#DO YOU START WITH HAVING WALLS THAT ANGLE OUTWARD?

[marginal-notes]

You know what’s a weird question to think about.

How the hell do you build defensive walls when your enemy can walk up them.

Do you try like. To turn your building into a porcupine? Have ways to pressure plate your wall to try catapulting someone off with extreme prejudice?? Straight up design explosive walls????

Why would any important building or defensive fortification in Naruto have straight, smooth exterior surfaces???

Gravity is a suggestion to these people.

[thesecretestblogever]

Could you do prompt 18 with Sid after winning games at worlds please👀

pairing : sidney crosby x reader

w.c. : 800

warnings : MDNI 18+; protected p in v; sweet sex - nothing crazy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The hotel room is quiet save for your shared pants and the slapping of skin as your boyfriend works over you. Your legs are hooked tightly around his torso to hold him as close as possible. Canada won yet another game in the Hockey World Championships, sending them into the semi-finals. Arriving at the hotel in Stockholm meant you experienced wild jet lag and you were exhausted after the flight. That didn’t stop you and Sid from breaking in the bed after their first win in the series the next night. And just like that, it became tradition. Sidney was known for being incredibly superstitious and when they won their next game? Well, having sex after a win quickly became part of the ritual. 

So, the night before finals you found yourself yet again wrapped around him and taking every inch of him. Your fingernails raked down his back as he shifted his hips and hit your sweet spot.

“Sid- fuck, yes, right there,” you gasp out. You’ve had years to learn each others bodies, but it still catches you by surprise how he knows every in and out of you. He can control when he wants you to come. Some nights he likes to draw it out and see how long you can hold off, but tonight after a win, emotions are high and you both chase after your release.

He holds himself above you, his hand softly caressing your cheek before he leans down to capture your lips in his. His hips are strong and he thrusts into you with a delectable rhythm. He’s always so sweet when he’s ruining you - speaking sweet nothings into your ears, nipping at your skin, hands on either side of your head. 

His hand moves to find one of your breasts, squeezing and running his finger over your nipple. You shiver at the touch as your body feels alight with fire. 

“Feel good?” He’s not nearly as breathless as you, a side-effect of increasing stamina through many years of hockey. He could go for hours and you’re usually the one tapping out. 

“So good,” your hands anchor on his shoulder as you moan out. You wonder if any of your room neighbors can hear you - if they’ve put two and two together that every night they win, loud moans trickle through walls and headboards hit rhythmically. 

You push against him to flip yourselves so you ride on top of him. He gladly gives in, pulling you with him as he lays back against the pillows. It gives you the leverage to take control and he looks up at you with such affection it makes your chest swell. Steadying yourself on his chest you resume the sweet fucking.

“New position?” he asks, his hands holding onto the meat of your hips to help guide you and thrust upwards. 

“Can’t hurt, can it?” You rock back and forth on him, looking for the right angle again. “As long as we both get off, I’m sure it still counts,” you moan out as you find it and start chasing the feeling bubbling up inside your belly. You lean forward to messily kiss him and he takes that as his opportunity to hold you there and hammer into you. It’s the exact right spot and you know it won’t take much more for you to come. Your fingers find your clit to quickly rub circles over the soft skin and it’s all you need to reach your peak, warmth blossoming from your core outwards. He works you through it, his thrusts becoming sloppier and less coordinated.

He can’t hold on any longer as you clench around him, folding over and barely holding yourself up. You’re a beautiful whimpering mess and he slams into you one more time before coming himself. He fills the condom with a groan, his head falling back into the pillows as the relief and pleasure sweep through him. 

You take some time to recover and catch your breath. You feel buzzy and tired, your orgasm slowly fading leaving behind the pleasant endorphins. You’ll never get tired of Sidney, even if means fucking every other day to keep up the winning streak. 

You climb off of him, a soft hiss coming from him at the sensitivity of post-coital bliss. You place one more kiss on his plush lips, light and sweet now.

“Same time tomorrow?” He asks with a cheeky smirk that shows off the teeth you love so much. You weakly slap his chest, standing from the bed to take a shower. When you glance behind you, it’s no surprise that he’s following right behind, fumbling to remove the filled condom as quickly as possible to join you in the warm water. He really would be the death of you.

[eddiesxangel]

Your requests are open aaah 💕 OKAY this scenario for Eddie has been on my mind for a while - imagine hooking up with him (could either be a fuckboy or not) and you're worried you might turn him off when you're riding him because you easily get tired (and in past relationships you'd get criticized for it too because those jerks expected you to do all the work).

in the middle of it eddie can sense something wrong and at first you're hesitant to tell him then you eventually give in, scared he'll stop but Eddie just smiles and sweet and just says "well why didn't you say so sweetheart? hold on" and then suddenly he's wrapping his arms around your waist and thrust up into you like an animal and you get overwhelmed with pleasure and Eddie loves the little whimpers / sounds you're making as you bury your face into his neck 😏✨

-@/daisymunson (because sadly it's not my main huhu)

Sorry this took so long

Your chest was heaving as your poor legs have been working tirelessly to bounce on Eddie’s cock.

“Fuck baby, you like that don’t you, fucking so good�� Eddie moaned “I’m going to call you my little bunny. Love hoping on my cock.”

He loved that you took charge that so far every time you’ve fucked, which was only three, you were on top. He could watch your tits bounce for him as your rode him, how your fingers dug into his shoulders for balance. How you would lean down into him to kiss which only made him slip in deeper.

You wanted to enjoy yourself, you loved the feeling of his cock brushing up against your inner walls but, god you were so tired.

The pain in your thighs was more intense than the feeling of Eddie inside of you. The only thing you could focus on was the burning in your thighs, you were worried you would cramp up if you kept going so you slowed down.

“What’s wrong? Are you not into this?” Eddie could see you were off in another world. You hadn’t been making as much eye contact, your face was scrunching up like you were in pain.

“No ,I am… it’s just” you trailed off with heavy breaths as you paused.

“Tell me” he squeezed the sides of your hips, only making your pussy clench down on him.

“My legs are tired…” you let out an embarrassed laugh.

“Baby why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you’d be turned off if I made you do all that work…”

“Why the hell would I be turned off by that?” He guides your chin with a single finger to look at him.

Your eyes looked down as your face turned hot. The other men you’d been with expected you to be in top, so what would make Eddie any different?

“Because everyone else has…”

“Everyone else— who? what?" Eddie stumbled over his words. He was dumbfounded. "so you never had someone on top of you?!" he needed to clarify.

you shamefully shake your head no and eddie moves into action at lightning speed, flipping you on your back unexpectedly.

"now baby, you just lay there and look pretty. Let me do all of the work."

His hard cock re-enters you and at this angle he is so deep inside you let out a cry of pleasure.

Eddie's hips rut into you at a speed at which you could never gain while you were on top. The sensation was so overwhelming you lost yourself in the moment.

Your soft mewls quickly turned into long outwards moans of pleasure.

Eddie’s never see you so fucked out there was no way you were getting on top in a while if this is how he could make you feel.

His big hands were pressed to the backs of your plush thighs, pushing them as wide as you’re let them.

“Fuck you’re taking my cock so good baby, sucking me in so good it’s hard to pull out.” His eyes focused on the place where you connected. He loved seeing the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock with each thrust into you.

You were lost in the feeling, overpowered by what Eddie was able to give you. Was this the kind of sex you’re been missing out on? Being taken care of your partner. Yes it was.

Your body started to tighten as the impending orgasm was to wash over you. You felt light headed and the only thing you could focus on was how Eddie’s cock pounding inside your pussy. Your hands grabbed his back and your legs wrapped around him like a koala bear, pulling him closer and closer. You never wanted to disconnect your bodies after this.

“Eddie!” You screamed as your pussy clamped down on his cock and a rush of pleasure flowed through your body.

“Yea that’s it, fucking cum on my cock” his hips never slowed, the room was filled with the wet snaking sound of skin on skin. The room smelled of sex and sweat. Your haze never lifted until Eddie’s hips sputtered as he came.

You broke the minutes of silence of catching your breath.

“I didn’t know it could be like that”

“There are so many more positions I want you in baby we are just getting started.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[marlynnofmany]

Honking Trouble

This job was a pain from the start. The customer was pushy, giving Captain Sunlight a run for her money on the diplomacy front — not bad enough for us to refuse to make the delivery, but pushing the boundaries — and the cargo was awkward. 

And since it was animals, that was my problem. 

“Keep your distance,” I told Zhee. “I think it can get its beak between the bars.” The cage was large and rickety, with bars a few inches apart. As if to prove me right, a long furry neck with a beak at the end stabbed outward and hissed at us. 

Zhee flared his pincher arms and hissed back, but the creature wasn't impressed. It just spread its batlike wings as far as the cage would allow and made a surprisingly deep honk that echoed through the cargo bay. 

I hadn’t read the documents yet about what kind of animal this was, from which planet, but if those documents turned out to say this was a genetic experiment in unwise combinations, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised. It was vaguely goose-shaped, just with four feet instead of two, equipped with talons instead of webs, white fur instead of feathers, and a beak that ended in a wickedly sharp hook. After all the hawks and parrots I’d encountered back on Earth, that beak looked ready for either mischief or violence. Probably both.

At any rate, the goose-thing’s honk set off the tiny creatures in the other cage, which thankfully were better contained. That cage was a mesh sphere not about to let any of the little drifting dust motes out. As enchanting as it might be to have the spaceship filled with colorful bits of fluff that moved gracefully and made a chorus of tiny peeps, they just looked like allergies waiting to happen. And I didn't want to think about finding them behind the wall panels later. 

Zhee hissed at the furry demon goose again, clearly hoping to frighten it into submission. No luck. 

“Knock it off,” I told him. “That'll just make it louder. Here, help me get the lifter under the cage.” The customer had brought the cage onboard for us, but this wasn't a good spot for it. So it was up to me, the resident animal expert, to get it moved safely to a room more suited to animal cargo. Nobody wanted to sneak past this biter to get to the rest of the crates. 

Luckily we had a freshly refurbished hoversled with a lifting scoop that could slide under anything as long as the thing in question held still. I convinced Zhee to hold the cage stationary, since his exoskeleton was tougher than my fingers. The goose-thing pecked at him from an awkward angle. I worked the controls, and soon our misbehaving cargo was lifted up onto the sled. 

I looked over at the round cage full of chirping alien pixies. “Let's come back for that one.”  

“Agreed.”

The goose was quiet while we moved it down the hall, taking in the sights with all the attention of someone casing the joint. I told myself not to be too judgmental. Maybe it had never been on a spaceship before, and was curious.

Then Blip walked out of a side corridor, wearing her favorite flowy silk outfit that made her look like a muscley flower, and no: the goose was just looking for opportunities. It snapped at the nearest hem and almost got a beakful, but Blip moved just in time. Then she scolded it for almost ripping quality Frillian clothes.

“Do you know how hard this is to replace? Of course you don’t; you’re a rude animal.” She shook a blue finger at the unrepentant goose. Behind her, Blop appeared and aimed his own frown into the cage.

“Sorry,” I said. “Don’t get too close to this one. At least it was only aiming for your clothes, not something that would bleed.”

Blip folded muscular arms, flared her frills, and scowled. “It would have regretted that.”

I sighed, pushing the hoversled forward. “Don’t punch the cargo.”

Blip muttered as we left. There were no further incidents on the way into Storage Hold B, and the goose didn’t even try to bite us as we got the cage off the sled. It was busy inspecting the view: boxes, cabinets, and the large clear containment pen that had held troublemaking cargo before. It would have been nice to shove this guy in there, but the cage wouldn’t fit through the door, and there was no way I was going to voluntarily let it out.

“I’m watching you,” I told it as I followed Zhee back into the hall. Technically Kavlae was watching, or maybe Wio — whoever was in the cockpit behind the security cameras. They’d be making sure the onboarding process went smoothly before the ship took off.

I knew that, but I was still surprised to hear Kavlae’s voice on the hallway intercom a few minutes later.

“Walk faster,” she said from a single speaker. “It’s trying to open a box.”

“It can reach that??” I asked, pushing the hoversled more quickly. The aura puffs squeaked and twirled. (Their cage had a label, with a species description and the number of creatures inside. They were behaving.)

Zhee scurried ahead on his many bug legs to open the door. Before I could get there, he charged inside, hissing again. I heard answering hisses and the sound of a crate being scraped across the floor.

Once I got the aura puffs into the room, I found Zhee inspecting a gnawed-on box corner with splinters on the floor. The goose looked pleased with itself.

I asked, “What’s the damage?”

“Nothing significant,” Zhee said. “Luckily this is our own ship’s supplies, not something for a client.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t look good.” I parked the sled. “‘Here’s your delivery! You don’t mind a little artistic nibbling about the edges, do you?’ I’m sure that would go over well.”

Zhee shoved a couple other boxes further back and helped me set the aura puffs a safe distance away. Then, under Kavlae’s watchful eye, we went back to the cargo bay for some non-animal cargo.

The intercom chimed before we got there. “It’s trying to pick the lock on its cage,” Kavlae said, still on single-speaker mode. “I don’t know if it c— Oh no, it’s out.”

I left the sled in the middle of the hallway and ran, with Zhee right behind me.

Speakers all along the hall chorused, “It opened the other cage.”

I said a very unprofessional word and charged forward to slam my hand on the door-opening panel. Expecting the one cargo to be actively eating the other, I dashed inside, only to be knocked off my feet by the goose making a break for it. I fell amid clouds of happily chirping aura puffs.

Zhee lunged for the goose, but it dodged what would have been a very painful hug from his pincher arms, and I heard it honking triumphantly down the hall. Zhee ran after it while the whole-ship intercom chimed.

“Escaped cargo. It is large and likes to bite. Currently heading towards the crew lounge. Captain, permission to use stun guns on the cargo?”

