She pointed to the ghoul.”

He was taken aback, and gestured at his face, “You’ve seen these eyes in your dreams? Miss. Pascala, I assure you I am not a corpse eater.” He grabbed his lip and pulled it up, revealing a long and sharp fang. “I am a vampire, and amazingly you seemed to have augured my presence in your dreams.”

She stared at the fang with wide, slightly horrified eyes. “...Huh.”

“Huh. That...is a first.” The Vampire said, “I imagine you have questions, and you deserve answers. Especially if you refuse to accept this night was just a bad dream.”

She nodded, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, trust me I’m trying. Still here, next to my vampire history teacher.”

“Very well, Miss. Pascala. This ghoul was hunting you because you are a Sorceress, and whoever gave you that cat was as well. Seeing as how that animal is a Familiar, your Familiar.” He said, “Monday, come to my class after school, and I will tell you more. For now just go home, you’ll be safe there with the cat. I need to clean this up before anyone comes by and finds it.”

It was be a difficult thing to believe that Patsy would just accept things at that, that she would just go home and enjoy her long weekend with her folks, and she could just scratch Bean behind the ear knowing she was some magical protector her Secret Sorceress Grandma had given to her as a little kitten. That she could be nearly eaten and just go back to bed. All that can be agreed upon is that Patsy got out of bed the next morning around 10:30, that she took a shower and had slightly runny scrambled eggs for breakfast. Another thing that can be certain is that Patsy would never doubt what happened, what she saw and what she heard, and that the story of Pascala DeSoto, The Sorceress of Illinois had only begun. 

End Chapter

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#Red Eyes on my Grandmother's grave #wip #paypal

[demonkidpliz]

Things I learned while re-watching Star Plus Mahabharata (Part 19/many):

Kansa’s death scene is A+, 10/10. 

Boy Krishna literally looks like Devaki!

I know where else I have seen Boy Krishna! He plays Pradyumna in Radhakrishna!

Arjun, Bhim and Drupad have no chill and I am here for this rage. Let’s keep this going until the war starts.

It is very sad that in Kalyug a woman has to fend for her own honour when ideally it should be a joint effort by men and women.

The only appropriate reaction to a man attempting to dishonour your wife was shown by Krishna and by Ram before him = decapitation. I will not be hearing arguments against this at this time.

We should not be resorting to war. WELL YOU AND YOUR NEPHEWS SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE THAT GAME OF DICE KAKASHRI VIDUR.

I am here for this Panchali. What did you decide? What did Madhav have to say?

Panchali is against the peace proposal and honestly I am on her side.

Panchali is 100% right. The decision to fight or not is Panchali’s. Not the Pandavas. Because for every action and reaction of men, it is the women and their children who suffer. She is 100/100 right.

At least she has Krishna on her side who has absolutely no qualms in pretending anything other than the fact that he really badly wants this war. This is literally what he was put on earth to do.

In the actual story, Duryodhan offers to put Krishna up in Dushasan’s palace which was allegedly bigger and better than the main palace. And Krishna declines because he wishes to stay in Vidur’s palace but StarBharat fails to show why. It’s because Krishna’s aunt, Kunti, lives with Vidur and I think it is the most natural thing in the world that he would want to stay with his aunt rather than with these random cousins by marriage.

I am sorry sweetie (Krishna) there is no dharm ka phool in Angaraj Karna’s heart. He's a social climber.

Aye hai laddoo Gopal really be here turning all this karela into laddoos.

Nice that they gave some screen time to Vidur’s wife. Now they need to do this 200x with all the female characters.

Krishna is…right? Yudhishthir should have been crowned Yuvraj the moment Pandu died and the Pandavas came to Hastinapur. Dhritarashtra was a placeholder king and his son cannot inherit this throne. It is a different matter altogether that Dhritarashtra was the rightful king and that they should have never crowned Pandu as king. 

Krishna coming at the Kauravas with one banger after another. Their behaviour towards Draupadi cannot be forgiven. And not just Duryodhan, every man in that Sabha was culpable.

Is Duryodhan really going to bind Krishna with those big ass fake looking gold chains? This seems like a bad idea.

Krishna is asking for five villages for the five Pandavas. But Duryodhan has nothing if not his principles.

Karna is sooo annoying. Oh my god, we get it. You would give your life for your rich pals.

At least Bhishma, Vidur and Dronacharya are showing some good sense now. Long overdue.

Oho! Even Dhritarashtra has the good sense to agree to this five village business.

Lol, I can’t wait for Duryodhan to try and imprison Krishna.

I’m also waiting for the needle’s head worth of land line. Will StarBharat oblige?

StarBharat has obliged! Duryodhan will not concede a needle’s worth of land.

Krishna looks...mildly discomfited.

Arrest this cowherd LMAAOOO 

The big ass fake looking gold chains are here.

The soldiers can’t even get up, let alone pick up the chains. How underwhelming.

Is StarBharat also going to show me the wondrous scene where Dhritarashtra temporarily gets his vision? Coz that would be cool.

Oh finally someone (Karna) has the sense to say that this is not how one behaves with a peace messenger.

Chal, gwale! I am ded 🤣

What happened to the Vishwaroop scene in the middle of the Hastinapur court??

Very attracted right now to moustached Krishna dressed like a guard.

Calm down, think of Jesus.

Is Krishna also dressed like Vikarna and Karna?

Accha, Drona also.

And Pitamaha.

This is fun! 

Mamashri Shakuni 😂

Kakashri Vidur. I could do this forever.

SRJ looks amazing as all these characters. Even Dhritarashtra.

Where did Krishna transport them? On the banks of the Ganga? Dwarka? 

Did Krishna strike Duryodhan’s thigh?

YAAAAS

Dhritarashtra can see the Vishwaroop! 

Apparently, after this, Krishna gave him the option of retaining his sight. And Dhritarashtra said that after having seen the Vishwaroop to see other sights on earth was simply not worth it. 

Should’ve kept his sight for the war but he has his satellite dish Sanjay.

Okay Krishna has left. This was anticlimactic.

Oh cool, Krishna is going to play the Kunti card.

I simply love Kunti’s character and every scene with Krishna and Kunti in the same frame is simply golden.

Kunti’s entire personality is so on brand with the no chill Yadav mood.

Please do not for one second pretend that you altruistically care about the child you abandoned at birth. You’re doing this to save the skins of the five sons you actually give a damn about.

At least Radha is slightly more realistic about Karna than Kunti is.

Radha and Vrushali are like, how do you know this, Vaasudev? Vaasudev (probably): I drink and I know things.

Nothing will astonish me as much as my progression in life going from a Karna Stan to an absolute Karna Skeptic.

Karna is a social climber. That is all I have to say on this topic.

The only thing admirable about Karna’s character is his loyalty towards Duryodhan.

Also, where is this conversation between Krishna and Karna taking place? On the banks of the Ganga? Yamuna? The sea beach at Dwarka?

Where is the big speech Krishna gives to Karna? Where he promised that Draupadi will marry him (HA, AS IF) and that Yudishthira will crown him King of Hastinapur (that fool might just) if he fights on behalf of the Pandavas.

Are all Radhas this terrible? Are they all hell bent on stealing for themselves things that do not belong to them? Why won’t this awful woman own up to the fact that she’s not Karna’s biological mom?

Okay Karna is back on the banks of this mysterious water body.

I will have you all know that Karna may be suddenly having feels for Kunti, but was totally okay to sacrifice her during the Varnavat episode.

Oh goddamn it, Starbharat! 

Hitting me right in the feels when I least expect it.

Karna thinking back to all the times he was with Arjun, not knowing that they were brothers.

I’m not going to lie. Karna is in an impossible spot. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

Now I am remembering why child me Stanned Karna so much.

I may not like Karna but at least I respect him for supporting Duryodhan.

I can’t wait for Queen of Resting Bitch Face, Kunti, to come and beg for her sons’ lives from Karna, when she literally does not give a damn if Karna lives or dies. Kunti knows which side her bread is buttered. Such a Yadav.

Oh this Karna-Vrushali scene is A+, 10/10. I really wish StarBharat gave more screen time to its women.

Okay I feel bad for Kunti also, mostly because I love Kunti. 

But let us not pretend that given a choice between her Parth and this veritable stranger, she will always always choose Arjun.

She had to do this for Kuntibhoj, her poor father, who loved her so much, who couldn’t have children and all he ever wanted was a child of his own, so much so that he begged Shoorsena to give him one of his daughters.

I think what’s worse is that Kunti knew. Right from the beginning. And she stayed quiet. That was not right. 

StarBharat really be here trying to make me feel for Karna again. Smh.

How tf will Karna be a Pandava? When Kunti wasn’t even mf married to Pandu when she gave birth to Karna?

Karna talking about Duryodhana while the Dharmecha shlok plays in the background. Chills.

I have a story called The tree stump on Karna, in case you are interested. 

Yeah Kunti f*cked up here. I support Karna. He is nothing but a prisoner of birth. 

Pretty big of Karna to ask Kunti not to tell his brothers. Uncharacteristic of a social climber. He’s not a bad soul, I guess. 

I don’t know if it’s Kunti’s dialogue or her acting or the background score but I am tearing up. No assholes here.

Kunti might as well cry because if Karna refuses to call her Mata until Arjun dies, she’s never going to hear it from him. Coz he will be dead.

It’s okay, Kunti, you can relax. You got what you came here for (ish).

