#i wrote a very short fic based off of this doodle too actually but that is also staying in my notes app its. embarrassing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thepetulantpen · 3 years

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Two Librarians in Armageddon

(Day 5 of @shadowgastweek! Only had time for one fic this week, but after I read this prompt my brain said Pacific Rim AU and would not leave me alone until I wrote this. It’s pretty long, so here’s the ao3 link.)

(Pacific Rim AU, featuring the wizards as scientists!)

Caleb would not say he’s fond of working with others, let alone sharing his lab.

Solitary work is more in his nature, but after years of sharing close-quarters with Veth- and after getting adjusted to Jester, in general- he’s learned to tolerate, even enjoy, having company while he’s working. His friends have more than prepared him for anyone else he’ll have to work with; they’ve ensured that he’ll be hanging onto his habits of keeping anything important secured, in the event of an unexpected explosion, and of guarding his coffee with his life, in the event of poorly-timed pranks.

He does not think his new lab partner will be bringing any unstable explosives, or sugary abominations to replace his coffee with.

From what he’s been told, the new addition to their little pre-apocalypse team is a physicist working on tech for a competing company, someone far outside Caleb’s scope. The fact that they still have competing companies of mech-developers while there are aliens bursting from the sea to eat them is a nightmare all its own, but the writhing horrors of capitalism are a beast that science, and the Kaiju guts strewn across the table before him, has proved ineffective against.

The truce between them, in the interest of allowing powerful Jaegers to work together, is an uneasy and temporary one. Caleb, personally, doesn’t think it’ll last beyond one or two failures. He just hopes they won’t fall back into the slew of sabotages that plagued them at the beginning of their downward spiral, before everyone realized the world may actually be ending.

The rather small detail of imminent Armageddon has made his preference, or lack thereof, for company inconsequential. In the long run- or short, if they don’t manage a major breakthrough soon- his opinions as an introvert are insignificant.

It’s not all bad- as an innately curious person, the opportunity to meet someone just as experienced as him in the field of Kaiju is fascinating. Particularly considering that their specialization is so different; he’s almost looking forward to the new insight. He’d even be excited if it wasn’t for the subject matter.

It can be challenging to be enthusiastic about the driving force of the apocalypse.

He digs deeper into the partially collapsed chunk of Kaiju ribcage in front of him, no longer bothered by his poor choice of distraction. It’s a misnomer to call it a ribcage, given that the Kaiju do not have bones in the classical sense, but it’s close enough in location to approximate. He’d rather have a brain to work with, though he’ll settle for what he can get. Storing Kaiju is difficult, with their accelerated rate of rot once exposed to the air- if he’s not careful, his work could be reduced to ash in an hour.

He needs to catalogue the differences between this corpse and the last, pinpointing patterns in organ placement. The work is dull, while still requiring his full concentration to avoid puncturing any of the many, many inexplicably acidic organs. If he wasn’t already good friends with the base’s medics, he would’ve been taken off this job long ago.

Once he’s elbow-deep in a Kaiju, he stops paying attention to the door. He does not notice the knocking, nor the quiet greeting, nor the faint whir of machinery as his new colleague hovers through the doorway.

“Should you be touching that? It looks toxic.”

Caleb jumps at the voice beside him and the scalpel in his hand jerks, cutting into the mystery organ he’d been considering removing. Something vaguely liquid hits his wrist above the glove and he waits two seconds to see if it’ll burn, before deciding he probably doesn’t need to run screaming to the nearest med station.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, partially in response and partially to himself. “I know what I’m doing.”

He looks down, towards his new colleague, who, at first glance, is thoroughly unimpressed at that lie.

He sits in a wheelchair- minus the wheels, as it hovers gently off the ground, coming to about the same height the wheels would give it. Clearly a new model- hovering technology aside- it’s a sleek, minimalist white, matching his equally sleek, swept back white hair. The high turtleneck and overly formal coat allow Caleb to immediately peg him as somewhat uptight. Near-apocalypse has made formality rare.

Caleb hurries to wash his hands, finding the nearby sink labelled for nasty, potentially lethal chemical disposal. “I was told you’d arrive today, but,” he glances up at the dingy lab clock, the glass cracked from Veth’s last visit, “I didn’t imagine it’d be so soon. It’s, uh, a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, unconvincingly, and changes track, “That desk is mine, yes?”

There’s only one other desk in the room, moved there sometime yesterday after Caleb, under threat from his superiors, managed to shift away some of the boxes that line the walls. It’s only a small space, but it’s the cleanest part of the room.

The question, he reasons, is rhetorical, but Caleb nods anyway. He considers that answer enough- though the other man doesn’t move, staring at him expectantly. He’s oddly expressive, his attempts to keep a completely straight face only making any slipups, like the annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, more obvious.

It makes it easy to see the exact moment his patience runs out.

“I’m sure you were informed, but,” here, he looks to the side, dodging Caleb’s returning attention, “for the sake of introductions, I am Essek Thelyss.”

Ah, so that’s what he’d forgotten. Caleb thinks it’s unfair that he had to fail miserably at one of the last introductions he will have made before the end of the world- surely, he could’ve had just one go smoothly.

“Oh- I’m Caleb,” he reaches out a hand, meeting Essek’s already extended one for a brief shake- his hands may be clean now, but Essek doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of touching Kaiju guts, even indirectly, “Caleb Widogast.”

Something unidentifiable passes over Essek’s expression- disappointment or judgement, perhaps, at not recognizing the name. Widogast is not printed on any books, nor is it associated with anything high-profile like Thelyss; strictly, it doesn’t exist at all.

That, or the smell of the rotting Kaiju getting to him.

As he watches Essek pause halfway across the room to clear his path, and again to widen the space around his desk, Caleb is hit with the vivid realization that this isn’t going to be an enlightening, academic experience, nor an uncomfortable few days of socialization. It’s going to be more than a bump in the alien-fueled crisis that is his current existence.

This is going to be a disaster.

…

“Widogast, do you have any idea where my notebook’s gone?”

It has only taken Caleb three days to be able to identify the various tones for annoyed in Essek’s voice. There’s this is a minor inconvenience and this is a major inconvenience and this is one of many annoying things I haven’t pointed out yet today, including, but not limited to, the ever-present stench of Kaiju flesh.

He can say, with relative confidence, that this falls into the latest category.

“Have you tried all your desk drawers?” he calls over his shoulder, knowing the question is unnecessary but stalling for time as he heaves the last of the Kaiju parts- partially burned and fragmented limbs, today- onto his work table.

Essek, unlike Caleb, is meticulously organized, never misplaces anything and files according to system that escapes Caleb, no matter how many times he tries to decode it. From Essek’s perspective, the rest of the lab is a dangerous no man’s land of abject chaos- though Caleb has never lost anything. He knows, precisely, where everything is, no piece of preserved alien fading from his memory. An organization system is pointless, when one has a photographic memory.

That is, until one has to share a lab with someone who bothers to keep track of their belongings.

He doesn’t wait for a response, already able to picture Essek behind him, sitting with his arms crossed and looking deeply disappointed by Caleb’s suggestion, which amounts to did you turn it on and off again? Leaving the still sealed Kaiju parts where they are, he turns back to his own desk.

After exonerating himself and Essek, the list of suspects for meddling with their desks is very short. The base, these days, is not the hub of activity it used to be, back when there were far more Jaeger pilots alive and far better morale. Their lab is typically empty, aside from Caleb and Essek, as few people are inclined towards the smell of dead Kaiju. Even the corporals, some of the rare higher-ups with clearance, can’t be bothered to visit more frequently than their mandatory check-ins.

He can only think of two people who clearance would not be an issue for.

“Is he handsome, Caleb?”

“I don’t think it would be professional—”

“He definitely is, Jessie.”

Before today, he’d thought that Jester and Veth hadn’t gotten around to the visit they’d been threatening; clearly, they’d taken the liberty while he wasn’t in. Veth knows better than to steal notebooks- she wouldn’t be interested in them, anyway- and Jester isn’t in the habit of taking things, only misplacing them.

Caleb hardly ever uses his own desk, preferring to leave his notebooks scattered over the lab tables, in easier reach. Only the older ones are still perched on his desk, in a precariously tall pile- but one notebook stands out from the rest, not quite as ratty and overstuffed as his own.

“Ah, here it is,” he holds it up, gesturing Essek over and trying not to look too sheepish- it is not, after all, his fault. As he hands it over, and quickly turns back to his work, he can only hope that Jester hasn’t doodled anything too embarrassing inside. “Jester must have misplaced it, while exploring the lab.”

“Jester?” Essek asks, eyebrows furrowing in something that would be irritation, if his expression wasn’t trained to be so stoic, “Is she supposed to have clearance here?”

“The medical staff have free reign, in case of incidents with hazardous material.” He glances back at Essek, who still looks confused, and remembers that not everyone is on a first-name basis with the medics. “Jester Lavorre. You might know Caduceus- that is, Mr. Clay- better. He’s the more… healing inclined, of the two.”

“Jester Lavorre,” Essek starts, slowly as he unpacks his own question, “regularly comes here to… explore? What, she just, rifles through your things?”

He is not sure how to explain the idea of Jester to someone who doesn’t know her.

Essek already looks delightfully confounded- a considerable a departure from his typical stern concentration. Caleb almost wants to thank Jester for pulling Essek away from the handheld chalkboards he spends his days bent over, lines of nearly indecipherable equations appearing and disappearing with only the smudge of chalk on Essek’s hands as evidence of their existence. Distracting Essek has proved to be a challenge- even the sounds of saws and the number of other unpleasant devices involved in Kaiju dissection don’t get Caleb so much as a glance.

He does not try to explain Jester, opting to shrug, instead. “She knows she can find me here, so she stays until I show up. Sometimes she gets bored.” It occurs to him that other people haven’t been prepped for company in the same way he has. It occurs to him that it is abnormal to brace for a scavenger hunt every time he enters the lab. “I suggest you leave your important documents in a locked drawer.”

He refrains from telling Essek that Veth can pick locks and that Jester has broken open desk drawers before (there was an incident involving a prank war, smuggling, and increasingly desperate hiding places). None of it seems particularly reassuring.

Essek gives him a strange look, but nods. “I will keep that in mind.”

“You might also find things that aren’t yours by your desk.” Caleb looks over his shoulder to see Essek still watching him. “Consider them gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Caleb pauses, realizing that none of the things he was about to list are work-appropriate, “Well, it could be anything.”

Caleb’s starting to worry that he might end up causing the rift between companies that leads to the end of the world- with his terrible first impression, and equally bad secondary impressions- but when a parasol shows up at Essek’s desk a day later, he does not ask Caleb where it came from.

He does, however, quietly ask Caleb to send along his thanks to Jester.

