#security alarm setup

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 3.5]

ཐིཋྀ: this isn't what i want to be part 4 so we're gonna call it an in-between to save my sanity and give ya'll something to read at the cost of my roman numeral aesthetic (rip she'll be missed).

warnings: dialogue heavy, absolute fluff, hints of jealousy, tiny bit of angst for days loong since past.

masterlist| ao3

There are three floors dedicated to housing the New Avengers. The original setup hadn't been changed: two rooms, full bathrooms attached, and a shared living/dining room with a full kitchen. Being the gentleman, Bucky offered his room to you for the remainder of the morning. He refused to leave you on a half-finished floor or the couch of the shared meeting space. He was also an hour out from his alarm going off. Getting back to sleep wasn't in the cards for the super soldier.

In the elevator, he explained he lived on the same level as Walker. Yelena was floored with Bob and Ava with Alexei. When you asked how that had come around, he gave a bone tired sigh.

“Ava would kill Walker in his sleep,” he said, point-blank. “Walker would kill Alexei with how loud he snores—this was the only option.”

“Guess Yelena wasn't budging?” you chuckled. Then again, you understood if she’d wanted as much space from her dad as possible.

“She's closest with Bob. Just made sense.” He opened his door for you, giving you the grand tour with a single arm wave. The room was spotless, everything having a dedicated place. Likely old army habits. “She pulls him out of his head. The rest of us are distractions at best.”

“Hey,” you murmured, nudging his shoulder with yours, “he cares about all of you so much. You're family.”

“Some family,” he scoffed, but there was a lift to the corner of his mouth. “Certainly warmed up to you fast.”

“Easy to get attached when you're in and out of each other's head. You saw how I was with Nat and Wanda.”

Bucky's lips flat-lined. Paired with a criminal side-eye, you shook your head and schooled your expression.

“Don't.” You turned to his bed, ripping off the comforter and climbing in. “I promised to help him. He's had enough trauma bonds to last a lifetime.”

“Its not a crime to get close to him, kid,” he grumbled, sighing when you gave your final look of warning. “All right. Just washed the sheets yesterday, but looks like you don’t care—” you grunted, burrowing into the bed—“yeah, figured. Get some sleep. You're welcome to anything.”

“Thanks,” you breathed, settling into his large and expensive mattress. “Night, Bucky.”

“Good morning.”

He closed the door on you rolling your eyes, the lights automatically dimming. The soft whir of electricity kept the lingering silence at bay. Between the light smell of his cologne and the original layout, there was an old sense of comfort being here but a strange uncanniness to it all, too.

Everything always changes.

You were exhausted, but your eyes remained wide open. Laying there facing the ceiling to floor windows, you watched the first streaks of sunlight peek through with slow breaths. The blue hour steadily brightened to gold. That never changed, at least, even after countless all-nighters for work.

Maybe I should’ve just stayed up like Bucky and done something useful. The lingering aches in your neck and back detested the train of thought.

A brush against your mind had you tensing and cursing at the muscle cramp before you recognized Bob's energy. Rubbing your neck, you allowed your shield to soften but not enough to provide him full entry.

You okay? you asked.

“I'm fine. I just… You're hurting. Are you okay?”

You frowned, shifting the covers over the bottom half of your face. That's weird. You shouldn't have been able to read my thoughts.

“It's not—I wasn't trying to. I mean I couldn't hear you, but I could feel you, you know?”

You had empath abilities, so it wouldn't be insane to think Bob shared the talent with his phrenic powers. That and maybe you didn't have the tightest security on your mind. It had been a long night. What do I feel like then?

“Physically? Like me reading with my head down all day.”

And emotionally? You quizzed just because you were curious.

“Maybe…despondent?”

You huffed, already well aware where that word had come from. Dr. Arlington brought out the emotion chart, huh?

“I didn't realize how many flavors of sad there were.”

Flavors? you laughed.

“It sounded better than ‘types’ but I immediately regret everything.”

You giggled into your pillow, finally letting your eyes drift shut. Thanks. I feel better.

“I'm sorry I ruined your night.”

You didn't. It wasn't your fault.

“I can tell it was bad. Yelena was looking at me differently.”

I don't want you to worry about it.

“I don't remember what happened,” he said, surly with himself. “Worrying is all I can do.”

I'll clue you in, you promised, just not right now. I'm tired.

“Me too. My brain just won't shut up.” There was a pause where both of your psyches drifted, his nudging yours before pulling back. “Sorry. How do you keep yourself in one place?” You threw a mental shrug his way and felt his awe at understanding it. “We can emote in here?”

