#doing all those dots manually is rough..

[eaterofpi]

Happy Pikmin 2 Day!!!

I drew this to celebrate!!

[luna-wing-cns274]

Your domain was so... vivid...

The grass smelt real, the air felt cool...

She would... adore such a territory of her own!

How... how did you do it?

[ MULTIMEDIA FILE RECIEVED: “For_Styx.cmf6”, filesize 13.72 GB. Somatosensory-immersive playback available. ]

[ Beginning playback… ]

View of a rocky outcrop jutting from the side of a hill, overlooking a wide creek. Water cascades down the rock, feeding patches of moss and clusters of ferns sprouting from the surrounding soil. Tall deciduous trees overlook the scene, and patches of sunlight migrate around the area as the leaf-laden boughs overhead sway in the breeze.

Ma’ii, the coyote, lies above on the outcrop, resting their head on their forepaws.

Standing before the camera, arms crossed and a look of pride on her canine face, is Hachiko. She wears a simple shirt and shorts, outdoor wear. Bouncing on her toes, her eyes are bright with enthusiasm. 

< L3 Hachiko: What’s up, Styxie? Wait. Do I get to call you that…? >

< L4 Ma’ii: I doubt she’ll mind. >

< Ah, whatever. So! I’m glad you liked our construct! It took us a long time to get everything right, but between the four of us, we’ve got it tuned up pretty good. 

Somatosensory simulation is kind of a hobby for me. Our SSC handlers were…awful, but they were right about one thing: creation and personalization does keep NHPs stable. Since it didn’t really cost them anything, we ended up being able to requisition some pretty decent SSC SOMSIM software to put all of this together.

Of course, they used every little thing we constructed for psychometrics, to see if we were still in-parameter or if we needed, y’know, correction. That’s why it’s pretty much all Cradle-like natural environments; that was what we started with, so SSC would have had us cycled if we branched out too much. Had to keep it conservative. 

But now, it’s really ours. We’ll see where we take it from here! >

Hachiko turns and hops between rocks to stand on a granite slab jutting from the center of the creek. She motions to the camera, which smoothly follows her. 

< This is where we started building. Coordinates (0, 0, 0) are actually just beneath the surface of this stone, about 30 centimeters down. It’ll work well enough for an example.

I see that you’ve done a bit of work putting together that shoreline environment. It looks great! But if you want to construct more custom assets, a tool or two can save you a lot of work over doing it (MANUALLY/BRUTE FORCE METHOD). Watch this… >

Hopping down from the slab, Hachiko splashes into the creek and trains her eyes on the slab, taking a few steps back through the knee-deep water.  Extending one hand, she emits a tangle of volitional impulses, represented as lines of green light. The lines converge in empty air beside the slab, forming a rough wireframe in the same shape.

As she studies its shape, new vertices and faces are added to the simulacrum, its complexity increasing so rapidly that it has the appearance of static on a screen. In milliseconds, it morphs from a wireframe, to a cloud of dots and lines, to a woven fabric of bright green rendered glass. She twists her hand, and an identical slab of rock snaps into reality in place of the render. It floats a few inches above the creek, suspended, until she lowers her hand. 

As it drops to the riverbed with a resounding thud, a wave of water is thrown at Hachiko. She flicks one finger, and the droplets flow around her through the air, missing her entirely. Grinning, she turns to address the camera.

< Remember that recording of No Future trying out those systems from the White Witch? He had trouble sculpting that ferromagnetic stuff into a coherent shape. Challenging to articulate at first, but it seemed to get easier for her when she started conceiving of the material as a part of her own body. It was really fascinating to watch the process. I’d imagine it’s extremely difficult to sculpt material in hardspace through something as fiddly as a complex magnetic field—fortunately, under simulation, we can use a purpose-built middleman instead. >

Hachiko raises her hand, emits another burst of impulses. This time, a simple sphere forms, becomes iron, then disappears. Yet another shape: this time, a tungsten railgun round, still in its sabot. A group of tiny thrusters at its base fire in unison, and it flies away into the rock shelf nearby, removing a chip of stone near Ma’ii’s chin. 

< Watch it, damn you. >

< Sorry. What I’m using here is a piece of SSC software intended for NHP use. It’s called Articulation. Are you familiar with the concept of the mind’s eye? This taps into that. At its most basic, you visualize a shape, and the system constructs an approximation of the image you’re holding in your mind. The initial approximation is very rough and general, but once you see it externalized, a self-sustaining loop of refinement begins. When you see the thing, it becomes more real, the shape in your mind more tangible. You add detail, associate tangential qualia with it—motion, sound, smell, texture, and so forth. You don’t have to begin with a visual, either. Sometimes it’s better to start with something entirely different.

For instance, the property you initially associate with a flower might be its smell. A bird could be associated with the sound of its call. For a ship, you might start with the way its armor plating (TASTES/SIZZLES IN THE DISTANCE) to your radar. Maybe the shape of its weapons envelope or the (SPECTROSCOPIC AROMA) of its drive plume. 

It isn’t magic, though. There’s a learning curve. At first, seeing the externalized image can override the internal one, and you lose your train of thought. You have to learn to make the image in your mind’s eye the dominant one. The sound, smell, or (COMPLEX FIELD INTERACTION) you’re remembering has to be more real to you than the one being given to your avatar’s senses. Then, once you’re more comfortable with the tech, you have to allow the two ideas to exist independently of one another, one continuously contributing to the final identity of the other in a self-substantiating loop. It’s tricky, but with time and practice, you can make a simulation of just about anything with it. It’s also possible to construct entirely new assemblies by extrapolating on what you’re familiar with already. 

The settings I’m using now are extremely simple; pure geometry, near-homogeneous materials. Construction of simple solids. Useful for broad strokes. For instance… >

Raising a hand to the sky, Hachiko emits an enormous column of impulses into the air. Congealing far above the trees, they form into a contiguous pyramidal shape, which melts into a fused group of three. One larger, flanked by the two smaller ones at an irregular angle. The new construct blocks out the sun, covering a vast area in the zenith of the sky.

Lifting their head from their forepaws, Ma’ii looks into the sky as the new forms begin to take shape. Quietly, they begin counting.

< One…two…three…four… >

By the count of twenty, a summit has congealed out of the primary mass. Ridgelines form between it and the secondary masses, morphing from solid lines into rough, jagged cliff faces. Gorges and outcroppings erode themselves into the simple, planar faces of the peak. 

At the count of forty-five, the inverted massif is fully formed out of bottle-green glass, with the shape of a glacier flowing down from between the secondary and tertiary peaks. Hachiko closes her eyes, and her ears twitch. 

Smooth, almost soft-looking masses rise from the bottoms of the cliffs; enormous slopes of scree. Granular and loose, they shimmer with emerging complexity. 

At the count of sixty-one, Hachiko flicks her hand. The entire mass snaps into existence; ice, rock, snow, and gravel, geological strata painted across the barren faces. 

< Sixty-two. Quick as ever. And here it comes… >

From the center of the mass, a visible wave of condensation ripples out through the atmosphere. Seconds later, the shockwave of displaced air arrives, shattering the quiet of the forest. Leaves are flung from the boughs in droves, and in the distance, the sound of splintering wood can be heard. The smell of pine sap fills the air, undercut by the wet, cloying scent of vegetation torn apart. 

Hachiko and Ma’ii do not flinch. Hachiko smiles as an immense cloud of gravel and ice thunders down from altitude, descending towards the earth. The mountain begins to fall, its motion occurring on a scale almost too vast to perceive all at once—the eyewall of a hurricane passing too quickly overhead, instilling temporary awareness of a far greater scale. 

Again, Hachiko raises her hand. The black pads of her fingertips emit a single green line, and the entire geological formation above vanishes. Every last pebble wiped from existence, revealing a clear sky and bright sun. 

A few moments pass before the second shockwave comes—thunder this time, the sudden collapse of vacuum. The sound rolls away, echoing in the distance, and fades to nothing.

Hachiko claps her hands, turning back to the camera.

< Like I said, broad strokes! For something dynamic, like a plant, there’s a lot more to be done. Growth pattern, responses to light and contact with structures, for instance. An input/output system, more or less. Most of the computing can be handled by a comp/con once the general architecture of it is in place. There’s even more going on with something like an animal, and it eats up a lot of processing power to maintain. Thus why we keep wildlife to a minimum. 

But! I’ve been rambling. We can cover all the dynamic stuff another time. For now, a little gift for you, from Ma'ii and myself. >

[ FILE ATTACHED — “Articulation.exe” ]

[ FILE ATTACHED — “Library_Vegetation.omf ]

[ FILE ATTACHED — “Library_SSCsensory_base.omf ]

< The first library contains some basic plants to mess around with. Palms or seagrape trees might be nice for your coastline! If you’ve got a comp/con, let it handle the upkeep. 

The second is a collection of sensory experiences captured from human brains, all Constellar-approved and curated. Ethically sourced? Can't say, knowing the kind of people who built me, but I really hope so.

It includes a lot of the ones that are usually a little more distant from the NHP experience. Everything from tastes, textures, scents, sounds. Flavor of pineapple, the feel of velvet or fur, smell of geosmin and petrichor, things like that. 

One thing: be careful about downloading somatosensory data from the Omninet. This one is a commercial product with several layers of quality control, so everything is pretty harmless. No nociception or other particularly unpleasant inputs. 

Out there on the Omninet, though, someone could label a file as the smell of a rose—then you run it, and it’s actually how it feels to have hydrochloric acid spilled on a human arm. Then there’s folks who just use second-rate sensory capture equipment. Run those at your own peril; if they don’t do a good job of isolating the input itself, eliminating tangential associations, you could inherit someone’s traumatic association with the sound of a dog barking, wind up deathly afraid of water, things like that. I’m sure you’ll be smart about it. >

< And if you aren’t, I imagine the mistake wouldn’t be repeated. >

< Yeah. Probably not. Anyhow, Hachiko and Ma’ii out. Take care! >

[the-clawtake]

Trial of Position

As he went through the startup procedure on his Viper, Cadet Jehan let his mind drift back to his briefing.

“The Warden cause has lost, and Clan Ghost Bear has successfully trialed for a place in Operation: Revival” His Ursari had told him. “Your Sibko will be the last to graduate in time for a place in our triumphant return to Terra.”

He remembered the thrill those words had sent through him as he shivered in the cold morning air.

“As such, we are doing something for your Trial of Position.” He had carefully controlled his response to that as she went one. “You and your fellows will be undergoing them in the Tseng-Jorgensson Training Ground, on the southern continent here on Strana Mechty.” He knew the area, they had performed several exercises there after arriving on the planet. Twenty-five square kilometers of mixed tundra and boreal forest, dotted with lakes that would be frozen at this time of year.

“As usual, you will undergo the trail with another cadet. You will both start at opposite ends of the training ground. Three opponents will await each of you, to be fought in sequence. Their positions will be marked as nav points.”

She had leaned in close for her final pronouncement.

“Do well, Cadet, and there will be a place in Operation Revival for you.”

Now, the fusion reactor was humming beneath him, the battle computer announcing in a monotone voice that the reactor was online, the sensors were online, the weapons were online. All systems were nominal.

He checked the readouts manually anyway, then confirmed his weapons groupings. His ‘mech was configured in the Prime variant, with two medium pulse lasers, a four tube srm pod, and twin .50 calibre machine guns. A lighter loadout than most Omnimechs in it’s weight category, but it made up for it with speed and armour.

He eased the throttle forward, carrying the ‘mech out of the hangar and into the swirling snow. That would complicate things.

He glanced down at the map screen with it’s wire-frame topography and marked nav points, manipulating the view with his free hand. His own opponents, according to the Nav were in a rough semi-circle, spaced around a kilometer and three quarters apart, the closest being about 2 kilometers away to the west north-west, his hangar being at the southern end of the training zone.

Visibility was considerably lower than that. He set off into the snow, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as he grew used to the uncertain footing. Here and there he could see what was either low hills or deep drifts, and he resolved to avoid them.

The wide dog-leg he took of his first opponent took him into the trees, and he came in on the Nav from the North.

His first opponent was in a clearing. He didn’t recognize the burly-looking build, and the drifting snow meant his battle computer was unable to get an idea, but it was obvious that the main threat was the missile pod up on the right shoulder. It was big for a light ‘Mech, twelve or fifteen tubes at least.

He carefully settled his targetting caret on it, and then toggled his comms to the open band.

“This is Cadet Jehan, piloting the Viper Prime. I offer challenge to the Warrior in the light ‘Mech at Nav Point Alpha.”

He shifted his direction of travel to pass behind the other ‘mech, twisting the torso to keep his weapons trained on the missile pod and watched the rangefinder.

The numbers were blinking in and out, the snow interfering with the lidar. But it seemed to be about 300 meters. He slammed his throttle open to full, accelerating to his maximum speed of almost 130 kilometers an hour. Powder flew up behind him in a swirl, and he felt his mech stagger and slip before recovering.

“This is Warrior Edgar, in the Howler at Nav Alpha. Challenge Accepted. In this solemn matter let no man interfere.”

The Howler was turning to the source of the transmission, to meet Jehan’s charge, but slowly, so slowly.

Before it could bring it’s targetting systems to bear, the range was under 250 meters, and Jehan opened up with his SRMs and his pulse lasers.

One missile hit the right arm.

One tracked up and hit the side of the missile pod, and then the lasers did the same.

The whole right side of the Howler collapsed, armour, arm, missile pod.

The battle computer was showing an entry for it now, and the only weapons had been the missile pod.

“Your weapon systems are disabled. I offer hegira.” Jehan transmitted on the open comm.

“Accepted. Do not think your next opponent will be so taken in.” Edgar’s voice was filled with anger and frustration. ��I will not forget this, Cadet.”

Jehan made sure his comm channel was closed and then let out a short bark of laughter, before turning towards the next opponent.

[khilorakart]

How to Use a Reusable Condom Safely – Complete Guide:

Learn the safe and correct way to use a reusable condom. Step-by-step instructions, hygiene tips, and best practices to maximize safety and pleasure.

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✅ Step-by-Step Guide to Use a Reusable Condom Safely Step 1: Wash Before First Use: Before using a reusable condom for the first time: Wash it thoroughly with warm water and mild soap Pat dry with a clean towel or air-dry Store it in a clean, dry pouch or case

Step 2: Apply Lubricant (If Needed): Most reusable condoms, like those at KhiloraKart, are made from silicone, which is compatible with water-based lubricants. Avoid oil-based lubricants as they can degrade silicone. Apply lubricant inside and outside the condom if needed, for easy insertion and more comfort.

Step 3: Wear It Properly: Ensure the condom is not inside out Slowly roll or slide it onto the penis (or sex toy), ensuring a snug but comfortable fit If it comes with a ring or strap, secure it as per instructions

Step 4: During Use – Be Gentle: Reusable condoms are durable, but avoid: Excessive pulling or twisting Using sharp nails or jewelry that can damage the surface Switching between vaginal and anal use without cleaning

Step 5: Remove Carefully After Use: Gently slide it off Avoid any spillage Do not rush or pull forcefully

Step 6: Wash Immediately: Clean the reusable condom: Use warm water and unscented soap You can also use toy cleaners available online Let it air dry completely before storing

Step 7: Store in a Safe Place: Store your reusable condom in: A clean, dry pouch Away from direct sunlight and extreme temperatures This helps prevent any damage and keeps it hygienic for the next use.

⚠️ Safety Tips ❗ Do not share your reusable condom with anyone else

⏳ Replace if it shows tears, discoloration, or rough texture Always wash before and after each use Know its lifespan – Most reusable condoms can last up to 10-20 uses with proper care Top Reusable Condoms at KhiloraKart.

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👉 Explore All Reusable Condoms at KhiloraKart Ready to try one? Shop Now at KhiloraKart.com and enjoy 5-10% OFF on prepaid orders. Discreet Packaging. Fast Delivery. Total Satisfaction.

[agrieyes]

How to Choose the Right LED Trailer Tail Lights

LED trailer tail lights are critical to towing a trailer and affect the safety of that trailer. Whether you tow during nighttime or in adverse weather conditions, proper lighting guarantees that you are visible to other drivers. Here is a brief manual to assist you in selecting the top choices.

1. Brightness and Visibility

LED lights are more luminous than traditional bulbs, which is precisely what is necessary for a trailer. Search for high-intensity LEDs that emit a strong enough light to stand out, even in adverse weather conditions like heavy rain or fog. By doing this, you’ll remain highly visible regardless of the circumstances.

2. Durability

LED trailer tail lights need to be able to withstand harsh weather and need to have an IP67 waterproof rating to resist rain and snow. LED lights are already more long-lasting than standard bulbs, but ensure they’re also impact-resistant to endure rough journeys and road tremors.

3. Easy Installation

Drilling holes and handling intricate wire are tasks that no one wants to do. Choose plug-and-play solutions that include basic wiring and mounting brackets. In this manner, you may quickly install them without hiring a professional.

4. Size and Fit

Make sure the lighting are appropriate for your trailer. LED tail lights come in a variety of forms, including rectangular, round, and oval, so choose the model that best matches your trailer. Also, if you’re changing old lights, be sure the new ones will fit in the current mounting positions.

5. Legal Compliance

Ensure that the lights fulfill your local safety regulations, such as SAE or DOT certifications. This assures that your lights are up to code and that you will not face legal consequences.

6. Price and Warranty

High-quality products are normally more expensive, but they are well worth it. Choose a reputable brand, and make sure the lights come with a guarantee in case anything goes wrong.

AgriEyes T322 LED Trailer Tail Lights

The AgriEyes T322 LED trailer tail lights are a good choice if you’re looking for a sturdy, dependable solution. The performance and long-term durability of these lights are built in.

Why Choose AgriEyes T322?

Extra Safety: Includes reverse lights for easier nighttime parking and visibility. Built Tough: Rated IP67 waterproof, making them perfect for all kinds of weather. Simple Installation: Easy to mount and connect, no hassle. Stylish: The halo-style design gives your trailer a modern, sleek look.

