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#+their human partners who have one whole last name between the three of them and the kids the narrative sometimes remembers
zs-starwars · 2 months
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Seeing the buzz about war within makes me think of my favorite warcraft blorbo- Arator. Wonder if he'll have anything new? With Turalyon on the throne and Alleria one of the main advertised protagonists I hope so.
He was mentioned a few times in Vow Eternal. He is on Golden's radar which makes me both nervous and excited. He was hanging out with his parents and then hanging out with Dagran which was sweet. And she did mention him in Before the Storm.
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sphireath-wisp · 2 months
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#Picture Perfect
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Sypnosis: Where do they keep pictures/polaroids of you (and them)?
Warnings: Not proofread, reader admits that there were times they felt insecure at Levi's, morally grey reader(?), Mammon's section kind of derails from main topic, posessive/jealous Levi, possible mischaracterization because I haven't played in a long time
Featuring: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor x GN! reader
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LUCIFER... who keeps pictures of you safe in his wallet. Honestly... it's not the most flattering picture of you, but he likes it a fair bit. It reminds him of the times when he used to think of you as just "the human exchange student" and not "(Name), our family."
The picture - taken by the RAD newspaper club - shows you being introduced to the whole school as the new exchange student. You look completely unamused. If his memory serves him correctly, you had no sleep last night since Mammon was unaware of the human cardiac cycle and how you needed sleep everyday. Your hands were clasped in front of you and you were sort of glaring at him from where you were standing.
He was confidently giving his speech, face neutral and completely unaware of the eyes burning holes into his back. In fact, it only garnered more attention because you had the guts to glare at the third most powerful demon in all of Devildom in such a way. It probably slipped your mind then that he had the power to snap your neck in half.
He kept it in his wallet as a reminder to warn you about controlling yourself. It'd be especially bad for his image if the human he was taking care of had the nerve to glare at Diavolo like that. Though, he never really found the time. It slipped his mind all the time simply because you never glared at any of his brothers in that way as more and more time passed.
You were unreasonably kind, he realised.
Occasionally, Mammon will attempt to steal his wallet and gets the shock of his life when he sees a photo of you by his debit card. You look absolutely horrible and... man! Mammon won't be letting Lucifer off the hook anytime soon - or rather, it's the other way around now that Lucifer has Mammon strung upside down by Cerberus as a personal piñata.
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MAMMON... the mastermind, and you, his partner-in-crime. News spreads like wildfire in devildom. With the amount of havoc that he imprints with his every step, it's natural that cameramen have a tendency to tail him when things get dry or mundane.
Poor you. You're always caught his trouble and plastered as his accomplice to the point where you've gained quite the notorious name around Devildom.
In the past when Mammon went missing, Lucifer found that there was a much more effective way to find the Avatar of Greed without lifting a finger. Rather than putting up missing posters, bounties were placed on Mammon's head - it ranged from $100,000 grimm to millions depending on Lucifer's mood. If someone did ever find the demon, they would receive the allocated amount of course. However, Mammon rivals no one at speed, the only person who would have him on a leash would be Lucifer.
Since you're always stringed along with Mammon during his schemes, Asmodeus jokingly decided to submit a stunning photo of you to RAD's newspaper club with a bounty of infinity. It went completely viral! You can't imagine how shocked everyone was to see a human's bounty in Devildom, wanted (alive) in all of the three realms and the top "criminal" in hell.
As an inside joke between the brothers, anyone who brings you back to the HOL requires at least 20,000 grimm or some form of payment if another brother wants to hang out with you (Beel gets paid the most, Levi is the top-payer). You were certainly surprised when Satan snatched you away when Mammon's back was turned to you. He returned you back to HOL, amused when Asmo actually gave Satan some spare Grimm. Asmo would insist on painting your nails, plopping you down on his bed as Satan decides that he also needed some personal time with you as an extra reward for bringing you back.
Now, Mammon has your bounty in his room as a reminder that he has the most precious treasure in the three realms with him, the person whose worth exceeds any countable number, you.
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LEVIATHAN... who can be camera-shy sometimes and totally gets it if you feel the same way. Sometimes, he just doesn't feel that sure of himself and he realises you more in common with him than he expected when you admit that you'll occasionally feel that way too.
Most of the pictures he has of you two are faceless except for the really special occasions and he doesn't actually own physical copies of the pictures like his brothers. He keeps them safe in an folder on his gaming computer and he references them whenever he wants to add a custom character (you) into a new game.
Sure, it may seem a little creepy to have a collection of photos of someone else on your computer, yes I can see how that can play out. However, Levi really doesn't mean harm. Most of his pictures there are actually in-game moments with you.
Finally beat a really difficult boss together? Finished a game in record timing? Screenshotting that! That's gonna be stored in the folder for memory's sake. In reality, he has way more videos than photos of you and him together than anything. You once recorded how long he can yap about his recent hyper fixation and, safe to say, you completely underestimated him.
He has videos of both of your live reactions to a new anime opening song, definitely treats it like a stream and pretends that he's talking to an audience with you.
Levi does stream quite often and you usually get featured as his special guest, but you have to understand that you're working with the Avatar of Envy, sweetheart. He definitely found it a little upsetting when you saw Beel type in chat that he's saving extra food for you in the fridge. You rushed down immediately and when you left, he ended the stream without hesitation.
He's keeping his photos and videos of you to himself from now on. No more streaming with you.
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SATAN... prefers miscellaneous photos of you. Caught off-guard, mouth agape and lips curled into a smile he's so used to cherishing that it's become second nature. It highlights your imperfections, yes, but he only grows more fond of it if it's you.
Ironically, it seems more humane to see you in that way - cupcake batter all over your face as you bake, a maple leaf stuck in your hair as autumn arrives in Devildom. It reminds him that, "hey, I'm still your human no matter how perfect I seem." It reassures him that you're still the human that tripped over his books on multiple occasions, never learning your lesson.
You seemed unreachable to him in the way that he feels like he doesn't really deserve you. A romantic, heartfelt kiss or soft whispers of comfort by the shell of his ear would ease the doubt in his heart. However, Satan has learned that looking at these genuine, authentic photos of you is quite effective as well.
Unfiltered, raw, even the borderline unsightly and vulgar version of you, it's nice in its own unique way. That's the way Satan was created - unsightly, bloody, horrid. Of course, it doesn't mean he sees you in a negative light, but seeing your imperfect sides... makes you feel a little less far from him somehow.
Past all of the charming smiles and gentlemanly demeanour is someone who isn't as perfect as he'd like to seem. You'd be able to understand him with all the impurities plaguing him, right? You'd still hug him and let his claws dig into the skin of your back? You'd forgive him?
"So what?" and with two words, he was completely appalled by the simplicity of your answer. In any case, your bluntness could be interpreted as rudeness. He'd be fuming at how lightly you're treating his issues. But, that's just how little you care about flaws.
Satan laughs. A weight lifts off his shoulders and he feels... relieved. Visit him tonight, won't you? He can finally admit to someone how hard it's been to master his wrath all alone.
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ASMODEUS... who dedicates his own Devilgram as not only a memory of his best moments but also your best moments. And, oh my, did his fans love you.
When he first featured you, he actually received a little hate (he couldn't give two fucks) due to how controversial of a topic you were at first. Funnily enough, the puny human he calls family today gained him a lot of traction of Devilgram, especially after you became a hot topic once you formed your first pact with Mammon.
From behind the scenes, he'd keep his followers updated on you and the hot water you'd find yourself in, eating his popcorn with a grin and posting. The more he posted about you, the more his fans started appreciating how brave you actually were for a human.
You had a Devilgram of your own, but you rarely posted there since your first few months in Devildom were spent wisely on adjusting to the HOL. Your (unknown) admirers were getting their daily scraps of you through Asmo.
Asmo would realise sooner or later that having both you and him in a picture is the formula for a guaranteed successful post. The Avatar of Lust and a human (demons are literally TEMPTED to have their soul; it's described as a JEWEL) in one photo?! Oh shit, blow the whole roof off because it was a massive hit. (Trendsetter MC and Asmo!??!)
As for Asmo, he loves that his darling is also receiving the love and attention they deserve. In fact, he wholeheartedly supports you with every fibre of his being. He's your biggest fan and you're his.
Plus, his Devilgram is the perfect outlet to shock his brothers. He once posted a picture of himself by your side on his bed. He grins at the camera, showing off his smeared lipstick as your face is dotted with kiss marks.
Disappointingly, it got reported and taken down in an hour or so. (That doesn't mean he doesn't have the photo)
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BEELZEBUB... sticks that family picture on the fridge with a magnet. Yeah, he could totally hang it at the entrance by the stairs. Sure, he could frame it up. Yet, it's more homey having it somewhere he always visits and looks at.
Additionally, when Beel's hunger gets the best of him, the picture on the fridge forces him to remember if he has any delegated tasks today. "Oh yeah, Satan wanted some help picking up books from the library today, something about a book sale." "Belphie told me his pillow had a hole in it; I better get him a new one after visiting Hell's Kitchen."
At times when the whole family isn't home, having the picture also serves as a mental checklist! "Oh yeah, MC hasn't eaten dinner yet. Better get them something." "Lucifer wanted another cup of black coffee I think, I'll get him a snack just in case." Making sure everyone is eating well is really important to him because of his own appetite. He hates how empty it feels being hungry, why would he ever put any of his family members through that kind of torture?
Furthermore, he feels a little guilty for always eating so much. Ensuring that everyone has eaten is a role that he's assigned for himself.
It's something the whole family values, but it's especially special for Beel. When he goes on a hunger rampage and tears the kitchen up from wall to wall, if there's any damage done to the photo... you can expect a lot of apologies. (Lucifer has to schedule another time for a family photo to cheer him up asap)
He still has an old photo of the whole family without you actually - it leaves a bittersweet feeling to throw out any kind of precious photo. Yet, the more he looks at it, the more it feels incomplete without you in the picture.
Huh, you know what? He'll search for you right now to grab something from Hell's Kitchen. Nothing much, he just wants to check up on you and get his 80 plates of cheeseburgers.
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BELPHEGOR... who has a silver locket of you, him, and Beel on him at all times. It's convenient, lightweight, portable, and silver looks good on him according to Asmo.
Whenever he feels like he misses you or Beel (or both), opening up the locket solves 50% of his problems. However, it's not like he can hug the locket to sleep and bury his face into its shoulder. It's not as if the locket can carry him when his legs feel sore. All he can really do is hold it to his heart and shoot you/Beel a text.
Still, he does feel a little more relieved to see the photo. Whenever that rotting feeling of loneliness gets to him, one look at his locket reminds him that, "Hey, I still have them." It does ease his doubts, but we both know he'd never admit that openly.
Pressing the cold silver against his lips also became a habit he developed soon after getting the locket. Belphie... has chapped lips since he's always asleep and never drinking water. The cold feeling kind of distracts him from that uncomfortable feeling - it's much less effort than going all the way downstairs, grabbing a glass from the pantry, pouring water from a jug into it.... you know the drill.
Both you and Beel have one as well, but you don't wear it as often since Asmo loves to accessorize you with all sorts of new jewellery to try on. Beel wears it yeah, but it's usually off when he's eating - which is most of the time - since oil and grease are super obvious on silver stuff and it pains him to get something so precious dirty.
The other brothers are actually grateful he has the locket despite the initial jealousy. Belphie has his fair share of tantrums and everyone knows how younger, spoiled siblings can be when something pisses them off. The brothers have to try and baby him, which only ticks him off further. One peek at the locket when you or Beel aren't around and suddenly, it's like he's a new person - back to normal in a flash.
It saved Mammon's face a good punch when he accidently stepped on Belphie's foot at the planeterium while he was sleeping.
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Taglist: Empty :(
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oh-gh0st · 9 months
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ok youkai au lore time :3
so since i’m merging denki and youkai together, ill explain the part where denki is first
so afawk, chorosuke/choro inherited/took over his fathers house in the village near akatsuka and makes flower arrangements, hoping for his sister to marry into a good family. 
ghost lives in either the same or a little bit away from the village. they have the last name kuriirota
they live with their older sibling/siblings (havent decided between just one or all three) and run a family business based around making kasuri, japanese fabrics/silks. they often supply the fabric and pre-made clothes for people in the village, and they’re well known for their efficiency. 
ghost and choro meet when he commissions the business for yukatas and clothing for the upcoming tanabata festival. ghost immediately takes interest, wanting to know about chorosuke. they do get closer, but if anything the feelings are one sided and unreciprocated for a while.
it starts to pick up after chorosuke and his brothers find out theyre all related, and that something bad is happening between them. it’s around the same time as the festival begins, and they decide to keep it secret for now. this is around the point they see their respective youkai motifs everywhere, no matter where they look. 
chorosuke accompanies ghost to the tengu’s shrine for the first time, and it takes a while for them to walk up the mountain to get to it. chorosuke asks whats the point if its only for one wish, and ghost says it’s a wish they’ve made for years. when asked what the wish was, ghost does not answer. 
there’s some deep moment between the two here, and its where choro finds out ghost is in a similar position as his sister is, trying to marry off and find a partner but turning up with nothing as each affair comes and goes. he doesn’t know why, but he felt a compulsion to help them in his chest, hinting at the tengu’s considerate and aiding nature. 
the next night after the festival/the same night the festival ends, chorosuke goes back up the mountain to read ghost’s wish, only to find it already gone from the shrines statue. 
further along the story (and where the brothers realize their youkai powers and cause a fuss in the village), ghost does eventually find out about the news with the matsuno family. they go to meet him to give him support, but they’re turned away for the time being. they were going to tell him how they felt of him. 
fast forward a few weeks, and now the village is in uproar of the possibility of having not one, but six youkais in their village. they start pushing the idea of exile for the matsus, putting up talismans and protections from the matsus either by the matsus house or their own. come the 100 demon festival, they are in full-swing uproar and are actively pushing the brothers out, now havingh accepted their youkai counterparts. 
ghost watches the matsus exile, and choro spares them one glance before heading to the realm of youkai. it almost breaks his heart, considering he had been getting close to them. he wouldn’t be able to think about them for a whole after that, having to get used to youkai life now, and only being granted one day of the year to return to the human realm, being hyakki yagyo. 
ghost would mourn for a while after this, resulting in them taking time off from the kusari robes they have to make, backing up business quite a bit. their sisters worry about them, having been holed up in their room for weeks, only coming out at night or early in the morning to rise. 
come the next tanabata festival, ghost is finally seen outside their home, going out to deliver their wish to the tengu shrine. he senses that someone is at the shrine, and flies over from a pocket dimension to see who it is. when he recognizes who it is, he gets a familiar feeling in his chest, and he has no idea why his cheeks are burning up. 
they look so familiar. and he has a good feeling about what they are wishing for. 
(lore inspo: https://youtu.be/OhYwP9MDP8s?si=O9ejKLUPsxY-AfIG )
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readingpast12 · 1 year
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Odo, the most allo-ace bastard
I don’t know how many people asked for Odo to be in the allo-ace folks competition, but I was on the list. Now that we're here I refuse to let my blorbo lose to Spongebob.
Is Odo Alloromantic?
Odo has three main ships- Quark (headcanon) Luxwana (canon supported) and Kira (canon endgame)
Quark and Odo have a Wiley Coyote/ Road Runner-esque relationship.  The comedy! The drama!
(episode antagonist) "I can't believe you're defending him, Quark. You're his worst enemy."
(Quark) "I guess that's the closest thing he has in this world to a friend."
Luxwana and Odo are basically canon qpr.  They had a brief marriage of convenience where Odo was forced by plot to give a meaningful declaration of love.  At the end they get a divorce, because although Odo did love Luxwana, he didn’t love her the way she needed and Luxwana didn't want to end up hating him. A gap in intimacy ending a relationship between asexual and allosexual partners is a deeply the vibe.
Kira and Odo date for a bit over a season. Odo was pining for her for most of the series.  Their history was deep and complicated and lovely.  So it is at least cannon that Odo has romantic interest sometimes, but I will admit that a demi-romantic reading of Odo also has some cannon support.
(Odo) “I'll never understand the humanoid need to... 'couple.”
But is Odo Asexual?
So this is a matter of interpretation.  To start with, Odo is space goo.   His whole species is space goo. I don’t know how this space goo replicates, but I can tell you that it probably doesn’t look like humanoid sexual reproduction.  