You were too exhausted to laugh. Smiling hurt, but you did it without a second thought. So much we can do. Probably. Wanda and I would watch movies from memory and play simple games sometimes. Good practice but she skipped a lot of scenes sometimes.

“Wanda?”

Scarlet Witch? You were surprised to sense he hadn’t heard of her. She was a part of the Avengers for a while.

“I've lost a lot of time over the years. Never really kept up with news or social media.” The image of books and libraries flashed by. A kind old librarian signing off on a library card and telling him not to worry about the address. “I read about them a bit before I was…this. Maybe I should study up since I apparently have an amalgamation of their powers.”

Hmm. Good idea. You also were inspired for your next lesson with him.

“You mean today?”

Another shrug, weaker this time. You barely felt him brush over you, another accident like bumping into your friend on the sidewalk. There was warmth, bashfulness, an understanding. Something you couldn't quite pinpoint passing through in your fading awareness.

“I'll let you sleep.”

Mmm. Night, Bob.

A hand squeeze, scratchy fingers pushing back your hair or fixing the blankets closer. All those things wrapped into one as you drifted away from him, but they were so easy to lose and forget.

“Sweet dreams.”

It echoed into sleep.

Bob had never been much of a cook for many reasons but left to his own devices while the team was out, he thought it would be something worth learning, especially after Alexei's rule at the Watchtower after their second week living together.

“We eat dinner as team. As family.”

Bucky agreed to it, the actual leader on paper, but he had added to the rule: every floor divided up the work. Tonight was Ava and Alexei's turn and if the team knew anything, it was to come to those dinners with low expectations. But, since then, he had gotten a small talent for simple recipes, and being able to provide something—anything for the people who took him in when no one else would…

Well, it made him feel a bit better about himself. He couldn’t help them on missions, not as he was, so this was the next best option.

Yelena walked into the shared kitchen with all the swagger of a deadly assassin, footsteps always soft but never quite enough that Bob’s super hearing didn’t pick it up unless he was too deep in his head. “Smells good in here.”

“I made extra,” he called back, smiling to himself. She always ate whatever he made, even the more ungodly versions in the past. She also had amazing timing, never far when he started cooking. She was also a snacker and made it a habit to check he was eating during his lower days. It was easier with someone else around to remind him.

“Breakfast?” she said it in a teasing tone as it was technically lunch time, but Bob had been in the mood for morning-associated foods after everything hours ago. Also, his bread was going stale, and he knew how to remedy that.

Yelena stepped up beside him, thanking him as he pointed out the plates on the counter. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really. I tried,” he sighed, scared of worrying her, “but it was driving me crazy just laying there.”

Yelena gasped softly, ducking into his vision and pointing. “Is that French toast? We’re fancy now?”

He shrugged, smiling into his shoulder and keeping an eye on the bacon in the mini oven.

“Lots of food here,” she noted, filling her plate.

“I was gonna ask the others, too.”

“And maybe a certain guest?”

He glared at her but there was no real anger behind it. The timer went off, interrupting her bouncing eyebrows. He grabbed the cooking glove and set the hot pan over the back of the stove top to cool, meat sizzling and crunchy—just how she liked it.

“Felt like it's the least I could do,” he murmured.

Yelena made a noise in the back of her throat as she took her first bite of French toast, leaning back against the counter to keep him company. The eggs got cold fast, so he was making them now. “With how good this tastes, she might marry you.”

He rolled his eyes, moving the slices of bacon onto a paper towel plate when there was time between scrambling the yolks. “You want some eggs, too?” Yelena thrusted her plate out, mouth full and two slices of bread half-eaten. “You forgot the syrup,” he pointed out.

She shook her head, garbling out, “Powder sugar’s sweet enough.”

“That’s like, the whole point of French toast. No one eats it without syrup.”

“Well, I do. Meh,” she grumbled, her side bumping his as they passed smiles.

By the time he was munching on his own breakfast-for-lunch, Yelena was wishing him a good day and heading out. Dressed in athletic pants and a tank, he assumed she would be training. The home gym wasn’t quite finished yet, but Valentine had found them a place nearby with some sponsorship or something. He hadn’t gone yet despite the multiple invites, but his crazy body didn’t seem to be softening up with the lack of exercise. Yelena cursed him for that.

“Oh,” she paused in his doorway, turning to look at him, “she stayed in Bucky's room I think.”

He choked on his orange juice.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said, stern and expression wholly unimpressed.

“I-I mean, they're close,” he coughed, grabbing a paper towel and wincing as the movement sent his fork off his plate and onto the counter. Everything was so loud these days. “Shouldn't be that surprising.”