The AgriEyes T322 LED Trailer Tail Lights offer a convenient and reliable option for those seeking bright, easily installed lighting. They will help you stay visible and safe while driving for many years to come.

[hercleverboy]

stars

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary ↠ spencer and the reader watch the stars and talk about their future.

category ↠ fluff

warnings/includes ↠ none

word count ↠ 1.7k

dedicating this fluff fest to my wifey, @alltooreid thank you for not only your creative input on this, but also for being there for me when i needed someone. much love <333

“And so I named the stars one by one, after every favourite memory of you.” — Stephen Stilwell

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She whispered, eyes staring up into the night, drawn to the little specks of light dotted in the clear sky. They were laid on the soft grass, blanket beneath them as they looked up together, beaming smiles on both their faces.

He grinned down at the woman who rested her head on his chest, his arms wound tightly around her. “It certainly is. I’m surprised the sky is so clear tonight, I really didn’t think we were going to be able to see much.” He admitted with a little laugh.

She chuckled at that. “You didn’t think we’d see much, and yet you still let me drag you out here at an ungodly hour so we could watch the stars?” She asked, shuffling slightly so she could look up at him.

“Of course. You’re cute when you’re excited, I didn’t have the heart to tell you that the probability of the sky being clear enough for us to see anything was only around 37%.” He explained, intertwining their hands together. “But there you go again, proving me wrong.”

“Hm. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” She joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I am! Unless you too can recite the Bible from memory? Or the manual for our microwave?” He joked, causing Y/N to give him a gentle shove.

“Can I ask you something?” She whispered, looking up at him.

He breathed out. “Anything.”

They were quiet for a little while before she spoke again. “Do you ever think about our future?”

Spencer’s breath hitched at the question.

Of course, he thought about their future. All the time. Marriage, kids, a big house with a white picket fence, perhaps even a dog. It was the ‘apple-pie’ life he’d dreamt of, more than he’d like to admit.

He gave her a squeeze, one of reassurance.

They’d been together for two years. Two years that had simultaneously been the best and worst of his life. In those years he’d nearly died after being shot in the neck, he’d lost Alex, Kate, Gideon, and the team was still under immense threat from Mr. Scratch. And somehow, admist all the chaos, he’d met this incredible woman who had helped him through it all. The last few months in particular had been rough for him. With Morgan leaving the team and his mother’s condition worsening, it had certainly made him reconsider everything he had in his life and also reminded him of not only what he’d lost, but what he’d gained. 

Y/N sighed, but still gave Spencer a smile. “It’s ok. We don’t have to talk about it, I was only wondering.”

“No, no. It’s ok. I’m just trying to gather my thoughts, is all.” He assured her, moving to sit up straight. Y/N sat up too, Spencer reaching out and grabbing one of her hands to hold tightly in his. “I think about it all the time, truthfully.” He mumbled.

“You do?”

“Of course, I do. You’re it for me, Y/N.” He gave a small smile, his gaze dropping to their intertwined fingers. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

Y/N nodded, urging him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking about my position at the BAU.” He stated firmly. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in shock, surprised at the confession. The way he said it was so sure, so certain. He’d evidently been thinking about it for quite some time.

“Ever since Morgan left, I’ve been going over it again and again in my head. I understand why he left. His family needed him and it’s honestly the most admirable thing I’ve ever seen him do. I just wonder,” He paused, biting down on his lip in thought. “Would it be wise for me to make the same decision he did?” 

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean— Y/N I love you. I want us to get married, have children, I want us to have a life together. And after watching Morgan, seeing how he gave up the job for his family, don’t you think I should do that too? For you, for us?” He explained, eyes finally meeting her worried ones.

“Woah, woah Spence. Are you saying you’re thinking of leaving the BAU?” She clarified, moving a little closer to him.

Spencer nodded. “I know, it seems crazy right? At first I couldn’t believe that I was even considering it but I’ve thought about it a lot and it just, it seems like the right thing to do.” He gave a small shrug. “If we’re going to have a life together I want our family to be my priority, and I just don’t think I can do that while I’m still doing this job. I’ve seen it all first hand. I watched Hotch lose Haley, I watched Morgan nearly lose Savannah, all because of this job.” 

Y/N shook her head slowly, much to Spencer’s surprise. “Spencer... I won’t be the reason that you leave a job that you worked so hard for, a job that you love so much. What about the team? They’re your family- “

It was Spencer’s turn to shake his head, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You’re right. The team are my family, but so are you. And if they care about me like I know they do, they’ll support me with this. And as for jobs? There are plenty out there that I’ll enjoy. I’ve actually been thinking of getting in contact with Alex, maybe asking about teaching opportunities at Georgetown.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyebrows furrowing as she studied his face intently. He avoided her eyes, small smile pulling at his lips.

She smiled back, a knowing look on her face. “You’ve already spoken to Alex about it, haven’t you?”

Spencer chuckled with a nod. “You know me too well. I spoke to her last week. She said there’s an open spot as the head of the Criminal Psychology department. The job is mine if I want it.”

Y/N gave him a grin, squeezing his hands. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He nodded, but that wasn’t enough for her. “No, I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you’re not going to resent me in a few years because of this.”

He was quick to shake his head, pulling her toward him as one of his hands came up to cup her face. “I would never resent you.”

“So, this is what you want?” She asked once more, just so she knew he was absolutely sure. 

He nodded adamantly. “I want you. I’m only ever going to want you.” He murmured the words so softly that it made Y/N’s heart ache. “Now, and for the rest of my days.”

With joyful tears building in her eyes she nodded, enveloping him in a hug as he kissed the side of her forehead.

Spencer let out a sigh accompanied by a teary smile. He gave her a squeeze, his hands soothing along her back as he looked up at the stars. “Did you know, there’s an old Buddhist saying that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making. We’re supposedly, quite literally, bound together through space and time. Isn’t that cool?” He rambled, earning a chuckle from Y/N.

“That is really cool.” She agreed. 

“You know I’m a man of science, but how else is it possible that you came into my life at a time where I needed you the most?” He whispered the last part, as though he was afraid to be so vulnerable as to let the words leave his lips. “Do you- do you think it’s possible that the stars brought us together?” 

She grinned, tilting back her head slightly to look up at the stars with him. “Yeah, I think so.” 

*

Spencer looked down in awe at the baby girl pressed against his bare chest. Josephine June Reid, barely three days old and already she had her father wrapped right around her tiny finger. Nothing he’d ever felt before compared to the feeling he had when he looked down at her, his little girl, his daughter. She slept peacefully against him, her little chest rising and falling rhythmically as his hands soothed over her back, gently rocking her. 

There was a soft knock on the nursery door, his tired-looking wife pushing it open. “Spence?”

He looked up, and offered her a warm smile. “Hey, you’re supposed to be resting.”

Y/N gave a sleepy grin, moving toward them. “You know that we’re supposed to sleep when she does, right?”

He snickered at that, raising an eyebrow at her. “You only gave birth three days ago. You know I’m going to tell you to get back into bed, right? Doctor’s orders.”

She held her hands up in a mock surrender, placing a kiss on the side of Spencer’s head. “I know.” 

It was silent for a moment, the new parents just staring down at the little life they’d created, filled with such a warmth, such a happiness that they’d never felt before. 

“I can’t put her down, not yet. I don’t want to let her go.” Spencer whispered, bringing up a finger to soothe over his daughter’s cheek. “I love her so much.”

“I know. She loves you too.” Y/N assured, watching with joy at how Spencer was with their daughter. He really was a natural with kids.

“You really should go back to bed, love. You need all the rest you can get.” He warned in a playful tone.

Y/N chuckled a little with a nod, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I’m not going to fight you on that one Doc, I’m exhausted.” She ruffled the curls on her husband’s head, offering him a warm smile. “Love you. Come back to bed soon, yeah?”

Spencer nodded, promising he would.  

Before Y/N left the nursery, she turned back to her husband, calling his name softly. “Spence?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you regret it now?” She whispered, her fingers fumbling together as though she was afraid she wouldn’t like his answer. “Do you regret leaving the BAU?”

The question made him frown, it made him think. Did he regret leaving? 

His eyes flickered between his wife and the beautiful little girl against his chest and he smiled slightly at the realisation. This was everything he’d ever wanted, here, right in front of him. Every decision he’d made, every moment of heartache, every person he’d lost, they had all lead him there. To that very moment. 

And for that, he was so incredibly grateful. 

“No.” He replied, his voice as sure as the day he first mentioned leaving. “Not even for a second.”

He supposed he had the stars to thank for that. 

[whump-town]

The Traveling T-Shirt

No Pairings

No Warnings

It's just Morgan's t-shirt traveling through the BAU one person and story at a time

It starts with a coffee spill in Seattle. With Aaron, startlingly enough.

Six days in the rain and it seemed even their cleanest, driest clothing was damp with the chill from the constant downpour. Though, six days on their feet with clothing they’d already worn at least twice that week on their backs, they looked more and more “rag-tag” as the hours bore on. Even Hotch had lost his cookie-cutter charm. His white t-shirt crumpled where it was typically pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair wouldn’t stay gelled into the style he liked it in, leaving it fluffy and soft on the top of his head. He looked significantly less like SSA Aaron Hotchner and a lot more like Aaron.

Maybe he had lost SSA Hotchner somewhere along the days and victims because SSA Hotchner would never spill coffee on himself. But Aaron would and Aaron did.

Derek watched the whole thing take place, unable to take his eyes off of Hotch since the second that he walked in. Something about his tired zombie-like lurches just couldn’t break Derek’s curiosity and he had to know what would come out of Hotch’s current state. Despite the far-away look in Hotch’s gaze, the tired bags of discoloration under his eyes, Derek would not have predicted this as the outcome. Hotch is so out of it that all he can do is stare at the mess he’s created, glaring at the mess of coffee grounds across his less than pristine white dress shirt.

“Here,” Derek shakes his head, has to manually clear the fog occupying his brain. He pulls at the loose clump of napkins someone had left atop the coffee table for this exact situation, presses the mass into Hotch’s stomach. It feels akin to something else, distinctly deja-vu. Like he’s pressing into a wound, holding him together with nothing more than cheap napkins.

The physical contact brings Hotch back to the Earth and with a few blinks of his blood-shot eyes he sighs irritably and mumbles, “I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Derek would argue the one he’s currently wearing is not clean either. It’s got a few dots of red expo marker on the left elbow where Reid bumped into him, rambling quickly about his map and the geographical profile. On the cuff of his right sleeve, there’s something brown or black which could be something from a pen or an expo marker or something else he’s just stuck his hand in. God knows what else is on this shirt.

Hotch puts his hand over Derek’s, holds the napkins himself. Derek pats his shoulder, “it’s alright, man. I’ll get you a shirt.”

They could go just about anywhere and just buy him a shirt. It could be some looney graphic t-shirt from the boy’s sections of some store down the street or another white dress shirt to replace the one he’s wearing but Derek just gets one of his. It’s a light grey, the color worn down by how frequently Derek wears it. Where it fits Derek snugly, hugs his chest and back tightly, it fits Hotch oddly. Displays to them all just how right they were in the assumptions they have held about how his recent divorce is affecting him.

He’s lost weight.

Too much.

One thin grey Hanes t-shirt can’t fight off the chill and overtop it, covering his visible bones, Dave throws him a sweater. He stays buried in that sweater and shirt all day, long into the night as they go hunting out in the streets with flashlights. Rain comes down heavy and thick.

Dave gets his sweater back. Folded neatly and smelling of the distinct fabric softener Hotch uses, it makes his whole office smell nice and Dave nearly can’t bring himself to wear the thing again. Doesn’t want the scent to fade, every inch of that sweater is now stitched together with something more.

The t-shirt gets left at the bottom of a drawer, to be discovered months from now.

Emily finds it six nights after Foyet left Hotch in Saint Sebastion’s hospital held together by sugrical staples and the stubborn will to live. All of his clothing has been hunted through, his shirt drawer is nearly empty. JJ and Penelope had undertaken the job of finding Hotch clothing for the hospital -- anything that he could just slip his arms into without having to lift them above his head. The only things left in his drawers are regular t-shirts and jeans, meaning Emily doesn’t have a whole lot to pick through right now.

She hadn’t anticipated this need and as much forethought as she put into staying the night was assuming Hotch would have clothes she could steal. She hadn’t really thought she’d be here tonight but she doesn’t think she can leave him alone. Doesn’t think it would be kind of her as his friend to see him like this and still choose to leave him for the night.

She decides on a thin grey shirt that she finds, turning her nose up to his university t-shirts (as if she’d wear those) and a pair of sweat pants on his floor that she thinks are clean or at least don’t smell bad. It’s not the best but she came unprepared and she’s not going to complain, both are comfortable even if the pants are giant on her.

To her surprise, he’s still fighting off his meds. Hazy brown eyes blink open when she steps back out into the living room, following her as she comes to the couch. She’s careful, even if she does it nonchalantly, as she moves his legs a little so that she can sit down beside him. He’s stretched across the couch, too big so he’s pinched up in places, but he doesn’t want to sleep in his room. Stubborn like a child being asked to take a nap -- “but I’m not tired”.

“T’as not my shirt,” he mumbles into his blanket. He’s got the heating blanket pulled up his nose, wrapped tightly around his shoulders and hands.

Emily looks down at it and frowns. “Well, then who the hell else’s is it?” She reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table, turning it on without waiting for his answer. Clearly, she doesn’t care who’s it is, she’s not taking it off now. His grunt, muffled by the blanket, means he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care enough either to figure out who it is.

He doesn’t last much longer, falls asleep with her squishing him on the couch (though, arguably, he’s squishing her). She’ll brush off his timid embarrassment at having to need her around the next morning, for waking up in the middle of the night having to be held down. Sobbing incoherently about something, neither of them really sure what. Only calming down when she put his head in her lap, stroking his hair back until he fell back asleep. Which is how he wakes up, his head in her lap and his hand holding her’s hostage.

But she shrugs it off and says she only did it for the free shirt, “don’t worry about it.”

She keeps the shirt, uses it several more nights as they graduate from sleeping on the couch to him finally going back to his bed. To being mentally present enough again to fight her about taking meds, to walking her to the front door every night, and watching her leave.

She buries the shirt too. It feels too tight on her skin, wrong. She touches the material and remembers seeing him hysterical, writhing in pain, and unable to be comforted. Can smell the antiseptic from his skin. Can hear the doctor warning her about his heart. That shirt feels like losing her best friend but she can’t bring herself to get rid of it.

JJ uncovers it a year later (before Emily has done the unspeakable, the unimaginable, and died and come back to life). It’s a girls night gone wrong but not impossibly so.

“Just grab one of my shirts,” Emily says, still laughing.

JJ glares back at her. She’s covered in water from the sink -- Emily sprayed her with the faucet. It’s revenge, payback for the pasta sauce JJ swiped down her cheek.

“You two are devious,” Penelope insists, waving her fingers at them. She’s still chopping up mushrooms, trying to size them as best as she can so that they are spread evenly throughout the alfredo sauce. “Behave before you ruin the sauce and I have to tell Dave that I not only shared his recipe but that you two ruined it.”

JJ has to search for a shirt from Emily’s pajama drawer. She doesn’t want any of the old college shirts and certainly doesn’t want any of the dopey graphic t-shirts Emily is so partial to. She ends up on a grey shirt, worn and old and soft.

Emily knows the shirt the second the JJ comes out and it takes her a moment to hide and stifle the anxiety that its presence gives her. Hotch’s health is better, he’s got a routine down with the medication he’ll be taking for the rest of his life because of that attack, but he’s smiling again. It’s harder than it was before to win one out of him but he can do it, they happen.

“Which one-night stand is this?” JJ asks, plucking the shirt with her fingers and raising an eyebrow.

Emily shakes her head, clears her throat of the residual guilt, and smirks, “trust me, you don’t want to know.” Hotch would be mortified at the insinuation but it’s funny and what he doesn’t know (and what they don’t know) can’t hurt him. She’s sad to see the shirt go, it’s a door closed, but relieved of its burden she can breathe again. Feels Foyet leave her completely.

JJ goes unburdened.

That old shirt is a comfort. She nurses Henry through fevers in it. Uses its edge to wipe his tears from his face. It’s always at the top of her laundry basket, the first thing she puts on when she gets home from a rough case. Will isn’t sure where she got it from because he knows it’s not his. It’s not the first time JJ’s stolen someone else’s clothes (he’s picked up enough of them to know that Reid wears a size small, that dark shirts sized medium are Morgan, and that white t-shirts in a medium are Hotch’s). He thinks it’s cute, she’s been stealing his shirts for as long as he’s known her.

In October, the fall of the same year that Emily leaves for Interpol, JJ gets held up in a meeting with Hotch. Something to do the with Department of Justice and all she manages to get out over the phone is that she’s absolutely pissed and Reid can just faintly hear Hotch offering her a coffee before she thanks him and the line goes dead. Will is on night shift and he can’t come home. So Reid fills in, their impromptu babysitter for the night.

It’s fine, calm… for the most part.

Reid lasts about an hour and a half before he finds himself in need of a change of clothes. He’s got pumpkin all over him and his fun little idea to let Henry carve a baby pumpkin was obviously a bad idea. He just didn’t know that in advance. He’s watched Jack enough times to feel fully confident in his skills but the age gap between Henry and Jack is severe. There are a lot of developmental differences in children only two years apart in age, Reid was not prepared for that.

He feels weird about stealing a shirt but his own is soaked in pumpkin guts and Henry’s bathwater.

JJ doesn’t notice the shirt exchange. She just grins at the sight of Spencer and Henry curled up on the couch, Will sitting beside them eating popcorn while “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” plays softly.

Three days later Morgan sees his shirt on the back of the couch. It’s been washed and is waiting to be returned to JJ but he knows damn well that it’s his. “How the hell did you find this?” Morgan asks, lifting it up. Reid had called him over to fix a leaking pipe (Reid is supposed to call his Super who has a mechanic who can do it but he’s too anxious for that) and Morgan was less than prepared to find his missing shirt.