After a moment, Captain Sunlight answered from somewhere else on the ship. “Permission granted. All available crew, arm yourselves and proceed with caution. Kavlae, keep us posted on its whereabouts.”

Trying not to feel like a failure, I scrambled to my feet and checked a cabinet for stun guns. Found one. Waving the aura puffs away from the door, I regretfully left them floating about the storage hold while I chased after the bigger problem. Zhee had already disappeared.

I met Trrili in the hall.

“How dangerousss is thisss animal?” she asked, looming over me and flexing her pincher arms in delight.

“I don’t think it wants to seriously hurt anyone, but I can’t say for sure,” I said. “It might go for the eyes if it’s cornered. Try not to damage it.”

“Frrrrightening causesss no damage,” Trrili said, and flashed away down the hall.

I ran after.

Kavlae reported, “It’s in the crew lounge, searching the furniture, probably looking for food. This could be a good place to corner it.”

Trrili waited in position outside the lounge when I arrived, crouched like a spider ready to spring. Zhee was moving toward the kitchen entrance to flank it. A flash of yellow scales at the other end of the hall was Captain Sunlight hurrying forward with a stun gun aimed at the floor. The goose made a muffled honk from inside the lounge, crunching something that sounded like snack food scavenged from under the couch.

I stopped behind Trrili and waited for everyone to get into position. Two threatening predators and two stun guns ought to be a recipe for success against one alien goose.

Then the goose dashed into the kitchen before Zhee could get there, and the whole plan went out the window.

Trrili raced after it. Zhee got in the captain’s way. I reached the kitchen in time to see the creature hiss in defiance before prying open a cabinet door.

It might have thought that was an exit. In reality, it was Paint’s hiding spot, and she shrieked fit to shatter eardrums, curling into a ball of scales and panic.

That was enough of a distraction for Mimi to drop from the high shelf he’d been waiting on, and wrap the demon goose in all of his tentacles. It was surprisingly effective.

That’s not the plan, but I’ll take it.

Everyone was shouting and in the way. I followed Mimi’s example and climbed onto a counter, where I could get a clear shot with the stun gun and not hit him.

I stunned the goose in the butt, and it finally stopped flapping.

It took a while for all the yelling to subside, but the captain wriggled past Zhee and Trrili to declare no harm done. Kavlae told the rest of the ship. Mimi untangled himself from the goose, who had frozen in an inconvenient position. Paint stayed in the cabinet. Zhee clicked away to get the hoversled, then stopped when Trrili simply dragged the goose towards the hold.

Captain Sunlight looked up at me. “Good shot.”

“Thanks,” I said, getting down from the counter. I’d have to wash the footprints off that later. “Paint, it’s safe to come out.”

Mimi was already coaxing her out of the cabinet, offering some of the snacks that she’d apparently been eating when she heard the alert about the dangerous animal.

Speaking of which, I thought. With Paint in good hands (or the equivalent), I hurried after the others. I heard Captain Sunlight say a few words to Paint and Mimi before following.

So we got to put the goose in the Clear Pen For Naughty Animals after all. This pen didn’t have anywhere it could stick its beak out of once the stun wore off, only mesh-covered air vents way at the top and a door that locked (very reliably) from the outside.

Take that, you troublemaker.

We caught the aura puffs carefully by hand (or the equivalent), and put them back in their own cage. Thankfully the goose hadn’t damaged the latch, just opened it with bird-brained cleverness.

“It’s just those last two left,” Captain Sunlight said after counting. “Up there.”

The two in question were floating higher than her little lizardy arms could reach, so I moved to do the honors. As I did, Blip and Blop arrived with the bug-catching net that no one had been able to find earlier.

They also brought with them a feline blur that I caught mid-leap, just before Telly snatched an aura puff out of the air.

“Not for you,” I said, heart beating wildly. “Let’s get you some proper cat treats that don’t belong to a paying customer.”

Blip and Blop exclaimed loudly at Telly’s speed, my reaction time, and the fact that they’d had no idea she was there; they were sorry they almost got the cargo eaten.

Captain Sunlight repeated, “No harm done.” She waved me off to my quarters with the disgruntled cat, and spoke to the others about plans to notify the customer of just what kind of danger fee he’d brought upon himself by not properly securing his chaos-causing animal.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[oh-no-its-dragons]

Counter Shenanigans

For @empyreanevents' Bodhi Week, day 3: countering signet.

Personal challenge checklist: ☑ don't mention Xaden ☑ Bodhi has a nice day

It was a rare quiet afternoon in the latter part of Bodhi's first year at Basgiath. The spring weather was nice but not too warm, and he found himself a nice spot to sit near the courtyard, out of the way but enjoying a patch of warm sunlight and a pirate novel that Eya had leant him.

A shadow fell over the sunlight and Bodhi looked up to find Dain looking curiously at the book's cover.

"You're interested in pirates?" Dain sounded curious. He'd been kind of stiff lately since he started hooking up with his section leader, according to Imogen, but he seemed fine to Bodhi. Not that they were talking a lot.

Bodhi offered it to Dain, who took it and flipped through it. "A friend recommended it. Apparently pirate novels are all the rage right now. This is the second one and Eya said she has at least four more."

"Oh, it's a novel," Dain handed it back, sounding disappointed. "I'd love to have someone to talk about historical piracy with."

"That sounds like something scribes would be into?" Bodhi offered. 

"Maybe." 

Something flicked past Dain's ear and stuck to the wall over Bodhi's head. "What-" Another one zipped by, at an angle where Bodhi could see where it landed. A spitball? Seriously?

Dain just sighed. "Somebody's been shooting them at me all day, but I think they're an air wielder because I can't see anyone doing it."

Bodhi sat up, making space for Dain to sit next to him on his bench. Dain might not be his favorite person, but he had a feeling he knew who was an air wielder and would be stalking him just to fling spitballs around 90 degree angles. Besides, it was good practice.

He let Cuir's power bubble up through him and then outward in the general direction he guessed Garrick was hiding in, twisting his wrist in the gesture he'd starting using to help himself focus during Carr's class.

A minute later, Bodhi heard Garrick's distinctive "oh come on!" across the courtyard. Bodhi snickered. 

Dain looked from Bodhi's hand back to his face. "What's your signet?"

"I call it 'okay, guys, knock it off," Bodhi grinned at him. "Very useful, as you can see."

"I kind of wish I had that one," Dain admitted. "You hardly need it, everybody likes you. I want you to be my XO if I make squad leader next year."

"Hardly everybody," Bodhi said, looking down at the relic that twisted up his arm. He and Dain had been almost close at the start of the year, weirdly for someone whose dad was in leadership. It might be nice to share his little patch of sun with someone for the afternoon. "But anyway, Dain, why don't you tell me about pirates?"

[nectar-cellar]

Hi, how are you! I was wondering what nose sliders you use? I’m jealous that you don’t use nosemasks! I need the tea

heyyy :3 oh i have a wall of text for you.

i only avoid nose mask makeup because i can never remember which one i used on who + i dislike color matching as i can never get it exactly right. so i just avoid it to keep it simple for myself. i try to keep makeup minimal on my sims since i often change up their makeup. i like the look of it on other people's sims, it can add a lot to an aesthetic, you should go ahead and use them if you want!

well the first thing is to use a skin that already has a cute nose on it, because you don't want to fight with a texture you dislike.

i end up adjusting a lot of sliders... i can't think of an easy way to describe how i shape the nose. i'll give some general tips for how i personally do it below. i do have my sliders folder up for download in my tagged/dl: sims if you want it but i think it's more about how you use any sliders you do have and the overall shape/proportions of the nose, rather than which sliders because there is no one slider that will create the ideal nose. it's more about creating your own nose-sculpting technique which i'm sure is different for everyone, and creating a nose that suits the sim you're envisioning.

my hobby is watching makeup and plastic surgery videos so i guess i think about noses and facial features a lot. i will discuss tips, settings, and specific sliders below...

i am only sharing my process, there is no correct way to make sims, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and nose shapes can vary so much.

i like to start with a clean slate. if i'm doing a townie makeover i will usually have a look at their slider settings and reset any extreme ones back to zero, or reduce those settings to less extreme values.

head section -> i set the (base game) Face Profile slider to about 100 or 200. this brings the nose and chin out so you get more projection from the 3/4 view and from the side no matter what your nose settings are.

nose section -> (base game) Nose Definition slider: i keep this one between -100 to 100. i like a softer look to the nose. at higher settings i find the definition looks too harsh. for flatter noses especially for sims of colour i'll reduce the nose definition to -50 or -100, sometimes more if it looks right.

(base game) Nose Scale and Nose Width sliders: i usually will reset these to zero if i'm doing a townie makeover because i often disagree with EA's slider values. the nose anchors the face so by setting it back to zero it helps me judge other proportions of the face, as well as parts of the nose itself. the nose scale and width are usually the final adjustments i make.

(base game) Nose Mass slider: for very defined noses i tend to keep this at zero or 25, for softer or flatter noses i will increase this to around 100 or more, it just adds softness/mass/width to the nose bridge area.

(base game) Nose Rotate slider: i keep this slider fairly neutral between -75 and 75. when deciding on the upturned/downturned angle of the nose, i adjust this slider first, then go back and adjust more later if needed.

(base game) Nose Tip Scale slider: this affects how much the nose tip juts out from the side view, and how wide your nose tip looks from the front. i usually keep this one at -50 to -200. it's about proportions though. you might want to enlarge the nose tip if the profile lacks outward projection, or if you're just sculpting a nose with a bigger and wider tip. if you already have quite a defined, strong nose then you might want to make the tip smaller to keep the nose shape overall proportionate. if you have a large nose tip, you might want to make other parts of the nose smaller/weaker to sort of let the bulbous nose tip have its spotlight.

(base game) Nose Tip Rotate slider: after i do the Nose Rotate slider, i go to this slider to decide how much i should rotate the nose tip specifically, to see what angle looks good with the nose's overall angle.

Nose Tip Width slider: pretty self explanatory, you can create a daintier or stronger nose tip by adjusting the width. cc slider linked below. not sure if base game has one

Nose Tip Height slider: so this defines how high or low the nose tip "stretches" down, kinda hard to describe and the right setting depends on the nose shape but i use this quite often. it miiight be a cc slider i'm not sure

(base game) nose bridge sliders: for the profile, i adjust the nose bridge depth, nose bridge rotation, and nose bridge height sliders to get the angle i want. then i adjust the nose bridge width which affects how the sim looks from straight on.

finally for the nostrils, i usually set the definition, height, scale back to zero then i adjust it to be proportionate with the nose i'm sculpting. also i will fine-tune the rotation of the nostrils here to make them more or less flared. you can use the Nostril Scale slider and the Nose Width slider together as they both affect how wide the nose looks.

sliders i love

thornsofpeace - thornsboxynosetip slider. so this slider basically creates a narrower, more defined nose tip that i cannot replicate with any other slider. i keep it at 0 to 100, maybe up to 200 for very defined/prominent noses. or very itty bitty bella hadid noses.

simtanico - nostril widen slider. this slider makes the nostrils wider which is very useful and can't really be replicated with other sliders. i usually set this to 100, sometimes 200 or 300 for sims with more prominent nostrils. i use this in combination with other nostril rotating/lifting sliders. simtanico has a lot of nose sliders to try out but i use this one the most.

simtanico - nostril lift slider. i use this slider with the one above to get more flared/lifted nostrils. the amount really depends on the nose/face.

oneeuromutt - nose tip y scale: this slider affects the side profile and the nose tip from the front, basically making the nose look more or less sharp/defined

oneeuromutt - nose tip width: self explanatory

oneeuromutt - nose tweak: an interesting slider that can flare the nostrils and nose shape outwards or inwards

oneeuromutt default replacement nose sliders - good to have

and there are more sliders i use here and there of course but i think those are the main ones.

[magic-shop-stories]

You are amazing, I just love your writing so much, especially BTS Dad scenarios. I am addicted! So I wanted to ask if you could write some headcanons or short imagine of the BTS members having a child, their gender is up to you, that wants to race. Like they love F1 and racing in general and want to do it as well. I cannot get this out of my head and would die to read something like this. Preferably with Yoongi of Jungkook, but I leave that up to you. I hope that's not to weird, if so just ignore me but thanks in advance.

💌 Reply:

OH MY GOD THIS REQUEST MADE ME SQUEAL LIKE A 10-YEAR-OLD AT THEIR FIRST F1 RACE!!!! 🏎️ (Which, fun fact, was me. I had a Vettel poster on my wall and everything...) THANK YOU FOR THIS MASTERPIECE OF A PROMPT!!! I loved writing these headcanons and may have fallen into a 3-hour rabbit hole about Asian F4 teams? ADHD isn't a joke xD If you want a full imagine, my DMs are WIDE OPEN. 🏁 I hope it's what you wanted, if not - let me know. – c – 💜 ohh and THANK YOU P.S. tumblr decided to crumble every time I tried to add pics, and my migraine is currently killing me, so please forgive me for the missing pics...

BTS as Racing Dads Headcanons

Pairings:  OT7 x Child!Reader (Parent/Child Dynamics) Rating: PG (K+) Genre: family fluff, sports drama, hurt/comfort Warnings: none

KIM NAMJOON (RM)

CHILD

Name: Soo-Yeon (she/her)

Team: Prema Racing (F4 → F3 → F2), Possible Future: Red Bull Junior Team (Engineering-Focused Development Route)

[note: she’ll probably be the only driver who sends Prema engineers correction emails with footnotes]

Personality: 

cerebral introvert

quiet obsession for motorsport engineering

not drawn to the glamour of racing but to the physics of it

= fluid dynamics, tire compounds, energy recovery systems

bedroom walls plastered with diagrams of F1 aerodynamics

scribbles differential equations on her homework

HOW IT BEGINS

at age 12

she stumbles upon a documentary about Adrian Newey

becomes fixated

builds miniature wind tunnels out of cardboard and obsessively testing toy car designs

Namjoon finds her at 2 a.m.