“If he liked her, I would know.” She tapped her temple. “I sense these things. You have no competition, Bob.”

“That's not what I was saying,” he complained, refusing to look at her, but the noise she made proved she wasn’t leaving until he did.

She just pointed at him when he turned, Cheshire cat grin bright. “Be good. Be back in a couple hours.”

Rubbing at his eye as it twitched, Bob sighed and leaned back against the counter. He glanced at the mess he’d made from cooking—already tired at the thought of cleaning—and then the ceiling. He swallowed because Bucky's room was above his. That made sense from how close he had sensed you last night.

You'd been different that time around, less casual-acquaintance-that-knew-far-too-much-about-him and more... More like a friend. Those moments had been popping up more, but last night you'd felt so comfortable around him in that space. You'd been easing off every few seconds but still trying to be attentive, caring. It made his heart ache--a fondness so deep it truly did physically hurt.

He felt trusted. Like maybe you really weren't afraid of what he could become with one wrong step.

Closing his eyes, he reached out for your subtle presence, always small until you opened up. How you kept such a solid shield up even in your sleep was awe-inspiring. Would he be able to do that?

Just as he moved a bit closer, wondering if he should attempt to rouse you so the food wouldn’t get too cold, you rippled, and he panicked. Before he could withdraw, you were meeting him halfway, groggy and confused.

“What time is it?”

He could hear the sleep in your voice even here in this in-between. Uh, just passed noon, I think?

The shock of that revelation passed through. “I can't believe I slept that long. Shit.”

I made food. If you're hungry. You don't have to eat it.

Amusement had him ducking into his shoulders. You weren't even in the room, and he felt like hiding in embarrassment.

“I'd love some. What floor are you on?”

You're still in your pajamas when you walk off the elevator, hair a tad messier and wearing a plain grey sweatshirt that he didn’t remember seeing last night. It didn't fit at all.

He swallowed and passed you a tight smile.

“Walking around in my pajamas here feels like a walk of shame,” you murmured, and he chuckled, hands shaking a bit as he twiddled his fingers in front of him. “Should've grabbed my go bag from the car.”

His eyes perked up, a few steps taken towards the elevator. “Do you want me to grab it?”

“No, food first, please.” You grabbed your stomach, eyes beseeching. “I’ll apologize for my lowly attire after.”

“I’m still in my pajamas,” he huffed. The feeling of your eyes skating over him made him want to shrivel up and die.

“But you look so cozy and nice, still,” you complained.

He shook his head and nodded towards the dining table, big enough for the entire team and daunting with only two of you nearby. “I’ll, uh, fix you a plate.”

“Thank you.” And the way you said it as well as the way you looked at him when you said it—he wasn’t sure how to explain it, but it didn’t pass through or feel half-meant.

Everything you said always felt whole, and he wanted every word.

“Yeah,” he choked out, “of course.”

[se-sissy-lina04]

Sissy’s masterlist

CT-Casa: Hallway-to-Hallway Overview

Subtitle: Where you live says more about you than your CT number.

501st Floor – "Noise. Blue LED strips. And a lot of chaos.”

Always too loud. Fives and Jesse argue about trivial things while Tup "tries to meditate."

Screeching droid noises from their (not approved) training room. (Fox said no. They built it anyway.)

Craft supplies from Ahsoka are everywhere: colorful stickers, paint cans, painted armor pieces.

Anakin "accidentally" got his own room, even though he doesn't live here.

Dynamic:

Large family clan, lots of shouting, deep loyalty.

You get coffee shoved into your hand without being asked.

Bets and Uno games escalate regularly.

212th Hall – “Warm colors, plants in helmets & occasional explosions”

Obi-Wan's corridor, basically. Calm. Clean. Almost... meditative.

Cody keeps a logbook of all activities. In color.

Waxer & Boil built a Tooka cat playground (in a former shower stall)… they don’t have a cat.

Everywhere, Mandalore posters hang—whether for nostalgic or satirical reasons, no one knows for sure.

plants are everywhere. It’s like a peaceful little garden to relax.

Dynamics:

"We are soldiers with soul."

Calmer than the 501st, but when it hits, it hits hard.

You will be greeted with tea. Or with irony.

Very protective. But in a quiet way.

Coruscant Guard Hall – "Discipline meets undercover softness. The No-Bullshit Police with great fashion sense."

Fox is in charge here. Literally.

Alarm systems, clean hallways, door sensors with security codes.

The carpet is... suspiciously fluffy for so much authority (Thorn snuck him in despite Fox’ “No carpet”-policy)

In one room: Fox's secret puzzle project.