#mahabharata #mahabharat #starbharat #starbharat recap #siwt

[dangermousie]

Inside the torture chamber was eerie. The brutal burly torturers were severely torturing Su Yi; they were trying to force him to yield. When they heard the King arrived, their usual aggressiveness suddenly was quivering in fear. Wan Yan Xu was known for his equally rewarding and severe punishment. It seemed that five days had passed and his frail looking enemy had yet to be weakened.

I am seriously amused because I keep thinking “author, shame on you! If this novel was written by Meatbun or Tang Jiuqing or Song Qian Cheng, we’d get chapters and chapters describing the tortures and/or the mental agony of MC, yet we get a measly couple of sentences. Are you even trying?”

Anyway, because I want something gonzo and brain-dead, I decided to read War Prisoner properly. You know, the one where the beautiful general gets defeated and captured by enemy king. In real life, that would lead either to execution or the enemy kingdom acquiring a new general, but this is an old school danmei, so the King’s plan appears to be: MC defeated our army and killed my father, so now I shall: (1) defeat his army and capture him, (2) offer him to be my general instead and when he refuses torture him, (3) decide he’s hot and unbendable so it’s noncon time (4) fall in love and get married.

Ummmmm. One of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong. (1) and (2) make complete sense. (3) make sense if you are a particular kind of unhinged I can buy in a number of absolute monarchs. (4) is...well, I am not sure this the kind of revenge the dead dad is angling for, but it could be just me.

Anyway, there is a lot of potential for a meaty (ha! Maybe even meat-pillary?), problematic, epic angstfest of the type I adore but alas, as is shown by the few sentences above, this author is not the type to do that and instead of being deeply moved by whatever emotion, I am just kinda “ehhh.”

Got to say, because the author tends to skim over a lot of things, the fact that our paragon of nobility, Su Ye, refuses to surrender and become the King’s general makes me wonder if he took a bad head wound. Author reiterates over and over that the King of Su Ye’s country is utterly useless and awful (he took the money that was going to be paid to the army in the middle of war and used it to build a palace) and the King ML is, except for his rapey towards MC tendencies, an exemplary King - his kingdom is happy and prosperous and well-run, he treats all the conquered people fairly (and bans his soldiers from harming any citizens in cities they conquer), he even treats all the captured soldiers well except for our poor MC. Hell, he has other formerly enemy generals working for him. Why Su Ye, who knows his own King is useless and this King is a good King and who is not related to his own King refuses to switch is beyond me. I mean, because I have a brain that can make conjectures, I can say it’s because he’s too proud and so refuses to bend out of that principle, or that he’s patriotic to the Kingdom not the King (though no differences between the two Kingdoms are described) but it’s not fleshed out at all other than “my principles won’t let me surrender,” so I am all HUH? (He doesn’t even dislike the King ML on a personal level.) Same as to why the King starts fancying him - one moment he’s all torture time hope he goes over to my side and next “oooh, he’s hot I want to bang him” which - huh? Since when?

Is this a good novel? Hell no. But I am entertained and I don’t want anything too emotionally involved atm.

It is interesting how different my emotional response is depending on how emotionally involved I get. I am sure you saw me ranting about ML of FPYQ and feeling intensely sad for the MC of that novel initially, and if you think about it, ML of that novel never raises his hand to MC and even before they are exclusive, treats him fairly for a member of his household. But the people in that novel feel real and the situations feel real and so my emotions get involved and I am judging them the way I would people I know. In WP, our ML captures, tortures etc our MC and I am “I can’t muster much energy to hate anyway, I am rolling my eyes instead” because nothing about this novel feels quite real or particularly involving. My emotions being involved strongly even if those emotions are negative is a sign of quality, ironically (it’s pretty significant that I was angrier at MLs of Thousand Autumns or FYPQ than of any other danmeis and objectively ML of the latter hasn’t even done anything bad by period standards and the former has but he’s far from the worst.)

Anyway, back to this gonzo nuttiness.

#cnovel #war prisoner

[marril96]

Out of the Woods

Chapter 2: Gone Girl

Characters: reader, Sam, Dean

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

It was dark by the time you arrived at the cheap hotel (because of course it was cheap. The Winchesters' favorite flavor) Sam and Dean had booked adjoined rooms in for the four of you. The door creaked as you opened it, the knob wobbly in your hand; you had to lock it in order for the door to stay closed. The air was stale, reeking of dampness and cigarettes countless guests before you had to have smoked inside. The wallpapers, a sickly, mustard yellow, were ripped and peeling in places.

You hated this place. It only made you angrier at the Winchesters. At Rowena, for dragging you into this. At yourself, for letting her do it.

"You guys made up?" Dean asked. He and Sam were on the couch, a tiny thing that barely contained the two of them, looking over, for what must have been the hundredth time, crime scene photos on their laptop. Desperately looking for clues, for the smallest details they might have missed.

You gave a bitter chuckle. "As if." Not that it was any of their business, but it didn't hurt to indulge them. After all, you'd fought right in front of their eyes.

It was — sort of — their fault, but still.

"Got into another fight?"

Why did he care? If you and Rowena's relationship was so important to him, he and his brother wouldn't call all the time begging for help.

Some hunters they were.

"Why, she send me shit? I had my phone turned off," you said. It wasn't like Rowena to send nasty messages (she preferred to fight face to face), but it wasn't every day the two of you screeched in each other's face like banshees. Which was exactly why you'd turned off your phone.

That, and you didn't want the brothers spamming you with messages to come back and inquiries if you were okay, like they tended to do when ignored.

Dean looked back at you. Narrowed his eyes in question. Sam followed suit, expression questioning, hopeful.

A lump popped in your throat. Your heart jumped, startled. Those were not the faces of men curious about their friends' (well, sort of friends, in your case, at least) relationship.

"You didn't get here together?" Sam asked. Was that concern in his voice? Fear?

You almost — almost — didn't want to respond. "Why would we? I meant it when I said I couldn't be around her. I needed some me time."

The brothers exchanged one of those glances that spoke more than a thousand words.

Lips trembling, you uttered, "Isn't she here?" In the other room. Flipping through one of her enormous spellbooks. Making hex bags she never used. Sulking like she usually did after a fight.

"She… well…" Sam trailed off, eyes avoiding yours that tried to make contact.

"What?" you demanded. Ordered. Not in the mood for stalling.

He cleared his throat. "She went after you."

"Wha-she what?" It came out as a yelp; a squeaky, pathetic little yelp that would be embarrassing any other time.

But not today. Not now.

Sam was surely mistaken. Rowena hadn't gone after you. She couldn't have. You would have seen her. Heard her. Sensed her the way you always did when she was near, her magic radiating with the force of a thousand suns, rubbing off of yours, melting into it. You wouldn't — couldn't — have missed her.

"She said it was dangerous to be alone in those woods with the maniac we're hunting around," Dean said.

She didn't. She absolutely did not. She wasn't that stupid.

Only, she was. Because, no matter how mad she was, how impossibly livid, she would never let you get hurt.

As much as it pained her to admit it, as hard as she'd sworn against it, Rowena MacLeod was a lovesick fool.

"And you — what? You just let her go?" you spat, filth and venom rolling off your tongue.

"She said she'd be fine," Dean said defensively.

Of course she did. Rowena always said she was fine. Like when she woke up covered in sweat, or wept for no apparent reason, or stiffened at random, eyes blurry with tears. She didn't have PTSD. She was fine. Everything was fine.

She never quite came to terms with it, and you doubted she ever would. It was easier to pretend everything was okay, to put on a smile and play a happy role. It was easier to shove issues aside and refuse to acknowledge them. Doing otherwise would be admitting defeat. It would mean she wasn't in control. That her life, her body, her mind and soul, weren't under her command.

The mere thought of that scared the hell out of her — even more so than the nightmares of Lucifer.

"Does it look like she's fine?" you snapped, and instantly flared with guilt. It wasn't Dean's fault Rowena had gone off on her own. If he and Sam were to have attempted to stop her, chances were, they wouldn't have been successful. Your girl was stubborn. Headstrong. Independent. What she wanted, she did. What she needed, she took.

If anyone should be shouldering the blame, it was you. You with your stupid tantrums. With your whining and complaints, incessant, annoying, ridiculous. With your desires to protect her, which did nothing but put her into even more danger.

If something bad had happened to Rowena, it would be your fault.

"I'm sure she's fine," Sam said before Dean could utter a retort — sassy, no doubt. "Why don't you call her?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay," you said with a nod, instantly grabbing for your phone and tapping in the number you knew by heart. You would call her, and she would pick up, and the two of you would scream at each other again, and everything would be as it should.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four, five, six, and so on. Each ring made your heart jump higher, made it pound harder against your chest. A hammer devastating you from the inside, one slam at the time.

You hung up the call and called again. And again. And again. Nothing awaited you on the other line — nothing but the beeps as the seconds went on, long as hours, grim as the night that had befallen this small town.

"She's not picking up!" You couldn't keep the hysteria out of your voice. "She's not-I don't-I can't—"

"Maybe she's still mad at you," Dean offered. He didn't really believe it, it was clear as day, but he wanted to help. He wanted you to calm down. "You know what she's like. The woman holds a mean grudge."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Why don't-why don't I call her?"

"Well, go on, then!" you snapped.