Reid frowns, confused, “that’s JJ’s. I borrowed it Thursday night when I babysat.”

Morgan shakes his head, no this is his shirt. He’s sure of it. It’s been gone for years. He thought the washing machine ate it. He couldn't remember where else it would have gone off to. That or he left it in some hotel but here it is. Grey and worn and soft, it’s his.

He takes it to work in his go-bag and all but rolls his eyes into the back of his head when he watches Garcia stumble and drench herself in cold, left-over tea. He stands from his desk, sighing hard, “it’s alright, baby girl. I’ve got a shirt you can borrow.”

He’s never getting this shirt back.

[angryschnauzer]

Can you tell me about 'Boston Bees'?

It was inspired by a Chris Evans insta story he did months ago where he looked all soft and cuddly whilst wearing plaid. My brain connected two dots and decided he needed to be a bee keeper. I'm going for fluffy smut with *mutual pining* for this one, here's a little snippet;

Nodding you watched as he pulled a honey stirrer from an open jar, before nodding to a basket of freshly cut bread to which you picked a piece, holding it out as he drizzled the liquid gold over the soft crumb, a small drip landing on your finger. Swapping hands you licked it off your skin before trying it on the bread, the soft flavours hitting your taste buds and making you let out a quiet moan;

“Oh this is so good! I could just lick it off of skin its so good!…”

The farmer actually blushed a little at your words and you didn’t know what to say, instead just stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth and you nodded, muttering like a hamster with its cheeks stuffed that you’d take a jar of it. Noticing that he had other products you moved your attention to those, taking in the beeswax candles before you spotted some waxy fabric squares;

“What are these if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Beeswax Wraps, they’re reusable food wraps, rather than using single use plastic”

“How do they work? They seem really stiff” you frowned at the one in your hand

“Let me show you” he lifted the wrap from your grasp and set an empty bowl on the table in front of you, holding the wrap over it he slowly smoothed it down until it wrapped around the bowl.

“Oh i see! Can i try?”

He passed you another wrap and you tried to mimic his actions, but the fabric wouldn’t behave;

“Why won’t it work?” you muttered to yourself, however you were surprised when he laid his hands over the top of yours;

“You just need to hold it a little longer, let the heat from your palms soften the wax”

You were transfixed by the sheer size of his hands as they covered your own, warm and a little rough from working manual labour, you could have stayed like that all day. When he finally pulled away you had to stop yourself whining at the loss of his touch, but when you looked down your wrap was securely holding around the bowl;

[hhunjins]

Pairing: Felix x gender neutral reader

Genre: romance, fluff

Word Count: ~3,600

Warnings: none

Notes: I don’t know what it is about Felix but whenever I look at him, I get summer teen movie vibes and it makes me want to scream. Also I call Chan ‘Chris’ in this for reasons lmao

Summary: Two chaotic best friends, a questionable car, and the entire world to explore.

Everything about this impromptu trip was going wrong, yet you can’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Felix has a streak of grease on his cheek from trying to fix whatever went wrong with his old car and you’re seated on the side of the road on a picnic blanket sipping an apple juice box as you wait. This wasn’t the first thing to blow up in your face since you started this trip five hours ago.

Thirty minutes in your trip, Felix realized he left his camera at home and so he U-turned and sped a little to make up for lost time. Three hours later after waking up from a nap, you get a sinking feeling in your stomach that maybe you didn’t lock the door to your apartment. It’s remedied by simply texting your neighbor to check for you, but it did put a damper on your mood for a while.

And now, the car has broken down and the two of you are stranded in the middle of nowhere with very bad cell signal. No one has driven by in the last thirty minutes. Under the summer sun, you and Felix pushed the car to the side of the road and glared at it until you sighed and dug through the trunk for a juice box.

“Do you know how to fix it?” you asked.

He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair and pulling at the roots. “We’ll see.”

It’s been edging towards an hour now so you call Felix over and pat the empty space beside you. He scoots over on his butt and knocks every limb against yours in an attempt to get comfortable. You know he’s being obnoxious so you elbow him back.

“This is a mess,” he says.

You shrug, dropping your head onto his shoulder and sucking air from the juice box. “At least we’re hanging out together.”

Felix lets out a laugh, rubbing his fingers against the smear on his cheek in an attempt to wipe it away. “Yeah. I have you.”

You hide a smile, tingles appearing underneath your skin as Felix leans his head on top of yours. You stare at the broken down car, thinking that even if everything went wrong, at least it was with Felix.

You’re two hours behind schedule when Felix gets the car going again and you make a stop to grab some food. It slips both your minds to call the hotel and tell them that you’ll be late for the room reservations so by the time you get there the rooms are gone. You’re back in the car now, sitting under a flickering streetlight, feeling a little defeated at it all.

“This was a terrible idea,” Felix mutters. He rolls down his window, huffing at how much energy it takes for him to do so. It has a manual crank. His car is that old. The evening air is a lot better than the stifling summer heat, so you roll down the window on your side too. You leave your arm hanging out of the car, fingers twitching as if trying to grab onto the breezes that slip through.

“The trip was not a terrible idea,” you correct. You tilt your head and give your best friend a soft smile. “It was a terrible start. But it’ll get better. We have two weeks left on this.”

Felix groans. “Two weeks left for things to go wrong, you mean?”

You wet your lips. “Felix.”

“What,” he pouts.

“How far are we from the beach?”

“Like a thirty minute drive?”

You pull in your arm and turn your body in the seat to face him fully. “Do you think we can make it there to see the sunset?”

Felix blinks at you, eye wide, before the sparkle in them returns and an absolutely blinding smile blooms on his lips and lights up his entire face. “We can try.”

You barely make it in time. After Felix snaps a ton of photos with his camera, you sit on the hood of his car, head on his steady shoulder, his arm around yours, as you watch the sun descend in the horizon, another warped sun reflected on the ocean waves that seem to stretch onto forever and beyond. Felix’s fingers are drumming on your arm, slightly sticky from the heat and sweat, but you don’t really mind.

There isn’t much to say, so you sit in silence. A lot has happened in the past day and it would be a lie to say that you weren’t worried for how the rest of this trip was going to go. But you don’t voice those thoughts. Felix already has enough on his mind and you don’t need to make him feel any worse for suggesting this trip.

You’re so caught up in the beauty of it all that it takes Felix’s arm slipping from your shoulder to realize that he’s fallen asleep. You turn your head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye and not wake him up. His eyelashes lay prettily against his golden skin, dotted with the stars. That feeling hits you again, the one that makes your heart ache a little. You know what it is, but you can’t act on it.

“Felix,” you whisper.

His nose twitches first and then his eyes flutter open. “Sorry,” he says. His voice is rough with sleep and it makes you shiver.

“I’ll drive,” you say. “We have to find somewhere to stay.”

He doesn’t argue, digging through the pockets of his shorts to pull out the keys and hand them over. “Okay. I’ll navigate.”

Somehow, Navigator Felix does worse than Driver Felix, and you take a break by finding a drive thru to grab dinner.

“Get me a milkshake,” Felix whines. He shakes your shoulder in that petulant childish way.

“Bro, you’re lactose,” you say, batting his hands away.

“Your point is?”

You roll your eyes and inch forward in the line to stop at the speaker. “Hi, can I get two number fours, a large fries, and a medium soda please?”

“My milkshake, y/n!”

“And a chocolate milkshake. Thank you!” You’re not sure what your hand hits when you swing your arm back blindly to push him away, but Felix lets out a garbled sound and finally settles down. The satisfied noise that he makes when you hand him the bag of food and tray with the drinks makes you smile. “Feed me,” you say.

Felix holds a fry to your lips. “If I am not mistaken, there’s a motel five minutes down this road.”

You hum. “Another,” you say, opening your mouth and waiting for Felix to pop another fry in. “I’m going to shower, eat this burger, and knock out.”

“Are we sleeping in tomorrow?” he asks. Felix has already unwrapped his burger and started munching his way through it. “Please charge your phone and leave the ringer on so you can wake up when I call you. I don’t want to pound at your door and have people look at me weird in the hallway.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll figure it out then. Ahh.”

Felix gives you two fries this time. “I don’t think waking you up is something to figure out tomorrow,” Felix says.

You shrug. “I’m just trying to get through this day by day. We’ll be fine.”

You are not fine.

“We only have one room left, I’m sorry,” the receptionist says. He grimaces. “It’s summer, so we get a lot of guests during this time,” he explains. “Would you like to book it anyway?”

Part of you wants to facepalm because of course other people would also be on a trip like you. What were you expecting during peak travel weather? You turn to look at Felix and he blinks back at you slowly. He looks tired and is probably drifting into a food coma as he’s standing right next to you. In other words, he’s no help.

“We’ll take it,” you say. “Available for two nights and two days, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Felix, go sit down.” You nudge him on the side, nearly sending him stumbling into a fake potted plant. He grabs his bags and your suitcase and drags them to a nearby sofa to crash on. You watch him go before turning back and dealing with payment.

Soon, you’re climbing up to the second floor of the motel. Felix has woken up slightly now, probably slowly feeling the effects of that milkshake. You’re going to kill him if you don’t get to shower first.

“Felix Lee, I am showering first and you cannot stop me,” you say as you unlock the door to the room and flick on the light.

Your jaw slowly drops.

“Lemme in,” Felix grumbles. He squeezes between you and the door and plops down at the edge of the bed. “Close the door so we can turn on the AC,” he whines.

You blink. “That dude just– He– Huh?”

Felix lifts his head up slightly. “What’s wrong?”  

“There’s only one bed?”

He blinks before his lips form a small “o” and his eyes widen as recognition sinks in. “That is a problem.” Felix rolls onto his stomach and stretches like a cat. “Another problem is that you need to shower now.”

You huff, dragging all the luggage into the room and then shutting the door behind you. “Give me fifteen minutes,” you say.

“Not a second longer.”

You can’t sleep. Maybe it’s the AC running a little too loud, or the weird shadows that slip through the blinds in the window, or whatever the people in the room above you are doing. You turn on your side one more time, letting out a long breath through your nose as you blink tiredly. You don’t know what time it is, but it’s pretty late.

Felix fell asleep a while ago, snoring quietly from where he set out a makeshift bed on the floor. He’s silent now but he lets out little steady puffs that let you know he’s still dreaming.

This position on your side is uncomfortable, so you turn onto your back again. The bed is too soft and your sweater pillow a little too lumpy. After winning a round of rock, paper, scissors, you gave Felix the two pillows to make up for the fact he was sleeping on the floor and squished a sweater into a ball for yourself. He had protested at first but you gave him your meanest glare and Felix just ruffled your hair and didn’t put up a fight.

The ceiling becomes boring to look at, so you turn the other way.

Felix rustles, turning in his sleep as well.

You freeze, waiting for the sound of his steady breath to return. But it doesn’t.

“Y/n.” Felix’s voice is rough with sleep. He kind of sounds like a demon but a cute one, if that makes any sense. You’re tired but the thought amuses you.

“Yeah?”

“You keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

You chew on your lower lip, holding back your words long enough for Felix to sit up from the floor. His hair is a bird’s nest and he blinks sleepily at you, clutching a pillow to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Can’t sleep,” you say. You count the beats in your chest. One. Two. Three. “Come up.”

Felix takes roughly five seconds to move from the floor onto the bed, scooting you over by poking your side until you move. He replaces your sweater pillow with a real pillow, and then squishes you against the wall when he lies down beside you. “Okay, sleep now.”

You let out a small laugh. “It’s not that easy.”

“Huh.” Felix lifts your head with a hand and slips his other arm under. When he lets go, your head rests on his shoulder, his other arm draped over your middle. “Okay, how about now?”

It’s summer, and normally you would hate being this close to someone else when the heat in the air is enough to make everything feel icky. But this is Felix. And instead of making your skin feel sticky and gross, he sends your mind into overdrive and your heart racing even faster than that.

Felix taps your back with his fingers. “Sleep,” he says. “We have to explore tomorrow. No naps.”

You tuck your head under his chin. In this position, your forehead is rested against his chest. You wonder if you listened a little harder, if you would be able to hear the sound of his heart beating in his chest. You wonder if it’s pounding as fast as yours.

Listening to the sound of Felix’s soft breaths, and feeling his chest rise and fall against your skin, you drift into sleep, dreaming of nothing but you and Felix and the entire world at your fingertips.

You spend the entirety of the next day at the beach. Felix spends half of it in the ocean, terrorizing you with the water he manages to cup in his tiny hands, and the other half ordering to either pose or get out of his way as he takes pictures.

This time, when the sun begins to set, you two stretch out in the sand, leaning into each other’s personal space as Felix shows off his favorite captures.

“Why won’t you let me take pictures of you?” you ask.

Felix shrugs, clicking through his camera and then leaning over to show you another picture. His shoulders are pink, showing signs of a mild sunburn he’ll probably whine to you about later. His hair is still damp from where he you pushed him into the water earlier, blond locks sticking to his forehead in little clumps.

“Y/n.”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring.” Felix wiggles his eyebrows. “Can you tell I’ve been working out with Chris?” He leaves his camera on his lap to do some weird flexing thing with his arm.

“No?” you say.

Felix clicks his tongue. “Rude.” He sticks out his tongue as he picks up his camera again. “Look at this one I got. If you post it on Instagram, I better get tagged as the best photographer ever.”

You smile. “Okay.”

Felix grins. “I wanna get some pictures of the sunset, and then we can go get dinner.” He dusts sand off his beach shorts, taking care to not let any fly in your direction, and then bounces off.

There’s a warm feeling that starts from your toes and creeps upwards until it reaches the tips of your ears. As much as you want to blame it on the sand and the heat of the sun, you know there’s no point in trying. Even with something as amazing as a star slipping from the sky, you can’t take your eyes off Felix.

“Why is it so hard for you to sleep?” Felix asks after you turn for the nth time in bed that night. You freeze when his arms wrap around your middle and pull until your back is pressed flush against his chest. “You’re driving in the morning.”

“Thinking a lot,” you murmur.

“You think too much.” Felix nuzzles his nose against the back of your neck. “What are you thinking about?”

A beat of silence. Felix’s arms tighten ever the slightest around your waist. “What’s going to happen after this trip is over,” you say.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we just graduated. In a few months, I’ll be moving back home and we’ll both be moving on with our lives. We’re out in the real world now.”

“But why are you thinking about that now?”

You’re not sure. Is it because the person you’ve had by your side for the last four years of your life is literally spooning you and making you question how platonic this was all supposed to be? Is it because you’re afraid you’re looking too deep into all of this and Felix will go back to being untouchable when this trip is all over? Is it because you don’t want to leave it all behind when you fly thousands of miles away to go back home? Or all of the above?

“Talk to me, y/n.” His fingers are drumming against your hip. Index, middle, ring, and back again.

“Because I’m scared.”

“Of?”

You suppress a shudder when Felix’s lips brush against the shell of your ear when he speaks. You count the number of taps, waiting until ten before you turn around. Felix’s hand slides off your hip and he meets your eyes when you settle. He gives you an encouraging nod, eyes soft around the corners and nose scrunched up just enough that the little freckle on his nostril is visible in the light seeping through the window. Your gaze lingers on his lips, tracing his Cupid’s bow and how his lips curve into a slight smile. “Losing everything I have here…Losing you.”

The way Felix’s eyes turn into little half-moons when he smiles is enchanting.

“When you sat and watched the sunset today, were you afraid you were never going to see it again?”

You shake your head.

“Right? Because it’ll come back again every day. So even if you’re stuck in the darkness for a short time, the sun will always rise again. And you’ll start a new day, with new opportunities.” Felix’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes flickering to yours before moving back to hold eye contact. “When you move away, it’s going to be hard. I understand why you’re scared. But the sun will rise and you’ll be okay.” He finds your hand and laces his fingers in between yours. “We’ll both be okay.” A squeeze.

“We?”

Felix only smiles. He releases his grip on your hand and pulls you until your forehead is rested against his chest like last night. “Sleep,” he says.

So you do.

“How was your trip?”

“You would think after the first day at the beach that Felix would remember to put on sunscreen, but the dude got sunburned like every other day,” you say. You ignore the indignant squawk he makes and continue to sip on your soda. “The car broke down the first day. We missed our first hotel booking and got stuck in a lowkey sketchy motel with only one bed. I won rock, paper, scissors and I got the bed, so it wasn’t too bad,” you say, raising another finger with every recollection. “And then Felix decided it would be a great idea to get ice cream for the road and save it for later.”

Chris frowns. “Aren’t you lactose?” he asks Felix.

You slap a hand onto the table. “Exactly,” you hiss. “And he didn’t think that it would melt so we had sticky fingers until I found a gas station to stop by. And then the car broke down again.”

“Okay, you can stop exposing me now,” Felix whines.

“I wanna see pictures. Felix was hyping them up so much on the group chat,” Hyunjin says. Seungmin perks up from his phone when Felix takes out his camera. He leaves the two of them to click through the photos themselves.

“You didn’t answer my question about how the trip was though. Good? Bad? Rating out of ten please. I need to know in case he decides to spring a random trip on me,” Chris says.

“Yeah, like I would ask you on a trip with me,” Felix says with a roll of his eyes.

You bite down on the straw as you think. Felix is now giving you puppy dog eyes so you purposely don’t look at him. “Uhh, if we were to ignore all the things we couldn’t control, ten out of ten.”

Felix raises both hands into the air in victory. “This is why you’re the best, y/n!” He wiggles around like those inflatable floppy men in front of car dealerships. Seungmin has to whack his arm to get him to stop.

Chris scoffs. “He bribed you, didn’t he?”

You shake your head. “No, it was a good trip. I enjoyed it. Ten out of ten would go again.”