…

“I am not imagining that it smells particularly bad today, yes?”

Caleb has acquired, in part thanks to Veth, partial halves of two Kaiju hearts. Partial is the best they could manage, on account of the massive holes blown in the beasts’ chests. Nonetheless, he’s ecstatic- an opportunity like this, for a direct comparison, is rare.

Kaiju barbecue, as it turns out, does not smell very appetizing. It is what he would think a bucket of cleaning supplies set on fire would smell like, though it leaves the air with the unpleasant aftertaste of cheap fruit snacks.

“They’re a little charred,” he says, hiding a smile- they are far more than a little charred, “Veth’s testing out different chemical combinations for the Jaeger ammunition. I don’t think she’s quite nailed it yet.”

Essek scoffs, cautiously approaching the table with one hand over his nose and mouth, the other resting on the chair’s controls. “How many people of wildly different departments are you on a first-name basis with?”

“Just a few.” Thoroughly distracted with cutting away the burnt pieces, Caleb doesn’t look up. “There’s also, uh, Fjord. He captains one of the boats, works on deployment.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” A soft whir, as Essek hovers a few inches higher, putting him at a better height to peer over the table with Caleb. “Do you need any help?”

Caleb blinks, surprised, and almost drops the scalpel he was sanitizing. “Aren’t you busy?”

Essek, with his old-fashioned chalkboards in the place of far more convenient holograms, never leaves his desk, never so much as turns around to bounce a theory off of Caleb. It seems like there’s a new pack of chalk and fresh notebook on his desk every other day- clearly he’s making progress, but the bubble of focus around Essek is too intimidating for Caleb to investigate.

“I’ve reached a stopping point,” Essek frowns when Caleb looks at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and sighs, “I’m stuck on the particle displacement we’ve detected at the mouth of the rifts, which only seems to effect the Kaiju, not the pilots. It’s- I don’t think you’d be interested. I need something else to do, while I brainstorm.”

Caleb manages to bite back his disappointment at not getting to hear the rest and points towards the sink- the one safe for normal use, that doesn’t currently have corrosion scars from caustic acids. “I can definitely give you that.”

Essek, unsurprisingly, is incredibly helpful. He might not fully understand the process, but he’s precise in following Caleb’s instructions and doesn’t complain when he has to touch the gross, slimy parts. He generously interprets Caleb’s just put them over there to mean place them very carefully in straight lines. It only takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it, effortlessly following Caleb’s lead as they work in parallel on their respective halves of the hearts.

“I can’t say I understand the appeal,” Essek starts, after many minutes of silence, “but there’s certainly something to working with the actual thing, rather than theory.”

Caleb is working at a particularly tough piece- the Kaiju are, if nothing else, heavily armored, inside and out- the exposure to oxygen making everything harder to pull apart, to cut up and catalogue. He doesn’t look up at Essek’s words, but finds his attention easily split.

“It’s all about,” Caleb pushes down, again, and the muscles finally give, “manipulating the body, finding what makes it tick. From there, we can change it.”

“Like,” Essek pauses, hesitating, “change it from living to dead, you mean.”

Caleb huffs, almost under his breath, “In this circumstance, perhaps.”

To his side, he sees Essek’s hands still, briefly, and feels eyes on him as Essek looks up. Essek has this way of looking at him, like he’s waiting for something, until an invisible tell gives him away. He feels both studied and seen through.

Caleb can’t say he hates it.

“You don’t sound as happy about that as I’d expect. Normally, people are thrilled at the thought of dead Kaiju,” Essek gestures, with one gloved hand, over the table, “More for you.”

Caleb looks firmly down at the heart, imagining the many cross-sections and pieces still unmapped, in the burned away absence. “I just think that more can be done.”

“I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.” Essek is already looking at him when Caleb looks up, so their eyes meet, “The other side of the rifts are far more interesting. There’s no telling what we could find, how we could progress- but we need those doors closed, if we’re going to be alive to enjoy that progress.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as leaving them open or closed.”

Essek leans back over the heart, having found what he was looking for in Caleb’s expression, and mutters, almost to himself, “You might be right about that.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything else, just watches as Essek finishes with his portion of the heart. Essek’s hands, even with the borrowed plastic gloves, do not look like they belong amongst the controlled carnage of the lab table. Made for spinning chalk between fingers, and gliding across the holograms.

He lines up the scalpel again, just a bit off-target, just a bit too close to the arteries. “Ah, don’t—”

Caleb grabs Essek’s hand, stopping him before he pierces something he shouldn’t- the faint burns on his own hands are proof of this lesson learned. Essek freezes, startled by the contact, and grips the scalpel a little tighter before he catches up to what’s happened and pulls back.

Caleb lets him go, with some reluctance. “The blood is, uh, acidic. You have to cut around carefully, or it– you get the picture.”

“It’s good that you were watching, then,” Essek doesn’t smile, but his face suggests that he might have, if he possessed less self-control, “I owe you one, Widogast.”

Caleb does not possess that same control- he’s not sure what Essek hears in his voice as he says, “It’s no trouble.”

He thinks, in the end, he may have been more successful in distracting himself from his work, than he was in distracting Essek.

…

Caleb has reached the point where the crick in his neck from leaning over his work, the pages and pages of pieced together neural pathways and conflicting experiments, is threatening to make the hunch of his shoulders permanent. Essek cannot be in a much better place- Caleb glances over to catch him with his head in his hands, again, a half-filled chalkboard laying forlornly on his desk.

Caleb stands with no warning, letting his pen clatter on the table and pushing his chair away with more force than necessary. Essek looks up, alarmed and- unless Caleb’s imagining it- intrigued.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Which is how they’ve found themselves on the steel catwalk above the Jaegers, high up in the hanger and out of sight of people who know they shouldn’t be here. Neither of them are stealthy enough to pull this off for long- the equivalent of two librarians, tiny amongst the massive machines that represent their only hope against Armageddon.

“It’s always weird to see them from up here.” The giant, unpiloted mechs seem to stare back at Caleb as they’re shifted into place. Empty eyes, visors with no life behind them. “Feels like we shouldn’t be looking at them eye-to-eye.”

Essek hums, and leans forward slightly, as close to the rails as he dares. “I’m more used to seeing them in diagrams.”

Caleb had known, in theory, that there must be a tangled web of physics behind the engineering of the Jaegers, but it’s different to know that Essek holds those secrets. He’d love nothing more than to pick his brain about it, even if it’s far outside his field. It’s a shame the hanger feels like an inappropriate place to host a high-detail physics lecture.

“It must be interesting, working with us. Thelyss has been, uh,” he hesitates, unsure if this is rude to point out, “forgive me for saying, rather at odds with Dwendalian interests.”

Essek is quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Caleb to pull the ripcord and apologize, before responding, “It has been interesting. It is… an opportunity, for me, to work for something greater than I have in the past.”

“In the past?”

“We have not been as,” he pauses, searching for the word, “kind as we should have, in sharing our designs. Many have failed to consider the state of the world in our quest for progress.”

Corporate sabotage in the race for mechs is something of a well-known secret. The extent of it is hidden, mostly, behind the veil of the destruction that it coincided with. Trading the right secrets to the wrong person could take you far- it just might mean leaving burning cities in your wake.

Essek, overlooking the last of the Jaegers, the vestiges of hope for the world, suddenly looks so tired, older than Caleb had seen him before now. It reminds of Caleb of his own reflection, at night when the manic layer of end of the world is wiped away to reveal exhaustion. Essek’s formality, the organized face he presents, functions as just another mask.

“I have made many mistakes. I am hoping-” Essek shakes his head, correcting himself, “All I can do is try again. To be better.”

Caleb cannot absolve him, cannot lift the weight of things unsaid, guilt anchored deeply. He can only stand there, at Essek’s side, and carry his own guilt.

“Leave it to the end of the world to show us that we can only move forward, until we run out of road.” Caleb tries for a smile, one Essek doesn’t match. “Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s still road. Feel like I’m drifting over the dirt, these days.”

Essek’s response, agreement or disagreement, is drowned out as they start shifting another of the Jaegers, the dragging of metal and old supports strained to their limits forming a din that has passerby covering their ears. Caleb watches its pilots stare up at it, unflinching in the noise.

He finds himself talking as the noise stops, filling the vacuum of silence, “I was almost one of them, you know.”

After he says it, he immediately regrets it. In one moment, it feels like the thing to do- share something personal, after Essek had taken the first step- and in the next, it feels like an entirely unnecessary can of worms. Because, of course, the next question is-

“Under who?”

Caleb swallows and considers lying. He could do it. He could keep it vague- he should, it should stay buried like his name. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t want to.

“Ikithon.”

He sees it, the second he says it. He sees the recognition, the surprise, the fear. Essek knows that name, more than anyone in passing knows that name. To Essek, he is not simply an unpleasant teacher.

He doesn’t want to see Essek as someone who worked with Ikithon- he doesn’t want to know what it means that he would forgive Essek, in a heartbeat, but can’t do same for himself.

“I wasn’t able to drift,” Caleb continues, and almost believes that’s the whole truth, the entire, uncomplicated reason, “Dropped out of the Academy.” Not before the damage was done.

Essek looks down, studying the grimy floor beneath them. “Probably for the best.”

“I’m starting to think we should’ve put our funding into time machines, instead of Jaegers.” Caleb sighs, and feels a part of himself leave with his breath. He looks to his side, where Essek remains silent. “Should’ve gone into physics, I guess.”

People rush around below them, preparing for another Jaeger to enter. The gate is cleared, the runway lights up, and various maintenance teams stand at the ready. Caleb wonders how they can stand this, how they can keep going through the motions every day, even as less and less pilots return.

He supposes he could say the same about himself, about anyone still coming to work on this base. For the first time in a long time, they’re all working towards the same thing. They’re all looking to the pilots, spending what’s left of their lives to stack the deck in their favor.

“I know a few of them,” Caleb pauses, and clarifies, “The pilots, I mean.”

“You failed to mention that, in your list of people you know.” Essek tries to laugh, though it doesn’t quite come out right, and looks back up at Caleb, “Which ones?”

“I’m not sure you know them.” People in their position don’t generally interact with the pilots, directly. Caleb would say it’s strange for him to have friends in the Academy, but it’s not the weirdest connection he’s made recently. “Yasha and Beau on the Cobalt line. They’re only just out of the Academy.”

Only just out and making a formidable reputation for themselves. He’s only skimmed the statistics, but if there was a leaderboard, he’d say they’re pulling ahead. Knowing Beau, that’s greater motivation than the potential for saving the world.

Essek’s façade falls away completely, showing his surprise. “The two terrifying women in the Expositor?”