Maybe the elder Winchester was right. Maybe she was still mad. Maybe she didn't want to talk to you out of principle, wanted to punish you for running off like a headless chicken. She did have a tendency to hold a grudge.

As did you. But, as angry as you were, you couldn't help the worry that crawled into your heart, nested in it, roiled and coiled like a parasite.

Silence settled as Sam pressed his phone to his ear. Seconds passed, horribly long. He swallowed a lump in his throat. His jaw tensed. Teeth grit tight.

"Nothing."

That one word — so simple, so lonely — was enough to throw you into hysterics. Your heart race. Hands trembled. Tears spilled down, drenched your face like a waterfall. For the second time today, you started sobbing so hard your throat hurt.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Sam said, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You shook it off. This was his fault. His and Dean's. If they hadn't begged for her help, none of this would have happened. You and Rowena would have been chilling at home, wrapped in a blanket, watching a shitty movie that she would trash and you would defend just to tease her. She would complain about being cold, and you would snuggle closer and wrap your arms around her — purposely tight so she would complain, and you would pretend you didn't know what she was talking about, and she would pout, and you would call her adorable, and she would deny it, and you would kiss, and the movie would be forgotten as the two of you got lost in each other.

But no — the Winchesters couldn't resist a chance to drag her into yet another of their messes. And then you walked away like a spoiled brat, and she went after you.

And now she was gone.

Because of them. Because of you.

"We can track her phone," Sam offered.

"Yeah, track her phone," Dean said in agreement, offering an encouraging smile.

You didn't return it.

Sam grabbed his tablet and started typing. "Let's see," he mused, eyes glued to the screen. A moment passed, then, "Got it!"

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "Where is she?"

"In the forest." He squinted. Frowned. "Deep in the forest."

"Maybe she got lost," Dean said.

Right. It was a possibility. Rowena was a proud creature. If she got lost, the chances were, she wanted to find the way out on her own. Calling for help would be beneath her.

Maybe that was why she wasn't picking up the phone. She didn't want to admit that she was lost.

"Let's go," Sam said.

The brothers quickly grabbed their necessities — phones, the tablet, weapons. Dean offered you a gun.

You raised an eyebrow.

"For protection."

You willed your eyes to spark purple, just like Rowena had taught you. A display of power. A warning. A threat. "I've got my own."

"Suit yourself." He shoved it into his jacket pocket.

The forest was creepy at night. There were no chirping birds, no crickets, not even a rustle of movement — nothing but silence that gnawed at you, chilled your bones like a winter's morning. Sam led the way, following the red dot on his screen. Rowena's phone. Rowena. Hopefully waiting, ready to bitch you out the moment she laid eyes on you.

It would be worth it. Anything would be worth it, so long as you found her.

"We're almost there," Sam said.

Good. You were already preparing a lecture. You'd said you wanted to be alone, which was not an invitation for her to follow after you. Instead of giving you space, she'd gotten lost. Like a brat. That was sure to push her buttons, and she would say something equally rude, and you would fight all the way to the hotel, and then you would make up by morning, and tomorrow it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

That was the thing with you and Rowena — your arguments didn't last long. Not even rare big ones like this. You loved each other too much to stay mad for long.

"We're here," Sam announced, shaking you from your thoughts.

You frowned. Shined your flashlight as you looked around.

No Rowena. Nothing but overgrown grass and sickly trees.

Willing your trembling lips to steady, you said, "What do you mean, we're here?"

"The app says we are."

"The app is wrong!"

"It's usually accurate."

"Clearly not this time!" You spread your arms wide, gesturing to nothingness. "You see Rowena anywhere?"

"Maybe she's hiding."

"In plain sight? She's tiny, not invisible!"

"She could be using magic."

"I don't feel any magic."

"Maybe—"

"Guys!" Dean shouted, breaking up the exchange. "Check this out." He was hunched over a patch of grass by one of the trees, shining his flashlight directly into it.

You and Sam rushed to his side. Looked down. Blood froze in your veins at the discovery.

A phone laid amidst the yellowish blades of grass, speckled with dirt and grime. Alone. Abandoned. The screen shattered like a mirror.

Rowena's phone.

A reddish-brown stain stood out amidst the dirt. Blood, dry but still vivid, still bright under the light.

You gasped. Stumbled backwards, knees wobbly, weak. A helpless, banshee-like wail tore from your throat, and you fell to your knees.

And you cried and cried and cried, the only animal daring to make a sound in this dead, dead forest.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​​ @songofthecagedmoose​​ @apurdyfulmind​​ @getthesalt-sam​​ @metallihca​​ @salembitchtrials​​ @jay-eris​​ @hellsmother​​ @elizabeth-effie​​ @shadowgirl-vsb​​ @rowenaswife​​ @wonderifshelikesroses​​ @xfireandsin​​ @liddell-alien​​ @hotdiggitydammit​​ @lae-lae​​ @darkhumorsblog​​ @angel7376​​ @cherrypierowena​​ @evil-regal-vampiress​​ @hellbentredhead​​ @angel-e-v-a​​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​​ @carryon-doctor-lock​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​ @mintymarshmellows​​ @midnight-lestrange​​ @osterhagen​​ @impala-1979​​ @gracib16​​ @feelsandotps​

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn family #spn #supernatural #angeleva #my fics #fanfiction #rowena x reader #rowena macleod x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Ch. 70-76

I guess anything I say here is a spoiler, so yeah, this is “Heart of Dreams”, “Relics”, “Heart of Iron”, and the arc “Finest Hour”.  Oh, and “Lunatic Dawn”.   Gotta lotta ground to cover.    Treacherous ground.

Not a whole lot to say about Anderson’s death.  He tried to become a monster using one of the Holy Nails from the True Cross, and then Alucard defeated him anyway, once Seras gave him a little help and a reason to go on living.   Alucard was pretty upset about Anderson’s demise, but Anderson says a few soothing words, and reminds him that Al only became a vampire because he couldn’t stand being a human, so it doesn’t make a lot of sense for him to cry now.  

So yeah, as determined as Anderson was to kill Alucard, he’s a pretty good sport about losing this fight, and he seems to genuinely pity the man.   He wonders how long Alucard will go on living with his regrets, and Al replies “Until my expansive future shatters my expansive past.”  So, if we want to take that literally, I guess he’s trying to find redemption by being a good guy to make up for his years as a bad guy.   Well, he’s been a vampire for 523 years, and a servant of Hellsing for 101 of those years, so I guess maybe he figures if he trucks along for another 321 years that’d balance the scales?  

And maybe I’m finally starting to appreciate some of the complexities of Alucard’s character.   The Team Four Star Abridged series spent some time on his desire for redemption, but I couldn’t tell if it was based on the original material or something they came up with for their own version.   For instance, the Abridged!Alucard rejected the forgiveness offered by God himself, but later Anderson spoke of his desire for redemption and Alucard didn’t dispute that.    It seemed contradictory to me at the time, but the manga does seem to support that.    As Vlad Tepes, he refused to ask God for anything, preferring instead to fight and drive himself and his followers to the limits of endurance and decency as proof of their faith.   

I find that idea heretical, because it suggests that a person can “earn” God’s favor, or God’s forgiveness, or a place in heaven.    Arguably, Anderson tried to do the same thing, but I think he was coming more from a place of doing zealous deeds out of gratitude for the Lord’s grace, rather than trying to earn anything he didn’t already have.  

The difference with Alucard is that he seemed to be really wrongheaded about his faith, trying to use violence to become a good person.   Then it didn’t work, and he became a vampire, devoted entirely to his own selfish desires, and I guess he’s spent the 20th Century realizing that he’s back where he started, trying to fight his way to redemption, only now he has centuries of red in his ledger instead of mere decades.   

Oh, anyway, while this is going on, Integra takes a sword and stands it upright so it looks like a cross to mark Anderson’s death.   It’s like this quiet sign of respect.   I’m not sure whose sword that is, but it looks like the one Alucard was using in his Dracula persona.   

Anyway, fuck all that, because Walter finally shows up and stomps the ashes of Anderson just as everyone was having their final farewell with the guy.  Rude.

Young Walter just looks kind of stupid to me.  Why is he still wearing the monocle?  He’s trying to be 14 and 69 at the same time and failing at both.

Seras asks what Millennium did to him, but Walter makes it clear that this isn’t some brainwashing trope.   He’s doing this of his own free will.

He also doesn’t consider himself loyal to Millennium.    They turned him into a vampire, but he’s doing this for himself, and he’s only cooperating with them because their goals are in alignment.  

Yumiko Takagi tries to kill Walter for... Was she mad at him for stomping on Anderson’s remains?    I mean, Alucard’s the one who actually killed Anderson, so shouldn’t she be mad at that guy? 

It doesn’t matter, because Walt just slices her into pieces with his magic filaments.    Now Heinkel Wolfe wants revenge, because she was her long-time partner in assassin stuff.   The TFS Abridged series implied that they were lovers, too, which seemed authentic at the time, but I’m not sure there’s any confirmation to be found in the manga itself. 

But before she can take the shot, the Captain shows up and shoots Heinkel in the face.    Like, through one cheek  and out the other, and the only thing saving her from serious injury was that she happened to have her mouth open at the time.  

Side note: I caught myself referring to Heinkel as “him”, which frustrates me because I’ve known she was a woman for like five years now.    When I first watched the OVA, I was confused, becuase I could tell it was a female voice actor, but maybe that just meant he was really young, like with Schrodinger.   But the Hellsing Wiki set me straight, or so I thought.    I didn’t think I’d still be making this mistake. 