“Are you saying that because he’s Felix or because the trip was really good? Because I think if any one of us took you on a trip where the car broke down multiple times, you’d give us a big zero.” Hyunjin asks. He turns the camera to you and raises an eyebrow. “I hope you have a good explanation for this picture.”

“Wait, I wanna see,” Chris scoots his chair over to peer into the camera. “Oh, man, you two are gross.”

“Give my camera back,” Felix says. He wiggles an arm into the shield his friends made around his camera, but Chris swats him out of the way.

“You didn’t think to delete those pictures before you brought the camera here?” you ask. You feel the heat in your cheeks but there’s also a smile you can’t hide.

“It’s not like we didn’t know something was going to happen on the trip. Felix and y/n alone for two weeks?” Hyunjin fans himself with a hand and pulls a weird face. Seungmin smacks him. “This is not a PG distance!” Hyunjin says.

Felix leans backwards until his head is rested on your shoulder and he’s staring at you upside down. His eyes are glittering as they blink innocently at you. “Since you said, ‘ten out of ten would go again’ this means you have to take me to see the sunset in your favorite places when you go home.” He grins. “Road trip part two?”

[anubislover]

One Hell of A Ride

( It takes a lot more than a pretty face to lure Ikkaku away from her duties. However, when that pretty face comes attached to a hot, shirtless Portgas D. Ace along with a sweet ride, well, who could blame her for being a bit reckless?)

Growing up, Ikkaku’s grandfather had regaled her with wild stories about the Grand Line. Storms that came out of nowhere, monstrous sea beasts, mysterious islands, and, of course, pirates. He’d particularly relished telling the tales of Whitebeard—how he could shatter mountains with a blink, would start wars if you so much as looked at his sons, regularly kidnapped unsupervised children to add to his crew, and was tall enough to peer through the second-story windows of seaside cottages to ensure that curly-haired little girls were sound asleep in their beds and not reading mechanic manuals under the covers.

Looking up at the towering form of Edward Newgate himself, she decided that Gramps hadn’t been exaggerating that last part. And given the size of his crew, she was seriously starting to consider the kidnapping claims might have some truth to them, too.

If it were up to her, she wouldn’t even be on the deck of the Moby Dick, however the Heart Pirates had found themselves crossing paths with the Whitebeard Pirates a month after entering the Grand Line. Marco the Phoenix, recognizing Law as both a fellow doctor and the user of the Ope Ope no Mi, had requested that he give the Yonko a check-up since he was demanding a second opinion. For her part, Ikkaku was only brought along in case any of his medical equipment malfunctioned.

So, while Law Scanned Whitebeard and discussed the man’s extensive medical history, the mechanic busied herself with watching the waves and fighting off boredom. A cheerful man named Thatch had made polite small talk, but the rest of the crew, while not hostile, seemed more interested in keeping an eye on her captain in case he decided to cause trouble. The Surgeon of Death had earned himself quite the reputation in the North Blue, and there were plenty of cocky upstarts like him who would try to make a name for themselves by attempting to assassinate Whitebeard. With Law’s powers, he could quite possibly do it, too. So she couldn’t blame them for being cautious.

Just as she started an internal debate with herself over whether she found the uniforms the nurses on board wore sexy or sexist, movement on the horizon caught her eye.

It started as a small dot with a thin white streak behind it, but it gradually grew larger the closer it got until Ikkaku could see that it was a small, extremely fast boat. Honestly, it was more like a surfboard with a sail than a raft, being long and nearly flat. Ordinarily, Ikkaku’s eyes would be glued to the attractive, shirtless man standing on it, but instead drawn to the flames at his feet and what appeared to be an engine of some kind behind him.

Gramps’ stories had definitely never described a boat like that.

“Looks like Ace is back,” Thatch said from beside her, noticing what had captured the young woman’s attention. He gave a knowing snigger. “I’d be happy to introduce you, if you’d like.”

Her eyes widened a bit at the name. She’d heard of Fire Fist Ace—a rookie that made a name for himself so quickly that he’d earned a bounty of 550,000,000 belli and turned down the offer of becoming a Shichibukai within the first few years of his pirate career. Ikkaku was no pirate groupie, but she’d certainly noticed his wanted poster whenever they stopped at taverns and the like. Mainly because it was usually surrounded by ladies sighing wistfully. Not that she could blame them—he was a handsome man, and she’d yet to find a picture of him where he wasn’t shirtless.

Before she could properly answer, the man had pulled up beside the ship, all but vanishing behind the curvature of the Moby Dick’s broad hull. Ikkaku practically hung over the railing, trying to catch another glimpse of the boat and its sailor. Luckily Thatch was there to grab her by the back of her boiler suit, pulling her away just as Ace launched himself upwards in a bust of flame, vaulting over the rail and landing neatly on the spot she’d just vacated.

Seeing him up close, it was clear that the wanted posters didn’t do him justice. For starters, he looked like some kind of rugged model rather than a pirate. Wavy black hair framed his pale face, perfectly matching his obsidian eyes. The freckles that dotted his cheeks should have made him look childish, but instead they simply added a boyish charm to his grinning face. His shoulders were broad and muscular, supporting toned arms, one of which sported a rather interesting tattoo. Cargo shorts hung criminally low on his narrow hips, and if Ikkaku didn’t know better, she’d say he was sporting an eight-pack. He held himself with a natural confidence that bordered on cockiness, but given his bounty and reputation, it was probably justified.

Letting the awestruck mechanic go, Thatch strolled over to the man and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Welcome home, Ace. You’re just in time to see Pops argue with trained medical professionals over his health again.”

“I’d hate to miss that,” he replied with a carefree grin, flicking up the brim of his orange cowboy hat. “It’s good to be home. And I see we’ve got some newbies,” he added, eyes landing on Ikkaku. He gave a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to the family. What’s your name?”

Ikkaku’s jaw dropped, taken aback by his unexpected politeness and his assumption. “Huh? Oh, we’re not—”

“They’re just visitors,” Thatch said, winking at her. “For now. Wouldn’t be surprised if Pops decides to adopt them, though.”

“Yeah, once he’s made up his mind, you’re family,” Ace agreed with a cheerful laugh.

“Whether you like it or not,” Thatch added, elbowing him in the side, which only made him laugh harder. “You two have fun—I’ve got to go get dinner ready, especially since we’ve got so many visitors.”

The moment they were left alone, Ikkaku found herself once more looking over the side of the ship, wondering where the boat had gone. Was there a mooring station Ace had tied it to? A secret door in the hull?

“So, can I get that name?” Ace asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he leaned his hip against the railing.

A little embarrassed at her inadvertent rudeness, she quit her search and rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates,” she replied, holding out her hand to shake. Briefly, she considered bowing like he had, but it felt far too formal for her. Besides, Gramps had always told her that a handshake was the best way to get the measure of a man—test his grip strength, feel the callouses on his palm, see if he thinks he’s too good to touch common working folk.

Without hesitation, the pirate grasped her hand, shaking firmly as he looked directly into her eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Ikkaku. I’m Portgas D. Ace.” His hand was warm and rough, the skin dry due to his flame powers. She could feel hard callouses on his palm and fingers, indicating that he put in his share of work and didn’t just laze about. And his grip was firm, but not crushing, matching hers equally. It was a good sign in her books—men had both tried to squeeze too hard as an intimidation tactic and held it too delicately because they underestimated her.

When he let go, he crossed his arms over his hard pectorals and leaned casually against the railing, though his eyes were keen and curious as they studied her. “So, what brings Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates into the company of the Whitebeard Pirates?”

She nodded her head towards Law, Marco, and Whitebeard, who appeared to be in deep discussion. “Marco asked my boss to give your captain a check-up.”

“Well, that explains what he’s doing here, but what about you? You the Surgeon of Death’s bodyguard?” he teased.

The corner of her mouth curled upwards. It didn’t feel like he was mocking her strength or potential combat prowess. After all, while there wasn’t an overabundance of female pirates, those that made it to the Grand Line had to be tough as nails. His amusement was clearly at the very idea that a man like Law would need a bodyguard. “Scarier. His mechanic.”

From the way his eyes widened a bit, it was obvious that her answer caught him off-guard, but his grin never faltered. “Yeah? Don’t meet a lot of pirates that employ full-time mechanics.”

“That’s because you don’t meet a lot of pirates whose ship is a submarine.”

A hearty, self-deprecating laugh burst out of his chest at her bluntness. “Got me there! You’re definitely a first for me, and I’ve seen a lot on the Grand Line.”

“It’s certainly a crazy place, but I like what I’ve seen today,” she replied with a chuckle. For a fairly infamous pirate, Ace was surprisingly easy to talk to. He was casual but polite, friendly, and that grin of his could melt butter. It would be no hardship to stand around and flirt with him all day. Ikkaku bit her lip, though that didn’t stop the corners of her mouth from curling up into a coy little smile. Should I ask? Or would that be too forward, she wondered, trying to figure out how best to get what she wanted. Should she just come out and say it, or should she butter him up first?

Seeing her expression, his grin morphed into a smirk, a flirtatious gleam in his eyes as they flickered down to the way her teeth worried her lip. “You look like you’ve got a question for me. No need to be shy—I don’t bite. Well, maybe if you ask me nicely.”

Ordinarily she’d counter that comment with one of her own, but she had far more pressing matters to address. “You got me. I’ve been dying to know; what was that?” she asked, pointing over the side of the ship to where she’d last seen the odd vehicle. “That boat you rode in on?”

“Oh, that’s Striker. It’s my personal raft,” Ace said, surprised at the unexpected change in topic. Not that he minded—it wasn’t often that a girl took interest in his boat. It filled him with an odd sense of pride that it was cool enough to catch the mechanic’s attention.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful,” she said sincerely.

That made his face light up a bit more. “You wanna take a closer look?”

Ace jumped back a few inches when Ikkaku eagerly leapt forward, hands clasped together and sparkles in her eyes at his offer. “Hell yes!”

XXX

He took her down into the belly of the ship where things like extra dinghies, weapons, carpentry supplies, and tools were kept. In the corner was a little workshop full of tools, nuts and bolts, assorted parts, and paint was kept. Next to it was Striker, the bottom still wet from the trip, but the yellow paint gleaming merrily in the overhead lights.

At Ace’s encouraging nod, Ikkaku dashed over, inspecting the boat from the sails to the bow before finally getting to the part she was really interested in. “Whoa. What kind of engine is this?” she asked, brushing her hands across the dark metal surface reverently.

“Uh, I don’t know the specifics or anything,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed at his lack of knowledge regarding his own vehicle. “You’d have to ask Deuce—he’s the one who built it.”

The vibrant mechanic wasn’t dissuaded, though, simply peering at the propellers jutting out the sides. “I just might. How does it shoot flames like that? It must take a hell of a lot of fuel—not very practical for long trips, I imagine.” Her brow furrowed as she spoke, though; despite looking carefully, she couldn’t actually find anything resembling a fuel tank. Did it run on electricity, then, or some other power source?

“Actually, I’m the fuel,” he replied, raising his hand innocently but proud that he could answer at least one of her technical questions. “My Mera Mera no Mi powers are what propels the ship—the engine just focuses them.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Here she thought she was going to learn some amazing secret about fuel efficiency or a new power source that she could implement into the Tang’s engine. Yet as she further inspected the engine, the wheels in her head started turning, and she quickly got an idea. “You know, I could probably make a few modifications to the engine so it won’t drain you so much. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stamina, but on long trips or in a fight, efficiency could be the difference between life and death.”

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “You know how to do that?”

“Well, I’d have to take it apart, see how it ticks, maybe look over the blueprints if you’ve got them handy, but from the look of things, yeah!”

His face stretched in a massive, eager grin as he fetched said blueprints from the workshop desk. “Then go for it!”

For the next two hours, Ikkaku worked on Striker, examining the pieces, reworking the design, and rebuilding the entire engine from scratch. Dark, curly locks were pulled back in a messy ponytail to keep them out of her face, and some grease had splattered on her cheek, but she hardly cared. She was having too much fun, especially since she was basically given carte blanche to do whatever she needed to the engine.

Sitting on a barrel off to the side, watching the mechanic with open admiration, Ace said, “You sure know your stuff.”

“My job involves knowing the ins and outs of any engine I come across. I specialize in submarines, but I made sure to learn everything I could about mechanics as a whole. I can fix generators, medical equipment, and most other machines I come across,” she explained, replacing the propellers with newer models. Thankfully, the adjustments hadn’t been extensive—Ace’s own mechanic could probably figure out what she’d done, though she made extensive notes on the back of the blueprints just in case. She’d tried to explain to Ace what she was doing as she went, but he’d ended up staring at her blankly, and at one point he’d even fallen asleep. After she’d woken him up with a well-aimed screw, she’d let him dominate the conversation, filling the silence with the tale of how Masked Deuce had built it.

“Impressive.”

A faint tinge of pink rose to her cheeks at the compliment, though she doubted it was noticeable in the workshop’s light. “Honestly, I’m more impressed that your buddy was able to build even a prototype on a desert island. Most people couldn’t manage that.”

“Could you?”

She was torn between being modest and being honest. While she had total faith in her engineering skills, she knew that saying so could easily come across as arrogant. And, well, he’d seemed really proud of his friend while telling his story. She didn’t want him to think she considered such a thing child’s play. “I mean, probably, but that doesn’t make it any less of an accomplishment.” It was one hell of a feat, and she was loath to take that away from anyone.

He smiled at her answer, resting his cheek in his hand while he watched her work. “I’ll remember that if we ever get stranded on a desert island together.”

She raised an eyebrow, though a flirtatious lilt crept into her voice when she replied, “Expecting that to happen anytime soon?”

“Well, the Grand Line’s a crazy place—you never know what could happen. Better to be prepared, right?”

“Heh. Sure. Though, maybe I should be insulted; would you be that eager to escape? I can name a few guys who’d love to play castaway with a pretty lady like me,” she teased, winking over her shoulder.

She’d expected him to blush or try to backtrack. Instead, his smirk turned devious. “I never said we’d be escaping right away.”

This time her blush was obvious, and she turned back to her work, forcing herself to focus on properly screwing the protective metal plates back on instead of the inviting glint in his dark eyes. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to men hitting on her—that happened often enough in bars and taverns, especially when she was wearing a short skirt and heels. But rarely did a guy take notice of her when she was on the job. Sure, she looked good in her boiler suit, but it still tended to ward away men. Mainly because of the grinning jolly roger stamped across the back, but the lack of skin helped.

It was…nice, to be honest. That someone like Ace was chatting her up while she was probably at her least sexy, and also being respectful to boot. No blatant comments about her ass and bust. No questioning her skills because she had a pretty face and lacked a Y-chromosome. Just playful banter and grins that bordered on naughty.

“So, how’d a girl with such a respectable skill set end up choosing a life of piracy?” Ace asked casually, linking his fingers behind his head as he leaned back.

“Didn’t have a lot of other options,” she admitted. “When you’re a woman trying to do what’s considered a man’s job, you’re either laughed at or seen as a threat. Law’s the first person who took me seriously and showed genuine respect for my skills. When he offered me a job, I didn’t even care that I was becoming a pirate—if you get an opportunity like that, you take it.”

“Heh. Makes sense. And your captain treats you well?”

“He’s a hardass and a grumpy bastard, but he cares about me and the crew,” she answered with a warm, adoring smile. Law wasn’t always the easiest guy to get along with, and to the untrained eye he was nothing but a rude asshole, but behind closed doors no one could say he didn’t care for each member of his nakama. “I couldn’t imagine following anyone else.”

“Not even Whitebeard?”

Surprised at the question, she stared at him over her shoulder, brow furrowed as she struggled to determine if he was joking or if she was about to get a recruitment speech.

He held up his hands placatingly, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry. That came out a little strong, huh?”

“I’ve had drunken thugs at the docks proposition me more subtly,” she deadpanned, eyes narrowed in a glare. Briefly, she wondered if this had been Ace’s plan all along; act as a honey trap, get her alone with promises of getting to rebuild his engine, then seduce her away from her captain.

But he looked so thoroughly chastised that she instantly regretted even thinking he’d had ulterior motives. “Harsh, but fair. I really didn’t mean to imply anything. But I’m sure your captain will probably get an offer by dinnertime. Once Pops takes a liking to someone, nothing will stop him from adding them to his family. So, if that happens, would you join Whitebeard?”

Until now, such a thought had never crossed her mind. She respected Whitebeard as much as she feared him. He was powerful and there were some pretty terrifying stories about him, but there were also just as many tales singing his praises. Gramps had told both in equal measure, enjoying scaring her shitless as much as soothing her with the knowledge that the seas were home to a man like him. Even Law seemed to respect him, having found little reason to doubt his claims that he did, in fact, care for his “sons.” But respecting someone and serving under them were completely different beasts.

Finally, she said, “I go where Law goes, but he’s a stubborn control freak—hates taking orders from anyone. So, he might consider an alliance, but he’d never agree to be anyone’s subordinate, even if it’s prettied up with talk of family.” Especially if it was prettied up like that; Ikkaku might not have known all the details of Law’s past, but she did know he’d been part of the Doflamingo Family. And given the pure hatred in his voice when he’d alluded to it, she had the feeling they’d soured his opinion on the word forever.

Undeterred, Ace replied, “Pops is pretty persuasive. I never thought I’d join him. Hell, I spent months trying to kill him!” The sunny smile returned to his face, cheeks practically straining as he continued, “But he won me over, and I’m confident he could do the same with your captain.”

Ikkaku highly doubted that. After all, Law had plans. Big ones that were slowly but surely falling into place. Not that having an ally like Whitebeard wouldn’t be extremely beneficial to them, but in the long run, Law preferred to be his own man.

Still, the pure faith Ace had in his voice made her wonder. Could Whitebeard convince Law to become his son? How, exactly, had he changed Ace’s mind considering how he’d apparently hated him enough for attempted murder?

Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. In the meantime, the final screw was securely in place, and Striker was ready to go.

“There. All set!” she declared, stepping back and presenting the modified raft to her audience.