“Those are the ones,” Caleb leans against the railing, out of the shadows. A little more bold, now that most of the people below are distracted. A massive Jaeger, with chipping blue paint and massive jets affixed to its back, steps in through the gate, tracking in water around its heels. “Speak of the devil.”

He can imagine Beau and Yasha working in tandem, seamlessly, to bring the mech into the hanger, ducking its head slightly to make it under the doorway. One hand is occupied, clenched around a scaly leg, metal fingers dug into the fallen Kaiju’s flesh. It’s oddly small, not the fully grown beasts Caleb is used to seeing them drag through.

“Is that-“ Essek doesn’t finish his question, perhaps because he can see the answer in Caleb’s expression.

The Kaiju’s head is entirely intact, its skull spared at the expense of a hole in its chest. A full brain, no shrapnel or missing pieces. Exactly what Caleb has been waiting for, exactly what he’s been trying to piece together.

Essek follows at his heels as Caleb dashes for the stairs, stealth forgotten altogether.

…

The whirring of saws and grim, grinding sounds of bone being cut come to an end, at long last. There’s a tube prepped, filled with foul-smelling chemicals intended to preserve and suspend alien flesh. The sound, as the brain is deposited, is somehow worse than the grinding noise.

Essek looks at him, watching silently for a long moment. It is difficult, to feel his eyes on him and not look back, but Caleb manages it, keeping his gaze focused on the mass of nerves before him.

“I understand the temptation.”

Caleb laughs, with no humor. “Do you?”

The headset is light, almost flimsy, in his hands. He passes it between them, running his hands over the familiar metal and wires. It looks like it might fall apart any second now, not at all like it’s made of expensive, stolen equipment. Not all like Caleb’s been thinking about it for months, like it could save them all- if he can pull this off.

The Kaiju’s brain floats in the container in front of him, wires trailing off of it. Essek sits beside it, the filtered green light through the tube casting harsh shadows over his face. He’s not supposed to be here, but Caleb should’ve known that Essek wouldn’t stick to his scheduled breaks.

“I know more about temptation than you, Caleb.”

It’s rare to hear Essek angry- figures that he chooses a time like this to finally call Caleb by his first name.

“Then you should know that I can’t pass up this opportunity.” Caleb clicks the final pieces into place, watching the lights on the headset start to glow. He loses the fight against another temptation and glances over to Essek, who looks to be fighting fiercely not for a neutral expression, but to keep back tears. “I will not have more lives on my conscience. If this could win us the fight, I have to do it.”

He reaches for the control panel, lifting the headset with his other hand. He has to get this over with before he loses his nerve, before Essek decides to find someone who might actually be able to stop him, before Jester or Veth or anyone else stumble upon him

Essek grabs his wrist, stopping him. His eyes are wide, a little surprised at himself, but he meets Caleb’s stare dead-on.

“I don’t want to lose you to this,” he clears his throat, and looks down, away, “We all still need you.”

Even now, they can’t help but lie to themselves.

“I have to do this.”

Essek looks back at him and for once, seems frustrated to be unable to peer behind Caleb’s eyes, to get the answers he always does. He looks to the side with a heavy sigh, and Caleb thinks for a moment that he’s given up, that he’s going to agree, when Essek lets go of his hand to reach behind them, to the lab table still covered in wires and abandoned tech.

Many drafts of the headset sit amongst the wreckage, the results of late nights spent working with a collection born of Veth’s sticky fingers and Caleb’s hoarding. Essek grabs one, easily picking out the most functional of the bunch, and presses it into Caleb’s free hand.

“Fine,” his face sets, not in the neutral that Caleb’s come to expect, but in a determination that feels almost dangerous, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Essek’s eyes are a dare, waiting for Caleb to find a reason to deny him. He knows, as well as Caleb, that two of them would increase their chances of surviving this. He also knows, maybe better than Caleb, that none of that matters. Caleb would always rather take the brunt of it, than allow his friends to hurt.

This feels, distinctly, like an argument Caleb can’t win. Essek looks a few seconds away from hooking it up himself.

Caleb sighs, a faint smile escaping him. “Didn’t think you’d be repaying that favor so soon.”

Essek only pushes the headset more firmly into his hands, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s safe-guarding against Caleb losing his nerve, or losing his own nerve.

Caleb puts Essek’s headset on first, taking longer than necessary to adjust its fit, before putting on his own. They sit across from each other, in the distorted shadow of the brain. Essek’s gaze, fixed on Caleb, doesn’t waver and just before Caleb hits the switch, he holds out his hand.

Caleb takes it and turns on the machine.

The drift hits him immediately, like a weight falling on his brain as something too big climbs into his skull and pushes his mind out to the edges, pressed against bone. Everything else, outside of his mind and Essek’s mind and this new intrusion, disappears entirely. Sensation, apart from a terrible, sourceless pain, leaves him.

Essek’s mind bursts into focus like a searing light in the abyss, a star far above him. Caleb reaches for it, as the mind of the Kaiju, oppressive and all-consuming, threatens to swallow him up.

He feels their connection like entwined hands, before they collapse into each other, blurring into one. Warm and cool colors mix together in threads that wind and wind around until they are one inseparable string. Shared pain is conducted through it, a wire of strange electricity.

He is hearing a city on fire, screaming, and imagines he can pick out familiar voices in the chaos.

He is shaking a hand like a corpse, bony and terrible as its fingernails dig into his skin.

He is on a cold tile floor, aware that he is alone, alone, alone—

Somewhere, outside of himself, he squeezes Essek’s hand.

The Kaiju bears down on both of them and he finds himself standing beside Essek on a destroyed city street, its features a mashed together version of Caleb and Essek’s childhoods. It is too much for either of them, even standing together, but when he looks down at Essek, he sees only his smile, sharp and confident.

Everything begins to dissolve as the mind- the many minds- of the Kaiju falls over them.

…

Waking up is not fun.

Once, in grad school, Caleb stayed up for 52 hours, subsisting on diabolical combinations of energy drinks and pure spite for his professors. After turning in his last assignments, including a paper that served as a major breakthrough in his field but was so manic it was incomprehensible to anyone except Caleb, he crashed hard and did not wake for another day, when Veth checked to see if he was still alive.

He could’ve sworn, at the time, that the headache he felt upon seeing light for the first time that day was the worst he’d ever experience.

This headache easily doubles it.

The lights are, mercifully, left completely off, with only the dim sunlight leaking out from under the blinds turning the infirmary room a dull grey. He’s sat, partially upright, on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, a place he knows well. Outside the room, he can just make out the quiet, constant noise of their busy med station, conversation and machines overlapping.

To his right, similarly propped up, is Essek.

He wakes at the same moment as Caleb and they both turn, surprise mirrored in their faces. At seeing each other, at being alive at all- it’s anybody’s guess.

Objectively, Caleb is sure they both look absolutely terrible, but he can only see the light in Essek’s eyes and his tired smile. There’s a drowsy kind of comfort between the two of them, relief of tension being let go. They lived- they both lived.

“This is not the warm welcome to the land of the living I was hoping for.”

Caleb laughs, even if it hurts, a little. “This feels less like a welcome party, and more like breaking a window and climbing back in.”

There’s no connection between them anymore, no wires or drifts, but he still feels it faintly, a buzzing at the back of his head. Essek’s pain feels like an echo of his own, and his warmth is still there, as if he’s still holding his hand. It’s stable, an anchor to new wakefulness.

“They should’ve known better than to put two of us in the same lab.” Essek shakes his head, and winces at the movement. “It could only ever have ended in disaster.”

Caleb grins and is pleased to see Essek do the same, just as unguarded as he was in the drift.

They only have a few minutes before Jester comes in to yell at him for being stupid- possibly, the whole crew is lined up somewhere outside, lists of grievances in hand. Shortly following that, he assumes there will be a small battalion of military personnel waiting to hear what they’ve discovered.

Until then, he has time to do more stupid things, mostly unsupervised.

He drags himself out of the bed, pretending that he doesn’t nearly collapse as soon as his feet hit the floor, and wheels the bed closer to Essek’s, carefully maneuvering the wires still attached to his chest and arms. Once they’re an arm’s length away, Caleb stops and climbs back in.

This time, he holds his hand out first and knows, without a doubt, that Essek will take it.

#shadowgast week 2021 #caleb widogast #essek #shadowgast #critical role #ahhh this so long #do not have time to edit tonight #but i swear itll be up on ao3 tomorrow #ignore the many times i misspelled physics #im very tired

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poptod · 3 years

Note

Can I get a fic based off of Snafu’s V day doodle?

Notes: i am honestly so honored you asked me to do this. anyway i wrote it in like fourty minutes talk about getting INSPIRED WC: 1.3k

Merriel isn't the most conventional of roommates, but this seemed to be a little over the top.

The two of you have been living together for about a year now. Ever since he came home from the war, actually. Both of you were once soldiers, though you never actually met during the war––only after. You managed to get home early and find a job at a sandwich shop inside the train station, which was where you first met him, and where you earned your first truly vivid memory.

His eyes. Haunted, and cold, and nothing like the warmth of his hands when he handed you his money.

He got better over time. So did you. Now life seems to be peaceful, you with your job at the train station, and his job on the docks supporting a decent-sized apartment.

Most of the time, Merriel is a humorous, somewhat laid-back man, who welcomes friendships from all walks of life. He is incredibly casual––meaning that yes, he does walk around the apartment naked––and has little sense of boundaries, especially when it comes to you.

A few months back you can recall him drinking too much and getting a little handsy.

A few weeks ago, you can remember a candlelit dinner made entirely of recipes passed down from his mother, and all homemade. By himself. There were seven courses.

You should be used to it by now, but you aren't. For some reason it still catches you off guard.

Most of the time, when Merriel is walking around naked, you try to avoid looking anywhere but his face. Now his back is turned, his focus centralized on a pot on the stove. A cigarette dangles between his lips, its' smoke curling up into the low ceiling, where dim lights illuminate little other than the stove. He's distracted. Most importantly, he's wearing an apron lined with ruffles and tied tight around his already slim waist. The curls on his head only seem to match the ruffles better, dark and twisted around his grey eyes.

The scent of strawberries is everywhere in the house, and you easily assume it's coming from the pot of boiling liquid in his pot. He must be making jam.

You want to approach him. You want to scare him, do something to break the tension you've built up in your head, but you're stuck. The curve of his back has you enamored, how the muscles dip and glide beneath the skin. It leads to his ass, which he has so kindly allowed out of his underwear, and to the bits of ink right on the inside of his thigh.

You've never seen it before now.

It looks to be a marine corps tattoo, well designed and carefully drawn. Right on the inside of his thigh. There's nothing in your brain anymore––nothing more than the thought of kissing that tattoo. Biting it. You try to swallow through your clogged throat.