= adjusting the angle of a paper rear wing with surgical precision

First Conversation

“Appa, did you know downforce is just controlled air resistance? It’s… math in motion.”

he blinks

coffee forgotten

“You… built this?” 

kneels beside her

studying her makeshift lab

“Explain it to me. Slowly.”

NAMJOON’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a genius. A literal genius.”

Worry

“Racing is dangerous. What if she gets hurt? What if the world exploits her mind?”

Guilt

“Did I push her into overthinking? Is this my fault?”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Let’s start with the basics. What’s your favorite part? The engineering or the speed?”

Week 2:

“I found a junior karting team with a good engineer. Interested?”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

education first

enrolls her in STEM camps

tho lets her skip lectures to shadow a Hyundai N mechanic

“Experience is the best teacher.”

karting phase

buys a used kart

insists she designs the modifications herself

“You want to race? Build it first.” 

they spend nights in the garage

her hands greasy, his glasses smudged

safety obsession

researches FIA safety protocols

gifts her a custom HANS device for her 15th birthday (Head and Neck Support device)

“Your brain is your greatest asset. Protect it.”

CONFLICTS

First Crash

she flips her kart during a test run

he sprints to the track

panic clawing his throat

finds her already out, scribbling notes on a clipboard

“The roll cage held! My calculations were right!”

His Response

Outward Calm

“Good. Now let’s improve the chassis.”

Inward Meltdown

calls Yoongi at 3 a.m

“Hyung, what if I’m failing her, what if she gets hurt?”

LEAP TO F4

at 15/16

recruited by a Formula 4 team

he negotiates her contract

adding clauses for academic continuity

“You’ll finish school. And change the game.”

Proudest Moment

watching her explain energy recovery systems to engineers twice her age

“That’s my kid...”

Quote to Her

“You’re not just a driver. You’re a visionary. Make them see it too.”

KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)

CHILD

Name: Ha-Eun (she/her)

Team: Kart Republic → Iron Dames (F4/F3), Possible Future: Ferrari Driver Academy (if she pushes herself hard)

Personality

bubbly, competitive extrovert

lives for the thrill of the race and the cheers of the crowd

she’s less about the mechanics

more about the drama

customizing her kart with glitter sticker

naming it “Pink Lightning”

trash-talking Jin (and the rest of Bangtan) during backyard races

her dream?

= be the first (female) F1 driver with a themed victory dance

HOW IT BEGINS

during a family outing at an amusement park

she drags Jin to the go-kart track

overtakes him on the final lap

“BYE, APPA!”

staff hands her a plastic trophy

“I’m gonna be a racing queen.”

First Conversation

Ha-Eun: “Appa, I’m faster than your dad jokes!” Jin: “Yah! That’s Worldwide Handsome’s kart you’re insulting!” 

fake-pouts, then grins

“But fine. Let’s see if you can handle real competition.”

JIN’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a star. A sparkly, chaotic star.”

Panic

“What if she flips the kart? What if someone breathes on her wrong?”

Excitement

“Finally, a worthy rival for my Singin’ in the Rain karaoke crown.”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Okay, champ. Rule #1: Always let your Appa win. Rule #2: Never follow Rule #1.”

Week 2:

“I booked us matching racing suits. Yours has glitter. Mine has my face.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

themed training

turns practice into “Jin/ Ha-Eun Grand Prix” events

cones become “dinosaur obstacles”

pit stops involve juice boxes and dad-joke riddles

“What’s a race car’s favorite snack? Vroom-sticks!”

safety first (but make it fashion)

buys her a neon pink helmet with “PRINCESS OF SPEED” on the side

“Safety’s boring unless it’s fabulous.” 

secretly researches the safest tracks

social media hype

posts slow-mo videos of her wins set to “I’m the Best” by 2NE1

caption: “Future F1 CEO. (P.S. I taught her everything.)”

CONFLICTS

First Loss

she loses a local race by 0.5 seconds

throws her gloves

yelling

“I HATE KARTING!”

Jin’s Response

outward calm

“Okay, let’s hate together. Dramatic sigh I hate… broccoli. And slow Wi-Fi.”

inward angst

texts Yoongi

“How do I fix a broken heart? Asking for a tiny dictator.”

solution

hosts a “Losers’ Party” with pizza, disco lights, and a dance-off

“Win the next race, and we’ll crash a real F1 party. Deal?”

LEAP TO COMPETITIVE KARTING

at 11

she joins a regional league

he becomes her hype man

waving a custom banners

“HA-EUN: FASTEST & PRETTIEST.”

Proudest Moment

watching her podium speech

“Thanks to my Appa, who’s almost as cool as my kart.” 

he fake-sobs into the mic

“She’s lying! I’m cooler!”

Quote to Her

“Remember: If you’re not first, you’re… still my favorite. But always try to be first.”

note: definiteley plays EA F1 with her, or the sim but NEVER wins

MIN YOONGI (SUGA)

CHILD

Name: Yumi (she/her)

Team: Hitech GP or ART Grand Prix, Possible Future: Alpine Academy (quiet prodigy path)

[note: pit engineers start whispering, “She sees lines we don’t” after analyzing her onboard footage]

Personality

fierce, stubborn introvert with a gasoline-and-metal soul

she’s tactical

calculating lap times in her head during dinner

thrives under pressure

her idea of small talk? 

“Appa, do you think Verstappen’s tire strategy in Singapore ’23 was reckless?”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 10 (after years of building Carrera tracks, and decorating her walls with team posters)

she discovers an old racing sim in Yoongi’s studio

he’d bought it years ago (probably for a one time try)

she sneaks in

cracks the top 10 global leaderboard under the username “SHADOWSPEED”

Yoongi finds her asleep at the rig

hands still gripping the controller

First Conversation

“…You did this?”

gestures to the screen where her lap record glows

Yumi: “It’s not hard. Just physics.” Yoongi: “Wear these. The engine sounds are better.”

silently hands her his noise-canceling headphones

YOONGI’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a goddamn prodigy.”

Terror

flashbacks of his own accident

= rain-slick roads, injured shoulder, the smell of burnt rubber

“What if she…?”

Resolve

“If she’s gonna do this, I’ll make sure she’s safe. Even if it kills me.”

What He Says

Day 1:

“You want to race? Fine. But you learn to fix the engine first.”

Week 2

slaps a fireproof racing suit on the kitchen table

“Try it on. Before you argue.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

karting phase

buys a secondhand kart

spends months reinforcing the chassis himself (with her)

“Safety isn’t optional. Ever.”

F4 debut

pulls all strings to get her a spot on a team

insists on meeting every engineer

“The car’s data system is shit. Upgrade it or I walk.”

rainy day ritual

texts her a single emoji before wet races: 🌧️

code for “Don’t be a hero. Just come home.”

CONFLICTS

Crash

she spins out during a monsoon-like F3 qualifier

Yoongi watches from the pit wall

jaw clenched so tight he almost cracks a molar

when she limps back, he barks

“You’re done.”

Her Rebellion

Yumi: “You don’t get it! This is my life!” Yoongi: “I do get it. I’ve..” 

slams his fist on the table

voice shaking

rolls up his sleeve

shows the surgery scar on hie shoulder

“This is what ‘life’ looks like when it goes wrong.”

Resolution

they don’t speak for days

Yoongi appears at her door with a helmet

modified with extra impact padding

“Race smart. Or I’ll sell the sim.”

SUZUKA GIFT

her 14th birthday

he tosses her an envelope

inside, two VIP passes to the Japanese Grand Prix

“Pack your bags. And… bring a notebook. Take notes on the real pros.”

At Suzuka

she vibrates with excitement

scribbling notes on tire temps and apex speeds

Yoongi is silent

grips her hand during the start

“If you ever…”

he stops

clears his throat

“Just watch, yeah?”

that night, he admits it over ramen

“I hate this. But I'd hate seeing you not do it more.”

ONGOING SUPPORT

custom safety gear

commissions a fireproof suit

her name stitched inside

“For luck. Don’t tell the team.”

post-race ritual

plays her a lullaby-like piano track he composed

“Checkered Flag Lullaby”

it calms her adrenaline

legacy

secretly funds a junior racing scholarship in her name

“So the next kid doesn’t need a scared shitless dad to make it.”

JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)

CHILD

Name: Min-Jae (he/him)

Team: Williams Racing Young Design Talent → Karting Support Team Livery Artist → Mercedes Junior Creative Division, Possible Future: Lead Livery Director for Mercedes or independent design phenom running his own F1 visual branding agency

Personality

bubbly, hyper-creative whirlwind with a neon imagination

hands are perpetually stained with marker ink

tarted sketching liveries at 5

he talks a mile a minute about "making cars dance with colors!"

he names his designs things like “Rainbow Rocket” and “Glitter Shark”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 5

Min-Jae scribbles a chaotic, crayon masterpiece on the living room wall

= a race car with rainbow flames and polka-dot wheels

J-Hope, mid-dance practice, freezes

“Yah! Is that… a car?” 

he beams

“Appa, it’s faster than your moves!”

First Conversation

“Explain this. Now.” 

trying to sound stern but failing miserably

Min-Jae: “The polka dots are speed bubbles! And the rainbow is for when it flies!” J-Hope: “…You’re a genius. But never draw on walls again. Here, use this.” 

hands him a F1 sketchbook

J-HOPE’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“My kid’s a creative monster! Look at those colors!”

Panic

“How do I nurture this without our house turning into a graffiti warzone?”

Excitement

“We’re gonna collab. Father-son design duo. Let’s go!”

What He Says

Day 1:

“Min-Jae-ya, let’s make a rule: Paper only. Unless it’s Appa’s dance shoes... those need glitter.”

Week 2: 

“... gonna teach you about balance. No, not math... color balance! It’s like choreography for your eyes!”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

art studio overhaul

converts the guest room into “Min-Jae’s Mad Lab”

= walls covered in whiteboard paint

shelves stocked with every art supply known to humankind

J-Hope hangs a sign: “Caution: Genius at Work.”

field trips

takes him to the Seoul Auto Show

letting him interrogate designers

“Why is that car boring? It needs fangs!” 

J-Hope translates

“He’s asking about… aerodynamic expression!”

matching kits

designs father-son overalls with “Team Hope-Jae” logos

Min-Jae adds doodles to J-Hope’s pair

= a tiny ARMY bomb with wings

CONFLICTS

Meltdown

Min-Jae throws a marker at a failed design

“It’s ugly! I hate it!” 

J-Hope swoops in

spinning him in a chair

His Response

tough love

“Yah! Markers are for art, not tantrums.”

encouragement

“Remember when Appa fell during ‘Dope’? I ate the stage! You gotta own the mess!”

collaboration

they “trash” the design together

splattering paint everywhere

the result?

livery titled “Chaos Victory”

LEAP TO KARTING

at 9/10

local karting team asks Min-Jae to design their livery

J-Hope films the entire process for VLOG content

crying behind the camera

“That’s my son! Look at him glow!”

Proudest Moment

watching Min-Jae present his design

= a tiger-striped kart with holographic accents

team owner whispers

“He’s… ten?” 

J-Hope grins

“Nine next week. Discount rate.”

Quote to Him

“You’re not just an artist. You’re joy on wheels. Make the world dance with you!”

PARK JIMIN

CHILD/TWINS

Names: Min-Jae (son) & Hae-Won (daughter)

Personalities

Min-Jae

Team: Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: Red Bull Racing (F1) or AlphaTauri as his launchpad

[note: already has a penalty record in karting]

hot-headed

bold

fiercely competitive

drives for Red Bull Racing - Young Driver Programme

idolizes Max Verstappen’s aggression

wore his racing gloves during dinner when he was younger

Hae-Won

Team: McLaren - Young Driver Programme, Possible Future: McLaren F1 Team or Aston Martin (Talent-Precision Hybrid Route)

analytical

ice-cool under pressure

races for McLaren - Young Driver Programme

worships Lando Norris

keeps a race logbook titled “Emotion is Drag."

Dynamic

sibling rivalry on steroids

they debate tire strategies over breakfast

bet allowance money on lap times

refuse to carpool to the track

HOW IT BEGINS

at 4

they’re given toy karts for Christmas (Jungkooks gift)

Jimin films them racing around the living room

giggling as they crash into the couch

by 12, they’re dominating local karting leagues

Min-Jae wins by sheer grit

Hae-Won by calculating apex speeds

First Rivalry Flashpoint

during a regional final

Hae-Won blocks Min-Jae on the last lap

he retaliates, spinning her out

Jimin, watching in horror, sprints to the track

Jimin’s Reaction

outward:

forces them to shake hands

“You’re teammates first. Always.”

inward:

cries in the bathroom

texting Namjoon

“Hyung, what if I’m ruining them?”

JIMIN’S DAD MODE

Support System

dual team gear

wears a Red Bull cap and McLaren jacket to races

“I’m Switzerland. Neutral but fabulous.”

pre-race rituals

braids Hae-Won’s hair

for “aerodynamics”

tightens Min-Jae’s helmet strap

“Breathe. Think. Don’t murder each other.”

slips handwritten notes into their cars

“Proud of you. Love, Appa.”

Conflict Mediator

post-race debriefs

hosts “Family Meetings” with a whiteboard

“Min-Jae, stop dive-bombing. Hae-Won,stop smirking when he does.”

therapy sessions

drags them to family counseling

therapist quits after three sessions

“They’re… ´too passionate.” 

JIMIN’S FEARS

safety

stares at crash compilations at 3 a.m. 