On the other hand, Yumiko sometimes looks a lot like Goemon from Lupin III, so her wearing a nun’s habit isn’t as heteronormative as it might seem.  I’m getting off-track.

You’d think this would be leading up to some big double-team on the Hellsing group, now that the Iscariots are out of the picture, but the Captain’s only stopping Heinkel so Walter can have a clear shot at Alucard.    That’s the sole reason Walter turned traitor, you see.   He wants to fight Alucard and win, and for the last 55 years they’ve been on the same side.  

But is that all it is?   I never got to read or watch “Hellsing: The Dawn”, the prequel manga Kouta Hirano created after Hellsing.  I’ve heard that it never got finished, but also an anime adaptation was released with the home video release of Hellsing Ultimate Episode VIII.  All I really know about it was that there was this time where Alucard and Walter were fighting the Nazis, and the Captain showed up, and Alucard ran away because he didn’t think he could beat that dude. Presumably, he left Walter to fend for himself?   But all three of them survived until 1999, so I’m not sure what the outcome of that was.   I always wondered if Walter held a grudge over that.   But maybe I’m reaching. 

There’s also a suggestion of professional jealousy.  Walter was a rockstar vampire hunter in his youth, but he’s been overshadowed by Alucard, who is--let’s face it-- a living legend.  This would be doubly true in the 90′s, when Integra reawakened Alucard, and Walter having to step back even further from the spotlight.  The only way for him to reclaim his former glory would be to challenge the greatest of all vampires and win.    He’d go down in history as a traitor, but at least he’d be cemented as the absolute best.  

Or... or, you can go with the TFS version, where Walter hints at his motives, only for Alucard to take the wind out of his sails and announce “because you wanna fuck me!”   And I love that theory more than any other explanation, because it just brings everything together a lot more neatly.   I guess you don’t need Walter to have had a crush on Alucard for 55 years, but it’s a lot more compelling than revenge or professional jealousy.    Those things have weight, sure, but they work better as distractions, the things Walter might admit to because they hide the deeper reason that he can’t bring himself to say out loud.   

And it’s not entirely rejected by the manga.  Alucard remarks on how much more beautiful Walter looked in his old age, compared to this treasonous knockoff vampire look he’s sporting now.   The last time he spoke this way, it was when he flirted with Queen Elizabeth II.   The next time he does it, it’ll be with Sir Integra when she’s in her early 50′s.

Speaking of QE2, she’s safe and sound, because the Secret Service evacuated her to a fortified location in Dover before Millennium attacked.   If things get really hairy, they’re prepared to send her to Canada, and if London can’t be secured, they’ll nuke the whole city, though the Queen is certain that Integra and Alucard will win the day.  The vampires acting as Millennium agents outside of London are being contained and destroyed, so things seem to be getting under some semblance of control.  

However, the Royal Order of Protestant Knights, also known as the “Round Table” is down to just three surviving members.   Integra’s in London, but here we have Rob Walsh and Hugh Irons, reflecting on the death of their fellow Round Tabler, Penwood.  

This whole scene struck me as a complete non sequitur when I first saw it in the anime.  Walter’s betrayal seemed to sudden and poorly explained that it felt like the author was just winging it by this point, and now we have these two dudes struggling to provide some justification for the twist.    But reading this manga in 2021, I find that it makes a lot more sense.    We’ve already seen tons of Britons in rather lofty positions, all willing to sell out their principles for a chance to become a vampire.   Walter is no different from any of them.   It’s just more personal when he does it because we actually know the guy.  

But as Walsh discusses the utter debacle of this Millennium invasion, he deduces what we’ve just learned back in London.   There must have been a traitor in their ranks, because that’s the only way Millennium could have made it this far.   I mean, they just flew a bunch of giant blimps full of rockets right into British airspace.   That only worked because they had traitors sabotaging the U.K.’s defenses and communications, and Hellsing was especially vulnerable at the same time.  

The only thing Walsh can’t figure out is who the traitor was, since it had to be someone at the Round Table, but they’re all dead now, except for Integra, Irons, and himself. 

But Irons fills in the missing pieces.   It doesn’t have to have been one of the Round Table’s members, but someone close to one of the members.   Years ago, Irons warned Walter about Richard Hellsing.   Irons knew that when Arthur died, Richard would try to make a play for the Hellsing estate.   But when Irons’ fears came to pass, Walter wasn’t there.   It’s like he wanted things to play out the way they did.  

But why would Walter want events to play out that way?   On her own, Integra had no choice but to unseal Alucard to defend herself, and she’s kept Alucard active ever since.   And now, lo and behold, Walter reveals that he turned traitor just so he could take on Alucard.   It’s like he arranged for all of this to happen years in advance.   But how many years?    Fifty-five, Irons wonders.   

It’s never explicitly confirmed, but Irons’ reasoning makes too much sense to ignore.    Earlier, the Major said that he decided back in ‘44 that Walter “Angel of Death” Dornez would have been a good “get” for his side.    Now, Irons is suggesting that Walter might have agreed in the same year.   So maybe Walter and the Major made a secret agreement even then.   It’s possible that they might have done it later, but why not in 1944?

I mean, the whole backstory here is that Millennium is a continuation of a secret Nazi Vampire project that Walter and Alucard destroyed in 1944.   Except they didn’t destroy it at all, which sure makes Walter and Al seem very bad at their jobs, unless Walter let them escape and covered it up.

Meanwhile, the Captain tosses a first aid kit to Heinkel, kind of like he’s saying that he doesn’t want to kill Heinkel, but he can’t let her interfere either.   We’ll talk about the Captain later.

As for Alucard vs. Walter, Al wants to check with Integra before he goes through with it.   He asks for orders, repeating his big speech from when he killed all those cops in Brazil.    Yeah, Walter’s a traitor, but he’s been a close mentor and advisor to Integra for all these years.   Does she really want Alucard to killerize his ass?

Yes, she does.   If Walter stands against them, then he’s the enemy, and Integra has already ordered Alucard to destroy the enemy, no matter who (snif!) they may be.  Integra doesn’t relish this command, but she refuses to compromise over sentimental feelings.

Man, fuck you, Walter.  

Then the Major lands his airship near the battlefield and invites Integra to come aboard and fight all of his remaining guys.    Alucard orders Seras to join her while he deals with Walter.   I can appreciate Seras’ concern here, because the last time she watched Alucard fight alone, he took a flaming bayonet to the face.   She probably doesn’t care for Integra and Alucard splitting up like this.

Before she goes, she thanks Walter for all of his support, which disarms Walter for just a moment.   Man, fuck you, Walter.   Seras is so nice and grateful and polite and cool and you just go right ahead with your 55-years-in-the-making Nazi Vampire Jilted Lover scheme.  Fuck you, Walter.   You don’t deserve to be in Seras’ life.

So the gals go on board the airship and Schrodinger’s there and Integra just shoots him right between the eyes without bothering to slow down.    This is maybe my favorite Integra moment in this thing.    I sort of wish Kouta Hirano had done a spin-off of Integra and Seras doing cool shit like this for 30 years.

Alucard taunts Walter with the fact that he no longer gets to be a part of Inegra or Seras’ lives anymore.   It sounds kind of petty, but when you think about it, it’s a pretty sick burn.    Walter may have been planning this for 55 years, but he still had to live that double life, and it’s not like he can just say he was faking it the entire time.  

So they fight.   Walter’s magic wire powers seem to be amplified, either because of his restored youth or maybe the boost offered by vampire powers, or maybe he’s always been this strong but now he no longer needs to hold back anymore.  For instance, he can make mesh screens with his wires to deflect Alucard’s bullets.   And when Alucard summons that dog creature he used to dispatch Luke Valentine....

... Walter just bisects it with a flick of the wrist.   You really begin to see why he was “The Angel of Death” back in his heyday.  

I never understood what this dog familiar was supposed to be.   Walter refers to the Hound of the Baskervilles, but as far as I know that’s just a legend confined to the Sherlock Holmes novel of the same name.   But apparently that concept was based upon “black dog” folklore of the same region.  There’s a whole laundry list of “black dog” apparitions in Britain alone.   Black Shuck, Padfoot, Hairy Jack, Bizarro Snoopy, and so on.   So I’m not sure if Hirano is saying that Alucard was the source of these legends, or if they were all based on a single creature which Alucard eventually defeated and absorbed into himself.   

Al tries to use the Jackal to kill Walter, but that’s kind of stupid, since Walter designed the gun in the first place.   In the anime, I thought Walter somehow triggered a bomb he had planted inside it, but maybe he used his wires to make this happen.   It doesn’t really matter, because we already saw that the Casull was useless against Walter’s defenses, and not because it had smaller ammunition.  

Then Luke Valentine emerges from the black dog’s body.   This part never made any sense to me, but I loved how the Major recognized him, but barely.  “Oh yeah, it’s that guy from Volume 2!    The guy with the brother.”

The doctor suggests that when the dog was killed, this allowed Luke to reassert himself from inside the dog.   Something about a “control ratio”, whatever that is.  Like, he was absorbed into the dog’s mass, but now that the dog is no longer conscious, he can think for himself again.    Notably, only half of Luke actually makes it out .   It’s like he’s half-Luke, half dead dog monster. 