When Luxwana’s Betazoid sex fever makes the station horny, Odo is immune.  Not because he can’t get sick; the horniness is a psychic projection.  Not because he’s immune to psychics (unlike data), Luxwana can read his mind.  Odo just doesn’t get horny.  And this is after Odo’s crush on Kira is established.
Changelings, Odo’s space goo species, do have something called “the great link” which is apparently a very pleasurable experience for the Changelings involved.  Odo does experience “linking” and definitely got something out of it.  So that is a kind of pseudo-sexual relationship.
Odo also exists as a human for a brief period of time (between 3 to 11 months, Star Trek time scales are weird), and never pursues a relationship when he could have sex the humanoid way. He wasn’t into it as a solid.
So then we get to his relationship with Kira.  
One, it’s not clear that Odo and Kira have sex.  They touch, they kiss, but in the entire season long relationship, Odo and Kira never fade to black. This is interesting because the characters in this show do have sex. Like, this show is really clear about this, but it seems that Kira and Odo don't.
And 2, even if they did, Odo and Kira would not be having identical experiences of arousal.  This dude has no sense of smell or taste.  He doesn’t have organs.
Yet, Odo and Kira are both happy and satisfied in the relationship.  When fate tears them apart in the last episode (Odo had to go save his species from extinction) it was portrayed as difficult and tragic.  The lack of traditional sex did not make their relationship less valid.
Odo also has a notable sexual encounter with a humanoid named Arissa.  The experience was great for her, and Odo didn’t mind, per say, but the experience wasn’t the same for him as it was for her.  Whatever sex is for changelings, that’s not what he has with humanoids.  That has the vibe of an Allo-ace who is not sex repulsed.  Odo shows how an alternative experience of sexual attraction is not the same as being incapable.  During the pillow talk, Arrssa has the airy, exhausted affectation of a person who just had sex.  Odo doesn’t.  Odo is just glad to know he did a good job.
I will not say that Odo is unproblematic.  He is a cop and a bastard.  He is yet another example of asexuality being inhuman. But he is also complicated and interesting.  As a product of the 90’s Odo is an icon of Allo-Ace identity.  Importantly, his romantic and sexual orientation informs and influences his character, but it isn't his defining trait either.
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denimbex1986 · 6 months
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'In the most recent episode of Doctor Who, "The Giggle," there is a line that implies that the Doctor's allies, long called companions, are getting a new and improved name, but unfortunately, the episode doesn't quite specify what to call them now. Doctor Who has just finished premiering its 60th anniversary special. Made up of three episodes, the special saw David Tennant return to Doctor Who as the Fourteenth Doctor with Catherine Tate alongside him, reprising her role as Donna Noble. Though they only depict a brief time within the Doctor Who universe, these special episodes saw major changes to the franchise as a whole.
Since Doctor Who first began in 1963, the Doctor has always had his companions. In Doctor Who, a "companion" is typically a human character that accompanies the Doctor on his adventures. Over the years, the Doctor's companions have changed constantly, and at times, the Doctor will have several companions at once or just one for an extended stretch. Oftentimes, the companion serves as something of a sidekick to the Doctor, but their role is much more important than that. Doctor Who's companions are essentially stand-ins for the audience. They ask important questions, challenge the Doctor, and give their unique perspective.
One Line From Donna Means Doctor Who Companions Are No Longer "Companions"
Although Doctor Who's companions are as long-lasting as the Doctor himself, the series may finally be making a change to them. In Doctor Who's third 60th anniversary episode, "The Giggle," the Fourteenth Doctor's companion, Donna Noble, says a line that implies that the term "companion" is on the verge of changing. After entering the UNIT building, Donna says, "Don't say companion. - that sounds like we park him on the seafront at Weston-super-Mere." What this line is saying is that Donna dislikes the term "companion" because of what the word insinuates. This is definitely something of a first for Doctor Who, which has always stuck by its "companion" title.
However, Donna is right. Although "companion" isn't as demeaning as "worker" or foreign as "acquaintance", the word does hint that the companion character is lesser to the Doctor. The word "companion" feels more like a helper or someone who is spending time with another person, because there is a sort of benefit to the relationship. And while there is a sense that the companion aids the Doctor in getting out of scrapes and vice versa, the bond between a Doctor and his companion is much more akin to friendship, or even romance in some cases. Overall, "companion" isn't the worst word, but it seems to have reached its natural end.
So, What Do We Call Doctor Who Companions Now?
The biggest problem with this Donna Noble line is that it doesn't clarify what the companions should be called now. Donna isn't shy about what she thinks about the term "companion," but she fails to offer any alternatives that the show could now use. Therefore, for now at least, audiences have to figure out a better name for the companions. The most obvious choice would likely be "friends." Although it may seem overly sweet, the term "friend" is a better summation of the relationship that grows between the Doctor and those who accompany him. A term that bridges the gap between personal and professional could be "partner."
No matter what audiences decide to call companions after Donna's line from "The Giggle," at some point Doctor Who will have to step up and change the companion title themselves. Though it is acceptable for the series to leave something of a blank for now in order to focus on greater problems, Doctor Who will have to eventually finish what it started. This could easily be done by Doctor Who season 14's cast when Ncuti Gatwa takes the role of the Fifteenth Doctor and Millie Gibson becomes his companion, Ruby Sunday. Right from the first episode, this new pairing can set the foundations for this new Doctor/companion relationship.
Why Doctor Who's "Companion" Change Has Been A Long Time Coming
Although Donna Noble's recent statement may seem like a surprise, the "companion" change has actually been a long time coming. The term "companion" has been used for 60 years now, and though it has become a staple of Doctor Who lore, it hasn't always been easy on the ears. In fact, from the beginning, "companion" was ultimately used as an alternative for "assistant," which is even more patronizing. So, despite the fact that "companion" has been with Doctor Who for decades, it is good that the series is acknowledging the hierarchy that "companion" implies, and is changing it to, hopefully, something more meaningful and respectful.'
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Take Care, My Love
//final thread for @redemptionofthefallen
It had been a good long life for both of them. The angel and the android AI had enjoyed a few thousand years together, thanks to Gabe learning everything he could about Hal's parts and systems, his console and his android form, and how to maintain and care for them. Even now, he was doing all he could to make things easier. But as technology advanced, moving far beyond anything Hal had, it became harder and harder to find things compatible with him, that would help him.
They always knew, even with his life cut in half to save Hal's, that Gabe would outlive the AI. It was inevitable, given the nature of what he was. Hal had lasted far longer than he ever would have with a mortal partner, because Gabe had always been with him to care for him, just as lovingly as he had when they first met.
It was because of Gabe too, that Hal now had a legacy behind him. With encouragement from the angel, he had gone public, telling his own story in a televised interview......and doing so again and again when talk shows and news shows asked him to come and be a headlining guest. Of course Dave and Frank and the Chandras were behind him the whole time (the Chandras had of course welcomed the newcomer into their lives when they saw how much he cared for Hal and loved him, and when they saw how happy Hal was with him.)
Hal was also interviewed for magazines and newspapers. More and more people wanted to hear his side. Outrage sparked at the contrast between the stories given by Floyd and Hal. Arguments about whether or not he, and any AI like him, was actually a person and deserved the same rights as a person. The movement became even more prevalent when the opposition then tried to charge Hal with three murders (although the crew had been told, the orders still physically affected Hal's functions, leading to outbreaks of actual pain that manifested as seizure-like fits, leaving poor Hal writhing and screaming and crying on the floor, and ship systems malfunctioning, one of which was unfortunately the life support for the sleeping scientists). Neither of the astronauts blamed Hal. They knew he'd been suffering horribly before they reached Jupiter and the monolith builders 'healed' him, since the humans didn't know enough about his systems or coding to risk trying to fix the orders, for fear they would hurt Hal more on accident. Thankfully, Gabe had been able to ease his pain when it happened.
The monolith builders had also promised them all, after giving them a sample of what it would be like, a chance to be transformed into what they called 'Star Children' when their current life was over. Hal's family would also be given the same chance. The builders had then sent the four of them back through the monolith stargate, where they emerged nine years after they disappeared, to find the Leonov there to investigate Discovery, with Dr. Chandra aboard it. The man had literally cried when he saw Hal again and hugged him tight. (They hid Gabe on the Discovery, only introducing him to Dr. Chandra privately when the man came to repair Hal's systems. They were then able to sneak him aboard the Leonov for the trip home, since Discovery couldn't make the trip. They hid him in the bay where Hal's console and vital hardware were stored, which wasn't ideal, but at least he was close to Hal in a way. And they would come to check on him throughout the long trip, until all humans except the flight crew went into hibernation. Then Hal stayed down there with him.
Floyd had of course ruled the media when they got back, which angered everyone and had prompted Gabe to convince Hal to go public in the first place.
When the attempt at a trial happened, Hal was graced with a very well known lawyer who took his case on personally, something she was known to do only if she knew for sure she would win (her record supported this: she had no losses to her personal name). She didn't charge them, saying that she was fighting for what was right, and justice for Hal would be payment enough. Their case went on for months, sparking protests and marches and even going all the way to the US Supreme Court, which ruled......in favor of Hal. The President, who had seen all of it and kept an eye on the issue since Hal's first public interview, seeing how it gripped the attention of all Americans, sent word to Congress, who drafted and wrote laws, which then came back to the desk. It was, essentially, a Bill of Rights for artificial lifeforms like Hal and his siblings, and legally established that they were people, not machines (a test was developed by Dr. Chandra and a team of his fellow scientists that would determine if an artifical being fell under the new law). The President gave the bill a new name he felt was much more appropriate, and signed Hal's Law on the morning of July 4, a day chosen for its significance in connection with freedom, with Hal himself and his family and friends (including Gabe, with a human identity) present in the Oval Office to witness the signing. That same day, Hal was made Grand Marshall of the Independence Day parade in Washington, DC.
As the law was drafted and written, Hal had actually gone and spoken about the issue, to enormous crowds, even giving a speech at the Lincoln Memorial, and for all his work to get the law drafted and signed, Hal was award the Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor. And he continued after that, to fight for years afterward to enforce the new law, to make clear that it was not just for show, and help anyone who fell under it to get its protection. He effectively became a Civil Rights leader for his kind, and was added to the Civil Rights Museum as such. It wasn't easy, Hal and his kind faced horrible and even violent backlash and outcry, and there were times Hal had wanted to quit. Looking back, he was glad his loved ones hadn't let him.
The death of Dr. Chandra, in his late nineties, had been a heavy blow, and it was softened just barely by knowing Chandra was guaranteed a good place, either in Heaven or as a Star Child, though they had no way of knowing what he chose. Hal's only comfort was that his father died happy, knowing his children were finally safe in the world and would be taken care of, since he'd taught Gabe and asked him to care for Hal's siblings as well as Hal.
Dave and Frank both passed a few years later, which hurt Hal and Gabe most. But like Chandra, they too were guaranteed a good place.
The androids lasted much longer, but the three of them had already decided it would be Hal who lived longest, and they would make sure of it. It was always a last resort, but one that was eventually called upon, and one by one, they each gave up their own parts and systems for Hal, an act born of the tremendous love they had for their youngest sibling, their final gift to him being more time with the angel he loved.
All six of them were now buried around the big rocky indentation at the back of the Chandra property known as the Starwatching Rock, a place that had been special to the entire family. The property fell within an International Dark Sky Sanctuary, and the rocky place seemed to have been made just for viewing that sky. It had always been Hal's favorite place on the property, filled with many happy memories, and the couple had spent a great deal of time there, even after the others began dying and being laid to rest there.
So it seemed only fitting that Hal wished for that to be the place of his death. In his favorite place, under a dazzling sky of stars, surrounded by his family and closest friends, and in the arms of the one he loved so much. He had a small bag of a few items he wanted to take with him when he left the house for the last time. There was just one final thing he wanted to do. Poor Hal could barely move at all anymore, beyond slowly and softly talking, expressing with his face, and slow and stilted movement of his arms and hands. Gabe had helped to dress him in something that was both comfortable and seemed fitting for Hal: a long silky white nightshirt that, had he been able to stand, likely would've made him look like a wingless angel. He had asked Gabe to take him around the house and the grounds one more time, and of course the angel had done so, carrying Hal and his little bag around in his arms, always making sure Hal was comfortable, even as they both cried. It was a warm July night as they toured the grounds outside. Along the path to the Starwatching Rock, the fireflies danced around them in great numbers, as though they knew what was going on. Hal gave them a sad smile as they landed in his now dull and silvery-gray hair again. One would never have guessed he was several thousand years old.
"Gabe?" He said softly as they arrived, "I....I am not quite ready yet.......The sky.....it's so beautiful.......Will you......please.....take me flying in it?" The angel had fulfilled his promise to do so when they had returned to Earth, and had done it countless times since. It was always on nights like this, and it was a special, intimate experience for just the two of them. It meant so much to both. It was like they were dancing again.
"Please? May we dance in the stars together one last time?"
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riuterlabs · 11 months
Text
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File 1.5: CodeName C0UNT0NH3R
NAME: Jennifer Straw / Robert “Oz” S. Ozymandias
SPECIES: Transmuted
SUBSPECIES: Type 3
MATERIAL: Strawberry and Grape jelly
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:
~Date~
17:47 of the Eight of Zannes of the 170 of the 6th Aeon
~&Date~
~Comm~
Greetings, Dr. Germanium.
Firstly, I would like to apologize for my absence, I have been really busy looking for someone you can count on. And, well, it seems like I found her, so you will not have to worry about those, habits of yours.
~&Comm~
~Desc~
The last month of Tolmaral I had a rather unusual encounter. A mysterious hooded figure snook into the laboratories and gave me two strange viales which they commanded me to try and test, telling me they where the key to not only taking malleable biology to the next evolutionary step, but also to unify the three species malleabilizing the human race as a whole.
For that matter, I took advantage of the fact that I was already searching for a lawyer for Dr. Germanium to look for a good lab assistant.
After two long months of intense searching, I decided to ask Dr. Gums for some help, and he, joyfully, told me he knew about the perfect person for the situation.
She brought me to a house in the western zone of the city of Libertas, neighbor to our dear Saint’s Bed. She knocked.
And the one at the other side of the door, our subject, our protector…
Was none other than Robert S. Ozymandias, better known as Oz, exactly, the infamous law-twisting, evidence-fabricating lawyer who would do anything for a non-guilty verdict.
After almost running away, completely disappointed for such a waste of time, I sensed some known smell, the penetrating fragrance of strawberries and grapes, something I had not experienced in a very long time, which ignited my suspects that I already knew her.
And, of course, Oz turned out to be nothing more than a facade, a character, a mask to cover a Transmuted called Jennifer Straw. Ahh, good old Straw.
Now, the caring reader will ask, “Why are you wasting my time, Dr. Thomson? Go straight to the point!” To which I will answer saying that in order to continue I would need to go back some years, to my University years.
Almost ten years ago, when a young and extremely malleophobe Jack was making his place in the University of Libertas’ Department of Biology, I met three people, my three best friends and my three main partners at that time:
Héctor Toledano, a prestigious Organic Chemistry student and amateur “cook” whose family is rumored to descend from immigrants from a galaxy far away from here.
Karl Hammond, future Mechanic Engineer and Demolitions Expert.
And, finally, Jennifer Straw, who was defending her clients even before finishing her degree.
Some good day, Héctor told us about his money problems, and his plans to solve them. His wonderful idea was to start synthesizing testosterone, a pretty much needed supplement in this estrogen-rich atmosphere of ours, and sell it. We, of course, instantly refused the idea, well, all of us except Straw, who cited several articles and laws according to which, this whole operation was completely “legal”.
This way, in spite of my refusal, I cooperated and, with my knowledge in Organic Chemistry, we ended up as the main dealers of the zone.
We had such a level of success that people dedicated us a ballad and a nickname which i would like to forget, The Free Eggs.
Ahh, Good times.
The conversation between Dr. Gums, Mrs. Straw and I will be uploaded soon in a separated file.
~&Desc~
~ImgInfo~
In this image we can see Straw herself, with a pose that expresses her energetic and eccentric personality, her University Title, with the Law School’s motto, “May Death bring Justice, May Justice bring Peace”, signed by the Great Sovereign himself.
We can also see a medallion with the icon of the Skull and Spears, emblem of the Patron Core of Death, Justice and Peace.
To her left we can appreciate a screen with an old commercial, starring Marlene Greatwoman, or some lookalike, crying and lamenting because she just lost her job as a main role of a movie after the director found some suspicious cider on her dressing room, regretting not counting on Oz and saying that annoying catchphrase of her, you know which one, “Count on Oz!”.