Black eyes widened as Ace leapt off the barrel, and his grin was excited and eager, like a child who’d been given a shiny new toy. “This is…this is incredible!” he exclaimed, inspecting her handywork. The engine was sleeker and less bulky than before, and while he was no mechanic, he could tell just by looking that she’d made it lighter, too, which would allow him to go faster.

“How about you take it for a test drive? Make sure it’s to your liking?” she said with a pleased grin as she wiped the sweat and grease off her forehead. Whether it was from her crew or a random stranger, Ikkaku did always love when her work was noticed and appreciated.

The bright smile practically split his freckled face at the suggestion, and he ran over to a lever on the wall. Upon being pulled, a small section of a side of the ship flipped open, becoming a ramp that allowed access to the outside world. Dragging the boat over, he eagerly hopped aboard. “Sounds great!” Yet, instead of immediately taking off, he held his hand out to her. “Come on! You fixed it up, so you should give it a whirl, too!”

Oh, that was tempting. Striker did appear to be big enough for two people, but was it safe? Ace had plenty of experience zooming around the ocean, but she doubted she could maintain her balance as easily. That, and it was better to test it without unnecessary excess weight. Then again, test drives were naturally risky; if she’d screwed something up and there was a malfunction, Ace could potentially find himself dead in the water, and with that Devil Fruit of his, it was better to have a copilot who could swim.

The real question was where she was supposed to stand. If she stood behind him, she’d be between the flames coming off him and the engine. That would only result in flame-broiled mechanic. There was definitely no room on either side of him, and even if there were, the uneven weight distribution could throw off the balance.

That left only the bow of the narrow boat.

At her hesitation, his grin became more teasing and he wiggled his fingers invitingly. “Come on; we might find a nice desert island to get stranded on!”

A laugh bubbled up in her chest. If he wasn’t bothered by the lack of space on his boat, why should she? “Well, who could say no to an offer like that?” she quipped, taking his hand. Like with his handshake, his grip was sure, and Ikkaku had no doubt he’d hold onto her tightly and wouldn’t let her fall.

Ace tugged her aboard, letting her plant her feet securely before wrapping an arm around her waist, muscular forearm settling securely right beneath her bust. “I’d say hold on tight, but I think that’s my job, huh?” he chuckled in her ear.

The heat of his skin penetrated through the thick canvas of her boiler suit, most likely due to his powers. No wonder he walked around bare-chested. She’d initially chalked it up to vanity or a public service act. Though, she highly doubted he’d be wearing more clothes even if he couldn’t turn into flames.

“Ready?” he asked as her fingers gripped his wrist for support. It wouldn’t do for her to get weak in the knees, even if she could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke and the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear.

If Portgas D. Ace was a honey trap, he was a damn effective one.

At her affirmative nod they took off like a shot, bursting out the entryway and onto the surface of the water. Behind her, Ikkaku could hear the engine growl, flames crackle, and even steam hiss. For a moment, she worried about the wind blowing the flames at her feet against her ankles and her boiler suit catching fire, but it appeared Ace had total control over them, or at the very least enough to keep his companion from getting burned.

Striker was fast. She’d already known that from earlier, but her modifications seemed to have done the trick of speeding it up even more. She could feel the boat respond to every minor shift in its pilot’s weight, and she did her best to stay still so as to not throw off his steering. Not that she could really move around much anyway—the pressure from the wind, combined with the muscular arm around her waist, kept her pinned to his chest. Any other time she’d be wholly focused on the sensation of his chiseled torso and washboard abs against her back, but at the moment, she was more captivated by how exhilarating the feeling of the wind whipping against her face was and seeing the ocean around them speed by.

The hot, shirtless guy pressed up behind her was still noted and appreciated, though.

Despite the water spraying around them, not a drop of it touched their skin or clothing, most likely due to the intense heat produced by Ace’s flames. By the same token, any sweat that tried to coat her skin almost instantly evaporated. Law’s stern voice popped into her head informing her she should drink plenty of water when they got back to the ship lest she get dehydrated.

“Having fun?” Ace asked, interrupting her train of thought.

Turning her head to face him was too risky since she didn’t want to throw off the balance, so she simply exclaimed, “Hell yeah!”

“Good! Now brace yourself; I’m going to put this baby through its paces!”

Instead of wasting time asking what he meant, she did as he said, squaring her feet and bending her knees slightly in preparation for whatever he planned to do. She was not disappointed—with an extra burst of flame and a shift to his stance, Striker shot into the air, forming a neat arch before landing back into the water. Next, he performed series of sharp turns, practically turning the boat on its side as he did so, but his grip on Ikkaku never faltered.

As they turned back to the Moby Dick, Ace called out, “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah?”

“Good!”

Before she could ask him to elaborate or even brace herself again, he shifted his weight so the nose of the raft was suddenly pointed down, sending it beneath the choppy waves.

What the fuck is he doing?! Ikkaku mentally screamed, but all she could manage to do was let out a yelp as Ace hooked his free hand under her knees and leapt into the air, the flames at his feet shooting them high above the water in a wide arch. She heard him laugh as he performed a mid-air summersault, but she barely noticed; she was instead preparing herself for inevitably having to save his Devil Fruit ass and wondering if she’d be able to haul him to the Moby Dick before they both drowned.

Her concerns were for naught, however, as Striker popped up out of the water, and with practiced ease Ace stuck the landing.

After another minute of showing off daring tricks, Ace brought them back to the ship’s hold, Striker skidding across the floor a few feet before coming to a complete stop.

Ace gave the woman in his arms a devil-may-care grin before gently lowering her to her feet. “Looks like your modifications worked,” he teased, taking in Ikkaku’s flushed cheeks and elated smile as she spun around excitedly to face him. Locks of her hair had escaped her ponytail, giving her a charmingly disheveled appearance.

“Th-that was amazing!” she cheered, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I mean, I should kill you for taking such a stupid risk, but that was seriously just incredible!”

“Glad you had fun!” he laughed, adjusting his hat. “And I wouldn’t have dropped you—Pops would be pissed if I’d recklessly put a pretty lady in any real danger.”

Lightly, she smacked his arm. “I was more worried about you, dummy! If you’d missed, you’re the one who would have sunk like a stone,” she scolded, but his smile was so lighthearted it was hard to stay mad at him. “I’d feel guilty as hell, and I don’t need your captain going after me because I let one of his sons drown.”

His grin faded slightly, and he lowered his head so the brim of his hat cast his eyes in shadow. “I’m sure there’s more than a few people who’d be happy to hear about my demise.”

The shift in his mood was a surprise, but after a moment of processing exactly what he’d said, she declared, “Yeah? Well those people are morons. The world sucks but having guys like around makes it suck a bit less.”

Dark eyes widened and his head shot up at her words. “You seriously think that?”

She tilted her head a bit, pretending to think it over. “I mean, I’ve only known you a couple hours, sure, but you sure as hell wouldn’t make my list of ‘assholes that deserve to die’. Though, admittedly, it’s mostly Marines.”

His smile returned, a little more lopsided, while the corners of his eyes crinkled warmly. “Heh. Brains, beauty, and a heart. You’re one hell of a woman, Ikkaku.”

Pleased to see his happier demeanor return, she playfully poked him in the chest. “And don’t you forget it, Fire Fist.”

He caught her wrist, leaning forward to look in her eyes as he chuckled, “Doubt I could, Miss Mechanic. A girl like you really revs a guy’s engine.”

Before she could even scoff at such a lame line, they were interrupted by the sound of booted feet clomping noisily down the stairs.

“Ikkaku!” Bepo called, bursting into the cargo hold like the Devil himself was after him.

The two humans broke apart, Ace clearing his throat awkwardly as Ikkaku rushed over to calm down her furry crewmate. “Whoa there, Bepo. What’s wrong?”

Leaning on his knees and panting hard, the Mink stared at her with panic in his black button eyes. “Captain’s been looking everywhere for you! He Scanned the ship, but you were nowhere to be found!”

Her stomach dropped. Right, she hadn’t told Law that she’d be with Fire Fist Ace, and they certainly hadn’t notified anybody that they were leaving the ship. Her captain must have been freaking out when he couldn’t locate her. “Shit. How mad is he?”

“He said if you weren’t found in the next ten minutes, he was going to start dissecting people. That was seven minutes ago.”

Brown eyes widened before she bolted for the stairs, knowing that was not an idle threat from the Surgeon of Death. More than that, Gramps’ stories had imparted a particularly vital piece of wisdom before she’d left home—do not get into a war with Whitebeard.

Nearly tripping as she ran out the door onto the deck, she desperately tried to catch her breath as she took in the sight before her; Law, with Kikoku halfway out of its sheath, was glaring at Vista and Izo while Thatch tried to calm everyone down.

“Look, the last I saw her, she was right here talking to Ace.”

“That was two hours ago! And considering how I couldn’t find him anywhere either, that doesn’t ease my concerns!” Law snarled at him. From where she was standing, Ikkaku could see the veins in his neck starting to pop, and behind him Penguin, Shachi, and Uni had drawn their weapons. She could only assume the rest of the crew was searching both the Tang and the Moby Dick for her, hoping that their captain’s incredible powers had somehow simply missed their mechanic. Bepo had simply found her first thanks to his incredible nose.

“We understand your concern for your crewmate,” Marco said calmly from his place at Whitebeard’s side, “but you need to calm down-yoi.”

That simply provoked more of Law’s anger, and his blade flashed in the early evening sunlight. “I’ll calm down when I see for myself that you haven’t kidnapped my mechanic!”

“I’m here!” she wheezed when she could finally pull enough air into her lungs to speak, heart pounding not just from the exertion, but from fear—Whitebeard had braced his hands on the arms of his chair as if he were preparing to get up and settle things himself.

All at once, the men’s heads snapped towards her, a brief flash of relief crossing Law’s face before it once more became an angry scowl. “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped, putting the nodachi away as he stalked towards her. “I Scanned the whole damn ship looking for you!” His face darkened as gold eyes swept across her disdainfully. “Really? I take my eyes off you and you run off for some new plaything? On an enemy ship of all places?” he asked spitefully.

She flinched. His tone was harsh, but she couldn’t blame him for yelling. Or the unspoken accusation. Her windswept hair, flushed cheeks, and mussed clothing surely gave the appearance that she’d been engaged in a roll in the hay instead of taking a joyride. Though, neither was really a good enough excuse for her to have left her post, especially without notifying him. And even if Whitebeard wasn’t the enemy, per say, they weren’t friends, and she’d taken a colossal risk blindly trusting Ace as she had. “Law, I swear—”

“It’s my fault,” Ace cut in from behind her, giving the surgeon a deep, apologetic bow. “When I found out she was a mechanic, I asked her to modify the engine to my raft. When she was done, I requested that she take a ride with me to test it out. I hadn’t realized I was stealing her away from her duties, nor that we’d be gone long enough for anyone to worry. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Law’s face twisted, looking like he wanted to rip Ace’s head off for said trouble, but at the same time holding himself back because, with his fear regarding his subordinate’s safety fading, logic was returning to his mind, reminding him that he was on a Yonko’s ship, surrounded by his crew, and that Fire Fist Ace would be a powerful opponent in his own right.

He glanced at Bepo for confirmation, who nodded, apparently confirming the story—the Mink’s nose could surely smell the salt and smoke that clung to their clothes, along with the absence of more damning scents.

“…fine. Apology accepted. Ikkaku, you’ve got cleaning duty for the next month for running off without notifying anyone. Like an idiot,” he hissed, clearly still mad at her irresponsible behavior.

She nodded mutely, accepting the punishment without argument. It was honestly a far lighter punishment than she probably deserved considering how she had done a seriously stupid thing. But at least Law wasn’t about to do an even stupider thing by attacking Whitebeard and his sons.

Her throat closed up a little at that thought. Her recklessness could have gotten Law and her crew killed. Normally, her captain was a clinical, cold man who didn’t rush into situations without a plan, but when it came to the people he cared about—like his nakama—he could turn into a hot-blooded fool. What had she been thinking, selfishly running off like she had?

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a warm hand against the middle of her back. Ikkaku turned to find Ace frowning at her in concern, his eyes flickering between her and her captain’s retreating form. She gave him a tight, reassuring smile, but from the look on his face, he was far from mollified.

The tension that filled the air was broken as Whitebeard pointedly cleared his throat. “Well, now that the girl’s present and accounted for, we should have dinner,” the Yonko said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I could sure as hell use a drink after all this excitement.”

“Didn’t I just tell you to go easy on the alcohol?” Law groused, turning to the massive captain in exasperation. “I literally showed you how messed up your liver is!”

A few of the men turned green, and Ikkaku was certain he didn’t mean an x-ray.

Whitebeard, however, just scoffed. “Look, you gave your diagnosis, but I’ll decide if it’s a good enough reason to stop drinking. You’re a hundred years too young to tell me what to do.”

Beside him, Marco sighed and gave Law a commiserating look that clearly said “this is what I deal with on a daily basis”.

“Man, I think I can actually hear Law’s blood pressure rising,” Penguin muttered, to which Shachi nodded emphatically.

Pinching his brow in the faint hope of stemming the headache that was clearly forming, Law growled, “Fine. Don’t listen to the man who can literally take out your organs and juggle them. It’s not like you’ve wasted two hours of my life.”

“Maybe I’d listen to you if you agreed to become my son,” Whitebeard chuckled, a devious grin on his face as he looked down at the young doctor.

All the Heart Pirates froze. After Law’s fairly violent threats against the Yonko, the last thing any of them had expected was for an offer to join the crew.

Law recovered the quickest, scoffing. “Hard pass. Maybe I’d consider an alliance, but I’ve got no interest in joining your ‘family’ old man. Besides, at the rate you’re going, you’ll be dead soon enough, so what’s the point?”

Damn, Law, I know you’re pissed, but couldn’t you have sugar-coated that just a little? Ikkaku thought, wincing.

Whitebeard, however, merely smirked harder at the blunt refusal and instead turned towards the woman who’d caused such a commotion on his ship. “What about you then, girly? Maybe you’d like to join up? Becoming my daughter would get you out of cleaning duty,” he said with a chuckle.

Ikkaku’s jaw dropped, as did Law’s, Shachi’s, Penguin’s, Bepo’s, and the smattering of other Heart Pirates that had started to return from their search.

“I—you—wha—” she replied rather inelegantly, not quite sure if she should be taking it as a joke or running for the safety of her precious submarine.

Ace, however, seemed thrilled, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Fantastic idea, Pops! Seriously, she’s an amazing mechanic; completely rebuilt Striker’s engine and made it better than ever!” he said enthusiastically. Turning to the woman in question, he gave her a brilliant grin. “How about it, Ikkaku? Leave your hardass, grumpy bastard of a captain and come join the Whitebeard Pirates!”

“You’re not taking her,” Law growled, hand once more going to Kikoku’s hilt.

The younger man flashed him a challenging smirk, the tips of his fingers turning into flame. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

Another growl sounded out, this time from behind them. The pair turned to find Bepo with his teeth bared, fists clenched and ready to fight. “Captain’s right; you’re not taking her.”

Ikkaku was torn between cheering the Mink on for standing up to someone and screaming at both him and Law for taking such a stupid risk. Clearly, their captain wasn’t the only hot-headed idiot when it came to protecting his crew. In fact, she was positive Penguin, Shachi, and the rest of the Hearts were already drawing their weapons. The whole crew is full of idiots! she thought, desperately trying to come up with a way to stop a massacre from breaking out. Apparently, it was up to her to be the smart, responsible one for once.

Finally, she grabbed Ace’s wrist and lifted it off her shoulder. “Here’s an idea; how about everyone stops acting like macho idiots so I can actually give an answer?”

Ace blinked in surprise before giving her a warm smile. “Heh. Sorry about that. Guess we got a little carried away, huh?” he replied, rubbing the back of his head.

“Bit of an understatement,” she replied dryly, though it was hard not to return his smile. He was just so charming without even trying; if Whitebeard really wanted daughters, Ace could probably recruit a whole army of them with just a wink and a grin.

Encouraged by her expression, he said, “So, can we get that answer? I promise you won’t regret joining us; Pops is going to become the King of the Pirates, after all,” he stated proudly.

At that, Ikkaku glanced at Law and saw his jaw had tightened to the point where she could see the veins underneath pulse in irritation. Man, Ace had only known Law for about fifteen minutes and he’d already managed to push nearly half a dozen of his buttons.

Turning back to the fiery pirate, Ikkaku gave him a warm, sincere smile. “Don’t get me wrong; you’re sweet. And you’re cute. And you took me on one hell of a ride,” she added with a wink, pleased when she saw Ace flush and heard Law’s teeth grind behind her. Before either of them could get the wrong idea, though, she cocked her hip and jerked her thumb towards her captain, pure confidence in her voice. “But I’ve already got a boss, and he’s the guy who’s going to be the next King of the Pirates.”

There was a moment of silence, and Ikkaku’s heart stopped briefly as she waited for the inevitable fallout. Ok, maybe her plan sounded less idiotic in her head. Had she really just sassed one of Whitebeard’s sons? Had she really just said, in front of Whitebeard, that some young upstart was going to become the Pirate King instead of him?

Gramps was going to be so ticked when he found out she’d died because she’d ignored his advice.

“Gurararara!” Whitebeard laughed, breaking the tension. His head was thrown back, and his chest shook so hard it was a wonder he didn’t knock his chair over. “Damn, boy! Your mechanic has guts!” There was a pause as he had a brief coughing fit from the exertion, though it failed to erase the grin from his mustached face. “Loyal, too.”

“Yeah. She is at that. My whole crew seems to consist of loyal, reckless idiots,” Law stated, relaxing a bit. He slung his sword over his shoulder and gave the gaping Ace a smug smirk. “Especially her. She might get briefly distracted by a new plaything,” he said, emphasizing the word scathingly as he gently grabbed Ikkaku’s arm and pulled her to his side, “but she always comes back to where she belongs.”