In another: Thorn's collection of kitschy magnets with "I Love Coruscant" slogans.

Grizzer has his own little couch. (Thire once slept on it while being drunk. Grizzer was not happy.)

Dynamics:

Outside: Cool. Functional.

Inside: Absolute softies with a restrained need for closeness.

If you live here, you regularly get an extra coffee "by accident."

They say "don’t bother us," even though you know they are happy when you're there.

104th Battalion / Wolfpack Hall: "Stoics with hearts of gold."

Dim light. Star maps on the walls.

Wolffe has his own chair setup for evening silence with tea.

The unit is crafting mini-droids from spare parts. Some follow Zee through the house. One brings her chocolate in the evening.

A hallway dog was adopted. His name is "Grumbler." He only likes Zee.

There is a “Plo’s bro” graffiti on the living room wall

Dynamics:

Brotherly, almost familial solidarity.

They rarely talk about feelings – but they show them through gestures, repairs, and shared silence.

When Zee knocks, they growl – but immediately make room. "You can stay."

Zee's (your) Hallway:

You live... kind of everywhere. Your own little apartment lies between the hallways – neutral ground. The bridge. Everyone walks in without knocking. Privacy? What is that?

But your tea is at the 212th. Your cozy blanket is often with the 501st. And with the Coruscant Guard, you have your own cup with a Grizzer logo.

[fictionfanatic-wren]

The robin games

chapter 5/7. The Robin Games - Chapter 5 - Fictionfanatic_Wren - Batman - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

The small, dimly lit maintenance room was packed wall-to-wall with capes, armor, and confusion. Superman hovered just above the ground, arms crossed. Green Arrow was crouched near the half-eaten protein bar like it was a crime scene. Wonder Woman stood by the door, stone-faced. Hal Jordan paced, while Barry looked like someone had kicked his dog. “Alright,” Dinah said, hands on her hips. “Someone needs to explain why it smells like old coffee, protein bars, and deodorant for teenage boys in here.” “Because someone’s been living here,” Ollie grumbled, holding up the half-unwrapped bar with two fingers. “Look at this. Half-eaten. Not even wrapped properly. There’s coffee residue in the cup holder and prints on the terminal.” “That’s definitely not ours,” Barry added, squinting at the cup. “That’s the mug I’ve been looking for since yesterday. Yesterday, people.” “So someone’s been camping out on the Watchtower without us knowing,” Hal said, turning to Bruce with narrowed eyes. “Care to explain how your billion-dollar security system missed a freeloader living in the walls?” Bruce stood silent, face unreadable. “It didn’t miss them,” he said finally, tone low. “It found them just now.” “That’s not an answer,” Hal shot back. “I’m still processing the data,” Bruce replied smoothly, eyes never leaving the half-powered computer console. Clark floated a little closer, scanning the equipment with his x-ray vision. “There’s a whole tech setup hidden behind the panels,” he reported. “Wires, a motion sensor jammer, even a router spoof. This wasn’t slapped together. This was deliberate.” “So the real question,” Ollie muttered, “is which one of us brought a secret intern onboard.” Barry perked up, hopeful. “Maybe it’s a stowaway from Earth? A well-meaning super-fan?” “With access to League systems?” Diana said, one brow arching. “And the ability to bypass our security and, according to you, eat your pizza?” Barry deflated. “...Yeah, okay, probably not a fan.” “Let’s take stock,” Dinah said, ticking off her fingers. “We’ve had: stolen pizza, missing coffee mugs, glitter bombs in the armory, Green Arrow’s door screaming shame at him, and now someone is nesting in our walls. Someone very skilled.” Hal rubbed his temples. “Okay, real talk. If this is about the laser pointer prank from six months ago, I already apologized, Barry.” “That’s what you want me to think,” Barry snapped, arms flailing. “Maybe this is the long con. The real revenge!” “You are not important enough to sabotage with a long con,” Bruce said flatly, stepping past them to inspect the panel Tim had hastily closed. Everyone froze. “Spooky,” Clark said carefully. “That sounded kinda personal.” “Let’s not fight,” Diana said, sighing. “Let’s focus. Whoever’s here is skilled enough to hide, hack, and infiltrate without being caught for days. We need a plan.” “Oh, I’ve got one,” Ollie muttered. “We burn the whole maintenance wing and flush them out.” “Ollie.” “What? It worked with raccoons.” Bruce straightened from the console. “No fire” he said. “But we lock down non-essential areas. Increase patrols. Motion sensors, heat trackers, and set traps in likely routes.” Everyone nodded, except Barry, who just looked mournfully at his empty mug. “…I miss my coffee.”