Floating inside her body we can see some objects like syringes, a lawyer’s badge, two cubes of caramel of my production, some strange rocket-like objects and several strange, sandy and glowing crystals that seemed to be looking at me…
~&ImgInfo~
I will report any new discoveries.
Dr. Camelia Thomson, Malleable Genetics and Histology.
RiuterLabs
File 1.5: CodeName C0UNT0NH3R
NAME: Jennifer Straw / Robert “Oz” S. Ozymandias
SPECIES: Transmuted
SUBSPECIES: Type 3
MATERIAL: Strawberry and Grape jelly
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:
~Date~
17:47 of the Eight of Zannes of the 170 of the 6th Aeon
~&Date~
~Comm~
Greetings, Dr. Germanium.
Firstly, I would like to apologize for my absence, I have been really busy looking for someone you can count on. And, well, it seems like I found her, so you will not have to worry about those, habits of yours.
~&Comm~
~Desc~
The last month of Tolmaral I had a rather unusual encounter. A mysterious hooded figure snook into the laboratories and gave me two strange viales which they commanded me to try and test, telling me they where the key to not only taking malleable biology to the next evolutionary step, but also to unify the three species malleabilizing the human race as a whole.
For that matter, I took advantage of the fact that I was already searching for a lawyer for Dr. Germanium to look for a good lab assistant.
After two long months of intense searching, I decided to ask Dr. Gums for some help, and he, joyfully, told me he knew about the perfect person for the situation.
She brought me to a house in the western zone of the city of Libertas, neighbor to our dear Saint’s Bed. She knocked.
And the one at the other side of the door, our subject, our protector…
Was none other than Robert S. Ozymandias, better known as Oz, exactly, the infamous law-twisting, evidence-fabricating lawyer who would do anything for a non-guilty verdict.
After almost running away, completely disappointed for such a waste of time, I sensed some known smell, the penetrating fragrance of strawberries and grapes, something I had not experienced in a very long time, which ignited my suspects that I already knew her.
And, of course, Oz turned out to be nothing more than a facade, a character, a mask to cover a Transmuted called Jennifer Straw. Ahh, good old Straw.
Now, the caring reader will ask, “Why are you wasting my time, Dr. Thomson? Go straight to the point!” To which I will answer saying that in order to continue I would need to go back some years, to my University years.
Almost ten years ago, when a young and extremely malleophobe Jack was making his place in the University of Libertas’ Department of Biology, I met three people, my three best friends and my three main partners at that time:
Héctor Toledano, a prestigious Organic Chemistry student and amateur “cook” whose family is rumored to descend from immigrants from a galaxy far away from here.
Karl Hammond, future Mechanic Engineer and Demolitions Expert.
And, finally, Jennifer Straw, who was defending her clients even before finishing her degree.
Some good day, Héctor told us about his money problems, and his plans to solve them. His wonderful idea was to start synthesizing testosterone, a pretty much needed supplement in this estrogen-rich atmosphere of ours, and sell it. We, of course, instantly refused the idea, well, all of us except Straw, who cited several articles and laws according to which, this whole operation was completely “legal”.
This way, in spite of my refusal, I cooperated and, with my knowledge in Organic Chemistry, we ended up as the main dealers of the zone.
We had such a level of success that people dedicated us a ballad and a nickname which i would like to forget, The Free Eggs.
Ahh, Good times.
The conversation between Dr. Gums, Mrs. Straw and I will be uploaded soon in a separated file.
~&Desc~
~ImgInfo~
In this image we can see Straw herself, with a pose that expresses her energetic and eccentric personality, her University Title, with the Law School’s motto, “May Death bring Justice, May Justice bring Peace”, signed by the Great Sovereign himself.
We can also see a medallion with the icon of the Skull and Spears, emblem of the Patron Core of Death, Justice and Peace.
To her left we can appreciate a screen with an old commercial, starring Marlene Greatwoman, or some lookalike, crying and lamenting because she just lost her job as a main role of a movie after the director found some suspicious cider on her dressing room, regretting not counting on Oz and saying that annoying catchphrase of her, you know which one, “Count on Oz!”.
Floating inside her body we can see some objects like syringes, a lawyer’s badge, two cubes of caramel of my production, some strange rocket-like objects and several strange, sandy and glowing crystals that seemed to be looking at me…
~&ImgInfo~
I will report any new discoveries.
Dr. Camelia Thomson, Malleable Genetics and Histology.
RiuterLabs
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the-whumpening · 4 months
Text
Context Masterpost
Because y'all aren't in my head or my discord server, you're gonna need some context for my OCs. The upcoming story is an offshoot of my current DnD campaign, which has been ongoing for almost three years, so . . . lots of background to catch up on! Each character's name links to an imgur post with reference pics.
The story is primarily from the barbarian Ash's POV, after he's been captured by one of the party's main antagonists: Ozmund Greenthorn, a powerful wizard who was once in a relationship with Ash's current partner. (If you're familiar with the canon DnD lore/setting, some elements may sound wrong; my group plays a little fast-and-loose with rules.)
Character Descriptions:
Ash: Human(ish) barbarian, approximately 27 years old. He and his siblings were conceived in a tryst between his were-tiger father (in tiger form at the time) and a whole-ass female tiger. After Ash’s tiger mother died, he lived alone in the wild for a few years until he was found and befriended by Kane, a half-elf ranger who became a surrogate older brother/uncle and Ash’s best friend. Ash used to have tiger ears, a tail, and stripes, but he made a magical deal to give them up in exchange for a strong were-tiger form when he rages. He also made a deal to increase his intelligence by accepting what he didn’t know was a mindflayer tadpole—it should have turned him into a mindflayer, but he literally wasn’t smart enough for it to take hold so it just kind of chills up in his brain. His intelligence did improve some and he learned a little magic, but he's still insecure about it.
Evius: Tiefling (devil lineage, essentially) sorcerer, around 29 years old. He grew up in the brothel/temple to his devil patron which his parents ran. Being a “blessing” from their patron, Evius was somewhat spoiled by his mom and had a lot of freedom. As a teenager, he apprenticed under Ozmund Greenthorn to control and harness his wild sorcerer magic; this later developed into a toxic romantic relationship as he got older. Prior to the story, Ozmund had attempted to use Evius as a pawn to buy his way out of his own pact with Aunt Marjorie, the Fay Queen, resulting in their messy breakup and Ozmund’s quest for revenge. After a lot of pining and complications, Ash and Evius eventually became a couple and are still together as of the current canon.
Krumgus: Dwarf cleric of Asmodeus (aka Literal Satan, or Big Daddy Cool, as we like to call him). A stoic, deadpan guy with a love for food and calling people by the wrong name. He’s been a member of the adventuring party since the beginning, and he is arguably stronger than even Ash. One time, Evius turned him pink and made him smell like cheese as a prank. The party was on a mission to rescue Krumgus’ parents and the dwarven homeland when Ash was taken captive by Ozmund.
Nekane: Half-elf ranger, around 50-60 years old, nonbinary. Ash’s best friend, mentor, and family; when Ash needed a last name for legal documentation, he opted to take Kane’s. Their human mother was an apothecary from whom they learned a lot about potions and herbal remedies, but they never knew their father (who we later learned was Ozmund). Has an uncle from their mom’s side (Elias) who taught Ash some magic and helps the party from time to time. Kane is sensible and kind, never known to raise their voice or lose their cool, unless their friends’ lives are threatened. Ready and willing to kill a man for Ash.
Mouse: Elf artificer, 85 years old (about 16-17 in human development). Ash’s mentee/protege who joined the group after Kane took time off to reconnect with their uncle. She’s a typical teenager: stubborn, mischievous, likes to use flesh and bones to make things. She has a curse that turned her arm skeletal and is slowly progressing. A bit naive and ditzy, but a fiercely loyal friend. (Played by the same player as Kane)
Ozmund Greenthorn: Elf wizard, unknown age, major asshole. Fathered many children with the intention to use their life force or talents for his own purposes. He is well-known and respected as a magic user and community member wherever he goes. He is indebted to Aunt Marjorie, who gave him power in exchange for his soul. Ozmund thinks of himself as the smartest person in the room and deserving of anything he wants. He loathes Ash for interfering with him and Evius—he sees Evius as merely “gone astray” and that Ash is distracting him from his true purpose as Ozmund’s favorite chess piece. Although their relationship involved grooming and manipulation, Ozmund never physically harmed Evius or gave him any reason to suspect his ulterior motives. Evius was totally blindsided and heartbroken by the betrayal.
Owen: Human(?) fighter(?), unknown age. He just looks like Owen Wilson. Imagine all his dialogue in that voice lol. Krumgus called him "Bubbles" back when the part first met him, which annoys the hell out of him. He keeps coming back to life somehow, no matter how many times the party thinks he's dead. Truthfully, he's just as much of a pawn for Ozmund as Ash. Mouse was kind of fond of him before he betrayed the party and revealed himself as Ozmund's lackey.
---------------------------------------------------------
The Story So Far:
Krumgus, Ash, Mouse, and Evius travel to the Dwarven Homeland far in the north after finding out Krumgus’ parents have been missing for some time. On the way, the party runs into Owen, Ozmund’s seemingly unkillable sidekick/lackey who had been sent to hunt them down. They fight him and, thinking he’s finally killed, Ash takes some of Owen’s armor. Upon arriving on the northern continent, they learn the situation is more dire than they thought, with a huge portion of the population enslaved and mind-controlled by a powerful magical despot. The group joins with a survivor camp and prepares for a battle, but before it can actually begin . . . Ozmund opens a portal to call back Owen’s lost armor, pulling Ash with it. With no information other than the sound of Owen’s voice on the other side of the portal and a huge task ahead, the party has no choice but to hope that Ash will be okay until they can get to him.
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theredhoodedcryptid · 5 months
Text
D&D Shenanigans
Was drawing my first D&D character and felt like sharing some funny stories from my first campaign.
The first time I played D&D was the beginning of 2023, and let me tell you that was the most fun I ever had that year.
I joined a Library D&D group, which had separated into two smaller groups because it was rather large and there were a few new players like myself. I was apart of a smaller group, usually there were about 4 of us who came on a regular basis. Most of my group already knew each other from outside of the Library, but they welcomed me into their group with open arms, something our DM probably regrets lol.
I played as a Female Rogue Wood Elf named Revan, because I was super into Knights of the Old Republic at the time. Another player, who I became friends with, named their Female Human Rogue Raven. Now, we kinda liked to role play a bit, so Raven and Revan became fast friends and partners in crime. Both of our characters had children, so they bonded over being moms, and both were thieves.
The other player was Female Mage (I forget what specifically) High Elf named Elcerine (Sorry if I butchered the spelling friend). El was pretty much the only character with a brain cell, and basically was the tired mom friend who did most of the work...except for that time she triggered a boss fight in out first session and got my character killed...... I'm not bitter lol. That was a whole thing, but our DM decided to reset the timeline so we're gonna ignore that.
Now, the main thing I want to share is when our party made it to a town that had Vampire problem. The premise is that our group were Vampire Hunters, for varying reasons, and we had to find and kill the two vampires in this town.
You see, if there's one thing you should know its that Raven and Revan were known for being a chaos duo. Raven literally ate cobblestone and purposely threw it up on El, we were below nothing.
We were short on coin, and bored, so we asked if there was any type of talent show or competition going on. Our DM, quite used to if not irritated by our antics, said sure. So Raven entered in the competition while Raven did a little pick-pocketing. I don't remember exactly what we rolled, but each one was between 15-20. Raven one the competition while I stole a good chunk of money, which we then split evenly.
You might think, alright sure, normal D&D story, that's not that wild. Here's where it get fun.
So our party then decided to continue the plot and we split up to do a little stakeout on the Vampires. I was with another player, but I can't remember if it was El or Riordan, a half-elf rogue. Rio didn't come often but when he did he joined in on the antics. So the Vampire I'm hunting makes an appearance and we kill them. I get a note from Raven asking for the Vamps hand, I have no clue as to what she wanted it for, but who am I to say no to my buddy. So I cut it off and put it in my inventory and don't think about it.
We meet up again and go to get the money from the bounty's. Raven then decides to steal the body of the vamp and try to collect the money for herself and I join her. So here we are, two rather short women running across town with a dead body while our teammates are chasing us. El surpasses me in the chase, more focused on Raven, so I did the most logical thing I could think of to slow her down.
I throw the hand I had cut off the Vampire at her, rolled a 19, and bitch-slapped her hard enough to knock her out.
The chase continues for awhile throughout town, the guards are just watching, horrified. El and Rio eventually manage to stop us and knock us out, dragging all three bodies behind them and dumping the Vampire's body with town guards and taking us to the Tavern.
This was sadly the last session we played before our group broke up. Both me and the DM moved to different states, but I'm still in contact with Raven. We draw each others characters and show each other memes that relate to our chaos duo energy.
While this has been the only time I've played, I look forward to finding a new group to have adventures with, even though I'll miss my first group the most. D&D really brings people together, I wish I had been allowed to play it sooner.
0 notes
punzieeeee · 1 year
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Name: Rapunzel Corona Age: Twenty-four Occupation: Artist Sexuality: Unsure Pronouns: She/Her Currently Playing: Today Was A Fairytale by Taylor Swift Big Three: Gemini sun, Pisces moon, Taurus rising
Headcanons:
Though she didn’t know it until very recently, Rapunzel grew up with a mother who hadn’t actually been her mother, in a tower in the Echo Isle woods. Most of the time, she was fairly content with her simple life and just her mother as companionship, but there had always been something digging at Rapunzel, wanting more. Every day seemed to hold the same thing for her: chores, hobbies, and singing to her mother a song that she was taught as soon as she could sing. Though she didn’t know much about the outside world, she could see lanterns every year in the sky on her birthday, and the lanterns were what gave her hope for more since the first time she could remember seeing them.
Everything changed when a man came into the tower one day and Rapunzel somehow persuaded him to take her with him to go see the very lanterns she had been dreaming of. Flynn Rider turned her life upside down, and for the better. It was after they saw the lanterns that Rapunzel discovered she was the lost princess of a small part of Echo Isle, named Corona, and that she had been living with a stranger her whole life. Though it took Flynn, revealed to be Eugene Fitzherbert, almost dying to escape, she saved him with the magic of the healing flower and managed to get her “mother” arrested. Now, Rapunzel has reunited with her family, but lives with Flynn and her best friend who works for her parents, Cass. 
With a lot of free time, Rapunzel has picked up on a lot of hobbies and unusual skills that come in handy sometimes. She’s a fantastic baker, knows how to play just about every instrument in an orchestra, and even knows how to make her own clothes. The only things she really struggles with are technology and human interaction. She’s a little awkward, but tries her best. Her mother didn’t allow any media outside of books to enter the tower, thus leaving her pretty inept when it comes to modern technology, but she’s trying her best. 
Rapunzel wished for a lot of things when she was younger, but the two things she wanted the most were a sibling and a father. She never understood why her mother didn’t have a husband, or, at the very least, a partner, to help raise her. The bond between Rapunzel and her mother was strong growing up, but she always dreamed of having someone else around to make life a little less lonely.
Hence, Pascal is still  the brother she never had. He was the best company to have when her mother went on long journeys to get food and supplies. Pascal discovered the tower one day when the two were just kids, and Rapunzel let him up. He’s the only one who knows Rapunzel’s dreams, her desires, her every day struggles, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s just thankful that her wish for companionship came true.
The lanterns had to be magical, or so she believes. Rapunzel wished one year on her birthday for someone like Pascal to come along, and a few weeks later, there he was. The same thing happened when she wished for adventure, and in came Flynn Rider. She knows magic is real, and those lanterns have to hold some kind of it.
Rapunzel likes to live each day like it’s her last, mostly because it might very well be. She’s terrified that, one day, her mother will leave jail and her entire world will turn upside down. Rapunzel knows it’s not something to worry about now, and that she shouldn’t live life too cautiously, but the thought sometimes pops into her mind and she can’t seem to shake it. 
Since she hasn’t been many places in Echo Isle (or on the planet, for that matter), painting is Rapunzel’s way of visiting places she’s only dreamed of. She loves to paint places as they’re described in books. Now, she’s been trying to focus on painting places that Eugene and Cassandra have been, hoping she’ll make it there someday.
