#mostly made this for a new header

[kyurochurro]

far-out girlie!! 💫🪐🌙

[afterheese]

The Plot Twist - Lee Heeseung x F!Reader x Nishimura Riki

They stole my header? Perfect. I needed a reason to outdo myself anyway.

You could already picture him with his dark, messy hair buried between your legs, that wicked mouth pulling you straight to heaven. A soft moan slipped out as you arched into the touch, eyelids fluttering open, ready to see him. But blonde? Heeseung wasn’t blonde.

content warnings - dark!Heeseung plus dark!Niki, noncon turned dubcon, forced oral, mean dom heeseung, needy niki, threesome, hair pulling, degradation, creampie, breeding kink, lots of dirty talk.

word count - 3.4k

Heeseung was the picture-perfect boyfriend. Dependable, sweet, the kind of guy who remembered your coffee order and actually asked about your day and he listened. You could count on him for anything. Need a ride at 2 a.m.? He was there. Forgot your umbrella? He’d show up with two, just in case. Honestly, you had zero complaints. Well…almost zero.

There was just one thing you couldn’t stand. A single, stubborn splinter in your otherwise pristine boyfriend fantasy and that was his friends. God, his friends.

And at the center of that circus was Ni-ki. That little shit. The human embodiment of a group chat you wish you could mute. He had this uncanny talent for showing up uninvited, inserting himself into every conversation like he was the main character, and delivering sarcasm like it was his full-time job.

He wasn’t just annoying. He was the kind of annoying that made you want to pray for patience and punch a pillow all simultaneously.

No matter how perfect Heeseung was, every time Ni-ki opened his mouth, you found yourself questioning your life choices... and your boyfriend’s taste in people.

At first, Ni-ki was kind of shy around you…which, honestly, you chalked up to nerves. You were, after all, the first real girlfriend to be introduced to the group. The others? Mostly flings, a few questionable hook-ups, and one girl whose name no one could quite remember. But you? You were different. Official. And maybe that threw him off?

You figured the age thing might help. You were closer to Ni-ki than the others in that regard, so you tried. Really tried. You made the effort, you brought up games he liked, asked about movies, even tried laughing at one of his half-hearted anime impressions. But he made it weird. Like weird-weird.

Backhanded compliments that felt less like icebreakers and more like ice picks. You assumed he was just socially awkward, maybe trying to be funny in that clumsy, teenage-boy way. But after a while, the pattern became clear: he only acted that way with you.

And that’s when it hit you. Ni-ki didn’t like you.

Heeseung, bless his rose-colored-glasses heart, kept reassuring you. “That’s just how Ni-ki is,” he’d say, like that explained the passive-aggressive snipes or the exaggerated sighs every time you joined in a conversation. Still, you gave it your best. You showed up. You engaged. You offered thoughtful commentary on his favorite games only to be met with a shrug and a “that’s not really your genre, is it?”

So, eventually… you stopped trying.

You kept your opinions to yourself. Sat a little quieter when he was around. Smiled politely but stopped reaching out. And funny enough? it got worse.

The backhanded compliments stopped, which should’ve been a win. But instead of mellowing out, Ni-ki leveled up. He went full-blown sarcasm bitch on you.

Now, if you asked something as innocent as, “Hey, can we go see that new movie this weekend?” he’d hit you with a deadpan: “Can you?” Like he was your parole officer and you’d just violated a condition of your release. It drove you absolutely mad.

You started fantasizing about flipping a table. Or smacking him with the remote. Or both. You could practically hear your inner voice narrating, “And that’s when she snapped, Judge.”

But you didn’t.

Because no matter how much Ni-ki grated on your nerves with that sandpaper wrapped in smugness shit, he was Heeseung’s best friend. And you didn’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who came in and started issuing ultimatums. Me or you friends? yeah you didn’t want to be one of those. So, you left it alone.

Grinned. Bared it. Tried to summon your inner zen. And when that didn’t work? You thought happy thoughts. Really happy thoughts. Like Ni-ki accidentally walking into oncoming traffic. Just... hypothetically, of course. 

Which brings us to tonight, it was supposed to be movie night. Just you, your boyfriend, and the latest horror flick that promised more actual scares than jumpscares. You had your oversized hoodie on, a throw blanket ready to swaddle yourself like a human burrito, and a bowl of popcorn nestled perfectly in your lap. It was supposed to be perfect. Just the two of you.

So when there was a knock on the door, you prayed to every god in the universe that it was the pizza. But the gods? Yeah, kindness isn’t really their thing. So when you saw the smile. That smile. That specific smile Heeseung threw over his shoulder as he headed for the door. The one that said he already knew who it was. The one that made your stomach sink faster than a doomed horror movie protagonist walking into a dark basement.

Your hopes didn’t just die. They spontaneously combusted. Because you just knew. This wasn’t a pizza delivery. This was a Ni-ki situation. And suddenly, the horror movie wasn’t the scariest thing on the agenda.

He walked in smiling like he hadn’t just crashed your night. Like the evening hadn’t been reserved for you, your boyfriend, and a horror movie. Ni-ki strolled through the door with all the confidence of someone who’d been invited which, apparently, he had. He shot you a smirk. Not his usual smirk, either. This one was… new. Sharper and that threw you off more than it should have. Then, the real plot twist: he greeted you.

“Hey,” he said, casual as anything. You just stared at him. He’d never greeted you before. Not unless you counted eye rolls and monosyllabic grunts. Still slightly stunned, you murmured, “Hi,” back.

Heeseung came up behind you, kissed your cheek in that soft, boyfriend-y way that always made your pulse do a double take, and mumbled, “He didn’t have plans and felt kinda lonely, so I invited him last minute. Hope you don’t mind.”

You minded. Oh, you definitely minded.

But you played it cool because that’s who you were: composed, understanding, non-possessive girlfriend of the year. (You’d like your award mailed, thanks.) Ni-ki made himself right at home on the couch, plopping down beside you like he paid rent. You gave him the most olympic-level side-eye you could manage without moving your head.

Then, when Heeseung sat down on your other side, you snuggled in close. Partly for warmth. Mostly for territorial reasons. Heeseung smiled at you, soft and dimpled and devastating. Damn it. That smile made your knees weak even when you were sitting.

The movie started playing. Ni-ki reached for popcorn like he hadn’t just invaded your peace. And you? You prayed the horror on screen would be more tolerable than the one sitting beside you. 

Watching the movie with Ni-ki turned out to be… surprisingly bearable.

He didn’t say much (that was a miracle of miracles) unless the main character made one of those painfully dumb horror-movie choices. You know, the kind where someone hears a noise in the basement and decides to investigate alone with a flickering flashlight and zero survival instinct. And, to be fair, his commentary was kind of funny. Begrudgingly.

For a while, it was almost... nice. But then the masked killer was revealed, and just like that, the tension flatlined. No more mystery. No more suspense. Just a long, slow unraveling of plot and blood.

You got bored. Your eyelids started staging a protest. And before you knew it, your head was on Heeseung’s shoulder, your body tucked into his side, wrapped in his warmth like the safest little burrito on earth.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Just let you stay curled against him, arm around you like he was guarding your dreams. And in that moment, Ni-ki and his sarcasm, the movie, the whole weird energy of the night… it all faded. Because Heeseung made you feel safe. Which, frankly, was better than any plot twist the movie could’ve offered.

You were floating in a dreamless haze when you felt it your stomach tightening, a slow, delicious heat coiling low. Something was happening to you, but your mind was too foggy to figure out why. Then, the sensation of hands, warm and knowing, sliding up your thighs. Oh. Your breath hitched. Heeseung.

You could already picture him..his dark, fluffy hair between your legs, that sinful mouth of his dragging you to heaven. A soft moan escaped you as you arched into the touch, your eyelids fluttering open, expecting to see him.

But—blonde hair? Heeseung wasn’t blonde.

Your brain short-circuited. You tried to sit up. Key word: tried because the second you moved, strong arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you flush against a firm chest. A familiar, honey-sweet voice whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Just relax, baby. Let Niki make that pretty pussy come.”

Your entire body burned. “H-Heeseung—what the hell—” But your protest melted into a breathless moan as Niki’s tongue dragged over you, slow and filthy, unraveling you inch by inch.

Heeseung chuckled against your neck, his grip possessive. “Shh, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for us.” His lips brushed your pulse point, his voice dropping to that sinful, sweet-dirty rasp that always made you weak. “Look at you, taking Niki so well… Bet you didn’t even know you could feel so good, huh?”

You whimpered, fingers twisting in the couch. Niki groaned against you, his hands digging into your hips like he was starving. “Fuck—so perfect. Can’t get enough.”

"Niki, stop—please."

He doesn’t listen. Instead, he kisses your thigh again, his lips warm and insistent. "Baby," he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want. "The way your body’s reacting… I can’t help myself. I wanna see you fall apart." His dark eyes drag down your body, slow, possessive, and all you can manage is a weak, "Huh?" breathless, already unraveling.

When you realize you can’t get through to him, you turn your head, seeking Heeseung. "Heeseung—what the fuck are you doing? Stop him—" Your words break between moans, shaky and desperate.

But Heeseung just smiles, sweet and sinful. "I’ve wanted to watch him fuck you for so long," he admits, his voice honey-thick, fingers brushing your cheek. "And this? God, it’s more than I ever dreamed."

You trembled, caught between the velvet pull of his voice and the relentless drag of Niki’s mouth between your thighs. Your protests had long since dissolved into breathless moans, your body betraying you completely.

Heeseung’s hand slid up to your throat. “You feel that?” he whispered into your ear. “How your body’s trembling?  That’s need. Craving. You want this. You’re mine, and I’m giving you to him. Doesn’t that turn you on?”

You whimpered, shaking your head, but your hips said otherwise rocking up, chasing every sinful flick of Niki’s tongue. You could feel him smile against you, cocky and starving.

“Such a fucking dream,” Niki groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. “Tastes like sin… like she’s meant to be ruined.” His tongue curled again, and you cried out, your fingers clawing at the cushions, the pleasure too much.

“Heeseung,” you gasped, trying to hold on to something—anything. “Please, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he crooned, one hand cupping your cheek, the other trailing down to your chest, brushing over your nipples with maddening care. “You’ll come when I say, just like always. You know that, right?”

You nodded helplessly, already falling apart.

“Good girl,” he purred, kissing the shell of your ear. “Now stay still. Let Niki taste every fucking drop. I want to see you lose yourself, right here in his mouth with my hands on your throat so you remember who owns you.”

The words hit you harder than any touch, unraveling you completely. Your body writhed between them, Niki’s grip bruising, Heeseung’s voice the only anchor as your climax built.

Your glossy eyes stare up at him, pleading, but he just leans in, pressing a soft gentle kiss to your lips but underneath it, that unspoken truth: You don’t have a choice in this. He moved his mouth to your ear, his words a velvet caress. "You look so pretty like this, baby. You have no idea how good you are for us, do you?"

"Why don’t we put that mouth to use?" Heeseung murmured, sweet as honey, before his grip turned cruel. He stood abruptly, sending you tumbling back onto the couch, dragging you to the edge until your head hung over the armrest. Your pulse throbbed in your throat.

Niki groaned when you were pulled away from him, but he didn’t stay gone long his mouth found your pussy again like it was the last thing he’d ever taste. "Fuck, you’re so wet," he muttered against you, needy, desperate, his tongue working in filthy, practiced circles.

Heeseung loomed above you, upside down from your vantage point, all sharp angles and dark eyes. Even like this, even when you wished things were different your body betrayed you. He looked good, and the way he gripped your jaw made your breath hitch. "Open," he said, sweetly at first, almost coaxing. Then, as soon as you obeyed, his voice dropped to something rougher. "That’s it. Take it."

He slid into your mouth with a shuddering groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. The stretch of him on your tongue, the way Niki was devouring you between your thighs it was all too much. You came with a muffled cry, shaking, and Heeseung let out a dark laugh.

Your glossy eyes stared up at Heeseung, silently begging but he only smiled, tender and cruel, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. It should have felt kind. But it didn’t. It felt like a promise.

A promise that you had no say in what came next.

"You look so pretty like this, baby," he whispered into your ear, his voice like silk over steel. "You have no idea how good you are for us, do you?"

Your breath stuttered in your chest.

"Why don’t we put that mouth to use?" Heeseung murmured, all honeyed affection, but his grip turned brutal in the next instant. He stood and yanked you down with him, letting your body collapse back against the couch. Before you could catch your breath, he dragged you by the hips until your head hung over the armrest, disoriented, dizzy, pulse hammering in your throat.

Niki groaned in protest when you were pulled from his mouth, but he didn’t stay away for long. His hands returned to your thighs, spreading them open again like a gift he wasn’t done unwrapping. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he muttered, reverent and ravenous, as if he hadn’t just had you moments ago. “You’re making a mess, baby.”

Above you, Heeseung loomed, shadowed in golden light. From your upside-down vantage, he looked even more dangerous those sharp cheekbones, that dark stare, those lips quirked in something cruel and so pleased. Even now, even when you knew you should resist, your body begged for more. And Heeseung knew it.

“Open,” he said, voice warm, coaxing. You did because obedience had become instinct. But the second your mouth parted, his voice dropped into something darker. “That’s it baby take it.”

He slid past your lips with a hissed curse, thick and hot on your tongue, and your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers tangled in your hair, anchoring you. He didn't thrust. Not at first. He just held you there as you gagged on him.

Because Heeseung liked to watch you struggle. He liked to see the tears slip from the corners of your eyes as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering helplessly around him. “Good fucking girl,” he groaned, hips rocking slow and deep. “Fuck, you were made for this.” And then Niki’s tongue curled just right, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still and the orgasm slammed into you like a train.

Your scream was muffled around Heeseung’s cock, your entire body tensing, then trembling as wave after wave of pleasure shattered through you.

Heeseung laughed low and dark, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, his thumb stroking over your lips. “Look at that—coming with your mouth full. God, you’re perfect.”

Niki didn’t stop. Heeseung didn’t stop. You couldn’t think, you could only feel.

"God, I love fucking this mouth," he growled, thrusting deeper, making you gag. His sweetness was gone now, replaced by something meaner, hungrier. "Look at you—can’t even breathe, can you? But you’ll take it. You always do."

You felt Niki shift beneath you, his hands gripping your hips, pressing closer. "You can fuck her," Heeseung panted, never slowing the brutal pace of his hips, "but you don’t get to come inside her. That’s for me. Understand?"

Niki whined against your skin as he slipped inside you. 

Heeseung’s fingers twisted tighter in your hair, forcing your throat to arch, your mouth to stretch wider around him. The salt-bitter taste of him flooded your senses, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that left no room for gentleness. Your eyes watered, lashes sticking together, but he didn’t let up just watched, dark satisfaction curling his lips as your body struggled to take him.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice rough as gravel. "Look at you—can’t even fucking think, can you?"

You couldn’t. Not with Niki fucking you, his hands digging into your hips as he thrust up into you, his mouth still wet from where he’d been licking you open. Every drag of him inside you was electric, too much and not enough, your nerves alight with the kind of pleasure that bordered on pain.

Heeseung’s thumb pressed against your chin, forcing your jaw wider. "Deeper," he ordered, and when you choked, he only groaned, his free hand sliding down to grip your throat, feeling the way he stretched you. "Fuck, you’re perfect like this."

Niki’s breath hitched against your stomach, his fingers bruising as he held you in place. "She’s close," he panted, voice wrecked. "I can feel it—fuck, she’s squeezing me so tight—"

"I know," Heeseung said, his own voice strained. "But she doesn’t come until I say." His grip on your hair yanked your head back, forcing your gaze up to his. "You hear me? You hold it. You take what I give you."

You whimpered around him, your body trembling on the edge, every muscle coiled tight. Niki’s thrusts turned erratic, his control slipping, but Heeseung’s free hand shot down, fingers digging into Niki’s shoulder. "I said," Heeseung growled, "you don’t come inside her."

Niki let out a broken noise but obeyed, pulling out at the last second, spilling against your thigh with a shudder. Heeseung’s laugh was low, pleased. Heeseung pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp, struggling to catch your breath but the air rushes right back out when his hands clamp down on your hips, fingers biting into your skin. Your legs dangle uselessly before hooking around his waist, dragging him closer.

"That’s it," he murmurs, sweet as honey, brushing your hair back. Then, just as your lips part to sigh, his voice drops, dark and rough "Hold on tight, baby. Gonna ruin you." He slams into you, filling the empty space Niki left behind, and your vision whites out. His rhythm is punishing, hips driving into you like he’s chasing something, like he’s angry. 

"You like that?" Heeseung’s voice is a taunt now, fingers digging bruises into your thighs. "Like being fucked like this? Like a cheap little thing?" You whimper, nodding, but he snarls, "Say it."

"Y-yes—" "Yes, what?" He swats your hip, sharp enough to sting. "Yes, I like it—" "She loves it," Niki cuts in from behind you, voice dripping with something filthy. You try to turn, but Heeseung shoves you back down onto the couch. It creaks beneath you, the fabric rough against your back., his grip possessive.

"Eyes on me," he orders. "You don’t need him. You need this." His thrusts turn erratic, brutal. "Gonna come inside you, mark you up so good—you want that?" You’re babbling now, nails scraping his shoulders. "Please, Heeseung, please—" "Fuck," he groans, and then he’s spilling into you, hot and claiming, his breath ragged against your neck.

Besides you, Niki lets out a low, needy laugh. "Guess I’m cleaning up his mess again." Heeseung’s lips curl against your skin sweet once more, almost tender. "Should I let the rest of the boys use you," he coos. "Fuck I think I’m gonna call them."

[orellazalonia]

Echoes of a Nobody

Summary: The Avengers discover you may now be working with a hostile organization, sparking confusion, guilt, and questions about whether you were taken or left by choice.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

The Tower still functioned. The lights still came on at sunrise, the coffee still brewed automatically, and the world, predictably, still needed saving.

But it wasn’t the same. Not really. They didn’t talk about you anymore. Not in meetings. Not in the break room. Not even in the way people usually mention someone who left like “I wonder how they’re doing,” or “Remember how they used to do this?”

Your name hadn’t been spoken in weeks and no one looked at the desk the same way. Even with the new intern, no one admitted they noticed the difference in the reports. The missing efficiency. The absence of quiet competence. You’d made things easy for them, too easy. Because you hadn’t needed praise. You hadn’t asked questions when the assignments piled too high. You never made a scene when someone else took credit.

You were just… reliable. Invisible.

And now, you were gone. Not fallen in battle. Not reassigned. You left on your own terms. And somehow, that made it worse. Because the truth was, they’d all gotten used to you being around without ever really seeing you.

Sam noticed first. He didn’t say anything out loud, but every time he found an old file tagged with your formatting or caught a smart line of code the intern didn’t recognize, his jaw would clench just a little.

Clint complained more. “Why is everything in the wrong place?” He muttered once, staring at a disorganized gear locker that used to run like clockwork under your watch.

Bruce rubbed his temples during mission debriefs now. Things were falling through. Small details, easily fixable mistakes, but they stacked up. Quietly. Subtly.

As for Bucky, he still didn’t say anything either. He still trained. Still showed up. Still leaned into quiet corners with that girl he was so drawn to, the one with the bright laugh and easy smile. They were exactly what they were meant to be: Happy. Whole. Seen.

Yet still, something in Bucky’s expression occasionally flickered. Like when he asked the intern for last quarter’s field logs, the kind you used to prepare without being asked. The intern blinked had. “Wait, were we supposed to keep those updated?”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t scold. Just nodded tightly and walked away.

He hadn’t really known you. Not the way he knew her. But maybe he knew enough now to feel the edges of your absence even if he didn’t understand it. Because no one really understood what you did until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

And now, the Tower moved on like it always does. Your desk still sat there, empty. No one had claimed it really. And when the lights dimmed and the late night silence crept in, the air around your space felt heavier. Like the room knew something had been lost.

Not loudly. Just quietly. Like everything you ever did.

Therefore, what came next was a surprise to them all. It was Bruce who discovered it first, he didn’t mean to find it.

It was late that day, late enough that the Tower was more shadows than light, more quiet hums of distant servers than footsteps in the halls. His coffee had gone cold an hour ago and he wasn’t even sure why he was still at his desk. The mission reports were dull, mostly cleanup work from intel they’d intercepted last week from an anti-shield faction operating out of the Balkans.

He was skimming out of obligation, not curiosity until he opened the fifth folder.

The file tree wasn’t remarkable at first. Standard formatting. But the subfolders were ordered a little too neatly. The names weren’t generic; they were contextual, smart. Predictive.

Then came the layouts. His eyes narrowed.

Line after line of data filtered across the screen, and his breath caught, not because of the content, but because of the structure.

The headers. The symbols. The little quirks in spacing that most people wouldn’t notice.

But Bruce did. Because he remembered seeing it for years. Quietly, reliably, every week formatted the exact same way. You used to send summaries with this layout. It wasn’t a style. It wasn’t even a system. It was… you. Distinct. Efficient. Invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

Bruce sat up straighter, heart tapping a little faster. He clicked deeper. Opened a timestamped diagnostic from a surveillance relay taken offline days before an attack. Whoever wrote the analysis had restructured the data logs to show energy signatures layered over civilian heat maps. It was clean. Elegant.

Too elegant.

“Wait,” He muttered, leaning closer.

There were redundancies in the formula. Little backups, hidden verification lines built into the metadata. He’d seen them before. He remembered once asking about them, years ago, why you'd included them when no one else did.

You had shrugged. “Because systems fail. People forget. I don’t.”

Bruce’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He sat back slowly, eyes still fixed on the screen. The quiet hum of the tower seemed suddenly louder, more isolating.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Didn’t want to assume something that wasn’t possible. Except… it was. And no matter how much he told himself it couldn’t be you, that this was probably just someone who used your old files, or mimicked your workflow, he felt the truth in his gut.