Tim Drake moved quickly through the narrow metal duct, his body pressed low and knees aching from the awkward angles. He was running on pure adrenaline now, he’d narrowly escaped being discovered in the maintenance room, but not without losses. His spare toolkit, the laptop charger, and Barry’s coffee mug were all left behind. “Fantastic,” Tim muttered under his breath, the distant hum of voices below fading as he crawled deeper into the Watchtower’s belly. “All because someone decided to trigger an alarm right next to me.” He paused at a junction in the vent, twisting to glance at the corridor below through a slatted grate. Then, Thump. The faintest vibration in the metal above him. He stilled. Every instinct screamed caution. Someone else was in the shaft. Tim slowly reached for a small baton from his belt and turned. From the shadows, a low voice spoke: “You’re incredibly loud for someone who’s supposed to be stealthy.” Tim froze. A small figure crouched just ahead, perched in the shadows like a gargoyle. Damian. The youngest Robin looked perfectly at ease, barely winded, his cloak tucked tightly around his small frame, expression full of judgment. Tim narrowed his eyes. “You tripped the alarm, didn’t you.” Damian tilted his head. “Of course I did. This is a competition. Only the competent deserve to win. You were getting too comfortable.” Tim exhaled sharply, crawling closer so they could talk without echoing. “You little gremlin, I had a whole system running. I was fine until your stunt brought the League breathing down my neck.” Damian’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You were growing complacent. And it was funny.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know if they’d found my stuff-” “Then you would’ve lost. You should thank me for teaching you the importance of vigilance.” Tim stared at him. “You sound exactly like Bruce when he’s being a hypocrite.” “A compliment.” Tim groaned. “You stole Dick’s gear too, didn’t you?” Damian didn’t answer, but his smug silence spoke volumes. Tim muttered something under his breath that was definitely not appropriate for younger ears. The two stared at each other in silence, crouched in opposite corners of the vent. For a moment, there was a grudging, still tension between them. Then Tim sighed. “Fine. Truce. Just for today. I need a new hiding spot.” Damian raised a brow. “I’m not sharing my camp.” “I don’t want it. Just a direction that isn’t crawling with League members and panic.” Damian considered this. Then he jerked his chin to the left. “Upper deck. Storage vents near the armory. Leaguers don’t patrol there much.” Tim paused, then gave a curt nod. “Thanks.” Damian arched a brow. “Try not to get caught. It would be… disappointing.” Tim rolled his eyes and began crawling away. “Right back at you, gremlin.” Damian smirked as he disappeared into the shadows, already thinking of his next move.

Jason pressed himself against the cool metallic wall, breathing shallowly as he listened to the distant sound of boots echoing through the corridor. Way too many boots. He peeked around the corner. Green Arrow. Black Canary. Flash. All moving in different directions, radios buzzing on their hips. “Maintenance room sweep’s clear,” Dinana’s voice crackled over the comms. “Yeah, but somebody left a thermos of my coffee in there,” Barry hissed. Jason ducked back, swearing under his breath. This was bad. The League was in full lockdown mode now, walking around like a bunch of angry substitute teachers trying to catch kids passing notes. All because of one little triggered alarm and a missing mug. Okay. And maybe the trip wire in the gym. And maybe the slightly rigged training bot that randomly screamed insults at ollie for two hours. And, yeah, okay, a few pranks. He crept backward into a dark corridor that led to the utility crawlspaces. His old hiding spot in the storage bay was now way too risky, at least three League members had passed through in the last hour. Jason muttered to himself as he climbed into an access tunnel. “Could’ve just let Tim or Damian take the fall, but nooo. I had to switch Barry’s toothpaste with marshmallow fluff and now the whole tower’s on DEFCON 1.” He crawled deeper until he found a narrow space behind a ventilation conduit, the metal panels warm against his back. He took off his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow, then pulled a granola bar from his pocket and bit into it like it owed him money. Footsteps passed by again above. Jason closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. This was fine. This was manageable. He’d hide here for a bit, wait for the tension to cool, maybe frame Hal later if things got dire. No one suspected that Red Hood himself was in the watchtower. Yet. But the moment his eyes started to droop, a voice blared from a nearby intercom: “Reminder: motion sensors have been temporarily enhanced in this sector due to recent… incidents. Please report any suspicious movement immediately.” Jason sighed, then shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth. “I swear to god, if I find out Tim set this up…”