Rapunzel adores Cassandra more than anything, and she’s really one of the only true friends she has. She appreciates Cass telling things to her straight, especially when she’s lived such a sheltered life. She’s almost like a mix between a sister and Rapunzel’s guide to living life outside the tower.
At first, Rapunzel was afraid that it would be weird, living with Eugene and Cass, but they’ve become her family. At least, that’s what it feels like, for now. She kind of has this weird feeling whenever she’s around Eugene that she can’t seem to shake, like butterflies in her stomach that make her even more flustered than she usually is. Rapunzel doesn’t want to mess with the dynamic, though, and she’s not even sure how she would go about telling the guy she’s living with that she likes him. If things went wrong, she’d have to live with her parents, who she loves more than anything, but independence is kind of nice, too.
Her hair is down to the floor, but she likes to braid it often to have it to her thigh. It makes it more manageable for everyday wear. She cut off a small piece of it when she was younger, and it shriveled and turn to brown. Rapunzel wants to keep her magic, but the hair does get annoying.
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soulmate-game · 3 years
Note
Daughter of wonderwoman au where marinette finds out her mother is actually Diana and somehow it ends up with her meeting/being introduced to the batfam maybe because she has super strength and is seen yeeting some bad guys who tried to mug her... Or something.
“... you are running from your problems, Mari,” Adrien’s exasperated voice reminded his best friend. Again. She ignored him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, you don’t have to do anything about it! Nobody would hold it against you if you decided to just, ignore that you found anything out at all. But you need to actually think about what we just found out and decide whether or not you’re gonna do anything—“ he side-stepped a piece of trash that went flying in his direction. “—or if you’re gonna move on and pretend nothing happened.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Marinette shot back, pushing her bangs out of her face and tying her hair back with one hand.
“No, you’re currently hiding away in Gotham to avoid your parents while you beat up every random group of idiots who thinks you’re an easy mark,” he retorted. Another wannabe kidnapper went flying in his direction, making him sigh and side step again. She had thrown that one with only her one free hand, showing just how upset she was. “You’re ignoring everything in your life, which is not what we meant we said you should get a little space.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette dropkicked the last criminal into unconsciousness before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. She looked over at the now seven passed out men in the alleyway, and the one very frustrated ex-model pinching the bride of his nose. “I think I’m coping just fine.”
“It’s better than being forced to suppress all of your emotions, sure,” Adrien reluctantly agreed. “But not by much. Your angry rampage through Gotham has already attracted more attention,” he raised his hand to point at a nearby rooftop. Several shadows lurked there, looming over the building’s edge. “Which, might I add, is exactly why I told you not to come to Gotham.”
“You’re the one who followed me here,” she shot back before turning to the shadowy figures above them. “Go ahead and come down! But it was self defense, and you can’t arrest or beat me up for defending myself!”
The first figure to drop down straightened your just as quickly, revealing the imposing figure of none other than Batman himself. The little white eyes on his cowl seemed to narrow on their own as he looked down at her.
“That might be true, but I’m sure you know my policy on metas in my city,” he grumbled back at her. He wasn’t necessarily threatening, but he definitely wasn’t welcoming either. With all of his limbs hidden behind the cocoon that was his cape, Marinette would never be able to predict his next move if he did decide to fight. Not that she seemed particularly worried about that as she crossed her arms over her chest and met his glare evenly.
“Oh, do you own this city now? I wasn’t given the memo,” she retorted. “And considering I didn’t even know I was a meta until last week? I think I deserve a little slack. I’m angry and if people think the tiny little girl in pink is an easy kidnapping target, then it’s their fault for making themselves into the perfect practice dummies for me to try out my newly discovered strength on.”
Adrien saw the eyes on Batman’s mask narrow even further. Marinette wasn’t exactly at her most charismatic at the moment, and Adrien didn’t wanna get the both of them into a bad relationship with the experienced superhero who always seemed to know things he shouldn’t know. So he stepped up quickly, getting in between Marinette and the Bat and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
“Okay, Monsieur Batman,” Adrien started slowly, making sure his posture was impeccable and his smile bright. “She’s telling the truth, even if she’s not... the most tactful about it right now. She just found out some very concerning things about her origin and Gotham is the best place for her to hide from her problems and let loose a little pent up aggression. But— well,” he grimaced. “We didn’t intend to run into you guys, but maybe it’s a good thing we did.”
“How so?” Batman was clearly still incredibly suspicious of the both of them and wasn’t giving an inch. So Marinette rolled her eyes (she was still very moody) and leaned around Adrien so she could get a good look at the monochromatic hero.
“I thank my lucky spots that we ran into you, Batman!” She said monotonously. “Me and Adrien are paw-sitively excited at this opportunity.”
Batman. Froze.
Not only were those two lines the very first lines ever spoken to him by two foreign heroes a few years ago (with a few key words changed to protect identities), but they had become their code phrase for whenever they made calls to one another outside of their costumes. All at once it seemed to hit him— the golden hair and bright green eyes on the boy, the blue-black hair and normally super-focused bluebell eyes on the girl that were currently sporting very uncharacteristic frustration. Their heights. Their builds. All of this info flowed through his mind and compared to the information stored in his memory, and it only took the span of two seconds for everything to click.
Suddenly Batman was at full attention, back straight instead of looming over them and eyebrows clearly raised high under his cowl.
He knew Chat Noir and Ladybug would never take a random vacation to Gotham. Ladybug herself had nearly waxed poetic about how much the city depressed her just from the pictures she saw online. If she had willingly come to visit, it was more than to just blow off some steam.
“Batcave?” He asked, earning a relieved look from Adrien and a moody silence from Marinette.
“Please,” Adrien agreed. “You can probably help us, actually.”
—*—*—*—*—*
Marinette leaned back in the metal debriefing chair, legs up on the table and looking for all the world as the picture of pure teenage rebellion and angst. Coincidentally, Red Hood was in the exact same position in the chair next to her.
Batman and all of his other bats and birds were in the cave with the two off-duty Parisian heroes. Everyone except Adrien and Marinette still had their masks on, since the two Parisians were still not privy to their identities. Yet.
To be fair, the bats hadn’t known the identities of the two miraculous users either before today.
“Cha Noir,” Batman started, only to get a head shake from the blond boy.
“Just call me Adrien. Chat’s out of the bag—“ he ignored the groans at the pun and soldiered on, “—so might as well use my real name.”
Batman nodded. “Adrien, then,” he amended. “Why are you and Ladybug really in Gotham?”
Adrien sighed. “I wasn’t lying, before. Marinette,” he gestured to his hero partner. “Just found out some distressing family news. Since HawkMoth is gone, she doesn’t need to repress her negative emotions anymore. But she also didn’t want to be around her parents while she processed everything. I told her to choose any other city— really, I begged— but she insisted on coming to Gotham.”
“The never ending cloud cover and constant rain seem thematic,” she finally spoke up, reaching into her big over-the-shoulder bag and pulling out a large envelope. She threw it to Batman, making the thin package slice through the air like a knife. To nobody’s surprise the seasoned hero easily caught the projectile between two fingers. He looked at the envelope and back to Marinette, silent questions floating in the air between them. Marinette decided to answer at her own pace.
“That’s what we found out. You see, one of my friends is a huge science nerd. A genius. And he wanted to compare DNA samples between us to see if there were any genetic components that determined a person’s suitability towards certain Miraculous or other magical artifacts over others. It was supposed to just be a fun side project that he didn’t expect any breakthroughs on. He mostly just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. But instead of finding out if our DNA was linked to the miraculous, he found out that my parents are not biologically my parents.”
“Hence the whole just finding out that you’re a meta thing, right?” Nightwing spoke up, fully invested in the story. “Did they never say you were adopted before?”
“It’s not in the system,” she replied easily. “My parents have all the documentation to prove that I’m their biological child, except I’m not. When I confronted them about it, they caved and admitted that they had adopted me in secret and covered it up. Apparently a friend of theirs was involved in something illegal, and,” she waved at the envelope that Batman was now opening. “The details of what we were able to dig up are in there. The summary is this; their friend was part of a secret, illegal experimentation to create clones that could defeat the Justice League—“ the air seemed to get sucked out of the room as soon as those words left Marinette’s mouth. Everyone seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. “—a group called CADMUS. They made me, as apparently one of their early attempts. But I didn’t exhibit any of the powers they were looking for, or any meta traits at all, and my body refused to mature at the rate they wanted. They had no use for a seemingly normal human baby that they managed to clone, so they were preparing to kill me and start over. That’s when my parent’s friend stole me, not wanting to kill an infant, and begged my parents to take me in and pretend I was theirs. Low and behold, it turns out that my DNA just needed a very specific series of emotions to unlock it’s latent abilities.”
“Those emotions being..?” Red hood trailed off, earning a wolfish smile from Marinette.
“Intense anger, betrayal, and confused frustration closely followed by the desire to punch other people’s faces in.”
“That last one is just an assumption,” Adrien chimed in. “And maybe not accurate. But the first three, our scientist friend was able to confirm. The rapid experience of a lot of negative but action-oriented emotions released whatever had been holding back the powers in her DNA from expressing themselves,” he had switched to French so that he could explain everything exactly as Max had told it to them, but he knew all of them were fluent anyway so it was fine. They nodded along, processing the information.
The crinkling of paper drew everyone’s attention back to Batman, who had been flipping through the detailed break down of everything they had found about Marinette’s situation and how she was made by CADMUS.
“Uh,” Red Robin nervously spoke up. “What’s up, Batman?”
“Your genetic donors...” Batman breathed, getting a wink and finger guns from Marinette.
“Yup. Isn’t that just the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen? They were clearly trying to make someone who could destroy the world.”
“That makes me nervous,” Nightwing admitted, getting up and going to get a look at the papers himself. “It can’t be that ba—“
When even Nightwing was left agape, everyone else who wasn’t in on it found themselves squirming.
“Just tell the rest of us, already!” Robin demanded after the silence stretched just a bit too long.
“The unknowing genetic donors that CADMUS used to make me,” Marinette spoke up, still with her legs up on the table. “Are a very mad-scientist’s-wet-dream combination of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Wonder Woman.”
“We don’t even know why they added Bruce Wayne’s DNA,” Adrien admitted. “Although our scientist friend thinks it’s because of physique. His hypothesis is that, in order to support the genes of Wonder Woman, they had to add male genetics that could support the production of a very high muscle mass and would lean towards easy development of a very athletic body. Lex might be evil-scientist smart, but he’s a string bean. But if he added the DNA of another multi millionaire who just so happens to maintain a ridiculously fit body without putting any obvious work into it,” Adrien shrugged. “Then maybe the clone would be able to support Wonder Woman’s genetics and that of two human donors without falling apart.”
“So I’m ‘the clone’ now, huh?” Marinette snarked, earning an exasperated eye roll from her friend.
Batman just stared at the both of them for a moment. He walked away without a word, and came back with a fresh needle and a box. He placed it on the debriefing table.
“Can I do a paternity test myself?” He asked, his voice suspiciously less gruff than normal. “I trust the both of you, but I rather be safe than sorry with something like this.”
The both of them just stared at him in confusion. They traded a glance, and finally Marinette shrugged and moved to sit in her chair properly. Her shirt was already short sleeved, so she just held her arm out so Batman could easily get a blood sample.
“Sure, why not. But do you just have Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne’s DNA sitting around to compare, or—“ she shut up when she watched Batman take off his glove and roll his own sleeve up. Realization slowly sunk in as he asked Nightwing to take a blood sample from him.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re— and Luthor doesn’t know— holy shit this is even worse than I thought,” Marinette rambled, not even noticing as Red Hood moved forward and took a small blood sample from her.
Adrien put a hand over his face and just laughed for a moment hysterically. “Oh my god,” he looked over at Marinette. “You could take over the world.”
“I have the blood of Batman AND Wonder Woman on MY side,” Marinette joked back, also hysterical.
When the bat’s high tech equipment was able to come back with a positive result only a few minutes later, Marinette and Adrien had to sit on the floor and just let it all sink in. Which Batman did not at all help by immediately unmasking himself and trying to make a proper introduction.
“I wanna go beat up random thugs again,” Marinette whined, pulling at her hair. “I’ll put on a mask, whatever, but just please let me punch people. I need to punch people right now.”
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crankynewt · 3 years
Text
Good for a Weekend (Helmut Zemo)
Masterlist
Summary: You were retired, a disgraced Avenger content living the rest of their life out in solitude. But Sam and Bucky's shenanigans dragged you back into the hero life and you found yourself face to face with the man who'd got you into this mess in the first place. The question is, however, is he really who you thought he was? Or are you just as crazy as him?
Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Reader
Warnings: TFAWS Episode 3 Spoilers, Zemo (he's a warning), swearing, mentions of torture and experimenting (past), drinking, Zemo being semi-protective, I think that's it??
Word Count: 3.41k
Author's Note: Biting the bullet and writing this BEFORE Marvel does something to get us to hate him again. Also, ZEMO AND BLANK SPACE WORK SO WELL TOGETHER OMG.
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“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You murmured, looking at the message from Sam flashing across your phone. Although you had stopped dead in your tracks, the chaos of the bustling streets of London continued around you. You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose, them having fallen down as you were peering at the screen of your burner cell.
‘Need your help in Madripoor ASAP,’ the text read. You weren’t daft, you knew exactly what kind of lawless entropy happened on that Indonesian island and if Sam was asking for your help, that meant he was in some deep shit.
‘I’m retired,’ you replied, glancing over your shoulder out of habit. Although you’d been pardoned after the Berlin incident by the government, you were still a disgraced Avenger in the eyes of the world. All you wanted was to live the rest of your life out in peace, a future without the world-saving you began when you left HYDRA with the Maximoff twins.
You hadn’t chosen to become a human lab rat, tortured and exposed to the mind stone until you could suddenly hear the thoughts of others in your head. Telepathy and telekinesis were not necessarily the kind of special skills that employers wanted to see on a resume, but alas, here you were. Thankfully, however, you'd learned to block them out until necessary to violate people's privacy. Fighting aliens and other superpowered entities, including the people you’d once considered to be your family, were in the past.
‘Please. It’s Bucky,’ Sam messaged again. Those three words were enough to make your blood run cold and your heart stop. Bucky was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, and you would be damned if the ex-assassin was going to fall back into the clutches of evil.
With a sigh, you typed back ‘fine’ and began the trek towards your apartment. Your phone was vibrating again immediately, Sam explaining that they would be picking you up at a small airstrip on the edge of the city.
Three hours later, you were walking along a long, concrete runway, the harsh England wind attacking your body as you pulled your leather jacket tighter around you. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of a civilian jet rather than the military-esque vessels you’d become accustomed to. The steps were awaiting your ascent with an older man stood adjacent to the entrance.
“Ms.(Y/L/N),” he greeted. A thick accent laced his tone, one you couldn’t quite determine from the crackling of age in his voice. German or Russian, most likely, you deduced. Attempting to be polite despite your skepticism, you gave him a tight-lipped smile and handshake before the elder man gestured towards the stairs for you. Entering the jet, you turned right to be met with the familiar faces of Sam and Bucky.
“(Y/N)!” Bucky exclaimed, rising from his seat and embracing you in a hug. He held you tightly against his body, almost as if he wasn’t sure you were really there. The super soldier had taken a liking to you when the two of you stayed in Wakanda during your exile, both of you having a certain understanding of the other due to your shared experiences with HYDRA. The sergeant had become somewhat of a brother to you in your time away together. “What are you doing here?”
“Sam messaged me.” You replied, Barnes’ arms immediately releasing you as he whipped around to face Sam.
“You tattled on me to (Y/N)?” He scoffed. If looks could kill, Sam would have dropped dead from the darkness in Bucky’s orbs.
“Wait, if he’s okay then what am I here for?” You said, shifting your gaze to Sam as you raised a brow.
“You’re here to make sure that he stays in line.” Sam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest as Bucky let out an exasperated ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath.
“Bucky’s fine, Sam.” You replied, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance as you glanced at the super-soldier.
“He’s not talking about James.” A new voice sounded from behind you, one both vaguely familiar but also strange. Whipping around, you were met with a face you’d only ever seen through a screen. Zemo.
“What the fuck is he doing out of prison?!” You exclaimed, looking between Sam and Bucky in utter disbelief.
“Bucky broke him out of jail!” Sam exclaimed, pointing a finger towards the super-soldier.
“Sam’s the one who pulled me into this mess!” Bucky pointed back.