But before he can do anything else, Walter puts his wires into Luke and starts controlling him like a puppet, mostly so he can use the dog half to attack Alucard.

Alucard seems more impressed than threatened.   Keep in mind, Walter was doing pretty damn well against him early on.   You’ll notice Alucard’s missing his right arm along with one of his guns.   This is better than Anderson managed to do.   So why does Walter even need this Luke-dog puppet thing in the first place?

Well, it’s because Walter’s body is giving out on him.   Earlier, when the Doctor was performing the procedure to turn Walter into a vampire, he spoke about how rushed the operation was.  I mean, he had to finish the whole thing in one night, after all.   And Walter’s a lot more powerful than Dandyman, whom the Doctor considered his finest artificial vampire work.    So maybe Walter’s just too powerful for this, and he can’t sustain this form.   The Luke-dog-thing is just to keep Alucard busy while he coughs up blood.

The Major sees this development, and likens Walter to a high stakes gambler who’s mortgaged everything for a single hand at a high stakes table.   Walter’s risked everything just to tangle with Alucard, and it still isn’t enough.

Alucard does manage to finish off the dog-Luke thing, and this sets him up for Walter’s next attack, and then he goes to finish him off, so things seem to be going Walter’s way...

But Alucard used a decoy, disguising Luke’s severed torso as his own, all so he could sucker-punch Walter in the face.   As it turns out, Walter’s physical breakdown is making him younger, which amuses Al to no end.

So Alucard follow suits and assumes the form he once used when they fought the Nazis in 1944.   Yeah, say hello to “Girlycard”.   I’m not sure why Alucard looked like a 14-year-old girl during World War II.   I’ve heard this form described as a Japanese 14-year-old girl, and I can’t dispute it, but it also makes Girlycard seem even more random somehow.   

I mean, I guess the idea here was for Walter and Alucard to be able to move inconspicuously through enemy territory.  No one would suspect a couple of kids until it was too late.   I’m imagining a similar scenario to the ones presented in “Cross Fire”.   Heinkel and Yumi would play innocent bystanders, then whip out their guns and swords and go ham on the bad guys.    Knowing Hirano’s style, maybe Girlycard and Young Walter operated the same way.  

And this further supports the Walter-had-an-unrequited-crush-on-Alucard theory.   He might have understood that Girlycard was a disguise.  On an intellectual level he might have known, but maybe he still carried a torch, and told himself that there was some way that they could be together.   Was he just in love with this disguise, or does he love the real thing?  Alucard says that he told Walter the truth decades ago, and claims that this is the reason Walter turned traitor, so yeah, it sure feels like Walter couldn’t handle Alucard’s true nature, one way or another.   

I mean, let’s assume that this isn’t just about Alucard not being a cute girl.  Maybe Walter fell in love with Alucard in all his forms, whatever that means for his sexuality.    The bigger issue is that Alucard’s a vampire, and he’s just fundamentally different from Walter, and maybe that was the problem all along.   It’s interesting to think about, but the point here would be that there was some kind of problem, and Walter couldn’t let it go.

Meanwhile, Seras and Integra are busy looking like total BMFs.   Just HBIC’s.   What’s better than this?   Two gals bein’ pals.   

Hell yeah!

Bad ass!

The vampires on board this airship are happy to meet their doom, and Integra recalls what her father once told her about how vampires want to die on their own terms.   Seras doesn’t get it, because if they want to die so badly, they could have just died in the war they were already in fifty-odd years ago.  

So the Major gets on the PA system and explains to her that they want more than just a glorious death.   They want bigger, better, more perfect battlefield, so as to make their deaths as meaningful as possible.  That’s why I don’t understand that airship captain from a while back.   Everyone else in Millennium seemed to understand that they weren’t necessarily fighting to win.   Britain is prepared to nuke London if they have to, so it’s hard to imagine anyone in Millennium surviving past today, even if they won.  

Anyway, as the Major explains all of this, the Captain appears before the gals.  It looks like he’s here to stop them, or is he?

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #walter c dornez #alexander anderson #heinkel wolfe #yumiko takagi #the major #the captain #warrant officer schrodinger #sir hugh irons #lt general rob walsh #luke valentine #really? luke valentine?

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: I look up and see the bright moon

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xiao Xingchen, A-Qing, Granny Wen, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Found Family, Modern AU, Corporate Espionage, Bunnies, Adoption, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, References to Depression, Anxiety, Blind Character, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

Summary: The Wei family has struggled, but that is in the past, and it is time to welcome a new family member.

Notes: Written for @sweetlittlevampire as part of the WangXian Lunar New Year Gift Exchange. This is also partly inspired by @angstymdzsthoughts, which has been chattering about a corporate espionage AU for a few weeks now. In the fic's base-time, that's occurred largely in the past and is background that led to the acquisition of their found family. The title is from the Li Bai poem, "Thoughts on a Silent Night." Li Bai was exiled and wrote poetry reminiscing about family and friends from whom he was separated.

AO3 link

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When A-Yuan, with the kind of pleading adorable face only a five year old could muster, asked if they could adopt a pet bunny, and Wei Ying, knowing rabbits were his husband’s favorite animal, watched him hide his yearning to talk to their son about responsibility and finances like he was a little adult—and he suspected A-Zhan had gotten this very same talk as a child—he decided they needed to find a way to make it happen.

“We should adopt one,” he said, interrupting them.

Both of them turned to look at him, their expressions tinged with hope. A-Zhan’s made Wei Ying a little sad—they had never discussed pets, and perhaps he felt he couldn’t ask. 

“A-Yuan is smart, and caring for a pet would help him develop a sense of responsibility,” Wei Ying argued. “We’ll need to research how much they cost and what they need and all that, but we’re doing well financially.”

There was a soft look on his husband’s face at the thought of having a rabbit. Anything that made A-Zhan look that soft belonged in their lives. 

“It’d be a nice addition to the family. I’ve always wanted a pet, too.”

The last bit, he could see, convinced A-Zhan. Sometimes his husband would go without to avoid seeming selfish—sometimes didn’t even realize he wanted it—but if Wei Ying wanted something, he would insist he have it. 

Wei Ying had found saying he wanted something A-Zhan did allowed his husband to indulge in what he had spent far too long denying himself. 

“We will do research,” A-Zhan agreed. 

“So, bunny?” A-Yuan asked.

“Bunny,” Wei Ying said.

A-Zhan nodded. 

“After research.”

A-Yuan cheered, then insisted they all hop around the living room like bunnies. 

He was somehow even more excited when A-Zhan told him they would learn all about bunnies through research. The kid was absolutely their son. 

If there was one thing Wei Ying was good at, it was research—perhaps only second to his husband, who was almost obsessive about research. It made them a good team, and had enabled them to survive the last few years without having to dip too much into A-Zhan’s inheritance. Nothing could stand against them when they both researched how to solve a problem, but that hadn’t made the problems they’d faced over the last five years easy to deal with. 

They tried not to obsess too much over the negatives: the corporate espionage accusation and Wei Ying’s subsequent blacklisting by the industry and disowning by the Jiangs. The threat of legal action that could have seen him in prison for a decade, if not more. Lan Qiren’s pressure on his nephew to break up with him, ending in an ultimatum. 

It hadn’t mattered that he didn’t do it—the information-siphoning code may have originated from his workstation, but it had been done on a dummy user profile. Literally anyone could have done it, could have easily jimmied the lock to his office. He’d been set up. But that truth hadn’t mattered to the Lan corporate board or to Madam Yu. 

Lan Qiren and Madam Yu had always hated him, anyway. 

Uncle Jiang had never returned his calls or texts. That hurt far more. 

Ugly accusations followed that he’d been dating A-Zhan just to rise in the company or gain corporate secrets—never mind he decided to work for Gusu Lan Tech right out of college to avoid the idea of nepotism working for Compu-Jiang would bring, that A-Zhan and he kept their work out of their relationship. Then rumors he had to be spying for Compu-Jiang, which had led to his disowning. Wei Ying ultimately changed his phone number and shut down all social media to avoid the journalists plaguing him and awful messages from people he had thought were his peers. 

But there were positives. A-Zhan had believed him even if no one else did, and when the pressure had become an ultimatum, he had responded in the opposite of the way his uncle had intended: he’d liquidated his shares in the company, packed anything he couldn’t live without from the family home, and left Gusu Lan Tech with a politely-worded but clear resignation letter.

He had shown up while Wei Ying was packing in a panic to downsize his apartment (or something that would save money now that he no longer had a career, like maybe living in his car) and proposed to him. 

Wei Ying hadn’t expected that, had expected to be dumped when he’d opened the door to find him on his doorstep, just one more awful thing to cap off a terrible week. He’d wound up crying for an entirely different reason, curled in A-Zhan’s arms murmuring “yes” over and over again between sobs. 

Only Wei Ying’s adopted sister had attended their small wedding out of both of their families, and though she expressed regrets that Jiang Cheng couldn’t make it, the text messages he’d received made it clear his adopted brother would need time, if he ever came around at all. He hadn’t so far. 

A-Zhan had changed his legal surname to Wei, which made it necessary for Wei Ying to change how he addressed his husband. Ultimately they decided to use 阿 in front of each other’s names. The first time A-Zhan called him A-Ying, he’d felt like his brain shut down for a bit, it felt so intimate—to be fair, it had been in the midst of some rather passionate celebration of their marriage.