Watchtower, Sector B1, Personnel Quarters Dick Grayson moved like a shadow, a very annoyed, gearless shadow. His crawlspace hiding spot had been compromised hours ago. And without his tools, he was flying blind in a nest full of superheroes and security systems. Damian had swiped everything from his little rooftop nook, even his emergency chocolate bar. The betrayal stung. "Never trust a ten-year-old with murder training," Dick muttered under his breath as he crept through a dim hallway, every motion smooth but fueled by pure desperation. His Nightwing suit, while flexible, was now a beacon without the signal disruptors. The sleek navy blue made him far too recognizable for someone trying to stay unseen. He needed a disguise. Fast. He turned a corner, and stopped. Room B1-04. The door was heavy, black, and marked only by a biometric scanner and a simple nameplate: RESTRICTED, ACCESS LEVEL 10 Most of the League assumed this room was storage or an unused system control station. But Dick had known the truth since his early Robin years. Batman’s quarters. He hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then: “Desperate times…” Dick bypassed the lock with a quick override Bruce had taught him back when trust between them wasn’t a limited resource, and slipped inside. The room was spartan. Clean. Every corner obsessively organized. A minimalistic bed, a locked trunk, and a closet lined with armor and utility gear. But no personal touches. No photos. No journals. Classic Bruce. Dick moved to the closet. His heart thudded in his ears as he flipped through the suits, mostly standard Bat-armor, backup units, and even one older prototype with an awkward yellow emblem. Finally, he found it: a slimmed-down, stealth-variant Batsuit. Jet black, lightweight. More flexible than the others, probably one Bruce wore for espionage operations. Perfect. Dick stripped off his Nightwing gear in record time and pulled the suit on. It clung to him like a second skin. The cowl, smaller than Bruce’s standard, fit well enough once he adjusted the chin plate. He looked into the darkened windowpane and smirked at the reflection: “Well. I guess I’m Batman now.” He paused. Then shook his head. “Nope. Not saying that out loud again.” Just as he secured the last piece of armor, he heard footsteps outside the hallway.

Dick didn’t expect to be stopped. That was the whole point of wearing the suit. But as soon as he turned the corner, he nearly ran straight into Green Arrow, Canary, and Martian Manhunter, all looking like they’d been mid-conversation until the second he appeared. “Batman,” Ollie said with a nod, stepping aside to let him pass. Dick managed a stiff nod back. “Arrow. Canary. J’onn.” He deepened his voice slightly, not a full growl (he wasn’t going to parody Bruce), but just enough to pass. It seemed to work. At least for a second. Until Green Arrow squinted. “You look… thinner than usual.” “I changed my diet.” Dinah tilted her head. “And you’re walking weird.” “My leg was injured in Gotham. Minor strain. Nothing worth filing.” Martian Manhunter stared. Hard. His glowing eyes narrowed like he was scanning something just off. Dick’s internal panic flared, was the suit giving him away? Heat signature? His height? He subtly adjusted his posture and folded his arms across his chest, classic Bruce. “If there’s nothing else, I need to return to my work.” Canary blinked. “We were going to brief you on the Star City gang forming. You skipped the last two meetings.” “I was busy,” Dick said, already turning to walk past them. “And I read the reports. Proceed without me.” He held his breath as he walked away, back rigid, cape swishing just enough to look dramatic. The moment he turned the next corner and was out of sight, he bolted into the next maintenance shaft like his life depended on it. Inside the vent, he slumped against the wall, yanked off the cowl, and exhaled. “Never again,” he muttered. “I need a double the cookies when i win. And therapy.”

[the-most-humble-blog]

🚨 If a Non-Male Starts a Debate with "A Real Man Should, or Would Do…"—Step Back, You’re About to Get Nonsense on Your Shoes. 🚨

A PSA for Every Man Who’s Tired of Being Lectured About Manhood by People Who Have Never Had to Be One

📌 THE SETUP: HERE COMES THE BULLSH*T

There you are. Minding your own business. Maybe you’re in the middle of a conversation. Maybe you made a comment online. Maybe you simply existed too confidently in public.

🚨 Then it happens. 🚨

A non-male (or, occasionally, a deeply misguided man who has fully assimilated into the Cult of Delusion) utters the cursed phrase:

📢 “A real man should…” 📢 “A real man would…”

🚨 WARNING: This is not a debate. This is a trap. 🚨

Your instinct might be to engage, correct, or challenge the incoming nonsense.

Don’t.

Why? Because you are not about to hear wisdom. You are about to hear some of the most ass-backward, reality-detached drivel to ever escape human lips.

It’s going to be: ❌ Unhinged ❌ Incoherent ❌ Surgically engineered to benefit only the speaker

And worst of all? It will not be based on what men actually think, feel, or experience.