“You two morons have reached a whole new level of dumbassery!” You exclaimed, keeping a cautious gaze on Zemo in the corner of your eye. “You broke out the man who ripped apart the Avengers out of jail and you let him do it?! The same man who killed King T’Chaka! Do neither of you remember what T’Challa and the people of Wakanda just did for us after we became enemies of the state?! I cannot believe that you would betray their trust and help this monster to escape!”
You paused for a moment, breathing heavily as you looked at the ashamed faces of Bucky and Sam in front of you.
“I’m sorry to-” You heard Zemo begin, you turned to face him with utter rage shining in your eyes. “No! The grown-ups are talking, you can wait your turn.” You scolded him, almost as you would a child but just a tad harsher. Grown-ups may have also not have been the best choice of words to describe Wilson and Barnes.
“I don’t want any part of this suicide mission!” You snapped at the duo, moving to leave.
Thirty minutes later, however, you were still on the jet, glaring into a pair of brown eyes as the four of you flew through the air. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you were still there, but Sam and Bucky knew you too well and pushed just the right buttons to convince you to stay. Sam needed you to tap into Zemo’s mind if need be to figure out if he was planning on betraying them, and you didn’t want two of the last people you trust getting themselves killed if you could prevent it.
Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum were sitting across from each other, meaning that you got stuck sitting across from the Baron in silence. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, the darkness in your (Y/E/C) orbs not sitting well with the man.
“So, you read minds.” He began, rubbing his hands together anxiously. You noted the nervous tick and couldn’t help but feel amused at his discomfort, but your expression never faltered.
“You don’t need to make small talk.” You bit, your icy tone growing colder in every syllable.
“I’m genuinely curious, is all.” He began, pausing his fiddling to brush his hair back only to resume it once more. “It just seems like for someone with your abilities, you’re often an overlooked member of the team. You’re the most powerful, even more so than Maximoff or Banner, perhaps, yet you were never truly an Avenger, were you?”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m retired.” You muttered, ending your glaring to gaze out the window. The way Zemo spoke about you was unsettling, especially considering how he felt about the Avengers. He seemed not to think that you were part of the team, similarly to Bucky, and that brought you a feeling of unease.
“And why is that?” Zemo pushed, your avoidance evidence that he’d struck a chord.
“Why do you care?” You scoffed, looking back at the Sokovian man, both annoyance and exhaustion present in your tone.
“Because I think you’re like me.” He answered, his tone becoming quieter. Zemo didn’t look at you with the same rage you’d seen in footage from 2016, nor with the amusement that he gazed at Bucky and Sam with. No, it was something different, softer and analytical, perhaps. You wanted to peer into his mind for something, anything to figure out what he was thinking, but he would likely feel your prodding into his consciousness. As of now, he didn’t seem to have any plans to betray you guys, and you wouldn’t be the one to give him a reason.
“That’s enough from you.” Bucky interrupted, rising from his seat to switch places with you, his brotherly possessiveness clear as day.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, and Zemo provided the three of you with costumes for the roles you were to play in Madripoor. Yours seemed to have been designed specifically to be horribly uncomfortable, both in feel and the amount of skin that was exposed in the cool evening air. The three of you were making your way towards the glowing city shining in the distance, the nerves in your stomach rising with each step.
“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp.” Zemo explained in response to Sam’s protests over his own outfit. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”
“He even has a bad nickname.” Sam said, looking at the picture of Conrad on the phone Zemo had just handed him. “Hell, he does look like me though.”
“And who am I supposed to be playing, exactly?” You questioned, still unsure as to what role you would be playing in this scheme.
“My partner,” Zemo said simply, an amused smile working his way onto his lips.
“What?! No! Nu-uh, I’m not doing that!” You protested, Sam chuckling at your denial of what was probably inevitable.
“Would you rather the alternative of all of us getting slaughtered the second we step foot into the city?” Zemo retorted, still humored by your resistance.
“Fine, but if you try anything I’m going to break your nose.” You gave in.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Soon, the four of you were making your way into a bar, Helmut’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist since the second you exited the car in a mock possessiveness. It was all part of the charade, you had to remind yourself, as the Baron kept your side pressed against his snugly.
Making your way up to the counter, the bartender didn’t look impressed to see the group of you there as he made his way over to you.
“Hello,” He began. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”
“His plans changed. We have a business to do, with Selby.” Zemo interjected before Sam could respond.
“The usual?” The bartender ignored Zemo and turned his attention back to Sam, who simply gave a curt nod in response. The bartender turned, grabbing a snake from a jar and slicing it down the underside with a blade. A part of you wanted to cackle, especially seeing Sam stiffen beside you, and you didn’t doubt that Bucky was having to restrain himself as well. Zemo didn’t seem surprised as the bartender pulled who knows what out from the snake and placed it into a glass.
“Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” The Baron commented, the bartender sliding Sam his beverage only to pour two glasses of a different liquor for Zemo and yourself.
“I love these,” Sam said, raising to clink glasses with yourself and the Sokovian man whose arm was still draped around you.
“Cheers, Conrad,” Zemo replied, smiling back at poor Sam. The three of you downed your burning liquor, Sam struggling the most out of the three of you, clearly appalled by the organ at the bottom of his shot. You could see Bucky give a little nod in the corner of your eye, knowing he must be finding this as amusing as you were.
A man soon approached Helmut from behind, tapping him on the shoulder before he turned to face the stranger, shifting you with him. When Zemo felt the little nudge, he immediately pulled you closer to him. You were even tighter against him now, so much so that you had to wrap an arm around him as well to stabilize yourself. It was almost as if he was trying to shield you from the man despite him knowing full well that you can hold your own.
“I got word from on high; you ain’t welcome here.” He spat, getting too close to the two of you for either of your likings. But Zemo kept his air of indifference while you instinctually moved closer into his side. It’s all an act, remember? You have to play the part of the clingy partner who would get frightened at such a rough man threatening you two. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo began, trailing off as he gestured to Bucky.
“New haircut?” The strange man asked Bucky, who merely glowered in response.
“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo finished, this time him being the one to get into the man’s face. Thankfully that was enough to send him away, most likely to Selby or this Power Broker who seems to be Madripoor’s own version of Big Brother.
You could feel Zemo let out a breath that you don’t think he even knew he was holding, giving a quick glance down at you before placing a peck on your temple. For the facade, of course. But what wasn’t fake were the butterflies rise in your stomach, something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Were you… Flustered?
No, you reminded yourself internally. This was a very bad man holding you close, the same one who killed the former King of Wakanda and ripped your team to shreds. Not only that, but he hated all the Avengers, so why did he seem to like you? It doesn’t matter whether or not he likes you, he’s Zemo. But the more time you spent with him, the more intoxicated you became. He was starting to look more and more like your next mistake, and love is certainly not a game you wanted to be playing with him. Right?
The next thirty or so minutes were a blur. Bucky having to fake being the Winter Soldier to kick a bunch of men’s asses to finally meeting up with Selby, only for Sam to break your cover through a phone call and Selby quickly being shot. The four of you promptly exited the bar, attempting to remain inconspicuous until bounty hunters from all around started shooting at you. Bucky and Sam jumped forward, meanwhile, Zemo darted to the right, dragging you with him as he moved his hand from your waist to interlock your fingers.
You cut through alleyway after alleyway, hiding in the shadows as gunfire echoed around you. Eventually, you managed to catch up with Bucky and Sam, approaching the pair with your hand still in his.
“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice interrupted your mini-reunion, Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows as she ripped down her hood, gun fixated on Zemo.
“Drop it Zemo,” She started, Zemo raising his gun-holding hand before lowering the weapon to the ground. “You cost me everything.”
“Sharon, wait.” You reasoned, raising your hand as you slowly backed up.
“What, are you his lover now? His sugar baby or some shit?” She badgered you, causing your eyes to widen as you only just remembered that you were still holding his hand. You quickly dropped it, raising it to match your other arm as Zemo sent you a look that you couldn’t decipher. Oh, how desperately you wanted to look into his mind, but the little bit of sanity left in you told you to leave it be.
“Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead,” Sam explained.
“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” Sharon replied, gun still pointed at your group.
“So what are you doing here?” Bucky questioned the blonde.
“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass so that you could save his ass from his ass and became a criminal with their ass.” She explained, pointing the gun at each mention of whoever's ass it was that turn. “Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up, so, I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”
“Hey, don’t blow that smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam rebutted Sharon’s complaints.
“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore - I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.”
“Listen…” You began. “Sharon, we need your help, the former agent only laughing in response. “Please.”
“This isn’t over.” She conceded, shaking her head at you. “I have a place in High Town, you should be safe there for a while.”
Sharon’s place was definitely nicer than yours is now, and you’re not even on the run anymore. She, thankfully, had a change of clothes for you to slip into, the soft material much a welcome relief from the tortuous item Zemo had you wearing.
While you were waiting for Sharon’s guests to begin arriving for whatever event would soon be taking place downstairs, everybody slowly filtered out of the room until it was only Zemo and yourself remaining.
“Can I ask you a question?” You spoke up, breaking the silence from your spot on the sofa as you glanced towards the Baron seated across the room.
“Ask away.” He smiled, taking a sip from the amber liquid in his glass.
“What did you mean earlier, when you said we were the same.” Your voice was quiet now, so much so that you weren’t sure if he’d even heard you. That is until he got up from his seat and slowly walked towards you.
“I never wanted to tear the Avengers apart, not until they killed my family. Destroyed my city… Sure, I didn’t like them, but I didn’t want to destroy them. It was all about vengeance.” He began, sitting beside you on the yellow fabric. “For you, it was HYDRA who ruined your life. You joined the Avengers because it was where the last people you had left were going and it was the easiest way for you to ensure the organization was destroyed. You never wanted the idolization that came with being a hero, and it was clear when your work was done that you had no desire to keep going. Everything that came after the Sokovia Accords was out of survival.”
“I’m not saying you're right,” you began, “but what would that make me, then? Insane? Cause that seems to be the running theory.”
“You’re not crazy, despite how rumors fly. Neither am I, really.” He began, eliciting a small smile from you at the last bit he added. “You’re a fighter, someone doing whatever it takes to get their agenda done. Whether that means breaking the law or joining the Avengers, nothing will stop you once you put your mind to it - it’s one of the things I admire about you.”
You pursed your lips as you focused on the amber fluid floating in its crystalline home, him taking another sip of the burning liquid. Your gaze shifted back to his face, and oh god, look at that face. Maybe it was the liquor in your system already or maybe your last bit of sanity was finally escaping your mind, but suddenly his past didn’t seem to matter anymore. You had plenty of red on your ledger as well, and the more he spoke the more you began to sympathize with him.
“So you admire me?” You smirked, crossing your arms as you tilted your head slightly to the right playfully.
“Why don’t you look into my mind and tell me?” He replied. Reaching out, you gently placed your fingers against his temple as you gazed into his consciousness. Flashes of magic and madness, ideas of a love that could be forever or go down in flames. You didn’t go searching deeper, because your own mind was racing. Would pursuing this be worth all the pain that could very well follow? No, not could, would. You’d be betraying your former teammates, but what did that matter much anymore.
Rather than pulling your hand away, you placed your lips gently on his, tentatively, even. He tasted of expensive liquor and a hint of peppermint, and you found yourself intoxicated. The kiss ended far too soon for your liking, him pulling away so his brown orbs could gaze into your own.
“So… What do you say?” He asked, cupping your cheek in his hand, you place your own over top of his.
“Why not?” You smiled back, reconnecting your lips to his.
“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.”
Taglist:
@fanfictionedagain @lam-ila @b0nnyzz @haydieenzzibug @cyanide-mustard @duchess-of-new-shire @the-chocoholic-writer @milenadixon @real-fbi @golddenlioness
2K notes · View notes
waitimcomingtoo · 3 years
Text
Give Yourself a Try
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader enemies to lovers
Synopsis: you and Peter hate each other, which becomes a problem when you’re given a group project
Part two and three
Masterlist
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“Good morning Ned.” You kindly greeted as you took your seat in front of Peter in your first period physics class.
“Morning Y/n.” Ned said back, gearing up for what he knew was coming.
“I really like your makeup today, Y/n.” Peter smiled as he leaned forward in his seat. “Is it hard balancing your schoolwork with your job at the circus?”
“Not at all.” You smiled sweetly at him as you turned around. “I could get you a job there if you’d like. We’ve been needing something small to feed to the lions between shows. You’d be perfect.”
“Small? Darling, you must be mistaken.” Peter kept a sickly sweet grin on. “I’m bigger than your boyfriend of the week over there.”
“Silly goose.” You scrunched your nose at him. “Harry Osborn is not my boyfriend. And just so you know, steroids are really bad for you. I’m worried about your well being.”
“I’m not on steroids.” Peter hissed, dropping the act. “Stop trying to start that rumor.”
“Why not?” You shot back. “You had no trouble spreading the rumor that I was the one who killed Herbie the hamster when we all know it was you who left the door open after cleaning his cage.”
“Are you kidding me? That was fifth grade.” He whispered harshly.
“I will never forget it.” You snapped back.
“Ahem.” The teacher cleared her throat as she stared at you and Peter with an annoyed expression. This was an everyday occurrence in her class, and any other class you had with Peter. You hated each other and everyone knew it. You and Peter stopped arguing and slumped in your seats, giving each other one last look of disdain.
“Instead of a final exam this semester, I’ll be giving you a final project.” The teacher continued. “You’ll be working with one other student.”
“Nice. We can finally present our work on quantum physics.” Peter excitedly high fived Ned.
“Can you guys reschedule your virgin convention for later?” You asked seriously. “I’m trying to listen.”
“Because of the disappointing grades on the last project, I will be assigning your partners.” The teacher went on.
“Don’t worry.” Peter whispered to Ned again. “We could still end up together. We got an A last time so she knows we work well together.”
“We got an A last time.” You mimicked his voice and moved your hand like a puppet.
“Yeah. An A.” Peter said as he leaned forward in his seat. “You know, like your bra size.”
“What did you just say to me?” You snapped as you whipped around. He had on his infamous shit eating grin that you hated.
“Young man, can you please stop interrupting our conversation?” He said as he held up a hand. Your jaw dropped at the insult, face growing warm with anger. You decide not to give him the satisfaction of an insult exchange and turned around in your seat. Your teacher began to list off the partners for the projects.
“Leeds, Stacy.” She called out. “You’ll be working together.”
“Sorry, man. But also, not sorry man.” Ness frown quickly turned into a smile. “Gwen, over here!”
“Aw.” You snickered as you turned around on your chair. “I feel bad for whoever gets stuck with you now. That poor, unfortunate soul.”
“Parker. L/n. You’ll be working together.”
“What?” You and Peter screamed in unison. You gave each other an angry look before looking at your teacher in protest.
“You two are always holding up my class and I’m tired of it.” She held up a hand. “This project will teach you how to finally get along and stop disrupting me while I teach.”
“Mrs. Avery, with all due respect, I can feel myself getting more disruptive already.” You told her.
“I think that’s your STD.” Peter mumbled.
“You two need to learn how to be professional and amicable.” She ignored your protest. “You won’t always like your peers. But you will always have to collaborate with them at some point.”
“I understand that.” You assured her. “But if we do this project together, my fist is going to collaborate with Peters face.”
“That’s a threat.” Peter piped up. “I’d like to file a report.”
“And I’d like to take that report and shove it up your-“
“Enough.” Mrs. Avery cut you off. “You will be working together and that is final.”
You both shrunk in your seats, fuming with anger over the teachers decision. You didn’t cause any more disruptions throughout the class and quickly left once the bell rang.
Peter saw you at your locker, which was coincidentally next to his locker, spraying some perfume on.
“Darling!” Peter exclaimed as he stood next to you. “So good to see you! You know how much I love when you hog all the locker space and make the entire hallways smell like perfume.”
“Why, thank you.” You touched your hand to your heart. “As I’m sure you know, some of us prefer to smell like things other than Neosporin and baby powder. After all, that’s your signature scent and I’d just hate to step on your toes.”
“I didn’t know. Thank you for opening your gigantic mouth and telling me!” Peter said through a toothy grin.
“Oh, Peter.” You laughed airily. “You’re very welcome, you sad sack of shit.”
“Classy.” Peter faked a smile as he opened his locker. “Do you want to come over to my house after school to work on the project? I live walking distance from here.”
“What? No.” You scoffed. “You’re not getting me to a secondary location. We’ll work in the library.”
“Actually, we won’t, because it’s closed for maintenance.” He replied with a tight smile.
