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theodora3022 · 3 years

Text

Once upon a (fever) Dream

Relationship: Scaramouche x Reader (Gender neutral)

Summary: Scaramouche is unwell with a fever, it's your responsiblity to take care of your superior. Little did you know, overhearing his fever sleep talk would turn your life upside down.

Author's notes: I'm trying to get back into the writing groove! Scaramouche has been on my mind a lot ever since the lore of the pale flame set was datamined. If you are interested in the theory I based my fic on, one of my dear mutuals made this informative post. This is pretty tame and more of a psychological analysis more than a fic tbh.

I will not take any criticism on the theory.

Warnings: SFW, Character study-ish, abundance of internal monologues, use of swear words, hints of speculation on Scaramouche's backstory/identity, power imbalance, possessive and obsessive behaviour, trust issues(??)

"Another day Feelin' like no one really knows me It's okay At least I'm used to being lonely"

-Jake Daniels "The Show"

Scaramouche is having trouble distinguishing the dream realm and the waking world. Tch, this always happens when he falls ill.

Dreams. Stupid, meaningless things he cannot control. Scaramouche is never a fan of them. Sleeping is just a way to recharge one's energy for the following day, so why is this petty factor even a possibility? Memories mixed with random shit. Fever dreams are even worse, because he cannot force himself to wake up, and they might even allow forbidden information to be exposed.

The Balladeer seldom falls ill. But when he does...he needs some subordinates to look after him. Not that he got any other option.

Unpleasant to work with? Talks way too much? Eh, not that he cares. Scaramouche does not see the need to present himself as likeable. Like is a temporary, fragile concept compared to fear.

There was a time in his long life, he thought he was loved...the love he received turned out to be nothing more than one of his past naive self’s delusions in the end. No, it is meaningless in being nostalgic over that.

Damn this Moronic fever, stirring his mind all messy...

Fear is a better alternative, more secure and firm.

"Sir, it's time for your medicine." You knock, hesitating when there is no granting of entry from his end.

This unfortunate task: taking care of the bedridden harbinger has fallen onto you as of late. Being the newest recruit in his sector, of course, your seniors would throw this troublesome work to a rookie like you.

The optimal approach is: Do what you are supposed to do as a subordinate, sprint through the doorway once you complete your tasks. Being in his room longer than needed will only result in harsh insults. That foul mouth does not seem to know any mercy.

"Sir?" You ask again, mentally preparing yourself for the possible scolding before turning the doorknob. Letting yourself in is not a wise idea, however, this is your obligation. Lord Balladeer would be even more upset if you had brought in the medicine at the right time.

"No...Please don't...I promise I'll be-" Is that, sleep talking? Oh archons, why?

Those facial expressions are not pleasant ones. A nightmare, great.

Is there a way to unhear things? You sure wish there is. Scaramouche's life before his service has always been a popular topic of break time gossip among the Fatui. Some say he is of noble birth from that arrogant attitude, some say he comes from a peasant family, there are even absurd speculation about him being a fisherman before. However, his subordinates know better than to gossip in his presence. No rumours were ever confirmed or denied.

Who knows what he would do if the Harbinger catches you "eavesdropping". The mutterings have quiet down now, but you still have paperwork to attend to after this(that he assigned you).

"How much of that did you hear?" Just when you are contemplating whether to poke the sleeping bear or not, that menacing violet gaze has already fixated at you. Did he sleep talk? Scaramouche is uncertain. Still, it is always better to be safe than to be sorry.

At least he’s awake now, no need to wake him anymore. You said to yourself quietly. “Not much, my lord. I will forget everything as soon as possible. Now, time for your medicine.”

That scent makes Scaramouche’s stomach churns. A pot of dark goo and a plate of sugared plums, just like yesterday and the day prior. Wait, wasn’t he-

“How do I know that you don’t go whisper to your friends?”

Efficiency and resilience. Those are the two essential qualities one must possess if one wishes to remain in Scaramouche’s service. He may be a difficult superior, but his sector gets a relatively decent chunk of field missions, therefore it is easier to move up the ranks for new recruits. Who knows when you would get a promotion if you just deal with financial transactions in banks under Pantalone.

Perhaps it is sight of the oh so mighty man in such a fragile state, you are feeling...braver than usual. “My lord, what do I have to gain from gossiping?” Do you focus on unscrewing the cap of the pot, sounding somewhat amused? That unnoticeable curl did not escape his eyes.

When was the last time a recruit dared to look him straight in the eye like this? Scaramouche has no recollection. That immense headache is not helping either. Whatever, what matters now is making sure you do not go slipping off what you heard to others.

After handing the utensils and the pot to your superior, you head outside, prepared to stand in the hallway until he finishes the pot.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

Aren’t you curious about what he is hiding? Humans love to pry by nature, right? It’s not the first time he had to dispose of those who know too much after all.

“Do you need anything else, my lord?” Of course, he’s not gonna let you off the bat that easily. What were you thinking? Deep breathes, (y/n). It’s not like he is going to electrocute you in this state.

“I wish to keep this head on my shoulders.” In an organization like the Fatui, new recruits are seen as resources that can be disposed of if needed. No one would blink an eye if you were to die of “accidental” death.

“You say that, but your eyes tell a different story.” Since when does he care about what is going in the minds of his subordinates?

“Sir, you can deal with me once you are fully recovered. Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa needs you in top condition as soon as possible.”

Gulping down the thick porridge, the little man then lied down, trying to sleep the fever away. The sensation of the quilt moving almost made him jump, he thought you had left the room already? What do you think you are doing?

Did you pull the quilt up to his chin? It’s not like he needs that cloth, but...this notion.

He’s so adorable when he’s sleeping. You thought as you walked through the door.

Did you just… tuck him in?? That is what’s that called right? Arranging the covers for someone?

You really should know better than treating your superior like some infant. However, that is not a mocking gesture. Scaramouche supposes he’ll let this one slide.

As the door shuts behind you, you hummed a cheerful melody, trying to not think about what would happen once he’s back on his feet. Hopefully, he will let you live on if you try hard enough to prove your usefulness.

You are reckless. You have no idea what you got yourself into.

He just had the perfect way to make sure his secrets remained in safe hands.

Someone else would take care of your current position. What would that leave you? Hmm, a personal assistant would be fitting for someone as caring as you. Personal, somehow he likes the sound of that already. Scaramouche had loathed the idea of having someone tend to his daily life, complete independence is a goal he always strives to achieve. Now...that idea does not seem that horrible after all. Do you even know how to brew tea? You’ll have to learn if not, and quickly too.

His past must remain a secret until the situation calls for it, that much is certain. Unstable variables should be placed under constant surveillance, and Scaramouche can only rely on himself to guard something as important as this.

(A/N: Thank you for reading this character study fic!! Relogs and comments will be greatly appreciated!)

#genshin impact imagine #scaramouche genshin #genshin self ship #genshin self insert #scaramouche x y/n #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Note

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear 📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go.

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

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rvmmm21 · 3 years

Text

small fry.

summary : seungwan's passion to assert herself as a rookie cop goes under the radar, completely unchecked. that is. . . until she has it checked for her by two of the biggest, baddest villains she'd every thought she'd meet.

small note : no anon prompt. i wrote this a LONG time ago but never posted it. this is my obligatory 'i'm still here if anyone likes' post. thank you for reading. feel free to chuck your stones.

tw : non-consensual touching, physical intimidation, crying, implied noncon.

[villain(yandere)!joyrene x cop!wendy]

. . .

Being a rookie cop on the police force isn’t anything to boast. Seungwan’s barely two weeks out of training, which means she’s barely qualified to run missions more demanding than sticking parking tickets under people’s windshield wipers. She is, quite literally, the smallest fry in the cup, but her passion and eagerness to assert herself goes under the radar, unchecked…

…that is, until she has it checked for her by two of the biggest, baddest villains she’d ever thought she'd meet.

It’s an unfortunate news broadcast that lands her in her current predicament. As the rough cement pillar bruises the skin on her back through her uniform, Seungwan really wishes she had just kept her mouth shut. Why, why did she have to go onto national television that morning to stake her claim that Hongdae would be ‘rid of every single filthy criminal’, that she’d stop at nothing to ‘clean up the streets and throw them behind bars’. Never has she wanted to take anything back more.

“But that’s what you said, didn’t you?” one of the women – Joy, was it? – taunts the girl who’s just backed herself into a corner, metaphorically and literally. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

She looks around for confirmation. “Irene?”

Irene says nothing, twitching with anticipation to take Seungwan down a few notches, if only that. Steely eyes fixate on the cop, who looks more like a little mouse with how she’s cowering like that. Of course she’s heard the news. Pretty, naïve rookie running her mouth about how she’s going to take villains on “one by one” – pft, she has to stifle a laugh… she’ll be taking them alright. Too bad they’re not much fans of taking things “one by one”. It’s always so much better to share, isn’t it?

Seungwan raises a shaky hand.

“If – if you try anything, I’ll – ”

The rest of her tentative threat is overtaken by a far realer one when Irene steps forward; into her space, bringing a hand to cup her face in mock intimacy. “You’ll what, sweetheart? Call for back-up?”

She chuckles at the frightened nod, then cocks an amused brow. “And with what, exactly?” She motions behind her with a head tilt, “… that?”

Seungwan’s eyes widen when, there in the furthest corner of this desolate goddamned basement parking lot, she sees her walkie-talkie – her best hope – so far away from her it might as well have not been there.

When – how did that even happen?!

She turns back to face Irene, praying she hadn’t heard her just take the most fearful gulp in her life. Irene is much too close, but a trembling hand instinctively reaches for her last resort strapped to her belt.

“I’ll… I’ll f-fight.”

Fuck. She really shouldn’t have said that.

Irene smirks. That naughty little mouth should be put to far better use than spouting preposterous lies. She leans in, ignoring the way Seungwan freezes up when she noses along her jaw, behind her ear, at the base of her ponytail. God, she smells heavenly, she thinks, so sweet and clean… is that orange-mint shampoo?

“You’ll… fight.” Irene turns to Joy. “You’ll fight… the both of us.”

That tiny whimper –

– is just too much for Irene. She forces Seungwan’s jaw up and kisses her, pushing past the resistance with a cruel ease. She has to swallow a growl when she deepens the kiss because Seungwan tastes so fucking good, it’s almost ridiculous. Reluctantly, she pulls away and beckons her partner over.

She licks her lips, not bothered in concealing the lust in her voice anymore. “Go on.”

And she certainly doesn’t need to repeat herself. Seungwan’s jaw is suddenly wrenched to the other side, in Joy’s grip now, so she can try too. Once-innocent eyes screw shut at the newest invasion; this other pair of lips feel unforgiving and cynical, but no less punishing.

Joy presses herself right up against the squirming body she’s violating, barely allowing enough room for the poor girl’s lungs to expand under the immense pressure. She can feel Seungwan trembling, and she absolutely adores it.

Joy swallows the shocked gasp that escapes into her mouth when Seungwan feels familiar steely perpetrators digging into the soft flesh of her upper thigh, the fabric of her trousers providing a useless barrier. Wait…that’s her taser. She immediately struggles against the hold, because she knows it’s going to hurt. Taser training had been gruelling, even when she was surrounded by people she knew and trusted. So she hadn’t expected her first in-field experience with the nifty things to be at the hands of two criminals who seem to have made it their goal to make her writhe more.

Panicked adrenaline surges through her when Seungwan abruptly finds herself on her back, crying up at Irene and Joy, who have her pinned completely down with no more than half of their strength between them. She lets out a strained whine when she feels a hand – god knows whose – slithering down past the buckle of her trousers. “W-What… no! No y-you can’t!”