The statement A-Zhan’s actions made in the industry had echoed far and wide, not always in a good way. He became a figure too controversial to touch, particularly for any company that wished to have good relations with Gusu Lan Tech or Compu-Jiang. Work options dried up for him, too. He also closed his social media accounts after dealing with abuse through them. 

Their “honeymoon” involved finding a cheap studio apartment and applying to minimum wage jobs. 

Gusu Lan Tech had decided not to pursue criminal charges. Or rather, Lan Xichen had, as chairman of the board, refused to pursue them, overriding the board’s bloodlust. He had contacted A-Zhan to congratulate him on the marriage, and stated it was a wedding gift to them. He had not reached out or responded to messages from his brother since, and A-Zhan had eventually stopped texting or calling him. 

The next couple years had taught them to live frugally in a trial-by-fire sort of way, both of them struggling to find work, both of them battling depression over the situation that had destroyed their careers. Wei Ying’s feelings of guilt had exacerbated his, his sense things would be better for his husband if he’d let him go—that perhaps he could still let him go and get back what he lost. Miscommunication had nearly destroyed them both, but they had persevered and grown stronger together. 

To survive, they’d left the San Francisco area, living expenses too high and with no family ties to keep them anymore. They’d worked jobs as baristas, stocking shelves at grocery stores, substitute teaching, waiting tables—so far from the financial career A-Zhan had gotten his degree to help with the family business, from the computer science that had been Wei Ying’s passion. Anything that put food on the table and paid rent, that kept them from dipping into A-Zhan’s inheritance or the proceeds of his stock sale. 

They’d had to dip in a couple of times for emergencies, like when Wei Ying broke his wrist badly enough to require surgery. But as a matter of principle they tried not to. 

Then Wen Qing had reached out, seemingly out of the blue. It had been years since either of them had seen her—not since college. Suddenly they were helping Wen Ning with independent app development in his Dafan Applications start-up, and living and working in an apartment building owned by a Wen family member who refused to let them pay rent and insisted they call him Fourth Uncle. Free rent was nothing to sneeze at in California.

Wei Ying had worried their involvement would cause problems, with them both being low-key blacklisted from the industry, but Wen Qing had pointed out both Compu-Jiang and Gusu Lan Tech dealt in computer hardware more than software or applications. 

“A-Ning wouldn’t want to do business with anyone who believes that bullshit, anyway,” she’d said bluntly.

Now, several years later, the company was making a name for itself, and it turned out the software and app industry cared less about the allegations and more about product quality and deadlines—both things Dafan Applications had proven it made good on. Wen Ning and Wen Qing insisted they had much to do with it, with Wei Ying’s coding skills and A-Zhan handling the financial aspects of the company with the same careful frugality he applied still to their own spending.

Really, they were too generous. Dafan Applications had picked up several great coders when Nie Innovations had suffered a bad year and required restructuring, letting go of part of its workforce. Wei Ying hated that they had benefitted from the ill fortune of old friends, but the industry could be cutthroat, and at least the people Dafan employed could still feed their families. 

Wen Ning had even started to develop a video game on the side with their help. A-Zhan was able to rediscover his passion for music, tapped to develop a soundtrack for it. It was a back burner project, but it was Wen Ning’s baby, and watching it slowly grow was another bright point in their lives. 

They had been essentially adopted by the entire Dafan Wen family. Their found family had kept them going and checked in on them during the bad times. Like when Jiang Yanli wed and was unable to invite them—she had made Jin Zixuan stream the wedding so he could at least watch, but that was all she could do. Fourth Uncle brought champagne and they turned it into a viewing party so Wei Ying would feel less alone. When she had his nephew, who he was not allowed to meet. When they learned Lan Xichen was engaged via a news report. And later when Jiang Fengmian had suffered a mild heart attack and handed the reins of Compu-Jiang to Jiang Cheng, also learned via the news. 

During the harder times, when they both sometimes found it difficult to function, Granny and some of the aunties brought lunches and dinners and A-Yuan to cheer them up, and Fourth Uncle came for mahjong and brought drinks, and Wen Qing harassed them into going out and getting fresh air and sunlight.

“Humans are big dumb plants,” she’d said. “And while we’re at it, drink more water.”

So they had started taking A-Yuan to the park every other day, then every day, sometimes even picnicking in the park for lunch. Working from home had perks. 

Pretty quickly it was clear the activity did them some good, with Wei Ying having fewer rough mental health days. Though having something to look forward to every day probably helped on its own—it was always good to spend time with A-Yuan.

Granny eventually asked them to adopt A-Yuan because she was struggling to care for him alone. Since they had been helping with his care anyway, she felt they were ideal parents. 

“He talks about you all the time,” she had told them. “He adores you.”

The paperwork was relatively easy, given that the adoption was mutually agreed upon. Going before the judge had been mildly terrifying, with Wei Ying worried his past would bite them in the ass. But it turned out to be little more than a formality, and then Wei Yuan was theirs. 

Initially they had intended for him to keep his surname, but Wen Qing had insisted.

“He’s yours. Your son. He should have his dads’ name.”

One of the more joyous moments had been when A-Yuan had asked, about a month after the adoption papers went through, if he could call A-Zhan baba and Wei Ying a-die. He had previously been calling them both gege, but they hadn’t wanted to pressure him. 

“Of course,” Wei Ying told him, abruptly realizing Wen Qing’s point. 

“You’re our son,” A-Zhan added.

All of the difficulties of the past several years felt as though they had melted away in that moment, when A-Yuan smiled at them with his adorable chubby cheeks and called them a-die and baba.

If all the hardship had been a trade for that moment, it was worth it. 

They were always made to feel welcome, never left to feel alone, and when they had become the adopted parents of A-Yuan, it made their status as family feel more official. 

And now they would be adopting a bunny. 

“It’s a bunny,” Wei Ying initially said. “How hard could it be to find a good bunny? Just throw it some carrots, and it’ll be fine!”

“Carrots do not have the nutritional value a rabbit needs, A-Ying.”

“What about Bugs Bunny?”

A-Zhan gave him a Look and texted him an article about child-friendly breeds that make good pets, and Wei Ying’s education began. 

He learned, first off, that carrots were too high in sugar for rabbits, and the Bugs Bunny carrot thing had been a reference to a 1930s Clark Gable movie, which of course no one understood anymore. 

(Wei Ying was further distracted by other facts about Bugs: the cartoon had single-handedly made the name Nimrod, the biblical hunter, into a synonym for idiot when the sarcastic comparison to Elmer Fudd flew over audiences’ heads, for instance. He also got lost on YouTube watching old clips.)

As it turned out, rabbits came in different sizes, some even almost the size of a border collie—and much preferable to a dog, in Wei Ying’s opinion. Giant Angora rabbits looked like little clouds, they were so floofy. But even though the Flemish giants and Angoras were perhaps his favorite breeds, they didn’t have the space for a rabbit so large. Even a medium sized breed would be pushing it. It wouldn’t be fair to the rabbit.

And so they looked into small breeds, seeking information on care and disposition, cooing with A-Yuan over bunny pictures for hours sometimes. Wei Ying could expect at least one text from his husband a day with a relevant link, and often returned the favor. They found a nearby rabbit-specific veterinarian, and she let them know what they would need in terms of desexing to prevent diseases, vaccinations, and maintenance needs. 

Although A-Yuan was only five, they consulted him as well. They explained how bunnies needed to be cared for and needed exercise, and talked about the different kinds of bunnies and breed temperament. A-Zhan explained bunnies had shorter life spans than people, and so the bunny would live its whole life with them. 

“It’ll die,” A-Yuan said, immediately understanding. “Like mama and baba before.”

Wei Ying nodded; he too was an orphan, as was A-Zhan. In some ways, that made the conversation easier. It was strange to put it that way, but he and A-Zhan could relate to A-Yuan’s experiences, and so he felt comfortable coming to them when he was upset. 

“But we’ll do a good job taking care of the bunny so it lives comfortably and is happy.”

A-Yuan nodded, his expression serious.

“Granny said everything dies. I understand, a-die, baba.”

As a family they settled on the Holland Lop, which was an absolutely adorable breed, docile in nature and good with children. They managed to find a reputable breeder that handled small litters and didn’t overbreed, with the decision down to finding their rabbit. 

The breeder emailed them when he had a litter born, and told them they’d get first pick in seven weeks. 

That kicked them into overdrive, and they spent the time preparing the apartment, buying anything a young rabbit might want or need. A deluxe hutch, which they tricked out with a hammock, shelves and tiers, a woven cave for the bottom level, and dangly toys. Bedding. Water bottles and a feeder. Food. A litter box with bunny-appropriate litter. A larger collapsible enclosure for outside time. Pet gates for rooms off limits (like the study with wires bunnies might like to nibble). Willow pet chews. Tunnels. Toys, so many toys. Everything was made with natural materials—nothing plastic, A-Zhan insisted. And then there was bunny-proofing the apartment. 

It was a bit like adopting A-Yuan all over again, except they had both known him and knew what to expect. In a way, this was scarier. 

But things were steady and stable, finally, after nearly five years of struggling, and today it was finally time to adopt the newest member of their family.

On the way over, A-Zhan quizzed A-Yuan on bunny etiquette, somehow, Wei Ying joked, taking the fun out of bunny adoption. 

They both ignored him, well used to doing so by now.