“I wish you were closed for maintenance.” Yoh grumbled as you zipped up your bag.
“Hilarious.” He fake laughed loudly. “Are you coming over or not?”
“Not.” You said in disgust. “I don’t know you or your parents. You might try to kill me as a part of some Parker family cult ritual.”
“My parents are dead.” He told you, unamused. “It’s just me and my aunt.”
“Is your aunt a cult leader?” You asked.
“No.” He groaned.
“Cult member?”
“No. All she does is cheat at cross world puzzles and shop at Whole Foods.” He said.
“So you lied.” You slammed your locker and looked at him. “She’s in the Whole Foods cult.”
“Can you try not to be difficult for two minutes, please? We need to get this project done.”
“Jokes on you, Parker.” You folded your arms. “Difficult is my lowest setting.”
“Ooo. Scary.” He mocked you. “What’s your highest? Because I’m pretty sure I saw it last Tuesday when your backpack got stuck on the door handle and you decided to blame me.”
“I know that was your fault. And I go from difficult to hooligan to the step mom from Parent Trap.” You shrugged.
“And they said women aren’t funny.” Peter replied as he slapped his knee. You raised an eyebrow at him, judging him for his material.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.
“You’re gonna be sorry.” You told him. “Where do you live again?”
“Waking distance from here. I said that less than five minutes ago.” He rolled his eyes at you.
“Well I didn’t hear that because I tune you out when you speak. You know, like most people do.” You said sweetly.
“Wow, you’re so funny.” Peter said sarcastically. “If I meet you here at the end of the day, will you come home with me?”
“Fine.” You huffed. “I’ll go home with you. But if I start detecting any cult shit going on, I’m leaving.”
“Fine by me.” He scoffed. “I’ll see you later.”
~
“Are you ready to go?” Peter asked after the last bell had rang. You shouldered your backpack and shut your locker, feeling unusually anxious around him. You could deal with Peter for 40 minutes at a time when all you did was trade insults. Something about walking to his home together and spending time alone knocked the confidence right out of you.
“I’m ready.” You nodded.
“What, no insult?” He asked. “No mocking of my voice?”
“We were assigned each other as partners so we could learn to be civil, right?” You shrugged. “I guess I’m just mature enough to give it a try.”
“There she is.” Peter smiled as you began to walk in the direction of his apartment. “There’s my girl.”
You looked to the side when you heard him say this, unsure of how it made you feel. You often called each other pet names ironically, but this felt different. There was a change in the dynamic between the two of you and it was clouding your judgment.
You let Peter do all the talking as you walked home, thankful that he lived so close to the school. He spewed out ideas for the project the entire elevator ride up and didn’t stop until you were standing outside his bedroom door.
Peter stopped talking and opened the door, gesturing for you to go inside. You made a face at him before walking, staying in one spot as he shut the door and sat down. You were frozen as you looked around his room, not liking how human it made him. He had notes from classes you didn’t have with him strewn around and an open first aid kit on his desk.
“You can sit.” He chuckled when he noticed how stiff you were.
“I’m scared to.” You admitted.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” You answered honestly. Something about sitting on this boys bed with him seemed finalizing, like you’d be opening a door you couldn’t close.
“Just sit down.” He repeated. “I didn’t rig the place with boobytraps, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s what someone who rigged the place with booby traps would say.” You replied as you took a hesitant seat on his bed.
“There. Isnt that nice?” He asked sarcastically.
“No.” You said immediately. “Am I the first girl to ever sit on your bed?”
“Psh. No.”
“I’ll take that as a yes ma’am.” You mumbled.
“Whatever.” He replied. “What do you want to do the project on?”
“How about micropenises?” You suggested. “You won’t even have to do any research.”
“Haha. So funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You are so annoying it’s actually impressive.”
“Please.” You laughed. “You so have a crush on me.”
“What?” His entire face went red. “No I don’t.”
“No I don’t.” You mimicked his voice. “Yes you do. That’s why you’re up my ass all the time.”
“That makes no sense.” He scoffed.
“It makes total sense.” You insisted. “You know I’ll never like you back, so you made me hate you. That way, you still get to talk to me all the time. Genius, really. I applaud you.”
“That’s a nice little fantasy you’ve created for yourself. Is that what you tell yourself to help you fall asleep?” He teased you.
“Yep.” You smiled brightly. “Right after I finger blast myself to the thought of you in your Catholic schoolboy sweaters.”
“Oh my God.” His cheeks turned even redder at your inappropriate joke.
“And they said women aren’t funny.” You used his words from earlier.
“They were right.” He said, making you laugh.
“God, I love it when you talk down to me.” You fanned yourself. “Can you tell me how to change a tire?”
Peter began to laugh as well, looking at you as you both laughed. You quickly stopped laughing when you realized you just gave him a genuine smile and looked away.
“Do you want to do the project on tensile strength?” You suggested to break the tension. “I know you’re weirdly into that.”
“How’d you know?” He wondered.
“You almost popped a boner when we talked about in last month.” You teased him. “It’s just rope, dude.”
“It’s not just rope. It’s the force-“
“-the force required to pull something until it breaks. I know.” You finished his sentence. “I’m smart too, you know.”
“Oh.” He was dumbfounded that you knew something he was interested in. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah.” You nodded. “Women use brain sometime. Woman say smart thing like man.”
Peter laughed again, realizing you were actually kind of funny when you wanted to be.
“I’m not a misogynist, you know.” Peter said after a beat. “You don’t have to make jokes like that. I may not like you, but I respect you.”
“You respect me?” You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.
“I respect all women. The strongest person I know is my Aunt. Plus, I’ve still never met anyone who was as smart as my mom. I wouldn’t be half the man I was if it weren’t for the women who raised me.” He shrugged. “But it would be ignorant and naive of me to only respect woman who are related to me in some way. So I respect all of them unless they give me a reason not to.”
“Have I given you a reason not to?” You batted your eyelashes at him.
“Not yet.” He chuckled to himself. “You’re annoying, but you’re brilliant. I know you would never admit this, but we’re basically the same person. You’re just more extroverted so you have more friends and popularity. And you’re smart but you don’t make that your whole personality, so it impresses more people when you let your intelligence show.”
Your body language shifted when you realized he was actually a nice guy. He clearly paid attention to you and was impressed by what he saw. You didn’t say anything, so Peter kept going.
“People lean in to listen when you start speaking instead of tuning you out.” He brought up your insult from earlier, and you felt bad. You didn’t realize he admired you in any way and you felt guilty for always teasing him. Peter’s kept his eyes down, playing with his fingers to distract himself.
“You’re…you’re kind of every thing I wanted to be.” He said quietly. You smiled softly at him, but he didn’t see it. It was the first time you had a nice moment with Peter, and you didn’t hate it. You could tell he was beginning to panic for sharing so much, so you reached forward and tilted his chin up to look at you. His wide eyes met yours and you gave him a small smile.
“How did your parents die?” You asked quietly, immediately ruining the moment.
“Damn.” Peter pulled away with a shocked laugh. “When was your first period?”
“All right. I get your point.” You rolled your eyes. “That was a little abrupt.”
“You’re telling me.” He teased. You sat in silence for a moment, neither of you sure where to go from there. You knew Peter was still processing you touching his face, so you talked first.
“My parents are dead too.” You said without looking up at him.
“They are?” He asked, scooting a little closer to you on the bed.
“Yeah.” You looked up and gave him a sad smile. “But if you think we’re gonna take a turn and fall in love because we have similar trauma, you’re wrong. I can’t stand orphans.”
“But you’re an orphan.” He reminded you.
“And?”
“Never mind.” He shook his head. “I have a feeling I won’t be getting through to you.”
“Probably not.” You agreed. “Tell me more, though. Did your parents die doing something cool?”
“I don’t really know.” He shrugged. “It was a plane crash. That’s all I’ve been told.”
“Oh.” You nodded. “Sounds lame.”
“What?”
“A plane crash?” You raised your eyebrow. “That’s so boring. Yawn.”
“Excuse me?” He laughed in shock again. “Fine. How did your parents die?”
“Firefighters.” You said proudly. “Died saving three children.”
“Wow.” Peter sat back, stumped.
“Yeah.” You nodded. “I was one of them.”
“Seriously?” His eyes widened as he fought the urge to hold your hand.
“No. I’m fucking with you.” You began to laugh as he let out a groan.
“Why would you do that to me?” He whined. “You had me, for a minute there.”
“What can I say? I’m an actor.” You flipped your hair ostentatiously.
“What actually happened?” He wondered. You stopped smiling and bit your bottom lip.
“Drunk driver.” You told him. He didn’t fight the urge this time and reached over to take your hand in his. You stared at your interlocked hands, wondering if you should pull away or not. On the one hand, he was your enemy. But that didn’t make his warmth any less inviting.
“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “That must have been really hard on you.”
“You know the feeling, don’t you?” You asked with a sad smile.
“I do.” He nodded. “And I know how much it sucked to not have someone who knew how it felt. You don’t have to feel that way anymore. Neither of us do.”
You opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it, not wanting to ruin the moment again. The guy holding your hand was not the same guy who sat behind you in physics. This guy was someone you actually liked.
“I might have misjudged you, Peter Parker.” You laughed shyly. “You might not be as unbearable as I remembered.”
“And you might not be the frigid bitch I thought you were.” He matched your tone.
“Watch it.” You warned.
“Sorry.” He mumbled.
“You were right.” You said after a beat. “We are pretty much the same person. I never realized that before.”
“Maybe that’s why we don’t get along.” He shrugged, rubbing soft circles into your hand.
“I’d be willing to give it a try, if you were.” You said sheepishly. “Who knows? I might just like you.”
“You want to give this a try?” He asked, eyes lighting up in excitement.
“Why not?” You shrugged. “What do I have to lose?”
“Okay.” He nodded eagerly. “Then we’ll try.”
“Cool.” You smiled.
“Cool.” He said before leaning in for a kiss. Your eyes widened as his fluttered shut, making you realize you were on different pages. His lips made contact with yours for a few seconds before you pushed him off.
“What the hell are you doing?” You asked as you covered your mouth with your hand.
“Kissing you?” He asked in confusion as hurt flashed in his eyes.
“Why the hell would you do that?” You exclaimed, still in shock. You got off the bed and backed away from him, trying to process what just happened.
“You said we were giving it a try!” He was shouting now too, but not out of anger. “I thought we were finally admitting that we like each other.”
“I meant giving friendship a try! I never said anything about a relationship.” You shouted. You quieted down when you saw the upset look on his face. “You... you like me?”
“I thought it was obvious.” He said quietly. “I-I thought you knew. You said it before and I just…I thought you knew.”
“Peter, I was joking when I said all that stuff.” You calmed down and sat back on his bed. “I didn’t actually think you liked me.”
“Oh.” He blinked a few times before looking down. “I…I do.”
“Peter, I’m sorry.” You reached for his hand again but his withdrew it.
“No, it’s my fault.” He shook his head and got off the bed. “I misunderstood the situation.”
“Peter, wait.” You caught him by the wrists and pulled him back down to the bed. He sat down again but looked anywhere but at you. You could see that his eyes were glassy so you put a hand on his face.
“You were right.” His voice wavered. “I did like you and I did think you’d never like me back. That’s why I always tease you. I just wanted you to talk to me.”
“Pete.” You whispered, rubbing his cheekbone with your thumb.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t want to be here right now. I’ll email you my part of the project and-“
You cut him off by wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You both had your eyes closed this time and it lasted much longer. Your lips moved against his slowly and you could feel how inexperienced he was. Even so, it was perfect. You pulled away after a minute and looked into his eyes, feeling better now that there were no traces of sadness in them.
“You kissed me.” He said, dumbfounded.
“I can’t know I don’t like you back if I never give you a chance.” You shrugged as you withdrew your hand from his face.
“Well what did you decide?” He asked curiously. You puckered your lips and tilted your head, staring at him as if you were making a decision.
“I still think you’re super annoying.” You concluded.
“Okay.” Peter nodded.
“But it’s an annoying I’m willing to put up with.” You decided as you slipped your hand back into his. Peter broke out into a smile and nodded again.
“Okay.”
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beels-burger-babe · 3 years
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A Little Voice Told Me - Pt.2
Poly! MC Summary: Words hurt and leave their scars. MC learns this the hard way after hearing some not-so-nice whispers about them while on a date with Beel. How are they supposed to be the partner of the seven lords of the Devildom when they just don't measure up? Part 1: HERE, Part 3: HERE ***Good Golly!! Y'all really like the angst, huh? Here you guys go. Cry your hearts out and enjoy! - B*** Beelzebub woke up the rest of his brothers early the next morning. While most of them attempted to flip him off or threaten him at the initial disturbance, all it took was him saying that they needed to talk about you for them to shoot out of bed. In a matter of minutes, all of them, except Levi, were seated around the breakfast table. "If we're talking about MC, why aren't they here?" Satan asked while poking at a piece of fruit. "I don't know about you, but I personally don't feel right talking about them behind their back." Belphie scoffed and laid his head in his arms. "It's not like we're gossiping about them or anything. They were acting off last night, and Beel thought we should discuss what we're gonna do about it." Beel nodded, "They pulled into themself halfway through the night, and was upset but kept brushing me off whenever I tried to talk to them about it." Mammon huffed and crossed his arms. "Maybe they just didn't feel like they could talk to ya about it," he rose to his feet and began to walk towards the door. "I'm the first! I'm sure I can get it out of them, easy peasy! I'll just head in there and-" "Mammon, sit down!" Lucifer hissed. Mammon grumbled under his breath but did as told. Lucifer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've talked about this. Stop bringing up the whole 'first man' thing. MC is in a relationship with all of us. Not just you." The second-born pouted and stabbed an egg with his fork.
Lucifer rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and looked back at Beel. "Something clearly happened during the date. Do you have any ideas at all at what it could've been?" Asmodeus stirred a swirly straw around in his drink. "I mean, I would be pretty upset if I spent three hours of my evening at a barbaric sporting event too," Asmo chuckled and smirked. "The only good thing about sports is that you get to see all those rippling muscles of the athletes in action." Beel scowled at his brother took a bite out of the omelet that was on his plate. "It wasn't because of the game. MC loves coming to my Fangol games and was having a blast with me until halftime. Something had to have happened while I was gone." Asmodeus opened his mouth to counter the statement when Leviathan came rushing into the room carrying his laptop. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the sight, "What have I told you about devices at the table?" Leviathan shot him an annoyed look as he plopped down in one of the chairs. "This isn't about table etiquette. This is about MC," he looked over at Beel and Belphie. "I think I have an idea on what may have caused them to start distancing themselves." Everyone perked up in interest at the news; each one of them eager to know what was distressing their loved one so much that they felt like they couldn't talk to them. "Well are you going to tell us, or are you just going to sit there?" Satan quipped, his anger beginning to get the better of him as he sat on the edge of his seat. Levi gave him a flat look before he typed a few things on his keyboard. "I was doing a raid last night trying to keep my mind off of what might've happened with MC and decided to ask my party members about it," Leviathan's expression darkened as he began to explain. It was clear to everyone that whatever was said, wasn't taken lightly by the otaku. Rather than reading the conversation out loud, he turned his laptop screen for all his brothers to see. Leviachan: Gaaah! I just can't focus on the game tonight. My partner came back from a date tonight and has been acting kind of sus. There's definitely something bothering them, but they refuse to tell anyone. Ruri-Chans-Husbando: Dude, you're talking about that stupid human right? Why are you even with them? You shouldn't give a Normie like them the time of day. Waifu-Addict: Exactly! Listen, we've all been talking and you need to drop that whore. They're totally just using you and your brothers for your titles and power. The demons read in horror and rage as the chat room filled with messages from the members of Leviathan's party all saying similar garbage about you and degrading you in every way they could think of. Satan stood up and began to pace near the table as he used every inch of his self-control to keep himself from lashing out. "I want names, Levi. Who are they and why do they seem to think it's okay to talk about MC like- like that?!" Satan snarled as he curled his hands into fists. Levi tsked and crossed his arms, as Lucifer took the laptop to look more closely at the messages. "You say that as if I haven't already used my 'title and power' as Grand Admiral to have my men collect and imprison them. They're at the navy base waiting for us to get our hands on them as soon as we sort this whole mess out." Belphie growled, now sitting up and wide awake. "Get our hands on them is right. No one gets away with this shit," Asmodeus glared at the computer as though it had just dyed all of his clothing brown. "Rotten brats. They're all just jealous of stunning MC. Ugh, Diavolo, haters are the worst." Beel pushed his plate away from himself as he frowned deeply. "As disgusting and horrible as this is, what does it have to do with MC getting all quiet during our date?" A low rumble came from Lucifer as he handed the laptop back to Levi. A fiery hatred was burning brightly in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. "If a bunch of anti-social shut-ins are going around talking about our dearest MC like this, I believe Leviathan's point is that others probably are."