Nimble fingers wrap themselves around her throat, forcing the rest of that exclamation out in strangled gasps.

“Are you going to stop us, little rookie?” Irene mocks, squeezing a tad more insistently when Seungwan’s initial reaction is to nod. “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell us what we can and can’t do.”

Irene stares down at the ruined mess of a girl panting for breath underneath them. She knows she’s right. Seungwan’s too good; too good to be a filthy copper. She needs to be kept – yes, they’re definitely keeping this one. Irene had made that decision when she’d first seen Seungwan on TV– and trained. Properly.

Seungwan is going to stop trying to save herself a seat at the heroes’ table.

Why someone such a bottom, would ever think about working her way to the top, is just insane.

Plus, Seungwan would make a better sidekick than a cop.

And so begins lesson one.

#red velvet #wenjoyrene #wendy #joy #irene #yandere red velvet

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johnny-and-dora · 4 years

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you and i are very close

"A younger Holt less familiar with Jake Peralta would reprimand him for being so easy to read – but it seems to be in his very nature to wear his heart on his sleeve, and the truth is, it suits him."

or, jake & holt talk about fatherhood. (post 7x10)

read on ao3 -

“…So that’s the lowdown on the Broughton case. Charles and I are gonna head out and arrest them as soon as the warrant comes through.” Jake finishes, bouncing slightly on his heels as he finishes the update. Raymond Holt leans back in his chair, content with their plan of action.

“Excellent work, detective.” Holt says – but then finds himself mildly concerned when he only receives a subdued nod in reply. While he may deem it an appropriate workplace response to a captain’s praise, it is far from the excessive energy and enthusiasm that Jake usually exudes.

Raymond recalls the previous night’s events – a biological sex reveal party that led to Jake’s father being taken to the ER – and wonders if that might be placating the detective’s usually golden Labrador-like temperament.

“I trust that your father is in good health?” He asks tentatively, gesturing for Jake to sit down- he pauses for a moment before doing so, leg jostling in a way that increases Holt’s concern by 17.5%.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Sorry our party was kind of a full-blown disaster. Guess I should have expected that with three generations of Peraltas in the room.” He makes the self-deprecating remark with the light-hearted bravado Holt has come to expect from the detective, though it’s notably flatter than usual.

What’s more, his smile is more of a grimace, and he can’t stop fidgeting with the badge around his neck – a classic Peralta tell. Something is clearly bothering him, likely related to his complex relationship with his father and his own fatherhood looming.

A younger Holt less familiar with Jake Peralta would reprimand him for being so easy to read – but it seems to be in his very nature to wear his heart on his sleeve, and the truth is, it suits him. It is an openness, a trust and a sincerity that Holt has earned over the years as Jake’s superior officer. Though he still finds himself exasperated by his stubbornness and fixation on action films, Holt sincerely values his respect and loyalty.

He frowns, trying to assess the best way to discreetly discern what could be causing the detective’s distress.

“I actually found the party to be rather enjoyable, save the alarming bloodshed. The carrots were rich in nutrition and I thought the cake’s green colour made a very interesting and progressive statement.”

Jake’s lips quirk up a little at that, and he sits straighter in the chair, so Holt must be doing something right.

“Thank you, Captain, but that actually wasn’t our intention. Just another screw-up.”

“I see.” He considers this new information briefly, before attempting to continue the non-case related chitter-chatter, something he usually avoids. “So, you are now aware of the biological sex of your child?”

“Oh, yeah! We’re having a boy.” Jake finally smiles genuinely, and Raymond can’t help but return it. He may not personally care much for small infants, but the thought of the bickering detectives he first met when he came to the Nine-Nine having a child together does inspire some fatherly pride over how far they’ve come.

“My congratulations to you both.” He nods again, but his gaze is still far away. Holt decides to subtly switch tactics.

“You know, whatever doubts may be plaguing you, I am certain you have absolutely nothing to be worried about. Your son is very lucky to have you both as parents.”

“What? I’m not, um, there’s absolutely zero doubts to be found here.” Jake’s eyebrows briefly shoot up to his hairline as he stammers some typically poorly concealed denial. Holt remains neutral, wishing he had done some research on the subject but doing his best to power through.

“It is perfectly natural to be anxious about such things.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the gentle encouragement is all that it takes for a veritable avalanche of emotions to trip over themselves as Jake speaks.

“I guess I just…I want to be the best dad I can be. I don’t want him to ever feel like…like he’s been abandoned or he’s alone. It’s crazy how much I already love this kid and I haven’t even met him yet, but I know I would do absolutely anything to keep him safe. And with my dad talking about this stupid Peralta father-son curse and my grandpa being a jerk and walking out of our lives all over again…I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want to let him – or Amy – down. Ever.”

Holt is admittedly, a little overwhelmed. He and Kevin have never seen the appeal of conforming to heteronormative ideals of family life, and yet he values his place as the head of the chosen family he’s found at the Nine-Nine. The mysteries of pregnancy and childcare are complete unknowns to him, yet he finds himself completely certain that Jake and Amy will be great parents to their future son.

So, Holt does what he has always found it easiest to do, and he tells Jake the truth.

“I am not sure of this family ‘curse’ you speak of, but as your commanding officer for the majority of the past seven years, I know your doubts are ill-founded. On the contrary, the dedication and loyalty you have shown me, and every member of this squad, only makes me surer you will be a great father.”

“Really?” Jake says, hopeful but apparently still unconvinced.

“This job is not an easy one. You and I know both know first-hand how our lives can be affected by circumstances we cannot control. But you would never willingly let your family down, and the fact that you are so committed to doing everything you can for them is a sure sign that you never will.” Holt pauses briefly to let his sincerity sink in.

“Your son is going to love you, Jake. He will grow to enjoy many Thomas Cruise films with you, and I’m sure he will come to share your passion for…the transforming robot sewer turtles?”

“Feel compelled to tell you those are two completely different franchises, but I really appreciate the attempt and I will be emailing Michael Bay’s team about a potential cross-over.”

“Well. Regardless of the specifics of these cartoon turtles, I am sure you have understood my point.”

“Yes. Thank you, sir. I- that means, uh, a lot.” His thanks is, as usual, completely earnest, and Holt finds himself glad to have helped in any small way. He cannot completely solve the detective’s issues with fatherhood, but he is happy to be one consistent and stable presence for Jake to rely on. Just as he knows he can rely on him.

“You are welcome. And you are free to discuss any other personal issues you may have with me, although I assume Santiago may be better suited to such conversations.”

“She’s been telling me pretty much the same thing.” Jake admits, shifting in his seat. Raymond briefly wonders about the intricacies of their home life, whether they will discuss this conversation over dinner or perhaps during the commercials of some form of media content.

“Well, I recommend you listen to her. She has proven herself to be extremely perceptive and is rarely ever wrong.”

“I know.” Jake grins, a very specific smile on his face that Holt recognises has long been reserved for talking about Amy, even before they began their courtship. “Sometimes I still can’t believe she married me.”

Holt thinks of years spent watching them endlessly bicker and argue and tease each other, thinks of the intimacy affection he sees most often when they are inebriated at Shaw’s bar. He thinks of how ragged and distraught they’ve been each time they’ve been forced apart and how relieved they were to be back together. He thinks of officiating their wedding and accidentally intruding on their honeymoon, and above all, he thinks about each moment of their shared happiness together he has been privileged enough to witness.

“I do not believe she was wrong about that either.”

It’s an expression of sentiment which breaches many of his strict rules of conduct and professionality in the workplace, and he’s partly reluctant to be debasing himself so willingly. But then Jake’s eyes are shining with gratitude and his usual enthusiastic bright demeanour has returned and Raymond can’t help but feel relieved.

“Oh my god, I always knew you were our secret number one fan. Charles is going to be crushed.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Noooo, but I really want to stay and talk about how invested you are in our relationship- “

“-Please leave my office.”

Holt maintains his usual stony-faced composure until Jake shuts the door – only then does he allow himself to relax in his seat a little, fondly thinking of Kevin, Cheddar and the family he has found in the Nine-Nine. He makes a note to discuss stuffed animal varieties with Kevin at a later date so that they may have something to present Jake and Amy’s son when he arrives.

And when he gets to meet the newest addition to the Santiago-Peralta family a few short months later, held oh-so-carefully and preciously in the arms of a man he has come to consider a son, it is a meeting that he treasures for the rest of his life.

#b99 #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 #listen. i have a lot of emotions about soon-to-be-father jake and his gay work dad #so here you go #my writing #shut up sian

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years

Text

our second christmas : d.d

brief summary: it is your second christmas as a family and as you’re all settling down for christmas eve, a few unsuspected visitors turn up

word count: 1.8k requested: yes by an actual babe who has waited MONTHS for this christmas piece, so shout out to you @galxydefender i hope it was worth it! warnings: literally none, this is a wholesome fluffy christmas piece

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

it’s currently christmas eve in the UK when i’m posting this. so if you’re already in the 25th merry christmas and happy holidays to you all! thank you for all of the love, support and patience you guys have had for me. it means more than you’ll ever know.

“You sure you can reach that, bub?” You ask your little boy as he stretches his arms up, trying to secure the newest bauble to the Christmas tree.

David leans against the doorframe, watching as your son pushes the string onto one of the branches as he giggles, smiling to you. “Good job, Son!” David cheers as he walks in, holding his hands up as your son gives him a high five. “Looks amazing, Y/n.” David mutters to you as he kisses your cheek whilst your son admires the fairy lights illuminating the branches.

Behind you remain the three stockings you have hanging up, some already filled in preparation for tomorrow morning. You can’t stop your smile from growing as David wraps his arm around your waist as you lean into him.

The fire is on low heat with the stockings above - which you protested against heavily since your son was now starting to walk and had a tendency to grab things. But it all felt perfect. Your first Christmas in a new home, your family home with your two boys, it couldn’t be better if you tried.

“I love you,” You mutter sweetly as a sigh of content leaves your lips and David glances to you.

“Oh yeah?” He questions, quirking an eyebrow as you roll your eyes. “Just how much do you love me?”

Turning in his arms, you wrap yours around him. “Enough to have pushed a baby as big as a small turkey out of me.” You state, reminding him of the hours you spent in labour as he remained by your side, never letting go of your hand.

David gives you a curt nod, trying to hold back his laugh. “Yeah, I’d say that about does it.” He states, a smile growing across his lips as you shake your head, only to feel a tug on your leg.

“Hey, little man wanna join us?” You question and your son nods, his big brown eyes staring straight back at you.

Bending down, you lift your son into your arms. David rests his hand on your lower back, still helping you in little ways as your son coos to his Dad.

“Oh, you wanna see Daddy?” You look at your little boy, seeing him nod as he stuffs his hand into his mouth, a habit he’s still trying to break.

David reaches out, removing your sons little chunky fingers from his cheeks. “Dude, you gotta learn to use this,” David picks up one of the many dummies you have lying around the house and your son starts sucking on it immediately. “see? That’s so much better than making your little hands all wrinkly.” David chuckles as he takes a hold of your son, resting him on his side.

A knock on the door interrupts David’s dance along to George Michael. “I’ll get it,” You say, brushing your hand across David’s arm as you near the front door to see several blurred figures through the frosted glass.

Opening the door, your hands cover your mouth in shock as all your friends stand before you in Santa hats. “Holy shit.” You mumble as Zane is the first to reach out, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“Watch your language Y/n.” Zane warns as he squeezes you lightly before pulling away. “Merry Christmas, baby!” He laughs as you step back, letting everyone file in as David turns around with your son in his arms, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“No way.” He chuckles, placing your son down as your little boy waddles over to Carly immediately.