“Don’t move fast so you don’t scare them,” A-Yuan chirped in answer to the last question as they pulled into the breeder’s driveway.

“And no loud noises,” A-Zhan added. “So your a-die and I will silence our phones now.”

His husband was pointedly not looking at him, but he knew “loud noises” was meant for him. It was almost a running joke in the family, including the Wens, that Wei Ying couldn’t shut up. 

Wei Ying didn’t bother to even roll his eyes, just fished his phone from his pocket to silence it while A-Zhan put the car—borrowed from Wen Qing for the afternoon, since car ownership was a luxury neither of them needed, working from home as they did—in park. He noticed a “breaking news” alert that had been emailed to him, but ignored it.

He looked up to find his husband frowning at his phone—it was just like him to check it even though it was almost always on silent. 

“Okay, A-Zhan?”

“My brother called,” he replied after a few seconds.

Wei Ying sat up straighter, noticing the slightly troubled lilt of his tone. Lan Xichen had never reached out in the five years they’d been married. 

“Did he leave a voicemail?”

A-Zhan shook his head. Most people wouldn’t notice, but he looked distinctly vulnerable. Wei Ying bit his lip. He was of the opinion that his husband’s brother had made him wait for five years for contact and could wait a bit in return.

But that was a little petty. 

“Do… Do you want to call him back?”

There was a longer pause before A-Zhan shook his head resolutely. 

“No. Today is for family.”

He put his phone back in his pocket and opened the car door, and Wei Ying paused to glance back at A-Yuan. Their son was often perceptive, and this was no exception.

“Bunnies?” he asked solemnly, his expression that of a child who knew plans could change with bad phone calls.

“Bunnies,” Wei Ying told him, smiling. 

He was relieved when the boy smiled back; A-Yuan understood adults sometimes pretended things were okay when they weren’t, but he trusted them. 

And, for the moment, they were. That could change, but A-Zhan was right: today was for family. 

Apparently that didn’t count his brother anymore, but the bitterness he knew his husband felt could be handled later. After all, he felt his own; Jiang Cheng similarly hadn’t reached out in even longer, once he’d finished railing at Wei Ying via text. 

He didn’t know how he’d react if his once-brother suddenly called him. If he hadn’t called when Jiang Fengmian had a heart attack, it was unlikely he ever would. 

But for Lan Xichen to call…

The paranoid part of him wondered if A-Zhan’s brother had changed his mind, or if the board had somehow overruled him and he was to be charged after all. He wasn’t sure what the statute of limitations was for the crime they believed he’d committed, but...

Wei Ying only realized he’d spaced out when A-Zhan opened A-Yuan’s door to help him from his car seat. His husband’s questioning look had him pasting on a smile and hurrying to get out of the car. 

A-Zhan steadied him when he nearly lost his balance and leaned in close.

“The statute of limitations was three years, A-Ying. It will be fine.”

He sagged in relief, leaning his forehead against A-Zhan’s shoulder briefly. His husband saw right through him, knew what thoughts were making him spiral. He took A-Zhan’s hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss his knuckles. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

A-Zhan’s lips twitched.

“Between us, there is no need.”

Wei Ying held out his other hand to A-Yuan, who took it with a sweet smile, and together they headed toward the front porch. 

The door opened before they could knock, a man about their age surveying them with a bespectacled little girl maybe a little older than A-Yuan peering around his leg. She had the palest eyes he’d ever seen. 

“We’re here about the rabbits,” Wei Ying said, offering a smile.

The man offered a small one in return. 

“You’re looking for my husband, then. You must be the Wei family he mentioned. Please come in.”

They took their shoes off inside the foyer.

The man introduced himself as Song Lan, and Wei Ying briefly wondered if he had Americanized his name, which was his surname and which was his given. 

“This is A-Qing,” Song Lan said, introducing the girl.

A-Yuan offered her a shy smile and received one in return.

He led them through the house into what he called “the bunny room.” He wasn’t kidding. The room was bunny paradise, with a home-made run built using shelves on the walls, multiple hutches, a feeding and eating area, an area of litter boxes, and a prodigious number of toys. 

A man in sunglasses was sedately petting one of the bunnies in the midst of it all.

“The Wei family?” he asked, putting down the rabbit and standing to greet them. 

“Yeah, baba,” A-Qing answered. “They’re husbands like you and die, and they have a kid, too.”

He held out his hand to shake, and Wei Ying took it first, then A-Zhan. Even A-Yuan reached up and gave a little handshake. The man laughed softly at that. He realized belatedly he should probably introduce them.

“I’m Wei Ying, my husband is Wei Zhan, and then there’s A-Yuan, our son.”

The man nodded and smiled. 

“I’m Xiao Xingchen, or as you know me online, SongXiao. My husband helps with that part.”

“And me!” A-Qing added.

“Ah, I can’t forget my tech support, A-Qing and A-Yang. You’ve met our daughter.”

“A-Yang is my brother and he’s a brat but he’s not home right now,” A-Qing said. 

“And, of course, there are the bunnies,” Song Lan added. 

They sat on the floor with Xiao Xingchen as he gestured for them to do, while Song Lan and A-Qing opened one of the hutches. That was all they really needed to do, as the bunnies made their way to freedom quickly. They were tiny, and if the guides Wei Ying had read were right, would likely only grow to be 3-4 pounds. 

One of the black bunnies immediately began hopping around the room at high speed when it was free, jumping around as though in joy. 

“That one’s like you, a-die,” A-Yuan commented, and Wei Ying laughed. 

A-Qing reached in for a few stragglers and then joined them on the floor, putting one in A-Yuan’s lap as she sat down. Song Lan came with the mother rabbit, whose coat was fully black. 

“Fuxue had a litter of six this time around,” Song Lan told them. “Three of each sex.”

There was one brown, two black, and three of different shades of gray. 

“They all have gentle dispositions,” Xiao Xingchen added. “Though one of the females is quite energetic, as you noticed.”

A-Yuan pet the one in his lap, a light gray one Song Lan told them was a lilac color. A-Qing put the other light gray one in Wei Ying’s lap, and he couldn’t stop himself from cooing softly at it as his fingers met its soft fur. 

“Since we bred her with a lilac, we also have the one blue and the chocolate. Lilac is the light gray, blue is the darker,” Song Lan explained. 

The blue was hopping around after the energetic black bunny, at a slower pace. The chocolate kit was approaching A-Zhan with hesitant curiosity. The less energetic black one hopped up to Xiao Xingchen, clearly looking for his familiarity, and hopped into his lap. 

He picked it up gently.

“Who doesn’t have a bunny yet?” he asked.

The chocolate was next to A-Zhan’s leg, nosing at the hand he held out. When he pet it, the kit closed its eyes, flopped over, and exposed its belly. When he gently picked it up, it offered no resistance. 

“I think it likes you, A-Zhan,” Wei Ying joked. “We all have bunnies. A-Yuan and I have the lilacs, and the chocolate has fallen in love with my husband.”

“He loves to be pet,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Especially if you rub gently right between his ears.”

“The black and lilac are one boy, one girl each. The blue is female,” Song Lan added.

Xiao Xingchen discussed what to expect in terms of personality and needed care, along with specifics about the breed. Most of the details were ones Wei Ying had read online, but some were based on experience with rabbits. 

They passed around the four they were holding so they could each meet them, and eventually the blue was curious enough to wander over. But the energetic black needed to be caught by A-Qing. 

“She’s really sassy,” A-Qing told them. 

“Definitely a big personality,” Xiao Xingchen agreed.

The chatting about bunnies gave way to other chatter—Xiao Xingchen revealed he had lost his eyesight during an illness that had infected the optic nerve, and they had adopted A-Qing because her ocular albinism meant she also had difficulty seeing. Since they had already adapted to his blindness and the agency had labeled her unadoptable, they took her in. 

“Honestly, I grew up partly in the system,” he said. “I couldn’t leave her.”

“I did, too,” Wei Ying admitted. 

“I inherited this home from my adoptive mother, Baoshan Sanren.”

Wei Ying gasped, and he could feel A-Zhan looking at him in concern.

“She was my mother’s mom,” he said, not able to stop himself from staring. “Cangse Sanren. She and Dad died when I was four.”

“Goodness, what a small world! She had already left for college when I was adopted, so I didn’t get to know her well. I guess that would make me your jiujiu?”

Wei Ying grinned, poking A-Yuan gently. 

“A-Yuan, that means Xiao Xingchen is your jiuye, and A-Qing is your tangjie.”

A-Qing looked thrilled.

“I get a cousin? Score!”

Wei Ying could only guess she didn’t have much extended family, and he was glad to add to their found family. A-Yuan had many Wen uncles and aunts and cousins, but he was just as excited. The kids huddled together to talk. 

“Definitely a small world,” A-Zhan said. 

“Smaller still,” Song Lan said. “I freelance now, but I used to work in the tech industry, so I recognize your names.”

Wei Ying focused on the rabbit in his lap, the chocolate who was sprawled out and nuzzling against his hand, feeling taut and anxious.

“It obviously wasn’t you,” he continued quickly. “But I decided not to work with the major companies after seeing what they would do to their own.”

“They didn’t see me as their own,” Wei Ying said, shaking his head, hating the feeling rising in his chest. 

Silence fell among them, interrupted by the kids chattering nearby. It was clear Xiao Xingchen didn’t know what they were talking about, but Song Lan could explain later. 