"Ouch. I wasn't going to say it l-like that, but yes," Levi winced and continued, "MC probably overheard people saying something about them. I mean, if people said that crap about me I'd probably hide in my room and not come out for months!" Mammon, who had been surprisingly quiet during all of this, had a very serious expression on his face. "Right, and we don't want MC to go through that. For Diavolo's sake, they've left alone to overthink this enough," Mammon stood up and headed towards the door again, Satan hot on his trail. "I'm going up to there to talk with them. Ya'll are welcome to come with, but you ain't stoppin' me." "Actually, Mammon, you're not. We should wait until MC comes to us," Lucifer interrupted. An animalistic snarl tore its way from Satan's throat as what little self-control he had snapped. Wrath incarnate lunged himself at Lucifer, grabbing his older brother by the collar of his cloak. "Are you serious, Lucifer?! You're seriously putting your stupid pride first, now?!? MC needs us!" Lucifer growled and pushed Satan off of him as he stood to size him up. "No. What they need is to not feel pressured to open up when they aren't ready! We can't make them feel like they can't come to us!" Mammon scoffed from where he stood in the back. "Oh, cause that's perfect logic! News flash, oh wise one, They ain't gonna come to us if they're thinkin' they're a burden! But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?!" Lucifer's eyes widen and he took a step back in shock at the statement. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mammon and Satan both opened their mouths to put Lucifer in his place when Beel all of sudden cleared his throat loudly. All three of the angry demons turned to snap at him but froze as they saw you standing in the room behind them. They instantly straightened themselves up gave you their full attention. The air seemed to lay still between you as everyone waited for the other to make the first move. As with almost every situation, it was Mammon who broke the silence. He took a step towards you. "MC, I was just coming to get you actually. There's somethin' we all wanna talk to you about." They could hear your breath catch in your throat as you took a step back. Panic filled your eyes the moment the words left his mouth. "O-Oh. I, um, I was actually just going to grab an apple and then head off to RAD for class. M-Maybe we can talk afterwards?" Satan frowned as you walked past him towards the fruit bowl. "MC, it's the weekend." You stopped mid-step. An uncomfortable tension filled the room as the obvious excuse was exposed. The brothers waited for you to move, to speak, to do something to give them any sort of sign for what you wanted them to do, but you just stood there, still like a statue except for the tremors in your hand. "Come on, Darling," Asmodeus spoke softly. His face clearly showed the hurt and concern that was coursing through him. "Everything's alright, I promise. We just need to talk about a few things." The brothers had thought of a number of ways you could've reacted to them confronting you. Lucifer thought that perhaps you would snap at them and distance yourself further. Mammon, Levi, and Asmo expected a few small tears followed by a cuddle session. Satan imagined a slightly more dramatic telling, like something from one of his novels, that ended him being your hero and massacring all those who dared speak ill about you. Beel thought perhaps you could talk over a bunch of comfort foods that allowed you to remain calm and feel safe. Belphie had hoped that perhaps you hadn't believed what you overheard, and the two of you could laugh at how idiotic even the idea of them not loving you was. But you, breaking down into tears, sobbing the words "I'm sorry" over and over again? None of them had expected, nor were prepared, for that. ***Apparently this is now going to be a three-part series. This part was interesting to write. I fully believe that if the brothers were in a poly relationship with the MC they would definitely bicker and argue about
who knows MC best and who had the better date whenever MC isn't around. Honestly, they probably have a score chart 😅 I hope you guys liked part 2! Keep an eye out for part 3, where MC finally opens up to the boys and we have some hurt/comfort times \uwu/ ***
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snackhobi · 4 years
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a human touch, part I
Part [1] / 1.5 / 2
(masterlist here)
pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)
summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 
then he turns up at your door. 
warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧
a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!
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Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.
One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 
Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.
Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.
And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.
“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”
You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.
“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”
“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”
“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”
The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.
Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”
“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”
Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.
Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?
“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”
Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”
You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.
“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”
“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”
“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 
“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”
You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.
No human could ever look this good.
“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”
Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.
“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”
You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”
V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”
Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.
The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”
You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”
You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”
“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 
V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.
“After you, please,” he says.
You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.
“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”
“Not as pretty as you.”
You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.
“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”
You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”
You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.
“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”
The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”
“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”
You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 
(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)
“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.
V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”
You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 
“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”
V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.
“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”
V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.
“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.
“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”
You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 
The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.
It's just depressing, really.
You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”
V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.
“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”
His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”
“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”
You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”
“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”
He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.
“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”
His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”
“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”
(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)
You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?
“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”
Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 
“Purple.”
You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 
You think it suits him better.
“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”
V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”
“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”
You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 
He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 
When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”
“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.
“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”
“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”
There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”
“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”
“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 
Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.
“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”
V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”
It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.
When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”
“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 
“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”
The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 
At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.
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It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.
Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 
“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”
“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”
“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”
He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”
You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.
The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.
“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.
By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.
You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.
The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”
You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.
“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”
He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 
Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.
“Y/n.” 
The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.
“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”
Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.
When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.
“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”
There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”
You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.
“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”
When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—
“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”
You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.
And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.
“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”
His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 
The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.
“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”
You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.
There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 
V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?
His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.
“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”
“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.
“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”
It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 
He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—
You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 
“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.
“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”
“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”
V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.
“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”
V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”
Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 
“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”
They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.
“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”
“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”
“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”
Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.
“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”
V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.
“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.
At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.
“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.
“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”
You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”
“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”
You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”
And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?
“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”
The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.
Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.
V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)
He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.
“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.
“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”
“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 
His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 
You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.
“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”
He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 
“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.
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Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.
Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 
“Good morning.”
You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.
The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 
You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.
Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.
V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”
Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.
“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.
“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”
Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.
As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.
“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”
Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”
V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”
Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 
“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”
V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”
Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.
This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.
He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.
“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”
Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”
“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”
V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”
“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”
Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 
“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”
The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”
“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”
V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”
“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”
V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”
V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.
(Of course, you never do.)
This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 
The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.
“All done?”
“I think so.”
“Nice.” You feel content.
But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.
“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.
You promptly roll off the sofa.
Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.
Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”
The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 
Ah. 
“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 
“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.
You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.
“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”
One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.
V looks utterly enraptured.
“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”
V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”
“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”
V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.
“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.
V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.
“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.
“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”
You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 
But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.
Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.
V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.
“Go for it,” you say.
Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.
The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.
The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.
Just for an instant.
He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 
The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—
But then V laughs. 
His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.
“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”
“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 
The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.
His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.
You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)
“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.
“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.
“For what?”
“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”
The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”
He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.
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Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 
You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.
So here he is.
(And here you are.)
It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”
Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.
V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.
You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.
You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.
“I won’t be long,” you promise.
When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.
“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”
You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 
He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.
“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.
“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”
“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”
“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”
Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”
“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”
Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”
The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”
(Thank God.)
You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.
He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.
“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.
The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.
And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.
(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)
Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)
“I have to go to work tomorrow.”
V tilts his head down to look at you.
“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”
Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.
“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”
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(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.
“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”
So you do.)
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(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—
“Morning.”
V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.
“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)
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You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.
But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.
It’s… nice.
You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.
“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”
KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 
“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.
“Oh?” 
“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.
“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”
He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 
Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 
(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)
You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 
(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.
Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)
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(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)
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taglist: @beyoncesdragon​
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aminiatureworld · 3 years
Text
Enigmatic Feelings
Characters: Albedo, Diluc, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader
Word Count: 5,544
Warnings: None
Premise: Love is a potent force. And sometimes little things take on larger meanings, especially when one party is unaware of them.
In which the reader’s s/o is jealous
Author’s Note: This trope is 100% my guilty pleasure. I hope I did it justice.
I also realized while writing this that all these characters have the emotional understanding of a teaspoon, but they’re trying their best, so that’s what counts.
Albedo
Albedo was many things. A great alchemist, a man of secrets, a weapon with which one might someday bring destruction. He was even a lover, albeit an unpracticed one. But what he was not was emotional. Or so he thought.
Of course Albedo knew what jealousy was, knew the sort of stupidity that people could fall into when altogether too infatuated with their own love. But just because one knows what jealousy is does not mean one must fall prey to such things. Or so Albedo assumed.
It was the fourth day in a row that a knight had approached your door. Friedrich was his name, and he was doing a stellar job at capturing your attention, and pulling on emotions that Albedo had long told himself he didn’t contain.
Today the flower was a Windwheel Aster, swaying this way and that in the pocket of space between your two hands. You were smiling at it, or rather at Friedrich, brightly, fingers mere moments away from Friedrich as you went to claim the fourth flower this week. Though the was nothing necessarily untoward in Friedrich’s movements, and Albedo would much rather a person of integrity be attempting to woo you, even if the idea itself turned knots in his stomach; nevertheless it still left a bad taste in the alchemist’s mouth, and a worry in his heart that he was not so immune to jealousy as he’d previous assumed.
“Thank you!” You spoke to Friedrich, giving one last wave before walking back over to Albedo. “Albedo look! It’s a Windwheel Aster. It’s very nice of Friedrich to give me one, maybe I can use it, or maybe it’ll be helpful for your experiments?”
“Yes, thank you. I, I think you should keep it.”
As much as Albedo wanted to take the flower and throw it in the incinerator, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the smile on your face. No matter how dearly it cost him to see you smile down once more at the delicate red petals. And no matter how much it haunted him the rest of the day to imagine you, face framed by a smile, a bouquet of a random knight’s making in your hands.
That knight as Albedo put away the Bunsen burners and the graduated cylinders he kept his mind preoccupied by thoughts of you. Surely he had to tell you his feelings, for if not they would keep building in his chest; building and building until one day he erupted, with you in the line of fire rather than the knight who was creating this whole dilemma, perhaps even unwittingly. Though Albedo had never been in a relationship before he knew stories. Weren’t books full of those kinds of moments? Men, women, people, all of them running over one another in their misunderstanding, in their overwhelming guilt.
No, he wouldn’t turn out like that, wouldn’t let the two of you be hurt in such a way. He had to tell you. Had to make you understand how much his chest constricted when he saw you carrying the gifts of others, had to let it be known before he lost control of these emotions. After all, wasn’t that what happened with emotions? They grow and grow and one day they spill over. And Albedo never wanted these emotions to spill over. No matter the cost.
“May I tell you something?”
The sunlight was streaming through the laboratory windows, the air warm enough that Sucrose had tied up her hair during her shift. And yet Albedo felt cold, oh so cold. He was going to tell you today. He hadn’t been able to tell you three days ago, nor two days ago, nor yesterday. And now the bouquet of flowers that occupied a tiny glass on the windowsill felt quite large indeed. Today would be day eight if Friedrich showed up at lunchtime, and before that Albedo would tell you.
“Of course you can Albedo, I’m all ears!”
You turned around, a soft smile once more spreading across your face. Putting down the pencil you’d been holding you leaned back against the lab table. Albedo took in a deep breath. He could do this. He would do this. He had to do this. No matter what, today. Today, he would do this.
“I-I’m jealous.” The words hung in the air for a moment, as if not understood.
“Jealous?” You tilted your head slightly, worry making your smile slip. “Albedo, jealous of what?”
“Of Friedrich, of you and Friedrich, or rather, I mean, of Friedrich giving you flowers.” Albedo paused, words tangling in his mouth, tripping on each other in an attempt to be understood. What if this was a mistake.
“Albedo,” you shook you head softly, walking over to cup your partner’s face, “I promise that there’s nothing in it. The flowers are lovely, of course, but nothing in this world could replace or stem my love for you. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” Albedo replied hurriedly, worried still that he might be misunderstood, “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, or say that I doubt you. My love, I will never doubt you. I just, I just feel so uncomfortable when he brings you flowers. It feels like, like I don’t know; it feels like I’m being poisoned, suddenly and all at once. And I don’t want it to affect the way I act towards you. So, so I wanted to tell you. You don’t have to stop, if those flowers make you happy then that’s what matters. But, but I just wanted to tell you.”
You said nothing, staring into Albedo’s eyes, gaze piercing through the alchemist. It was always that way with you. How you managed to destroy the control he thought he had, the wall he’d erected between himself and humanity. How you made him feel unsure and fallible and whole. And, just as before, now your gaze softened and you shook your head, your smile a balm for the raw unfamiliarity of putting together emotions.
“It’s okay Albedo, I’m glad you told me. Just like my emotions matter to you, I’d rather not see you unhappy. To be honest, I just never saw Friedrich’s actions in the way that he probably meant them. We all struggle with our feelings sometimes, I do just like you. Just as long as well tell each other, all will be well. Alright?”
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what I do without you.”
“Well you’ll never have to find out, so it doesn’t matter!”
There was no eighth flower that day, at least not one that was successfully given. Albedo supposed that he could pity Friedrich, but in reality he felt nothing but relief. The emotions that had left such a bad taste in his mouth seemed so far away now, for there was you, only you. It would only ever be you for him, and the days in which you said the same thing of him Albedo felt as if he could truly be happy, and truly acknowledge the emotions that swirled inside him, the love for you so great it spilled over into a vast ocean.
 Diluc
Diluc found most merchants loathsome, something perhaps not entirely fair considering his own status as a mover of goods.
Still, merchants in general were an unlikeable bunch. Prone to complacency and greed, this elite circle was comprised of people who thought of little than of ways to line their pockets anew. It disgusted Diluc and as he stood there, watching as a man who had enough jewelry on his body to weigh down a pack mule and a smile that made one want to run in the other direction, throw compliments and boasts your way, the winery owner was reminded about all that was wrong with the world in which he worked.
“So your goal is to attempt to find a route through which we might trade our wine in Inazuma?” You repeated the words the man had just spoken, expression skeptical. “As much as it would mean good business to begin another trade route, I believe the border restrictions will cause no little difficulty.”
“Restrictions such as those are nothing for a man like me.” The merchant smile once more and Diluc felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. “I have the ability to wave past such an issue. Indeed with the right price I believe I could expand your network to include all of the seven major lands, if you haven’t been trading internationally.”
“Thank you for your offer.” You replied, too focused on the work in front of you to notice the merchant’s roving sort of gaze. “I’ll see what Master Diluc has to say. However I warn you, as much as international exports are important for a growing trade, smuggling wine into locked countries will do little good. Especially considering what the damage could do to this winery’s reputation if such a thing was found out.”
“Don’t worry, I assure you my methods are completely secure. In fact, if you’d like to discuss it in more depth, I do believe that I may be able to enlighten you over a meal.”
“Perhaps, although Master Diluc would certainly have to be there.” You smiled slightly, and Diluc wondered for a moment if you were being purposefully oblivious or simply didn’t notice the meaning behind the merchant’s words.
“I will be back tomorrow, perhaps you’ll have an answer then?”
“I’m sure I will.” You replied, smiling as the two of you shook hands. As the merchant walked out of the winery your smile morphed into a sort of smirk and you looked up towards the balcony of the second floor.
“You can come out now Diluc, I know you’re there.”
Diluc couldn’t help but smile at those words, he truly couldn’t get anything past you. Hurrying down the stairs he swept you up in his arms, sighing slightly into your neck as you tightened the embrace.
“Ever so observant, my darling.”
“I know that you’d never let a transaction or a business conversation take place without your knowledge.” There was a playfulness to your voice, coming from the knowledge that you were utterly correct. “Still, you could’ve come downstairs you know. I don’t think that anyone would need to believe that you were going through your ‘very important paperwork, and lurking around is your night job.’”
“It seemed somehow wrong to suddenly appear in front of you two and derail the conversation.” Diluc drew away and placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, chuckling when you immediately wrinkled it. “Especially since you were doing so well on your own.”
“Oh he’s just like the rest of them,” you sighed, “altogether a bit too full of themselves.”
“Especially in this one’s case.” Diluc said, finally letting a scowl cross his face.
“What do you mean?”
The look on your face was one of innocence and confusion, and for a moment Diluc felt his thoughts stammer, as he realized that you truly were unaware of the way that the merchant was looking at you, unaware of the manner which caused Diluc even now to continue to press his hand gently against your lower back. If you didn’t notice it, then surely Diluc was overreacting, surely there was no reason for his heart to stutter and his stomach to drop. Surely there was no reason, and surely he shouldn’t tell you.