“Hey, little fella.” She beams as she lifts him up, ignoring how he pulls at her hair.

“How come you’re all here, I thought everyone was out of town.” David asks in disbelief as everyone takes a seat in the living room whilst your little boy bounces on Carly’s knee whilst his eyes remain fixated on Corinna.

“We managed to sort somethings out.” Natalie shrugs her shoulder. “Christmas isn’t the same without spending part of it with this family.” She motions to everyone as they all nod in agreement. “Plus, any Christmas has to be better than last year.” Natalie adds and you groan at the thought of what a disaster it truly was.

“Before you blame me once again,” David speaks up, holding his hands in defence. “may I just remind you all that we were brand new parents, trying to balance some form of sleeping pattern and moving.”

“You still forgot about the Turkey, babe.” You pat his arm, never forgetting how you and your little boy woke up in the middle of the afternoon to the sound of burning and yelling from the kitchen.

“Which won’t happen this year.” He states confidently to you, trying his best to beam without making it look like a grimace. “Chipotle wasn’t so bad last year though.” He mutters under his breath, ignoring you shaking your head in disagreement.

“Anyway,” Heath claps his hands as he glances down to Mariah. “we have a little surprise for our main man.”

Hesitantly, you stand up and help your son to his feet. “What’ve you done, guys?” You nervously question, looking around to see them all smiling to one another.

“It’s just a small surprise.” Mariah adds, trying to ease your evident nerves as your son grips your leg. “And he’ll love it, I’m sure.”

Another knock on the front door sounds and Mariah gasps loudly.

“I wonder who that could be?” She questions loudly as Heath walks toward the front door as the faint sound of Christmas bells follows him.

“Did they?” You turn to David who is already laughing at the same thought you’re having. “No,” You shake your head as Emily walks in dressed as Mrs Claus, closely followed by Alex dressed as Santa himself. “Oh my god.” You burst out laughing, unable to stop yourself as Emily skips over whilst Alex tries his best to not frown.

“Now, I’m looking for a young boy named Jamie,” Alex states in his best Santa voice as he moves his big white beard. “is there a Jamie here at all?” He looks around, noticing you kneel down beside your son.

“Jamie, Santa is here!” You smile brightly at your son who hides into your shoulder. “Aw honey, Santa is very friendly and he’s got a gift for you.”

David walks over and kneels by your side. “Jamie, want me to go with you?” He questions and his son reveals his face and nods.

Taking his hand, David walks with Jamie over to Alex who sits in the armchair whilst everyone watches in complete awe.

Alex shifts in the seat as Emily stands by his side, leaning on the chair as she holds a big red box with a bow on top. “So, young boy,” Alex leans forward as Jamie looks up to him with big doe eyes. “what would you like for Christmas this year?”

Jamie hums, looking to David to answer on his behalf. “Well Santa,” David starts. “Jamie has been desperate for a new spiderman toy and he’s been really good this year.” David explains and Alex nods in response.

“Well, that I know is true, Jamie.” Alex states as Emily passes him the box. “Which is why we got you this for Christmas, all the way from the North Pole.” His deep voice starts to falter and you stifle back a laugh from across the room.

“How come David didn’t dress up as Santa?” Carly leans over to ask you.

“I didn’t want Jamie being traumatised by David so early on.” You explain and she chuckles at your comment, knowing it’s true.

As Jamie reaches up to take the present from Santa, he accidentally grabs a handful of his beard and pulls on it.

The room falls silent as Alex’s beard sits below his chin and on his neck whilst Jamie stares straight at him with wide eyes. “Oh no.” You whisper as David looks over to you in a blind panic.

You rise to your feet as you notice Jamie’s lower lip starting to quiver and he drops the box to his feet.

Emily reacts first as she reaches into her pocket and passes over a candy cane to Jamie. Immediately he stops still, taking the candy cane and shoving it into his mouth.

Everyone lets out a vocal sigh of relief and David laughs lightly. “I think it might be time for Santa and Mrs Claus to get going! They’ve got a lot of children to see before the morning.” David states happily, helping Alex fix his beard as they quickly depart, waving to everyone as they go.

As the front door closes, David looks back to see Jamie still sucking on a candy cane. “I think that went well.” He says with a shrug as you raise an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips.

“As well as suppressed trauma that he’ll have when he’s a teenager I’m sure.” You joke as David takes a seat with you and everyone else, continuing to discuss old memories until it’s time for Jamie to go to bed.

As everyone begins to leave, you walk back from Jamie’s bedroom. “You get him to sleep okay?” David asks as you nod, wiping down your jumper.

“Yeah, told him if he doesn’t sleep Santa will come back so he did his best to knock himself out.” You joke with him as you say your goodbyes to all of your friends.

Once it is the two of you, a sigh of relief leaves your lips. “Alone again,” David hums as you walk towards the tree. “and since we’re alone, I’ve got a little surprise.” He grins to you as you pause.

“Well, ditto.” You respond, and David leans back. “Come on, I wanna go first.” You take his hand, sitting in front of the tree with him as the presents remain perfectly wrapped.

You reach out, taking the small rectangular box and placing it in front of him.

“Okay,” He mutters, picking it up as you wipe your hands across your leggings.

David glances up, noticing you focusing on the box. “Go on then,” You laugh nervously as he unties the ribbon and tears at the wrapping.

As David opens up the small box, he pauses and looks straight at you with watery eyes. “No,” He trails off as you nod. “you are?” He questions quietly, watching as you nod again before wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” You say to him as you kiss him softly, feeling his hands wander down to your stomach. “From me and baby.”

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cryptocism · 5 years

Note

So since pretty much everyone agrees that Tim needs a name change, and I think most people dislike the first two RR costumes (I dislike the pretty much Robin one too, because it seems like he hasn’t accept losing Robin, when I feel a lot of his comics right after Bruce W died was about that?) which leads me to: What do you think Tim’s costume would look like if he got a good outfit, and what name?

o yeah i was not a fan of the cowl. and the n52 design is just… so busy and excessively accessorised (excessorised???) - i drew it a couple times for this project im workin on and the whole process was me squinting at reference panels and whispering softly but passionately “what the fuck” - and i agree on the rebirth RR design, it looks more derivative of dick and jasons retconned robin costumes than inspired by tims og 80s design (however. the unternet costume - its simple and appealing and clearly nightwing-inspired and i am a fan, also the giant scythe/halberd/mace thing was so ridiculous i loved it)

which is why i thank pat gleason for my life bc tims new outfit is such a good modernisation of his original robin design. so i mean to answer ur question i think tim has a p good design right now (although not for long i guess since they announced hed get a new look/codename soon) BUT if i were in charge of debuting a new design and name… hm……….

whatever his new name is, it’d preferably have something to do with wherever his personal storyline is headed, which i dont know, and for all my complaining abt how red robin is a shit name i dont actually have great alternatives lol. i did see somewhere the suggestion for the name “Cardinal” which i dont hate, so ill use that as a placeholder for now (although “Halcyon” is an interesting option)

tangentially, my personal preference for his robin graduation would be a miniseries featuring tim and damian both as robin, begrudgingly having to work together to fight some greater enemy and becoming true brothers along the way. ending with tim giving damian his blessing to be robin (a post-mantle blessing but still) with the first amicable passing on of the robin title literally ever

as for Look: his new design should a) accurately reflect his character b) mesh well with whatever tone his personal storyline is going for c) be a natural progression of gleasons newest iteration while still d) able to stand as its own iconic look

i always thought tim would do really well in a more grounded noir-style detective story, both using and especially subverting the tropes of the genre (for instance tim befriends every femme fatale and romances absolutely zero of them. theyre pals and have weekly movie nights or smthn) obvs using some of the mystery elements to springboard into classic comic wild times etc etc. theres also a great opportunity to include some more cyberpunk aesthetics to the look and feel ofthe story

i.e. tim is part of the waynetech r&d teams, working with them to develop new technologies, and proceeding to test out some of the prototypes while doing vigilante work (bc terry had to get his rocket boots from somewhere ok). gotham is still gotham, but its starting to see some of that neo-futuristic/blade runner flavour from batman beyond.

so. cyberpunk detective story starring cha boy tim drake. im not gonna draw it rn but lemme just gather some ref elements here in case i ever do

first off - motorcycle, obviously. redbird is back babey and this time its a two-wheeler. all his gear would be modded the hell out of, but the motorcycle itself would be an approximate balance of 70% ducati and 30% tron lightcycle situation. a speedy bike with ample room for the edgy overkill batfam aesthetic, with maybe a little akira in there who knows

same goes for helmet; 70/30 on this modern/cyberpunk situation. heres a quickly photoshopped “cardinal” helmet lol

although theres totally room for some daft-punk leds in there. serving as a heads up display AND a fun neon aesthetic. I really want to play into that John Wick neo-noir situation.

besides that… ive got a preference for street style over the superhero spandex, so… detective jacket. every detective has a good jacket. norm breyfogle made a comment on his early tim robin designs that itd be pretty either/or on jacket vs cape, merging the two looked a little silly. for robin they probably decided on cape to keep things classic, but for cardinal i can do what i want

and i want to bring back some of this popped collar.

which i basically did for that other tim design i drew, which i still like, so this one would probably be at least a lil borrowed from that.

attempting to merge cape/jacket might end up smthn like these:

which admittedly i like.

admittedly… i do also like the concept of wings introduced in tims n52 design, i just think they couldve been hidden/incorporated better

greig rapson had a sweet robin design that had a sort of flight-suit (which dove into the actual mechanics??? i love) and since id want to dive into tim testing out waynetech prototypes, its a pretty good natural progression from him to terrys glider thing

the whole ensemble would be fairly understated however - enough to semi blend in with any crowd, hero or civilian. after all the story focus would be just as much about solving the mystery as it is punching the bad guy

the various interchangeable gadgets would be both prototypes of terrys eventual batsuit, and also all the failed prototypes that never managed to get off the ground. just to add an element of tension/plot devices wherein tims gear could break or malfunction pretty much anytime.

im fixated on this rocket boot situation though so itd be a paired down version of terrys eventual seamless/invisible design. still noticable and clunky, but working with the sleek modernish style outlined by gleason

smthn almost similar to the prowler actually from spiderverse - as in: Clearly Rocketboots, and clearly diy’d the shit out of, but still working with that Aesthetic

(most of the screencaps of prowler are dark af so im taking this from jesus alonso iglesias concept art)

im debating on the addition of more overtly birdlike/cyberpunk elements, so ill add this here cause its dope as fuck (from ahmet atil akar).

and a lot of batclan capes tend to end with that concave spiked look, which works great for bats but not really for birds. a tailcoat might emulate the bird tail, but it also might evoke Penguin a lil too much idk.

also in the interest of keeping everything within the same sort of design language, i would Love to see some new villains emulating deconstructionist/architectural kawakubo fashion:

like could you imagine the supervillain potential

so uhhh yeah. budding cyberpunk detective story with a little noir and a little technological advancement progressing in fits and starts. taking from the gleason foundation with heavy black featuring brighter coloured accents and modern sleekness, made a little dorky via prototype technology, with some extra neon blade runner shit thrown in there.

depending on how much i love or hate the new codename/design reveal i might draw this via inspired motivation or spiteful motivation lol

#asks #tim drake #tim redesign ref #tim scarlet redesign

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quarterfromcanon · 4 years

Text

2019 Fic Writing Roundup

I was tagged by my lovely friend @catty-words.