This wasn’t mimicry. This was your work. Your habits. Your voice, written in lines of code like a ghost.

He didn’t say anything to the others at first. Not yet. Because if he was right… It meant you weren’t just gone. You were working for them now. And there was a high chance, you weren’t coming back.

-

Bruce spent most of the night reviewing the files again, hoping he’d find something, anything that would disprove his gut.

He didn’t.

So when the team gathered for the morning briefing, he stood silently near the edge of the table, clutching his tablet like a lifeline. Steve was mid-sentence about a possible weapons facility when Bruce finally spoke.

“I think she’s working with them.”

The room shifted. It was subtle, but sharp. Natasha looked up. Clint stopped halfway through unwrapping a protein bar. Sam’s brows dipped in confusion. Steve frowned.

“What?” Steve asked.

Bruce tapped his tablet and cast the projection into the center of the room and said your name. The file structure lit up in pale blue: neat, layered, and efficient.

“She designed this,” Bruce said. “The data formatting, the way it parses real-time risk indicators, and the multi-tier flagging structure. This isn’t like hers. This is hers.”

Bucky, who’d been leaning against the wall near the back, arms folded, finally looked over.

“You’re saying she’s helping them now?” He asked, voice low. More like a statement than a question.

“I’m saying I don’t know,” Bruce admitted. “But this level of detail? It’s not someone copying her style. It’s her work. I’d bet everything on it.”

Sam squinted at the file, then crossed his arms. “So, what? She was a mole this whole time? Just embedded with us, waiting?”

“No.” Bruce’s tone sharpened. “No way. She didn’t have access to anything sensitive until the last year, and even then she didn’t take advantage of it. This is recent.”

“So she was taken?” Natasha asked. “Maybe they’re forcing her to work for them.”

“Could be,” Steve said quietly. “We’ve seen that happen before.”

Bruce hesitated, his thumb brushing over the edge of his tablet. “If that’s true, then why does this read like she cares? There’s attention to detail in this. Clean backups. This isn't bare minimum compliance. It’s-“

“Deliberate,” Bucky finished.

Everyone turned to him. He didn’t look at anyone. Just kept his arms folded, eyes fixed on the holoscreen, jaw tight.

“She used to keep my files color-coded,” He said after a pause. “Even though I never asked her to. Wouldn’t even have thought to.”

“She did that for you?” Clint muttered. “She never even looked me in the eye.”

“She barely talked,” Sam added.

“Because none of us ever really gave her a reason to,” Natasha said, voice quiet.

Steve’s mouth tightened. “She was reliable. Smart. I just thought she preferred to be behind the scenes.”

Bruce looked down. “Well, if they’re treating her better… if she’s found a place where she feels like she belongs…”

“…Then maybe she didn’t need to be forced,” Natasha finished.

There was a long silence that sank into the walls like fog.

Sam glanced at Steve. “So what do we do?”

No one answered. Because deep down, they were all wondering the same thing: If you chose to leave, if you found people who valued you in ways they never did…

Do they even have the right to go after you? And worse, would you even want to come back?

The holoscreen was still glowing when she walked in, heels soft against the floor, a cup of something warm in her hand.

She smiled easily, the kind of smile that made people look up even when they didn’t mean to. Bucky did. His posture eased just slightly, eyes flicking toward her like muscle memory. The one he loved brushed his arm with the back of her hand as she passed him and made her way to the table.

“Hey,” She said with a curious tilt of her head. “What’s all this?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. Neither did Bruce. The tension still hung from earlier like humidity in the air.

“We think one of our old administrators might be working with the group we’re tracking,” Steve finally said, tone careful.

She blinked. “Oh?” Her eyes flicked to the display, then back. “Who?”

Bruce hesitated. “She left a few months ago. Used to run most of our comm scrubs and data threads.”

A small pause before her mouth curved. “Ohhh. You mean the quiet one? I think I remember her.”

She said it gently, like trying to recall the name of someone she might’ve sat next to in a lecture hall years ago.

“She didn’t talk much, did she?” She continued, sipping her drink. “I always thought she seemed sweet, but kind of… you know. Overwhelmed?”

Bucky didn’t respond. Natasha’s expression sharpened subtly, but the woman either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

“She left,” Bruce said, steady but not unkind, “Because we made her feel invisible.”

Her brow rose slightly, as if surprised by the weight of the statement. “Oh. I didn’t realize she felt that way.”

“She might’ve been taken,” Steve said. “Or maybe she joined them willingly. We’re still piecing it together.”

The woman tilted her head. “And you think she’s helping those guys now?”

“We have signs of her system work embedded in their infrastructure,” Bruce confirmed. “The designs match her exactly.”

A thoughtful hum. She leaned lightly against the table. “That’s kind of impressive, actually. I mean… good for her?”

There was a pause.

She blinked. “I just mean, it sounds like she found a place where she fits, you know? I always thought she looked like she didn’t want to be here most of the time.”

“She probably wanted to be useful,” Natasha added.

“Sure, but maybe she is now,” The woman replied, light and certain. “I mean, I don’t want to sound harsh or anything, but if she didn’t have much clearance, how dangerous can it really be?”

Bruce stiffened. “She knew more than anyone realized. She was just never loud about it.”

“Right.” A gentle nod, like she understood. “Still… maybe it’s not worth making this a whole mission. I mean, do we really want to drag her back into this if she’s finally found her place?”

No one answered, not right away.

“She might be compromised,” Steve said firmly. “Or being manipulated.”

“Of course. But if she’s doing it by choice?” She gave a soft, almost sympathetic smile. “It just doesn’t seem worth disrupting everything over someone who didn’t even seem to like being here.”

“Maybe she didn’t like how she was treated,” Bucky muttered.

She blinked again, this time with a little laugh. “Oh… well, we were all busy. I’m sure nobody meant anything by it.”

Sam and Natasha exchanged a look.

She gave Bucky’s arm a soft squeeze. “I just think you all have bigger things to worry about than chasing down someone who’s probably better off without us. But… I know you’ll do what you think is right.”

She offered them all one last sweet smile and drifted out the way she came, calm and weightless as a breeze. Only when she was gone did anyone breathe again.

Bucky’s gaze turned back to holoscreen.

He didn’t know what unsettled him more: her gentle way of brushing it all aside, or the fact that he’d once agreed with her without even thinking twice.

He wasn’t sure what was right anymore.

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal

[celestie0]

Hey!! Do you have any ihm headcanons for gojo and y/n?

I honestly love them both so much especially reader. Your writing is amazing

suuure!! i mean they're not like officially in a relationship yet so these will just be kinda random facts about them i supposeee, some separate and some together :0 but i hope they're still interesting haha <33

in holy matriphony headcanons

ᰔ note. for anyone new here, these headcanons are based off of my gojo x reader long fic series called "in holy matriphony"!! header art by @/3-aem

ihm!gojo woodworks in his free time. he’s building a coffee table right now. he passed out in his workshop last weekend because he accidentally inhaled too many wood stain fumes

ihm!gojo already has a college fund set up for his future kids (he started it when he was 26 lmfao)

ihm!gojo on that note is veeery financially responsible (unlike ihm reader hahaha)

ihm!reader only chose nursing for her post undergrad plans because she dressed up as a nurse once for halloween and it drove choso crazy and that’s basically what she ended up rolling with for the rest of her professional career 👍🏼 (a questionable yet relatable decision)

ihm!gojo’s ex-wife, who shall still remain mostly a mystery, is actually someone he’s known since he was four years old (childhood friends to lovers type beat)

ihm!gojo’s favorite weekend pass times are hanging out with juno, taking his boat out to the lake, and watching SNL

ihm!reader secretly really wants to go for a ride on the lake on ihm!gojo’s boat but she’s spent so much time yelling at him for parking it halfway across her driveway curb that she feels like asking would be damage to her ego

ihm!gojo & ihm!reader were actually veeeeeery civil with one another when they first met, like very sweet neighbors, but then obviously things became sour down the line haha

ihm!gojo eats a generally pretty clean diet other than the occasional takeout on a friday. he PIGS out when he’s sold a house though. also, he’s a massive slut for home baked goods especially if they were made just for him. one time juno brought him a plate of (very burnt) chocolate chip cookies and he damn near cried (it’s the thought that counts)

ihm!gojo became a real estate agent fresh out of college but his actual major in college was entirely unrelated to marketing, sales, or business (shall be revealed later) 

ihm!reader was voted prom queen not once but twice when she was in high school and she believes that’s when she peaked in life

ihm!gojo gets sent on business trips to foreign countries pretty often by his brokerage firm to assess new housing markets and he always tries to bring back souvenirs for everyone in the neighborhood (except reader because he once brought her a stuffed animal from the airport in taiwan but he saw her throw it away in her garbage bin on trash day :( …she’s so mean sometimes)

whenever ihm!gojo & ihm!reader have arguments over things, they always vent about it to their neighbors in passing, and reader gets so pissed off when neighbors take gojo’s side because she’s literally lived there her whole life and yet they have the audacity to advocate for HIM

ihm!reader holds a lot of resentment towards her father because he was a heavy smoker for the entirety of his marriage to her mom, and so she suspects the reason her mother has cancer in the first place is because of the secondhand smoke 

ihm!gojo is obsessed with avocados. he eats avocado toast everyday. and he makes a meaaaaannn bowl of guac. he only has one avocado tree in his backyard right now but he would like to have a whole farm of them someday

ihm!gojo is really social, he loooves to talk to people and get to know them and ask them for their whole life story even if he just met them like two minutes ago lol, but his actual close knit  group of friends is only like 3-4ish guys

ihm!gojo gets frequently invited to his clients’ dinner parties, christmas parties, thanksgiving meals, kids birthday parties etc lmfaooo but he often has to politely decline

ihm!reader’s doctor is very concerned for her symptoms of insomnia (due to her abnormal sleeping schedule from nights shifts) because she already has risk factors for alzheimer's from her mother and insomnia only increases that risk

ihm!reader’s favorite store ever is costco. she wants her ashes to be spread across a costco parking lot

a/n. hope u enjoyed :0 much love!!

[cacoetheswriting]

what did i miss?

chapter three from the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.3k

summary: eddie tries to understand how he can fit into his old-new life in hawkins. with wayne, with you. what kind of role you want him to play for the kid you share. then again, maybe it's too early to decide these things. especially, when there's larger things at play. things that he's not wiling to address yet.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, mild jealousy, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / some comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence & related injuries (+blood), alcohol consumption — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Dinner is mostly uneventful.

The three adults wordlessly agree not to mention anything about the circumstance they’ve currently found themselves under. Instead, Steve talks about his work day, making jokes here and there that Messer is far too young to understand, but the toddler laughs nonetheless because he’s included in the conversation.

Sitting at the far end of the pizza place, Eddie has his back to the locale, head low to avoid anyone noticing him. Although, it’s mostly dead anyway. No one here to recognise his head of hair. Just a young waitress, staring blankly at her phone when she’s not needed, and an elderly couple on the opposite end of the restaurant.

He’s never been here before. Doesn’t recognise it actually and Steve confirms as such when he notices Eddie’s curious glances and tells his friend how Hawkins’ Home Slice opened a few months after the rockstar’s departure.

“I was an early investor, actually.” Steve says, not in a boastful way.

Eddie quirks a brow. “Thought you mainly did real estate these days?”

Harrington nods, then clarifies, “Yeah, man. Mainly residential, as you already know, but I also invest in some businesses. Focusing on local. Giving back to the community in my own way, I guess.” He finishes with a shrug and looks at you.

The rockstar does the same and there’s a smile on your face as you watch Steve with something Eddie would describe as adoration. His stomach growls. He tells the table it’s hunger, but he knows that’s not entirely true. A physical reaction for something akin to envy, actually.

Later, directly across from you, Eddie’s observing again.

You’re next to the young boy, helping him colour the paper kid’s menu in between bites of pepperoni pizza. There’s a small smile circling Eddie’s lips at the sight, a warmth in his chest he can’t quite shake, although he’s not exactly sure he wants to.

Harrington is beside his high school friend, opposite Messer. He playfully chucks french fries at the toddlers plate, urging him to eat up, while you scold the action with a very non-threatening scowl.

“We don’t play with food,” you tell the two of them.

“Yeah, uncle Steve,” Messer mimics the expression on your face and Eddie has to bite back a snort. There’s definitely no denying the kid is his, through and through.

Switching gears, Steve asks you, “How was work?”

You shrug, “Same old. Tuesday’s are the busiest, as you know. I led the morning class, then manned the desk.”

“Did you take your break?” Steve wonders.

“You know I didn’t,” you reply. “But I left early, so that counts for something.”

“What do you do?” Eddie asks, interrupting the back-and-forth, genuinely curious. Last he saw you, you were pursuing your passion. Photography. He hopes, despite the circumstances, that part of your life hasn’t changed much.

He’d be wrong.

“I run a yoga studio one town over,” you tell him, confirming in one short sentence that you really did give everything up to raise Messer, as he suspected. Dreams included.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat, forcibly contorting his facial features into showcasing something different to guilt and surprise.

The memory of that first time he ever laid eyes on you flashes in his mind for the hundredth time in the space of a single afternoon, only this time, it hurts a tiny bit more. Knowing you exchanged the camera for a yoga mat, shoved your true self to the side while he galavanted around the world.

You put his dreams ahead of your own and Eddie isn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Mommy is super strong,” Messer tells Eddie from across the table. The roll of his r’s not quite there, but his small face beams with pride.

“I don’t doubt that, little man.” Eddie says, honestly.

“She punched uncle Steve. There was blood.” The toddler’s eyes glisten with mischief as he shuffles in his spot, raising onto his knees. “But I’m not allowed to tell anyone,” he adds quickly, glancing in your direction to make sure what he’s just revealed is okay.

There’s a smirk tugging at your lips before you lean to place a wet kiss on Messer’s cheek. Satisfied that he didn’t break your trust, the boy resumes colouring, dutifully ignoring the rest of the chatter.

With an intrigued brow, Eddie poses the question, “You punched Harrington?”

“It was an accident,” you answer.

“I deserved it,” Steve says simultaneously.

Eddie’s head snaps between his friend and the mother of his child, whiplash fast. Confusion settles somewhere in his core, replacing the resentment he’s felt this entire morning since being an unknowing participant in this family wasn’t on his bingo card.

“There’s a story there,” the rockstar points out, but no one else speaks.

You’re staring at Steve, who is staring at you. A telepathic conversation. He squares his shoulders, unafraid, but your eyes narrow as if you’re daring the brunette to speak.

It really was an accident, you reason internally. 

A few months ago, for your birthday, Steve surprised you with a trip to New York. He planned everything out. Agreed with Wayne, ensuring the older man was okay to look after Messer alone, only for two nights, found an outrageously priced hotel, arranged a meet-up with your old friends and Terminal 5 colleagues. A perfect birthday.

Only, Harrington neglected to mention he also extended the invite to his friend, Eddie.

Eddie who showed up, oblivious.

Thankfully, you saw him from across the bar before he saw you, and you hurried to hide in the bathroom (like the coward you seemingly are when it comes to this man), before eventually sneaking out.

You ignored Steve for the rest of the trip, angry for putting you in that situation, and once the two of you returned to Hawkins, you exploded.

Your fist collided with his face as he attempted to explain. How you’d been a shell of yourself ever since he met you and how he knew you thought about the musician every day, secretly regretting not telling Eddie the truth in the end. 

So, okay, maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Steve did deserve it.

Exhaling, you reach for the half-empty glass in front of you. After only initially wrapping your fingers around the soft drink, wanting simply to have something to do with your hands, to stop them from shaking under the table, you take a large gulp. The fizzy liquid cold, almost burning, in such an extensive sip.

“He deserved it,” you relent and sneaking a look at Messer, to make sure he’s still playfully oblivious to the adult conversation, you begin to tell Eddie exactly what had happened. Watching as emotions flush his cheeks, as his lips part.

When you finish, hanging your head slightly ashamed, the rockstar turns to Steve.

“Is this why you were so fucking insistent I come out that night?”

Harrington nods. “Dude, it’s been eating at me, keeping this secret, and I-I don’t know,” he sighs, “Selfishly, I thought if I forced the two of you into a situation, we could just go on with our lives.”

You’re back to doodling with Messer when Eddie says, “She was right to punch you.”

And you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. 

You don’t look up from the page as your lips twist into a genuine smile because you’re afraid if you catch Eddie’s eyes again, the regret you feel will sink deeper, heavier. You’ll begin to reconsider all of the reasons you made up over the years, for why his world isn’t fit for a child. Yes, him making you happy (if only momentarily), that puts a splinter in the works. So, you remain focused on the yellow sun on Messer’s paper. Colouring within the lines and doing your best to ignore the weight of his gaze.

After a moment, Eddie tells Steve, tone hushed, how he’s grateful his friend kept trying. He thanks him for it and the two share a silent understanding that all is forgiven. 

There’s still the unanswered question of who exactly Harrington is to you, but the rockstar decides that for now, he doesn’t want to know.

Obliviousness has served Eddie well for years, he can continue circling the unknown until you’re ready to give up more information — another attempt to show everyone, you especially, how he’s grown. He can be trusted.

His phone pings.

Felix the fuck-tard: Heard the good news, pal. Felix the fuck-tard: Between you and me, Smithie asked to get my ducks in a row which can only mean we’ll be back on the road sooner than later. Felix the fuck-tard: How’s all back at the lair? Need anything?

Fucking hell, he thinks, but the dread dissipates as quickly as it appeared when the rockstar lifts his gaze from the device in his grasp to see you looking at him, concern etched in your expression.

Then, you mouth: you okay?, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat because it’s been a while since someone genuinely showed that they cared.

He has to remind himself that you’re just being polite since it’s been years since that night in New York and currently the only tie he’s got to you is the little boy at your side. A kid he’s realistically got little claim on, aside from blood. But the way your brows crease and nose puckers up while you continue to stare, waiting for some sort of response to your wordless question, Eddie lets himself hope.

Although, he doesn’t want to drag you into anything you don’t need to be a part of. Especially not the shitstorm he’s created for himself. The drama he’s hiding from. So, he nods and never has a bop of the curls felt more nauseating than this lie.

A LITTLE BEFORE

Unwinding after a show usually involves a packet of cigarettes and any bottle of booze Eddie can get his hands on. Tonight however, his usual post-performance haze feels different. As the roar of the crowd echoes in his ears, beneath the rockstar’s closed eyes, is a growing unease and that fucking smile.

He was unable to find any information on the mystery girl. Asking around didn’t help, no one seemed to know who he was talking about, or they were reluctant to tell him. After all, despite his stature, Eddie is just a stranger to these people. They’re protecting one of their own. 

Draining the last of the cheap whiskey, the burning sensation doing little to quell the gnawing feeling in his gut that something, or someone, is missing, Eddie decides to pack it in for the night. Move the party to his hotel room — and by party, he means drinking alone until he passes out. Everyone else has already left, he thinks as he slowly makes his way towards the back door of the venue. Fingers on the metal handle, he pushes down, disappointed that he’ll never know the girl behind the lens.

“Shit, sorry.” A gasp.

Someone bumps right into him, barely outside the door. He shakes his head, also about to apologise, as his tipsy gaze traces the figure before him. From the worn off-white converse, to the legs wrapped in loose denim and a plain white tee, delicately tucked into the waistband of said jeans, and upwards to the single gold chain hanging down the bare neck, until finally... That fucking smile.

“No, I-I…” Eddie stumbles, willing himself sober. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really looking. In a world of my own,” he explains, own lips circling upwards.

The smile in front of him doesn’t falter, only adding its own explanation to being here this late at night.

“I forgot my phone.”.

Eddie nods, hastily moving to the side, allowing passage. Then he waits. A part of him thinks he’s being a creep. Standing here in the dark alley while this girl he’s been obsessing over all night, a girl that’s not personally met him until this moment, is inside, alone, looking for her phone. But that’s just it. She’s inside alone and he’s being a gentleman by waiting to make sure she finds what she’s looking for, safely.

Outside, surprise graces the smile upon noticing that Eddie has not left his spot by the door.

“Thank you for waiting. You didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs, showcasing indifference. “New York is dangerous.”

A laugh so sweet bubbles to the surface, Eddie��s heart is somersaulting inside his chest. The smile, the light crease of brows, the happy lines. His gaze is memorising every single feature, just in case this is his only chance and yes, now he feels like a fucking creep.

“My hero,” the tease is modest and the rockstar can’t help but scoff, lightheartedly.

“Far from,” he says, “It would really be bad press if something happened to you and people found out that I was the last person to see you.”

“Ah, of course you’re only covering your ass. Typical B-lister behaviour.”

Eddie’s mouth twists further into a smirk. The nerve on this girl, he thinks, excitement rushing through his entire being.

“B-lister?” He feigns offence. “Did you hear the amount of people screaming my name tonight? Nothing B-list about me, sugar.”

Internally, he grimaces at the slip of the old-fashioned nickname, but there’s no deterrence from his new sparring partner. With a sly lick of the lips, the smile in front of him only widens.

“Apologies. I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know this little fact, Eddie Munson.” His name falls in a soft drawl and the rockstar has to steady himself.

Trying to play it cool, he rests one arm on the wall behind. His gaze quickly scans for signs that he’s reading this all wrong, but no, there isn’t any. This is flirting, for sure. He concludes that his name was supposed to sound borderline pornographic and his dick twitches in his briefs.

“Which way are you heading?” Eddie asks.

“Assuming you’re asking just in case something happens to me? So you can continue to keep your good name from being tarnished in the press, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “At least tell me your name. Then, if you inevitably get hurt on these brutal New York streets, I’ll know to tell the cops how I tried my best. Sir,” he mocks, “I swear officer, I told her not to walk alone. This generation and their damn stubbornness.”

Laughter, again. “Aren’t you like my age?”

“Oh, do we have a fan on our hands?” Eddie teases, weakly since his brain is fucking short-circuting from simply staring at that gorgeous smile.