"Mornin', babe," he says, but he doesn't turn around. From where you stand you get a glimpse of his smile––more like a self-satisfied smirk––and you realize he's known you've been standing there the whole time.

"Morning," you reply flatly. "What are you doing?"

"Strawberry jam," he says, "for the scones."

"Scones?"

"You didn't think I'd let Valentine's Day pass by without celebratin', did ya?" He asks as his grin spreads, finally looking over his shoulder to you. God, you love the way his lips move.

"I didn't think you'd really care," you admit.

"I'm a romantic at heart, baby," he says, setting down the large wooden spoon.

He doesn't look like a romantic, but now that you think of it, the signs are there. The rose petal baths, the things he writes, and the songs he sings. All of them build an image of romanticized love.

When he steps closer, he offers you the cigarette that once perched on his lip, and you gladly take it. For a moment you take in the smoke, try to appreciate and concentrate on it more than you concentrate on his bare thighs. Or his chest. The apron really doesn't cover much, not even his nipples.

He leaves your side for a moment, rooting through the fridge before pulling out a large tray of strawberries, all placed far apart and coated in dark chocolate.

"Wow," you say, looking down at them. There must be at least a dozen. "You've been busy."

"Only for you, cher."

He takes the cig from between your lips, taking a long drag before handing it back to you and returning to his jam. You watch him for a little bit––appreciate the view you have and the smoke in the room, crushing the cigarette butt when it goes out.

Merriel only returns to you once he's satisfied with his jam, turning off the stove before coming back to the chocolate-covered strawberries you stand beside. From the wide array he picks one of the largest, then turns to you, a curious smile on his face.

"Open wide," he says, and instantly your face burns up, a blush reaching from your collarbone to the tips of your ears. Open wide. Who does he think he is?

You, very reluctantly, open your mouth. All you can think of is his command and the one other situation where he'd ask you to open wide. You almost fall to your knees with how much you crave that moment. Fortunately you hold yourself up, and your prize is the cool taste of fresh fruit and rich chocolate.

For some reason you can't decipher, he takes the time to feed you the rest of the strawberry, wiping away the excess from your lips with his thumb. The motion only worsens your blush, which in turn leads to an embarrassment that makes you blush more.

He asks you if it's good and you say yes. Fruit isn't really in season right now, but all things considered it's pretty good.

The rest of the morning the two of you go through the things he's made, from the scones and jam to little cakes topped with cherries, and each has a light, pleasant flavor. At the end of it all you're both full and it's only around midday.

"Nice tattoo, by the way," you finally comment as the both of you work on cleaning the kitchen.

"Oh, so that's where you've been lookin' all morning," he says. That little shit.

"A bit hard not to considering you're not fucking wearing anything," you chuckle, and he laughs as well.

"I think," he says, turning off the faucet before whirling you around to face him, "it's just the right amount a' clothing."

There's nowhere to look but his eyes now, with him trapping you against the counter, his hips against yours. You can't help but think about how little there is separating you from his –

"I think ya like it," he says, cocky as he's always been.

"I think you should shut up," you answer nervously. Anything to break the tension. Anything to crack a joke.

"Oh, you'd love to shut me up, wouldn't you?" He says as he knowingly scans your frantic eyes.

You're on each other before you can even think, desperate hands sliding up underneath his apron to grab at him. Pulling, pushing, grinding, travelling up the expanse of his bare back, the broadness of his shoulders. On his part, he's got his hands curled up in the fabric of your shirt, forcing your lips on his and keeping them there. Not that you protest––it's fucking heaven to know he wants you this much.

"Fuck," he mumbles when he gets the chance to breathe, but the moment is short-lived when you immediately dive back in. He hums in appreciation, clearly enjoying your fervor.

"Bedroom?" You ask, barely willing to part from him for a single word.

"Too far away," he says. The last button on your shirt comes undone––not that you noticed he was undoing them––and he tears it off of you.

"What, so we're just gonna fuck in the kitchen?"

He shrugs.

"I like it down and dirty."

And, as you come to find out, he was telling the truth.

#merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #the pacific hbo

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 4 years

Text

sour undertones - klaine oneshot

AN: this work is based off of a piece of fanart by animateglee

words: 1723

summary: Kurt finds Blaine’s diary and is surprised at what he finds there. Blaine thought it was good at the time, I mean, he got an A in creative writing from Miss Eavesbridge once! (quarantine fic)

The days have been long for the both of them, and it’s not like he was snooping, really, he wasn’t. He was bored.

Ever since the lockdown had started in New York, Kurt felt like he was going to go mad. His apartment with Blaine was only small (despite their success and newfound fame, prices to live in the city were still ridiculously high) and there was only so much they could do in such a tiny space. After multiple different jigsaw puzzles and games of monopoly and other miscellaneous things that didn’t involve sitting around and scrolling through Instagram, he was starting to go a little bit crazy.

It was also hard for them - they were different types of people; Kurt was an extrovert… and well, Blaine… not so much. For Blaine, it was much easier; he would happily sit around at home all day keeping himself busy doing nothing much at all.

But Kurt, he thrived on socialisation, on meeting new people, new faces and interesting personalities. He was growing tired. So he wasn’t surprised when he found himself searching through the shelves and bits of storage in their tiny home, not really knowing what he was looking for.

He found lots of old things knocking around in their draws - a photo album of their first year together as a couple, and smiled as he looked through the miscellaneous memories that had been captured and saved, something to hold onto for all their lives. The receipt from their one of their many dates, a recipe book Kurt had given to Blaine one year for his birthday in their old loft in Bushwick, and Kurt was a little offended to find it hidden away in a random draw next to their bed, but then he decided to search some more.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it before, but it was a beautiful thing, a notebook with a leather covering and writing on the front, stuck on with different clippings of letters from headlines of newspapers, and Kurt laughed to himself as it reminded him of The Burn Book from Mean Girls. A guilty pleasure of his, if he was being honest.

However, this expression changed as he opened the notebook. He saw on the very first page, ‘property of Blaine Devon Anderson’ scribbled messily onto the parchment. Around it was lots of different doodles and hearts and other little drawings that made Kurt smile. Then he turned the page, realising what he was actually looking at.

15th March 2011

Dear Diary,

Kurt’s eyes widened as he recognised the date. That date was special to them. He recognised it, even more so, when he read the words ‘I kissed Kurt today!’ in big, capital letters, confirming why it was so special to them. That was when he burst out laughing, deciding to read on. Half of him felt bad for reading through his husband’s diary from nine years ago, but dammit - they were husbands! It was healthy to have some secrets in a relationship, he thought. Reading again, a big smile lit up his face.

I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am right now. I’ve been so oblivious all this time, and only now I’ve realised how much I appreciate him. I can’t believe that this might turn into a real thing soon! And hopefully, his feelings are the same. I mean, they would be, wouldn’t they? He did kiss me back. Twice. Anyway, I think I love him. He’s beautiful, and his eyes are so blue…

Kurt was aware that his face was probably lit up like a Christmas tree, but he didn’t care. His now-husband had written about him in his diary on the day of their first kiss. He was allowed to be happy.

“Kurt?”

It was only then that Kurt closed the notebook abruptly, jumping up from where he was sat on the floor against the bed, dumping it on the floor and turning to face Blaine, who had now walked into the room.

“What are you doing?”

Oh god. Kurt looked suspicious. He was fully aware of that. He was trying to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers (even if they weren’t allowed outside, didn’t mean his fashion game was going to falter) and his eyebrows were raised up far too high as he tried to keep a sense of nonchalance about his aura but failing.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” He smiled. The tension in the room was suffocating. He shouldn’t have been nervous, really, he shouldn’t have, but Blaine was standing there looking very worried and curious and Kurt wasn’t ready for whatever would happen next.

Blaine frowned, moving closer to Kurt.

“You’re acting weird. What’s going—”

He paused as he realised the notebook on the floor. He looked at it, sitting there, then back at his husband, whose eyes were now comically wide, and they stared at each other incredulously.

“Kurt, I swear to fucking god—”

Kurt broke the tension by letting out a giggle, deciding teasing was the best way to go about this situation. He bent down and picked up the notebook from the floor, and continued to read the page he’d been reading, but out loud to Blaine this time.

“So, my soft but scratchy lips tasted exquisite… the sweet flavour of starburst fruit gums but also the sour undertones of orange juice, along with the sweet promise of love?” He burst out laughing. Blaine scrambled towards him, trying to snatch his old diary out of Kurt’s hands.

“Kurt! Give that back!”

“Why… are you talking… about our first kiss… like it’s a fucking Michelin star meal?” Kurt marvelled, between fits of laughter. Blaine was trying to grab the notebook but Kurt made sure to keep a hand on his chest, preventing him from stealing it back.

“Kurt… please! I was excited!” Blaine shouted, exasperated.

That only made Kurt laugh harder, running away from Blaine who was now getting closer to stealing the diary back, so he jumped up on the bed.

“No! I have a right!” He screamed, jumping down from the bed and now running around the apartment, trying to find another excruciatingly cringe-worthy piece of writing to read out to his very embarrassed husband.

“When we pulled back, I stared into his piercing blue orbs… what the fuck are orbs?” He joked, collapsing onto their couch, reading some more, “and I was so dazed, the only thing going on in my mind was Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, then he said, in the softest, most beguiling voice—” he broke off his reading again, trying to understand Blaine’s writing, “sorry… Blaine? Why are you using such descriptive words? This sounds like a fucking fanfiction!” He laughed, then continuing, “he said we should practice,” he raised his eyebrows as he noticed Blaine was watching him at the end of the couch with an exaggerated pout on his face.

You’re so mean,” Blaine whined, he fucking whined, and that was when Kurt started to feel bad.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” He apologized, “but you’ve gotta admit, it is pretty funny.”

“You’re making fun of my sixteen-year-old self’s writing skills,” Blaine said, the pout on his face still prominent, “Miss Eavesbridge gave me an A for creative writing in English at Dalton once!” He said, referencing their Eleventh Grade English teacher.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry for making fun of your creative writing skills,” Kurt laughed, affectionately, pulling Blaine onto the couch from where he was sitting, untangling his folded arms. “Although I don’t think this would be creative writing since it actually happened.” He cross-examined, stroking his hands through his husband’s hair. He was so grateful that Blaine had loosened up on the gel now, moving away from the brick-like hair he had five years ago. He loved stroking Blaine’s hair.

Blaine groaned in annoyance at Kurt’s display of his pedantic trait but obviously appreciated the attention, nestling his head into Kurt’s neck, wrapping his arms around his husband.

“You’ve embarrassed me.”

“That’s what marriage is for!”

"Rude.”