Total 2019 Word Count: 58,159

Total 2019 Hits: Asdfghjkl; Oh gosh, it’s much harder to tell when the work is only on Tumblr! I’ll tally up the notes from there to get the closest approximation I can. It looks like there are 174 total (a mix of likes and comments) on the pieces that I posted from this past year.

Other 2019 AO3 Stats: N/A, although I did finally join AO3 *this* year, so next time around there’ll actually be things to put here! :)

Total 2018 Word Count: Published? None. I think I might have tried writing a little bit of something for myself somewhere in there, but I didn’t get back to any kind of public fandom writing until 2019.

Total 2018 Hits: None. What a difference a year can make! I look forward to comparing 2019 to whatever’s yet to come in 2020!

Other 2018 AO3 Stats: N/A

links and titles to 2019 works

Oooh, this is actually a good opportunity to list them chronologically rather than in publication sequence. Let me see if I can get them sorted. (If, however, you’d prefer to read them in the order that they were published, you can click here and simply open the installments in reverse, since Tumblr displays things oldest-to-newest.) All of the following were written for the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend fandom and feature Heather x Valencia as their central pairing.

1. Barrier [1,385 words] - Following where we last saw them in 1.09, Josh and his friends continue their beach day now sans Rebecca’s presence. Consequently, Valencia’s critical eye falls on the only other woman in their company - Heather.

2. Unexpected [3,003 words] - The conclusion of 1.18 leaves Valencia with a lot of emotional baggage to unpack. As one of West Covina’s most frequented locales, Home Base is the first place that springs to mind where she might chase away her sorrows (or perhaps just air them out verbally while all other involved parties are away at Jayma’s wedding). Heather finds herself pulled into comfort and commiseration despite her efforts to avoid involvement.

3. Lost Control and Tumbled Overboard Gladly [3,265 words] - Heather goes to her parents’ home for the first holiday visit since moving out on her own. She has her new friend Valencia in tow. Sincere conversation and the rare allowance of vulnerability break down Heather’s walls with an ease that takes her by surprise.

4. Such Sweet Nothing [1,362 words] - Valencia and Heather return to V’s apartment after their Labor Day afternoon of story-swapping and quality time together. Valencia revels in the joyful acquirement of the second gal pal of her adult life. Heather contends with the dawning realization that her interest in Valencia may not be purely for friendship.

5. There’s A Reason Not to Want This (But I Forgot) [2,418 words] - Internet sleuthing with Rebecca pulls Valencia right back into a Josh fixation spiral. Heather must also face some unresolved feelings: namely, a crush now so intense it can no longer be denied.

6. Habits [3,599 words] - The desire to protect Valencia’s heart overrides the instinct to shield her own, and so Heather ends the self-imposed avoidance of her company. She arrives on V’s doorstep with a helpful cover story and some unfortunate news that needs to be broken gently.

7. I Want Not to Want Anything [1,314 words] - Heather Davis gets Santa Ana Winded.

8. Breathless [3,673 words] - A talk with Heather about Rebecca’s impending marriage to Josh leads Valencia to reassess what matters to her. A rosé-fueled jaunt to a local green space gives rise to the persistent inkling that what - or rather who - she really wants may be a lot closer to her than she’s ready to admit.

9. No One’s Really Got It Figured Out Just Yet [3,289 words] - Valencia throws the bachelorette party for Rebecca. Gurl Group antics and H+V flirting tactics set to hits from the mid ’90s and 2000s ensue.

10. Evading [2,207 words] - In the wake of events from 3.05 and 3.06, Heather and Valencia have a much needed heart-to-heart. They put some important truths into words while treading lightly around a few unspoken facts so delicate they’re best left in the margins.

11. How Long Do You Plan to Keep Me at the Back of Your Mind? [2,442 words] - An evening welcoming Valencia’s girlfriend Beth to be an honorary member of the Gurl Group doesn’t go quite as smoothly as planned when Heather has a difficult time harnessing her lingering feelings.

12. You and Me, Always Between the Lines [1,828 words] - Now that she has spoken with all of her immediate family members and closest friends, Valencia is prepared to announce her first romantic relationship with a woman on social media. In Beth’s absence, she seeks the moral support of her best friend. Heather is readily by her side for this next big step in Valencia’s coming out journey.

13. Gradation [2,503 words] - Valencia’s time with Beth is at an end and, in her hour of heartbreak, she returns to the same place for comfort as the previous occasion when she found herself suddenly single: across the bar from Heather.

14. Rough Draft [2,625 words] - Valencia and Heather FINALLY get together. Valencia experiences her own “Oh My God, I Think I Like You” freak out.

15. Strategy [1,212 words] - Heather and Valencia have a stay-at-home date night featuring deliberately cringey pick up lines and tangled limbs on a couch in the dark.

16. Verity [3,834 words] - Heather temporarily resumes her role as Valencia’s assistant coordinator when they plan a vow renewal celebration for Paula and Scott. On this night, the recently remarried couple may not be the only two pouring out their hearts in a room full of loved ones...

17. Different and the Same [1,035 words] - Valencia and Heather just moved into their own place. They spend their first morning there together and make good use of the privacy and freedom this new residence affords.

18. Finishing Touches [1,157 words] - Heather and Valencia personalize the interior of their new living space. The situation soon devolves into paint-splattered hijinks.

19. Patterns in the Light [1,058 words] - Despite the fact that they are literally cohabitating and have professed their feelings for each other, Valencia remains a clumsily flirty nerd and I love her for it. Heather does, too.

20. Sage [1,324 words] - After being trapped in a car with someone she didn’t want to be trapped in a car with, Heather returns covered in a dead woman’s ashes. Valencia’s time as a ghost-beleaguered home energy cleanser has arrived at last. She is uniquely qualified to save the day.

21. Portage [1,707 words] - Heather has plans for a couple’s trip with Valencia. The only obstacle is keeping it a secret between the two of them.

22. The Courage and the Strength I Need [1,957 words] - Valencia struggles during Heather’s business trip because it is their first time apart since becoming a couple. They FaceTime to ease the pain of distance and talk about their future.

23. Wanna Be With You All Alone [1,237 words] - Heather comes back from the aforementioned work travel to find that Valencia has made special welcome home arrangements.

24. Midnight, Fright and Candlelight [1,426 words] - A quiet evening is interrupted by a power outage. Heather and Valencia find a surprisingly wholesome and G-rated way to pass the time.

25. Next to You [1,550 words] - The big yearly Davis Family Reunion quickly approaches. Valencia prepares to accompany Heather to this event and be introduced to many members of her extended family.

26. Warm Whispers [1,683 words] - Heather and Valencia just want to be all cute and domestic and spend the morning fooling around. Their cats disrupt these pursuits in typical feline fashion.

27. “When We’re Together, Darling, Every Night Is Halloween.” [1,228 words] - Heather and Valencia get ready to attend a Gurl Group Halloween party. Their second annual couple’s costume? Gomez and Morticia Addams.

28. #afewofmyfavoritethings [2,838 words] - Nathaniel, Rebecca, Valencia, Heather, Paula, Scott, and Tommy all rent a cabin for vacation. This piece follows them through a day of wintertime fun. Pure fluffiness here and I had the best time writing every second of it.

Favorite Fic: Probably #afewofmyfavoritethings. I packed it with elements I personally love and moments I was hoping my new friends in the fandom would like. Plus, it was honestly just so good for my soul to write these characters in a soft world where they could engage in classic snow day activities and enjoy each other’s company.

Hardest Fic: I knew there were a few installments of Femslash February where I wrote whole paragraphs or even pages I didn’t keep/decided to revise, but I was pretty sure I also remembered at least one where I wrote an entire separate piece. My sleep schedule was, shall we say, not advisable during February but it was also easily the most exhilarating month of my year. I tracked down the evidence of that rewrite and it turns out the incident I recalled was for Unusual Kiss (the prompt for Day 4 of FF). The original involved something to do with butterfly kisses because, evidently, my inclination to link Valencia to winged beings knows no bounds. I’ve got to admit that I’m still fond of the concept of Valencia giving Heather a subtle “kiss” during a hug in that painfully frightening time before Beth when she was afraid to outright kiss a woman in any way that couldn’t be dismissed as platonic. There’s a good chance an interaction of that nature could appear somewhere in the full story. I am notoriously drawn to that angst period of undisclosed pining so the temptation is quite strong. Still, I’m glad I used the version I actually posted and saved elements of the first draft for later. Fragments of their conversation from the original will probably make it into the final tale, but I think I prefer to sprinkle them across several exchanges instead of divulging them all at once.

Do You Plan to Take Prompts in 2020? Sort of yes and sort of no. I am participating in the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Valentine Exchange, which involves a prompt-esque note from the participant each of us were assigned as our guide to spark inspiration for the gift. It’s also possible that there’ll be some writing prompt list posted somewhere along the way just like Femslash February was last year, and I’ll end up wanting to join the fun. Other than that, though, I’ll mainly stick to the one writing project in an effort to hone my focus.

What was the best thing about 2019? I’d definitely say the bonding and interactions with other members of the fandom. The encouragement and support I received from them remains the primary motivation for me to keep writing and chasing after the ongoing goals I set for myself.

What was the worst thing about 2019? The most honest answer that my mind immediately supplied is death of a close relative. While that isn’t the sole reason for the dip in my creative output (especially since there were multiple months between my last published fic and the passing in question), I know it could certainly be counted among the contributing factors to an overarching writing problem I had. Even before my family’s loss, there was a shift in my thought process that only got worse once there was more on my plate in my personal life. There were many times I sat down wanting to write again but it felt too difficult and intimidating to commit words to the page. I couldn’t seem to transfer them from my mind to the keyboard and I’d invariably switch to doing something else. I developed this terrible internal conviction that insisted the larger fic I wanted to write wouldn’t work as well as the shorter installments. That gnawing insecurity would have me believe one month’s worth of well-received efforts was already such a marvel that anything beyond that point was somehow pushing my luck. Where did the mental voice originate and why couldn’t I shake it? It’s difficult to parse out but what I do know is that I’ve firmly decided 2020 is going to be a year I put it on silent. I know what it’ll mean to me for everything that’s been floating in my head to finally be told in one cohesive format, and to have the satisfaction of giving my favorite characters the ending my heart says they deserve. It’s a sense of closure that’s worth the pursuit.

Any last thoughts for 2019? The bad parts of the last twelve months made me want to essentially say “good riddance” to the year, but the good parts were far too treasured to wish all of 2019 away. I am so grateful for the new people I met and friendships that solidified during that time. I especially owe my most heartfelt appreciation to @catty-words, @notbang, and @monaiargancoconutsoy. Thank you for everything. <3

Goals for 2020

Finish. The. Fic.

I believe everyone I know who writes fanfic has already been tagged but, if you haven’t gotten the chance to look back over your writing year, by all means, use these questions to give it a go! :)

#About Me #2019 Fic Writing Roundup #My FWR #death mention tw

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 6 years

Text

Sugar Daddy Hanzo

I WROTE 14 PAGES OF THIS BULLSHIT AND IT’S ALL BASICALLY SETUP!!!! No sex, no full kisses, just some light tension that will hopefully make you say, ‘Just bone down already!’

Fuck me. Sorry, y’all. 6,500 words of Hanzo reader-insert. I hope you enjoy! Break in the middle cause it’s long AF.

EDIT: OMFG I’m the worst friend ever!!! This whole business world AU is based on my bud @watch-your-grammer ‘s post here. She’s glorious and so is her work.