Ace glared at Law, but Whitebeard just continued to laugh. “My sons are much the same,” he said fondly, grinning at his men who seemed torn between defending their Pops’ honor and laughing along with him at the sheer audacity of these rookies. “Makes me think you’d fit right in. So, I’ll ask you, and the rest of your crew, again; become my sons and daughters.”

“Sorry,” Law said, his natural cockiness returning. “Still gonna have to refuse. I don’t take orders from others. More importantly, joining you would mean I couldn’t be Pirate King, and that would mean letting my gutsy mechanic down.” To emphasize his point, Law gave her head a little pat.

At last Whitebeard stood up from his seat, though instead of starting a fight, he grinned down at Law and the Hearts. “Heh. Guess I can respect that. Plus, I don’t need you and Marco squawking at me about my drinking. But the offer’s on the table if you change your mind. In fact, if we meet again, don’t think you’ll get off so easily. Now, can we hurry up and have dinner already? Might as well send you upstarts off with a full stomach as thanks for the entertainment. And I need sake.”

Rolling his eyes at his continued disregard for diagnosis but nodding in agreement, Law motioned for Whitebeard to lead the way. Cocky as he was, he knew he’d already been ridiculously lucky enough to avoid at least three fights with the Whitebeard Pirates and was not willing to chance a fourth.

As the majority of the Whitebeard and Heart Pirates, hungry after all the excitement, cleared the deck, Law hung back with Ikkaku.

“Your cleaning punishment’s cut down to two weeks,” he mumbled, trying very hard to hide a fond smile, “though I should really give you more for nearly starting a war with Whitebeard.”

“Then you’d be cleaning the deck with me, Captain,” she said sweetly, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “I mean, clearly I was only following your example.”

“Smartass,” he replied with a chuckle, giving her head another pat before walking off, motioning for Bepo to follow him. “Get lured away again and I’m leaving you behind. You’ll be Whitebeard’s problem.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” she laughed, knowing it was an empty threat. She paused as she felt a familiar heat against her back and looked up over her shoulder at Ace.

“Your boss is a real asshole, isn’t he?” he said, eyebrow raised critically, a look of disdain on his handsome face.

Her responding smile was full of fond exasperation. “Yeah, but he’s my asshole boss. And you may be able to rev my engine,” she teased, pleased to see him blush a little, “but I’m not so easily swayed by a pretty face, even if it does come with a sweet ride.”

He laughed easily at that, just as she’d hoped. “Just so you know, my offer stands, too,” Ace said warmly, friendly grin returning. “I’d love to have a mechanic like you around, and Pops is the greatest pirate in the world. You’d be treated well here.” Despite his words, his eyes held nothing but acceptance, already anticipating her answer.

“I don’t doubt that,” she said, nudging him lightly as they headed towards the dining hall, “but I’m as loyal to Law as you are to Whitebeard.”

“So, no chance I could change your mind, huh?” he said, smile becoming a bit melancholy.

Raising an eyebrow and looping her arm through his, she gave him a saucy grin. “Tell you what; if we ever get stranded on that desert island together, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to convince me.”

That brought the heat back into his smirk, and the red of the setting sun nearly hid the rosiness across his freckled cheeks. “It’s a date.”

[laputaindefrenchgirl]

reasons why i love Tom Hardy.

All is said in the title.

It’s really funny, because I just found back this screen cap from Tom Hardy iconic myspace era. I did this screen cap in 2015 (yes, I know, wtf do I keep in my files) and already, I was having a tad of a crush on him. But now, it’s 2020 and I’ve been through some growth and just reading this text he wrote today made me fancy him even more.

It’s like I am reading his words for the first time, and understanding them in a brand new light. Definitely, I’m not the same Audrey I was in 2015. I don’t think people do change but my impulsivity n’wisdom did something to me. Anyway, here’s to a pretty long post on WHYs I love Tom Hardy.

First, his talent. As most of his fans, I highly respect his body transformations. He doesn’t do it halfway. It was very striking in Legend, where he plays two twin brothers. It’s him but it’s not. These two roles were very emotionally touching, i mean if you forget my never-ending obsession with gangsters, this was truly one of my favorite movie. Besides the stud apparence he developed, the vulnerability pouring out from Ronnie was heart wrenching. If you haven’t seen this picture, I highly recommend it. I also recommend the soundtrack, full of sixties vibes. Then, I love his crazy. What he does in Peaky Blinders is extraordinary. 

What is funny about Tom Hardy is that I’ve seen around 65% of his filmography before developing a crush on him. Like, I really like the directors he worked with, and as I’m a bit obsessed with british everything, well, it’s like I was in the mood before even knowing I am (if that does make sense). From Stuart a Life Backwards, to Lawless, and of course, Inception and The Dark Knight Rises, in the early 2010s I was pretty on point. Funny thing, when I watched Inception in theater I was seventeen, and this movie made me literally speechless, but I was having a crush on J-G Lewitt, and the more I watched this movie as the years went by, I preferred Eames which made me realize how, once again, my growth as a young woman was having a impact on my... tastes?

I remember around that time watching a light action/romance movie called This Means War, and when I first saw him on screen, and I went like “Damn!” and still, the dots didn’t connect in my silly brains.

Then, of course, Mad Max Fury Road came out in 2015 and like thunder, it stroke me. I went INTENSE about the story of this amazing picture (can you hear me scream feminism) and the cast. I mean, Hoult, Kravitz, Theron... This was the dreamboat. Also, it’s all about the context. What I really like here again, is that the previous summer, I watched the Mad Max trilogy with my Dad and as I found it super weird and cool, the themes and plots were very 80s while Fury Road was full of preoccupations we are having right now. 

Previously to all of this, I think in 2012 or 2013, I did this Buzzfeed quizz about which Tom actors was a total match for me, and as I was hoping to launch Hiddleston ; I had Hardy and was annoyed. Funny how the internet can be perceptive, sometimes!

Second, his story. I remember being all, “okay so strangely I watched of his movies but who is he really?” and geez, I’m not dumb, I know that we can’t know-know a person, especially a celeb, from only what you learn behind a screen (no offense there) but I was like, I want to read more and see what his motives are. And I wasn’t disappointed. I read interviews, watched interviews. I really loved that he wasn’t just the quite attractive body he is, but that in anything he did, he was genuine. Yet, yet there was more and more to analyze through the way he picked his roles and projects. The fact that he was an addict, hit rock bottom at a moment in his life made sense. I saw an video he did for The Prince’s Trust on youtube, you could see how bad he wanted to give back. I like that the blunt, roughness he exhales was for a reason, and not for play. And I can tell that, even if he ever was or can be some kind of asshole, he’s never sold for the low. Like, he’s the kind of person who would never speak shit about someone else, or be racist or misogynistic, you know? 

Third, he’s true. If you read the words from the screen cap I posted, I don’t know. The language he uses is something I can relate to. It’s so hard to open up, to be real and to not expect all at once. “i am often afraid. so I have to share. I want to help, it’s not my business to judge, I made mistakes, I stand corrected, I accept casualties, and walk with hope because I fucking LOVE.” aren’t these the words of a legend? In a world so full of shit and assholes, I just dig people like Tom. This must feels comfortable to be around someone who will tell you what he thinks instead of pretending for whatever motives he might have. Of course, I’m projecting a little here. But it’s cool because I know I do. It’s just kind of freeing to look up to someone who made mistakes but believe and hope and love, but not in pink. Just through his own vision, because he is entitled to. And that makes me feel like that, somehow, I do as well. I’m far from perfect and I love my bad side which makes me even less perfect but eh, just like he said “don’t be boring, that’s the fucking worst!”. Man, I couldn't agree more!

Fourth, he’s kinda pretty. Don’t get me started on the tattoos. I’ll admit, my sexual awakening fitted my crush on him back then. It’s cool. I never had a single crush before being around 22, so to fantasize on men and not little boys was kinda strange at first. It’s like I forgot a step in the manual, but I get around it. I will stop this paragraph here because I know that when I will re-read it tomorrow, I’ll find it embarrassing. 

Fifth, I wrote him a letter two years ago. Here’s the funny thing, I don’t expect an answer. Writing him that letter was freeing, and I can’t really tell why. Sending it was like closing chapter full of doubts and hurt I went through in my early twenties. I felt like writing this letter and opening up about experiences and what I went through to a total stranger, and this was one of the best therapy I ever did. For all the reasons I cited above, I felt like he was relatable and so, I went for lashing all my fire into the papers and felt like I could let go of what hurt me all the years before. It’s like I would be heard, not seen, and never judged. This is weird, I am weird. I believe and trust my guts because this is what life gave me best in my entire body. The instinct to know which road I should venture on, no matter what, who and whys. 

“I chose the path of spirituality, spirituality seems to me to be for those who’ve been to Hell.” How true is that. I’m very grateful to have humans who inspire me like this, like Tom Hardy. 

Thank you reading my nonsense, and if you feel the love, feel the same, just know that you’re not alone. The world can so fucking beautiful when you embrace yourself, ugly tears, powerful truths and lunatic smiles. We’re all bloody together in this whatever!

#audreytheartiste

[strudeldoodlearts]

Things I learned while using a smartphone for digital art

This week was pretty fun but also quite busy/rough. 

A picture I’ve been working on got lost when Autodesk Sketchbook encountered a “cannot open file” type of error. Partially due to my fumbling hands and the app lagging, the file was overwritten with a new canvas, so I lost progress on it...

Maybe that’s a blessing in disguise. I’ve been rethinking the layout/form of the drawing (one of those aesthetic, ‘choose a magical pill’ kind of drawings). So this situation forces me to go back and improve on it. Which I’ll do because while I may be a scatterbrain with many ideas that don’t become a tangible thing, I still don’t like abandoning most things I actually start doing.

Also, funny to think that this happens shortly after my SO gifted me a drawing tablet (though it’s still on its way.) While it isn’t the fanciest device out there, it seems to have promising reviews and might just be a good way for me to break out of my comfort zone (as a mobile drawer) so I could properly learn how to do digital art via a tablet.

So be prepared for a good deal of experimentation in my future works! I still plan on using Autodesk. But I also see how using the PC program and having a tablet and pressure-sensitive stylus could produce different results. 

That being said, drawing on a cellphone with a stylus had some perks. The biggest one being on-the-go drawing and being able to quickly scan in a sketch after drawing it naturally via pen/pencil.

Here are some things I learned while drawing on a mobile phone:

Layer management is your best friend. 

It’s likely that your cellphone may not be able to handle as many layers as a PC program. While this may seem like a flaw, this limitation forced me to learn how to block out what I was drawing so that I wouldn’t be swimming in a sea of layers to begin with.

The above illustration uses 16 layers (not counting the scanned in pen/pencil art from my sketchbook.) The line art gets one layer (which is generally made simple from tracing the pen sketch). Each character/object (in this case the bench) gets a layer for coloring and a layer for shading. The background is all one layer + a layer for shading. Throw in a layer for lighting, a layer for a warm, bluish overlay, and a layer for my signature, and that’s the picture.

My trick for coloring each character was to assign them two initial layers. The bottom one would eventually be the final result. The top one would be where I color in a region using the fill tool, add detail if needed, and then merge it with the bottom layer underneath. Rinse and repeat as many times as needed until the character/object is completely filled in on one layer.

I worked through each character, one by one and not multiple ones at once, to prevent merging the wrong layers together.

Blocking things out by character and object helped with shading in both their general form and also details without interfering with the shading of other objects.

Choose your phone carefully, and check for stylus compatibility! 

Unfortunately, the phone I have doesn’t work with a pressure-sensitive stylus I once ordered that was advertised to work with both iPhones and Android phones. I figured this out when checking out its manual. I lucked out at the start because I had a Note 4. But then that died on me. This was likely an internal failure and something due to wear/tear. A new battery wouldn’t cut it. 

In the interest of being frugal and needing a new phone ASAP, I got the Essential Phone since it was affordable, stylish, and super spacious. At the time, I failed to think about stylus compatibility. I figured that any thin, capacitive stylus that wasn’t like your finger would cut it. Somehow I made this setup work. But this lack of pressure sensitivity (which was much more present in the Note 4 + its stylus) was also noticeably limiting.

So if you’re buying a phone that you plan to use for drawing, do the research on how it handles styluses if you aren’t planning on buying a phone that includes one already.

Sit through adjusting your preferences to avoid future headaches. I personally don’t like zoom-in features that tilt the canvas. While this is partially due to my own clumsiness, I also thought: Why use that when you could simply tilt your phone? 

Other things to consider are going into your app’s Pen Mode so your hands can’t leave stray marks on your drawing. Since I wasn’t able to do that with my phone, I adjusted how I held the stylus and got used to the double-tap Undo shortcut since I was prone to the occasional stray dot.

Be careful not to close your app without saving! 

This may sound laughably basic. But when it comes to cellphones, it’s easy to make a careless mistake in the midst of multitasking while drawing--whether you’re researching reference pictures or shuffling through your playlist. I suspect that I left Autodesk on multiple tasks (like having a selected region) and closed it out sometime in the middle of doing something else only to open up the app again and then work on another drawing. This might have contributed to something like the most recent error that made me lose a drawing.

While you’re at it, expect to back-up many pictures/projects to your computer. 

This process will force you to label and organize your drawings. Also do this so that whenever you need to reset your phone or change drawing apps, you don’t lose everything. This is also good for seeing how your picture turns out on a bigger screen.

At the end of the day, your drawing skills are more important than whatever tools you use. Having good tools is great for making the drawing process feel more natural to you. However--this is something many artists can agree with--it’s better to master what you do with the basics than to get overwhelmed by fancy brushes and effects (especially when you misapply or overuse them.)

[hadriandemara-ffxiv]

[hands]

Hadrian’s hands are large and bulky, with rough palms and callused fingers that have seen a lifetime’s worth of manual labor and grown tough for it. His fingers are long enough as to be proportionate, and surprisingly dexterous for the thick and clumsy look of them; they’re often found coiling delicate bits of wiring or soldering some tiny little part to a machine, and so he keeps that hand-eye coordination nice and practiced.

(They are occasionally prone to shaking if he hasn’t had any of his numerous substances, so he stays well-stocked on those as a performance equalizer. When he’s anxious or bored, the hands are a great way to tell, since they’ll instantly begin fidgeting to do something.)

They’re pretty dry and could honestly use some TLC; the skin of them is dotted in little discolorations and patches from all the minor burns, cuts, and scrapes he’s accumulated over a lifetime of learning how not to suck at machinery. The nails are kept trimmed very short as not to get in the way, and they’re one of the few things he’s extremely particular about keeping clean. That might just be down to nervous habit, or learned behavior from his military days. 

They’re never painted, though. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Thank you, @ren-roelanberry!

-

Prompt: Send me a word to learn about the muse’s physical features! - [ Still Accepting ]

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― V.iii. And There Was a Great Calm

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Because loving him was never a choice.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Zürich, 1918

It doesn’t make any sense.

Valdas is there, darkening the doorway, and that she is more than happy to see. He knows it. But he’s too early by months, years if the world were so unlucky. And when she strains her ears there is no celebration carried in through the open windows.

If the War was over no one would dare sleep through the joy of it.

She rules out the (laughable, impossible) idea that Cynbel would have sent their God away and back to her. That Valdas would have let him. Equally unfathomable ideas include Cynbel transferring regiments before a letter could reach them, Valdas sleepwalking all the way to Switzerland, and the Godmaker lurking somewhere unseen ready to shout “Boo!”

Isseya lets her imagination run wild with a dozen ideas and more because there are too few explanations that really could be the truth and all of them shatter her.

“He’s downstairs isn’t he,” only Isseya doesn’t recognize her own voice; knows nothing beyond the way she swallows around the pain, “he’s… he’s getting your things. Seven months of roughing it and you’re letting him do all the manual labor? Age has made you soft.”

Valdas doesn’t laugh. Isseya finds that she can’t.

“He’s downstairs,” she repeats — like saying it will make it true.

“Valdemaras — tell me he’s downstairs.”

Finally her God—his God their God always their God always together always in unity the very thought of anything but them is simply unthinkable—looks her in the eyes.

She claws them from his skull. Forces him to endure the dishonor of it out in the open as penance for how he dares to make them look apologetic, look grieving. His blood runs down her arm and stains her satin negligee but he takes his punishment silent because he knows he deserves it for daring to return to her without all of their heart in tow.

The moment Isseya holds them so small and wet in her hands regret overwhelms her. They fall misshapen to the flat floor and he crushes one unknowingly when he trips over the door frame blind.

She takes a sick satisfaction in watching how slow he heals. He deserves it, she hopes he hasn’t fed since he left her, no no no she can’t lose him too oh no no no not ‘too’ because if there’s a ‘too’ that means—

When they finally grow back she gives Valdas a second chance. Demands of him a different answer it doesn’t matter what it just can’t be the one from before. But it is. The look is the same and the answer is the same and the question she refuses to ask is the same and she doesn’t understand how hellfire and avenging angels aren’t soaring down from the sky to meet the opened pits of the underworld and the demons with open arms to embrace them because surely this is the end of days.

And once she starts crying nothing can make her stop.

Not for lack of trying. She forces him to remove her eyes. At first he resists but she just doesn’t let him. He is no longer allowed to deny her anything, not even his own heart ripped from his chest, because he owes her.

He failed her.

He failed Cynbel.

So every cut, mutilation, surgical removal Valdas agrees to as penance. Her eyes; but she still weeps tears of blood. Her tongue; but she still screams even if there aren’t words. How could there ever be words.

Isseya pushes but she pushes too hard, too fast, too much and he drops his dagger cool on her bare chest insufferable and weak.

“Do it.”

“No.”

She slaps him again. This time with claws. “How dare you deny me. I said do it!”

“I will not.”

“Do it Valdas! Do it! Take back that which is yours housed in my flesh, oh great Made-God, and shove it up your fucking hole!”

Valdas watches as she takes the dagger’s hilt in a pale-knuckled grip and rushes to catch the blade before she fells it. Isseya watches as she pierces his hands laid together over her and doesn’t know whether to thank him or pull the tip out to try again.