“You’re cute.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt then, lifting his torso so he was fully on top of his husband, holding himself up by his hands. “I can’t believe you found my old diary. Although I am sorry that I described our first kiss like a Michelin star meal. It’s just— it was special, you know? And I wanted to remember every bit of it.”

Kurt’s face was glowing. He was so in love with Blaine, every day his love grew stronger. As he looked into his hazel (Kurt laughed to himself as he thought of the word orbs) eyes, he wondered how he had become so lucky.

“It was special. Do you want to recreate it?” He replied.

Blaine hummed appreciatively, “mmm. Sounds like a good idea,” and leaned in for a kiss. They stayed like that for a while, breathing each other in, Kurt’s hand cupping Blaine’s cheek, eyes closed.

When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a while, when Kurt mumbled, obviously quite dazed, “Any sour undertones of orange there?”

Blaine groaned, dropping his head back down onto Kurt’s shoulder, “That honestly sounds so fucking disgusting. I can’t believe I ever wrote that.”

“Well, actually, you said you wanted to remember every moment of our first kiss, but you actually got a bit of it wrong in your writing.” Kurt acknowledged, picking up Blaine’s old diary again, “you see, here you wrote that I said we should practice, but I actually remember quite clearly that you said that.”

Blaine frowned at this, grabbing the diary out of Kurt’s hands, reading out loud where he had written that.

“he said, in the softest, most beguiling voice, we should practice. Huh. I did get that wrong. Guess my mind was so dazed all I could think about was Kurt, Kurt, Kurt.” Blaine said, quoting his diary entry.

Kurt burst out laughing at that, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck, pulling him in for a short kiss once again. “You’re such a dork.”

“But you love me anyway.” Blaine smiled.

“Of course I do. And I know you love me too.” Kurt replied, pressing their lips together again. He loved his beautiful, ‘I-got-an-A-in-creative-writing’, beguiling husband. And he wasn’t going to see the end of this story in a very, very long time.

AO3 link

#klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #quarantined!Klaine #married!Klaine #theyaskedmeto #one-shot #complete #Rated G #Less than 5K #submission

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zap-writing · 5 years

Text

The sun sets on another day - TRSNS fanfic

@redstone-sun‘s fic fucked me up so I did what I know and wrote about it to cope asdfghjhgf

the basic summary of this fic: Mumbo has a Bad Day(TM) and we stan Good Guy Iskall

AO3 Link

On days like these, Mumbo felt his guilt like concrete weights tied tight around his throat.

The actual impulses and desires to obey that sanguine call no longer affected him as often as they used to―perhaps out of sheer necessity rather than true recovery, but the fine details didn’t matter. Not to Mumbo at least. The intrusive thoughts and feelings, however, were another story.

Sometimes he wished he could just press a button and fix all of his problems like one would a faulty machine, force him through some kind of psychological reboot. His prescribed process was tedious enough as it was; exposure therapy was a snail’s race by nature, and the transitions were mind-numbingly gradual. From mentions of redstone, to discussions of redstone, to looking at redstone, to touching redstone, to holding redstone, to――

And so on and so forth.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and the process was anything but linear and orderly. For a long while it felt like every step he took forward, something would send him three steps and a stumble back. One moment he was setting up semi-complex circuits from memory in his obsidian home, the next Grian would make an off-hand comment about a test contraption one of the hermits built nearly killing him and Mumbo would find himself involuntarily wishing it had.

Those moments scared him. He knew that it wasn’t really him thinking then, that it was just some heinous, corrupted part of him, some deep innate brand of the Red Sun festering behind his eyes. But it wasn’t any less terrifying to catch himself tempted by the crimson voice in the back of his mind that told him he didn’t belong in the overworld, that he needed to continue wiring in the quartz covered plains or he’d never be satisfied, to beg and steal and lie and cheat if it meant getting back to the Sun’s dimension, that if anyone got in his way he had to kill kill kill kill kilL KILL KILL KILL KILL K―

. . .

Those nights, Mumbo felt pain beyond anything he’d known before, from the crescent welts of his fingernails dug deep into the meat of his forearms, to the once-foreign hopelessness that left him wondering why anyone thought he was worth saving anymore.

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

On days like these, Mumbo found himself convinced that he’d never be released from his blood-stained binds.

It hurt more than he cared to admit, having redstone so intrinsically ruined for him. Sure, he had brute-forced his way into standing it enough to look over blueprints with Iskall and play with it like a child when he was alone, but it was never the same. Nothing compared to the satisfaction of improving on an existing design, nor the pride and excitement of inventing something entirely new.

Inventions. Redstone was such a progressive material, a resource far beyond any of the hermits’ understanding. It was able to do just about anything if only someone could crack the code to get there. Most of them already knew of the wonders it could provide--plenty of the hermits used redstone-based bionics, or at the very least a form of enhancement.

Iskall was no stranger to them, obviously. Perhaps Mumbo shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when the man came to him amidst his wallowing with a stack of crudely arranged notes in hand. He was somehow more chipper and cheeky than usual if the bright smile on his face was anything to go by. There was a proud sort of flourish as he handed the papers to Mumbo, who sat with wariness and confusion. That apprehension, however, was quickly replaced with curiosity.

Blueprints and notes regarding the conception of redstone-powered contraptions and devices would typically be a quick read for Mumbo, but even having been friends with Iskall and Grian for quite some time, there was no way to scan through the chicken-scratch handwriting and less-than discernible doodles in a short amount of time.

Mumbo’s initial attempt at cracking the code that was Iskall’s notes was interrupted not ten seconds in when two loaves of bread, an apple, and a bottle of water was set down in front of him, making him flinch slightly. He stared at the selection for a moment, mouth suddenly dry, before nodding his thanks and reaching for the apple. It was in that instant that Mumbo realized he didn’t remember the last time he had something to eat and swallowed down his embarrassment.

The two men soon fell into silence as Mumbo worked through the notes bit by bit, often pausing to right papers that had somehow folded or flipped upside down in Iskall’s attempt to organize them. Though it took a while, a careful read through informed Mumbo of Iskall’s plans to research a possibility of mechanically repairing his vocal cords.

There was a prominent section on the usage of prismarine crystals and diamond powder to color match the box with his eye prosthetic, and another that explored the possibility of controllable pitch and volume settings.

(In a better scenario, Mumbo would have been terrified at the possibilities that would come with giving Iskall such power, and even now he wondered who the first prank victim would be.)

All of it was quite clearly in the early stages of development, but Mumbo could help but brighten up at the thought of Iskall being able to talk again. It wasn’t something he liked to think about for long or often, but he missed Iskall’s voice. Before the incident, his friend’s laughs and sly comments were one of the things that helped the days go by, and Mumbo knew he wasn’t the only one who thought so. The man deserved his voice and more for what he’d gone through.

But information on Iskall’s voice-box plans came to an unexpected stop halfway through the stack of notes. Suddenly Mumbo was reading through two different handwriting styles about mechanical joints and synthetic muscle fiber and artificial nerve endings and――

He stopped reading. This section contained far too many things he knew too little about.

Head spinning from unfamiliar jargon, he looked up at Iskall in question.

“F...f-for Gri..ian,” came the harsh rumble from Iskall, startling Mumbo in the process. Both of the men stared at each other for a moment, each sheepish in their own right, before Iskall pulled out a relatively new-looking book and began writing.

[Doc let me take a look at his arm a bit ago and helped me out with the technical stuff. I’m hoping that we can replicate a pair for Grian. Took much more work comin up with this blueprint than it did for my voicebox plan lol ]

Mumbo went from bemused to ecstatic as he read Iskall’s explanation, feeling surprisingly hopeful for the first time in a long time. The sheer thought of his friends getting back what he took from them made his heart swell with guilty joy.

The technician’s part of his brain fired off a million different inquiries about how they could get these plans to work, but his heart ached knowing this was a project he wouldn’t have much part in if any. He didn’t specialize in bionics for one, but even if he felt like dabbling in the expertise for the benefit of his friends, Mumbo didn’t want to get too involved out of fear of relapse.

Especially not after today. He just wasn’t ready.

“These plans are incredible, Iskall.” Mumbo whispered in awe, flipping through both sections of the packet thrice over. A part of him yearned to add notes and suggestions of his own along the margins of the already messy prints, but he swallowed down the eagerness and handed the papers back to Iskall with a shaky hand. Far too fast for him to subdue, bubbling apprehension rose into his chest again as a presence beneath his ribcage scolded him for not ripping the notes to shreds when he had the chance and Mumbo turned away from Iskall in shame. He didn’t even notice himself staring off into the corner of his room until the scratching of a feather pen against paper got his attention again.

[I was hoping you would say that. Wouldn't be Architech patent-worthy without your approval :) ]

Mumbo gave a half-hearted as smile his dear friend stored the notes away in a light blue shulker box he hadn’t seen get brought out. As Iskall packed the box up, a red hot silence burned within the room and Mumbo flushed at the uneasiness of it all, hating the fact that he couldn’t enjoy the company of the people he loved anymore. It made him feel like an ass when he was so unresponsive and caught up in self-pity, but at the same time it felt like acting as if nothing ever happened would be a slap in the face to everyone he wronged. He was halfway through a mental reprimand when Iskall huffed through his nose and came to sit beside him at his birch wood table.

A beat or two passed in silence before a steady hand reached out to fix the uneven part in Mumbo’s hair, smooth out the collar of his dress shirt, and pat him gently on the side of his face. The warmth of Iskall’s hand damn nearly drove Mumbo to tears. With cloudy eyes, he watched as Iskall tilted his head, expression a melancholy mix of fondness and sorrow.

[It’s bad today, huh?]

With a sharp intake of breath and clenched teeth, Mumbo glanced away from Iskall. He’d rather pretend he was fine than admit to the Red Sun’s influence holding strong sway over him today. But before he could come up with something to say, Iskall was already shoving his book back into Mumbo’s hands.

[Don’t try to lie to me, I can see it in your face. And in the stubble on your chin.]

“I…“ Mumbo started, cotton-mouthed and ashamed, closing his eyes to prevent the tears from glossing over his vision.

Sweet scarlet whispers pricked at the back of his head and swirled behind his eyelids, reminding him the Red Sun never sets the Red Sun never sets the Red Sun never sets, and he tensed his jaw to try and drown out the words with a high-pitched strain. The world around him grew warm and tight and dark, and despite his best efforts, the voices seemed to just get louder.

All at once, Mumbo realized that Iskall was pushing at his shoulders and letting out determined, wordless noises as he tried to bring the man from his panic. Mumbo brought down his hands from where he found them pressed firmly against his ears, noticing that his face felt warm and wet. He silently wiped at his cheeks with his sleeve, defeated.

“...Yeah. It is.”