The rest of the story: pt two, pt three, pt four, pt five

“This place is packed,” you muttered to yourself, squinting at the beautiful restaurant around you, “but I had no idea there were going to be this many people here.”

“Oh stop being a baby,” your friend Lori snapped, rolling her eyes at you and shoving you toward the party. You glared back at her.

“What, I’m not allowed to be surprised,” you grumped.

“You were complaining,” Lori said, letting out a dramatic sigh, “as usual. Being a crabby bitch because you’d rather be hiding at home than out at an amazing party. As usual.”

Ever fiber of you wanted to snarl something fierce back to your ‘friend,’ but wouldn’t that just prove her right? And besides, you were better than her jabbing bullshit. Most of the time. Instead, you just took a deep breath and headed to the bar.

“Yeah, go get a drink,” Lori snorted, “we all know you can’t do anything social without liquid courage.”

“Yup,” you sighed, wrestling down your anger, “you know me. Just a complete booze addicted social shut-in. It’s not like I have a job in which I interact with people every day and drink responsibly on the few occasions where I do drink.”

“What was that,” Lori said, evidently not quite hearing your snarkiness.

“I said, uh, look, isn’t that your man over there,” you lied.

Loir perked up, grinning as she saw her sugar daddy, Hanzo. “Damn right that’s my man,” she purred.

“Uh-huh. So you going to go hang with him or – “ Poof! She was gone without another word. “Thank God,” you grumbled.

For the next few hours, you were a good little party goer, making a point to chat with everyone you knew and even managing to meet a few potential colleagues – Overwatch had some of the most remarkable people working for them! What you wouldn’t give to be involved . . . A night basking in the glow of this incredible company would have to be enough, though. For now.

While in the midst of a conversation with an interesting British woman and her lovely girlfriend, an announcement was made that the first course would be served soon, making everyone scuttle about to find their seats. You were tucked toward the back with the rest of the lower-tier guests, which was just fine, but much to your surprise, Lori and her impeccably dressed beau were already there waiting for you. The striking man looked up as you approached, but your friend couldn’t be bothered as you awkwardly sat beside them. Could she be any more . . . handsy? Even Hanzo seemed a little off-put, gently pushing Lori into her own seat and off his chest.

You nodded and gave your best smile as Hanzo straightened his tie. He dipped his head in response.

“Way to interrupt,” Lori pouted at you.

“Um,” you said with a raised brow, “sorry I didn’t want to just be standing around as they served the salads?”

“Whatever. So selfish,” she said, putting her pointy nose in the air and crossing her arms. Hanzo gave her a slightly confused look.

“Is this woman not a friend of yours,” he asked.

“I mean, I guess. Sorta,” Lori replied, seeming a bit surprised by his question.

You were taken aback. Sure, the two of you weren’t besties, but hearing Lori say that was still hurtful. You’d bailed her out of work mistakes a million times, you had sat through hours of her ridiculous sympathy-earning stories, and you had taken looked after her in the midst of hangovers or Plan B store runs too many times to count. That had to be more than ‘sorta’ friends, didn’t it?

Or you were just her doormat friend.

That seemed most likely.

You squirmed sheepishly as you realized just how much Lori had been using you, Hanzo watching you all the while, only making things worse.

“Either way,” he said standing up, “a bit of candor would do you well. You treat people like shit, and you are likely to end up alone. I would know.”

Hanzo turned and began to walk away, Lori scrambling to grab his arm before he got too far. “Babe, wait! Where are you going? Aren’t you sitting with me?”

“No,” he said flatly, pulling away from her tight, desperate grip effortlessly. “This is a business function, and I have much to attend to. Should I have a moment to spare and the desire to spend it with you, I will let you know.”

His stride was long, powerful, and purposeful as he crossed the room to one of the front tables – right in the limelight. Despite his appearance and grace, you couldn’t quite understand why Lori was so infatuated with him. The guy was kind of a dick. A vaguely disapproving expression came to your face as you watched him walk away.

“The fuck is that look,” Lori hissed, making you jump in your seat.

“N-nothing,” you faltered.

She had a ferocious glint in her eyes. “You shouldn’t even be looking at my man, but especially not like that!”

“Look, Lori, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” you said scooting away from her.

“That man is a god, you got that? Perfection! Do not look at him like he’s anything less than that,” she seethed. Christ, you’d really pissed her off.

You tried not to laugh, you really did, but you couldn’t help it. “A ‘god,’ Lori? Seriously? That’s just weird. And unhealthy. Putting anyone on a pedestal like that is . . . a lot. Too much. Unhealthy, even. Maybe you should think about this thing you’ve got with Hanzo.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Lori growled, grabbing your arm so hard you winced. “You don’t have the fucking right to even speak his name! Never talk about him like that again! Never!”

“Okay, okay,” you said softly, eyes wide, trying to calm her down before even more people started to stare at you. “I will never say anything like that again, honest. Just, take a breath, will you?”

“Fuck you,” Lori growled, nearly dislocating your shoulder as she tossed your arm back toward your body.

The salads and main course came painfully slow, you staying silent the whole time as Lori fixated on Hanzo like an addict. All the other patrons at your table were giving the two of worried glances, and you gave them tenuous shrugs in response.

“Leave it to Lori to ruin my night. Again,” you whispered. Once people began to mill around for another round of drinks before dessert, you were quick to hop up and avoid Lori. Thankfully, no one else seemed to be dwelling on your friend’s outburst, and you were able to settle back into a more relaxed mood. Sipping a mint julep helped, too.

While the night was going better, you were still feeling drained before long, as if the crowd of people had sapped the life out of you, but there was some kind of dark chocolate torte coming so, of course, you were going to stay. You just needed to hide somewhere quiet for a few. That should help.

Hopefully.

It took a bit of looking, but you managed to find a little hallway in the back of the restaurant with a fancy loveseat. The spot was probably meant for storage space, but you didn’t mind. The music wasn’t so loud here, and a large fern kept you shielded you from anyone who might be passing by. As you sunk into the firm seat, a soft hum slipped from your lips. “God bless alone time,” you moaned, absentmindedly running your fingers along the velvet of the small sofa.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there, and you couldn’t care less, but then a sudden flash of movement in the corner of your eye made you look up. Hanzo stood a few feet away from you, scanning the little room carefully, his posture the same as a child looking for a place to hide a broken vase.

To be honest, he was a kinda cute like this – slightly disheveled and sorta shaky. It was nice to know he wasn’t always so composed and presentable.

The moment he saw you, Hanzo jolted and quickly straightened his back, but his face wouldn’t cooperate, a slight pinch stuck in his strong brow.

“Forgive me,” he said with a tense bow, “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You haven’t,” you said with a small smile. “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

His frown grew, and he cleared his throat. “You did not, I assure you,” he said curtly.

You covered your mouth in an effort to hide your smirk – probably best not to anger the newest Overwatch partner. Hanzo ran his fingers through his hair and shifted his weight to his other foot. He looked a little like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do next.

“Were you looking for a place to avoid everyone, too,” you asked genuinely.

“I, well,” Hanzo fumbled, his body somehow going even more rigid as you watched him.

“No judgment if that’s the case,” you said leaning against the wall and taking a drink from your glass. “That’s why I’m here. Being in a room with that many other people always starts to grate on me after a while.”

“I shall leave you be then,” Hanzo said understandingly, moving back toward the party.

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, a flush coming to your face. “I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sorry. You’re more than welcome to join me if you need a break. There’s not a more secluded spot here – I checked.” You patted the seat beside you and scooted closer to the wall so there would be a more acceptable distance between the two of you.

There was still a hefty amount of hesitance in Hanzo’s appearance, but after a moment he rolled his neck and joined you. He all but flopped onto the seat, rubbing his face and letting out a deep sigh.

“Are, uh, are you alright,” you asked after a few minutes of silence, Hanzo merely sitting there with his eyes closed and his body almost frighteningly still.

“I will be,” he huffed, streching and giving you a momentary glance. “It has been a long time since I was at a gathering like this and it seems I have lost my ability to . . . endure this sort of thing.”

“Understandable,” you said with a small nod, taking a drink from your glass. “I felt the same way when I got this new job in public relations. Went from a quiet little cubicle to schmoozing. Ugh.”

Hanzo turned to you as you made that disgusted noise, chuckling at your grimacing face. “If you do not like the position, why did you take it?”

You shrugged. “It was upward movement, and isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? Besides, it’s not like I loved the cubicle gig. I guess I’m trying to test the waters, see what fits and what doesn’t, what I like and what I don’t. Unfortunately, it seems like I’ve been finding a lot more of the latter recently, but good lordy I’m rambling,” you laughed, brushing back your hair. “Sorry. You came back here for a reprieve from the socializing and here I am yapping at you.”

He shook his head and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “There is no need to apologize. I asked, after all. Your answer was not all that long either. In truth, I appreciated the honesty it in. If I had asked anyone else here that same question, they likely would have launched into a lengthy description of their resume and career goals in an effort to obtain a better job. Your admittance that you are unsure of what you want is . . . refreshing.”

A wily smile crossed your lips. “You get a lot of brown-nosers?”

“Brown-nosers?” Hanzo’s thick brows were pressed into a long, furry line. Ah hell. He was pretty damn handsome – not handsome enough to warrant Lori’s obsession, but still. Damn.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing yourself out of your momentary stupor, “brown-nosers. Have you never heard that term before?” He shook his head, and you smacked yourself in the forehead. “Whoops,” you giggled, going bright red.

“What is it,” Hanzo pressed, clearly intrigued.

“It’s just a stupid saying.”

“It seems like the colloquialisms will never end,” he muttered. “Go on, tell me then.”

“Um,” you wavered, “it basically means someone who tries to sweet talk you, saying and doing little things to make you like them.”

“Like when someone tries to ‘butter you up,” Hanzo asked, taking the whole conversation way too seriously.

“Yes, exactly,” you smiled, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Why ‘brown-nosers’ then?”

Dammit.

You groaned, biting your lip to keep from smiling any more. “It’s vaguely vulgar.”

Hanzo scoffed. “I am not a young man, miss, I am sure I can handle whatever this is.”

“Alright,” you snickered. “Ever heard the expression ‘he’s kissing your ass?’”

“Yes,” he said slowly, still not making the connection.

“Son of a – okay. So let’s say you go to literally kiss someone’s ass, can you imagine where your nose might go? And how it might get, well, brown?”

“Good lord,” Hanzo sputtered, his whole body twisting away from you as the visual took form in his mind. He grimaced, maybe even shuddered, and you burst out into laughter.

“Holy cow, I’m crying,” you coughed out, still trying to stop giggling.

“Well I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Hanzo said in a somewhat pouty tone.

“You shoulda seen your face,” you giggled.

The man’s head slowly turned, revealing a glare that probably should have been terrifying, but the red tint in Hanzo’s cheeks was precious, so you just grinned back.

“I tried to warn you.”

He kept glaring, but his shoulders softened a bit. “I suppose you did.”

“You basically insisted! Was I just supposed to say ‘no’ to the fabled Hanzo Shimada? The man, the myth, the legend: Hanzo Shimada? I think not.”

A devious smirk suddenly crossed Hanzo face, and you took in a sharp breath. He was both frightening and alluring, looking at you like that. Mostly alluring. “What a little brown-noser you’ve become! A filthy habit. Quite unbecoming of a young woman such as yourself.”

Was . . . was he joking with you? Well, that was flattering as fuck! You beamed, shaking your head and snorted in amusment.

Hanzo was chuckling too, which you took to be an immense compliment. It was probably wrong to be feeling this giddy around your friend’s sugar daddy, but she was a shitty friend so . . . too bad?