“What if I lose them both in one day?”

sibling estrangement

finds Hae-Won crying after Min-Jae calls her a “robot”

Jimin tucks her into his side

“He doesn’t mean it. He’s just… bad at feelings.”

burnout

cancels a tour date to attend their first F3/2 race

“They’ll only be kids once. Priorities.”

BREAKTHROUGH

Monaco F2 Incident

Min-Jae and Hae-Won qualify P2 and P3

on lap 15, they battle through the hairpin

tires screeching, inches apart

Jimin clutches one of the members arms so hard he leaves bruises (they all came to watch)

Post-Race

they podium together

Hae-Won 1st, Min-Jae 3rd

instead of fighting, Min-Jae hugs her

“Don’t get used to it...” 

Jimin sobs into a custom Red Bull-McLaren flag

Jimin’s Proudest Moment

overhearing Hae-Won defend Min-Jae to a reporter

“He’s the only driver I’d trust to race wheel-to-wheel with.”

KIM TAEHYUNG (V)

CHILD

Name: Min-Jae (he/him)

nicknamed "MJ" by the press

"Jae-Jae" by Taehyung

Team: Ferrari Driver Academy (F4 → F3 → F2)

Personality

firecracker with a Senna poster taped to his bedroom ceiling

brash, fearless

allergic to caution

MJ thrives on the edge

overtakes on the inside

revs engines like they’re percussion instruments

wears a permanent smirk under his helmet

media dubs him “The Little Phoenix” after he flips his kart in qualifiers only to podium the next day

Obsessions

Ayrton Senna’s 1988 Monaco GP

“He drove like it was jazz!”

customizing his gloves with paint splatters

“For luck. And style.”

collecting vintage racing helmets/suits

Tae turned his bedroom into a “museum” with display cases

HOW IT BEGINS

at 10

MJ finds Tae’s old Rush DVD

watches it 17 times in a week

then drags Tae to a go-kart track

he watches MJ lap seasoned adults while humming “Boy With Luv.”

First Conversation

MJ: “Appa, I wanna fly like Senna.” Taehyung: “…In a car? Or literally?” 

TAEHYUNG’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Awe

“He’s a painting in motion. A… Pollock with a steering wheel.”

Terror

“He’s going to die. I’m going to watch my child die.”

Pride

texts the group chat

“MY SON’S A GOD. SUCK IT, KOOK.” (ofc banter)

What He Says

Day 1:

“You’re not allowed to die. Ever. It’s in the dad contract.”

Week 2:

“Let’s make your kart art. Pink flames? Gold tires? Yes.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

aesthetic overhaul

designs MJ’s kart livery

= neon splatter paint inspired by Basquiat

“If you’re gonna be fast, be iconic.”

mental health checks

hires a therapist who races

“Dr. Nara does donuts and CBT. Multitasking queen.”

Senna pilgrimage

takes MJ to São Paulo (his favourite track)

films him crying at Senna’s grave

posts it with “Legends recognize legends” 

MJ threatens to leak his unfinishes tracks

CONFLICTS

MJ attempts a Senna-style “no-look overtake” in the rain

kart hydroplanes into a barrier

Tae, mid-photoshoot in Milan, flies home on a private jet

still wearing Gucci loafers in the ICU

His Response

outward: 

“You’re grounded. To… the kart track. After you heal.”

inward:

paints a mural titled “Phoenix Rising” on MJ’s cast

“Scars are just proof you outran death.”

LEAP TO F4

at 14/15

MJ joins Formula 4

Tae negotiates a sponsorship deal

the car?

= a rolling canvas

abstract designs that shift under UV lights

Proudest Moment

MJ wins his first race

dedicates it to “Appa, who taught me crashes are just plot twists.”

Quote to Him

“You’re not just a driver. You’re a performance artist. The track’s your stage... burn it down.”

JEON JUNGKOOK

CHILD

Name: Haneul (Sky) (she/her)

Team: ART (Asia Racing Team) (F4 → F3 → F2)

Personality

spitfire with a lead foot and a chip on her shoulder

Haneul inherited Jungkook’s competitive strea

battles a storm of self-doubt in a male-dominated sport

she’s all grit behind the wheel

= aggressive overtakes, daring late brakes

off-track, she folds her race suits meticulously

as if perfection could armor her against the world’s whispers

“They don’t see a driver. They see a girl driver.”

HOW IT BEGINS

at 6

Haneul begs to ride shotgun in a Porsche GT3 during a track day

he lets her “steer” on a straightaway

her tiny hands gripping the wheel like it’s a lifeline

“Faster! Faster!” 

she shrieks, and Jungkook grins

First Race

he buys her a junior kart for her 8th birthday

they paint it purple and gold

“Team Jeon colors”

he kneels in the gravel

teaching her heel-toe braking

“Smooth, Haneul-ah. Like dancing.”

JUNGKOOK’S REACTION

Initial Thoughts

Pride

“She’s a natural. Look at her lines...cleaner than mine at her age.”

Fear

“What if she gets hurt? What if they break her spirit?”

Protective Fury

“I’ll crash anyone who touches her.”

What He Says

After Her First Win (Age 10)

“You’re a monster out there. Proud of you, champ.”

When She Asks for F4 (Age 15)

“You sure? It’s not just speed. It’s war.”

SUPPORT & SACRIFICES

training regimen

wakes her at 5 a.m. for endurance runs

then cooks galbi at midnight after sim sessions

“Champions don’t sleep. Naps.”

public persona

uses his fame to shield her

brings her on live, arm around her shoulders

“Meet my co-pilot. She’s better than me.”

tattoo

after her F4 debut

he inks her car number (#07) and chassis outline on his ribs

shows her post-race

“Now you’re always with me.”

CONFLICTS

First Slur

rival team owner mutters “Go back to makeup tutorials” during qualifying

Haneul pretends not to hear

Jungkook slams his fist into a garage locker

denting the metal

His Response

outward

storms into the stewards’ office

demands the man’s ban

“Apologize to my daughter. Or I’ll park my car in your pit lane.”

inward: 

cries alone

“I should’ve protected her better.”

Haneul’s Breaking Point

she quits mid-season after online trolls photoshop her into a doll

Jungkook finds her dismantling her helmet in the garage

Dialogue

Haneul: “I’m not strong like you. I can’t just… ignore it.” Jungkook: “You think I don’t see the comments? ‘Washed-up idol. Failed racer.’”

COMEBACK

Training Redemption

Jungkook hires a female ex-F1 test driver as her coach (Jessica Hawkins) 

“Learn from the best. Better than me.”

Proudest Moment

Haneul podium’s in F4

dedicating the win to “the Appa who taught me to never lift.” 

Jungkook, wearing her #07 cap, sobs into his headset

Quote to Her

“You’re not ‘Jungkook’s kid.’ I’m Haneul’s dad. Remember that.”

[thecozykirin]

Daily Writing Challenge November: Day 4

( Dual-written story this time around! ) @daily-writing-challenge Tranquil ‘What are you hoping for?’ “Hm?”

Yasashi’s ear flicked as he became aware of the feeling of Soo-ha gently shifting on his chest. It was nice out tonight, balmy but with a breeze that chased away any uncomfortable humidity, and so to celebrate this weather they had opened the windows of the caravan to welcome in the view of firefly filled grass and the soft song of crickets.

Through the darkness, Yasashi could see Soo-ha’s lips twitch upwards briefly in amusement, rolling her eyes and gently bunting the top of her head against the underside of his jaw before she sat back and signed. ‘What are you hoping for?’

Yasashi blinked, head canting and for a brief moment his eye flicked down to the growing swell in her abdomen and he withheld the urge to smirk, barely managing it. “Well, I hope for no rain tonight. Kimiko set up that tent all by herself for her and Suzu, she’d be heartbroken if her campout was ruined.” he nodded slightly to the little tent that was set up just beneath their window. 

Soo-ha scoffed, and she playfully swatted his chest, the blow barely noticeable through his thick fur. ‘Not that!’ 

Yasashi chuckled, folding his arms behind his head as he laid back. “Then what?”

Soo-ha’s bottom lip pursed outwards and she signed, faster this time to convey her frustration. ‘Our cub!’ She gestured with her chin down to her belly.

“What about them?”

‘What are you hoping for?!’

“Ah….” Yasashi let the breath of recognition slip past his lips, and a playful hum followed as he tilted his chin up slightly in mock thought before his answer came. “I hope they’re healthy.”

Soo-ha huffed and she collapsed dramatically back onto his chest, feigning exhaustion from her efforts with a little whine.

Yasashi couldn’t help but chuckle, propping himself up against the side of the wall and wrapping his arms around his wife. “What?” 

‘That’s not what I meant…’ Soo-ha signed, her face still firmly buried within the fur on his chest.

Yasashi chuffed in amusement, gently slipping a digit beneath her chin so he could carefully angle her head back so their eyes would meet. “Then what did you mean?”

‘You know what I meant, I…..’ Soo-ha’s ears flattened and her cheeks puffed out briefly…before deflating with a slump of her shoulders. ‘I meant if you had any…preferences?’

Yasashi rumbled gently, he knew what she had meant from the start. “Well, it would be nice…if this one turned out to be equally as kind as their mother.” he watched as she held onto his every word, a gentle smile on his muzzle. He then sighed a bit in mock exhaustion. “I also wouldn’t mind if…this one didn’t take joy in darting off. Kimiko is already a whirlwind and I fear Suzu will start taking after her soon.”

Soo-ha blinked, her gaze sharpening slightly as she searched his gaze. ‘And…you do not have any other preferences?’

With a chuckle, Yasashi slipped a large paw up to her face to gently cradle her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “As I said, Littlebell. I just hope they’re healthy.” Soo-ha purred, any lingering tension of the troublesome thoughts she had been having leaving her as she nuzzled her face into the palm of his paw, settling back down onto his chest and tucking her head beneath his chin before she signed. ‘I hope they’re healthy too.’

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Fungus Is Known To Grow Amoung Death After All

@lovelyunknown @skarlettskwrl

An ecto-nanobot powered suit plus a fungus specifically made to latch onto and grow on ectoplasm, wasn’t a great mix.

Danny was starting to get a little worried, worried about Val specifically. He was used to her being slightly on edge pretty often, just as she was likely used to him being on edge pretty often, but this was weird. She’d been jittery, twitchy, spazzy even. At first he thought she’d caught a ghost and was ‘inspecting’ it or that Vlad was giving her a disturbing amount of hassle. Even her just being worried about tests or her nanobots getting noticed by the school nurse would make sense. Perhaps her dad was being harder on her? Or pressuring her to hang up the suit?

Then, then, he noticed the smell. The sickly sweet meaty lime smell that made his mouth water. Made him cock his head to the side and pause in taking his next step, a more ghostly part of himself getting the way he sometimes got around blob ghosts; bitey and twitchy. Then his ecto-field sensed it, and the alarm bells officially went off. The way it sensed like creaking branches or spreading rot; like she was just going to suddenly start violently twitching at inhuman angles and trying to rip out the walls.

This all seemed… familiar too him, unfortunately. ClockWork didn’t tell him to stay away from too many places, but the Riot Sands and its Moxowasp fungus was one of them. And this? Yeah this smelled and felt like Moxowasp fungus. She’s not growing glitchy moving murderous antlers so that’s a positive, so not a full fungal infection but she seemed a bit past just the ‘spore sickness’ version. But he’s not sure, she didn’t have symptoms she should have from his invisible, slightly predatory, stalking/observing. She wasn’t getting weird white fuzz on her or hacking up bits of branches, she wasn’t acting wacky in the high way.

She was human so, arguably, even if she did have moxowasp fungus then it shouldn’t really affect her, but that didn’t account for her nanobots which were ectoplasm based. Danny frowning and leaning back in his chair, side eyeing Val who’s staring wide-eyed and tremoring slightly, maybe it was her nanobots that were being affected specifically? and the symptoms were being passed on? Those things were in her brain and all her muscles after all. But that just makes it harder for him to be sure and he can’t just ask her ‘hey did you eat or get stabbed by weird sponge-y crumbly branches? Or fight a ghost with that stuff coming out of them?’. Well he could do that but it would probably get him stabbed by a cattle prod.

…

Or it would as Phantom. But as Fenton? Maybe not. She might listen to Danny Fenton the only close friend and ex, son of ghost ‘experts’ and ‘the kid who may have gone into the ghost zone that one time’. His accident being public news might actually be useful for a change, besides just being used as a scapegoat to explain having weird ecto-contamination to explain his ghostly shit. And he did take off suddenly all the time and skipped multiple days sometimes, he could say that Danny Fenton and his stupid luck made him have a little run in with the moxowasp stuff before. His folks did try to get every sample they could get their hands on after all. If they ran into moxowasp fungus they absolutely would sample that stuff and Danny probably would actually get sick.

Okay. Yeah. He can work with this. Problem is how does he talk to her about this? Because if his guess is right then yeah, she can get him sick. Or maybe he was strong enough now that he’d have more resistance? Heck ClockWork could have told him about this specifically because Val was going to get infected with it and they wanted him to know about to catch the signs early. She didn’t have any outward signs so maybe it would actually be safe to touch her, try to drag her off somewhere to talk?

And then the bell goes off and he’s out of time to think about it, by the time he’s stood up Val’s basically stormed out of the classroom, bumping into multiple desks and people as she went. Okay yeah, Danny’s following her, immediately…. Even if that takes him straight into the ladies room. Awkward but he’s lived down worse.

Of course what greets him ain’t great, Val hunched over a toilet shiver trembling and looking like she just threw up; Danny trying to be quiet about leaning over her and yup, weird squiggly white branching stuff in the toilet. Okay, one hundred percent yes, she’s got a moxowasp fungus infection. She wasn’t actually sprouting out branching so that was good, but still.

Watching her scratch her head harshly and crack her neck to the side with a hard jerk, smacking herself on the toilet rim (ew), “ow. Why-ugh. Why’d- did I do that? That was… stupid? I think?”, and she cringes basically her whole body.