“I-I...It’ss oh-k-kay.” Iskall offered gently, releasing his hold from his friend’s shoulders and sliding them down to his arms as he scanned Mumbo for any more signs of distress. As soon as his hands were free, he reached for his book again.

[It’s a nice day out today. Let’s go for a walk. I’ll shoot Grian a message to meet us in the shopping district.]

Before Mumbo could begin to read, Iskall plucked the book from his hand and began writing frantically, leaving Mumbo to wipe at the heavy tears that pooled over the edge of his eyelids once again.

[Let’s not tell him about my plans yet. I don’t want to get him excited for something that could take months or more to even start on. Promise to keep it a secret for now?]

Mumbo couldn’t help but flash him a warm smile. This man has done so much for both him and Grian even in wake of his own obstacles and responsibilities. There was nothing in this world or the next that Mumbo could offer as retribution.

“Sure thing. You have my word.”

Iskall huffed a laugh, grabbing and immediately shaking Mumbo’s hand with unnecessary earnest.

[Jolly good cheers mate! Let’s get you ready for our stroll, shall we lad? Pip pip!]

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, Mumbo stood from where he’d been sat since early that morning, bones audibly popping from inactivity, and made towards his room to change into a clean white button-up and dress pants, leaving his coat on the bed. It took him a moment to brave the mirror in the corner of his room, but once he could stand to look at his reflection, he made an honest attempt to make himself presentable. After smoothing out the folds and wrinkles in his shirt, Mumbo pulled at his mustache a few times in an attempt to style it, lamenting that he didn’t have the time to shave the shadow from his jaw.

There was a soft, gentle hum from Iskall that got Mumbo’s attention as he exited his room, and he walked closer to read what his friend was saying.

[Handsome.]

Bashful, Mumbo blushed and shut the book. Compliments always made him somewhat embarrassed before, but it hit him much harder nowadays, especially when he felt bad about not being able to clean up as much as he preferred. Despite his self-consciousness, Mumbo was grateful for Iskall’s encouragement and offered a small smile in thanks.

As he and Iskall locked up his house and began the journey towards the shopping district, Mumbo watched him message Grian and shake with silent laughter―probably at something stupid Grian responded with, knowing them, but he was too engrossed in thought to catch what was said―and noticed that for the first time in a while that he couldn’t hear the honeyed song of the Red Sun, nor could he feel its pull deep within his bones.

Truly, Iskall and Grian were gifts from the universe he didn’t deserve. It was a bloody wonder that they still stood by him after all they went through. Despite everything, his friends still cared for him. Still loved him. There was nothing he could do to repay them for that. And nothing could compare to the outpour of adoration he felt for them in return.

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

On days like these, with his best friends at his sides, Mumbo felt free.

#the red sun never sets #trsns #mumbo jumbo #mumbo #iskall85 #iskall #grian #grian and mumbo and iskall #architech trio #hermitcraft #I am likely to and probably will be looking for errors so Blease let me know if u see any

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yutaya · 5 years

Note

what was your first Conan fic?

Oh boy, storytime!

So there is a short answer and a LONG answer to this question.

The Short Answer:

You didn’t ask this for the whole story, you asked because of what I mentioned in my tags: that the first DCMK fic I ever read had a scene where Conan lays out exactly how easy it would have been, after Kaito’s slip up referencing the great magician Kuroba Toichi while in disguise at the lodge on that one case, to just... look up Kuroba Toichi. With the filters from other things Conan had extrapolated, such as likely age range, combined with the kind of closeness to Toichi indicated by Kid’s bringing him up, it would have taken maybe half a day to narrow down the likely identity of the new Kaitou Kid. Conan knew that was all he had to do. And then... he didn’t. He purposefully never looked there, let it remain a mystery.

UNFORTUNATELY, I remembered wrong. My first DCMK fic, while the gateway to a whole new world for me, is not actually the fic that has this scene. :/

There was a little community of DCMK fics I was reading back in the livejournal days (ManyCasesOneTruth LJ community, whatup!!!) and it was one of those that had that scene, but I’m not sure which one. :( If someone reads this monster and happens to know, please tell me so I can reread it. Haha.

Anyway my first Conan fic was Windfall by Ysabet.

The Long Answer: (AKA how Detective Conan changed my life)

The year was 2004. I had finally started watching the Case Closed dub on Adult Swim - videotaping it because I couldn’t stay up to watch it at 1AM - after half a year of being too afraid because the commercials involved dead bodies and it looked scary.

That summer, my family was on vacation, and there was no way for me to watch the episodes that would be piling up on the VHS back at home. I had briefly ventured onto the ff.net page before, but found so many summaries centered around unfamiliar names that I assumed I had to watch more and meet all these fan favorite characters before I’d be able to make heads or tails of any of it. But - I was at ends, and so I decided to give it another shot. A google search brought me to a site called something like The Red Thread, and a list with winners of some fanfiction awards. Best overall for... whatever year it was - 2003? - was Windfall by Ysabet.

Now, the funny thing about Windfall is: not only does it use all the Japanese names that so confused me back then, not only does it center completely around characters I had not met yet and assume knowledge of events and backstory that I didn’t have - it’s also actually the fourth fic in a series. Not that I was aware of that. Character that isn’t in the canon? I assumed it was yet another canon character that I just hadn’t met yet. Everyone else was. Probably the only name I recognized in that fic was “Conan” and he ended up playing such a small part (though I extrapolated that “Ayumi” was “Amy” pretty easily). But it was so good, and I devoured it anyway.

Only 7 chapters of Windfall were posted on TheRedThread. I finished this fic about Kaito, who I didn’t know, and Aoko, who I didn’t know, and Ayumi, who I had seen trapped in a car trunk with a “severed head” in one CC episode but who I had not at all seen grow a friendship with a thief sheltering on her balcony, and I wanted more.

When I got home, I found the wait for Case Closed episodes to air more agonizing than ever. I took to google again, seeking out more information, and somehow, someway, stumbled through my first ever torrent download. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I didn’t know episodes of television could be available online. I couldn’t believe it when I saw a link titled “episodes 1-10″ and just blindly followed whatever instructions I could to see what it was. Downloading Bittorrent, downloading VLC... Imagine my surprise when I finally opened up the show I was looking for but.. in another language. With subtitles!

It all took off from there. I learned all about how most of the cartoons I liked were actually anime from Japan and that when they were dubbed in English the companies often also changed characters’ names and censored stuff and altered large swathes of dialogue to make things more palatable to American audiences. I learned about manga that I could buy in Waldenbooks and that most of them were flipped but some of them weren’t because the original artwork was meant to be read right to left. I learned about, basically, everything that I had been missing out on from the stories I liked, that had been diluted out of the original versions for my consumption.

I started following a Detective Conan fansubber and downloading their latest episodes as soon as they came out, and learned all about “Shinichi” and “Ran”.

I discovered that Windfall was actually part of an entire Wind series, and had a lot more than 7 chapters besides. Fanfiction was my entire introduction to Kaitou Kid and I used to draw fanart based entirely on descriptions in fic and then was super excited when the preview for the next Detective Conan episode (76!) included Kaito! Kaito Kuroba, the main character in Windfall, my introduction to this entire world! (And my mental image of him from fanfic was a fair ways off - it was elating to see the actual character. I think I immediately drew like 8 different pictures based on that preview, since I had a reference.)

As I mentioned earlier, there was a very small community of Conan fics I was reading back then - probably about 5 or 6 core authors on a Conan fanworks livejournal community (Many Cases One Truth!) who wrote a number of fics that I recall fondly. There was the psychic detective Heiji series by KosagiNoLegion - I LOVED that one. The Shinichi and Kaito find out they’re actually identical cousins fic (Relative Truth, by Becky Tailweaver). Ysabet‘s entire Wind series, obviously. The most notable BNF was probably Icka M. Chif, who I always remember was once described to “own 3/4 of the Magic Kaito fandom in fic.” To this day I will idly doodle fanart for Billie Jukes’ The Impossible Murder. I could go on for ages about all the now quite old DCMK fic from back in the livejournal days, but... that would take a lot of writing. Haha.

Anyway, the Detective Conan fandom and its explanations about dub names, etc. is the reason I found out about anime and manga and dubbing and censorship and rewrites and how very different the Digimon movies are from The Digimon Movie, and all about 4chan One Piece vs actual One Piece, and is the reason I now always try to watch foreign films in their original languages with subtitles and basically altered the trajectory of my entire life at 13 years old.

(Well, probably not. Probably I would have discovered all of these things anyway, and sooner rather than later. But I didn’t, and Detective Conan will always get the credit for my life.)

#Detective Conan #DCMK #my stuff #sixteen going on six #Answers Jar

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tearsofwinter · 6 years

Text

Writing Process Meme

I was tagged by @thejourneymaninn and @hollyand-writes (and perhaps someone else >_>)

Short stories, novels, or poems?

Short stories. I would like to write a novel- and I have before- but it’s exhausting for me. I wrote novels for my first fandom, but I think I burned myself out. Ever since then, I’ve only stuck to oneshots.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Romance. Doesn’t matter if it’s historical romance, modern romance, fantasy romance, if it is romance, I’d read it. If it doesn’t have romance, then fantasy. It at least has to have a fantasy element to it.

What genre do you prefer writing?

Also romance. Since I do read a lot of romance, my stories tend to be romance as well.

That being said, my favorite genre to write is actually crack. I love humor. About 95% of the time, if you see me post smut, I always end the smut on a wise crack line.

Are you a planner or a write-as-I-go kind of person?

I’m a planner, which is both a good and bad thing. Good, because I know where I’m headed when I write, but bad because I plan it so much, that I get tired from writing the outline before I even write the first sentence of the fic. I have outlines for multichapter fics that’s around 10k words, and I’ve never posted even one chapter of the fic online.

Most of the stories I do post, have minimal outline, and is more of “write-as-I-go” sort of feel.

What music do you listen to while writing?

None. I don’t like distractions when I write. Sometimes I will listen to one song on repeat until I can tune it out, but once I really, really get into the writing, I have to turn it off.

Fave books/movies?

That’s really hard to say. I’m not sure if I have favorites, but there are some books that I always reread.

Midnight’s Daughter series by Karen Chance. The fourth book just got released Jul 31, 2018. Prior to that, I always reread all 3 books because I really enjoy the main protagonist and her love interest, but also beyond that, her family dynamic is very fascinating. I reread this series about once a year.

Raven’s Shadow Duology by Patricia Briggs. I reread this once every 2-3 years.

The Queen’s Thief series by Megan Whalen Turner. The first book is a miss for me. Read it as a child, and it was forgettable. But starting from the second book, it got me hooked with the political intrigue. I really enjoy the second and third book. The second has a bit of questionable romance, but I’m still like wow, cool. The third one is amazing, showing you how capable the protagonist really is.