As if on cue, Lori’s fanciful dress came fluttering into view. Sloppily.

“Oh no,” you whispered, your face falling flat. She was drunk. Very drunk.

“Lorelai,” Hanzo said, pursing his lips.

“Hey schnook’em,” Lori cooed, tripping over to his side and tumbling into his lap. Hanzo recoiled as her bony body hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“What are you doing,” he growled, setting Lori onto the seat in the middle of you.

“Looking for you, sexy,” she said groping his upper thigh. Hanzo instantly slapped her hand away. Lori slumped, rocking backward involuntarily and noticing your presence. “Uh, what the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“Just chatting,” you explained, knowing Lori would jump to the worst case scenario, “nothing more.”

“Why do you got to say ‘nothing more,’” she seethed.

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’ll just go, how about that?” With a strained smile to Hanzo you stood and began to walk away, but Lori grabbed your wrist.

“Oh no you don’t! You are going to tell me what the shit you’re doing sitting by my man. And gimme that drink,” she spat, tearing the glass from your hand.

“Perhaps you have had enough, Lorelai,” Hanzo said with an annoyed drum of his fingers on his shapely forearm.

“What’s one more,” Lori shrugged, trying to lean in for a kiss, but she was only greeted with empty air as Hanzo stood up to get away from her.

“It’s just cranberry juice,” you explained to him, “it’s probably a good thing for her at this point.”

“Thank goodness someone still understands the concept of responsible drinking,” Hanzo said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Lori barked.

The frustration in Hanzo’s voice was palpable as he stared down at Lori. “You’ve gone too far, yet again. At a company function, no less.”

“Fuck this company bullshit,” Lori scoffed, “let’s go back to your place, have a little fun!”

She leaned directly for Hanzo’s crotch, and your eyes darted to the ceiling uncomfortably, but you could still see Hanzo jump back.

“Enough,” he snarled. “I have told you time and time again that is not what I want from you! Just go home, Lorelai, and try not to embarrass yourself any more on the way out.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” she snorted, “I’m having a great time! And you haven’t even danced with me yet.”

“Nor do I have any intention to, especially when you’re like this,” Hanzo said.

Lori’s attention went back to you. “Are you trying to get with my man?”

“What,” you gaped, “no! Lori, of course not! I’m not like that. I know how much you like him.”

“You lying sack of shit,” she growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!” Lori’s manicured nails were suddenly coming at your face with incredible drunk accuracy.

“Calm down, Lori,” you begged desperately, wrangling her arms to her sides. Rather quickly, she lost her strength and began crying weakly into your neck while Hanzo looked on in stunned horror.

“She’ll be fine,” you mouthed to him. “Now that she’s crying she’ll be out in like half an hour. It always goes down like this.”

“You say that as if you have seen this before,” Hanzo said quietly, angry lines forming on his forehead.

“I have,” you shrugged, patting Lori’s back halfheartedly. “You want me to take her home?”

“No,” Lori whined, trying to wiggle away from you, “I don’t wanna! And I’m mad at you! Stay away from my man.”

“But if I take you home, I’ll be away from Hanzo,” you said sweetly, toying with Lori’s alcohol-riddled mind. She fell for it, nodding weakly and letting you sling her arm over your shoulders so you could walk her out.

“What a mess,” Hanzo sighed as you tired to steady your wasted companion. “You should not have to be the one to look after her.”

“I got it,” you said with a half-smile. “Not the first time, won’t be the last. It was nice meeting you, though. Hopefully you won’t end up remembering me as just your sugar baby’s party mom.”

“That will not be the case, I promise you,” Hanzo said, reaching into his jacket. “When you get her home, please let me know. I should be the one to be dealing with her, but . . .”

“People to see, business to do,” you offered, slipping his shimmery card into your purse.

“Yes,” he said with a guilty look. “I appreciate you doing this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said heading toward the nearest exit, “no sweat, she’ll be fine and back to . . . whatever it is you two do soon.”

You could feel Hanzo’s eyes on you right up until the restaurant’s door swung close behind you, which was somewhat disconcerting, but you had little time to dwell on it, what with having to take care of Lori. Flagging down a taxi and shoving in an angry drunk woman inside was such a pain in the ass, almost as bad as hauling her up to her apartment and dragging her into bed while she tried to fight you. Again. The whole escapade took over an hour and a half, leaving you tired and salty afterward.

“I hope those stupid glittery tights give you a rash, Lori,” you muttered, walking back onto the city’s bustling streets and pulling out your cell. Calling Hanzo at this time of night seemed strange – inconveniencing or inappropriate, but leaving the man’s request unfulfilled seemed just as wrong, so you dialed his number shakily.

“Please don’t be there, please don’t be there,” you whispered. “Just let me leave a voicemail so I don’t have to – ”

“Hanzo Shimada speaking.” He sounded just as formidable over the phone. Of course he did.

“H-hello, Mr. Shimada. I’m just calling to let you know that I got Lori home safe, no need to worry. She’s asleep and not going anywhere.”

He sighed, and his voice was a bit gentler the next time he spoke. “Thank you for keeping me informed, it is much appreciated.”

“Not a problem,” you said, bouncing on your heels. “I’ll let you get back to the party now. Take care.”

“Just a moment,” Hanzo said hurriedly, “I am no longer needed here, and I would like to . . . discuss something with you, if you have a moment.”

“Oh,” you said timidly, trying to understand why on Earth this man was bothering with you. Had you done something wrong? You had probably done something wrong. Or maybe he just needed to threaten you into keeping the sloppy antics of his sugar baby quiet? That kinda made sense.

“Forgive me, I just looked at my watch. It is dreadfully late, perhaps I should just speak with you tomorrow,” Hanzo said after your long pause.

“No, no, that’s fine. I suddenly find myself wide awake,” you huffed, massaging your temple.

“Is something wrong,” he asked slowly. “I do not wish to bother you.”

You laughed through the tension building in your gut. “Oh, you know, it’s just not every day you go to a swanky party, meet a mass of important people, haul your unappreciative wasted friend home, and then start up a chat with one of the biggest names in the business world. Hell of a night. Hell. Of. A. Night.”

Hanzo chuckled at your frazzled tone which really did not make you feel better. “I do believe Lorelai’s behavior cost you your dessert course. Allow me to make it up to you. Where are you?”

“Um,” you hesitated, “still by Lori’s.”

“Wonderful,” he said, his voice becoming much more casual, “meet me at Leone’s Confections. I will be there as soon as I am able.”

The line went dead, and you were left staring at the touchscreen in disbelief. “The fuck have I gotten myself into?”

While it wasn’t exactly a short walk to the little candy shop, the trip flew by as your imagination began to race with possible scenarios for the rest of your night. You couldn’t help but think about the rumors about Hanzo – the missing competitors, the arson suspicions, the ruined lives of those who spoke against him. Not to mention his brother. No one knew for sure when had happened to him, but you had seen the younger Shimada for yourself, patched back together with circuitry and metal.

You were scared.

Surrounded by the heavenly scent of sweet flavors, but scared.

Maybe you’d at least get some good chocolate before you were blackmailed and forced to leave the country?

A small bell dinged, and Hanzo strode through the door of the otherwise empty establishment, exchanging a friendly greeting with the old man behind the counter before coming to join you at the small table.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting,” he said sitting across from you and crossing his leg over the opposite knee.

“N-no,” you said, the word crumbling in your throat.

Hanzo’s head tipped to the side curiously. “Are you feeling alright? You are shaking.”

“Fine, sir, fine,” you lied, clamping your hands together to keep them from twitching with nerves.

“Sir?” Hanzo seemed almost offended, but then he looked at the empty table and glanced at the shop owner and sighed. “Leone, this is not that type of meeting, no need to be inhospitable. Turn on the music, get the woman a drink.”

“How was I supposed to know,” the other man grumped, “most of the time when you bring people here in the middle of the night it’s not for pleasantries.”

Classical music began to float from the speakers and Leone brought you each a cup of water, convincing you to relax just a hair. As Leone set down your glass, he leaned in to whisper, “Usually he’s here threatening gents and smackin’ people around. There’s a reason Mr. Fancy-Pants-McGee wears black gloves, little lady.”

“Leone,” Hanzo warned with a scowl.

“They don’t show the blood stains,” Leone explained. Your eyes went wide, and you couldn’t think of anything to say in response, especially when the old fart winked at you.

“LEONE!”

The man burst out laughing and walked away as Hanzo put his head in his hands miserably.

You were going to beat Lori’s skinny ass for getting you into this.

“That is not true,” Hanzo said once he looked up and saw your terrified face. “Well, somewhat true, but – chikushō! I am not here to hurt you, I promise, and please, do not be frightened of me. You are safe here, I assure you.”

Hanzo’s face was oddly . . . sad, as if your fear was a terrible scolding. “Alright,” you said with a deep breath, “it’s just, well, this is a lot to take in. I’m not used to being around people of your, I suppose, rank. Alone. In the dead of night.”

“You apprehension is understandable,” Hanzo said softly, smiling at you in a way that made your heart race, “but I hope it will dissipate.”

“Not gonna lie to you,” you said with a small smirk, “chocolate would help.”

His rolling laugh was loud enough to fill the whole room and warm enough to give you the shivers. “When does chocolate not help? Leone! Put your finest blend on the stove for me, will you?”

“It’s already bubblin,” the old man replied, “want it doctored up tonight?”

Hanzo looked back to you. “How do you prefer your cocoa? Minty? Topped with cinnamon? Extra rich?”

“Is kicked in the ass with chili pepper an option?”

“Oh, I like her,” Leone snickered.

“An excellent choice,” Hanzo agreed with a grin.

A few moments later you were breathing in the scent of perfectly spiced cocoa and marveling at the impeccable taste dancing along your tongue. Your eyes were closed in reverence and for a second or two you for all about the situation around you.

“Ara ma-a,” Hanzo murmured softly, making you jump. He was staring at you, something like shock on his face.

“What is it,” you asked, wiping your nose in case you had whipped cream on it.

“You are beautiful. Incredibly so. I could not help but notice at the dinner party, but seeing you here, like this – perfection.”

“I don’t know what you say,” you admitted, face red as a rose and innards twisting like old roots.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” he said slyly, “seeing you flustered is somehow even more immaculate.”

“Oh, now you’re just trying to rile me up,” you scoffed, laughing at your own embarrassment. “Rude, sir. Very rude.”

“It needed to be said,” he insisted, still ogling you.

“I’m sorry,” you said shaking the timidity from your mid, leaning forward onto the table and looking Hanzo right in the eye, “don’t you already have a girl on your arm? My friend, even? It’s downright dishonorable of you to be showering me with flirtations and stealing glimpses of me in this low cut dress like that.”

“What,” he gulped, jolting back and looking at you disbelief, “I was not – I would never do such a thing! Yes, I may have been . . . forward with my compliments, and I apologize if that was too much, but I swear I was not ‘stealing glimpses’ of – ”

You let out a loud snort as you started laughing again. “Got you good, didn’t I, Mr. Shimada?”

He frowned at you, face pinched as you giggled and drank your hot chocolate. “You were joking.”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Trying to frazzle me as I frazzled you.”

“Yup.”

“Hm,” he grunted, slowly crossing his arms and looking you up and down, “not many are brave enough to do such a thing.”

“You’re the one who started it,” you muttered, peeking out from behind your mug.

A smile bloomed on his face again. “It was not my intention to upset you! I was only – ”

“Only saying crazy flirty stuff that would make any girl stammer!”