“I’m not into cocky B-listers.”

The mahogany of his gaze glistens with mischief.

“What are you into then?”

Five minutes later, Eddie’s kissing that smile away. 

What started as a playful back-and-forth, morphed into a dizzying moment in the back of his Uber Black — exactly as the rockstar intended. As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently when he nips at your bottom lip. 

Soft moans, lost in the thrum of the engine, and in between shallow breaths, Eddie learns the name that’s been taunting him since he got off the stage earlier tonight. He repeats, once, testing it on his own tongue and finds himself pleasantly surprised because he really likes how it sounds.

A LITTLE AFTER

Later that evening, outside on the patio of Wayne’s house, Eddie sips on an ice-cold beer and engages in small talk with his uncle.

He knows the particular question that hangs on Wayne’s lips — “what the hell are you doing back here, son?” — but they dance around it in every way. Eddie, unwilling to give up that piece of information just yet. Embarrassed. And Wayne, despite not knowing the reason for his nephew's return, is just glad to have him here.

“I’m still wondering…” Eddie begins, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Yeah?” Wayne probes.

The rockstar swallows.

“I’m still wondering how it’s not come out. That I have a kid,” he says. “People around here have to know that he’s mine?”

“Oh, they know,” his uncle confirms. “He’s got your name, son. He’s a Munson.”

A smile appears quickly on Eddie’s lips and something pleasant tugs at his chest because of course you made sure Messer be tied to his dad, one way or another. From his own chair, Wayne eyes his nephew — a young boy once more as he lamely trying to hide the happy expression behind the rim of his glass bottle — and a knowing smirk spreads across the old-man’s mouth, but he doesn’t comment.

After a beat of silence, “You gotta ask your team, Eddie.” Wayne adds instead, quite matter-of-factly. “Someone on your end is keeping this quiet. That’s our suspicion anyway.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Yeah, maybe.”

His mind now traces the thoughts of how Felix knew. You told his tour manager, hoping he’d pass the message along. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, but maybe Felix filled Smithie in on the situation, or anyone else on the team in charge of Eddie’s entire life. Maybe they all know and are actively keeping this secret from him, together.

Fucking twisted if it’s true, Eddie thinks. The idea that his closest associates, his circle, the people he trusts with his career and well-being, could be conspiring behind his back sends a chill down the rockstar's spine. How could they? And more importantly, why would they? Questions swirl, unsettling and chipping away at the foundation of trust he’s built with his team.

After Wayne bids him goodnight, telling Eddie there’s a duvet and cushion ready for him on the pull-out in the office, the rockstar retrieves his phone and chewing on the inside of his cheek, he types out a message.

Eddie: we need to talk Felix the fuck-tard: Uh oh. Felix the fuck-tard: What kinda trouble have you landed yourself in now? Felix the fuck-tard: Smithie is gonna be pissed. Eddie: I know Eddie: about the kid

His phone instantly gleams with an incoming call, Felix’s name on full display.

Eddie stares at it for a minute, but ultimately decides to flip the device over. Ignore. Let the dickhead sweat, which is minor payback for his actions.

Eddie knows in his heart how nothing would ever be enough to truly settle the score for what Felix had done, but this small and deliberate refusal to engage, feels like a tiny victory. He pictures Felix on the other end, most likely pacing his ridiculously expensive apartment, wondering why Eddie isn’t answering since he’s the one who sent the first message and a grim smile touches his lips. Good, he thinks, let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the emotional turmoil Eddie has been living with for the past few hours.

A faint knock on glass has Eddie ignoring the buzz of his phone and glancing towards the back door, now sliding open as you step out into the night.

“Sorry,” you say softly, “You looked pretty deep in thought. Didn’t want to startle you completely.”

The phone stops buzzing.

“What’s on your mind?” You wonder, brow raised.

Sitting in the chair Wayne abandoned minutes prior, you reach for the rockstar’s beer without asking and take a sip. He smirks at your boldness, but doesn’t point it out. This is your house just as much as it’s Wayne’s, whether Eddie intended things to be this way or not. That means the beer he’s drinking is also yours. Straight from the fridge in your kitchen.

Yours, yours, yours.

Once upon a time, Eddie used that word to describe himself to you. Under the cover of a cotton duvet, where no one else could reach the two of you. Where, for one blissful night, he was back to being just a guy, gently crushing on a pretty girl, and he made that word true. “I’m yours, sugar.”, Eddie whispered into the crook of your neck and kissed the spot until you began to tremble underneath him.

Here, in the present, his jeans tighten at the sudden flash of memory. He clears his throat, an attempt to regain control of himself and remain inconspicuous. The last thing this day needs is him acting a horny teenager.

“Just… life, I guess.” Eddie answers after clearing his throat.

You snort. “Relax B-lister, you’re not Socrates.”

He laughs and fuck, for you,  the mother of his child, the prettiest smile on Earth, he’s a goner.

There’s no denying.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:

@tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @ratsematary @alyisdead @kravitzwhore @aestheticsunflower19 @s1mp-4-ga11y @monstermunsonswife-blog @xingyuluvr @ari-joe @dearestro @spider-starry @vodkapetalz-blog @ilovetaquitosmmmm @angelbabyivy @cupidbloaterz @thedoubleexposurephotography @thrashcam @kravitzwhore @maskofmirrors @taylorswiftsloverr @djodirt

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

just like heaven | connor, rk800

ART CREDIT: @possumy (Original post) a/n: hi everybody happy april im happy to still be here my detroit become human hyperfixation is alive and well. also so much love to @possumy if you see this and want me to change the header, i will!!! please just send me a dm/ask!! your art was just perfect for how i was imagining connor to look in this fic and its just. i am obsessed with it your art is so lovely. and one more shoutout to this post by @salt-and-a-dash-of-pepper made that sort of inspired this fic. warnings: cursing, kissing, connor being autistic and also learning emotional regulation, connors first relationship, fuck gavin reed, Gavin is awful to Connor and is weird to reader, canon typical violence, connor snaps at reader, connor is so awkward, mostly canon accurate, established relationship, bridge to terabithia, hank is hank, lots of complicated emotions lots of connor learns how to be a person, uhhh i guess thats it wordcount: 3.1k summary: connor feels a lot of strong emotions and has no 'emotional regulation' feature. pairing: deviant!connor, rk800 x gn!reader now playing: just like heaven - the cure "show me how you do it/and i promise you/ i promise that I'll run away with you/i'll run away with you"

The one thing no one ever tells you about being a deviant is that you need to learn emotional regulation, you know, that thing that small children learn in elementary school?

…Well maybe someone did tell Connor, given how long he spent hunting deviants before becoming one.

But with the revolution and the high stakes scenario surrounding Detroit, he sort of.. skipped that step.

Now, as the dust settles, he’s… adjusting to his new life. And there are so many things that are new-- 

Including emotions. He never imagined feeling the sort of things he does now..

So, here’s an incomplete list of the emotions that Connor deals with after becoming deviant.

--

Anger

He can’t help himself. He can’t control it.

Gavin Reed is just so fucking annoying.

And he can’t figure out why—

Androids are on their way to becoming human’s equals. Sure, they’re not there yet because humans are in fact self-righteous creatures who are very stubborn, but slowly, more and more are becoming increasingly tolerant.

Except for Gavin. He still hates androids. Especially Connor.

And all he wanted was to make you a coffee before you got out of your meeting with a witness, a human with a sharp disdain for androids. Hank had gone with you to ask the right questions.

So, he went into the breakroom to make you a warm drink..

That’s what boyfriends do, right?

“What’re you doing, bolts?”

Even at the sound of his voice, a pang of agitation ran through him.

“I’m making coffee for—”

The cup is smacked out of his hand and into the nearby sink before he can fully turn around.

Anger immediately starts to build in the pit of his stomach.

“Androids don’t drink coffee,” He reminded, “Androids don’t eat or drink anything. Stop fucking pretending you’re like everyone else.” He spits, and Connor takes a moment.

He inhales, remembering your advice.

Just ignore him, Connor. He’s a dick who just wants to make you feel as worthless as he does.

“It’s not for me.” He starts, turning now to go make you another cup of coffee, but before he can turn, Gavin grabs his shoulder to turn him again.

“Who’s it for then, Bolts?” He asks, and he steps closer to Connor, his face closer to his. Connor’s cheeks twitch, resisting the urge to scrunch his nose at the smell of cigarettes that wafts off him. “Hank?” When Connor doesn’t answer, Gavin’s face lights up in realization.

“Oh, it’s for your little crush. What a pair you two make.” Gavin scoffs. “For a bot, you have good taste. I might just have to show them what a real man could—”

Connor can’t help himself. He shoves Gavin back a bit. It makes Gavin laugh.

“I’ve been waiting to beat the shit out of you since you attacked me in the archive.” He says, swinging a punch Connor’s way before he can even react.

-

You thought your session with the witness was going well. Then, from outside the interrogation room, you heard shouting. You glanced over to Hank, your movements coming to a stop.

“Uh,” He clears his throat and stands up, nodding you over to the door, “We’ll be right back, Ma’am.” He says to the witness.

Your stomach fills with dread, hoping Connor was able to stay out of trouble (Yeah, right.).

You see the crowd gathering around the breakroom, and before you can even ask yourself who this fight could be between.. Gavin Reed is thrown across the precinct, and you realize who the other person in this fight is.

Hank realizes it too as Gavin gets up and quickly runs at Connor, as they start to hit each other, fighting like two hormonal, angry teenagers. It’s certainly what Connor feels like in this moment. Well, it would be, if Connor was thinking about anything except seeing Reed’s blood splattered across the precinct floor.

Hank looks to you and before you can register his strides towards the fight, he says,

“I’ll get Reed, you get Connor out of here.”

You’re the one who wanted to date him, remember?

You shove through the crowd, pushing big burly cops who should definitely break this fight up cheer—They’re either cheering for the long overdue ass-kicking of Gavin Reed or the annoying android that won’t seem to quit.

You move to Connor as Hank pulls Gavin back, face bloody but no longer throwing punches—Still hurling insults.

“Connor!” You raise your voice as best you can, and you even hear a few giggles from behind you. To your coworkers, it sounds like a cat trying to bark. Connor takes a step towards Reed but the sound of your voice pulls him out of this trance.

His head snaps towards you, and you can see the way he’s panting; Not from exhaustion. Androids don’t run out of breath.

Connor’s chest is falling dramatically, up and down, because of the hot anger that flows through him. Blue blood runs down his face, staining his shirt. His knuckles are wiped in Reed’s blood, and he turns towards you with such anger.

And then he blinks, his LED blinking yellow. But he’s still angry. All you can think to do is grab his wrist and pull him away to one of the bathrooms.

Connor leans against the sink, just breathing heavily. He doesn’t say anything as you slip off his jacket, and then his tie. You untie it and run it under warm water in the sink. He’s still seething as you use the tie to wipe away the blue blood from under his nose, dripped down his lips, down his chin and neck.

“What happened?” You ask after a moment.

Connor’s LED flashes red and his grip on the sink tightens.

“What do you think happened?”

A frown tugs on your lips.

“I think you let Reed get to you.”

Connor’s LED blinks red again.

“Get to me? He was fishing for a fight, and I just—” He feels his anger bubbling again. “I couldn’t take it anymore—”

You believe him.

“It’ll get easier,” You start, and Connor just shakes his head.

“Stop it,” He turns from you, pacing around the bathroom.

“It will, he’ll get tired of it, and—”

“You don’t know that!” He snaps, raising his voice at you.

You freeze. So does Connor.

Your name tumbles from his lips, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says softly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just.. I got so angry, and I know that’s not an excuse, I just..” Connor’s shoulders finally slump, exhaustion taking over his anger. “I can’t stand the way he talks about you.”

The two of you look at each other, both of you looking for the other to break this silence with sage words of wisdom.

But, neither of you find the words.

Instead, you just step forward and wrap your arms around him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug back. Connor inhales and exhales deeply. He’s found these hugs to be the best solution to these intense outbursts.

-

Sadness

Fridays become movie night.

You, Connor and Hank order a pizza and longue on the couch, Sumo at your feet. When movie night first started, Connor challenged Hank to be sober for it. So, he no longer drinks on Fridays. But, in exchange for his sobriety, Hank challenges Connor to experiment with showing affection for you.

It starts with making you tea or snacks, but slowly, you find yourself with his arm around your shoulder, or his hand intwined with yours.

That doesn’t really affect this story, but you think about it every Friday night.

Tonight, you’ve chosen to watch this old movie your mom always put on for you as a kid—Bridge To Terabithia.

Connor enjoys it more than he thought he would, but then he gets towards the end. His face falls when he sees the solemn tone the main character comes home to after a day at the museum.. He feels this.. horrible sadness, and he’s not sure when he starts to cry..

All he knows is that he watches the last few moments of the movie with tears running down his face. He glances to the side and notices your eyes on him. A wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feels like he’s done something wrong by crying at a stupid kid’s movie.

That feeling goes away when he feels your head leaning on his shoulder.

-

Jealousy

Another emotion Connor just cannot help but feel.

He’s not stupid—You’re gorgeous, of course people are going to flirt with you! The worst part, in his opinion is the fact that you don’t even seem to notice it.

You’ll go out to dinner, and the waitress will give you a free dessert.

You’ll get phone numbers from witnesses.

And worst of all?

Gavin loves to flirt with you.

Connor is just sitting at his desk, painstakingly waiting for you to step out of the interrogation room where you’re helping interview a perp for a case Reed’s working on. He knows you have no interest in Reed. In fact, you really fucking hate Reed, the way he tortures poor Connor. But even more than that, you have no interest in Reed because you are utterly devoted to Connor, even if he doesn’t see that.

His head picks up when he sees you and Gavin leaving the room, talking by the doorway. What were you two talking about?

And Connor is very bad at social cues, so he squints, trying to analyze your body language to gauge what you’re feeling in this moment.

Hank is talking about—Well, Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he stopped paying attention to the subject matter a couple of minutes ago. He’s trying to assess how quickly he can cross the room and rip Gavin’s hand off as it lands on your upper arm.

“And then, I said—” Connor is up and moving as Hank talks, “Connor, what the fuck—Oh, god,” That last part happens when Hank realizes what has grabbed Connor’s attention.

“Detective Reed,” He starts, and to you, it feels like he just shows up out of thin air, “I believe I heard Captain Fowler was looking for you.”

Reed scoffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, bolts?” He rolls his eyes, “Guess I should see what the old man wants.” His eyes flicker to you, glancing you up and down, “See you later, hun.”

Connor recognizes the pet name. Pet names. A very human quirk that Connor cannot seem to get the hang of. But, he can certainly try, no?

An arm is wrapped around your shoulder, but because Connor is not a physically affectionate person, your face twists in confusion.

“Goodbye, Detective.” His head tilts towards you, “Would you like to get lunch.. darling?”

You smile at his awkwardness.

“Sure. Lunch sounds nice.” And you let him walk you out of the police station, not even sure where the two of you were going to lunch. But as soon as you’re out on the street, you have to mention it, “I didn’t know you get jealous,” you tease.

Connor blinks, his LED light flashing yellow.

“It wasn’t—” He shakes his head, “I’d hardly call it jealousy.”

“Oh yeah?” You wonder, “Then why’d you come interrupt me and Reed?”

“Well, you were clearly uncomfortable,” He starts, and then he takes a deep breath, “Besides.. I’m your boyfriend. Not.. Gavin.” Connor says his name with disgust.

You just giggle.

“I think you’re cute when you’re jealous.” There’s no bite to your bark—You really do love your oblivious, amazing boyfriend. Why would you complain that you have someone as handsome and as kind as Connor being so unknowingly jealous?

You decide to ignore the way his ears flush blue. Or at least, you decide not to tease him about it.

-

Yearning

This one’s my favorite. It’s Connor’s favorite. It’s bound to be your favorite.

Office parties at the DPD always get a little too out of hand.. the vicious mix of ego and alcohol is always a dangerous equation.

But, Ben Collins is a friend of yours, so you and Connor showed up to his retirement party. They decided to host it at the police station, pushing the desks to the back so they could have a makeshift dance floor.

Everyone is dressed nice—Mostly in suits, but now, with the night winding on, everyone’s taken off their jackets, loosened their ties..

Connor’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the first two buttons of his shirt are undone. He looks.. so fucking good.

You’re socializing, having had a drink or two, your hair messier than it had been when you came in. You’re just talking, but when the person you’re talking to leaves, Connor approaches, a smile on his face.

Your handsome— No, gorgeous—No, Pretty boyfriend with those beautiful eyes of his. You know Connor doesn’t really believe in more than numbers and science—psychology over astrology type of guy, or at least, as far as he’s expressed.

But you thank your lucky stars that you have him in your life, but if you told Connor that you’d guess he’d just scrunch his nose and ask what astronomy had to do with the two of you meeting.

(“I’m just thankful for it. I mean what are the odds?”

“Considering I was designed to be a detective where you work, to be your partner? Rather high, I’d say, but if you’d like the exact number, I could run a calculation.”)

You grin.

“Hi, pretty boy,” You coo, just a little tipsy. You watch as he blushes, a deep blue creeping onto his skin.

“Hello,” He says softly, unable to tear his eyes from you. “Are you doing okay?” He rubs your arm gently, his thumb brushing back and forth a bit. You just smile wider, blushing just as much as him.

Maybe it’s the fact that everyone here is too drunk to notice, or maybe it’s just that he feels this deep, crushing affection for you. Like he needs to be as close to you as possible. He’s not sure why, but he can’t find it in himself to deny it or push it away.

He his hands find yours, and just for a moment, Connor thinks about retracting the skin on his hands, a sign of intimacy from Deviants, but he gets too scared.

Instead, he begins to assess the risk of various spots.

Everyone’s in and out of the restrooms, you can’t go there. It seems wrong to drag you to the evidence room or even the interrogation room.

Connor glances back to the desks behind you. How no one’s paying attention to them. How even if they were, they’d be too drunk to care.

So, he leads you by the hand over to a particular desk he’s looking for, before patting the desk.

“Here, sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. Your eyes flicker down to the name on the desk, and you smile.

“Connor—”

He just looks at you, waiting. But you can see the corner of his lips twitch up as you sit right on Reed’s desk.

“Isn’t it normal to engage in a bit of friendly practical joking?” he asked, and he steps towards you, his hands landing on either side of you on the desk, caging you in. You just smile and your hands rest on his shoulder.

“You’re going to, what, prank Reed by making out with me on his desk?” You ask, a teasing edge to your voice.

Connor’s LED flickers pink, and then stays that color as he leans in, his nose barely touching yours. He’s just close enough to feel your warm breath against his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with some harmless fun..” He mumbles, “We’re all friends here, right, Detective?”

Your heart thumps.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, but all you can to think to say is,

“You and I were never just friends, Connor.”

Something about your words recall memories of his—

Meeting you for the first time.

Saving you instead of catching a deviant.

He thinks about sitting with you on the steps of your porch, sipping hot tea, and listening to the sound of rain hitting the roof above him, your body leaning against his.

He wasn’t even a deviant at that point.

So yeah. The two of you were never ‘just’ friends.

But instead of justifying your claim, Connor’s resolve diminishes, and he presses his lips against yours, and for a rare moment—it’s all worth it.

All the hate he experiences from humans, all the hot, dangerous anger he can’t keep down, the horrible shame, the deep, overwhelming sadness—

It’s all worth it for this moment, when he feels truly alive.

He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you when he feels his hand on his jaw, then barely brushing past the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows he has to get as close to you as possible.

His hands wander, his fingertips just barely dipping beneath your top—

And just the tips of his fingers retract his skin, white fingertips brushing against your skin. He can’t help it. He pulls away from the kiss and begins to kiss your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your neck—

Each kiss is precise, calculated by him to elicit the reactions he knows you’re capable of, trying to satisfy the hunger he finds himself unable to conquer.

Connor had always considered himself an expert on Deviant Behavior—But you, the way you tug on his collar to bring him closer with one hand while playing with his hair with the other, and the vague, fuzzy-at-the-moment memory of you holding your umbrella over Connor’s head, one of the first true kindnesses he remembers—it makes him realize that he knows nothing about deviant behavior or the concept of desire.

But when the sound of small gasps leave your lips, quiet, only for him to hear over the loud music and people laughing, crying, yelling, singing, and the feeling of your warm skin beneath his ivory fingertips, Connor realizes he’s more than willing to educate himself.  

Properly.

Thoroughly.

He decides to make it his mission.

And Connor always accomplishes his mission.

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Conquest is curious about you. It's hard to tell if you're breaking up if you're not really together. Enemies wait cloaked in the stars.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

Yeah we got hit by the fanfic author curse and got scammed out of a thousand dollars but-? We are so back, lets suck some cock.

[Part one] [Ao3] [28] [Chapter Index] [30]

[Header from my wife whose art you should look at]

29 *  As Friends [13.6k] 

"Telling me you can't do this While your tongue's in my mouth If you don't want it, please, could you just spit it out?"

Spit - Slutever

        Being nine-thousand-three-hundred-seventy-two years old meant a lot of things. One Conquest was one old bastard, creaky in his bones. Two, he killed billions of beings in his lifetime and committed every one of those deaths to memory the best he could. They gave him their fight, their fire and hope and he squashed it out. The least he could do was remember to hold their struggles close. 

        You hadn't been his kill, but he remembered you just fine. The child-emperor's side piece that he dragged around like a stuffed teddy bear. Conquest thought it was cute, really. Good that the boy had a companion, didn't spiral the way Conquest had for thousands of years in the lonely void of the empire. You yourself, had been near inconsequential, a pet that bit and had to be put down.

        Conquest thought Mark was a good emperor. Better than Nolan had been, more thirsty for expansion, which meant Conquest got to throw himself more into his work, got to kill away the loneliness that always came back. He got to train the boy king himself in the spots of peace in between. Over the years, he'd begun to know what a friend could be. But at one point, Mark understood him better than anybody else ever had.