Any current WIPs?

If you’re talking about current WIPs I have posted, I have a few over on AO3, all fenders.

A tentacle porn one that I still need to work on

A soulmate au where Fenris and Anders’ magic and abilities seep into each other because they’re soulmates.

If you’re asking about WIPs I haven’t posted, my god......that’s so many. I start on the fic, but then I get distracted and start on another one. I think a Red Riding Hood au, that I wrote 2 years ago, only has about 500 words written lol.

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

Honestly, it depends on the weather, but you’ll usually find me in my PJs. Since it’s hot right now, it’s a tank top and shorts, but if someone was to draw me, I think I would be in my blood donation shirt. It’s a dark grey T-shirt that says, “Blood donation. You never know when accidents can happen” and it has a stick figure doodle swimming, and a shark lurking under him.

Create a character description for yourself:

Boobs

Do you like incorporating people you actually know into your writing?

No. Sometimes I might incorporate myself in the writing bc OCs are the easiest when you base it on yourself, but otherwise, I never base someone I know in my writing

Are you kill-happy with characters?

Most of the time I don’t, but sometimes I do write stories where one half of the OTP is already dead, and the remaining one has to cope with the lost. But that’s rare.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Tea

Slow or fast writer?

Slow. Super slow. Well. I used to be fast. In my previous fandom, I posted about 3k fics every week, and updated once a week. And that’s why I burned out so quick.

I also sorta used to do that with Fenders too, posting once every 1-2 weeks, but I stopped because I didn’t want people to think that’s the quality of my writing.

Where/who/what do you find inspiration from?

Movies, music, books.

If you were put into a fantasy world, what would you be?

As the youngest girl of 4, I probably would’ve been sold off at a young age.

Most fave book cliche? Least fave book cliche?

Fav: Arranged marriages where they hate each other at first, but learn to fall in love

Hate: Love triangles. It’s always obvious which two ends up together. And I always end up rooting for the one that doesn’t get chosen.

Fave scenes to write?

I’m not sure if I have a favorite scene to write. I suppose romantic scenes?

Most productive time of day for writing?

At night. Somewhere around 1am-7am. Which is why you tend to see me post at 6am in the morning.

Reason for writing:

When I really, really fall in love with a ship, I like to write for them.

I tag @stealyourshiny @contreparry @starla-nell @storybookhawke @araglas1989 @diamonddragon33

#meme #reply post

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shima-draws · 6 years

Photo

★ SIMULATOR AU MASTERPOST ★

Well, here it is! You all have been asking for it--the ultimate Sim AU guide!! Below is everything that you need to know about the AU. Thanks for all of your amazing support ^^

So what exactly is the Sim AU? The Simulator AU, shortened to just the Sim AU, (sometimes also referred to as the AI AU) is a canon divergence to the end of season 2 of Voltron. However unlike the last episode Team Voltron actually defeats Zarkon in battle definitively, managing to destroy his empire and free the universe from his reign. Prior to the final battle, for unknown reasons Lance asks Pidge to create a very complex simulator installed with all of their memories and tons of other data. He also has her create a simulated version of himself, a highly advanced Artificial Intelligence program containing all of his memories, personality, appearance and abilities. This AI version of Lance is given one task, programmed into his very core and is his sole reason for existence—protect Lance’s most important person. Later on this person is revealed to be Keith, and during the final fight Keith is gravely injured and put into the simulator (which also serves as a healing and escape pod) and is shot out into space to protect him from further injury while the other Paladins finish up the final fight. Keith awakens inside the simulator, thinking that he’s still in the real world with Lance, and back on Earth after having won over the Galra empire. However this is all a ruse to protect him from the truth, as he is being kept company by the AI version of Lance while the real one and the rest of Team Voltron have mysteriously disappeared. Soon after the simulator begins to malfunction and Keith crash lands into a planet, he is thrown into a crazy battle against the Galra uprising, the remains of the Galra empire, and is accompanied by lookalike versions of all of his friends and a now-physical embodiment of AI!Lance. The AU is basically a tale of all of his adventures falling in love with the AI and getting into crazy shenanigans with his new but familiar comrades along with the Galra Resistance.

The rest is under the read more to save space!

What’s the background on AI Lance? AI Lance, as previously stated, was created to protect Keith and serve as a moderator over the simulator. After Keith wakes up on an alien planet and encounters the lookalikes of Pidge and Hunk, the two of them work to make a physical body (a highly advanced robot, basically, think Westworld) for Lance’s consciousness to be put into. Once Lance gains a physical body, he has the same appearance of the original Lance but with a few minor quirks. Exposed wires poke out of the back of his neck and when referring to himself and his actions he often relates them back to his internal systems, all machinery and mechanical parts. He frequently gets checkups by Katy and Hunk so that they can update his systems and check his inner circuits to make sure everything’s running okay. Due to this the three of them become quite close, similar to how the original Hunk, Pidge and Lance were all friends back at the Garrison. Throughout the AU Lance struggles immensely with his identity, not wanting to be labeled as a copy of the original Lance and wanting to form his own identity outside of that. He constantly battles within himself, asking “Am I Lance or am I just me? I don’t know” and that struggle is one of the main conflicts of the story!

What is Keith wearing around his neck? That is an AI cube! It serves as a storage system for all of an AI’s data and programming. Lance’s core is an AI cube, which serves as his “heart” and is basically what keeps him functioning. The one that Keith has is a gift from Lance and contains all of his backup data. Katy fashioned it into a necklace for him for safekeeping. So not only is it a sort of accessory (I mean, it’s really pretty to look at), but it’s something for Keith to protect since a lot of Lance’s extra data is in that cube.

Who are the lookalikes, exactly? The lookalikes are all similar to the original Paladins but with minor differences! It’s still a mystery why they’ve shown up and where the original Paladins have gone. On the roster, we have Katy, a Pidge lookalike but not disguised as a boy, Hunk, who isn’t even human but looks just like one, being of a mysterious alien race, Allura and Coran, both humans and the leaders of the Galra Resistance Army, and Shiro, an Altean with a tragic past. It’s difficult for Keith to meet these people, who so resemble his teammates, and have to completely reforge his bonds with them since they obviously aren’t the same Paladins he knew before. (But, well, at least he has Lance.)

Why can’t you reveal the secrets of the Paladins’ whereabouts and why Lance had Pidge make the simulator? Because I don’t want to give everything away! All of that information will soon be revealed in the story, so please be patient! Once that stuff is written out and explained I’ll update this post about those secrets I’m keeping.

Is there a fanfiction for this AU? Yes, there is! It’s called A World of Zeroes and Ones (the title is based off of a Vocaloid song of the same name) and starts out with Keith waking up in the simulator. Everything else about the background and Lance’s identity as an AI has yet to be revealed to Keith but he’ll figure it out soon! You can read it here over on Archive! It’s still in progress, updates are slow but I’m chugging away at them :’) Thanks for all the support so far! And yes, if it wasn’t obvious already I do have an actual storyline in mind for this AU, from start to finish I have the entire plot written out, it’s just a matter of getting down and actually writing the entire thing...!

Who is Error Lance? Error Lance is basically what I’ve dubbed an “evil” version of AI!Lance where he has completely malfunctioned and been corrupted beyond saving, his entire systems being reduced to an error code. In this mode he loses all sentience and thought, only being driven to destroy and cannot tell friend from foe. Error Lance is basically just a lost confused child who doesn’t know what he’s doing or who he is or why he exists—he only knows how to kill. This mode is usually triggered if something contradicts with his core programming and his reason for existence—Keith. If Keith is somehow injured horribly or even killed this will set Lance off and totally wipe out his systems; it reduces him to the errors that are caused by his reason for existence being compromised. The only thing that can successfully snap him out of this mode and restore him to his previous “version” before he was corrupted is Keith—therefore proving his reason to exist is still there. Hopefully that makes sense? It’s sort of hard to explain haha

Who is Zero? Zero is AI!Lance’s prototype, the original original first AI that Pidge created. (Hoh, you thought that our regular AI!Lance was the first? Nope!) Due to a whole bunch of malfunctions and bugs, Pidge scrapped the prototype and created a better version, which is the Lance we all know and love now. (I mean she can’t get it perfect on the first try it was her first time creating an Artificial Intelligence, especially one of this caliber!) She meant to delete the prototype permanently, but…a whole bunch of crazy stuff happened and interrupted the process so Zero was never actually fully deleted. He sleeps deep, deep within the simulator’s core data, only longing to meet Keith at least once, since that was the reason he was created. This poor kid. He’s really scary since he’s…a huge mess and just broken. Broken. But he honestly loves Keith and sincerely hopes for his happiness, even going so far as to use all of his power to help Keith and Lance when they get into sticky situations. Like original Lance, Zero is dismayed that Keith is in love with AI!Lance, considering Zero was supposed to be the one made for Keith, but was scrapped. Maybe one day he’ll get a happy ending...

What inspired this AU? The song Shelter by Madeon and Porter Robinson! The whole idea for the simulator originated from the animated video for that song. You could say it’s become sort of the themesong for this AU haha

Can I repost the art of this AU? Nope, sorry! This AU is very very important and special and personal to me so I’m not comfortable with other people using the art from it or reposting on other sites. I appreciate your enthusiasm and support but I won’t be changing my mind about this;; Please don’t go against my wishes and repost it anyway, because if you do I’ll report you without any hesitation. Let me repeat: DO NOT REPOST ANYTHING REGARDING THIS AU ON OTHER SITES. This AU has only been shared on tumblr, so if you see any of the art for it on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, etc. please let me know right away!

Can I make fanart of this AU? YES!! Yes, please, please do! There is nothing I would like more! Please, if you do end up making fanart, tag this blog or submit it here, my submission box is always open! Either way I’m gonna want to show it off to everyone else and shout about it, so yes, it’s highly encouraged and greatly appreciated!

The AU so far:

The overall tag/The tag in chronological order

Introductory post Crashlanding Arm sword Lance Concept sketches and doodles No, my circuits are humming You can’t spell AI without Mcclain! System overheating. Love you! Katy doodles *Chirr* Valentine’s Day Dorks Pixel animations He’s glitching out of happiness! Happy birthday, Lance! The master of sarcasm Embarrassed kisses When will I be seen as myself? Laughing smooches Human Error Happy boy! Take your boyfriend and make a run for it Soulmate AU to the AU (this doesn’t have art, but a cute mini fic I wrote if the AU also involved soulmates as well!) Kisses kisses KISSES Lance, you’re sparking! Floorplan/layout of Lance and Keith’s room Error Lance appears! Smol Error boy (and Eruba) Happy birthday, Keith! (This also has a short fic attached to it too! It’s very very fluffy and sweet) Error boy Lance flirts with a mysterious boy?! Zero’s Introduction Would you kiss this sweet broken Zero boy? Zero dabs My sensors can’t handle this! Klance kisses Klance kisses KLANCE KISSES ,,˙͡ɥ͢ʇ̴ᴉ͘ǝʞ̡˙˙˙͞ƃu͡ᴉʇ̛ᴉ҉ɐ͟ʍ ͠ǝ͟q̵ ͢l̨l,I˙˙˙u̶oos̢ ̕n҉oʎ ɥʇᴉ̨ʍ ͟ʇ̡ǝǝɯ͟ ̧ǫʇ̶˙̵˙˙ʇ͞uɐ͘ʍ I ¿́no̕ʎ ̡ǝ̶ɹɐ˙˙̶˙͢ǝɹǝɥ͟M,̡, 100% Form In love in love in despair Favorite place with you (This one’s animated!)