He set out a loud scoff, but shrugged in agreement. “I suppose that is true. Please accept my sincere apology. It has been a long time since someone had the nerve to call me out on what I say and it seems I may have lost touch with conventional social guidelines.”

“Well at least you were saying sweet things,” you replied, “it’s not as if I mind too much. I hope you weren’t too offended by me messing with you. Couldn’t help myself.”

“No offense was taken at all. Maybe I need more of that, in fact. I have not felt this . . . normal in ages.”

There was a weariness in Hanzo’s eyes that was undeniable, as if there was far too much weighing down on the man.

“Hey,” you said gently, “are you alright? I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“You have not,” Hanzo said with a wave of his hand, “I did. It seems my mind is swaying into darker places all of a sudden, even in such pleasant company.”

With one last gulp, you finished the last of your drink and set it aside so you could scoot closer to Hanzo. The bags under his eyes were heavy. “Why don’t you tell me why you asked me here so you can go home and rest. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” he sighed, staring out the window, “and the exhaustion never seems to go away.” After a lengthy pause, Hanzo’s gaze shifted back to you with a thin smile. “What a terrible host I am, lapsing into pensive silences and forcing you to stay up so late. I am not usually this thoughtless.”

“At least the drinks are good,” you teased lightly, “now, tell me what else you need from me before you pass out in that chair.”

“Right,” he huffed, gloves running through his long bangs, “I mostly wished to compensate you for any trouble Lorelai may have caused you – the cab fare, things of that sort.”

“No need,” you said, “I may have grabbed her credit card out of her purse and used it to pay for the ride home.”

Hanzo chuckled, “I can hardly blame you.”

“I wasn’t going to, but then she went and tore my favorite coat,” you said examining the mangled seam of your jacket. “Guess I was feeling a little petty.”

“You should have seen me after she vomited on my bed. I was irate,” Hanzo grimaced.

“Ugh,” you said with a shudder, “that’s disgusting!”

Again Hanzo lingered, as if he didn’t quite want to leave his seat despite the budding sunset.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Shimada?”

“Yes, yes ther is. Just one more thing, something that I will likely regret asking, but must nonetheless. Are you, by any chance, available? I have dismissed Lorelai from my employ and am looking for someone to take her place. I would very much like it to be you.”

“O-oh,” you blurted bluntly, shocked by his offer.

Hanzo was on his feet in a flash, taking a step back from you. “Forgive me, I should not have – ”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, heat radiating from your cheeks, “I was just surprised is all! I didn’t mean to seem unappreciative or – ”

“There is no need to explain,” he said, his voice abrasive and cold all at once.

“But I want to,” you said desperately, standing in front of him with your hands over your heart. “It’s not that I’m not flattered – I am – but I’ve never done anything like that before, being a sugar baby or whatever you want to call it! I’m not from a wealthy family like Lori is, I don’t know fancy table manners like she does, heck, I was terrified to go to this party tonight because I was afraid everyone would know what a cheap dress this is. I’ve never owned anything designer-y in my life! You’re a refined man, and you should have someone equally refined on your arm.”

“Refined,” Hanzo repeated, inching closer to you and sitting on the table, his arm close enough to touch if you just extended your fingers. “I have been with refined women most of my life, some very unrefined ones as well, but I am alone yet again. None of them have ever been what I needed. You, however.” He took your hand, turning it over in his own. “I have smiled more with you in the last half hour than I have in years. I do not care how you were raised, what cutlery you use, or what brand you wear. I simply want you. As you are. To see if this feeling of ease you have given me can last.

Unfortunately, I am not in a position to date normally. My past is . . . complicated, and I will not burden anyone with the mess of a man I have become. Should you be interested in spending some time with me, I would happily pay you. I would prefer it that way, honestly. This sort of arrangement allows me to see someone with enough distance to – Forgive me, I don’t know how to explain it. I simply feel better like this, with a clean cut exchange of services, odd as that may seem.”

“I understand,” you said thoughtfully, “well, maybe not entirely, but enough. The payments makes you feel as if there is a more proper trade, and if something goes wrong, things can be cut short with less drama. Hopefully. But I guess there’s always a Lori or two out there to complicates things.”

“True,” he laughed, rubbing his eyes. “On all accounts. I believe that is why the ‘sugar daddy’ relationship appeals to me, at least for now.”

You took another moment to think, but in all honesty, your mind was already made up. Hanzo was a fascinating, handsome, captivating man, and you couldn’t deny the attraction pumping through your body. And life in this city wasn’t cheap. Maybe you should try something new, something you craved for the sheer unusualness of it all.

“I’m free tomorrow,” you said leadingly.

“Really,” he asked, brows high.

“Sure am. You might have to be patient with me, though. I’ve never done anything even remotely like this before.”

“You have my word, I will never force you into anything you do not wish to do,” he said, squeezing your hand before letting it drop.

“Sounds good then,” you smiled.

Hanzo stood, and you automatically swayed closer to him. Good god, he was doing things to you . . . Things the world had taught you to be ashamed of. Things that felt wonderful.

“I am overjoyed to have you to accept,” he said, “but I should warn you.”

“What,” you groaned worriedly.

He smirked. “I usually start arrangements of this nature with a kiss. A way to test the waters, if you will.”

“Oh is that so,” you said doubtfully. Hanzo only shrugged, his grin widening. You pretended to think it over for a moment, something in the sweet shop’s glass case catching your eye. “I’ll let you kiss me on the cheek,” you said firmly, “but that’s all I’m comfortable with tonight.”

“I will happily take what I can get,” he hummed, putting his hand on your waist and pulling you closer. His kiss was incredibly tender and lingered just long enough to make you want more. Fuck. He might be too good.

“Are you sure that is all you want,” he asked, fingers winding to the small of your back.

“Yes? Yes! For now.” You returned his kiss with a quick peck on Hanzo’s cheekbone. “Bribe me with some dark chocolate raspberry truffles, and I’ll probably let you have a proper smooch. Maybe.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he laughed.

“I swear I’m not a sellout,” you said awkwardly, embarrassed by your own offer.

“Do not be ashamed of this, my beauty, or you will not enjoy it, and I would hate for that to happen,” Hanzo said, releasing you.

“I’ll do my best,” you said, feeling a bit lightheaded. He walked you to the street, waving down a taxi and paying the driver in advance.

“Thank you, Mr. Shimada,” you said through the window, the cabbie more than willing to let you chat another moment as he counted out his lofty tip.

“My pleasure, but we will have to discuss this “Mr. Shimada’ matter next time we meet.”

“Would you prefer I call you something else?”

He stroked his jawline carefully. “That will depend on the nature of our relationship. Usually, Mr. Shimada is fine, but perhaps not for you.” He leaned onto the metal of the car door, a scheming look in his eyes. “In time, I will likely allow you to call be Hanzo in private, possibly even in public if this goes well. But,” he leaned in closer, “if this goes very well, I will hopefully be able to convince you to call me ‘master,’ at least when I have you strung up above my bed.”

In an instant your whole body was flushed red, stunned and hungering for more, your mouth stammering uselessly.

“Into the kinky shit,” the cab driver said, ruining the mood, “nice.”

Both you and Hanzo glared at the man in perfect time.

“Do not make me come in there,” Hanzo growled, “I imagine it would be quite hard for you to do your job with all ten of your fingers broken.”

“And sitting in a car all day after surgery for a broken urethra isn’t real fun either,” you snapped.

The driver’s eyes went wide, and his mouth clamped shut.

“Good choice,” you mumbled, turning back to Hanzo for a quick good night, but he was staring at you with a dumbfounded expression that made you laugh. “Okay, so, once upon a time in college I may have kicked a misogynist in the crotch so hard I broke his dick. It was an accident, but not one I really regretted.”

“Wa-o,” he sputtered, melting into laughter so strong he had to wipe tears from his eyes, “you are a marvel. Go, now, before I change my mind and beg you to come home with me.”

“Okay,” you giggled, thankful you hadn’t scared him off. “Take care, and get some sleep, alright? You look you could keel over.”

“I will,” he promised you with a warm smile. “Until tomorrow, my beauty.”

@watch-your-grammer @collinssie

#overwatch #overwatch drabble #my drabble #hanzo x reader #mine #hanzo #reader insert

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alterboyx · 3 years

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An issue with the “based on your likes” tumblr feature. CW past EDO Mention

I’ve had this blog for a long time, over ten years now. Because of this, my blog has gone through a million different phases of what I primarily follow and what I primarily post. I’m sure I have some problematic shit in there somewhere from when I was a 12 and 13 year old on this site but I’ve never been too bothered. I have about 1300 followers but I don’t do anything to try to gain more, tumblr is just for fun.

However, when I was a young teen, I was fixated on my depression and self hatred. My blog reflected that. I developed anorexia and bulimia. I used tumblr to find thinspo blogs, and things that would shame you into exercising every possible minute of the day you could. I was miserable.

One of the biggest first steps I made toward my recovery was right here, on this dumb little social media platform. I started unfollowing every depression blog that encouraged my sadness. Unfollowed every thinspo blog, every diet advice and exercise blog, I refused to continue surrounding myself with negativity. I looked up terms like “body positive” and blindly followed the first ten, twenty blogs that tumblr turned up in results. Positive affirmations, healing, recovery, fat positive. It changed my life, it was a meaningful step in the right direction.

With tumblr’s new feature, of this “based on your likes” nonsense, I understand the sentiment. They’re trying to suggest things to you that make sense for what you would like, based on your likes. But I have thousands of likes through the years, and most of them were used as a “saved” or “to read/reply to later” or even things I’ve reported so I can check that they’ve been deleted. Not everything in my likes are things I actually like. Not everything in my likes are things I still like. This has created some chaos as to what tumblr inserts into my timeline as “based on your likes”.

Since this newest feature was implemented, I’ve started seeing a lot of eating disorder posts, exactly the kind of thing I chose to leave behind because it was negatively impacting my mental health. I realized that tumblr is probably showing me this from the EDO posts I liked and reblogged….ten years ago. And have intentionally moved away from.

I don’t know how many likes I have, but given this era of my life was nearly 10 years ago, and I am on tumblr every day and very active, I likely have hundreds of thousands of posts liked before I would get back to those posts to unfollow them and correct my timeline. For context, I follow about 3,000 blogs right now and I post a lot, and I “liked” pretty much everything I also posted here when I was first starting out.

This is not the first time a poorly thought out tumblr feature has been bad for me. To this day I don’t know who it was, but someone I followed must have been big into actual real gore and snuff videos/gifs/pics. Even though tumblr isn’t supposed to have those things, there are still plenty of blogs for them here…which I only discovered because they were constantly being interjected into my feed as being “in your orbit”.

The first ones I clicked on I thought were horror blogs, since I enjoy a lot of horror. I quickly realized the content was real or at least supposed to be real, and started reporting every one of these blogs that popped up. But just because you block and report a blog they recommended doesn’t mean they stop showing you similar content. I had to become very cautious about what I watched here after a real beheading video showed up on my feed. I was horrified.

I will never be able to unsee it.

Eventually I put out a post begging anyone in my vicinity that is interacting with these blogs to block me so I wouldn’t have to see them any more. I didn’t think it would actually work, but those types of blogs and posts thankfully disappeared shortly after I posted my message.

With this new feature, injecting the negative and unhelpful commentary back into my feed…I don’t know how to fix this. I love what I’ve built on this blog in terms of mutual s and the feed I’ve curated, but I might have to delete and restart if this continues.

If I do anything like that I will make it abundantly clear that that is what I am doing. For now I continue to dismiss every post they show me as “not for me” and will have to see what happens.