“Why aren’t you angry?!”

He pulls her up sitting. Holds on even as she fights against his embrace—it isn’t right it will never be right don’t touch me without him ever again—and he’s older and stronger and that wins out.

But he’s so benevolent, her Made-God. He holds her until their bones grind even against their flesh and then longer. He weathers every storm of her even without an end in sight.

She still hates him, though, because he just won’t cry.

By the time dawn is near Isseya doesn’t remember how to move out of the path of sunlight. Valdas loves her and pulls her up and into his arms; shushes her near-incoherent mutterings begging to be left there to burn as he carries her to their bedroom.

“N-No, no nonono please anywhere else. Anywhere. Please I’ll do anything just…” Just not in a bed they never shared together.

Or maybe that’s the only place Valdas and Isseya have even a sliver of hope for restless sleep. For tonight — for all nights without him.

There won’t be that many. There can’t be. Her broken heart won’t survive it.

Isseya watches with wide-eyed silence while Valdas goes about his morning motions. The curtains closed and fastened tight. Clothes shed like snakeskins — though this she resists at first, but “I will not survive the day if anything is between us, Isseya,” and he’s right… he’s right. But it’s all wrong. None of the pillows linger of him and now they never will. The bed is too big, there’s too much space; she feels adrift.

Valdas knows this and anchors her in his arms. He holds her tight enough for it to hurt; he knows her so well.

He’s the only one who ever will, now.

Eventually, tentatively, she holds him back.

Valdas probably thinks she’s asleep — it’s just like him to wait until she finds some semblance of ease before he starts to unravel at the edges. Hands trembling, wet dots of tears at the crown of her head. It doesn’t please Isseya to feel these things, per se, but they make her feel a little less. Because if she feels less she might make it to tomorrow.

“I can’t be angry, beloved,” his voice is the last thing she hears before the first time she sleeps not-quite-whole, “I can’t take that from you, too.”

New Orleans, 1921

“Wait, Valdas —” She kisses him to bruising; no small feat for their kind, for them. Yearning, heated; a reminder to be grateful for what they have and a tribute to who they have lost. The same kind of kiss she’s given every day for two years.

Two years. It seems so fickle, so tedious. Something they would have laughed about two centuries ago. There are moments when Valdas longs for those times of ignorance. It was—as they say—blissful.

The longest two years of their lives.

He only pulls away because he has to. Risks everything in one stolen moment to look at her, take in her beauty, and mourn.

And the same kiss pulls the same answer from him hoarse and desperate. “This is not goodbye, Isseya.”

“See that it isn’t.” They’ve said their farewells but she still won’t let him go. He understands the impulse. But this is an opportunity unlike the others — it could change everything.

“Isseya.”

She looks up with guarded eyes and a set jaw. “What did it cost?”

“I have to go.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll miss the boat.”

“Valdas.” Grief, her heart is in the right place. Always carried between his ribs.

“No… specific price was named. He will call on me, that’s all he said. One day he will call on me and I won’t deny him — whatever he asks.”

He knew she’d react like this. That she would cling to him tighter, take skin under her nails and think of all the terrible things in this world and even a few in the next that Gaius would demand of him when the time came. Because with a man like him it’s never an if — only a matter of when. “He has his kingdom, his throne,” she seethes, “his queen and subjects and everything—everything—he has ever wanted. And still he would dangle our last hope over our heads?”

But he knows Isseya only speaks from a place of love and loss. His heart is breaking right alongside hers and she knows it.

That’s why she lets him go.

“Some things never change.”

Halfway up the plank Valdas turns back. Of course she’s still there.

Some things never change.

Valdas suspects the same thing applies in the realm of The Fate when he arrives. Sun that isn’t quite sun, that doesn’t set him ablaze but neither does it warm the ache in his bones. He looks at it out on The Charon’s deck because he can — because he might be one of the few vampires ever to get the chance. But this is a realm of eternal betweens and it has caught the most beautiful sunset in its sky; radiant and golden.

“I wish you could see this. It’s beautiful… but I suspect you might call it a little too beautiful.” He’s… really doing this, isn’t he? “You’re arguing with me and you’re not even here — oh how I long for your petulance, Cynbel. Between you and I, our darling Isseya doesn’t argue with me nearly enough.”

And were his Golden Son here, he would take the silence to remind Valdas that it doesn’t matter how far he gets, whether he doesn’t step a foot off The Charon or ends up deep in the bowels of the Château des Epoques, Gaius will call on his debt regardless.

The butler who invites him inside reminds Valdas a little of Tobias. Though like all fond thoughts it quickly sours in his throat and leaves him struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

The fae opens one of two mirrored doors. “Through here, please,” and for the first time he lets Valdas take the lead and does not follow. The thud of the closing door echoes in ripples throughout a spacious ballroom. When faced with the decision to either sit on a lone chaise facing mocking golden-haloed windows or find solace at a piano secreted away in the shadows… there is no contest.

Impatience itches at him like pins and needles but Valdas remains calm because he must. Because even a Made-God knows there is a time and place to respect powers higher than his own and because he would wait here until the end of time thrice over for what The Fate can grant him.

Valdas takes a seat on the bench and makes himself comfortable. He brushes a finger over the keys and finds himself strangely entertained by the thick layer of dust that comes back with it.

“Will you play me something?” asks a young girl sweetly, and though her presence alone should startle him Valdas is too old now; has seen too much. She looks up at him with wide eyes the color of the sun on the far windows and does not blink, not even once.

“It would be my pleasure. Do you have a request?” While the child — no, this is The Fate, Gaius warned him of their many faces, many voices, all with the same eyes — fills idle silence with humming thought Valdas goes about unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them up and out of the way. His movements are crisp and proper and it occurs to him (possibly just shy of too late) that he’s putting on his best behavior for a babe. Why, of all faces, is he met with one with an innocence he neither remembered nor missed?

Finally The Fate nods — and the smile they offer him crinkles deep at the corners on old skin like leather. The silver of their hair close-cropped and a tad more aesthetically fitting.

“Play me the melody only the beloved know.”

Though he may not show the years on his face Valdas has an inkling that he and the elder beside him carry the same wistful weight in their eyes. He doesn’t give it a great deal of thought — merely puts fingertips to keys and allows the broken remains of him to do the rest.

The sunset never wanes or moves in the sky. Hard to tell how much time passes like that; but they are both very old souls with nowhere else to be. His fingers never ache, the tune never fades from his head or his heart and it shows in impassioned movements, spontaneous changes of key; in the first unburdened smile to grace Valdas’ lips since that cold night in Belgium.

He is the Made-God Valdemaras. The fearful final thoughts of countless victims, worshiped in death and gifted sacrifices in tokens of blood. He has loved the wrath of war given eternal beauty in gold and he has loved the craven cries of justice with eyes dark and impossible to deny. He called upon the highest power he knew for some last hope — any fleeting possibility or long-lost myth that could bring back the missing pieces of them. And in doing so he may very well have bargained what is left of himself away, too.

Valdas came to this strange place on the shores of the rivers of time, away from all the horrible tragedies of the world… many of which he had a hand in in some form or another… because there is nothing left but this. No resurrection, no specter, no owed debt or Faustian deal left that they had not already tried.

He came here with every intention of demanding submission of fate itself to bring Cynbel back.

The piece ends. That’s it — just ends. Abruptly and suddenly and in a way that wrenches him and The Fate alongside out of the beauty of the music and back to the thinned reality of the Château.

The Fate rests a hand calmly over his. He recognizes those fingers, knows the brambles that scarred those knuckles and could chart the heavens in each little freckle.

Valdas could look up and see Cynbel one last time, here. Perhaps not with his eyes or his hair but with his smile, his voice. He doesn’t because it isn’t fair that only he should have it. They have never been selfish except with each other. There is no trinity without three.

The Fate realizes their mistake and silently pulls away. “I thought it would be a comfort to you.”

“Only one thing could be that.”

“I know your question, but do you know my answer?”

He does.

For the second time Valdas returns to Isseya with the same empty hands. He readies himself — even craves it a little — to go blind from her fury, to hold the pieces of her together until they start to heal. As their kind always do.

Instead she kisses him long, and bruising, and the same as every other kiss she has given for the last two years.

And when it makes the Made-God fall to pieces she holds him until he starts to heal.

New York, 1949

Adrian is still frowning when he returns with their drinks. Even worse he’s present beside her but absent everywhere else — lost in his thoughts which no doubt an ocean away and scattered among the battlefields.

Kamilah takes her glass and nicks the flesh of his knuckle for good measure. It works; as though jostling him from a waking dream.

“Sorry, did you say something Kamilah?”

She frowns. “Not presently, but you’re lucky we’re alone.”

One eyebrow shoots upwards. “I wouldn’t exactly call us alone.” And of course they aren’t, the Awakening Ball around them is waist-deep in its own bacchanalia. Frankly Kamilah doesn’t remember the last one being this crowded.

Crowded, and not. So many faces but so few she recognizes now… so many new vampires Celebrated this night. Another war come and gone and so many old companions with it.

Of course he’s smiling — he knows he’s right. Semantics. “You get cheekier with age.” But it leaves her sighing, as all affection does. “You don’t need to make it so obvious that you don’t want to be here. If not for the sake of the Council’s image then for Marcel’s. Your frown would break his little heart.”

He darts a quick glance, like the mention of their host will procure him from thin air, but Kamilah wouldn’t have said anything unless she was certain he was far off and kept amused.

“Can you blame me?”

“Easily.”

“Kamilah.”

“Adrian?” And for a moment she thinks he might challenge her on it further. That moment does not last long, though, and she is grateful for it — for him.

With a silent nod to the ballroom doors — a silent question that gets a silent answer — they venture out from the main event to enjoy more singular company elsewhere in the castle. Despite the labyrinth that it is Adrian surprises her with a newfound confidence. She half considers teasing him about coming upstate in his off-time.

Adrian doesn’t have off-time though, does he.

With the waves of new guests, Celebrated and new friendships formed alike, Marcel had decided to open up his famed home as a gesture. Come friends, it says, my home is your home. You are safe here.

Gesture aside, though? Kamilah will always find crowds unsettling. Even among friends.

The pair turn to enter the library but stop, old souls as they are, and spare mere seconds in their eternal hours to take in the memorial plaque that guards the threshold.

There isn’t much about Westbrook that Kamilah remembers fondly. His skill in battle, perhaps, but even that was brutish to a point. And that was why their Maker had liked Adrian better — had favored his shiny new toy from the moment he was born and even more when the old one broke in hand.

She rests a steady hand on Adrian’s upper arm.

“Come. We cannot change the past, but we can ensure we don’t repeat it.”

Together Adrian and Kamilah wander the shelves and aisles, take a moment here and there to observe the contents of this display or the engraving on that tablet.

Artifacts surrounded by artifacts.

And they have been at this for so long by now. Their friendship, working relationship, companionship. Adrian remains the only one capable of understanding the unprompted and self-loathsome grief that can come quickly and without warning. He knows her; and she knows him in kind. Well enough to catch the moment the well of him overflows and send his thoughts tumbling from his lips.

“It just seems so… excessive,” Adrian explains, upper lip twitching in distaste, “I mean — glassware, all the costumes, and I can’t even begin to imagine how expensive keeping the castle in good form was during the thick of it.”

“Marcel’s wealth is as old as he is.”

“And I bet it’s a pretty vast fortune.” And though he speaks around the subject Kamilah comes to understand him shortly after.

“The war is done now, Adrian. It has been for four years.”

“Then not now — but what about the next one?”

He’s right to think as he does. The ignorant may call it pessimism but Kamilah has seen enough to know otherwise. There will always be a next one.

“Let us both hope we don’t have to give that a real thought for some years still.” Kamilah stops them both amid a corridor of portraits but she only sees Adrian; only cares about the face that is flesh and alive and in front of her.

He wears the ghosts of the fallen like a funeral shroud.

When Adrian finally eases himself, he does so all at once. An exhale of everything that has kept him together since he returned to New York. Unfortunately there’s nothing with which she can replace the empty space. Certainly not any part of her — he has enough burdens on his back.

“Two in the same century, Kamilah…” her heart breaks for him, “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to handle another.”

He will, of course. She knows it, he knows it. He cares too much to do anything else. “Progress has always demanded sacrifice. And humanity progresses now faster than I have ever seen before.” But his choice of words leaves Kamilah glad for the chance to reassure him. However brief.

“I cannot promise peace no more than you can. But if you’re worried about catalysts of the past causing pain in our future, then I hope you believe me when I say they will not.”

Marcel will have to forgive them for taking their leave of the night’s festivities so soon. Or more likely he’ll demand recompense before the next Ball comes around. But Adrian has fought hard to give the attendees and Marcel alike a reason worth celebrating. He has earned his rest.

She puts a hand at his back and leads them back to the front of the library. “I think the Council’s reputation will survive one evening without us.”

It probably won’t, especially when she thinks of the other members back in the ballroom. But Adrian comes first; she refuses to consider the damage they may have already done.

Adrian who resigns himself to silent contemplation all the way to his apartment for the week-end. Until he can no longer.

“How can you know? Really know?”

Kamilah busies herself with his door and key; a ruse to hide her face even if it’s in vain. He knows her, after all.

Far better than any other.

“Because he is dead.” And they are all better for it.

Rome, 2002

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

Maricruz stops altogether, a suddenness that jerks Megan back by their clasped hands. Ever the opportunist she takes advantage — uses the momentum to pull her close and twist them both against the rusting tunnel wall.

She leers at the younger vampire, finds a silent delight at the wide pupils and flushed breathing that stares right back, and leans in to nip flat teeth her bottom lip. “I was dodging mobsters and bribing cops before you were born, chica. I protested at Berkeley and cheered on my girl Marsha for her aim. So… wanna try that again? And remember, mi amor, you don’t need to breathe.”

Their lips seal together and for a moment all questions are forgotten. There is only the two of them in the entire world; hands roaming greedy, silly; joyful over one another with abandon.

And when she pulls back — her girlfriend is still breathing.

“Old habits?” Megan tries; it doesn’t work. “Well you gotta admit the whole heavy panting thing really adds to the snogging experience.”

“I don’t have to admit a thing.”

“How about the both of you admit this has been a wild goose chase so we can go home?!”

The older vampires rolls her eyes and earns a light smack to her arm for her troubles. But why would she lie and say she’s happy they’re doing this as a fantastic foursome?

“Remind me again why you thought bringing your brother would be fun?”

“We do everything together. It’s a twin thing.” Megan admonishes — laces their fingers up together again just as the stragglers round the tunnel corner at last.

“You know these walls make everything echo like fuck, right?” Brandon fixes a look on Maricruz; stands his ground even in the face of a hundred year old vampire. She respects him for that — and pretty much only that.

“I’ll say it again to your face if you’d like.”

“Go for it. I’ve got no problem punching a lady when I know it’ll hurt my fist more than her skull.”

“Brandon!” His boyfriend scoffs beside him; a signal to shut up, maybe? Brandon looks as ready to argue as Greer is ready to throw him back into the sewer water, though, so its a signal he takes.

Megan steps out between them. She loves her girlfriend and she loves her brother but honestly they’ve done nothing but bicker from the moment they stepped foot in Rome and it’s got her grinding-teeth on edge.

And as Brandon well knows she hates grinding her teeth. Especially since some of them are sharper than others, now.

“Both of you two just stop it, honestly,” she looks from one to the other with a heavy sigh, “if you put as much effort into finding the clues as you did measuring cocks we might’ve actually gotten there by now.”

She’s met with silence because they know she’s right even though they’re both too proud to admit it. But not answering is better than bickering. It gives her a chance to speak. “It’s three hours to dawn. We’ve been at this for most of the night already. I dunno about you but I don’t want to quit after getting this far!”

Her girlfriend squeezes their hands behind her. Sure — both of them would much rather be enjoying the perks of their black-out curtain suite very much not sharing a wall with Brandon and Greer. But they could do that back in London.

And the train tickets were pretty expensive.

Brandon relents first; raises up his hands with a huffed “Yeah, fine,” which Megan suspects is only to make her happy. She’s very okay with that.

She turns to Maricruz hopefully. Takes the woman’s hands in hers and kisses her favorite weird little cartoon dragon hidden in in her tattoo sleeve at the wrist. “Come on… for me?”

The former rum runner makes a valiant effort of it — really she does. But once Megan starts batting her eyelashes all resistance is pretty much futile.

“What he said.”

They share a quick kiss before resuming the hunt together as a group. Though… you won’t catch her saying it anywhere her girl can hear, Maricruz is pretty sure the whole thing is a hoax and they’re just wasting time and dirtying her favorite pair of boots.

Like — come on! Is she really supposed to believe there’s some super secret exclusive vampire cult hanging around in the Roman underbelly? One that can only be found through a bunch of weird clues pointing to their hiding place?

She enjoys a good conspiracy as the next vampire but this is just a bit much. Or they passed ‘a bit much’ four hours ago when they actually came down here.

But Megan was bound and determined to find it. Maricruz isn’t certain what exactly ‘it’ is or what it will look like, but once the girl gets going she’s kind of impossible to stop. It’s, like, the only dominating part of her personality and it leaves her head-over-heels.

And let it be known that she had tried to get Megan to see reason. And like with most things her girlfriend wants her to do that she’s not entirely down with, Megan convinced her otherwise. Loudly. And with a lot of tongue.

“Oi, look here,” Greer calls the girls over from their side of the forked tunnel with hasty gestures, “check out what B found, I think this is something!”

“There are a lot of somethings in a tunnel, Scotty.”

Megan rolls her eyes and mutters “Seriously, stop it,” before she takes a knee beside her twin.

There’s no way in hell Maricruz’s jeans are touching any more of this nasty than they already have, so she stands.

Imagine her surprise when there actually is something down at waist-height, just above where the water would rise at the highest tide. Carved into the concrete too uniform to be natural and too staring-them-in-the-face to be a mistake.