I’ll update this post with any additional art I make as we go along!

And if you have any other questions, please, don’t hesitate to ask! I love talking about this AU, it’s my heart and soul ❤️

#Klance #Voltron #VLD #Keith Kogane #Lance Mcclain #Voltron Legendary Defender #Sim AU #Shima's AUs #HERE IT IS!! THE BIG OL MASTERPOST #Sim AU Masterpost #Thanks to all of you for your support?? Just. The fact that I've had to go and make a masterpost is really amazing I think #YA'LL ARE COOL...I LOVE YA #Shima arts #shima-draws #Long post

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billyharris · 7 years

Text

Underneath the Same Sun ☼

Okay so this fic is inspired by the amazing headcanons @t0ziers wrote. And encouraged by a comment on said post by @richietoaster. Honestly I fell in love with the idea of a long distance Reddie AU and knew I had to write it. But I wanted to write it from Richie’s point of view. And some other facts are different. whoops. Also huge shoutout to my name twin, @buttercup-irwin for inspiring me in general to write fics. This is my first official one. Here goes nothing ~

✧ Chapter One ✧ Chapter Two ✧ Chapter Three

Words ;; 1,824 ･ﾟ Pairing ;; Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak & some hints of Stan Uris / Bill Denbrough (It) ･ﾟ Warnings ;; Strong language, Talk of penises, 18 y/o boys kissing (omg) ･ﾟ

❝ — Richie Tozier knew he wasn’t internet famous. In the grand scheme of things, his shitty meme blog and dead vine account were nothing compared to all the models on Instagram paid to post pictures of their abs. But damn, 4,000 followers and some change was nothing to sneeze at in Tumblr terms. And he did it all without posting porn. His best friend, Stan, might not understand just how big of a deal that it is, but his followers knew he was top tier. If you weren’t following ‘trxshmouth’ - you were causing yourself a disservice.

Out of all those 4,000 followers Richie had, he almost never spoke to any of them. He had mutuals that would sometimes tag him in their posts or follow forevers. But no one really, honestly knew the man behind the memes. That was until ‘pastelgazebo’ followed him.

As soon as the notification on his phone popped up, Richie had to stop what he was doing and open the link. The boy literally stopped walking to quickly scroll through the soft pink aesthetic filled page, his mouth plastered with a wide grin the whole time.

“Earth to Richie…We’re going to be late to class…RICHIE?!” Stan was rolling his eyes now - a usual occurrence when your best friend is Richie - vape naesh - tozier. Stan waved his hand in front of Richie, but the boy just kept typing on his phone, not looking up for a second.

“Celebrity stuff, Stanley, you wouldn’t understand.” Richie finally lifted his head taking the time to push in his pop socket of the dancing snapchat hotdog and shove the phone into his back pocket, before beginning to walk again.

“You’re not famous, Richie. I have a blog - So does Bill. We all do. You’re no different.”

“Wow okay - your blog is all pictures of birds. Literally no one cares about birds except for you. You can’t possibly compare my blogging experience to just you sitting on your bed looking at pictures on the internet. It’s not even on the same level and fairly i’m concerned that you would ever think you compare to me.” A ding goes off in Rich’s pocket, and the boy slapped his ass before pulling the phone from it and transfixing his gaze on the screen once again.

“You forget, Richard. I’m the one with boyfriend now, and you are the one stuck having to look at pictures on the - Are you even listening to me insulting you ?? No you’re not - Of course” And the eye rolls were back.

“Haha yeah - you and Bill make out all the time and all I do is watch porn - ha ha very funny Stan the man - but not for fucking long !! ‘Cause this trashmouth might’ve just found the love of his life !!” Richie was talking like a schoolgirl raving about JTT. He was making no sense at all. And then he was shoving his phone into Stan’s face.

The blog was ‘Pastelgazebo’ An organized studyblr with the description written in bright pink font. ‘Eddie ✧ 18 ✧ pre-med at NYU ✧ Bev made me do this.’ The icon was not of the boy’s face. Instead of a bunch of lilacs scattered around a cup of tea. The most recent post was a public answer from none other than trashmouth himself. In all caps the question read ‘SO DO YOU LIKE MEMES?’ with a simple ‘uh yeah’ answer from the other blog. “Wow yeah - you two are a real modern day Romeo and Juliet” Now Stan was sure he should start charging his roommate for all these eye rolls.

❝ — It’s been two months since Richie and Eddie became mutuals. Sixty days since the boys began to talk every day through tumblr messenger. Giving Stan the Man a run for his money when it came to Richie’s coveted best friend slot. A spot that Stan has said many times he did not sign up for and would very much appreciate someone taking. He was everything Richie wasn’t. Clean, organized, short. But he was sassy and not afraid to call Richie out on his shit. Richard Tozier was in love. It was real. He wanted to marry this kid. It was really fucking unfair that all Richie could do was text Eddie when Stan was across the dorm just first basing his boyfriend right in front of his glass covered eyes. Rubbing salt into the hormone filled wound of Richie’s.

↪ trxshmouth - They’re doing it again

↪ pastelgazebo - Leave your roommate alone. He’s allowed to kiss his boyfriend if he wants to.

↪ pastelgazebo - Shouldn’t you be studying ?? I know I am.

↪ trxshmouth - The least they could do is invite me to join. It’s only fair after being forced to listen to Bill stutter his way through dirty talk

↪ pastelgazebo - BEEP BEEP RICHIE!

↪ trxshmouth - I regret telling you about that every fucking day

❝ — Three months now. Three whole months of friendship all built on an ask about memes. Richie now knew that Eddie accidentally followed Richie instead of exiting his blog. And although it sort of hurt - he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that only Eddie Kaspbrak would meet his best friend by accident.

Richie was officially calling Eddie his best friend now. Stan lost that privilege when Rich had to wake up to a nearly naked Bill trying to sneak out of his dorm at five in the morning. Honestly the audacity !! Like, really ?! The Uris/Tozier residence was a place of fucking high class. He gave the culprit the stink eye to let him know that he saw everything. ( and damn he meant everything - those boxer briefs were not leaving anything to the imagination. No wonder Stan is keeping him still. ) All Billy could do was giggle as he pulled up his jeans and darted for the door. From then on Richie only referred to his roommate’s boyfriend as ‘Big Bill’ and Stan knew right away where the name came from and - oh boy, he was not happy about everyone knowing about his private life. He didn’t seem to care about privacy before ; when he was letting his boyfriend walk around their dorm dong practically out.

So now Eddie was Richie’s official best friend. But Richie was lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he wanted so much more from the east coast boy. The two had finally exchanged Skypes and tonight was going to be the first time Richie would be able to hear Eddie’s voice - see Eddie’s face that wasn’t in a blurry snapchat with a filter. The trashmouth was actually freaking out. The whole day he was shaking and his ADHD was off the charts. He’s wanted this for three fucking months. And it’s finally here. The skype ring blared through the UCLA dorm and Rich was sure it sounded like the wedding march for a second. He answered the call and had to hold back from gasping. “Wow Eds, you’re really cute.”

The boy was in a pale yellow polo, cross legged on his dorm bed. His cheeks flared as red as his short shorts. Oh did Richie not mention his short shorts ?? Because wow this boy was not afraid of showing some leg. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself - Oh and don’t call me that.” Richie couldn’t help but laugh at how easily embarrassed Eddie got. He deserved every compliment in the world.

They spoke for hours about classes and their lives before college. Turns out both were from different towns in Maine. They were so close before - and it took Richie moving all the way out to California for them to be driven together. It really was a small world. Eddie opened up about his mother and how she was driving him crazy now that he wasn’t living at home. Mrs K. makes Eddie get tested like every other week - making sure he wasn’t being slowly killed by the filth of New York. Richie shared that his parents haven’t called him since he moved out. And how when December break comes up, he was probably going to stay with Stan’s family in San Diego. Eddie had this destroyed look on his face when Richie talked about his home. He looked crushed on the other boy’s behalf. And all the freshman wanted to do was jump through the screen, hug Eddie and never let go.

❝ — Four fucking months had gone by since Richie made contact with the love of his life. They skype nearly every night. They know everything there is to know about one another. ( Okay. So Eddie didn’t know Richie smoked. But the boy was willing to cross that bridge when they got to it ) It didn’t matter that a whole country was separating them. When the two spoke - it was as if they were in each other’s laps.

Except Eddie wasn’t sitting in Richie’s lap. He wasn’t running his thin fingers through the boy’s curls and telling him that there was no where else he would rather be than right there. All of that was in Richie’s dreams. He was too afraid to make a move and actually ask Eds out. Stan, Bill, Bev, even Eddie’s roommates Mike and Ben have started to get on the pair for how flirty they were.

Richie was doodling in his notebook as Eddie was telling a story about how his psych professor misspelled professor on the first day of the semester and now no one can take him seriously. Eddie’s voice was like music to Richie’s ears. It inspired him to be better. It made his crazy nerves calm for once. It was like nothing else existed when he spoke. The brunette looked up to his mac and couldn’t help himself but to mutter. “I really wish we could date.” A second went by before Richie heard what he had actually said out loud. He covered his mouth and turned bright red.

Eddie was matching in blush to the cross country boy. He chuckled for a moment and asked “Richie will you be my boyfriend?” And now Richie was covering his whole face because holy fuck, was this real ?? Did his actual dream boy really ask him out. And he said it so calmly. Richie thought he was going to be sick. He could feel his stomach churning. Then it occurred to him that he actually hadn’t answered the boy yet. He’d been waiting for this day for four fucking months and for the first time ever - Richie trashmouth Tozier was speechless. His mind was racing and to stop himself from breaking down and crying there and then, he revealed his flushed face to the webcam, with the dumbest smirk on his features.

“Sure, Eds - but only if you answer this question - Do you like memes ??”

Note ;; This is like half of the headcanons. So let me know if I should write chapter two !

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #reddie au #reddie fic #[ F ]

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