        Right after you died, Mark had no one else. Lashed out at the council. Killed indiscriminately. Spiraled. 

        Mark knew he needed people to pull himself back up from the pit he'd fallen into, but he couldn't go to the council. They were old, stuck in their ways, would talk bad about you if he talked about you. Conquest was old, but not stuck. He listened while he and Mark slaughtered entire populations. Finally felt a connection of real understanding between himself and another Viltrumite and that made him want to fight all the harder for the empire.

        Yet here you were, back from the dead. Could humans do that?

        Conquest should have been annoyed, but he wasn't like the council. He didn't know how you were back, but Mark held his shoulders higher. He hadn't been in contact with the empire in over a year, but he kept his earpiece in. He'd always hated the monotony of the empire. The endless reports and research that needed to be done before anything interesting could happen, Conquest was a man of action. Mark or Kregg pointed him in a direction and he attacked. Restless as a rabid dog until the job was done. Until there was no one left. He had a habit of getting sidetracked, going off on his own for months or years at time. He thought the empire moved too slowly so he took matters into his own hands more often than not. Mostly good things came out of it, sometimes bad. This time when he left, he didn't imagine the emperor wouldn't come back. It was supposed to be a quick mission, a side project Kregg hated. Conquest was secretly happy to hear Mark defy him as he destroyed a small planet that would never be suitable for invasion. He expected to hear the boy's voice a few days later, maybe a few months. He heard nothing but Kregg.

        He'd heard all the moves the empire had made since Mark went missing. Bad ones. So he stayed out in space trying to patch things up through more killing until finally, some good news came in. Lots, all at once, with the emperor's return with seven more in tow. Along with you. You being back meant Mark was motivated the way Conquest was- and really love was a beautiful thing. 

        He smiled down at you with all his crooked, yellow teeth. Thought he looked charming when really he looked rabid. White suit coated in months of muck and dripping with fresh blue blood. "Been awhile, little man."

        Mark's grin mirrored the wildness of the old man's, "Too long you ancient murderous fuck." He slid off you and hovered up to meet his eye. Next to the man, he looked like a doll. "Lemme guess, the missing Ferroids are your doin'?" 

        The man opened his palms, both blue. Beneath the mess, one of his arms glinted gold in the light. Chunky and mechanical, an older model than Phantom's prosthetics. "Guilty as charged. Heard you were heading over here, came to have a looksie. Found that base we built destroyed so I returned the favor."

        Mark put his hands on his hips, frowning, "Before we got here, bro? Some'a them could'a known somethin'."

        You swore you were about to witness a murder with how they were looking at each other. Tension crackling between them, both their muscles bunched and ready under their suits. The man didn't lunge, instead his bushy mustache fell with his frown, "I may have gone a little overboard, I'll admit. You know how I get with the squishy ones."

        Mark laughed, "I'd expect nothing less."

        Gray's voice crackled in Mark's ear piece, "Are you available to speak with the leader of the Gainoy's? They'd like to know more specifics about Ferr as to best prepare their men."

        Mark put a finger to his ear, "Be right over." He let his arm drop as he landed next to you, "Let's continue this on the ship, yeah? Mostly after you've been through the blaster. Love ya, but you smell like piss."

        ***

        The flight back was quick. Mark and the newcomer chatted back and forth while you watched Ferr grow further and further away. Your trip outside the ship cut short. You hadn't realized how much you'd come to loathe the ship's cold interior until you were back inside it. All inorganic shapes and shiny metal, whereas the buildings of Ferr were like massive vases, wizard towers out of a book. 

        Mark set you down inside the landing dock where Gray waited by the door, head down and tapping away at a data pad. "I told the Gainoy leader you'd be available to talk in-" He looked up and paused. A few yards away stood his mentor, still old, still a dirty bastard, but laughing alongside Mark. Gray had seen Conquest smile and laugh, but it was never genuine. Always an animistic sneer or mocking chuckle, never a grin of real friendship or an earnest guffaw, but there it was. Alien on his hard-featured face, cut with the same old scar.

        Mark pointed at Gray who looked like he'd seen a ghost. "That's one'a the ones I was tellin' you about. You were raised on Viltrum, right man?"

        Gray's throat was suddenly bone dry. He nodded stiffly. "Yes."

        Conquest's brows shot up, "Oh? Think he's stronger than you, then?"

        Mark elbowed Conquest in the ribs. If Gray so much as let his guard down a fraction around Conquest, he'd crack Gray's skull, almost kill him to teach him better, but there Mark was, acting chummy, shoulders relaxed. Adding to his disbelief was you, close enough to kill in an instant if Conquest wanted to. Gray hovered further into the hanger, closer to you. 

        Conquest watched him curious as a cat, of course picking up his intention to get between the two of you, "Sure got the same weaknesses. Tell me, boy, how did you find another human that looks so much like your old pet? Or is this one his?" Mark filled him in on quite a bit on the way over but not that particular detail. Conquest didn't remember much about humans, if they could sustain major injuries and live or if all humans simply looked the same. 

        "Right, I was just gettin' to that part." He'd mostly got lost in the trapped in the desert bit, not why he'd left in the first place- for you. "Really, the whole thing is a long as fuck story I'll tell ya another time but short version is, same bitch, different dimension like that guy right there." 

        Gray was nearly shoulder to shoulder with you now, you'd wandered closer to him, further from Mark and Conquest, but not fast enough for you to know what Conquest was. He was debating on whether to zip you out of the room, not liking how Conquest was looking at you. The Conquest he knew killed anything that looked mildly afraid of him and right now, you looked well, not great. Shaken but hiding it in the way you had since he met this version of you.  

        You only dug your grave deeper by saying over your shoulder, "Do you really have to call me a bitch all the time?"

        Conquest rose a brow, "This one's got a tongue the other didn't. Only heard her talk a few times." He hovered closer, but kept a distance as he hovered around you. You didn't move, you'd been sized up by Machine Head's men in a similar way, averting your gaze normally made them back off. You'd made a mistake responding to Mark, but he got under your skin more than your boss had. Gray took the opposite approach, body always turning to keep watch on him. His Conquest thought you were a waste of time and space. Suggested he impregnate you right away, then force you into one of their healing tubes to keep you alive long enough to deliver his child. 

        Mark stayed back, watching with an easy expression when Gray thought he should be panicking. "That she does."

        With every revolution around you, Conquest grew closer like a marble circling a drain. "Not shaking like the other one did 'round me..." He said so close you could smell his stale breath. Gray moved around you like a wall. "Maybe that's cuz the boy's actin' like a shield." He reached out quick for Gray, who dodged, and was captured by his fleshy arm as it shot out viper-quick, and flung him away by the shoulder. It happened in a moment, one moment Gray was there the next he wasn't. Conquest leaned hard into your personal space, let you see the shine of his one milky blind eye, "Let's see how brave you are like this."

        Gray spun and shot back toward you but Mark made him, "Stop," with a hand clasped hard around his ankle. He turned, protestations on his tongue but he saw Mark's face- hard set, oozing an emperor's authority. Gray didn't untense but stopped pulling toward you. Mark let his leg drop, the both of them watching as you stood your ground eye to eye with Conquest.

        After so many years of being surrounded by death, the fear started to blend together at the edges. What was so different between bullet wounds, stabbings, poisonings, thousand-something-year-old homicidal maniacs- they'd all kill you in the end. All of them hurt. You'd been around death and people threatening it so much, it felt almost nostalgic, a sick sort of familiarity that settled in your bones. You were scared, Conquest could hear your heart, yet you stood your place. Used to the hierarchy in Machine Head's gang, when the bigger fish were talking- you sat down, shut up, didn't move a muscle. If you did things as you had been, it probably wouldn't happen.

        "Huh... You really are different." Conquest rolled back, standing at his full imposing height where his balding head almost touched the ceiling. 

        "Gotta thank the powers for that," Mark said with pride swirling in his chest. Conquest had been fine with you before, but an approval now felt like a priest's blessing. He could hear the wedding bells.

        "Powers, hm? Strong ones?" His eyes scrunched up. 

        "Strong enough I had to... temporarily disable them." He was talking about you like a prize goat at a farm show.

        Conquest was only more intrigued, "Mind turnin' 'em off so I can see for myself?"        

        Gray opened his mouth to object. You beat him to it, "Or why not just take the collar off entirely?"

        "So spirited!" Conquest said, "Really boy, you must let me-" Mark held up a hand and Conquest shut right up. Gray held his jaw from falling open. Never in his years had Conquest listened to a damn thing he said.

        "We both know you'd get overexcited and kill her."

        Conquest nodded with a small smile, "You got me there."

        "A showcase another time." Mark gave you a significant look. Could he be considering taking the collar off? You hadn't slipped up yet, had been amicable enough, surely he had to think you'd learned your lesson. "But right now? The only person you should think about sparring with is me." 

        Conquest turned away from you entirely, lunged at Mark like a puma from the brush. Mark cackled, waiting for the tackle with open arms that sent them both bouncing to the floor and nearly out of the automatically opening airlock entirely. Good thing you kept the space suit on. They righted themselves, arms caged around each other, growling back and forth as their muscles bunched and veins popped. 

        You watched, confused while Gray hovered over to you, horrified at what he was seeing. Conquest was... hugging him? He placed a hand on your shoulder asking silently if you were okay. The both of you had trouble looking away from the strange scene but you made eye contact for a moment to say, "I'm okay."

        "Good to see you ain't weaker, boy." Conquest grunted, though his lungs were collapsing under Mark's grip, "Not much stronger either. Gotta work on that."

        "Being trapped in a desert can do that to ya." Mark gave one final attempt to crush his spine but Conquest only laughed, "I'll be back at ass kickin' levels soon enough."

        Their arms slid away and they hovered apart. "Really though man, you smell like actual piss. Hit the wash before I kick you off the ship."

        A laugh bubbled up from Conquest's belly, full and ear-cracking. "Fine, fine, I see how it is."

       Gray was sent away not long after Conquest left to find the nearest atom-blasting wash chamber. Nowhere near as nice as a human style shower, but much more effective. Plus, the man needed some good eats and sleep. Gray however, wasn't sure he could sleep again after seeing you and Conquest so close to each other. Felt helpless once again to the whims of the Emperor as he left. 

        Mark told him to keep the Gainoy's waiting awhile longer, to continue his work in the control room so Mark could be alone with you. Not how Mark phrased it, but Gray understood well enough. 

        "You did good out there," Mark said, arm wrapped casually around your waist. 

        "That guy looked like he wanted to kill me." You shifted, waiting for him to take the cue and lift his arm, but he didn't.

        "Conquest wants to kill everybody. He won't mess with you after I said no, unlike the rest of the council- that guy actually respects me."

        The look you gave him was less than ecstatic at that news. "Really, he's a good guy. One of the best in the empire, don't let the old man's porn stache get to you. Least he likes you, can't say the rest of the council feels the same, but that doesn't matter- you were awesome."

        You'd had your suspicions but it didn't feel great to have them confirmed. "I said one thing."

        Mark pressed you close to his side, "Yeah, instead of nothing or breaking down like..." 

        You imagined her in your place. Sniveling and weeping for the dead like a good person would. Fighting with Mark the second they got back, shoving him off, but you just stood here. Felt yourself lean into him despite the collar's weight. 

        "I'm used to it." You explained, "Meetings with Machine Head were always like that."

        "Well, tch- This meeting held a lot more weight than anything you did with that douchebag." 

        Mark looked down when you didn't respond. Saw the impassive look on your face. Shit. He was making things worse. "Look babe, I'm never gonna make you kill people if you don't wanna. All I want is you by my side. You don't even have to say anything next time. Just thought it'd be good for you to understand what it's like to be more. I know I act super hot and cool all the time, but it's stressful."

        Again you didn't respond, just nodded when he finished talking. Machine Head's automated voice echoing in your head.

        "Loose another target, you loose a hand, got it?" The first missions on the streets always went bad. Machine Head could be lenient, but not three escapes lenient. He didn't give a shit you were eighteen and piss scared- he wanted those fuckers dead.

        "I- I use my hands with my powers, sir." You hadn't learned not to talk back, that even if you spoke softly and logically he'd punish you like you'd called him stupid. You would learn in the coming months with pay cuts that left you restless and threats to your cat or kneecaps.

        Pale fists slammed down on Italian maple. "You think I give a shit? Get out of my office and kill that guy before I take both your hands. Fucking kids these days, 'boohoo I don't wanna lose my hands' grow up."

        Compared to everyone else your age, you were grown up. But you had to be better to survive, so you put your head down, spoke when spoken to. These last few months you'd spoken more than you had the last year. Felt yourself come out of that hard concrete shell you built around yourself and just like that- it was back. You were back in that high rise.

        "Babe?"

        Except you weren't. You had more than you ever had. Food, power, friends, if you could even call them that. Fucked as the collar was, you supposed Mark had his reasons, you were a dog trained to bite and he was trying to train that instinct out of you. Shitty, sure, but it showed how good things were now. You were safe-ish. The only real danger to you was yourself.

         "As long as you don't hurt me like he did, I don't care what happens." It was true in a way you hadn't considered until this moment. Even when that knife came barreling at you, you felt none of the fear you had with Machine Head. You weren't alone, weren't disposable. All you wanted was to be secure. "And I don't think you will besides," you pulled at the collar from over the space suit, "this and sometimes being an asshole so... yeah."

        Shit. Mark's heart pounded. Oh holy shit, this was a total breakthrough. You were fragile right now, he had to say the right thing, keep this going. "I promise I won't," he turned you both, going from a side hug to pulling you into his chest, cradling you into him. "You mean so much to me, I'd never." Everytime he blinked he saw you bloody. His grip on your back loosened instead of tightened, scared he'd pop you like a balloon again. "I know I can be an asshole, but I really do care about you."

        His words skid over your concrete surface. You watched them go by, pretty and soft and meaningful. You could reach up if you wanted, take them to your cold heart and warm it. You were still hesitant. Remembering the heads on the floor, the Machine Head sound of his tone. Remember what's going down on the planet below. You tried to find compassion for them within you, but it just wasn't there. You thought of her, wondered again how she'd respond if she was here.

        You made yourself say it, wearing the skin of a good person who gave a shit, like you desperately wanted to be- like Machine Head beat out of you. "The king... it's good he's dead, but are you really going to kill all those people for that?"

        Mark understood your hesitation, had seen you struggle with it the whole time you'd been here. It was never something he'd experienced, but as a child he wanted to be good for his dad, to put out little lies to make him smile or not yell at him. You didn't have to do that with him, he had seen the way your eyes lit up when you talked about killing, the way your jaw trembled. He knew it was an act.

        It was still hard to keep the frown off his face as he said, "A handful honestly. Few on each planet as a warning to the rest not to rebel. Every death has a purpose." More than a handful were dead. A white lie, not one you could follow up on and it wasn't really a lie. The Ferroid's reproduced faster than Viltrumites did. In the grand scheme of things, they'd be fine. "And when that's done, we're gonna have two enforcers come to watch the planet and make sure everything gets back on track."

        It was a testament to how fucked you were that death having meaning felt right. With Machine Head, it felt petty, useless- all gang war bullshit was- but this was real. And- wasn't the empire trying to do a good thing? Maybe it'd just be best if you stopped questioning it. Yet your nature wouldn't allow that, "Aren't you worried the second you leave the new guys will get killed?"

        "There's no way they can kill a Viltrumite again, but we definitely shouldn't have had them stationed in the same place at once. This time I'll keep 'em separate, have one call in an emergency if the other dies. Honestly? I know you probably don't care, but the empire's in a good place right now. Without the other Marks, I wouldn't have the people to leave here. Hell, this mission would've been waaay too short staffed without 'em, would've taken a day or two for the initial scouting. They're dumb as rocks but I'm glad to have 'em if they can make our empire better."

        "...Our empire?"

        He laughed, pulled back enough to see your face, "You're gonna be my empress one day. You should start thinkin' about the empire like it's already yours. Just like I am."

        You'd wanted power in a detached way. You knew you'd never get it, but now it was pressed against you. Looking down at you like it loved you. You didn't know how to feel, blame it on the emotionally stunting trauma. "I uh... I don't know if I can."

        Which wasn't a no- you were accepting the empire, accepting him. Mark would jump up and down if it wouldn't kill his cool guy persona. 

        He hooked his thumb under your chin, tilted your visored head up to him, "If tonight's proven anything, you can. In like a million years but I'll be there to help you along the way."

        Through the dissociative haze, you smiled. In the heart of the evilest empire in all of existence, you were safe. People were dying and for once you weren't at risk to die with them. "I dunno about a million years."

        "Alright, you got me, a hundred."

        "I won't live that long."

        His fingers moved to slide the visor off, he hadn't even told his version of you this, a secret he'd regretting keeping from her, "With my team working on a cure for human mortality? We've got more than enough time."

        Yeah, he kidnapped, collared, declawed, and humiliated you- but he was also bending the rules of death for you. In the moment leaning in, letting him start to pull the visor off- seemed like a good idea.

        Until the air lock opened and oxygen started hissing out of the room in a whirl. Mark held you in place, pushed your visor back down. You were safe but the moment was ruined by Sebastian, stood on the landing platform, cracking his neck and covered in blue blood.

        It'd been too long since Sebastian really got to see the desperate desolation in someone's eyes before he popped them out. The two months, technically ten, since he'd ravaged Earth felt like a millennia ago. Killing the handful of Ferroid's he had was like a hit of heroine. Markus and Kregg kept a close eye on him, prevented him from killing more, and now he was looking for another kind of fix.

        He wasn't authorized to return to the ship, but he did anyways. Thinking Mark would've returned to Ferr by now on administrative business and left you all alone. Inside he itched to hold you, thought you'd writhe and fight just like he wanted you to. You weren't stupid, you had to have caught on by this point he liked when you fought back- you were flirting, not consciously- you'd yet to figure out some integral things about yourself. Sebastian didn't mind helping you along. Scaring you to near death until your cunt and eyes both wept for him. 

        And for all his efforts to break away from Markus's prying little eyes? To help you figure out who you really were? He was greeted with the sight of you about to swap spit with that inferior, idiot who thought piercings were a good replacement for personality. He could almost excuse you filling the hole his absence left with Mark. You missed him and didn't know it and that was adorable still- he didn't approve. 

        Mark straightened but still kept protective arms around you. "Kregg definitely didn't give you leave. What do you think you're doing?" Mark had a sinking feeling. He should've felt dread, but really, Sebastian scaring the shit out of you was all according to plan.

        Sebastian's brains had leaked into space after the quantum bombs, but he wasn't stupid. He knew Mark could've sent him and Lensless to another planet to watch over, could demand they be the enforcers that stayed at the Ferr Belt, but he hadn't. Wouldn't. As long as you kept pushing against Mark's affections, Sebastian had a shot- Not that he'd let himself be sent away from you when the time came. It'd never happen, you were a stubborn bitch. You had to know Sebastian was the only one that really mattered. Mark was nothing but a cheap clone in a long skirt. A cheap clone he had a quiet mutualistic agreement with. Mark got to play the good guy and Sebastian got to woo you because you wouldn't actually fall for that knight in shining armor bullshit. Mark thought he'd win out in the end, but Sebastian knew you on a deeper level. When people lose all hope, they show you their true colors and Sebastian knew the color of your heart, soul, and bubbling life force as it leaked out your throat.  

        Sebastian ignored Mark's obvious faux glare and prowled closer. "If it isn't the empress."

        There was something about the way he said it that made bugs crawl under your skin. A sobriety sank in. What were you doing? Letting Mark fill your heads with flowery thoughts of ruling a fascist empire, that's what. He made you feel safe, but it wasn't real, not when he let Sebastian stay.

        You pushed Mark away, emotionally and physically. He didn't budge, kept you close to his chest as his brow ticked up.

        "Get back to work." Mark hissed.

        Sebastian stopped two steps away and though Mark's hold stiffened, the feeling of security you'd started to admit- melted away. All it took was a look, proximity, and your heart was racing. They both could hear it. Both felt a thrill that their individual plans were working, thinking they were both in the right for different reasons.

        To both their delight, you said, "Get the fuck away from me."

        Sebastian did not, in fact, get the fuck away. "I see you're already acting the part."

        "I don't want to hear it." You leaned away but Mark's arms kept you regrettably in place. You knew he was trying to protect you alpha male style, but it felt like he was keeping you there so you'd be hurt, not saved.

        "So standoffish... You really do fit right in here." Sebastian said.

        "I'm assuming your squadron is right behind you?" Mark probed.

        Only to be blatantly ignored, "Tell me, Empress, did you notice your little friend wasn't there?"

        "What are you talking about?"

        He smirked. You were so adamant on acting like you hated him but you spoke to him so readily. Fine, he enjoyed some back and forth.

        "Don't tell me you didn't even notice?" He laughed, nasty as a humid summer afternoon, "It's okay, you can admit it. He's not around to feel crushed by the fact that you don't care about him as much as he thinks." According to Lensless's reports, at least.

        It clicked. Looking back, you couldn't count his face among the blood-splattered living in the massacre aftermath. "Seb? You're talking about Seb?" You'd been so wrapped up in the murder and politics and blue blood you didn't do a head count.

        Sebastian's answering grin made your stomach drop. "What did you do?"

        Mark shifted in front of you, "Don't talk to him." He sneered at the man, "Get back with your squad right fucking now."

        You wriggled in Mark's grasp, trying to look around him at Sebastian. Hoping his face held answers, that he wasn't ominously fucking smiling like he'd done something to Seb. 

        Sebastian hovered back toward the airlock. He was getting away with his secrets in tow. Desperately, you peered around Mark's body and shouted, "Stop! Tell me what ha- ack!"

        You'd grown used to the collar's weight, to its restrictive feel around your neck. In your moment of panic, it was easy to forget it was there, what it could do. Easy as it was to forget how to stand and breathe. Mark caught you before you could fall but you were in agony, laid on the floor or not. 