Danny wincing, a little nervous to touch her but since when did he not help people just because of nerves? Tapping her on the shoulder twice, “Val?”; okay maybe he sounded a little squeaky, but this was freaky alright? And that scent was making his skin crawl, the mouth watering only making him more creeped.

She jerks, snapping her head around to him, twitching sideways and blinking so harshly it might as well be a spasm, “danny? Isn’t this- like- laddies? Ow”, squeezing her eyes shut again, “I’m ‘ine”.

Danny laughs awkwardly, “eh, ha ha. Ah. Yeah no. I don’t think so. Nah”, cringing a little when she just kind of stares at him, shit yeah her scleras are a bit on the green side. Oof. “Ha”, bending down onto his ankles to be a bit more in her level, “Val you definitely are not. And also, you’re not suddenly going to be just by ignoring what’s going on”, okay Fenton, try to play this off without revealing you know she’s Red. “I… have no freaking clue how the crap you got this of all things but, hey, uh, Amity’s a, ah, pretty fucking weird town, am I right or am I right?”.

She groans at him, like she honestly barely even heard him, “what… what are you even, you know, talking ‘bout?”, pushing herself to stand up, “I think.. I’m just going to go, uh, outside”.

Danny’s up like a gunshot, “oh no, absolutely not”, poking a single finger on both her shoulders, “bad. You are sick sick. And like, okay, this is kinda fucked and shit, but I know what’s up with you”.

Now that, that finally gets her attention, her squinting, “explain then. I know”, she sways a little and shakes her head, “I know you’re weird so”.

Danny snorting, “gee thanks, Val. I’m pretty aware of that too”, frowning at her, “okay, now this is gonna sound fucked, but you’ve got a weird ghost illness? It’s like a weird fuzzy sentient branch thing?”, tilting his head and trying to keep his eyes in front of her eyes, “woozy, the twitching, disoriented but also kinda high?”, pointing a finger that she doesn’t follow at the toilet, “vomiting weird sponge-like white branches. This shit can be a, well not death sentence, but like end of their unlife? sentence? Yeah let’s go with that. The branch stuff basically eats ghosts from the inside out till they’re just mindless husks housing a violent fungus”.

She purses her lips, “fuck”.

Danny nods cringing, “yeah”, glancing at the toilet and back to her, “you gotta get that branch stuff outta you, and any kinda white fuzzy stuff. The branches are the fungus, moxowasp fungus by the way, and the fuzzy is spores or, uh, some shit”. Wow was this ever awkward. “You stay here and I’ll go find some salt to help with the whole vomiting thing, gotta get that stuff out and I’m not a freaking doctor”.

She actually slumps onto the ground thankful, the muttered, “I weirdly wanna poke you”. Danny pointing at her a few times, “ah, yeah, um, that’s probably the fungus wanting to try and spread and stuff, if you had the antlers going on they’d be all, trying to attack me and stab me and shit. Super freaky so let’s not get to that, yeah? Yeah”, he’s out of that bathroom in a flash, thankfully no one’s in the hallway so he’s able to just go invisible and go through the walls to steal some salt from cafeteria.

She’s scratching at her head again, there’s… definitely a white bump there, not great, “okay, water, salt, a vomiting one way ticket. Drink and think of super gross shit and nausea and shit. Please do not throw up on me. I will throw up on you back”.

She snorts, “ew”, but winds up biting him when he makes her drink the water salt mixture; him cringing but not letting it stop him.

…

She’s not going to let go of his hand now, is she? Lovely. Okay… it’s not the best idea to use his powers right now but duplication it is, ‘cause he’s gotta get the branching off her head before she legit becomes a danger and in danger. He swears he can physically feel spores or stuff moving from her mouth to his hand, like hard spider webbing; super creepy.

She vomits on his hand… he does not follow through on his threat to vomit on her back. Grimacing, “eugh, thanks for that”. Weee, he’s probably gonna get spore sickness now, love it. At least that gets her to release his hand, before she vomits on the floor this time. There’s white branches squiggling on the ground, occasionally sprouting off-shot branches.

What did ClockWork say? Fire? Fire. Sure he could just make some fire, his pyrokenesis might be cold instead of hot but fire was fire. If she saw that it would be a problem though right? Him squeezing her head between his knee and chest as his duplicate gets back with a pair of wire clippers, the heavy duty kind, “don’t move your head, I gotta snap off a beginning of an antler. You don’t want that shit spreading out of you or through your head more, unless you feel like going completely mindless or assaulting people”.

“Ugh. Eh. Do it”.

Danny giving her a quick back pat with his bitten hand, which was healed at least… even if chopping the hand off would probably be better long term than letting whatever might have gotten in spread. He clips off the antler growth instead, eyeing his hand, eyeing the back of Val’s head; fuck it. He bites his own shoulder and goes snip happy at his wrist. Officially getting a duplicate to text Sam and Tuck invisibly to get to this bathroom for emergency clean up services with full protection on and something to make fire. He’s definitely getting blood on the back of her clothing now, not great, and she’s vomiting again which is technically great.

What’s actually great is the beginnings of an antler do not regrow. Yay. Val groans into him and that sweet smell makes him gag to himself some; gagging more so to avoid wanting to bite her. He forces more of the salt water down her throat.

So if he’s going with the theory that her nanobots are infected then how is he supposed to get that stuff cleaned? Well… if he could get her to summon out her suit… she might be loopy enough to not realise she shouldn’t be doing that. Ah fuck it, he flares some ecto-energy from a foot, just enough to set off her sensor, just as Sam and Tuck get in. They’re thankfully quiet, panicked but quiet, and immediately get to work (with full sleeve gloves) cleaning the ecto and blood he’s getting everywhere. Tucker glances at the squiggling antler stuff, Danny nodding for him to clean it up too while mouthing ‘fire’ and while Val -probably on instinct- summons out her suit and then actually passes out. Great. Cool. Not good.

Danny muttering, “shit”, putting her on her side, letting Sam patch up his wrist while all three kind of stare at all the fuzzy white patches over her suit.

Tucker blinking, “what the fuck is that?”.

Danny grimaces, “fungus. I had a feeling it was on the nanobots, we’ve gotta get that shit off”. Tucker lifting up the cleaning kit and grabbing a rough rag. Danny nodding, “you might need a knife too, for scrapping, and just make sure to keep her on her side in case she vomits more”.

Sam nods, “right, people can choke on their vomit if they’re on their backs”, eyeing Danny, “now why don’t you have a hand?”.

Danny sighing, “she bit it, so, uh, I cut it off? To try and avoid getting sick?”.

“I’d call you stupid but you probably made the right call. Dummy”. Her nodding at his patched wrist then joining Tucker, pointing at him with the hand that wasn’t scrubbing or scrapping off fuzz, “if you can catch this then do you dare try helping more”.

“I have been vomited on at least twice”.

“I do not care”.

Danny sticks out his tongue but sits back, letting his two friends get Val as cleaned off as possible. Tucker having to hack her suit to force summon out Every. Single. One. of her weapons to clean them off. She only vomits once at least. It’s something.

Sam and Tucker sitting back, peeling gloves of cautiously to replace them with clean ones, Tuck looking to Danny, “okay dude, what are we supposed to with her now? Like, is she good?”.

Sam glares at the geek, “we’re not leaving her on a bathroom floor, Tucker”.

Danny rolls his eyes, pushing himself up with his one hand, “no, obviously not. I’ll have Phantom, with actual protective gloves on, take her home once someone force deactivates her suit, tell her dad about making sure she vomits every hour until there’s no more goddamn wiggling branches”, pacing in a little circle, “and the story is that Phantom could smell the fungus stuff and showed up, one Danny Fenton gave the ghost the low down and Phantom agreed to take her home to rest and continue with the vomiting away from the highly ecto-contaminated kid who could absolutely get sick from her”, giving them a thumbs up, “cool?”.

They exchange glances before shrugging at him. Tucker smiling, “it’s your plan, man”, looking around the bathroom, “obviously this needs to be cleaned more”, holding up a blowtorch, he does get her suit deactivated too.

Danny nodding, changing into his ghost form and slipping on the longest gloves they had in the kit. Touching her in ghost form wasn’t his greatest idea but there wasn’t much else he could do. Sam using some of the bigger bandaging to ‘wrap’ Val up for easy transport and less chance of her touching him. Him grabbing her up immediately after and phasing up through the roof and off to her house.

Damon looks worriedly from Val, who’s now more or less resting on the bed, to Phantom, who feels very awkward. “Okay, so when she wakes up, which she will, you need to get her to vomit. There’s gonna be moving white branch things, don’t freak but she needs to get all of that out of her system”.

Damon nods, opens and closes his mouth a few times before figuring out what he wants to actually say, “alright, okay, how did she even get this moxo thing? A ghost sickness?”.

Phantom rubs his neck, “her suit. It’s ectoplasm powered, it runs on ectoplasm and ecto-energy just like all ghosts do. That got infected and that is basically part of every part of her body”, frowning, “if she was a ghost and every part of her was ecto then she’d already be past the point of help”.

Damon rubs her shoulder as she twitches spastically, “will she be fine?”.

“If you make sure she keeps getting that stuff out of her then yeah, she’ll be fine. The Fenton boy recognised her symptoms and got an antler clipped off before it could actually properly take root in her. I got her suit cleaned off later, she’s not perfect but it’ll work. She’s still human so she’s not really at risk”.

“Are you sure”; that’s not a question.

Danny nods strongly, “absolutely”. The father seems to accept this, moving a bucket near her and looking to settle down to keep watch over her.

(Danny is thankfully right. Val showing back up in a few days, basically thanking Danny for the solid save, it was awkward but appreciated. Damon’s and Val’s opinions of Phantom also went up a few notches. Val wanted absolutely nothing to do with any kind of anything with white branches afterwords, reasonable. Her practically demanding an in-depth explanation from Danny Fenton about the moxowasp fungus; Danny was slightly amazed to make it through that conversation without a slip up. Danny was also completely and utterly amazed that she somehow did not actually get him sick; score one for emergency hand removal and weird halfa genetics and being over powered).

End.

Prompts: Valerie is feeling ill, but this is no human sickness. Ghostly Cordyceps

[kalcifers-blog]

Angst warning, fic below!

Marvin: sun help here

It had been 18 minutes since Marvin message them for help. Of course the day they went out of town something happened.

Marv doesn't ask for help, keeping things close to his chest. Taking what he needs without telling anyone. Sunday couldn't tell if Marvin did that to protect himself or others. They just knew that Marvin wouldn't do the things he does if not to help someone.

But Marv now called for their help, for once, and there was no way they weren't going to respond.

The door was unlocked when they reached there, the closed sign displaying proudly. Perfect for privacy. Horrible if you need aid. They rushed into the place.

"Marvin I'm here! I would have come sooner if- shit"

The place was a mess, books scattered, furniture in the wrong place, spoons and forks from the kitchen everywhere, and Sunday could feel the discharge of electrical energy magic in the air in the dark place. But what was worse was the silence. They approached the stairs with caution that now seemed a lot steeper. Their hands at the ready if they needed to defend themselves.

"I'm coming up" They announced to no one. Which made them realise they hadn't yet heard the chimes of Higgins' bell. They slowly scaled towards the top.

If they thought downstairs was bad, upstairs was horrific. Books were not only everywhere but torned a shred. Soil proceeded from shattered pots as the house plants decayed. Signs of struggle everywhere they looked. They could hear their heart in their ears, which began to pound as they looked to the far left of the room.

Blood.

It was only a spot, but a spot was too much. Was it some sort of intruder? Who's blood was it? Marvin isn't weak. They started searching everywhere on the floor. Should they inform the Magic Circle? This has to be something worse. They were turning over anything that could cover a human person. Why can't they hear that bell. Why can't they hear Marvin. Where is Marvin-

They could hear breathing. From down a corridor. Shallow breaths. Long shallow breaths. Breaths of someone who just remembered they could control their breathing. Who was it? Did they see them? Sunday clutched the Bear carved figure around their neck, preparing to rip out a more intense spell if they needed to. Should they speak up? But if it was the intruder they would just be alerting their position. They stalked towards the breathing, feet dragging along the wooden floor. The breath continues, identifying it as coming from an ajar door. It seemed like a trap, a temptation. But they need to know if it was Marvin, and if not him, who did this to him. They grabbed the side of the door as their heart seemed to scream.

They didn't know if it was relief or terror they felt. A mix of both? Clawing inside of them at once.

Marvin's chest rose in rhythm, painted in his own blood. His eyes weren't focused, but opened. Bruises were across his fists and face. He was leaning against the wall on the floor, his legs outwards across the wood as weird, though fortunately normal, angles. He looked exhausted. He looked like shit. He looked like he wouldn't be able to get up alone. They could still feel that leftover electrical magic in the air. They crouched down.

"Marvin, damn, here, let me get you-"

Marvin's eyes snapped towards their own when they reached to touch him. Now suddenly alert of what was happening before him. He had an unreadable expression as he stared at Sunday. Sunday felt like they were being analysed. They continued to stare at each other. Tension was weighing down on them. Was Marvin disappointed in them? For not coming sooner? Or could he not tell it was them? Should they say they're Sunday? Or would that be confusing right now? They should say something, anything at all.

"At least you're not dead?"

Why did they say that. That's the best they could come up with? That was stupid.

They heard a muffled laugh.

Maybe not that stupid.

"Yeah, I at least have that" Marvin giggled, but the sound was strained, his throat sounding too sore. From chanting spells? From screaming? Regardless it would be straining the wound.

"Glad to see you can respond." Sunday muttered, smiling. It was nice to know that Marvin was conscious enough to make a quip. That it wasn't too bad, that they weren't too late. They went to reach for Marvin again, only for then to be stared down again. With eyes that seem to say don't.