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intjaverywrites · 7 years

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RobinCeru & why it’s important

[Disclaimer: So the timing of this post may not be the most appropriate, and I have nothing but respect and compassion for the victims of this horrific terrorist attack by Axel Ventura and co., including those at home (like myself) bearing witness.

However, I can’t turn a blind eye to the themes and issues that are being brought to light by him and this show. Call me tasteless, heartless, opportunistic, whatever you want, but these things need to be addressed, and it won’t be any less sensitive now than ten years from now, because let’s face it, there is never going to be a suitable time to talk about the leitmotifs included by a self-proclaimed psychopath.]

This post is going to mainly go into the #RobinCeru ship that is social media’s newest fixation (for now). While among these have been #Alicat, #Millianire, #NavySealMoreno, #crazyknifeguy, #DrFaraday, and other morally questionable men we have either tore apart ten times over despite them having no awareness of our criticisms, or have just stan’d for their entertaining personalities and/or looks, we have somehow managed to get the relationship between #2 and #3 on Mason Solis’ “Skeleton Clique” team into the top ten trending topics for a couple of days.

(I mean, he’s sorta okay when you can’t see his knife, right?)

Arguably, we are all succumbing to exactly what Ventura wants: to be enthralled with this game and its “characters,” as if they are not real life people away from their families and friends, struggling to stay alive in a confined space that is probably a health violation in itself at this point.

Still, when hopelessness takes us all by our chins, forcing us to look at what evil man is capable of, we will do anything to find a silver lining. (May we all take a moment to remember our star, #MsTinTin, whose naïvety we likely will not witness again.)

(We literally all get you, Julian. Quentin was the star we didn’t deserve.)

Although grasping, close to Quentin Roger and his childlike personality is none other than Cerulean Rorschach, who has even been dubbed “Cerubun” for his innocent and vulnerable ambience he brings to a very serious role in this entire show - an antecedent to the real big installment: a dreaded arena presumably mirroring a concept to The Hunger Games.

Cerulean is no stranger to many of us who are not living under a rock, as he was held hostage on May 3rd earlier this year by Ventura, which is also the first time the world learned of the escaped psychiatric patient. After he was rescued, he was awarded a Medal of Freedom honor for seeking the truth in the murders of Henry and Stella Grans, due to threats by Ria Ventura.

He quickly became hailed as “America’s Sweetheart,” with his strawberry blonde hair, uniquely purple eyes, singsong voice, and altruistic personality. During this same incident did we meet Robin Rayner earlier than other contestants in our current show.

(Hold my ovaries.)

Others were more familiar faces: Shane, Quentin, Julian, Minh-Chi, Ayse, Aaron, Mason, Nadia, and Vaughn.

(How many times do you think Shane just thinks, “What the fuck.” while making this face? Crack those fingers, buddy.)

These people met Cerulean’s company, being honorees Nicholas and Dr. Faraday; the latter’s son, Wally; Cerulean’s then-boyfriend, Tadashi; Victor and Roy, two detectives from the case; and who else?

Robin.

It is better understood now that Robin is a colleague of sorts with Cerulean, though the deeper nature of his work is still not explicit (and maybe it’s better that way). Everyone else that had accompanied Cerulean makes logical sense, but why was Robin invited, especially as Tadashi is also his colleague in their workplace?

During the late-night interview after the ceremony, Robin stubbornly came to Cerulean’s defense when Dr. Faraday accused him of being manipulative and in cahoots with Ria. This theme continues throughout the rest of the show, and not once does Robin actually doubt Cerulean.

(I’m not crying. You’re crying.)

Although Robin tends to pick on Cerulean during the show, he never maliciously insults him, and tends to come to his aid when Blaire and James target Cerulean’s confirmed rapes. This seems like a humanly decent thing to do, but in general, when someone begins ganging up on him, Robin is one of the first to speak up about it.

Robin himself is not malleable.

He is not warm. He is not a sycophant. He says things how he sees them. In fact, a good handful of people do not get along with him, but who does?

This angel.

We can say that so far this isn’t really an argument for why this ship has actual merit to its popularity, but bear with me. This is what has really gotten me thinking, but it takes some greater awareness to just what has been going on in this game show. I’ve dug a lot into the footage off-hours too, and I find this is what really connects my thoughts.

RobinCeru is a paradox.

It is cute, it is funny, but god, is it contradictory.

(It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to go “they’re a bit weird.”)

These two men come from different parts of the country, to start. Cerulean has stated since the interview that he has a high emotional quotient, which allows him to work with all types of people on a humane level, empathizing with even sociopaths. Meanwhile, Robin has proven to be a by-the-book, rigid, and unemotional man who sees people like data. Both learn names, faces, connections, but their interpretations are starkly different. And while their emotional and logical conflictions would normally serve as an issue, neither have ever criticized their methods of working with people. Why is that?

Because they respect each other.

And that’s my first point. Robin stands up for Cerulean because he knows, like everyone else, that some of Dr. Faraday’s accusations are baseless, spontaneous, and downright offensive. However, he also respects him enough as a human fucking being to know he deserves so much more than to be told he deserves something as awful as rape. Although he never flat out says something like I’m sorry that’s happening, or I feel bad for you, he instead shows his care through his actions. He defends him, he has even told him to just ignore them. He gets concerned when he goes through panic attacks and dissociative episodes, he always tries to talk him down or wake him up, he always gives him pep talks to keep playing, to not give up.

Sure, to some degree, he needs him to play because the two obviously have an alliance going on, and he also just doesn’t want him to fucking die.

But also what this tells us is Robin has a lot of trust in Cerulean. Despite everything that Blaire, Dr. Faraday, Ventura, Reyes, and every other adversary wants to instill into everyone’s heads. Robin literally throws questions to him because he wants him to stay in the lead and trusts he can do something better with his points and power than he himself could. He trusts that Cerulean is not secretly fucking him over with an alliance with Ria or maybe even someone like Brennan.

He is trusting him with his life. Robin. Robin, the man who we can all agree is a born skeptic.

(Please don’t ask were I got this gif.)

This doesn’t even include the fact they do work together well, coupled with their trust and respect. They both know they have serious and scary things ahead of them. They both know they could verily die together. They both know that out of the other 18 hostages, that they are each other’s ride or die. Each time one goes down, they might say, hey, get up - but if they don’t, they bend down, put them on their back, and carry the torch for them. They pull what the other can’t.

They say that relationships should be 50/50, but they legitimately stop and will take 15-85, 70-30, 10-90, until the other is better. And they each try so hard to get better, because they are conscientious of each other’s struggles that they can’t let them down.

When Cerulean was injected with a needle and lost a great chance of having kids of his own, he should have been out of the game completely. That is life shattering. Especially because we know how he actually loves kids and wanted them. Take into account how protective Robin is toward Wally, and even doesn’t want minors to suffer like Mimi, Jacob, or even Rhett. Robin isn’t cold enough to not feel that loss of what children are. Instead, he helped him through other ways. He tries to make sure Cerulean does not injure his neck more when he passes out. He spends so much of his time trying to wake him up, he even shares his food with him (also who noticed how they always come back from breakfast together talking about something?), and they’re just so relaxing and helpful to each other. This is also seen when Elsaied harassed Robin into an obedient and anxious state, that he suffered a panic attack. Or when he was harassed about his relationship with his best friend in high school, when he was emotionally abused. Cerulean gave him space, he encouraged him when he could, and most importantly, he waited. And Robin came back. It took a while, but he got back to his feet and gave back to his 50.

(Talking to you, Blaire Sinclair.)

If we look beyond their relationship toward the situation, but how they are as individuals, they continue to be contradictory. Cerulean is a popular, handsome, and physically apt man. He has a lot of friends and admirers, he defies his odds like in the Hang In There challenge, and he has a history that portrays him as essentially a standard jock. He is a friend of everyone (literally, as 99% of people on the ship know him), and he is mostly an open book with his life.

Meanwhile, Robin has more withdrawn interests. He works with computers, keeps his identity and past shrouded in mystery, and does not try to connect to others because he knows much of what he has is temporary. He is used to this. He is used to not being emotionally attached or driven. And he’s fine this way. He’s used to it. He doesn’t care what you think about him, he doesn’t try to be charming, or popular, or handsome.

(I just want to hug him... but must... respect... boundaries and trauma...)

While Cerulean’s life is based on how well he connects to people, Robin’s is based on how well he connects people. In this way, we really see where their limits are.

Cerulean’s life has been widely exploited so far in this show. He grew up with a single mother, his uncle, and his younger brother. He took his parents’ divorce so hard he developed a bulimia nervosa eating disorder. He occupied himself with so much positivity that he became ignorant, self-seeking, and privileged. This has hurt people around him, like his brother, or childhood best friend, Mason. He never got into serious romantic relationships. Still, he grew into a better person over time. He became more optimistic, he became more aware of what he was doing, he devoted his life to helping others at the risk of his own well-being and security that he could have easily achieved if he continued on the route he was on.

Meanwhile, Robin didn’t have as much luxury. He grew up unpopular, interested in geeky things (because we all know computers aren’t really that cool in 9th grade), and without many friends. When he had the chance to become popular, he was used, manipulated, and mistreated. He became so cynical about forming relationships and knowing people that liked him for who he was. He was like an animal starved for attention, and would immediately latch onto the first sign of affection - just to be tossed aside and forgotten. So is Robin not the nicest person? Is he hard to know, rude, indifferent? Yes, he is all of those things. But he was treated less than a human should be, and when he learns someone shows that genuine care, I bet he would return it tenfold.

So it’s interesting because they both fit into these archetypes of a jock and a nerd, and it’s what makes their pairing so surreal. It’s something we don’t see in everyday life unless it’s some indulgent, abusive relationship.

Instead, both are such strange forms of each other. Cerulean became a more down-to-earth and sincere person, making his job as a PR more authentic, while Robin stays distant from people, wearing a mask to people so he isn’t hurt again, furthered by his unfeeling job.

Yet, they are not only colleagues, but they are friends. They know they each have shit going on. They know they have shit ahead. They know some things that meet the eye aren’t so. And they don’t sit and talk about it. They just help each other.

Those are one of the best relationships. Where you don’t need to always talk. Where you can go all the way down to 0-100, and they are still there for you. I can’t see either of them walking away from each other at their worsts.

(Let’s be real: they’ll say it once off-camera.)

And maybe it is indulgent, because we do get to see a person like Robin gets attention from an attractive, well-liked, and jocky guy like Cerulean. And we get to see Cerulean nurture a man as disturbed and insecure as Robin.

But you can’t fucking tell me it won’t be amazing when you finally see Robin realize for the first time since he was wronged all those years ago - someone fucking likes me despite all of my fuck ups and flaws and walls, hell, this hair!

Or when Cerulean pauses and thinks when he’s just doing fucking nothing, ‘God, he’s really a good person.’

It doesn’t need to be cute. It doesn’t need to be sexual.

RobinCeru is important because it has so much potential to be a healthy relationship, and to make them grow out of their older states that they built around themselves because of their adolescence. It’s important to us as fans, too, because we see that people can be different and still make it work.

Although this show derived from a shitty joke, this shitty joke is actually really relatable. It’s relatable to either know what it feels like to be at the bottom and get noticed by someone, just to be fucked over. Or we know what it’s like to strive for so much positivity because if you don’t, you might stop and realize that you’re not actually okay at all. We know what it’s like to turn our hearts inward and shy away from people’s open hands, unsure of if they’re giving or taking. And we see this pair, with no obligation apart from staying alive, trust each other, grow as friends without any other catalyst except being kind to each other, dedicate themselves to act 100 when the time calls.

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