        The shock was nowhere near as long as the first but it hurt. Made your whole throat pulse with righteous agony. Made tears spring from the corners of your eyes. Humiliating for someone like Sebastian to see and grin at- thinking to himself that maybe the collar wasn't so bad if it was that easy to get a view like this. Once he could finally escape this pathetic excuse of an empire, he'd tear it off so you could fight, but for now, with all your overprotective overseers? It was a much better idea to play with the collar than angst over it. 

        "I think I'm starting to see the appeal." Sebastian hovered forward an inch. Even in your haze, you flinched back. The fear in your wet eyes made his cock twitch.

        "Back off." Mark's voice dripped venom, authority. Underlying threats of all sorts. 

        Sebastian paused, put his hands up in mock surrender. "As you wish, Emperor."

        Mark wanted to rearrange his face again but he was too valuable to the empire. Especially with how fragile things were right now. Seb being in the infirmary right now was bad enough.

        "Get out of my sight before I fucking kill you." It was a bluff and they both knew it- but who had you in his arms? Who had a collar around your neck?

        Before Sebastian could respond with attitude in kind, you started to support your own weight. Mark's attention fell on you, brows set soft. "Don't, you'll-"

        You pushed him hard. It felt like nothing, but it was surprising enough that you were able to stumble backward out of his grip.

        "Don't act like you're sorry." You rasped, blindly wobbling backward to get away from him as fast as you could.

        One second, you were about to kiss him, starting to accept the empire and all it's bloody flaws. The next you were looking at him like you hated him. This was beyond whiplash.

        "I didn't do that, you did!" He said before he could rethink.

        Your face went sour. "Fuck you, Mark." 

        It took two seconds for that feeling of safety to erode. You weren't safe. Weren't being retrained for a better life, only to be the perfect dog for the emperor. You were being held prisoner by an evil empire where Sebastian was allowed to be alive near you. Mark could've taken you away at any point, punched Sebastian, but he didn't. Just stood there and talked and let Sebastian prod at you.

        You stumbled out of the automatic door and into the hall. He could have caught you without much of a chase and tried to explain he hadn't wanted this to happen but- that'd only make things worse. Technically, it was his fault, but Mark was never someone who accepted his own flaws.

        Mark reared on Sebastian, "You stupid, conniving motherfucker."

        "Those two things directly contradict each other, Emperor sir."

        Mark's jaw ticked. "I don't think you remember who's stronger here." 

        "If I may, Emperor," Sebastian said with sickly sweet respect, "you got lucky."

        Mark's fists rose, "Let's see about that."

        ***

        The door to the emperor's personal medbay slid open to reveal nothing. All the beds were tucked away into the wall or floor. The goo chamber Grayson had floated in was drained and powered off. The only thing of note was a single alien doctor, tapping away at a data pad with four arms, despite there being seemingly nothing to do. 

        He didn't look up when you came in. Maybe if you'd kept the space suit and visor on, he'd have mistaken you for a Viltrumite and treated you with respect, but you'd thrown the things off while storming away. Wore some basic outfit that was glaringly non-Viltrum. He didn't look up when you said, "Where is he?"

        "Where is whom?"

        "Seb."

        The doctor looked up only to wear confusion on his brow. "Whom?"

        Right, the other Viltrumites outside the council had no reason to call the Mark's anything other than Mark. You tried again, "The hurt Mark? That was just here, I think? Uh.. piercing right here." You tapped your cheek.

        The doctor looked at you for some moments, saying nothing before turning away, tapping at his data pad. Your fingers twitched to fists, "I'm talking to y-" 

        "He left." The doctor said, "Refused to stay longer than we could put a treatment capsule on him." So Sebastian wasn't bullshitting. 

        "Left to where?"

        The doctor stopped his tapping, "I don't have access to that information. Now, if you'd please leave me to my work?" He said while nothing was happening around him. You assumed it was all digital diagnostics, alien bullshit.

        "Fine." You left, headed straight for the dorms, "dick."

        ***

        The fight lasted all of three blows before the airlock opened and Kregg rushed in, saw Sebastian punching Mark's cheek to burst open, and knocked the boy so hard on his ass he went limp.

        Mark's ire whipped onto Kregg, "I could've handled that myself."

        "I know, sir, but you two were bound to damage the ship in your... squabble. No worries, I'll take him to the medbay."

        Behind Kregg floated in Markus, Lensless, and Grayson. Mark held up a hand to tell Kregg not to leave. He turned on Markus, "You were supposed to be overseeing him." He gestured to Sebastian, thrown on Kregg's shoulder like a bloody flour sack. 

        Markus kept composed despite the emperor's ire. "He left when we were counting the population of a particularly dense area. We came to his location as soon as we noticed."

        Mark cackled meanly, "He was here five fuckin' minutes."

        "I know, I'm sorry, sir." Markus emanated Kregg's diligent respect. So respectful and so fake it made Mark want to throw up.

        He wasn't sick to his stomach but he had another thing to throw at Markus, "I was this," he held two fingers a millimeter apart, "close to fixing things with her, and you idiots let that asshole loose for five fuckin' minutes. How is the empire supposed to thrive if that's your reaction time?" 

        Mark thought this was checkmate. You liked him, even if you were mad, you wouldn't be long. You liked him more than Markus, even if you talked of escape. It'd all stop soon enough once your tantrum was done. Markus didn't have nearly as many romantic encounters with you. Markus was just a pawn. A pawn who'd try and work harder to earn a spot next to you, but he'd never be emperor.

        Markus had him fooled, had made moments for you Mark didn't know about. Told Mark as long as he could go back to his own dimension in time, he didn't mind working for this empire, he was loyal no matter what. Total bullshit but Mark thought he could kill Markus before then. That it'd be no great loss to you when Markus knew the exact opposite. 

        All Markus said was, "Apologies, sir." Mark took his cool veneer as an act. It wasn't. Markus knew Sebastian must've really ruined things and for Markus, that was damn good news.

        "Apologies? Are you kidding me?" Mark wasn't done. "You fucked up on the first real mission I give you, with an overseer. Are you kidding?"

        "If I may," Kregg said, "Don't blame the boy, it was my fault. I left a moment to inspect a suspected rebel camp. Thankfully, it was a false alarm but there was one less set of eyes and these boys were all making themselves very busy at the empire's expense. If anyone's to blame, it's me."

        Markus caught the look Kregg gave him. A silent apology. He really did feel bad. He really was getting onto Kregg's good side. 

        Mark's face ran through a marathon of emotions before he pointed towards the door, "I'll figure out your punishment later, just get him out of my sight."

        Kregg left, followed closely by the others. Grayson the last to leave. Mark flagged him to stay behind. Barely waiting for the door to close for privacy to ask, "The implants?" If a fuck up that big could happen, he was taking no risks. Next time Sebastian was even a toe over the line, he wanted that motherfucker to hurt.

        "Almost ready, sir." Grayson said. In truth, they could've been done by now but he'd been distracted by other pet projects. Mostly making a backdoor to the collars code. Then there was what he'd been doing to the cameras. The brain chips simply fell to the wayside.

        Mark assumed he'd been caught up in working on your brain chip upgrade for the collar. Assumed the best way to get Grayson on task was to say, "I want you to watch the security tapes from the last five minutes. Maybe that'll put some fire under your ass."

        Dismissed, Grayson returned to the labs where he watched the rewind, sent to his embedded datapad. Felt terrified by moving pixels. He called the lab techs together, half-lied the emperor wanted the chips by morning. Not one of them slept that night. Coding, assembling the tiniest pieces of tech they could reasonably fit into a needle.

        By midnight, the test chip was ready. A prisoner was brought up from the cell blocks. Malnourished and forgotten, some long ago leader from a planet already taken over. She'd spat in the emperor's eye, so he'd sentenced her to isolation intermingled with occasional torture. It wasn't often enemies of the empire were left alive, but she'd tried to kill you, hadn't backed down when Mark confronted her. Sometimes before your death, Mark brought you to her cell, showed you what nasty new thing he was having done to her. The old you never appreciated it. 

        But the old you was dead and so was the prisoner after they put the chip at the base of her brain stem. When Grayson sent a test pulse  meant to make a Viltrumite hurt- her head burst open. She fell to the ground, dead, muscles still contracting. Grayson's ears twitched from a lighter version of that awful frequency until the techs took her away.

        They were ready. All that was left to do was to implant them. Grayson didn't consider himself sadistic but he couldn't wait to see how Sebastian folded the next time he spoke to you so terribly. If Grayson had it his way, the chip would shriek if Sebastian thought of you at all. But Mark was cruel in a different way and too loose with his leashes. 

        He didn't tamper with the chips. He could've and would've been caught. No, he made them perfectly. Let the lab team pat him on the back. Lowered their guard so they wouldn't expect what he was going to do next.

        ***

        Knock, knock.

        No answer for the third time. You were beyond worried now.

        Knock, knock.

        "Seb?" Something shifted inside. It was a small confirmation of life but enough to make you pound incessantly at the door, "Seb?"

        The door slammed open to reveal a rack of abs. Dotted with red-purple bruises, a hard disc sat below his belly button pumping his guts full of drugs. Left arm encased in a hard shell sling. He looked at you with a shining black eye and a nose more crooked than you remembered.

        "What?" He sneered with a puffy lip.

        "Jesus." At least he was alive. "Fuck what happened to you?"

        Seb looked past your shoulder to the wall. Nearly locked eyes with the hidden camera. Silently, he slid aside as invitation for you to come inside. You shuffled in, the door shut much to his instant regret. Why the fuck was he letting you see him like this? Weak and beaten and pathetic. He was supposed to be the cool guy.

        "Mission went bad." He grunted as he sat down hard on his bed. "If you're here for booze, I still don't got any."

        "I'm not." You follow him to the bed, sitting, "I heard you got hurt and you weren't in the medbay."

        The last person who gave a shit about him died. He should push you away so you didn't follow suit. But he couldn't help himself, "What? Got a thing for beat up guys?"

        "It's not funny, I was worried. You weren't there, but this weird rude guy was and I was like 'oh my god is he dead?'"

        Seb nodded, "Yeah... that doctor guy was like, a total douche."

        ***

        With Viltrum tech, it wasn't long before he was stable. All his holes patched with freshly healed skin or in the case of his torn gut, a disc. The rest of the med team had been dismissed back to their quarters. The Viltrumite doctor left to attend other business, probably aiding bio-research down in the labs. The empire was always cooking up something nasty.

        In his nine years working with the empire, he'd only known violence. Piecing his oppressors back together. Cutting chunks off other species to take down to the lab for study. Going to the prison blocks to administer just enough medicine to keep prisoners alive but in agony. He hated it. Always had since he was a taken from his home planet, his people cowardly bending the knee. But there was no way out from under Thragg's iron fist. 

        Until Thragg died. The power exchange was a messy affair with plenty of mistakes on the new emperor's part. Especially those first few months. Mark fumbled planets, disregarded advice, got servants of the empire unnecessarily killed, some of the doctors own friends. The Emperor never cared, but when you died? Mark killed his whole team. He only lived because he'd been on the other side of the ship, taking care of important business. It was a miracle the plan worked. He was a sympathizer of the Coalition a long time but he'd had doubts they'd pull through on their end. But they did. He lived, spluttered an explanation to the emperor who almost gutted him- but he was the only member of the med-team left. Someone had to train up the new hires after Mark killed the rest.

        It was luck really. In a rage, Mark blamed the team for your death, killed them all that night. Suspected one of them was the mole who gave the dead you that data pad. In reality, it'd been the doctor who'd done it. It'd been easy. At the time, the observation team wasn't as fleshed out with way less cameras to watch. Only after your death did Mark's paranoia make communicating with the Coalition much harder. But he'd found a chink in that armor in the form of another sympathizer on the team.

        Over these past weeks, he'd slowly let it leak that there were multiple Mark Grayson's at play and not all of them seemed entirely loyal to the empire. He was given the green light to move in, see if he could catch a sympathizer by the tail. 

        He leaned over the bed and whispered low, though he knew the cameras were off, "I know how to help you."

        Seb opened an eye, "I sure fuckin' hope you do, man."

        Ah, yes, of course the dense one was what he got stuck with. Still, he was Mark Grayson. All powerful, uncaring about the empire, Mark Grayson.

        "I've heard what you think of the empire," as reported by his eyes on the inside, "and I agree."

        Seb roused fully awake and mildly terrified, "Fuck are you talking about, man?"

        The doctor held an oblong finger over his narrow purple lips, "Fret not. I am no enemy to you."

        "Enemy to..." Seb rubbed his head, pounding with memories of the last few hours, "Man, what the fuck are you goin' on about?"

        Really dense or a better actor than anticipated. Both could be good and bad. Could get him killed or get the Coalition the best ally they could hope for. He came out with it, "The Coalition needs you."

        Seb went bolt upright, "The what!?"

        "Calm down or we'll be found out- wait, where are you going?"

        Seb floated out of bed wearing nothing. All the clothes had been cut off him for a full body assessment. The blanket that'd been thrown over him fell away exposing hairy, swinging immodesty. "Leaving, obviously."

        The doctor's heart dropped. He scurried to keep up with Seb as he approached the door. "Wait, you can't tell anyone." He grabbed Seb by the wrist, "They'll kill my family." Not that he had one but a white lie never hurt. 

        Seb looked over his shoulder at him with a sneer, "Man, I don't give a fuck 'bout your family." 

        "I see." From under the doctor's coat came a ray gun. Coalition issued. Couldn't kill a Viltrumite but would sting. He pressed it to the disc in Seb's back, opposite the one in his front. "Then I can't let you leave."

        Seb rolled his eyes, "You really think that tiny thing's gonna do shit? I don't give a fuck about you or your Coalition."

        "I misjudged you." The Doctor clicked off the safety. Hoped to God that the shock would short circuit the medicine disc, make the drugs go bad and somehow poison the boy. "You're just like the rest."

        Seb didn't move, not out of fear but because he was sluggish, sleepy, "You think I look like a snitch?"

        He was tempted to ask what a snitch was. 

        "Yeah, that's what I thought." Seb jerked away but didn't get close enough to the door for it to automatically open, "I'm not leavin' cuz I'm scared'a you. I'm leavin' cuz I'm not gettin' involved in any of that dumbass espionage shit. Do what you want but keep me out of it. I'm not telling anyone." With that, he left. Running away from yet another problem that was really a solution.

        ***

        "Did he at least treat you right? Like, you're gonna be okay?" You reached for his face, concern knitting your brows. He flinched away, already feeling weak, not needing you doting on him. 

        "Psshh, dude I'm fine. Don't get all soft on me." He remembered one of the first times you really talked. High and lying on a cot. You'd said the same thing to him. He wondered if you remembered. 

        "I'm not soft I'm just..." He looked at you then, really looked. Forced smile dropped like a rock at the red in your eyes, "Tired. Worried."

        Bullshit. He was used to being hurt, to being indifferent to others pain but he couldn’t help but ask, "What happened to you?"

        You frowned, "Same shit as always."

        He sighed, "Same here." His head lulled to the left, freeing up plenty of shoulder space for you to lean on. 

        You took it without thought, looking up at his face as you said, "Is that code for Sebastian being fucking insane?"

        He went rigid. "No." Said too fast, an obvious lie. "It was a surprise attack, alien bullshit, you know."

        You knew, actually knew, Mark told you all about it. The weapons on Ferr couldn't hope to tickle a Viltrumite, let alone partially gut one. You let him have the lie. Would question him later when he wasn't so raw, literally and figuratively. "Man, that sucks."

        He scoffed, a little less stiff as he thought you bought the lie, "Yeah, so does this whole place."

        You huffed a laugh, "Wait. You wanna know what Gray said?"

        "Oh God."

        You elbowed his side, gentle as you could despite the fact you couldn’t hurt him even if you tried. "He saw me about to rock your shit on the cameras.”

        Seb went pale and red at the same time. "Oh fuck, he's gonna kill me."

        "He was the only one who saw. Don't think he really cares, he's kinda weird in a good way. I mean, there's a team of aliens who probably saw, but I bet they don't know what a dick is and you're not dead yet so-" Seb dragged a hand over his face, not smiling like you’d hoped he would. You consoled him with a, "He even showed me some blind spots."

        "I don’t care what he showed you, dude. Im just glad one of your insane jealous boyfriends maybe won't kill me." He said bitterly as his body throbbed. He'd be fine in a few days but he was going to keep the hell out of Sebastian's path if he could. Out the corner of his eyes, he saw you frown, "That was shitty of me."

        "It was." You hummed, "But they are all fucking insane so." 

        The conversation lapsed. Awhile you sat, comfortably sharing heat while Seb stewed in man-angst that morphed to paranoia.

         "There aren't any cameras in here, right?" If he was caught with you again there had to be some sort of consequences. Maybe Sebastian would finish the job.

        "Only place there aren't. Gray showed me all the angles. Not a single room's got'em." 

        "Thank God." you looked at him with worry knotted brows. It made his stomach sink. You couldn't be worried about him. "I mean, if people were watching me at night? During prime jerk off hours, bro? I'd end it."

        You laughed, surprised, "You really...?"

        "Gotta deal with how much this place sucks somehow. Like yeah, it cuts a lot into my sleepin' time but how am I supposed to fall asleep if I haven't jerked my shit?"

        "Every night?"

        He nodded, "Duh. Puts me out like a light, dude.”

        "You're fucking crazy, man. There could have been cameras the whole time, you know Mark’s weird as hell." You relaxed further into him, hand casually falling over the top of his thigh in suggestion.

        Seb watched your hand carefully, voice coming out teasing against his will, "You're the one fuckin' other guys on the emperor's bed."

        Your fingers drummed pleasantly over his pants, hastily thrown on when you were knocking at the door. "You’re the one who almost let me jerk you off in the hallway."

        Your hand dipped into the crevice between his thighs. Seb stiffened but didn't stop you. Practically had to scream at his dick not to get hard as he said, "That was really stupid of both of us. I could'a died."

        "Maybe, but nobody's gonna catch us here." You leaned harder into his side, head hooked on his shoulder watching him as he tried to keep a passive face.

        His Adam's apple bobbed. 

        Seb was used to a certain amount of fucking. Randoms, friends, a little... something with Rex. It kept him on cloud nine where he didn't have to think about anything. He'd been spoiled by them, and then ruined by you. His hand barely held him over. Every orgasm felt less intense and more boring than the last. Always thinking how much better it could've been if he was inside you. But he knew better. 

        There was the Emperor and his dogs. Gray could snitch on him at anytime. Or the camera team. Mark could have him executed or more likely, castrated for what he'd let you do to him in the hall. Even now, this was a risk. What if Gray had lied about the room cameras? Could he really be so stupid, so horny he'd risk his life for a handjob?

        That decision didn't fall to the head on his shoulders. Not while the other rose, poked up through his skirts. 

        "Ignore that." He said, sounding strained. Fists curling in the sheets, trying to force his dick back down- down boy, bad! 

        "Do you really want me to?" Your heated breath on his neck made the hairs on the back of it stand up- and his dick a little stiffer.

        Shit. Not good. Abort. 

        "You're sure, no cameras?" He said instead.

        "No cameras." Your hand slipped under his skirts. Closing the distance between you and his clothed erection painfully slow. "Just me and you." And the need to feel normal. Like you were in control and not submitting to Mark with his fucking shock collar.

        You hardly touched him and his head fell back. A sigh sent up into the ceiling, his hair spilling over his shoulders. All you did was hold him, slowly rub your hand into the fabric. "Shit."

        Your hand agonizingly paused, "That a good shit or bad shit?" 

        "Good," he breathed, "good shit."

        "Good." You hummed, resuming movements to you could watch his pretty face twitch and flush. "Jeez dude, I'm hardly doing anything."

        "It's been a long time for me, okay? Just," he pushed his skirts to the side, looked down and got a good view of you fondling him, "fuck." He throbbed in your palm. You didn't wait for approval to tear his magnetic fly open and pull his cock out.

        Your hand retreated to let him move but when you didn't immediately start jerking him off again he whined and bucked into the air, "You're killin' me here."

        You hadn't been in control in so long, you wanted to take your time with this. "Be patient."

        "If I don't cum right now, my balls are gonna fall off." Maybe a little light fem-domme wasn't the best idea right now. Fine. You'd have a good time either way.

        The tip of his cock bubbled out a single tear. It wasn't enough, so you spat into your hand and wrapped it around his shaft, the bottom vein thrummed in your palm. Your thumb came up, pressed and rolled up and around his sweet pink slit. He was groaning, muscles tensing and untensing before you'd even started to get a good pace, pumping your hand up and down his length. 

        Seb was usually one for dirty talk but after the fight, the medbay, and the fact he hadn't had you since the desert, all he could do was gasp. Watch with puffy, half lidded eyes as you worked him. Tilted his neck so you could lean in and suck the skin between his throat and shoulder. You couldn't help biting. 

        That earned your hand a hearty thrust that made your bones rattle in your palm. "Shit, my bad." He pinned his hips to the mattress, regretting that your pace slowed with a pained hiss.

        "It's fine." You said, lips slippery on his neck. "Just don't do that to my mouth, okay?"

        "You're..." You let go much to Seb's chagrin. He didn't mourn the loss, not when he knew what was coming next. Thighs spread as you lowered to your knees, shuffled between them.

        "Fuck," he breathed, "you're so hot."

        He should have argued. Said this was too much, too far. He distantly thought of the collar tracking your vitals, he hadn’t touched you but your heart was racing, he could hear it under the thrum of his own blood. 

         Fucking you in the desert was almost fair game but now it was treason. No arguments came as you again took him into your hands, pumped up his base and lowered your head to his. Tongue warm and soft and inviting and begging to be painted. 

        The only thing Seb could say as your lips joined your tongue was, "Holy shit."