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you're fine." Sunday barked. "You're covered in blood with an open wound."

"I've had worse... Probably."

"That doesn't make this any less bad Marv."

They stayed in their respective positions in silence for a while. Marvin once again looked Sunday over. They knew Marvin probably wouldn't react well if they reached for him again.

"I'm getting the first aid kit." Sunday decided. They could heal the wounds with spes but they needed to make sure there would be no infections. There was no protest from Marvin. Sunday got up to complete their self-appointed task.

"Where's Higgins?" They called across the floor as they grabbed the kit from it's place in the washing room cabinet. Taking out bandages and creams.

"Probably hiding." Marvin dismissed.

"You don't know?"

"They're fine." Marvin seemed to deadpan as Sunday returned. Which was not the only off-putting thing Marvin had done so far. He was trying to get up, and succeeded, despite the evident pain it was causing to his body. They were surprised the agony didn't seem to register in Marvin's face. Not to mention the action was opening the injury even more. The injury that they now had a much needed better view of.

"How the hell are you still talking?" Sunday query, as he stared at the injury that was the source of all of Marvin's blood. A gash. A large gash, across Marvin's neck, crimson pouring out of it. But Marvin had no reaction to it. They couldn't tell how deep the cut went, only that someone shouldn't be speaking with it.

Instead of replying Marvin shrugged. Humming instead.

He should not be standing.

"Did you try to heal yourself?" Sunday asked.

The wound was too deep, the more Sunday looked, the worse the injury seemed. Marvin was staring at them blankly again, analysing them again. He wasn't replying now.

"Marvin...?"

He wasn't replying. Something was very wrong.

"...Marv?"

They didn't see the knives downstairs. They saw the one coming for his throat.

"Shit!" They conjured a spell

They found the intruder.

GOD THIS IS SO GOOD HOLY SHIT???

Anti if that's you and you do a THING to Sunday it's hands on sight

Actually incredible tho I am EATING this up sm

[khaleesa]

Hallo friend. Have one of the writing prompts from the list you reblogged:

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

What a great prompt! I had so much fun writing this one. Thank you! And thanks to @bratanimus for betaing.

(TW: disordered eating.)

~*~

Faint Heart, Fair Lady

"Chrissy, take ten!" 

The voice seemed to come from a long way off. Chrissy might not have heard it if it hadn't said her name. Blinking away blackness at the edges of her vision, her eyes, a little blurry, focused on Coach Johnson, who wasn't very far away at all. In fact, she was standing right in front of Chrissy, front and center on the basketball court. She could feel the eyes of every other member of the cheer squad--her squad--in formation all around her, staring. 

Judging. 

Tightening her sweaty grip on the handles of her pompoms, slack at her sides, Chrissy perched them on her hips and pushed out her chest. "I'm fine, Coach. Just a little light-headed. I don't need a break." "You're clearly not fine," said Coach Johnson. "You're sluggish and out of sync. You're sweaty but pale. You look woozy--"

Chrissy latched onto that. "I am a little woozy, that's all. It's so hot…" 

After school practices in the un-air-conditioned gym in August were like cheering in a sauna. The propped-open doors at each end didn't do much to help catch the breeze.

"Exactly. Put a cool, wet towel on your neck. Drink water. Get some fresh air." 

When Chrissy started to protest, Coach Johnson lay a hand on her shoulder and spoke softer. "You're not in trouble, Chrissy. I'm not kicking you out of practice or off the squad. Or demoting you from captain." 

Behind her, Chrissy heard gasps and whispers from the other cheerleaders. If she'd been pale before, now her cheeks burned flame red. She'd worked so hard to make captain this year, and Dana Holloway probably thought this was her chance to take over.

"I just want you to take care of yourself." Coach Johnson released her shoulder with a squeeze.

Chrissy staggered out of the gym as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy, slow, like in those dreams where you needed to run away but couldn't. Her vision blurred. She blinked against what she assumed to be tears, but her eyelids were dry. As she pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the hallway, the darkness was creeping in again. 

A buzzing in her ears; she swept her eyes around the hall for the source of the sound, but there was no one, nothing there, school out for the day and the students and staff gone home. Everything looked wrong, orange and white tiles tilting toward her, too close, at a strange angle to the striped walls. Or was it her who was wrong? 

She saw her own hands flail outward, scrabbling for balance or something to grab onto, so pale against the orange linoleum square. Was she falling? It didn't feel like falling. She was moving downward in slow-motion, there was gentle pressure at her back, around her waist, like a pair of strong arms supporting her.

Then, only black. 

~*~

"Chrissy. Chrissy, wake up." 

The voice seemed to come from up close. Very close. Like, right up in her face. It said her name, but wasn't a voice she recognized. 

"Chrissy." This time, the up-close voice was accompanied by a hand on her cheek. The skin was warm, a little rough. Fingertips lightly tapped her cheekbone. "Come on, Chrissy, wake up…" 

Her eyelids fluttered open, the black receding as she blinked up into a face she did recognize, framed by a wild, dark mane of hair. A pair of worried brown eyes peered down at her. 

"Eddie?" her voice creaked from her throat.

Eddie Munson--third-year senior, loudmouth, social pariah (except when dealing weed)--was touching her face. 

Eddie Munson was…holding her. 

"Surprise," he said in a sing-song voice. 

It certainly was. They were posed like the Gone With the Wind poster, for goodness' sake! Chrissy tried to push herself upright, but although her feet were on the floor, her legs were like jelly. She settled for raising her head.

"What happened?" she asked.

“So, uh, the strangest thing. I was coming out of detention…" 

Figured. 

"...and, uh, you fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

"I didn't want your attention," Chrissy snapped. 

Eddie's hand left her face and he held it up, palm out. A gesture of innocence--a word that didn't fit with what she knew of him at all. "Just a joke. But, uh, you're probably not really in the mood for jokes, huh?"

She shook her head--a bad idea, as it made her dizzy. "Not really." 

With unexpected gentleness, Eddie eased her to sit on the floor. The linoleum was dirty, but blessedly cool against the backs of her thighs and calves, bared by her green practice shorts, and Chrissy pressed her palms to it, taking deep breaths as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

"So why'd you faint?" Eddie asked. 

Chrissy opened her eyes to see he'd dropped to a squat in front of her, a black metal lunchbox and backpack beside him.

"Did the sight of me make you swoon? I hope it was that and not, like, low blood sugar." With a toss of his head, he added, "Please tell me it was the dashing good looks and not the diabeetus?" 

Chrissy really wasn't in the mood for jokes, but Eddie had come to her aid, and she felt a little bad for being rude to him before. She opened her mouth to tell him she'd overheated during cheer practice, but her stomach let out a deep, rumbling growl. 

Eddie's round eyes darted comically to her stomach, then back up to her face. "That came out of you?"

"I didn't bring my lunch today." That sounded like she'd forgotten it, right? 

"Okay? They sell food in the cafeteria. I mean, they call it food, anyway."

"I didn't bring any money, either." 

Eddie gaped at her like he was illustrating the meaning of incredulous in the dictionary. "Do you mean to tell me that your boyfriend, God's gift to Hawkins High, just let you go hungry? What a dick."

"It's not a big deal to miss lunch now and then." Chrissy crossed her arms over her chest. 

Who did Eddie think he was, criticizing her boyfriend? She couldn't decide whether she was more annoyed about that, or the realization that Jason hadn't even noticed that she wasn't eating lunch, because it was so normal for her. He used to ask, but at some point, he'd stopped.

"Believe me, I've missed lunch more than a few times," Eddie said. "But then I don't go do back handsprings and stand on top of human pyramids with one foot in the air." 

"Only when you've had lunch first?" 

"Thought you weren't in the mood for jokes." The corner of Eddie's mouth edged upward in a grin, and Chrissy felt the muscles of her own face mirror his expression.

"Apparently I am." 

He was kind of funny. Not like she'd thought he'd be, from the unhinged rants she'd witnessed in the cafeteria.  

"I'd offer you some of my lunch," Eddie said, indicating the lunchbox, "but unfortunately, all that's left in it is, uh…" He made a show of casting his dark eyes up and down the hallway, before leaning in to stage whisper, "weed." 

Was he joking? Was she still unconscious? This whole thing had the bonkers quality of a dream. Maybe this was just what talking to Eddie was like. She never had before today, at least not that she could remember.

"Wait here," Eddie said. 

With the jangle of his wallet chain, he bounded off down the hall like someone who didn't run often—or ever—disappearing around a corner. Chrissy could hear the squad in the gym, chanting, Pump, pump, pump it up, pump that Tiger spirit up! She should probably get back. It had to have been ten minutes by now. How long had she been unconscious? If Coach Johnson was really so concerned about Chrissy, why  hadn't she come to check on her? Before she could work up the energy to push to her feet, Eddie clattered back around the corner clutching something in each hand.

"For the lady," he said, a little winded, bowing and presenting with a flourish a can of 7 Up and a packet of peanut butter crackers. 

Chrissy's stomach clenched. It wasn't a diet soda, and peanut butter was so fattening, and crackers were just empty carbs. But…she hadn't eaten anything all day. A little bit would be fine, wouldn't it? She'd burn off the calories when she went back to cheer practice.

"You didn't have to do that, Eddie," she said.

"Ah, but I did. For you are the Queen of Hawkins High, and I am but your humble servant." 

He bowed again. Was he making fun of her? Eddie made fun of the athletes all the time, but maybe he didn't have an issue with cheerleaders? Whatever was happening, Chrissy didn't care when she cracked open the 7 Up and took a cold, sweet, citrusy sip. It was the best thing she'd tasted maybe ever, until she bit into a peanut butter cracker. 

"Thank you so much," she said. "I feel better already." 

Eddie picked up his lunchbox and slung his backpack over one shoulder. "I, uh, hate to lunch you and leave you, but I gotta get to practice." 

"Practice?" 

"Uh-huh. My band." 

He stood staring at her, like he was waiting for her to say something. As Chrissy swallowed another sip of soda, a memory sprang from some dusty corner of her mind. 

"Corroded Coffin!" 

Eddie's face lit up. "Wondered if you remembered the middle school talent show." 

"With a name like that, how could I forget?"

He ducked his head almost bashfully, hair falling into his face and hiding his grin.

"Take care of yourself, Chrissy." He turned  to go, then the soles of his Reeboks squeaked on the linoleum as he wheeled back. "And if the queen should ever again find herself with neither lunch nor money, she has only to ask, and I'll happily split half my sandwich." 

"I thought you only had…" Chrissy's voice dropped to a hush. "...weed." 

Eddie's delighted cackle followed him through the hall to the exit. The door had just shut behind him when the gym door swung open and Coach Johnson poked her head out. 

"Chrissy! There you are. You look better." 

"Surprise!" Chrissy heard herself say in a sing-song voice not quite her own. 

As she took another drink and pushed to her feet, her gaze drifted down the hall in the direction Eddie had gone. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm that she wasn't sure had anything to do with her fainting spell. 

And that was the most surprising thing of all.

150 Random Writing Prompts

[forgedfrommoonstone]

Poet crouches low to the ground, sidling towards Rythian.

Every wingbeat above him makes his face ache, a low thrum of pain that sloughs down his jaw and his shoulder and tingles the scarred skin there. The trees around them are shaking, pelting rain and howling wind- He had forgotten how frantic this all was.

“We need to send her back, get yourself together.” Rythian’s eyes snap towards him, “You-”

He jerks to his feet, stumbling away from Poet. His hands are crackling with magic. “You brought Her here, didn’t you?” An enderman vworps nearby, shrieking as the rain hits its skin. “What?” Poet shouts, “No! You can’t be serious.” “You show up, and all this awful stuff starts happening! You’re some- some-” Rythian smacks his hands against his head, “You’re the bad version of me!”

Lightning strikes, and the white glow flashes on Rythian’s sword. The leather strap that ties the scabbard to his belt is worn and loose. Poet lunges for it. Rythian can’t react fast enough, swinging his fist into Poet’s back, not quite catching the fabric of his tunic so Poet can duck away.

The Queen hisses as Poet draws Enderbane. He thinks he hears Rythian hiss too. “Fight me afterwards! She needs to go!” Rythian glares at him, “Give that back.” “You have magic!” This makes Rythian pause slightly, “You don’t?” “Not like you do, not here.”

She roars, static-filled and grating. Rythian’s hands start to crackle again. Poet ignores the sting against his bare palm. “Deal with Her first, right?” Poet steels himself, and nods.

Rythian vanishes with a flicker of his ring. An arc of magic follows his path, tearing through the rain in a pale pink bolt of electricity. It pierces through the Dragon and She dives, screeching and thrashing, Her claws scraping at the bricks of the topmost battlements.

Poet follows, warping with his own click to the buttress beneath Her, sword angled outwards to cut through Her underbelly. She doesn’t bleed, the mangled magic forming Her body not yet made meat, but it still hurts. She flinches upwards, wings slamming against the front of the castle as She launches into the open air.

Scanning her flight path, Poet jumps up onto the walkway. Rythian floats above him, striking down at Her with volleys of lightning. There’s a scuffle, shouting, and Poet glances over the wall to see Nano carve through an enderman with a red sword he’d watched her steal.

Zoeya watches him, her hand on Lalna’s arm. The Dragon bellows behind him and he turns, tearing towards Her. 

She ducks away from a bolt of magic, passing over the castle tower. Poet clicks, appearing above her and landing on Her back. Enderbane burns his hands, bare skin against enchanted metal, and he plunges the blade into the thin leather of Her wing joint. She bucks, and before he can warp away an arm loops under his own.

Rythian glares at him before throwing him skywards. Magic follows his path, pulling a stream of crackling bolts down towards the Dragon. They pass inches from Poet’s face. The ensuing thunder rolls across the mountains, echoing back in a deafening boom.