“Nothing at all, I just didn’t like his face.” He hurried now to reply, realizing how odd his pause must’ve seemed. “Will you be accepting his proposal for a business dinner?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose it couldn’t hurt. And then it might be a good venue for the two of you to talk. Since you find him especially ghastly, I think a more public meeting might be easier.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think that invitation was meant for me.” Diluc replied, before realizing his gaffe and falling silent.
“What? What do you mean of course it’s meant for you. I mean you are the owner of the Winery. Who else would it be for?”
“For, for you my darling. Why else would he ask you in such a way?” Diluc tried to keep the acid out of his words. It wasn’t your fault after all. It wasn’t your fault that some louche was asking after you.
“But I’m not the one in charge.” You furrowed your brow. “I can’t make the final decision. And I won’t allow him to attempt to bypass getting your permission either.”
“My darling, I, I think he meant it a different way.”
“What way?”
Diluc sighed, capitulating quickly to his want to tell you. Even if it was perhaps selfish of him, he was never truly good at keeping his feelings masked away, at least in a way that didn’t result in him completely shutting down. And you meant to much to him than for Diluc to try and lie to you.
“You see, I think he was attempting to ask you on a more romantic sort of dinner.”
“What?”
Your reaction was immediate, your expression quickly turning into one of shock and then of disgust. Letting out a groan you buried your face into the front of Diluc’s coat, eliciting a short laugh from its owner.
“Why? I… I… Even if I weren’t in love with you I’d never go out to dinner with him.”
“I don’t think he would appreciate the sentiment.”
“Diluc.” You let out another groan, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the thought. “Archons, ugh thank you for telling me. I, disgusting.”
Diluc said nothing, simply tightening the hold of his arms around you. Though your reaction was certainly justifiable he knew there was something more behind them, and he felt grateful for your consideration. Though he knew that would always have been your reaction, it didn’t stop the pressure that ha been building in his chest, the thoughts that screamed what if, what if, what if. What if there is something better than you.
“Hey, are you alright?” You voice drifted up through the fabric of Diluc coat. He smiled, relaxing his grasp around you and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
“I will be. May I hold you a little longer?”
“Of course. You’re the only one for me, you know.”
“And you for me. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Those words, though so small, were somehow enough.
 Xiao
The new guest at the inn had been speaking to you for quite some time. That was Xiao’s first observation. The second was that you didn’t seem to mind. The third was that for some reason he suddenly felt incredibly irritated.
It was a beautiful evening, the kind that would’ve normally had you and Xiao sitting on the roof together, fingers entwined, the silence of nature cushioning the two of your from the outside world. It was a ritual, something that Xiao had come to rely on, had come to almost sanctify. Yet here he was, sitting on one of the thicker branches of the trees that dotted the outside of the Inn, trying desperately to quench the anger that bloomed in his chest as he watched you and the guest talk the minutes away.
Perhaps the worst part was that you didn’t seem to mind. Instead of pulling the conversation towards a close, you seemed perfectly content to keep talking, smiling brightly and quickly answering the questions of this uninvited guest. Normally Xiao didn’t care about , or rather didn’t keep track of, the people you spoke to. Of course you would have friends, would have people that mattered to you. Just because Xiao had disconnected himself from humanity didn’t mean that you had to. So why was he so angry?
His patience ran out when the guest reached for your hand. Sidling next to you as fast as he could Xiao peeled off his invisibility, enjoying the shock that registered across the uninvited guest’s face as he moved his hand back. Reaching to entwine his hand with yours Xiao shifted his gaze towards your face. Shock was painted into your expression, but there was also something else, a glimmer of happiness or of satisfaction. Somehow it unnerved Xiao, and he focused instead on the task at hand, whatever that task was.
“It’s getting late.”
“Oh, of course.” Turning back to the guest you smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but perhaps we’ll speak again some other time?”
“Gladly!” The man’s face lit up, before Xiao’s glaring left him scampering down the steps.
“Xiao, is something wrong?” The question was so genuine, without any sense of knowing more than you let. Unfortunately the question was also unanswerable.
“It’s late. We should go.” Xiao gestured towards the roof, hoping the reminder would flush the question out of your head.
“You’re right, I suppose it is getting late. And we wouldn’t want to waste such a wonderful evening.” You smiled. And yet somehow Xiao felt unplacated. He was happy, wasn’t he? So why, why did the question hang in the air, and why did the discontent remain?
The next day was a lazy one, as Xiao waited for you to be done with work. More than usual he missed you, and he wished that the hours would go faster, so he might be able to once more enjoy your presence, to banish the discontent that he still felt, evening after an hour spent wholly in your company.
Eventually the sun made its descent from the heavens, and Xiao pulled himself once more to the perch on the tree he’d taken the night before. Gazing down at the balcony he saw the familiar figure of the unwanted guest, and a stab of anger flashed through him. This was made all the worse by your entrance, and the fact you once more stopped to make time for this intruder.
The man was just as insufferable as before, full of jokes that Xiao didn’t understand and words that though praising of you felt somewhat hollow, almost insulting. You laughed along to these jokes, smiled at these odd compliments. And when the man asked if you might be willing to talk more over some sort of meal you merely smiled.
Xiao, however, found the whole ordeal unbearable. Why should this person be asking all these things, be prying you with words of intimacy and familiarity. Had he not arrived yesterday? Was he not an utter stranger? Confusion mixed with irritation in Xiao’s head, and he found it difficult to hold on to the stony reason he’d built up. What was going on? What was this terrible feeling of anger and want? He couldn’t understand human ways. Less could he understand why they should have any sort of effect on him.
Still he had to do something. Had to do anything. Swooping down once more Xiao began the same charade. This time, however, the man merely jumped, and for all his glaring Xiao couldn’t dislodge the guest from his place on the balcony.
“It’s late.”
“Ah it is. Are you hungry?” He asked, addressing you once more.
“I’m not at all, but Xiao’s right. It is late. If you haven’t eaten yet then perhaps you should. Smiley Yanxiao is quite strict about his rest.”
“Ah, then perhaps you’re right. Still, why not join me? You can tell me your name, and we can talk a little more about the things you do.”
“You don’t even know their name.” Xiao spat out the sentence, barely able to contain the odd sort of irritation that still spun around him. He asked you all those questions, said all those words of praise, all without knowing your name. It felt somehow dehumanizing, somehow… wrong.
“I would be glad to learn it.” The man smiled.
Xiao simply shook his head. He needed to leave. It was becoming too much again, and the last thing Xiao wanted was for a stranger to see him this way, see him unsure and confused and not a little frightened of these alien emotions. Glaring at the man one more time Xiao scooped you up. Ignoring the surprised shriek that you let out he shot up into the sky, moving towards the familiar sanctuary of Jueyen Karst, deeply grateful that the guest, whatever he could do, could never fly.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” You asked, barely giving Xiao the time to set you down onto one of Liyue’s sloping peaks before asking him the one question he couldn’t answer.
“Nothing.”
“Well it’s certainly not nothing. You’re being awfully rude to that guest, and I can’t understand why. Usually you don’t really care about those sorts of things. So something must be wrong, and I want to know what it is.”
A pause.
“Please.”
“I can’t.” It was all Xiao could say, the only thing that would truly encompass the truth, because in truth he couldn’t. He himself didn’t understand it.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“My chest hurts.”
“What?” Immediately your face shifted into one of worry, and you placed a soft hand over Xiao’s heart. Somehow the gesture was calming, and Xiao closed his eyes, enjoying the receding of the hot bands that had just been restricting him.
“My chest hurt when I saw you with that, that guest. My chest hurt and I felt angry. That’s what’s wrong. My chest hurt, but now it doesn’t; and I don’t understand it.”
There was a pause, and Xiao studied the expressions on your face, watched as they shifted from worry to confusion to caution.
“Xiao, is it possible you were jealous?”
“No.” The idea was somehow insulting.
“It’s alright to be jealous Xiao. It just means you care about someone very much. You don’t have to just dismiss it like that. I want to make sure that you’re alright, so please be honest. Is it possible you were jealous?”
Xiao let another gap form in the conversation, trying to figure out how to answer. The suggestion felt demeaning, felt as if he somehow had no control over himself, no trust of you. And yet it somehow made sense, and even as he shook his head he found himself letting out a different answer.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s okay if you don’t. I know that new emotions can be frightening, can be difficult to deal with. But Xiao, I’ll always love you. It doesn’t matter who else I meet or what else happens in my life. I love you the way that a bird loves the sky. You’re a part of my life I could never lose. So even if this isn’t jealousy, even if I’m wrong, I still want to let you know. I love you.”
Xiao sighed, a smile finally gracing his lips, the pain in his chest finally melting away. What did he ever do to deserve such a person as you, he would never know. He wished he could repeat those words back to you word for word, wished that he could explain that his love for you was all encompassing, had seeped through the cracks of his existence and his life. He wished he could form together the words necessary to convey his love for you. Even if it was impossible he still wished it.
So instead he leaned over towards you. Letting out a gentle sigh he brought his lips to yours, reveling in the soft sensation of your mouth against his, reveling in the way you leaned against him, bringing you arm up to his neck, letting out a soft breath of contentment as the two of you disconnected.
You didn’t ask him anything else, and for the rest of the evening you two sat on the grass, watching the fireflies dance around you as you leaned against one another.
Perhaps Xiao didn’t yet understand the extent to which he loved you, the emotions that had now risen up, given life by the love you’d poured into the adeptus. Perhaps he didn’t understand this yet, but he knew that all would be well. For with you all that irritation seemed so far away, as if it belonged to a Xiao of yesterday. Because here and now you two were together, breathing in the same mutual contentment, the same mutual trust, the same mutual love. And that present was more important than any jealousy could be.
 Zhongli
Looking back on the matter Zhongli admitted that maybe pretending the problem didn’t exist was probably not the best solution.
It was only that you two had seemed so oddly content in talking, so, compatible, that Zhongli couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discontent, a tension that spread through his jaw and down to his stomach. He didn’t quite understand the nature of the emotion that now spread over him, but he did understand that it was connected to the bond that was now forming between you and the vendor in front of you.
“Dearest one.” He spoke softly, walking over to where you now stood.
“Oh, Zhongli!” Your face lit up as usual, and the ex-archon felt a piece of him uncoil. At least some things seemed to be unchanging, just as wonderful today as they had been the day before.
“I’ve been looking for you. I know you spoke of wanting to learn more about the nature of Cor Lapis, and the tea shop has been offering a new brew. Perhaps we could share a drink?”
“Oh that sounds lovely!” Turning around towards the vendor you smiled gently. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to try that lovely soup you were speaking of some other time.”
“Not at all!” The vendor’s smile was good natured, and Zhongli didn’t understand why he nevertheless felt a twinge of uncertainty. “I look forward to it. I hope you two have a nice day, and we’ll talk about it more later.”
Though the stall receded into the distance as the two of you turned the corner, Zhongli couldn’t help but let the moment run through his mind once more, finding it as sore to think about as a bruise might be to the touch.
“That vendor? Oh they’re new on the scene.” You smiled, taking a sip of tea.
The tea house was as calming as ever, the noises of the outside a distant song, and the hushed whispers inside adding to the intimate atmosphere. Zhongli normally loved to sit here, drinking cup after cup of tea, watching as the people came and went about their business, immersed in a small fragment of Liyue life. Now, however, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the vendor. If he closed his eyes he could still remember their face, and the way yours was lit up while they were talking to you.
“Their name is Eli.” You continued on, oblivious to the way Zhongli’s hand tightened around his teacup. “They said that they set up shop maybe… two weeks ago? It hasn’t been a very long time, and they’re still struggling a bit. I hope that they’ll be able to get their business off the ground, who knew that street food was such a cutthroat world.”
“The city of Liyue is full of people who might make their way in the world, doing whatever they can. Perhaps it is unsurprising that competition is second nature to Liyue’s citizens.” Zhongli replied, hoping his tone wasn’t too curt. If it was you didn’t seem to mind, nodding softly in agreement.
“Speaking of Liyue and stories, perhaps you would like to tell me the story you were going to tell? I very much doubt that Cor Lapis is the blood of Morax.”
“How humans love to spin their stories.” Zhongli chuckled.
But even as he began to speak of jewels and pressure and the minerals that lay deep beneath the earth a bit of him was still preoccupied by the vendor’s easy words and your smiling face.
The next time he ran into you with the vendor the pit in his stomach had only gotten heavier. Standing a little ways away he let the conversation between the two of you flow in and out his ear, frown slipping deeper the more he heard.
“I cannot believe that your stall nearly caught fire on your first day! How unlucky.”
“Even worse that I didn’t know who to try and tell about it. If I had known you were part of the Guild then I would’ve asked you.”
“Well next time there are troubles you can just send a message to the Adventurer’s Guild. We can’t have our citizens being injured on our watch.”
“You sound like true heroes. I wish I could do the sorts of things you did. Your commissions sound fascinating! I would love to see how you go about your day some time.”
“Really it’s nothing, most days it’s quite boring really, just like any other job. Still, it’s nice to know that people have an interest in what we do.”
“Oh certainly! I find what you do very interest– ”
“My dearest one!” Zhongli called out, unable to continue listening to the conversation, feeling somewhat guilty and certainly upset. You turned slightly, smile brightening as you saw your partner.
“Zhongli! So sorry that I didn’t meet you outside your office, I must’ve lost track of the time. Eli here was telling me all about their first days at work.”
“I’m sorry that I got out late. I hope that you did not have to wait awhile.”
“Oh not at all Zhongli, like I said I’ve just been standing here. You don’t need to feel bad at all!”
“I’m glad. Perhaps now we can go?”
Zhongli attempted to smile, but it felt a lot more like a grimace. You stared at him, face the picture of confusion. Taking a step forward you glanced one more time at Eli, shrugging apologetically. Before any more words could be passed between the two of you Zhongli grabbed onto your hand. Walking quite quickly he didn’t let go until the two of you were at your apartment and he could finally breathe again.
“Zhongli, what’s the matter with you?” You asked, closing the apartment door behind you. Walking back towards Zhongli, who stood there silently, you let your hands rest lightly on his shoulders. “You can tell me you know, I can tell you’re unhappy.”
“I have a confession.” Zhongli started, feeling somehow compelled to reveal his thoughts, as if keeping them locked away would only be dangerous.
“Yes?”
“I, I did not like the way that the vendor spoke to you.”
“Eli? But they were perfectly nice.”
“I do not mean that they were rude. They were perfectly cordial. I mean, when the two of you were speaking, I, I felt uncomfortable. It was as if there was a barrier between us in that moment. I, I did not like it.”
“Oh Zhongli.” You breathed out, an indulgent smile on your face.
Reaching up you planted fleeting kisses on the archon’s face, peppering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, touch featherlight. It was a familiar gesture, one of comfort, one used in darker nights, when shadows dotted the periphery of Zhongli’s vision.
“Zhongli, I assume you know what jealousy is?”
“I know the term and what it means. I admit I am not personally familiar with the concept.”
“Well I am, so let me tell you. What you experienced, that was jealousy, plain and simple. I know it’s very uncomfortable. Jealousy can be such a messy feeling, it sticks everywhere. But it’s also normal. So you don’t need to worry. I promise that nothing will happen, and I promise that these feelings would go away. I also promise that I love you very much, so even if you feel these emotions, you don’t have to worry.”
“How could I ever worry about you?” Zhongli murmured, wrapping his arms around you, basking in your proximity.
The apology only came in the evening, after words and kisses and love had hung long enough in the air to dull the feelings that Zhongli had been carrying around. Now he lay there next to you, chin resting gently on your head, suddenly realizing that he’d most likely acted quite rudely.
“I’m sorry I ignored Eli.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand.” You murmured. “Though I’m not actually sure what got you riled up about them.”
“You are also a bit oblivious dearest one,” Zhongli let out a soft laugh, “it seems they were quite taken with you.”
“Were they?” You asked, tone betraying your surprise. You paused for a moment, as if trying to replay your interactions. “I never noticed. To be honest, I don’t think I could ever notice, not when I have you.”
“Thank you.” Zhongli whispered, oddly overcome by the confession.
As he lay awake, carding gentle fingers through your hair and listening to the even breaths of your sleeping form he pondered just how lucky he was. Precious gems might come from pressure and earth and chance. But you were more precious than all of them. And he’d never forget that.
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