        You looked up at him, eyes red, dick in your mouth, and he swore in that moment he loved you. Loved you even more as your tongue lathed over the bottom of his cock. Head slowly bobbing up and down, spearing yourself more and more unto him with every repeat. 

        You stayed midway down his length, hand working his base, for some time. Enjoying the stretch in your cheeks, the weight on your tongue, the cockhead pressed to your uvula. You thought of him thrusting into your hand before and you shivered. You'd told him not to but you wanted it. Your hand came away, rested on his stomach as you made the slow journey further down. 

        A soft sigh cooled his puffy lips. His hand shakily came to the back of your head and pushed you ever so gently down until your lips kissed his pelvis and the head of his cock kissed the back of your throat. Your nose pressed into a thick mat of hair that smelled like sweat and a hint of sappy blood. You didn't care. You nestled your face harder into him. Unable to breathe well with him blocking your throat. Gag reflex held at bay even when Seb started rocking his hips up and down.

        Languid at first but the longer Seb was inside you, the harder it was to keep himself together. Thoughts jumbled like his fingers (in your hair/twitching on your scalp). He fucked your face with held-back fervor. A band inside him tightened. He went faster as he could restrained, rug burning your lips with his quickness. An incoherent babble of, "Fuck, shit, so good," came pouring out his lips. 

        At first you couldn't keep up but you found a rhythm, moved with him while avoiding cutting with your teeth. The beginning of the end started when you moaned around him. Feeling the stretch in your mouth like it was your cunt. Every thrust sent shudders down to your heating core. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes like you needed this. 

        He spilled down your throat with a cry. Finally feeling a real release with every pulse of his cock. Ebbing away too fast for his liking. 

        You pulled back, letting his slick, softening cock escape the cavern of your mouth. His seed hot and heavy in the back of your throat. You shut your mouth, still tasting like him, throat bobbing as you swallowed. "You know for all that alien food you eat, you don't taste half bad." 

        You were smiling up at him, contented, but all he could feel was a looming dread. What the fuck was he thinking? Why were you okay with this?

        "Seb?" You pulled yourself up his body, careful to avoid his sensitive softness and healing discs. You reached to touch his face, to check in with him because you cared. He melted too easily into your touch, even if it was on his busted cheek, leaned in when you went to kiss him.

         His other head started to work and that head made him stop, flinch away.

        You paused, “Seb?"

        God, you looked so confused, he was such an asshole. But he couldn't bring himself to act like it, saying soft, "You should go."

        You blinked at him, "What? No one knows I'm here, you don't have to worry."

        That broke his resolve because who did you think you were? Making him all.. soft and shit. All like, susceptible to danger just for the chance to feel you.

         "Of course I fuckin' do," he snapped, "that thing monitors your vitals. No cameras means they���ll assume the worst."

        You hovered but didn't leave. "Did I bite you or something?"

        "No you-" His voice rose, but the words stopped as he saw that awful falling look on your face. He cared too much about you. It was a problem. Before he had no problem kicking one night stands out on their ass but now he gave a shit and that was stupid and dangerous for you both. So he let his voice raise, let himself yell because maybe then you'd stop being so terribly good for him. "You gotta stop hangin' around me! I know your boyfriend's a dick and all but he'll kill me if he catches us if you haven't noticed. Or do you just not care about me?"

        No. No you just started to feel normal. You couldn't take this. "I do. I won't let them hurt you."

        He laughed, "How? You're just some human."

        You didn't know and that started to scare you. "I can- I can-"

        "Yeah, you ain't got shit." He tucked himself back into his pants. 

        You hadn't been taken care of. You didn't want just anybody to take care of you, you wanted Seb, you wanted a normal friend. "If he hurts you, I'll never touch him again." It's a desperate plea.

        "Oh sure, like that'll hold up with your track record." The skirt went back over his crotch. When he stood you stumbled back. 

        You sputtered, the taste of him going sour in your mouth, "What's your problem?" 

        "My problem? Tch, look at me. You think I can do shit once your boyfriends decide they're done letting you use me?"

        Your eyes followed his hands, gesturing to his chest and the wide disc holding his guts in. The implication wasn't lost on you.

        "I know it was Sebastian." You snipped, because he was being a cunt. 

        You looked at him with so much pity it burned. Made his wounds laced with pain killers start to throb.

        "God," his hands flew up to twist into his hair, "You knew and you still came to fuck me? What's wrong with you? Can you just-" Stop giving a shit about a gutter rat like him? Stay? Never talk to him again? Lay with him and talk about Rex? Leave? Take your clothes off? "Go already?"

        Your eyes misted over. A wall that'd fallen snapped back into place. Good, but not good enough. You were like a hungry dog in the street, always coming back for more friendship or dick. He was too happy to give it away. 

        "I came because I was worried, it just hap-"

       "Look, you're fun and all but for my sake, stay the fuck away from me."  It hurt but it was the smart thing to do. The easy thing to do because he was angry and weak and pathetic and he knew it.

        Sometimes you forgot with the crooked nose and piercings and attitude, that he was still just another Mark Grayson. "Fine."

        You shoulder checked him on the way out. It didn't actually do anything, but he found himself swaying back into the wall anyway. Hit with the sledgehammer consequences of his own actions. The door shut. He was alone, sinking with the feeling of it. Your friendship gone just like that. The one thing that was keeping him sane on this hell ship. Being alive felt like a consolation prize.

        He wasn’t surprised. He always was a selfish asshole.

        "I'm not some... just because we... ya'know. It was one time." 

        Rex looked up from the glowing stick he'd been twirling through his fingers. Practicing how long he could hold a charge before it inevitably exploded. It'd been quiet, them just hanging out in Rex's room in the Teen Team headquarters. The skunky stench of marijuana thick in the air.

        "Uh," Rex half-laughed, "I mean sure dude, but it was actually two times."

        "I wouldn't even call it one." Seb took a hit off the blunt. It wouldn't do anything, not since he'd gotten his powers months ago but he still liked the warm hug feeling of smoke in his lungs. He hadn't told Rex about that one caveat yet, Rex would take his blunt-bumming privileges away and he wasn't ready for that. Not after losing the ability to take molly and xanax at the same time and stargaze high as all fuck. "We didn't even like, touch tips or anything."

        "Dude, we jerked each other off." The charge grew hotter and hotter in Rex's hands.

        "As friends." Seb spat out because he couldn't take the sick swirling feeling in his gut at the memory, Rex's green eyes locked onto his instead of the porn he'd put on, idly playing in the background.

        Rex laughed, "Sure, cuz every pair'a bros does that." He turned to the wall and let the charge fly into a tungsten painted target. Bullseye came with a small explosion that lit Seb's face up so pretty. Seb caught him staring, the feeling intensified. 

        Looking back he should've acted on it sooner. Should've realized their time together wasn't going to be longer than a handful of years with how stupid and selfish they both were. How they both acted like they were invincible. Always trying to stay in their own little bubble of loser paradise.  

        Seb always thought he was going to die young because of that stupidity. He never thought Rex would go first.

        You'd just gone but the loneliness felt weeks deep.

        ***

        A rhythm was set as the days passed. The ship was stationed outside the Ferr Belt as they waited for replacement workers. The culling was said and done with as little structural damage as possible. A job for Gray and Markus who had the finesse. The council could be a little more callous with lesser civilizations, it'd set back timelines restructuring buildings on the planet itself.

        Mark was permanently trapped in his office, taking naps at his desk when he could. Always on calls with loyalist planets, who as the days went by, got more and more frantic to prove their loyalty after Mark slightly over exaggerated the killing on Ferr by a hundred thousand. When he wasn't in his office, he was in the war room, listening to Kregg as he planned out a deliberate path for the next planets to check up on- short visits or quick executions depending- on the way to the next staple planet that actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. 

        The Hydroxians weren't a foolish people, they were engineers and weapon smiths known far and wide across the galaxy. Rebels to the core who made and dispersed weaponry solely to rebel planets. Most rebel forces still used them to this day. The amount lessened more and more in the past hundred years though, as they'd gone radio silent. Viltrum used to be able to pick up their radio chatter, but now there was nothing. Any soft-bellied rebel the Viltrumites killed, toting one of their fancy weapons, had no answers either. The galaxy chalked it up to extinction.

        So did Viltrum.

        Until a few days ago. Gray came into Mark's office, interrupting another long, brain-rottingly boring meeting. He'd tweaked the scanners settings to what he was used to on his Viltrum. It made things a little more gorilla tech, but that's all it took for Hydrox's hundreds of years of luck to run out. 

        Because right there on the data pad, a tiny dot with distance was an unknown mass flagged. Mark cut the meeting short, went straight to the observatory and called in the council. Sure enough, there was Hydrox, thousands of miles away but unmistakable in the scanners. Blending into space with what must've been an intentionally thick debris field of black machining waste and rudimentary cloaking tech.

        They were trapped. Unable to send out more weapons. Unable to see their burning red sun. 

        They could be left alone to die under their man-made cloak, but that wasn't Viltrum's style. They'd rebelled loud and proud, they needed to be made an example of. Publicly televised for the galaxy to see, they needed to die. Never have the chance to send out weapons again.

       They pointed the scanners at Hydox and for the first time got a look at how massive it was. Population well into the billions. A single Viltrumite could do the job but it was flagged as too risky. In their time isolated they could've made countless breakthroughs. Their weapons were toys to Viltrumites but packed a noticeable sting hundreds of years ago- leaving the question of what were they now?. It was too dangerous to leave them alive.

        Gray was patted on the back. Helped Kregg and Markus put together an invasion plan, often relaying it back to Mark. Mark listened, stretched himself thin going from duty to duty. In seconds of peace between endless things to do, he watched you on the cameras. Wished he had time to go to bed and just lie with you.

        You’d been in the lab more than usual instead of puttering about with Seb these last few days. Seb cut corners more than ever on his work much to the council's annoyance, but Mark let it happen. When not working, Seb was in the training arena, adding on level after level of artificial gravity and working out till he nearly passed out. He avoided you like the plague. 

        Mark had his suspicions. Got a report from the observation crew about you entering his room, matching up with a small spike in your vitals. It pissed him off sure, but, something bad had happened. You weren't talking, you were so lonely you opted to go to meals alone or with Lensless. Opted to go to the labs more with Grayson. You were emotionally hurt by some guy who was only making himself better for the empire and avoiding you- it was a total best-case scenario.

        You'd wounded him by storming away after what Sebastian had said. He hadn't been able to speak with you since, so wrapped up in busy work. But he was hopeful because he knew once he got time to see you, you'd be glad for it, he was much better company. 

        Lensless was an idiot, always tailed by the too-serious Lucan. Both his and Sebastian's brain chips had been successfully installed. Sebastian was kept under while Grayson finished development and the first to undergo the procedure. Lensless 'finally' got to fight Lucan, who was ordered to knock him out at the next prodding. The fight had been harder than Lucan thought it would be, Lensless was slippery, but once he landed a few good hits on the boy he was out. He didn't acknowledge any questions about his black eye. Knocked out, the chips were attached to their brain stems. Grayson oversaw the operation. Confirmed with Mark himself the operations were a success.

        When they woke up, they were none the wiser, suspicious, sure, but who would guess Mark had ordered impromptu brain surgery? They both went about their duties with their tails still on. It'd be too suspicious to drop them abruptly. Mark wanted the first use to be a nasty, painful surprise. He also wanted to make sure the chips were working which they wouldn't entirely know until a few days after the operation and the chips were fully synced to their brain waves.

        Lensless wasn't a worry even with the chip. He seemed to calm afterwards, not pushing his luck with Lucan, seemingly satisfied with their fight. He also got more time around you, and instead of terrorizing you like he and Sebastian had the desert, he played nice. Saying things just on the edge of acceptable. Hovering around you like a gnat. Always hinting at some gift he got you but when you asked, he giggled, covered his mouth and said, "Not with Lucy around. Stoooop! I'm embarrassed!" When you'd said barely anything at all.

        Mark had a servant check the room to find a sack stuffed under the mattress. In the report he got it was listed as: various biological matter. Ew. 

        Right now, you were in Grayson's lab. His prostheses finally moved with less stiffness. His buzz cut had grown out an inch, making his head look like black puffball. You were going through the motions as Mark waited for another call from a loyalist colony. Grayson was being more than thorough in the capture and study of your brainwaves, terrified if he got one thing wrong in the re-code the collar would wind up shocking you to death.

        Mark appreciated the effort. Watching you do another round of breathing exercises for low-brainwave scans, as he finally got a call from the loyalists. He turned his attention away.

        "...And out." 

        Air whooshed out slow behind your teeth. "In." Grayson said, you sucked in, "and..." you held your breath, waiting for the instruction for what felt like the hundredth time. "We don't have a lot of time."

         You breathed the word out, "What?"

        The lab was empty aside from you both. The techs on their lunch break. You wanted to go with, but Grayson said it'd be bad to interrupt the tests, so you lagged behind.

        "I've looped the microphone and video feeds." He muttered, shuffling closer like somehow the mics would still pick up his voice, "for the next minute, they'll think we're doing our exercises." 

        Your jaw dropped. You'd been waiting for days on end for an update from Markus, for something to assure you some leverage. Nothing. He'd been too busy. Then Gray couldn't manage to steal himself away to see you at all. You hadn't even seen Mark. Everyone was too busy working on the empire to help you. Grayson hadn't given a single hint he was up to something and now he'd stepped over the line, stepping closer to you, sat as always on the lab bench.

        He didn't wait to speak until spoken to as he usually would, "It's a test." The next time he did something like this, it'd be longer, give him more time alone with you, but for now thirty more seconds was all he could steal. "I-" and yet the words still get caught in his ragged throat, "I wanted to show you I've been trying since I can't..." His eyes flicked down to the collar. He couldn't help with that yet, but the cameras were fair game.

        You turned to the camera in the wall he'd pointed out days ago. "Are they really-" you turned back to finish your thought, but found your lips nearly brushing his. He'd leaned in, stopped at the last second. Blue eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, he looked like the Mark you knew as a teenager, scared and shy and so full of want it made your stomach flip. 

        His breath was cool and minty across your lips. A hairs length separated your flesh. Electricity wanted to pull you closer but you were so shocked by the cameras, by his sudden quiet treason, by his boldness that you just blinked back at him. He wanted to press forward, kiss you, hammer his allegiance home, a show that his trick had worked, that he would do anything for you. It'd be easy. You weren’t cringing away or pushing him back.

        Your eyes started to shudder closed and as you leaned in, he leaned back like an oppositely charged magnet. "Sorry, I just..." He said when your eyes opened. "You feel like you owe me and I want..." His words got stuck, he wanted you to want him. He didn't want a kiss as a thank you or an obligation for helping you, he wanted you. Wanted you to want him the same way he wanted you. He checked the clock on the wall, ten seconds. He swallowed hard as he watched your eyes flicker down to his lips again, "Don't. Not until you really want to." 

        You understood well enough, had somehow always been able to read between the lines with him. Grayson moved back to the position he was in before, leaving you stunned.

        "You're a weird guy, Grayson." You smiled at him, soft, sweet, just like she used to, "Thank you."

        "The cameras are about to turn on." He lifted his hands in gesture to breathe out. He hoped when the loop cut, no one noticed his blush. "...And out."

        ***

        At long last, the ship caught up. Close enough to confirm the ship was indeed the emperor's. Far enough that the Thraxa's bio-tech would keep the cloaked ship hidden from the warships sensors. 

        Thragg wired into the communications, a shoddy connection at best, even with how far he'd advanced Thraxan tech. He heard the boy's plans for Ferr and mostly agreed with the proceedings. He would've killed more than half, had to hold himself back when he felt how weak they were. He would've had replacements here faster but none of that mattered. No matter how much Mark tried to rebuild the empire, Thragg was waiting to burn it back down.

        All there was left to do now was wait. 

[desiree-uk]

Using NRaas Master Controller's Filters, Skill Stamps and Hot Keys - Part 1 Filters

This is part 1 of a little (big!) tutorial on how I use filters, skill stamps and hot keys from NRaas Master Controller together in my games. It's also an appreciation post! 😊

See also: Using NRaas Master Controller's Filters, Skill Stamps and Hot Keys - Part 2: Skill Stamps and Hot Keys

Tutorial under the header!

Mods needed for Filters, Skill Stamps and Hot Keys to show up: Master Controller v.135 Master Controller Cheats v.134+

(9th Feb 2025 - desiree-uk correction: Additional mods needed for filters and door locking system (my apologies! 😌) GoHere v.45 Tagger v.5

Filters:

I use filters, skill stamps and hotkeys for various things, mostly to edit bulk sims, refine door locking options, set filters for parties, functions etc and add short-cuts of often-used MC interactions to the NRaas menu when clicking on a sim/household/terrain. Once you know how to set these, you can set as many as you like and use them in a lot of different combinations.

Here are a few examples on how I set them up, but you can name them whatever you like.

MC Interaction: Save Filter Prompts the user to save a custom filter that can be used for Sim queries.

There are already a lot of default filters for sim-criteria like Age, Species, Residents, NPC etc, but I want to set one specifically for Adult and Elder sims together so I can set door options and skill stamps for them (more on skill stamps in Part 2!)

Click on Town Hall/Computer>NRaas>MC>Settings>Filters Click Save Filter - Age - Adult and Elder Oh, also set 'Species' to Human otherwise all adult and elder cats, dogs, horses and the Grim Reaper will show up! I always forget that part. 😄

Name the new filter (e.g AGE: ADULTS and ELDERS) Click Accept ☑ Your new filter will show up in the list of filter criteria.

I only want these sims to use a particular door. You can use the EA door locking system to select sims you want to use the door if you want, but if you want more stringent rules, then the filters are better.

Click on the door>Lock…>Door Options… Click on 'Door Filter Type - Deny Click on 'Enable/Disable Filters' - 0

Click on the new filter you made earlier 'AGE: ADULT and ELDERS Click on it until it shows 'True'. Click Accept ☑

On the previous dialog box you'll now see the 'Door Filter Type: Allow' and 'Enable/Disable Filters: 1' You'll also see two new options 'List Sims Allowed Through' and 'List Sims Denied Access'.

Click on them to double check you have the right sims listed. ALL human adult and elder sims are showing up in the 'Allowed..' list. The 'Denied Access' list should show all the baby, child, teen and YA humans and pets. (Allowed: 1st picture. Denied: 2nd picture)

You can set any filter with as many different criteria as you want. When you set a filter with more than one criteria and you specifically want that sim to use the door e.g a YA female, with the charisma skill level 2, make sure to set 'Match All Active Filters' to 'True' (above screenshot) so only a young adult, female sim, with a charisma skill of 2 can use the door. If the 'Match All…' option isn't set, then any YA sim or any female sim or any sim with the charisma skill of 2 can use the door - it's more flexible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the next part, I'll be showing how I use skill stamps together with filters and hot keys!

Click for part 2: Using NRaas Master Controller's Filters, Skill Stamps and Hot Keys - Part 2: Skill Stamps and Hot Keys

[kodaswrld]

/) /) (｡•ㅅ•｡)〝₎₎ about my blog ! ✦₊ ˊ˗ . .╭∪─∪────────── ✦ ⁺. . .┊ ◟﹫ name : koda / mama koda / mama . .┊﹒𐐪 age : 19 . .┊ꜝꜝ﹒pronouns : she / her . .┊ ⨳゛sexuality : straight . .┊ ◟ヾ status : blog caregiver !

. .┊ ◟﹫ genre : decor creator ╰───────────── ✦ ⁺.

current taglist: @achooinmyheart @tiger-posting @littlemisspoets-blog @buni-cheri

dm me to be added ^^

join my agere/petre emoji discord server!! discord.gg/nerdi

my tags!! #kodaswrld ~ all my posts #kodaswrld moodboard ~ my moodboards #kodaswrld stimboard ~ my stimboards #dividers by kodaswrld ~ my dividers #koda talks 🎀 ~ my caregiver chats #koda answers 🎀 ~ my ask replies #koda freestyles 🎀 ~ my decor freestyles

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

hii, i just wanted to let everyone know that i have open & free requests! you can click the make a request button on my profile or dm me if you’d like to discuss your request throughly!!

i can/will make:

ᯓ★ dividers/banners!

ᯓ★ headers!

ᯓ★ userboxes!

ᯓ★ profile pictures!

ᯓ★ moodboards!

ᯓ★ stimboards!

as you might have noticed, along with decor making i’m also a agere/petre caregiver blog! i’m not anyone’s personal caregiver as i’m not comfortable with that level of responsibility but; i am very open to any regressors in my ask box & dms. you may come to me with questions, updates or anything you may want to talk to mama koda about. i love you!! *hugs*

PLEASE READ:

~ if your request is never answered you should make a NEW duplicate one since it was sadly lost or forgotten! 🫶🏼

~ please do NOT ask me how i make my decor!! i love you all but that’s a boundary i don’t want you all crossing. 🫶🏼

~ please do NOT ask to me to be your personal caregiver. you all know i love you but i’m strictly a blog mama caregiver, not a personal one! 🫶🏼

PSA - My blog is theme focused around dividers, banners and profile pictures for your blogs! I mostly stick to agere, petre, pink coquette, romantic goth or seasonal dividers but I take ALL requests that i’m asked whether it be anime, scene or other. DO NOT REQ NSFW OR K!NK DECOR!!

⟢ ・if you’re interested in more decor i own a discord server!!

all dividers in this blog are made by me!

[zenaidamacrouras1]

I did a new version of History of American Capitalism! This time with a 19th Century typography vibe. Inspired by old maps and books from the 1850s.

This fic has two small sequels so I bound the three together and made coordinated title pages. The title pages and chapter headers were made in Canva with my very limited yet stubborn graphic design abilities.

The tiger fabric is by Tula Pink, a fabric designer, who has many whimsical wonderful animal fabrics. I was gonna do a whole ornate gold foil situation on the front, but I like this fabric so so much so I let it do the talking. (The fic is a College AU and the college football team is the Tigers).