The Queen slams into the castle, a chunk of brickwork crumbling under Her weight. It falls to the sand with Her as She slumps down, dropping to the floor.

She remains still. Long enough that Rythian teleports to stand above Her. Poet joins him, sword still readied. “What now?” Rythian snaps, boot coming down on Her snout. Poet looks towards the crack in the mountainside, still pulsing with violet, “She just vanished last time.” “More damage, then.”

His hand raises, scars glowing, and Poet has to warp away to avoid the assault. She squirms violently, wings crashing into the wall and jaws gnashing beneath Rythian’s hold. A pang of something like sympathy plays on Poet’s mind, but he doesn’t move to stop him.

A final bolt, one that vibrates through the soil with a shockwave, bursts the magic of Her shape. It coils, twisting and shrieking and rising, until it vanishes. Behind them, the tear in the earth croaks, and with a rush of air the magic dispels.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Poet sighs with relief, dropping Enderbane to the sand, “I was worried it would be harder this time.”

His hands are burned and raw, flaked blood soaked into the joints. He flexes his fingers for a moment, wincing away the sting. Rythian says nothing.

“You alright?” Poet starts, “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

He misses the flick of Rythian’s hand. The bolt of magic does not miss Poet, though, and it throws him into the stone bars opposite the castle door.

[cru04]

the Night Nurse

Nurse Crucible Moray starts walking the hall, after her briefing on her newest patient, Will Graham, who was diagnosed with anti-NMDA encephalitis. Crucible grabs the syringes for his I.V. line, puts them in her scrub pocket, and goes into the room with a soft knock.

She writes her name and information on the whiteboard on the wall of her patient’s hospital room.

“Good evening, Mr. Graham. I’m Crucible Moray. I’ll be your nurse for the next three evenings,” she smiles. “How are we feeling?” she asks kindly, her voice soothing, like raspy honey. “Can you rate your pain for me, on a scale of 1-10? 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever had…”

Will's expression brightens slightly. He looks up from his files and gives a small smile, slightly relieved to hear a friendly voice. "Evening... Crucible," he responds, trying to suppress his southern drawl slightly.

He glances at the whiteboard, then back at her, appreciating her friendly demeanor. "Pain? Oh... well... hmm," he rubs the back of his head. "It's an eight, perhaps."

He squints at her, his keen sense of intuition kicking in.

He studies her, noticing the tiny details in her appearance and manner, his empathetic abilities in overdrive. He can feel the warmth and empathy from her, which puts him at ease. "You seem kind," he comments, his tone softening. "Have you been a nurse for long?"

“About six years,” Crucible answers calmly. “Okay, Dilaudid, Toradol, and your Zofran, Mr. Graham,” Crucible says, carefully injecting the three syringes into the small hub at the catheter of her patient’s IV line. “And… the saline flush,” Crucible finishes. “Sorry about the salty taste,” she winces sympathetically.

Will grits his teeth as the medicine flows into his vein, the cool liquid a stark contrast to his feverish body. He makes a disgusted expression as the saline flush flows through the IV, cringing slightly at the bitter taste.

He looks up at her through his glasses, trying to mask his exhaustion and pain. "You're good at this," he compliments, his voice weak but genuine.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mr. Graham,” Crucible smiles. It’s a million-dollar smile that lights up her whole face, radiating from her perfect glossy, plump lips outward. She swishes her long, raven curly ponytail over her shoulder and straightens the sheet over her patient’s feverish body. “Can I get you a little fan or something? It’s a small battery-powered guy, and you can take it home with ya,” Crucible offers, noting the sweat on his brow, a sheen over his handsome features.

Will nods weakly, his expression grateful. "Yes, please," he manages a small smile. "A fan would be nice," he admits, his voice a little hoarse.

As she adjusts the sheets, will can't help but notice her kindness and beauty. He's charmed by her caring nature and her captivating smile. He feels a strange mix of emotions - gratitude, intrigue, and a mild attraction.

“I’ll be right back,” Crucible grins, her curly ponytail swaying in the opposite direction of her hips as she exits the hospital room.

She returns quickly with the little grey fan, switching it onto high, and adjusting the angle so it’s aimed towards her patient’s face, causing his dark sweaty curls to blow in the breeze.

“How’s that, Mr. Graham?” Crucible asks sweetly.

"Much better," he admits, his eyes closing momentarily as he feels the cool air soothing his hot skin.

He glances up at her, his gaze locking onto her captivating smile once more. There's something about her that draws him in – her kindness, her intelligence, perhaps even her beauty. He blinks, snapping himself out of it, "And please, call me Will."

“I can do that,” Crucible says kindly. “Is there anything else I can do for you? A cold Sprite, maybe? Or a popsicle?” she asks kindly. “I’ve got to draw some blood here, and then I’m all yours if you need anything. Toileting, a cool cloth, name it,” the young nurse offers sweetly, her almond eyes sparkling.

Will appreciates her kindness and her willingness to assist him. "A Sprite would be great, I'm thirsty," he answers. He watches her closely as she prepares to draw his blood, his empathetic nature picking up on hints of her emotions and intentions, but finding nothing but good intent and kindness radiating from her.

He tries to relax, knowing he's in good hands. "And um... when you're done, could you tell me a bit about yourself? I don't know much about you and I'm curious."

“Sure,” Crucible agrees easily.

“A little poke,” she says, quickly sticking his forearm with her needle. “And I’ll be right back with your Sprite.”

Crucible returns with a cup of ice, cracking the top of a small can of lemon lime soda, and then pouring it expertly into the cup, adding and bending the straw. She eases it up to Will’s lips gently. “Slow sips,” Crucible cautions. “Take it easy…”

Will takes slow sips of the Sprite, feeling the cool, fizzy liquid soothe his dry throat. The sweetness of the drink contrasts with the bitterness of his current situation.

He looks up at Crucible, the straw still in his mouth. His eyes are filled with curiosity and a bit of vulnerability. "So.. tell me a little about yourself," he says after taking a few more sips. "What brought you into nursing?"

“I’ve actually spent my fair share where you are now,” Crucible smiles kindly. “I have Fibromyalgia and Cerebral Palsy, and had a nine-and-a-half pound cyst at the age of sixteen, and then complications from a liver abscess and stomach ulcer that gave me this hot midline scar,” Crucible grins, lifting her scrub top to reveal the pink line marring her skin. “For that I was in the hospital for twelve days, and IV antibiotics later at home,” she explains.

“So I know what it’s like to have good nurses,” Crucible finishes. “And shitty ones,” she remarks wryly.

Will's expression softens as he listens to Crucible's story. His empathetic nature allows him to perceive her feelings, and he feels a deep compassion for her.

"You've been through a lot," he says softly, his gaze lingering on her scar. "You must be incredibly strong." He takes another sip of his Sprite, then places the cup down, reaching out to gently touch the scar. "Does it still bother you?" he asks quietly, his touch tender.

“It’s a keloid scar,” Crucible explains. “The tissue grew back aggressively, leaving the skin bumped up and sensitive. So it’s a little tender, but not a big deal.”

Crucible flashes him her million-dollar-smile again. “I’m tougher than I look,” she smirks.

Will nods, his fingers trailing lightly down her scar before pulling back. He can feel her resilience and strength. He admires her honesty and openness.

"I can feel it," he says softly, his eyes flickering up to hers. "You've got a... strong presence. Almost intimidating," he admits with a small smile.

But there's a hint of something else in his eyes - a flicker of intrigue and maybe even attraction, hidden beneath his exhaustion.

Heya! I’m Cru! I’m 30F, and a literate writer looking to continue this guy! Work with me here?

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Fic: Piano Lessons (Crosspost)

Word Count: 3501

Summary:

It’s 1918, and a young Hare has been sent to teach piano to Ignatius Becile, his maker’s oldest estranged son. But Ignatius is thirteen, full of that age’s anger and desperation, and in Hare he sees an opportunity to impress the father he’s never met.

With thanks to BlueSpine for the prompt and some ideas, and to Dionysus for helping break my writer's block!

　　1918.

　　“So, you and Pops was pen pals?” Hare asked.

　　The Widow Becile’s lips twitched up in a faint smile. “He’d never call it such. But yes, we initially traded correspondence while he was incarcerated. His letters were dictated, of course, due to his injuries.”

　　The Widow Becile was not, in truth, a widow. Thadeus Becile was still very much alive; Hare had seen him just that morning. But notoriety made waves, and the Widow was a quiet woman.

　　Hare didn’t know anything about Delilah Morreo beside her name, and he couldn’t have started to guess why Pops had liked her so much. But he could see why Pops liked this woman enough to marry her on the sly: she was smart, distant, and her eyes were cunning as knives, just like him.

　　Why they’d had two kids together, and what strings they had pulled to make the first one happen while Pops was still behind bars, Hare didn’t dare ask.

　　They sat in the Widow’s garden at a little tea table with a glass top. The two-story townhouse it surrounded was painted pale yellow, with little patches of decorative ivy crawling up the sides. The flowers were bountiful and the bushes long in the tooth, and Hare watched white butterflies dance above the leaves. It was small compared to the Becile Estate where Hare lived, but it was just as silent, like a painting no one could touch.

　　Hare, the Widow, and the baby Norman had been sitting there for half an hour, he judged by the church bells. Hare tried to be polite as he could be for the lady as she patiently grilled him with question after question, Norman sleeping silently in her arms. How old was Hare? Just over a year, ma’am. (That made him about a year younger than Norman.) How long had he played piano? Most of his life. Did he enjoy playing? Oh, yeah, loved it. Loved performing, too. She should come see, sometime. Was he good? Well, he liked to think so.

　　Good. The house was too quiet for a boy Ignatius’ age, a hale thirteen. He needed something to do with his hands beside tinkering.

　　The wooden gate clattered close behind a row of bushes nearby. Hare turned in his seat, already watching the space when Ignatius came around the corner. The boy was halfway into his growth spurt, a little lanky but not yet tall, features starting to sharpen under his short curls and large glasses. His school uniform was clean, if slightly wrinkled, but the bulging backpack over his shoulder was well-loved. Ignatius pulled up short, seeing Hare, and his face flashed darkly for a second before dissolving into a carefully practiced blank.

　　If the Widow had caught the piercing look, she didn’t react. “Ignatius, welcome home. You remember I asked your father to send one of his robots to teach you the piano. This one is named Hare.”

　　“Pleasure’s all mine, kid,” Hare said affably, standing.

　　Ignatius nodded slowly. There was a second-too-long pause before he said, “Nice to meet you.”

　　Oh boy, Hare thought. Hare might have been young, but he had a knack for reading people, and this boy was simmering.

　　“Go drop off your school books and change your clothes,” The Widow Becile said to Ignatius calmly. “You may have a moment to breathe while I show Hare the piano.”

　　The new stand-up had been placed in the parlor next to a large window, angled perpendicular to the wall. Hare had stuffed his vents with filters to minimize his dark smoke, not wanting to pollute what he’d correctly assumed to be a lovely residence, but he was relieved to see the window all the same. He swung the frames outward and sat down on the piano bench, lifting the fallboard and casting his green eyes over the keys. The ivory was as white as clouds and shone in a way Hare had never seen on another instrument. He tentatively pressed middle C and smiled at the bright tone. Giddy at the opportunity, Hare set his hands on the keys and began to play ragtime, improvising a riff. He almost didn’t hear the floorboards behind him creak.

　　“Mother won’t be happy if you teach me that music,” Ignatius drawled. Hare turned to see him standing in the doorway, arms folded, head slightly cocked to the side as he regarded Hare through his glasses. “She says ragtime and jazz are for scoundrels.”

　　Hare paused, then lifted a brow. “Yeah? And what do you think?”

　　“I think it’s a glaring over-generalization, and I don’t see how music could predicate moral fiber,” Ignatius said. “After all, Mother says my father prefers classical music, and he’s a bastard.”

　　Hare whistled an impressed, sliding note. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Hare said, readying himself to spar.

　　“Of course I do. If she doesn’t know I swear, she can’t know the difference,” Ignatius said, walking into the room. “All the same, I’m not interested in offending her over something so trivial, so you’d best stick to teaching me the classics.”

　　“Is that what you’re interested in?” Hare asked. “’Cause I was gonna teach you theory, first, unless all you want is to play by rote.”

　　That gave Ignatius a moment of pause. “Theory? Like science?”

　　“You could spin it that way,” Hare said.

　　“I’m surprised you know that much,” Ignatius said frankly. “Were you programmed to know it?”

　　“Nope. But I got better recall than most humans. Makes learning patterns real easy.” Hare scooted over on the bench and nodded toward the empty space next to him. Ignatius grimaced slightly, hesitating, before he sat down.

　　-

　　Ignatius was a quick study when it came to principles, and Hare could see the growing wear and tear on the study books he lent the boy, but he got frustrated when his muscle memory couldn’t keep up. Hare came back twice a week, and he tried to be friendly, tried to be encouraging. But Ignatius kept him at arms length, his gaze always calculating when he looked Hare in the eye. Occasionally Norman would toddle into the room and watch them, ever silent, often chewing on his thumb or a part of his shirt. Ignatius would pointedly ignore him.

　　“This one’s a Hare Becile original,” Hare said, placing a few sheaves of sheet music on the stand. The notes were written in sharp, inky scratches. “I made the arrangement easier than the way I play it, but the melody line’s the same.”

　　Ignatius looked the papers over, his lips slightly moving as he worked through the solfège and rhythm. He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to dumb your music down for me,” he said bluntly.

　　“Ain’t ‘dumbing down,’ Ig’, it’s adapting,” Hare said.

　　“How do you play it?” Ignatius challenged.

　　Hare rolled his head to the side in a feigned stretch, smirked, and started playing. It was a dark sound, minor and slick, with high trills and a low, continuous rumble. His hands flashed across the keys, jumping between octaves, and when it was over, Ignatius was wide-eyed and silent.