“A-Ying found his family,” A-Zhan said after a moment. “As did I.”

“I would be honored to be a part of it,” Xiao Xingchen said. “It is good to finally meet my waisheng.”

The discomfort passed, Xiao Xingchen filling the silence with stories of his adoptive mother, the stories he knew of Wei Ying’s mother, the tales soothing his anxiety. The bunny in his lap helped, it’s warmth and nuzzling relaxing. 

Eventually Xiao Xingchen asked the big question. 

“Which of the bunnies appealed to you?”

Wei Ying and A-Zhan exchanged a glance before they turned to A-Yuan. 

“The brown one,” A-Yuan said immediately. “He cuddles.”

The same one Wei Ying was fond of, currently in his lap. A-Zhan nodded his agreement. 

“He’s on my lap nuzzling me now,” Wei Ying said. 

“Any ideas on names yet?” Song Lan asked. 

“Turmeric or Nutmeg,” A-Yuan supplied. “They’re warm, like him.”

“Not Cinnamon?” Wei Ying asked teasingly.

“No. I bet everyone names brown rabbits Cinnamon.”

Xiao Xingchen laughed. 

“Well, you’ll probably figure out what spice is most like him as you get to know him better.”

They packed up the bunny, A-Qing taking him around to say goodbye to each of his siblings and mother. Xiao Xingchen insisted on giving them the friends and family discount, and they exchanged numbers so they could find more time to get to know each other. 

The drive home was quiet, punctuated with chatter by A-Yuan about A-Qing and Turmeric or Nutmeg. 

The bunny took to his new home well, seemingly happy with the space and toys and food, and they watched him and played with him for hours until he eventually entered the hutch and climbed into the hammock. 

A-Yuan was yawning and dinner hadn’t been made, so A-Zhan ordered pizza, something they rarely did, which made it a treat. While they ate, A-Yuan told them solemnly the bunny’s name was Turmeric. Wei Ying asked if his middle name was Nutmeg, and A-Yuan smiled widely and nodded, and thus Turmeric Nutmeg Wei became their newest family member.

By the time A-Yuan was fed and bathed and tucked in, he was ready to fall right to sleep, and Wei Ying was able to snuggle on the sofa with A-Zhan with a little time left before bed.

“You found more family,” A-Zhan said, smiling softly, lacing their hands together. 

“We found more family,” Wei Ying corrected. “What’s mine is yours, xinai.”

He scooted closer to A-Zhan until he was almost in his lap. The events of earlier were on his mind, the mysterious phone call, what it might mean. He knew his husband was concerned. Even if the silence between them was comfortable, he worried about A-Zhan. 

“Did you want to call your brother?” he asked. 

A-Zhan shook his head, then leaned in for a kiss.

“No. Today is for family. I want to take you to bed.”

Even after five years, when A-Zhan said things like that Wei Ying melted. 

When A-Zhan pulled him up and tugged him toward their bedroom, he hindered him a little with kisses, but they eventually made it. 

In the morning they would learn Wei Ying had been proven innocent; the culprit was actually Lan Xichen’s fiance, Meng Yao. His scion Su She took the opportunity to frame Wei Ying out of jealousy, wanting A-Zhan for himself. 

The bad year at Nie Industries was caused by the very same code, undiscovered until a large number shares were suddenly liquidated and stocks plummeted, until millions of dollars were syphoned from corporate accounts and disappeared. Nie Huaisang had put the pieces together, had worked with the FBI and proved it was Meng Yao working on behalf of Jin Enterprises at the behest of his father.

Later, Gusu Lan Tech would ask A-Zhan to return home to chair the board after a vote of no confidence in Lan Xichen, and he would tell them no. He was part of Dafan Applications now, he had a home, and he was happy where he was. 

Later, the Wei family might consider responding to overtures from the families they once had. 

Tonight they didn’t have that knowledge. 

Tonight was for family, and right then was for A-Zhan and Wei Ying, with no room for anything outside of their home. 

#my fanfiction #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #CQL #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #cql fic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fic #untamed fanfiction #untamed fanfic #untamed fic #wei ying #wen qing #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #wangxian #song lan #xiao xingchen #song zichen #songxiao #a-qing

[mllemaenad]

WRT the "Alone" choice, I think there's a factor that's missing from your analysis. A Magister (himself a significant threat, most people in Thedas are TERRIFIED of Magisters) shows up flanked by armed guards, in a location with no witnesses, far from the City Guard or the Templars. "Give me Fenris" implicitly carries an "or die". Isabella isn't going to judge Hawke for choosing safety over principle, and Varric/Merril will understand too. The danger of refusing to give up Fenris is non-trivial.

Oh come now. It’s utterly trivial. I prep a bit, for fighting the rock wraith or the high dragon. The Arishok is almost literal murder with that impaling attack. But for Danarius I can pretty much wander in with whatever is in my pockets. He’s a mini boss, no more.

He’s incredibly threatening to Fenris specifically, because of Fenris’s experience of trauma at his hands, but he’s not notably threatening in the general sense. And this is an Act 3 quest. By this point in time, some of your likely opponents will have been:

an ancient rock wraith

the Arishok of the Qunari

Duke Prosper and a damn wyvern

a high dragon

Corypheus (!!!!)

templars, numerous

blood mages, numerous

demons, very numerous

Danarius’s apprentice Hadriana

Danarius barely rates. This quest takes place in The Hanged Man, possibly with the captain of the guard present, possibly with a blood mage and a healer present, definitely with plenty of capable backup of your own. If your argument is that the average barkeep or dockworker would not be able to handle Danarius, I agree entirely. But this is the Champion of Kirkwall. Your friends are awesome, powerful people, several of whom like Fenris personally and/or object to slavery in general. You kick Danarius’s arse. It’s fine.

Also, I strongly believe that you are misreading the tone of that discussion. Listen to this. Danarius is a condescending aristocrat, but he clearly regards Hawke as a person in a way that he does not regard Fenris. He’s certainly prepared for a scrap, but he’s as surprised as Fenris when he doesn’t get one.

Hawke: If you want him, he’s yours.

Fenris: What?

Danarius: Interesting. I’ll make it worth your while, of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal.

Fenris: Don’t do this, Hawke. I need you.

Hawke: You’re on your own, Fenris.

It is absolutely worth Danarius’s while to bargain for Fenris rather than trying to fight the damn Champion, and Hawke does not sound fearful. Hawke sells Fenris for favours and influence. And Danarius opens correspondence with them afterwards. This is Hawke being a terrible person.

However, to my larger point: it doesn’t matter. The issue here is that the story completely and utterly fails to give this the narrative weight it deserves. Hawke has known Fenris for years at this point. We are all keenly aware of how much he personally dreads being enslaved again, and that’s before we get to the broader moral consideration about supporting slavery at all. Fenris is a companion! A main character! This is a huge story beat. It’s questionable to even put something like this in a story. But if you do, you have an obligation to do something with it.

And Bioware emphatically does not.

If, as you say, the party was simply overwhelmed by Danarius then this ought to have been a scene of utter grief and despair. We got in over our heads and lost one of our own. And they would have needed to derail most of the third act to deal with it. Things just got much harder, but we are not out of options. There are a lot of Tal-Vasoth in the city, and they may well have respect for both Hawke and Fenris. Can we hire some mercenaries then and catch them on the road? Feynriel might be in Tevinter - can we get in contact with him to help Fenris escape? What about Maevaris? Could Varric reach her?

Of course, none of that happens. Bioware has a story about the political fracturing of Kirkwall, a step on the road to the mage rebellion, and the discovery of red lyrium that they’re committed to telling. They do not have time for this.

On the other hand if, as I would strongly contend, this is a Hawke at their most evil, then this ought to have provoked a crisis in the party. Most of their companions ought to have left, because a Hawke who will sell their friends for personal gain is incredibly dangerous. Merrill and Anders could be sold to the templars; Sebastian could be sold to his political enemies; Isabela to Castillon or the Qunari; Varric to business rivals; Aveline to anti-Fereldan interests in the guard. In all likelihood at least some of these people should have stepped in to fight for Fenris. At bare minimum they should all have walked away for their own safety.

That doesn’t happen either. Bioware is aware of the concept of a companion crisis: they’ve used it before and will again. They elect not to here. It would break the party combat system. You can have occasions in the game where a companion leaves, but if all of them break with you at once you have pretty much destroyed the gameplay.

So instead, we have some throwaway lines and some minor approval changes. Everyone just remarks on it and moves on in a way that is utterly disturbing if you think about it for five minutes. They make it trivial.

So while I agree that it is tacky that it exists, I’m not going to waste my time angsting about Anders’s +5 to friendship because I am also not going to angst over Isabela’s lack of approval change or the little +10 bumps to rivalry from the other party members. I’m not going to angst about Varric saying “That’s our Champion”, like Hawke just made an awkward faux pas at a party. I’m not going to assume that any of this accurately reflects the characters’ views on handing a person over to a slaver because to do so I’d have to assume they were all monsters.

This is just shitty writing. There’s some really awesome stuff in Dragon Age: good dialogue, heart rending quests, fantastic world building. I know I write way too much about it. Think too much about it too. Because the good stuff is fun. But sometimes you just go - “What the actual fuck, Bioware?” and move on.

#Anonymous #dragon age #dragon age 2 #Hawke #fenris #anders #Varric Tethras #isabela #aveline #sebastian vael #merrill