I've been working on painting the edges gold (using tutorials by Duranbinding on instagram), I should have sanded way more for a smoother edge but I got bored and they are mostly fine? I also should have clamped them tighter before painting because there is some annoying gold bleed onto the inside of the page but the thing is sometimes I just don't care and it's fine, probably.

Other lazy things I did was not care about how rounded the spine was or making proper shoulders, which I did meticulously for my first couple books and at this point it doesn't bother me but might someday.

The pages turn beautifully because I used proper short grain paper and a lovely quality vellum paper at that and it really does make a more pleasing book.

I love the tigers so much.

[sparreaux]

Hey fellow Tumblrinos! I need groceries, medicine, and household supplies and, maybe, just maybe, you need art! I am currently doing a Name Your Price special!

Animals, plants, people, portraits, furries, mechs, aliens. Porn or perhaps a fun lil fetish? I can do it all! Maybe you need a fancy new header wallpaper for your blog or your friend has a birthday coming up. Maybe you need some fresh character art for a new ttrpg campaign. Ask and you shall receive!

Just decide how much you want to pay and send me a private message (or ask) with what kind of illustration you're looking for and I shall provide.

I, of course, reserve the right to refuse (though that's doubtful) and it would be nice to have the money upfront (or at least half). Health willing, I will be buckling down and getting these done as quickly as possible!

Payments can be made through PayPal or cashapp, both under the name Duessa. (Sorry, I know that might be confusing since I mostly go by Sparreaux now, I just haven't changed it yet.)

I look forward to hearing from y'all!

[beartitled]

Found your art through the STP Reddit and now I have a new TSPUD artist to enjoy!!! Your style is gorgeous :)

Reddit 🤨❔

I don’t have reddit

*sounds of paws tapping on the keyboard*

Aha repost with no permission I see? 🔍🐻‍❄️👓

This ask actually send me on a mini research lmao

I didn’t expect to see like 4 posts on Reddit with ppl posting my comics/sending a screenshot from ?Pinterest? and asking who the author is

That made me chuckle :'D

To be clear, I don’t really mind reposts if a person credits me

Always appreciate ppl askin permission 👍

For the reference: Reblog - a button that looks like this 🔄, shares a post on your page while showing the original author; Repost - when you screenshot/save someone’s art and post it on your page (ideally with credit, but if you’re a meanie you will just post images with no word about og author); Credit - a reference to the author «this art was made by [@author] on [this social media]». Sometimes see ppl mixing up terms 🫡

(Most of the time creators dislike reposts, bc it often leads to art theft)

Since we’re on the topic, specifically what I do have a problem with:

- Don’t use my art for AI training or for NFTs

- Don’t profit off my art (no merch is allowed without my approval, if you want to use my art for commercial purposes, this must be discussed with me in advance)

- Don't pass off my work as your own (here does reposting my art without credit, creating blogs/accounts impersonating me and so on)

- Don’t use my personal projects (this applies to my ocs, any original IPs/content I create: picture books, comics, artbooks, megadrawings etc. At some point in the future I may register a legal copyright for them btw.)

I’m more flexible and forgiving with fandom art, but still would appreciate ppl communicating with me. Fandom comic dubs - are welcomed, just be sure to credit me (tag me and share the final dub too man, I’m always interested). Fandom comic translations - ask permission first please.

This list is a pretty standard for any artist really, if you’re doubting something - feel free to ask 👍

If you see somebody breaking those/potentially breaking those - feel free to notify me 👍

I considered creating “blog rules” or “list of boundaries”, but I’m not sure if it’ll work on my blog 🤔 My header is pretty oversaturated as it is - portfolio, tags, navigation and so on; if I add rules to the pile, something tells me ppl won’t even look at it 💥 + I didn’t have specific issues with anyone yet (as far as I’m aware), I might create a list if something happens, but stayin hopeful for now

There’s certain things that do make me very uncomfortable/are triggering to me. But again didn’t have any specific issues where it was a huge problem + those stuff are highly personal to me to just put publicly. For now, I prefer to resolve issues personally, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle at this point 🫡 Mayhaps in the future it may change, we’ll see

Also some might have noticed that I don’t use any watermarks/signatures on my art, again considered that, but never ended up implementing that 🐻‍❄️ Some part of me just likes lookin at pictures in full HD quality with no watermark 😭 (I have an art signature, but I mostly use it in my mega drawings or if someone specifically asked for a commission lmao)

Sorry for a wall of text on such a sweet ask 💥 Just saw an opportunity to talk and took it lmao

Thank you, I really appreciate your words ❤️💕

Made a doödle of the narrator bois for the old time sake :D

Surprisingly there is a bunch of reposts of my art, with is a bit wild to me (you guys actually like my comics? 🤨 what? 🤨)

Especially never imagined my voices x princesses would get so popular 💥

Oh I see you went under read-more

Come closer

Closer

Just a smol step more

I forgot to draw Smitten’s brows in this specific frame

Now you will never unsee it 😈😈😈

*tiny mischievous bear giggling*

[pillow-anime-talk]

his talented baby {part 3}.

synopsis: You as a person with a huge (and hidden) talent, and also a girl who really surprises your boyfriend.

# tags: scenarios; current relationships; romance; some comedy; mostly fluff; some PDA; simp!boyfriends; sfw

includes: female reader ft. yuuji itadori & megumi fushiguro {jjk} + eren jaeger & armin arlelt {aot}

part one {click} & part two {click}

— YUUJI (ft. playing football)

The past few weeks had been exhausting and packed with training sessions. You had devoted so much of your time and energy to your passion for soccer and the upcoming matches against other high schools and women’s teams that you barely had any time left for longer hangouts or dates with your boyfriend, Yuuji. You felt guilty and awkward each time you had to turn him down – but you knew that the end of the school year was a time for challenges and hard work. You wanted to be the best version of yourself and perform well at the Summer Tournament.

Of course, you had mentioned your training schedule and the upcoming competitions to him a few weeks back – but you also knew that he might forget. After all, he had a lot on his own plate – between his personal interests, schoolwork, and helping out at home. Luckily, that day your practice ended earlier than usual, since nearly half of your team had traveled to another city for a friendly match. So, you texted your boyfriend and asked if he’d like to go for a walk and grab some good ice cream. Itadori was more than happy when you messaged him – and of course, he promised to come pick you up, already having a small gift in mind: a bouquet of flowers just for you.

He arrived before your practice even ended. He scanned the field until he spotted you, then made his way to the lower bleachers to watch your final plays. You were mostly playing as the central striker – the team’s so-called “ace.” You’d been dedicating a lot of time to improving your plays and passes, not just on the ground but especially in the air. The last few passes directed at you relied on quick ball movement between players and precision shots  – one was a header, another with your dominant foot, and two more from a swift half-turn. Every shot hit the mark, and the cheers from your teammates were a clear confirmation of your incredible talent.

Yuuji watched your fluid movements and quick footwork across the grass in awe. A few times, he even jumped to his feet and clapped loudly, shouting praise so enthusiastic it was hard to understand what exactly he was saying. At first, his presence made you nervous – he’d never come to one of your practices before – but the overwhelming support he gave you in that moment boosted your confidence. Every play you made from then on added points to the final score. And afterward, as soon as you ran over to him, he started shouting about how amazing and talented you were. He even asked if you’d teach him how to make passes like that someday.

— MEGUMI (ft. playing the piano)

You had been waiting for this evening for months. A performance at the New National Theatre Tokyo is an honor that comes around once in a million years – especially when you’re in your twenties and have just stepped into adulthood. Your talent was undeniable. You had been playing the piano since childhood, trained under the guidance of accomplished professionals. Elementary school, middle school, high school, and finally university – each stage of your life carefully chosen to nurture your musical development and refine your piano skills.

And now, the moment had arrived. You were about to perform in front of your family, close friends, classical music connoisseurs, and musicians from all over Japan – perhaps even from around the world. Among the audience sat Megumi, your fiancé.

Of course he knew you played piano – he had often been your one-man audience in your shared apartment or during your rehearsals at the university’s music hall. He had always supported you, always offered encouragement, even though he had never played an instrument himself. Still, he educated himself – reading books, watching documentaries and tutorials, learning what he could to better understand your world. He gifted you small gift of support – hand creams, date nights, even massage vouchers so your hands and fingers could rest. He stood by you through every stage of your musical journey since the day you first met – and that was thirteen years ago. This evening felt like the culmination of a chapter in your life. If everything went well, you knew this performance could open the door to the international stage.

The lights dimmed – until only one spotlight remained, centered on the stage. There stood a grand, black piano with gold elements, the kind that cost more than most apartments in the heart of the city. Surrounding it were other musicians – mostly violinists, along with a single double bass and two clarinets. The theatre fell into perfect silence. And then, after a breathless pause, the concert began – first the instruments around you, then stillness once more. And then you began to play.

The audience was mesmerized. Megumi looked at you as if he had fallen in love all over, and over, and over again. Your fingers moved across the keys like they were gliding through clouds. Your eyes were gently closed – you knew every note by heart. The others joined in, but it was clear the piano was the centerpiece of this performance. Everyone was entranced by the elegance and depth of your playing. Megumi’s heart swelled with every note. Though you couldn’t look at each other, you could feel his presence – steady, warm, and proud.

This concert was your gift to him, for all support he gave you from day one – tonight, your music was dedicated to Megumi and his love.

— EREN (ft. baking sweets)

Over the past few weeks, you had been pouring your heart into something entirely new – the delicate and delicious art of baking. It started on simply recipes: classic butter cookies, powdered donuts, warm apple pie, and soft sponge cake. As your confidence grew, so did the complexity of your creations. You began to challenge yourself with more intricate recipes – delicate macarons, cherry tartlets, and even the famously finicky basque cheesecake.

After a few months of trial, success and daily frustration, you reached a point where you could not only follow advanced recipes but also create your own – beautifully crafted and flavor-balanced ideas for mini cakes, multi-layered tortes, and even frozen desserts. It became more than just a hobby – it was a quiet, joyful passion, one you nurtured with the hope of making something truly special.

All of this was leading up to one important day – Eren’s birthday. You didn’t want to give him just a store-bought gift or a card with kind words. No. You wanted to surprise him with something personal, something meaningful, something made entirely by your own hands.

The result was breathtaking: a two-tiered birthday cake, made in his favorite flavors and decorated in his favorite colors. The larger, bottom tier was built on freshy fruit notes and included a layer of rose crisp, adding a subtle floral crunch. The smaller top tier offered a cozy combination of buttery shortbread and roasted nuts. The entire cake was frosted in soft shades of green and brown, finished with shimmering accents of edible sugar hearts, stars, and delicate handcrafted flowers made from sugar paste. It looked like something straight out of a pastry competition – elegant, refined and full of heart.

Eren’s reaction was everything you hoped for. The moment he laid eyes on the cake, his eyes widened in disbelief. A slow, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“This… is for me?” He asked quietly – half in awe, half in hopeful curiosity. He wanted to believe it, but needed to hear it from you. You nodded gently and began to explain – how you had been practicing, learning, failing and improving over the past few months. He listened intently, occasionally stealing glances at the cake, like he still couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“... I really hope you like it.” You said with a nervous little laugh. “It’s the first time I’ve ever tried this flavor combination… But maybe it’ll surprise you.”

With that, you cut two generous slices – one from each tier – and placed them on pretty, yellowish plates. You sat down together, side by side, and then you watched as Eren took his first bite.

The expression on his face said it all. Within moments, he had finished everything on his plate. He was stunned not only by the flavor – which was complex, rich and perfectly balanced – but by the fact that you had done this all for him. This wasn’t just dessert. It was a gift made with time, thought and, obviously, love.

He was genuinely moved and completely enchanted.

— ARMIN (ft. writing poems)

You had been writing for years – at first, silly little stories about your favorite actors, musicians and other artists. Eventually, you began crafting your own original tales, often centered around mysteries, fantasy or horror. And now, for the past few years, you had been pouring your heart into poetry – short, emotional pieces that captured the music of your soul. They spoke of your feelings, your hopes for the future, the weight of memories and the aching sense of something lost. But everything you wrote ended up tucked away, hidden from the world. You didn’t have the time – or perhaps the courage – to seek out a publisher and you certainly didn’t want to share those deeply personal pieces with others. It all felt too raw, too intimate. So the poems and thoughts stayed locked inside dusty notebooks and tucked-away folders – shoved into boxes, stashed on forgotten shelves, often left to be forgotten.

That day, you and Armin were moving into your new home. Alongside the clothes, cosmetics and kitchen stuff, you brought with you your private collection of written thoughts. As fate would have it, while carrying one of the boxes, you tripped over the door threshold – and the box slipped from your hands. Notebooks and loose pages scattered across the floor, fluttering like autumn leaves. Most of them were your latest writings – fresh poems, questions without answers, fragile thoughts written in your unmistakable handwriting.

Armin rushed over to help, but his eyes quickly caught on the scattered pages. Curious, he began to read what had fallen nearest to him. As his eyes moved from line to line, his expression shifted – at times his face flushed red, then turned thoughtful, then softened with a smile and even grew solemn with a sigh. You tried to stop him from reading more, your heart thudding in your chest... but he was much faster.

“Did you write all of this, Y/N?” He asked, wide-eyed with surprise. You nodded shyly, murmuring something barely audible under your breath. “It’s… It’s beautiful, love.” He said, this time more loudlyand you froze for a second, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not.” You replied, a bit more harshly than you intended. “None of it makes sense. It’s not good or interesting – just a bunch of messy thoughts. Leave it alone, Armin.”

Of all the people in your life, Armin was the last one you wanted to see your poetry. Yet he kept reading, kept smiling and began complimenting your writing – your phrasing, your metaphors, the honesty of your voice. You felt smaller and smaller, unsure how to respond, embarrassed that your secret had been so suddenly and thoroughly exposed. But he wouldn’t stop.

“Y/N, this is genuinely…” He paused for a moment, his voice softer. “I’m honestly shocked I never noticed this before. You’ve been carrying all of this inside you all this time?”

For a while, Armin spoke more to himself than to you – praising your words, the depth of your writing, your ability to make someone feel something. And slowly, despite the awkwardness, despite the discomfort, a small smile found its way onto your face. Because deep down, hearing all that from someone like Armin – so gentle, so thoughtful – felt like a rare kind of magic.

To have someone like him see you, really see you and still think the world of you – that was a gift you hadn’t even known you needed.

[kedreeva]

Any bird artists/graphic designers/photo-editors out there that might be willing to make a logo and/or a merch design for our local small game bird association, after the new year?

Story below the cut if you want more info

I'm currently in the process of taking over my state game bird association's website stuff, to help them recover after incredibly bad leadership did their level best to wreck it entirely. It's a "State" association, in that it's for people in this state but isn't run by the state, it's just like. a few people who like game birds who have made nonprofit (like an actual 501(c)) club for other people that like game birds. There's less than 100 members in it according to the registry I saw, to give you an idea what it's like. I'm dealing with one 70+ year old lady, one Older Mom (who isn't even in the association anymore) that helped transfer stuff out of her name, and one Other Lady (who is apparently the sister of one of the hospital board members, but who lacks her sister's desire to watch the world burn I guess) that I've only had phone conversations with so far. I've so far been able to get their website under control and I'm working on getting their facebook back into their hands (it's still being held hostage by a hostile board member they're trying to get rid of), and to try to help them all limp into being a functional association again, like it was when I first started interacting with it 20 years ago.

That being said, in the transfer of the site, the previous site is 100% lost, including all old graphics. No one still in the association has any of the old graphics saved. That's fine, they were.... terrible. Like, this is an old preview pic of the site banner

Truly terrible. So, not gonna lie, kinda glad it's gone forever.

There is an OLDER banner, from before dickhead mcfuckface took over the association, and it's "better" but it's very clearly got an 80s vibe like you would not believe

But, the old lady that is running the association now asked me about having a header on the front page, so here I am. I told her that there were a TON of talented artists that would be happy to be paid (all of the following would be PAID work, if the association can afford it and if not they will just do without, I was VERY clear about needing to pay artists for work) to design a logo and/or some kind of graphic designer that could help with a little banner for the website. She also asked me about selling t-shirts and hats, since some people at the swaps have asked for them. I told her that a nice looking logo would be a good start for that kind of thing, but that I could ask around and see if anyone wanted to draw a game bird design to sell at their bake sale table or maybe redbubble or something similar so people can just get what they want.

I'm sorry that this is vague, but beyond the logo/site header, I'm not sure exactly what they are going to want, just that they are going to want An Artist Or Three. You'd be dealing with me once I've wrangled them into telling me what they exactly want for anything outside the website.

As for the website, I actually don't mind the basic design of the second banner (the 80's one, a rectangle, circle badge logo in the middle, game animals to either side), and I think it would be good to bring back that general feel, but cleaner and brighter on colors, and different animals. The club does not really deal with deer or raccoons regularly, and pheasants are not the only game birds. I was thinking maybe just doing birds on both sides. Peacocks, pheasant, chicken, turkey, ducks, quail, and dove(s) are the most common at swap meets, so some combo of those would be nice (doesn't need to have all of them), as that's what members will mostly be raising.

If that's something you feel you might be interested in, and can provide your pricing & an example of your style so I can bring it to them and tell them I want them to pay you to give me things for the site and/or association at large.

For the laughs, here is what I "mocked up" for them as an idea

But they also liked the idea of a plain badge logo like this one (because they don't live and breathe peafowl I assume, it's the only explanation)

anyway. if you have the art skills and wanna help a bird nerd group out, please let me know!

[prettyiwa]

Red

(Previous)

Relationship: March x NB!Farmer Content Tags: March POV, Alcohol Consumption, Light Flirting/Teasing, March is March (emotionally constipated), Developing Feelings, 4-Heart Event, Incidental Shooting Star Festival, Referenced fear of the sea, References to March's parents (spoilers?) Summary: March begins to accept the Farmer's presence in town—at least so far as their usefulness. (Denial). Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Tumblr was being finicky about my header and hiding my attempts to post Summer a month ago. I finally figured out it was my header and instead of keeping Spring/Summer in one post, I decided to split them again. As always, special thanks to @owoasis for letting me talk your ear off about March, your favorite character to hate 💜💜 Also thank you to the metalsmith who let me ask questions for a throwaway conversation ahahaha

SUMMER, Year 1

There is no relief to be found from a summer breeze as the sun bears down upon him, even in the evening. Between the heat of the forge in the early morning and the weight of the sun on his back all day, he’s had no reprieve from this week’s heatwave.

Ryis and Reina are both preoccupied, leaving March alone in his trek to the beach, not that he’s complaining.

As far as he can remember, he’s always found comfort in the sand, in the briny scent heavy in the air. Even now, in his approach, he feels better simply for the whiffs of sea that waft over the trees near Sweetwater. It’s always been this way, but he doesn’t know whether it’s tied to the natural presence of the sea or if it’s some enduring association with his dad he’s tried forgetting.

Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, he’s made it his own.

Breaking through the tree line, the heat turns blistering, the last bastion holding on as the sun hangs low in the sky, blinding in its descent. He raises an arm to block out the light, eyes scanning the shoreline in search of someone (anyone). There’s a figure seated at the docks, looking out to the west, and he heads in their direction.

Not until he’s coming down the steps from Terithia’s does he realize that it’s you, though, again, he’s not complaining.

Despite his hard words when he gave you the hoe, you’ve lingered, almost constantly in his peripheral. Both Olric and Ryis talk about you, the latter more than the former. Since he unleashed on you in the spring, you’ve ensured a steady supply of fresh produce, helped restore the mill, and are currently working with Ryis to renovate the general store. That’s not mentioning the ore you give Olric to give to March. Can’t really complain about someone who’s chipping in.

His boots knock against the pier and you half-turn in acknowledgment, face mostly hidden between the wide brim of your hat and your sunglasses. Adorned in a loose-fitted button up and shorts, your boots sit to the side, allowing you to dangle your feet above the flow of the rising tide.

“What’s up?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the horizon. Do you know who’s at your side?

A wave comes, larger than those before, reaching your feet. With a kick, you splash the water, the subtle lift of your cheeks telling him of your mood. He removes his own boots, tucking his socks within them, and joins you on the edge, bumping your shoulder on his descent.

“Trying to escape the heat,” he answers, ignoring the urge to look at you (made infinitely harder when you start at the sound of his voice, turning to face him with obvious surprise).

“Ah. That makes sense. I don’t know how you can handle the forge for as long as you do.”

“You get used to it. An artisan such as myself can’t afford to stop just because of a little heat.”

With a snort, you return your attention to the horizon, allowing him to sneak a glance. Your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, bringing a new heat to his face—he can and will blame it on the sun if asked. But more than that, he’s drawn to the curve of your lips, the serenity in your smile.

“Oh, of course,” you say, sarcasm drawing out your words. “I guess I’ll just have to spend more time at the forge. Maybe then the rest of summer will be bearable.”

“Are you really such a wimp that this is too much for you?” As far as you’re concerned, this heat is nothing to him (even if there’s a part of him currently wishing he could venture further into the sea than his calves).

Rather than bristling like expected, you laugh, loud and uninhibited. “Jeez, only you.” Wiping tears from behind your glasses, you say, “Beaches up north are cooler than here. Never liked the heat of the capital, either. Maybe I am a wimp.”

You’re completely at ease, more than he’s seen from you sober, though it’s probably just the atmosphere.

The sun hovers near the line of the horizon, turning the sky. Calm azure meets the copper that bleeds from the sun. Salt kisses his skin as the tide ebbs and flows, lapping at his feet, and a breeze finally begins to blow.

“Say, Red?” Leaning back on your arms, your voice lifts with an impending proposition. “You wanna share a beer with me?” A quick glance around confirms a distinct lack of beer around. Anticipating his question, you add, “In exchange for my imported beer, Terithia let me use her cooler.”