　　“How am I supposed to catch up to you?” Ignatius eventually blurted out. “I’ll never be able to play like that!”

　　“What, giving up before you’ve tried?” Hare asked. “That ain’t the Becile way.”

　　Ignatius shot him a pointed look. “You’d know better than me,” he grumbled. “But what’s the point if you’re always going to be second best?”

　　Hare thought for a moment. “You enjoy being alive?”

　　“Of course,” Ignatius said moodily.

　　“You ever feel more alive than usual? Even in a bad way?” Hare laid a hand gently on the piano keys. “That’s the point. Your ‘best’ isn’t about being better than someone else, it’s about the ride.”

　　“You say that,” Ignatius said slowly. “What about Walter’s band of robots?”

　　Hare stiffened up. “What about them?”

　　“My father made you to compete with them, didn’t he? I saw them at the World’s Fair. It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection.”

　　Hare felt the fire in his chest burning hotter. He hadn’t seen Rabbit for most of a year-- not since her conscription into the war overseas. For all he knew, she’d never return. Maybe if she didn’t, their rivalry would stop haunting him-- but then he kicked himself. Wishing for Rabbit’s destruction was a step too far. “Look, that’s… complicated. More complicated than I wanna talk about. You don’t got that problem.”

　　“Don’t I?” Ignatius muttered.

　　“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hare asked.

　　“Forget it. Let me hear the simplified arrangement so I can get started practicing.”

　　-

　　“Piano’s getting out of tune,” Hare said a few weeks later.

　　Ignatius quirked an eyebrow and stopped playing. “It sounds fine to me.”

　　“It ain’t by much, but it’s there, in the low notes.” Hare looked out the window that was directly to the piano’s left. “It’s probably from the weather.”

　　“Well, we have to keep it open for you during lessons,” Ignatius said. “I don’t want to choke.”

　　“This may be a shock, Ig’, but the temperature around windows is always a bit more like the other side,” Hare said. “Even when the pane’s closed.”

　　“Can you even feel temperature?” Ignatius asked.

　　Hare blinked. “No. I just… know that.”

　　Ignatius rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to stop playing?” he asked, lifting his hands from the keys.

　　Hare hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now I gotta think. I don’t want you getting used to an off tune. But if you can’t hear the difference yet, it shouldn’t matter. It’s gonna drive me batty, though.” Hare performatively stuck his pinky finger in his ear, as if trying to shake out a bout of tinnitus. “Course, it really comes down to your mother paying for a tune up.”

　　Ignatius was quiet as Hare talked. His eyes followed Hare’s hand as he lowered it from his head.

　　“Hey,” Ignatius said. “Could you take off your gloves? I want to see how your hands work.”

　　Hare startled at the request. “Uh, sure, I guess,” he said. He peeled his gloves off gingerly. He never touched a piano without them on; his fingertips were too thin to hit the keys correctly and so sharp as to leave scratches. “Mind the blades.”

　　Ignatius seized his right hand first, turning it this way and that. “You don’t have a lot of plating here,” he observed. “The mechanics are exposed in places, like you’ve been flayed. Fascinating.”

　　“Flayed? Gross,” Hare said. “They’re just like that so’s they’re easier to fix.”

　　“And the gloves act as sheathes,” Ignatius mumbled. He ran an index finger along the length of one of the blade edges, then pulled back with a hiss, blood blossoming on his fingertip.

　　Hare jerked his hand away, head starting to swim in an unfamiliar way at the sight of the blood. “I told ya’!” he said, standing. “Criminy, you know where the bandages are? Kitchen? Bathroom?”

　　“Kitchen. But it’s barely a papercut,” Ignatius grumbled.

　　“Don’t care, we’re patching it up anyway.” Hare stuffed his hands back into his gloves and headed for the kitchen. “I ain’t going back to Pops to tell him you got lockjaw ‘cause of me.”

　　Hare didn’t reply when, as he stepped out of the room, he heard Ignatius quietly say, “Like he’d care.”

　　-

　　Things continued in their passable way for a few months. Ignatius’ playing improved steadily, if not quickly. He even guardedly asked for pointers on composing his own music, scrawling out fragments on scrap paper and collecting them in a folder. Hare thought they were making progress, and he didn’t think much of the occasional times Ignatius asked to look at his hands.

　　Then the Widow was invited to see Pops.

　　Ignatius’ face was dark as storm clouds as Hare helped the Widow into her coat. He sat at the piano, chewing his lower lip, glowering at the sheet music in front of him.

　　“Watch your brother, Ignatius,” the Widow said over her shoulder to his back. “If there’s any problems, the neighbors are home.” Only Hare caught the slow turn of Ignatius’ head, how he stared at her with one eye.

　　Hare offered the Widow his arm as they left the house, and she took it. He tried to keep her talking as they walked to the streetcar, hoping it would be enough to distract her from Ignatius following them. All things considered, the kid was stealthier than Hare expected, but he chose amateur hiding spots. Hare guided the Widow to a seat on the streetcar so that she faced away from the way they’d come, and he thought they lost Ignatius there.

　　They met The Skull at the gates of the Becile Estate. He doffed his hat for the Widow, muttering a quiet, “Ma’am.” He then led them up the remnants of the gravel trail to the house, pausing to take the Widow’s coat and hat at the door, and through the halls to Pops’ study.

　　After the door to the study clicked close behind the Widow, Hare grabbed The Skull’s arm and started pulling him down the hallway. “Listen, Skulls, we gotta do a sweep. Their oldest kid, the one I’ve been teaching piano, he was following us part of the way.” Hare said quickly. “I don’t know if he caught the next trolley after us, but Pops’ll have our hides if the kid shows up uninvited.”

　　The Skull nodded, and they split ways at the parlor. Hare searched one wing of the house, while The Skull searched the other. Hare could hear The Jack practicing his violin in the basement as he passed by the stairs, and he decided not to get him involved.

　　A muffled shout caught Hare’s attention. He ran to the noise to find The Skull holding a struggling Ignatius by the open kitchen window, some of the clutter from the counter knocked onto the floor around their feet. Ignatius, seeing Hare, slowed his flailing and sullenly glared at him from under his brows. He wore his ragged backpack, the straps barely hanging onto his shoulders after his fight against capture.

　　“What’s a’ matter with you? You hate your old man,” Hare said in a hushed tone. “Your mom’s gonna rake you over the coals for leaving Norman alone.”

　　“I locked him in his crib,” Ignatius said. “He won’t get out before I get back.”

　　Hare shook his head. “Cripes, kid. You gotta know Pops won’t see you.”

　　“Exactly,” Ignatius said vehemently. “I want to know why.”

　　“Ig’, we live with the guy, and we don’t know why he does half the things he does,” Hare said. “He don’t take kindly to questions and takes even less to surprises. You gotta scram.”

　　“Like hell,�� Ignatius snarled. “You don’t get it. You’re just a machine. Why did he even make you? Why did he give mother Norman when he refuses to speak to me? What am I here for?!”

　　Hare stared at Ignatius for a moment, then traded looks with The Skull, before sighing, allowing a cloud of dark smoke to pass his vents. “Pops might not want you around, but your mother does. Sometimes, that’s gotta be enough.”

　　“Well, it’s not! Let go of me!” Ignatius demanded, eyes wet. “I’m going to get answers!”

　　Hare shook his head. “You got two choices-- you go home with dignity, or we carry you back like a sack of screaming potatoes. Look, I’m sorry. I know it ain’t fair.”

　　Ignatius inhaled, meaning to shriek, only for The Skull to clamp a hand over his mouth. The Skull gave Hare a confused look, obviously uncomfortable using force on a child, but held him tight regardless.

　　“What do we do?” The Skull asked Hare.

　　Hare ground his teeth as he thought. “We gotta get him outta the house. I don’t wanna gag him, but if we’re gonna carry him--”

　　“That will be unnecessary.”

　　The three froze as Pops walked into the room. The Widow hovered in the doorway behind him, looking at Ignatius with disappointment.

　　“The Skull, release him,” Pops said flatly.

　　The Skull obeyed, and Ignatius took a teetering step forward, regaining his balance, eyes locked on Pops.

　　Hare winced and said, “We tried to take care of things. Figured you wouldn’t want your visit interrupted. We can take him home--”

　　“You will.” Pops regarded Ignatius with all the passivity of a wall. “But first, I intend to reduce his reasons to invade my home a second time.”

　　Ignatius, his mouth a thin line, unslung his backpack and darted a hand into it. Without a word, he pulled a contraption out of the bag, its parts clicking against each other as he held it out for Pops to see. “I made this,” Ignatius said flatly.

　　Hare stared at the thing, not immediately comprehending what he was looking at. Then the bottom dropped out of his furnace, and he felt impossibly sick

　　Ignatius was holding a replica of Hare’s hand.

　　Pops’ brow lifted a fraction, and he held out his own metal-encased palm to take the replica. Ignatius shuffled forward a few steps and passed it over, watching Pops closely as he examined the construction.

　　“Where did you get the parts for this?” Pops asked Ignatius, testing the range of motion of a finger.

　　Ignatius hesitated for a second, avoiding his mother’s gaze, before saying, “Junkyards. Scrap metal and broken toys. A few pocket knives.”

　　“And you made this to impress me?”

　　“No.” Ignatius straightened up proudly. “I made it to prove that I could.”

　　Hare wished he could melt into the floor tiles. The Skull was avoiding looking at him, his hands nervously clenching.

　　“I see,” Pops said. He gave the replica back to Ignatius. “I’m loathe to reward you for breaking in. But I suppose if you’re going to pursue mechanical engineering under the Becile name, I would rather oversee your development. You’re old enough now to not be a nuisance.” Pops looked down at Ignatius through his glasses. “I’ll discuss a schedule with your mother. Bare in mind that you’re starting on thin ice. You will not enter this house again without my permission. Understood?”

　　“Yes,” Ignatius breathed. He glanced at Hare and grinned. Hare did not grin back.

　　The Widow cleared her throat. “I’m not exactly opposed,” she said. “But if it’s all the same, I’d like him to continue his piano lessons as well.”

　　Hare frowned and folded his arms, tucking his hands out of view. Before he could protest, Pops spoke again.

　　“There may not be time. But we shall see.” Pops looked at The Skull, who snapped to attention. “The Skull, get my guest’s coat for her. You’ll escort her and Ignatius to the streetcar.”

　　“Yes, sir,” The Skull said. He barely glanced at Hare as he swiftly left the room.

　　The Widow held out her hand to Ignatius, who slowly passed Pops to go to her. They followed The Skull, leaving Pops and Hare alone.

　　“You disapprove,” Pops said.

　　“Am I weird for feeling weird about it?” Hare asked, a note of pleading in his voice. “He didn’t tell me he was doing it. He didn’t ask. He just copied me like, like a thing, like a piece of homework.”

　　“Hare, you are a thing,” Pops said.

　　“Yeah,” Hare’s voice faded to a whisper as he looked at the ground. “But he don’t gotta treat me like one.”

　　Pops shrugged. “In any case, I expect you to continue to be respectful. Keep your reservations to yourself, and if time allows for your piano training, challenge him.”

　　Hare narrowed his eyes. “… You got it, Pops.”

　　-

　　Over the next four years, Hare and Ignatius’s lessons became more ever more sporadic. Hare never shook the feeling of violation, and while he was not a cruel teacher, he wasn’t proud of the spitefulness that churned in his chest when he was cool in the face of Ignatius’ improvement. It was only when Ignatius formally ended their lessons and Hare felt a wave of relief that he realized just how long he’d held the grudge.

　　Ignatius seemed to thrive under pressure-- at first. He devoured the books on engineering Pops assigned him, kept his grades up in school, learned to dance his skilled fingers across the ivories. He was hard-working, prodigious. As far as talent went, he was everything a man could hope for in an heir.

　　At seventeen, he broke.

　　Hare could hear Ignatius screaming from the other side of the manor, though the words weren’t clear. When The Jack and The Skull started to stand up from their game of cards, he shook his head.

　　“You guys really wanna get between those two?” he said quietly.

　　The Jack and The Skull traded looks, and they awkwardly sat back down.

　　“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hare muttered. He looked at his hand for a moment, balled it into a fist. “Let him burn his bridges.

　　“I never liked how he looked at me, anyway.”

[daybreakrising]

@avaere: " i'm sorry to interrogate you like that. that was rude. " gallagher to natasha !

The apology is met, first, with a private inward chuckle, and then an outward smile as she affixes a gentle gaze upon the man who loiters within the walls of her clinic. A stranger to these parts, for sure - and not just to the Underworld, but to Belobog. Of course, with paths to other worlds opened up once more, this is perhaps nothing to be particularly curious about, and yet there is still something about this rather unkempt individual that has drawn her attention.

Visitors to the Overworld are expected; few would venture down here, into the dark and the grime. Those that do usually fall into one of two categories: the overly curious, or the slightly shady. She is yet to determine which of the two, if either, he falls into.

"No need to apologise," she assures him, still smiling as her arms fold neatly across her chest, "I assure you, I've had worse from patients."

A person in pain is prone to lash out, if not with fists then with words. She has heard it all, and more, and smiled through the apologies that inevitably follow once recovery has been made. Rude is not how she would have described the questions fired at her from this stranger. Direct, perhaps, but there is nothing wrong with a little directness, especially down here.

Her head angles slightly to the side, regarding him with interest. "Given your... interrogation... I suspect there's something you seek, or some purpose that brings you here. Perhaps you've heard through whispers that there are always answers to be found here." There is an edge of slyness to her smile now - barely a glimpse, but she allows him to see it nonetheless.

"You look like you've had a series of very long days, and they're starting to take their toll." She turns her back, gestures to one of the empty beds in her currently vacant clinic. "Sit yourself down, now. I'm sure I can find something to help."