📌 THE “REAL MAN” SPEECH: A DEEP DIVE INTO WEAPONIZED NONSENSE

Here’s what you can expect from the “A Real Man Should…” starter pack:

1️⃣ “A Real Man Should Always Pay for Everything”

Ah yes. The classic gold-digger anthem.

According to this logic, a man’s worth is measured exclusively by his willingness to hemorrhage cash for someone who: 📌 Talks about independence but won’t touch a check 📌 Thinks equality is great—until the bill arrives 📌 Believes her presence alone is a form of currency

🚨 Spoiler Alert: A real man should recognize a walking financial liability when he sees one.

2️⃣ “A Real Man Should Accept That Women Are Superior”

Translation: “I want the privileges of being pedestalized while also being immune to criticism.”

❌ Equality? No thanks. ❌ Fairness? Not interested. ❌ A relationship built on mutual respect? BORING.

The goal here is not to uplift women—it’s to emotionally neuter men so they will never challenge, disagree, or even have personal boundaries.

🚨 A real man doesn’t need to be told he’s lesser to validate someone else’s delusions.

3️⃣ “A Real Man Should Never Cry” (Unless It Benefits Me)

Oh, this one is extra rich.

You’ll hear two versions of this contradictory nonsense:

📢 Version A: "Men should never show emotions, ever. Weakness is disgusting." 📢 Version B: "Men should cry more! Be vulnerable! Why won’t you open up?"

But let’s examine the fine print:

📌 If a man shows too much emotion, he’s unstable. 📌 If a man shows too little emotion, he’s cold and unloving. 📌 If a man shows emotion at the wrong time (i.e., when he’s the one struggling), suddenly it’s “Ugh, I can’t deal with this right now.”

Translation: "I want men to be emotional when it benefits me, and emotionally invincible when I don’t want to deal with their problems."

🚨 A real man processes his emotions in a way that works for HIM, not based on the shifting expectations of people who see him as a tool.

4️⃣ “A Real Man Should Always Protect Women” (Even if She Treats Him Like Trash)

Ah yes, the disposable bodyguard fantasy.

🚨 Reminder: Protection is earned, not owed. 🚨

📌 If you treat men like walking ATMs and security personnel, don’t be surprised when they stop volunteering for the job. 📌 If you refuse to listen to men, respect men, or even acknowledge their struggles, don’t expect them to throw themselves into harm’s way for you. 📌 If you believe all men are “toxic,” then congrats—you are not entitled to one’s protection when sh*t hits the fan.

A real man should protect those who respect him. That’s it.

5️⃣ “A Real Man Would NEVER Date Younger/Thinner/More Feminine Women”

Oh no. A man is making choices for himself. A man is valuing what he actually finds attractive instead of what society tells him to accept. 🚨 Sound the alarm! 🚨

This one is about CONTROL.

If a man’s standards disqualify the person speaking, suddenly his preferences become: 📌 “Patriarchal brainwashing” 📌 “Misogyny” 📌 “Unrealistic”

🚨 A real man isn’t guilt-tripped into dating people he’s not attracted to.

📌 WHY “A REAL MAN SHOULD” IS ALWAYS BULLSH*T

Let’s get to the core truth of it all.

📢 Every single time someone says, “A real man should…” what they actually mean is, “Men should behave in a way that benefits ME.”

❌ It is never about what men actually want. ❌ It is never about what’s logical or fair. ❌ It is always about reprogramming men into something weak, compliant, and useful to others.

That’s why none of these rules apply universally.

📌 If a rich, powerful man breaks these “rules,” suddenly they don’t apply. 📌 If an attractive man breaks them, suddenly nobody cares. 📌 But if an average guy says “No thanks” to these ridiculous standards? OUTRAGE.

🚨 Because the game was never about fairness. It was always about control.

📌 FINAL VERDICT: IF SOMEONE TELLS YOU WHAT “A REAL MAN” SHOULD BE—BLOCK & WALK AWAY

If you’re a man, understand this:

📢 You don’t owe anyone an explanation for who you are. 📢 You don’t have to twist yourself into knots trying to be someone else’s fantasy. 📢 You are not obligated to meet the standards of people who see you as nothing more than a resource.

👉 You define what being a man means to YOU.

If someone starts a conversation with “A real man should…”

💀 Step back. 💀 Let them spill their nonsense somewhere else. 💀 Try not to get it on your shoes.

Because at the end of the day?

🚨 A REAL MAN DOESN’T GIVE A F*CK ABOUT WHAT FRAUDS THINK HE “SHOULD” DO. 🚨

🔥 REBLOG if you’re tired of fake “real man” lectures. 🔥 FOLLOW [The Most Humble Blog] for unfiltered, nuclear-grade truth bombs. 🔥 COMMENT if you’ve ever been hit with one of these “real man” BS arguments.