“Imported—? Hemlock’s brew isn’t good enough for you now?”

“Ah, you’ll see.” The sun hits your face just right so he can see past the shade of your sunglasses as you turn, allowing him to admire the crinkle of your eyes with your grin. “I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing his shoulder, you pull yourself up, the water from your feet splashing where they land. With your back to him, he’s free to watch as you run toward the shack, not minding your bare feet on the hot planks.

He closes his eyes to the sky. What the hell is he doing? The longer you spend here, helping folks, the tighter his chest grows, wary you’ll leave like all the others. It’s only a matter of time.

The padding of your feet brings him back, though he doesn’t turn to look away until you’re only a few feet from him. The bottle you hand him has a black label, some brew he doesn’t recognize (he didn’t expect differently). As he goes to remove the cap, he realizes it’s not a twist-off.

“How am I supposed to open this?”

Settling down beside him, a few inches further than before, you look up. “Hm? Oh. You don’t—? That’s fine. Gimme,” you say, wagging your fingers at him.

Passing over the bottle, he watches you line up both bottles in the same hand, the edge of his lid above yours. Bringing both down against the wood, his cap goes flying backward, clattering against the dock. When offered, he accepts his bottle, trying to hide the sliver of awe he feels.

He brings the bottle to his lips, watching as you pull the knife you keep on your belt, using it to leverage your cap off. Feeling his stare on you, you meet his eyes again, offering a wink and a lopsided smile. Warmth spreads from his neck as he turns away and you laugh as he takes a swig from his beer. It’s smooth as it goes down with a pleasant crisp that lingers on his tongue.

“Nice, right?”

Grunting in response, still a little bitter that you winked at him, he takes another sip.

“That’s what I thought.” He can hear the smile on your voice. “It’s from home, a little town in the mountains. One of the only things I miss from there. Like it better here.”

You probably liked “home” at some point, too, but you still left.

“It’s alright,” he mutters.

Laughing again, he glances over, catching the way you hold your tongue between your teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

Silence falls between you both, the horizon catching fire with the sun almost gone, a last flicker of flame before night takes hold. It’s gorgeous, accompanied by the steady wash of the waves against the shore, the occasional cry of a seagull. He savors the citrus of the beer as the wind grows persistent and his muscles begin to relax.

Giving into impulse, he shifts to watch you.

Stray hairs fall from under your hat, framing your face. You’ve taken off your sunglasses, hanging them from your shirt, allowing him to watch as the remnants of the sun reflect in your eyes. Your smile never falters and he envies you for it.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, you say, “I’m not going anywhere, Red. I like it here. I like my farm. I like working the land. I like helping Ryis and Adeline and Hayden. I like being useful.” Lifting your knee, you rest your cheek, eyes flitting across his face before meeting his gaze. “I think I could even come to like you, too.”

The slow lift of your lips gives away your tease, the reluctant press of the corners of your mouth as though you’re trying to repress your smile that causes his blush to blossom across warm cheeks.

Part of him, and he doesn’t know how large a part, wants to believe you. But he’s heard those words before from another adventurer who once settled down. That didn’t stop them from leaving. Words don’t carry as much weight as actions, not even pretty words like yours, so he’ll wait and see.

He lays back, eyes catching on the stray clouds scattered across the twilight sky. A stronger breeze blows through, combining with the chill of the sea at his feet, sending shivers down his spine. A chuckle escapes you, the sound pleasant, different from the others he’s heard before. Propping himself up, he notices the clouds that gather to the south, beyond the sight of you. Following his line of sight, you sigh, the sound forlorn, though he can’t imagine why.

“Juni gave me a crystal ball that predicts the weather. With how hot it was today, I didn’t want to get my hopes up about its prediction for tomorrow.”

The rustling of your movement draws him to you once more, watching as you start to pick yourself up. He lays back down as you bend over, your sunglasses almost slipping lose as you reach for your shoes.

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

Can’t argue with you there, but he can’t quite find it in him to move. Sensing this, you tuck your empty bottle into the shaft of your boot, freeing your hand to offer it as help. If not for the beer, he’d otherwise smack it away. As it is, he’s already pulling his feet out of the water and reaching for your hand.

Calluses litter your palm, different from his, solidified after years of blacksmithing. His thoughts travel to the life you lived before, the one that gives you experience with your sword, the one that created the habit of keeping a knife on your belt. Did your calluses develop then? Or are they from your first few months here?

Effortlessly, you pull him up, and he feels a little dizzy. The moment he registers the warmth of your hand still wrapped around his, he lets go as though you’re metal fresh from the forge.

As he goes to pick up his boots, his attention remains on the incoming clouds, blotting out the stars as they grow in volume. Before he can ruminate, before memories of the past can pick up, you distract him.

“You haven’t seen the farm yet, have you?”

“You need a chaperone to make it home?”

His shoulder jolts as you push him, clicking your tongue. “You wish. I actually wanted your input on some plans I’ve been drawing up. It’d be easier if you knew what I was working with.”

Yeah, right.

“Ryis is the one you want to talk to about things like that,” he says, denial settling in his chest.

You start walking backwards, urging him to follow if only so you don’t trip over the edge of the docks. That’d be a nightmare—you, finding out he doesn’t swim on the off chance you fucking fall into the sea.

“Please. Can you look where you’re going?” His arms come out, ready to grab you if you fall, though you never do.

Oh, if only he could wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.

“Worried about me? How queer.” Despite your tease, despite your glowing smile, you comply, turning, allowing his heart to slow. “If you don’t wanna come, don’t worry about it, but I meant it about wanting your input. I’ve been trying to hone my blacksmithing skills so you don’t have to worry about orders from me, too, but I think I might be out of my depth.”

Of course you are. “What do you mean, so I don’t have to worry about you? Do you think I can’t handle it?”

This sigh is exasperated, tired, making your cheeks fall. “That’s not what I meant. You think I want to hand you yet another order for nails? I’d rather commission you to craft my next sword. That seems more worthy of your skill.”

Oh.

He’s left watching as you finally bristle, rolling your eyes before turning toward the shore, leaving him to follow in your wake. In the silence that follows, he reflects on your words, letting your sentiments replay in his mind. The walk to Sweetwater takes on a different tone until something strikes him.

Reaching the edge of the ranch, he stops you.

“Don’t tell me you’re still using that rusted piece of garbage when you go into the mines.”

You’re still the only person daring enough to enter the mines in any meaningful fashion, and each time he sees that rusted junk attached to your hip, he becomes dangerously close to having an aneurysm.

“Yeah. I miss my old sword, which is why I wanted to commission you for a new one. Among other things.”

“What happened to your sword? What kind of adventurer loses their sword?”

You pause, eyes widening imperceptibly, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s properly asked about your past—up until now, everything he’s learned about you has been against his will. A slow smile appears, your previous irritation falling to the wayside, and you say, “That’s a tale for when I have a few more drinks in me. Doesn’t really matter since I don’t have it though. The way Balor spoke of this place, I didn’t think I’d need it. A little hamlet in need of hard work? Somewhere he felt comfortable staying for a time?” You chuckle at some memory, lost to him. “Imagine getting here and being handed a rusted piece of shit instead of a scythe.”

He’s not sure he wants to hear the story, something grating in the back of his mind at your words, but he does know that the mention of crafting a sword has his mind working overtime. It’s been so long…

“So. Final offer: wanna swing by the farm? Or should I just come and bother you later this week?”

“Olric doesn’t like when the weather gets like this. I should head back,” he says, not looking at you. “But you know what? Come by the shop tomorrow. We can talk about that sword.”

The smile you reward him with is blinding, causing his heart to hiccup at the sight. For as long as you’ve lived here, he’s never been on the receiving end of it, and he’s not quite a fan of the fluttering it causes beneath his skin.

“Hell yeah,” you say, your smile never fading. “In that case, I’m gonna head home.” He watches as you turn, heading toward the path he’s never taken. After a minute, you look over your shoulder, that smile still there. “I had fun hanging out with you today, Red! Thank you for sitting with me.”

Yeah, he really doesn’t like that fluttering you leave him with.

“Eighty tesserae for each ingot? Are you sure?” March asks, eyeing the crates loaded onto Balor’s cart outside of the inn. “That’s… that’s amazing!”

“It is, isn’t it? That means I was able to get quite a bit more iron than we had originally agreed upon for the same price,” Balor says, pride heavy in his voice. “The problem is, I injured myself loading all of it beforehand, so I won’t be able to help unload. I’ll cut another five percent off the price if you and Olric take care of it yourselves.”

“That’s… You’re joking.”

“I am not. I’d like to get to Valen before my next excursion, but I can’t do that until this is taken care of.” While Balor’s smile hasn’t faltered, there’s an edge to his voice that March would rather not test.

He’s in no position to complain, nor can he pass up the opportunity to save tesserae where possible. Factor in his current workload and there’s no time to complain.

“Right. We’ll handle it. Let me get Olric.”

Balor’s response is lost to him as he hurries down Main Street, eager to not let this deal go to waste. He’s grateful, not just for the discount, but for the extra ingots which will be useful in the coming weeks. With fall around the corner, the rush for repairs will compound his workload and the additional iron will allow him to get a head start.

Rounding the corner, he calls out to Olric, apprising him of the situation, only for his eyes to fall on you.

You’re slipping on your blacksmithing gloves and his first thought is that you’re here to try and work on your own projects, comfortable in your skill to handle them without help in the immediate.

“What are you doing here? Not trying to use the forge, right?” he asks, though it comes out like a bark.

Olric chimes in and March realizes what happened. The traitor. As March readies himself to dismiss you, he’s reminded that Hemlock asked if he could craft the inn a new cauldron, something he wished to deliver tonight.

Fuck.

“Fine. Stick around and help if you think you won’t slow us down.”

Your eyes narrow, but your lips curl into a wry smile, asking, “When have I ever genuinely slowed you down, Red?” Olric shifts beside you and your eyes flicker to him. “Alright, what do you need, Boss Man?”

Another—? “First: Olric— no, wait. First, don’t call me that.” Olric’s worry lines disappear at the sound of your laughter. “Second: Olric, I need you to start carrying over the shipment. Balor has it at the inn. You,” he commands, finding you annoyingly attentive, “get the forge fired up.”

Olric disappears from view and March follows as you prepare the forge, something akin to pride flaring in his chest at how easily you take to it, remembering the lesson. With the fire going, you look over your shoulder, smiling when you find him already watching.

“So you have a problem when I call you ‘Boss Man’ but not when I call you ‘Red,’ eh?”

Heat crawls up his neck, settling across his face and he rolls his eyes. “Shaddup, will you? Let’s just get this done.”

“You got it, Red,” you say with a wink, laughing when he turns around.

Working alongside you is different than when you watch him in the afternoons or he watches you in the evenings. It’s different when you move around him before he can ask, when you’re quick to take direction (and you’re so easy to direct). Unlike when he works alone, you’re largely silent, offering little more than the occasional wink or small nod as you two work.

About halfway through, you step back, slipping off the glove on your right hand to grab your canteen. His eyes are drawn to the bob of your throat as you drink, to the trickle of water that escapes your lips. With your forearm, you wipe away the sweat gathering on your forehead.

“Think you were one hundred percent right, Red,” you say, removing your second glove. He pauses, openly watching as you pull your hair up.

“Of course I was. About what?”

“I am a wimp when it comes to the heat. I’m more than a little impressed that you can do this everyday.”

“Then why even come? Your plan of avoiding the forge until the evening seemed to be working for you.”

Grabbing your gloves, you start slipping them on again, teeth biting your bottom lip before that grin breaks free, wide and carefree. Your eyes meet his and he can’t look away. “And miss out on the opportunity to do all this?”

There’s something in the way you say it, something in the way the words drop from your lips like honey. Is there more that you’re not saying? Your following wink seems to support that (you need to stop).

“S-stop joking around.”

Returning to the barrel hoops, each strike of his hammer seeks to suppress the creeping flush, the image of you burned so thoroughly into his retinas that he sees you without looking. Venturing a glance, he sees you hard at work, focused on your hands, smile still present.

When Olric returns from speaking with Adeline, you grow chatty, cracking jokes and telling anecdotes of your life in the city. Then come the compliments. Compliments to Olric, to his patience and strength. Compliments to March, to his efficiency and concentration. Things neither would even think of, things he doesn’t believe to be deserving of attention as they’re simply facts of his work, but the way the words come make him pause. They make him fluster.

Which is stupid.

He doesn’t need your supposed praise to know he’s doing a good job or that his work is the best around. There’s no reason for him to be heating up at your words. Even if he finds himself getting into the zone a little easier. Even if the weight of the work before him seems lighter. Even if, for all intents and purposes, he’s starting to have fun.

You say as much when the work is finished, when the three of you are sweating and tired from everything you’ve accomplished. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you almost look like you belong here.

The moment it crosses his mind, he feels on edge, eyes shifting to Olric who looks all too pleased by the outcome of everything (of course he would; he’s the one who invited you in the first place). As possible as it is that Olric only invited you here to lighten the load, it’s possible there was another reason for his actions, some quiet wish he hasn’t voiced to March.

Whatever that could be…

It’s suddenly all too hot and he’s entirely too aware of you and Olric to think.

“I… I need to cool down. I’ll be inside,” he says, rushing past you to the shop. As his hand wraps around the doorknob, he turns to you, spotting the slight pout of your lips. That’s— “I’ll need time to recover from all the work we did today. Come by again on Sunday and we can talk more about your sword.”

Your tongue laves your bottom lip before you offer a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. Okay. See you then, Red.”

The door shuts behind him as the nickname leaves your mouth and he presses himself against it, trying to catch his breath. That he has to catch his breath at all is—

maddening.

Crickets begin their song along the path leading to the Narrows and the moisture that hangs in the air adds to the weight of the swing of his hammer. March’s clothes stick to him as he works, partly because of his refusal to stop working, partly because of the insufferable humidity lingering from last night’s storm.

Harsh clangs ring throughout the square in time with his strikes as people start making their way to wherever they’ll be viewing the stars. Every strike of his augments the irritation that’s been building since this afternoon, your noted absence making it worse.

He’s seen scant trace of you since you helped out on Thursday, barely catching sight of you at the inn on Friday. Even if his appointment with Vera ran long yesterday, he expected you to stop by in the evening as you are prone to doing. But there has been no sight of you. The heat has come and gone, the shadows have danced across the ground until swallowing the world, and still no sight of you.

It’s not as though you two have a lot of history making plans—you come and go as you please—but the two times he has asked for you, you’ve been punctual. Hell, when last he asked you to stop by and talk about your commission, you were waiting in the rain before the shop even opened. It…

It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t be bothered by your absence. (If anything, he should feel relieved). (If he is bothered, it’s only because he asked you to come and you agreed). The longer he ruminates, the more irate he grows, blaming it entirely on you because it’s your face he sees when his hammer makes contact and sparks fly.

Laughter rings out near the fountain and he looks up, catching the amethyst of Juniper’s hair as she leads Valen. They turn their heads toward the anvil and Valen offers a wave. As March nods in acknowledgment, Juniper adopts her usual haughty smile, heading down the steps toward the inn. If he concentrates, he thinks he can hear Balor and Hayden. Are you caught up with someone else in town, readying yourself to look at the stars with them?

Something ugly starts gnawing behind his sternum and he rolls his eyes. Footsteps approach from the woods, and he assumes it’s Olric with one last ditch effort to get him to watch the sky.

“I already told you, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, but Red,” he hears you say, making his heart pick up in his chest, prompting him to look over his shoulder, “I think you will be.”

You’re dressed in a thick cotton blouse and jeans, though they’re torn just above the knee. Blood stains the fabric and there are light scratches littering your forearms. Either you’ve done him the courtesy of hiding that rusted abomination, or you went into the mines unarmed. A flash of heat flares in his chest at the thought, and you smile knowingly, eyes twinkling in a way that promises nothing good.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, fist clenching around the handle of his hammer before releasing it, letting it clatter against the anvil as he turns around.

“Did you want to spend more time with me that much?” you tease, oblivious to the anger that must be radiating from him as you shuffle out of your sack, positioning it for easy access. He steps forward and your eyes flicker up, flitting across his face. The edge to your smile softens as you turn your eyes back down.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you start, unexpectedly earnest. “I justified it by telling myself I wouldn’t be too long and that we never agreed on a time and…”

You’re rambling. You don’t ramble. Do… Is it that you feel bad for what could ostensibly be considered standing him up? (That makes it sound like a date, which this is very much not).

Deft fingers pull at the leather straps of your rucksack, pulling the flap to reveal the familiar sheen of silver.

“I found silver.” There’s pride in your voice and something that sounds almost conspiratorial. His anger begins to dissipate as you loosen the strings, letting him slip his hand inside to grab a piece.

Its weight is familiar, sitting differently in his hand than the copper or iron you’ve brought him thus far. It’s been over a year since he was able to work with silver. Rotating it in his hand, his thoughts drift to Josephine and Valen, to much needed silverware and medical supplies.

“You found silver.”

You beam at him, the same smile you shared with him when he first promised to do something about your sword, and the back of his knees start to feel weak.

“It’s all yours if you forgive me for being late.”

“Not a chance. It’s not like you know what to do with it otherwise,” he bites, not quite ready to free you from his ire. He hasn’t taught you how to work silver, but that lesson isn’t too far away.

Swiping the silver from his hand, you say, “I could give it to Balor with explicit instructions to sell it outside of Mistria.” A hollow threat if ever you’ve given one. With how much you insisted upon a silver sword, you wouldn’t relinquish it so quickly. “And what, you’re gonna make something for me if I gift it to you?”

“You wish,” he says, eyes narrowing. Truth is, he’s tired of the orders he’s been working on and he’d need to re-familiarize himself with silver before undertaking an order from Josephine or Valen. The silver you give him now will likely go to something you could use if only because he knows you’d be quick to bring more.

But you don’t need to know that.

(Even if he suspects that you already do).

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss, bringing your bag to his work bench. He follows, watching as you unload your silver delivery until the bag is empty. Reaching into the front pocket, you pull out what he can only imagine to be food, wrapped in the butcher paper from the inn. Glancing at him as your fingers begin to pull at the wrapping, you ask, “You mind if I eat while we talk? I haven’t sat down since I got up this morning.”

“Would you stop if I told you I minded?”

Your fingers stop pulling at the tape, the hint of a smile disappearing before you bob your head. Guilt pulls at his throat, not expecting you to take his rhetorical question seriously.

“It’s fine! Eat if you’re hungry! Should’ve taken a break earlier.”

Without missing a beat, your finger slips under the tape to undo the wrapping, revealing a lobster roll. He watches as you tear the sandwich in half.

“Share with me?”

You pose it like it’s a non-issue, like you couldn’t care either way, but he has a feeling you do. As he prepares to turn you down—it’s your food and you just said you haven’t rested since you got up—his stomach growls, betraying him.

“... Fine.”

“It’s Reina’s, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s fine,” he says, taking the offered roll.

You follow his lead, coming to sit at the edge of the steps of the forge, arm’s distance from one another.

Just as he’s about to take a bite from the sandwich, you say, “So. About my sword…”

He closes his mouth, lowering his sandwich before looking at you. “You want it to be silver?”

“I do! I know what you’re gonna say: steel will last longer and work better. But silver’s great against monsters.”

Rolling his eyes, he sighs through his nose. Hunger wins out over the urge to rehash this argument, so he tells you, “Go ahead. Make your case while I finish.”

“I mean, what’s there to say? Silver weaponry always works better against monsters, and considering that’s all I’m using my sword for, I think it’s for the best. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the magic here is overwhelming. Silver just… cuts through it all. It’s not like I’m fighting people in Mistria, so silver will protect me just fine. Any other situation, hell yeah, I’d defer to you, but I’m gonna be a little pushy here. And before you even say it, I do trust you as a professional, but I’m asking that you trust me as a professional, too. You’re the best blacksmith I’ve seen, so I don’t want you to think that I’m discounting your opinion.”

Swallowing, he wants to suppress the heat that crawls up his neck. “I’m the only blacksmith you’ve seen.”

“In Mistria? Yeah,” you laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re certainly my favorite.” Glimpsing in your direction shows your cheeky grin. “I could always commission you for a steel sword after we get the blast forge built?”

“I’ll charge extra.”

“Worth every tesserae.”

Outside of Balor, you’ve certainly the most experience with monsters (perhaps the only one with genuine experience). He’s unsure about all this magic talk, but he’s coming to trust your experience as an adventurer. As you eat, he weighs your words, eyes dancing across the scratch on your leg, the nicks across your arms.

“I’ll get started on your silver sword.”

“Thank you, Red,” you effuse, your smile audible.

The sincerity of your gratitude eats at him, making his skin tingle, and he can’t stand watching you. Beside him, you turn your face upward. It’s a moment before you nudge his shoulder. When he looks, your free hand is extended, pointed toward the sky.

“Hey, look.”

Stars shoot across the sky, vibrant against the backdrop of the cosmos, one right after the other. He’s mesmerized by the way they move, unable to look away.

“Did you know this was tonight?” Reverence drips from your tongue, so strong he wants to watch you instead (he doesn’t).

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” Even as he says it, he’s not so sure anymore. He never felt like he was missing much when he skipped this night every year for the last couple decades.

“Wow, they’re so clear here. I’d watch them when I was in the capital and sometimes at home, but they never looked like this.”

The urge to look at you grows, demanding his attention be torn from the sky and be placed upon you. Uncertainty grows at the revelation and he keeps his eyes trained on the sky, even if he’s otherwise focused on you. Even if he wants to meet your eyes when you turn to look at him.

“Did you ever hear about the legend surrounding tonight?”

“No. I… never cared about the festival.”

“... That’s fine. It’s just a story anyway.”

Something in his chest aches and it feels almost as though something is crawling under his skin at the thought of asking you to clarify, so he doesn’t. You’ll probably share it with him one day anyway.

Red Masterlist | Next ➥

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