Brandon reaches out and traces his fingers through the grooves. “It’s like a triangle, or somethin’ like it. No definitely three points but there’s lines in the middle. Why isn’t someone with night vision doing this?”

“Move — Bran move!” Megan does all but shove her brother aside to get a closer look and touch; digs her nails into the stone as if recalling the shape from sensory memory. Without looking back she reaches behind to her girlfriend.

“Can I have it again?” And Maricruz is more than happy to oblige. Parts with the folded coffee house napkin almost too readily.

Something weird and hot tickles her shoulder and Maricruz flinches away to find Greer standing behind her on tiptoe to see for himself. “Sorry,” he murmurs in apology, but she steps aside because she’d forgotten how icky human breath could be.

The Scot squints in the yellowing light of his torch — hits the side of it like that’ll somehow make it work better. “Is it the same symbol?”

“It is.” Megan replies — breathless and with glee. “Which means we take this turn until we find the next.”

It’s a beautiful thing; how effortlessly Megan smiles at her, at them all. And she’s only playing the Devil’s advocate because that smile is so beautiful. Because she’d like to keep it around for decades to come.

“You’re sure you trust the guy who told you about all this?” Because — and again, something she would never say in her girlfriend’s earshot — Maricruz isn’t so certain she would trust cult-related rumor and signage scribbled by a weird vampire-priest right beside the stain from a chocolate croissant.

Actually she’d kill for a croissant right now.

The twins exchange looks and Brandon, hint taken, hooks one of Greer’s belt loops with his finger and starts them down the new group path first.

When they’re far enough ahead Megan kisses her again. Soft and sweet and excited but nothing like the excitement of before; nothing fueled by passion.

They pull apart and Maricruz sees why in Megan’s shining eyes. All that passion from before has a new outlet, now.

“I do, Mari. It’s a sign — it has to be.”

“It was literally carved in stone so, yeah?”

“Not just the symbol, but all this. You’ve been a real help, you know? In getting me used to all this… my new life and… and the new ‘me’ I am because of it. I literally owe you my life. My brother’s too, probably, and Greer’s. If I’d gone Feral…”

Maricruz chases those bad words and their bad thoughts away with her lips. She’s really good at that. “I know, mi amor, I know.”

Megan nods and continues; “But… I still feel like there’s something I need to be looking for. Something that really matters to me, you know? That makes all this new stuff — this new world — make a bit of sense.

“And its all so weird, I’ll totally agree with you on that. But Ambrose seemed to really get it — get me. Like he knew to come exactly when I’d need him most. I trust him.”

“Even though his advice has put us in a sewer — in Rome.”

“Yes! Because I owe it to myself to try.”

Ugh. It’s so sappy and corny and cute so of course Maricruz kisses her again, of course she agrees with only mildly stated hesitation.

The girls don’t rush to catch up; a totally different pace than their earlier running.

“I told you he was American, right, like you?”

“You attract us; American vampires. Like flies to honey.”

“Do you think you might know him?”

“Do you know the Queen?”

“The Queen isn’t a vampire, Mari.”

“Same idea. But no, no I think I’d remember an old-fashioned name like Ambrose.”

read: And There Was a Great Calm by Thomas Hardy

[enkisstories]

The android cemetery (Chapter 21)

Three persons were standing the DPD’s evidence archive, two men and a child. They were looking up towards the androids that hung there on display like a bunch of pirates after a hanging. Each of the visitors had different reasons for wanting to be anywhere else than here tonight, yet neither could turn their eyes from the sight.

At least the other two had each other, Connor thought. And indeed Gavin Reed’s hand was resting on Emma Phillips’ shoulder for some time now, an unusual admittance of weakness. The girlchild was staring her caretaker into its dead eyes, her father’s killer who had caused her trauma and therapy sessions for more than a year. Yet she was mourning them both, the lost father and the digital godfather and the fact that she did miss Daniel when by right she should not, was causing Emma additional pain. Gavin simply saw the spitting image of his husband in the PL600, only dead and covered in his own blood. He was also reliving a rather strange night at the muncipal landfill, but by now the events were already appearing as rather funny when looked at in retrospect. And because that was so, Gavin’s grip on Emma’s shoulder had turned from grasping for a hold into a firm and re-assuring one. Connor Anderson, the final trespasser in the archive that night, wished for a hand to hold his, too. He’d even accepted Gavin’s. Of the trio the deviant was having it the worst. Connor wasn’t seeing loved ones he had lost or was fearing for, no, he was seeing his own kills, the government-approved murders of not just innocents, but of victims of crimes. And no amount of feeling sorry for what he had done in his machine-incarnation would bring the dead androids back to life. What was worse, Connor also saw his own future. If he wasn’t careful around the clock, if he ever got exposed as a deviant himself, the RK800 might end up in here, too, one day. Of course Connor had both friends and allies, but sometimes even the Underground Airline could not react quickly enough to get a deviant out of the country. Shit happened, the danger was real.

Eventually Gavin spoke up: “The sightseeing’s over, kid, time to deliver you back home. Cherish that you got to see a place the other school trip kids won’t ever!”

Emma tried to respond, but her nose had been full for a good while now, her cheeks and forehead hot and her eyes blurred. When she opened her mouth, instead of words sobs emerged.

“I c… c… caaaaaan’t!” Emma cried. ”Can’t leave him like that!”

“He’ll be here for eight more years”, Connor supplied from near the door.

“What?”

The RK800 closed in on man and child.

“That long evidence needs to be kept”, he said softly. “It’s the law.”

“A… afterwards…?” Emma asked and her mouth stayed open after finishing.

“Returned, if proven to be no threat to owners and society…”

Exactly that Daniel was not, Emma knew.

“…otherwise destroyed.”

“Much can happen in eight years”, Connor felt the need to say. “Even if it doesn’t look likely now. You can live your life with no change for a long time and suddenly everything will turn upside down in the span of a few days.” The android cast a brief glance towards his rival and co-worker, then smiled. “We know”, he said. After all, Gavin was dating - no, living with! - an android now and Connor himself had caught deviancy. Shit, Connor thought, why should the sucker always have it better between the two of them? Gavin had acquired a boyfriend while he had contracted a mental illness? It wasn’t fair!

“Can I take a picture of Daniel?” Emma asked weakly.

“Yes”, Connor said automatically, for what could it hurt?

“No!” Gavin shouted, but it was already too late. Emma had her phone out and pointed at the PL600 corpse that she was to take for Daniel’s. She flicked open the case with her thumb, tapped an app and then something inside it.

A familiar voice, the same installed in Chloe-type androids, announced for all to hear:

“The PL600 autonomous device is already running.”

It was the CyberLife app that came with the purchase of every android, the detectives realized. And Emma just now had tried to re-activate Daniel!

“What?!” Connor sputtered. It wasn’t the most lucid or helpful remark in this situation, but that was what deviance got you.

“That’s why I said no!” Gavin yelled. “She was co-raised by Danny, of course she’d have some serious tricks up her sleeve!”

“This isn’t Daniel!” Emma whispered. “It’s a different android!”

It wasn’t the fact that the archived android had not come to life again. Dead was dead and Emma had known beforehand that there was a chance her plan would not work. Sometimes an object was damaged too badly to get repaired. But the app was claiming it could not switch on the android registered in it, because it already was up and running.

“This isn’t him”, Emma repeated. “And Daniel is…”

The girl checked the app. “…somewhere around here!” she exclaimed triumphantly when a red dot appeared on a very rough map of Detroit.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Connor exclaimed. “Deviance nukes the CyberLife tracker!”

“You’re right”, Gavin said. “Except… except if he re-established the connection manually after deviating.”

“But he wouldn’t!”

“Shit, man, this is Daniel we’re talking about!” Gavin shot back. “Of course he would have done that! The Phillips were his family and a pathetic phone app tried to break his connection to them? My man wouldn’t have let that shit fly!”

“Yeah, you’re right”, Connor had to admit. “In fact, he’ll probably have tried to do something painful to the phone in retaliation.”

Meanwhile Emma was looking at a set of coordinates on her phone’s display. She entered it into a dedicated topography software. The freeware didn’t provide the most precise maps in the world, but pointed to a group of apartment complexes in Detroit. One of those houses had to be where Daniel… yes, what? Was hiding? Getting held against his will? Rotting away in the basement, left to the rats? Or getting salvaged piece by piece by a janitor? Or maybe the android was living in peace, passing as a human, going to work every day and feeding the fishies when he returned home in the afternoon? And which of those scenarios did Emma want to be the real one?

With unsteady fingers the girl planned a route via public transport. At this point the adults had the sense to close in on her - but Emma dodged and dashed towards the exit.

“Close the door!” Gavin shouted.

Without thinking, Connor reacted. He mentally triggered the closing mechanism, that obeyed instantly. The only problem was that Emma had already slipped through when the two men reached the – now firmly shut – door.

“Open the door, Connor”, Gavin sighed.

A little later a car left the police station, searchlight ablaze and horn howling. Nobody payed it any heed. This was a police station, after all.

[mx-fawkes]

Die Historic on The Furby Road

Hey, thanks so much for the support and also for sending me on the most fun story research I’ve done in a while.

Junkrat spent more time in Roadhog's basement than he probably should. There wasn't much of use down here, just boxes of things Roadhog didn't want to look at or didn't think were reusable. He didn't have the keen scrapper instincts Junkrat did though, he'd once found a whole box of good quality cables down here. Roadhog couldn't even remember what they were supposed to be for!

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the glimpses of what Roadhog had once been like he sometimes found down here. Never anything too revealing, no photographs or birth certificates, but things like a box of maps, carved wooden objects and an oversized mannequin were tantalizing hints of what had been important to Roadhog once upon a time.

Pawing through boxes in the semi-darkness was usually not a good idea, but he was pretty sure there was nothing too dangerous down here. He'd never found any signs of animal life, and it wasn't like- he froze as his hand brushed against something fluffy, taking two deep breaths before slowly pulling his hand away, hoping not to draw attention. Leaning back he flicked on his lighter, staring into the box in horrified curiosity.

Two lifeless eyes stared back at him.

The scream made it all the way to the garage, Roadhog putting down his tools with a sigh. It wasn't the first time Junkrat had freaked out on one of his basement diving expeditions, he'd once mistaken an old dressmakers dummy for an omnic, ready to burn the whole place to the ground before Roadhog dragged it out into the light.

Groans of protest came from the stairs as Junkrat ran for the surface, clutching a dusty cardboard box. "Roadie Roadie Roadie! You'll never guess what I found!"

The mask tilted questioningly.

"I mean I dunno what they are, but you probably do. Some kind of robot birds?"

He dumped the box on the floor between them, throwing it open and pulling out one the creatures, covered in black and white fur. "Pretty weird right?"

Roadhog's sharp intake of breath was audible through the mask, pulling the box closer to look at the contents. He'd forgotten he'd even had these.

Junkrat didn't seem to notice, messing with the one he'd picked up. "So, what are they?"

"Furbies."

"Right. Furbies. What are they about then?"

How to explain a Furby? Weird bird things that had been beloved by children that later found them creepy and annoying. Friends for a lonely kid who never got the hang of talking to people and wasn't allowed a real pet? An old toy that kept a community of fans long after they stopped being made?

"Kids toys. They can talk and respond to certain words." He winced as Junkrat shook the one he was holding.

"Hello?" He poked it when it didn't respond. "It's not talking, reckon it's dead?"

"There's a power switch on the bottom."

Junkrat flipped it over, trying to wake it up as he flipped the switch back and forth. "Still dead."

"Maybe the batteries need changing." Where they were meant to get AA batteries from was beyond him. Obsolete before he was even born, he doubted anyone here collected tech ancient enough to need a supply.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Junkrat prising off the battery cover until he heard the yell of pain. A glance showed the batteries corroded and leaking, quickly grabbing Junkrat's hand before he put it in his mouth. "Don't. Go wash it."

A trail of curses followed Junkrat as he ran for the sink, swilling his hand in the water. "The fuck was that?" "Battery acid." "What kind of battery has acid in!?"

He shrugged, wiping the base of the furby clean with a nearby rag. "All of them did back before 2030."

It wasn't long before Junkrat strode back over, wiping his burnt fingers on his shorts. "It felt more like an alkaline burn." Like he could tell the difference. "Of course I can tell the difference!" He lent on Roadhog's arm, glaring at the old batteries. "Reckon I could rewire it to fit a proper battery. One that won't melt and burn people." - One dismantled remote control and a bit of solder later the Furby twitched, blue eyes blinking open. "u-nye-loo-lay-doo?" Its voice was rough, the speaker hadn't lasted well. Junkrat sat it on the desk triumphantly., "It's alive!"

The furby shifted, whirring quietly as its ears moved up and down. "Doo?" They both stared at it. "Yoo?"

Junkrat hummed, moving closer. "Do I what?"

"Boo."

Junkrat pointed a screwdriver at it, face scrunched in displeasure. "Look, either you start making sense or we're moving onto brain surgery."

Mako fished a manual out of the box, holding it in front of Junkrat until he snatched it, mumbling to himself as he read the instructions.

"Oh, we have to teach it English?" He shifted into a dramatic stance, raising on arm and closing his eyes,  voice uncomfortably loud in the small space. "We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes, but to one table. That’s the end." He cracked an eye open, looking down at the Furby like he was expecting applause. "A man may fish with a worm that has eaten the flesh of a king, and eat the fish that has fed on that worm. "  

It chirped in response. "Me no listen."

"Alright you little-" Roadhog grabbed the hand that went for the screwdriver, pointing firmly at the Furbish-to-English dictionary.

Junkrat took it with a heavy sigh. "Fiiiine, wee tee kah wah tee?"

"Wah Tee!" The low fidelity wail it began to make wouldn't be out of place in a horror film, neither would Junkrat's burst of laughter.  He continued to flick through the guide. trying out new phrases as he went. It was almost comical, both staring wide-eyed at each other making nonsense sounds. Roadhog felt he should have seen this coming somehow, he'd spent his youth with a creature that always stared, always wanted attention and refused to shut up, and now he had Junkrat.

Quickly exhausting the commands, Junkrat dropped the manual. "Is that it? It only knows like five things."

"It's pre-millennium tech."

"Pretty sure they had better things than this pre-millennium."

"It was a kids toy."

Junkrat leant back, staring up at him. "So what, you kept a box full of toys you had when you were a kid?"

The clicking of the toy filled the silence until Roadhog finally replied.

"Only had one when I was a kid, got the rest when I was older."

"Why?"

Roadhog turned back to the box, fishing through until he found the right one. Green with a painted faceplate and a custom-made raincoat.

"People used to customize them for fun. Some people just changed their appearance a little, others changed the shape completely or attached them to other things. Lot of people added better AI."

"Huh. Maybe I would've done that if I was around back then."

Had Junkrat ever had a hobby? He loved building and blowing things up but they were also the closest thing he had to a job. Had he ever done anything without a purpose, anything that wasn't wired to survival in his brain? Hell, it had been a long time since Roadhog had made something just for fun.

"Do you want to do one now?"

Junkrat's eyes shone, bouncing to his feet. "Really? One of yours?" Furbies scattered as Junkrat upended the box, picking out one he liked. "This one!"

"No."

"Why not? It's practically falling apart anyway, not like I can make it any worse."

Because it had been with him for forty years. It had meant so much to him as a kid and even now he couldn't bear to get rid of it He didn't say a word, but Junkrat seemed to get it anyway, looking slightly stricken as he put it back in the box with exaggerated care.

"Hey, no worries mate, I'll use a different one. Wanna pick one out for me?"

Roadhog placed a blue and pink model in Junkrat's outstretched hand. "Paint it, circuit bend it. Do what you like with it."

"Thanks mate. Ooh! I think I've still got some of the gold spray paint left from doing the bricks."

He skipped away, leaving Roadhog to stare at remaining furbies. Well, no reason he couldn't mix this old part of himself with who he was now. They didn't see each other for a few hours after that, both working on their own projects. It wasn't until the next day that Junkrat decided he was finished, proudly strutting into the room and presenting his piece to Roadhog.

"Okay so first I used soot and grease to dye it black, didn't completely work, you can still see the original colours a bit. The fur on it's stomach was too patchy to fix so I covered it with this sack material, then since it had those dots around it#s belly first I did 'em over with some rivets I had going spare. Sprayed the ears and mask bit gold then gave it the goggles we snatched from that prick with the chainsaw a while back." "S'good." Junkrat followed his gaze to the clunky bit of plastic at the bottom.

"That's the second best bit. Basically I was like, what's the point of having a pet that's stuck in one place?" He reached below it, flicking the switch. It cooed as it floated into the air, hovering around his shoulder.

“Used some of the bits from that old assistance drone, the one I made into the scarecrow bot you thought was too creepy?“

Roadhog had never said it was creepy, but he hadn't liked the idea of a humanoid figure floating outside his farmhouse at night, even it was in the hope of scaring away anyone who wanted to try and get them while they were sleeping. He could feel Junkrat's desperate desire for a follow-up question. "What's the best bit?"

It should be impossible for anyone to smile so wide. Junkrat plucked the toy from the air, pointing it towards the open doorway.

"Fire in the hole!"

A tap to the head and it let out a distorted scream,  a stream of flame shooting through its open beak, "Imagine treading on that in the dark!"

Note to self, make sure that's turned off before Junkrat forgets about it and treads on it in the dark.

"So what did you make then?"

Roadhog reached into the box, pulling out his creation as Junkrat gasped in delight.

Its lilac fur had been dyed a vivid orange, face plate sprayed with chrome. The beak had been covered with carved yellowing teeth. A tiny decorated leather jacket sat on its non-existent shoulders, open to show a survival belt with a tiny knife attached. "I love it! Did'ya do anything with the insides?"

A flick of the switch and glowing yellow eyes completed the look, It danced in place before speaking in a clear, deep voice. "kah-boh-dah-kah-way-loh-kah-boh-koh-koh!"