💀 You either define manhood for yourself, or you let people who don’t even respect men do it for you.

🚀 Choose wisely. 🚀

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is written for the purpose of artistic expression, cultural commentary, and psychological exploration of social and gender dynamics. It does not condone or encourage violence, harassment, or discrimination of any kind. Any references to power, strength, restraint, or critique are metaphorical, symbolic, and rooted in historical and cultural analysis. This is not a call to action — it’s a cultural mirror. If you feel offended, ask yourself if it’s from actual harm — or from seeing something you hoped no one would say out loud.

✨ TL;DR: If you're mad, it’s probably not because it’s wrong — it’s because you know it’s true.

[whatdoseitmeantobehuman]

Lens of survival part 4 Trust in small steps

"This is our primary monitoring hub," Cypher explained, gesturing to a wall of screens that made your stomach clench. He must have noticed your reaction because he quickly added, "These only show the facility's entry points and perimeter. No personal quarters, no private spaces."

You forced yourself to step closer, studying the setup. It was sophisticated but transparent - each camera's location clearly marked, its purpose obvious. Nothing hidden, nothing secret.

"The feeds are accessible to all agents," he continued, pulling up a simple interface. "Even you, once you learn the system. No single person controls the information here."

That was different. Your Cypher had kept his surveillance network close, using it like a web with him as the spider at its center. This was more like... a shared shield.

"Show me," you said softly, and his head turned sharply toward you, surprised by your willingness.

For the next few hours, he walked you through everything - the motion sensors, the perimeter alerts, even the simple AI that helped monitor patterns. His teaching style was patient, methodical, so unlike the manipulative half-truths you were used to.

"And this," he said, pulling up a final screen, "is the panic button system. Every room has one, including yours. One press, and help comes running."

You touched the small interface. "Even if... even if it's a false alarm?"

"Especially then," he said firmly. "Better a hundred false alarms than one missed call for help."

A comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the soft hum of equipment. It felt... safe. Not the suffocating safety of constant surveillance, but the security of understanding and control.

"Thank you," you said finally. "For showing me all this. For making it... different."

He nodded, and you caught a glimpse of his eyes through his mask - warm and concerned, not calculating.

After Cypher finished showing you the security systems, you spent days planning in secret. The facility's kitchen became your sanctuary during off-hours, a place where memories of control couldn't reach you. With Killjoy's help to access supplies, you prepared a feast that would bring everyone together.

You spent hours cooking dishes from around the world:

For Raze: Spicy Brazilian feijoada with extra malagueta peppers and warm pão de queijo

For Sova: Hearty pelmeni in dill-heavy sour cream sauce

For Sage: Delicate dim sum - har gow, siu mai, and lotus leaf sticky rice

For Killjoy: Traditional German rouladen with spätzle

For Phoenix: Jerk chicken with rice and peas, spiced like his mum's

For Viper: A precisely composed salad with grilled chicken and complex vinaigrette

For Brimstone: Classic meatloaf with bourbon glaze

For Omen: Dark chocolate tart with espresso cream

For Jett: Steaming kimchi jjigae with extra tofu

For Breach: Swedish meatballs with lingonberry sauce

For Chamber: Coq au vin with perfectly roasted potatoes

For Astra: Jollof rice with spiced chicken

For Skye: Vegetable pie with herbs from her garden

For KAY/O: A note expressing appreciation

For Yoru: Japanese curry with tonkatsu and umeboshi onigiri

For Cypher: Moroccan pastries and lamb tagine

For Reyna: Authentic Mexican mole poblano with fresh tortillas and Mexican rice (your world's Reyna had once told you it reminded her of family dinners in Mexico, before she lost everything)

For Gekko: Spicy Mexican street tacos with all the fixings (your world's Gekko had sworn by street food)

For Harbor: Butter chicken and fresh naan (his favorite comfort food)

For Iso: Chinese army stew with extra spam (a guilty pleasure he'd admitted to once)

For Fade: Traditional Turkish menemen and börek (foods that reminded her of Istanbul)

You asked Killjoy to help send a facility-wide message: "Dinner in the main hall at 7. Everyone. Please."

Your hands trembled slightly as you arranged everything on the long table. Each dish was labeled, steam rising from the hot foods, everything perfectly timed. You'd even set up different beverage stations - Turkish coffee, Japanese tea, fresh lemonade.

At 7 sharp, they started arriving. You stood nervously by the entrance, watching their faces.

"Holy shit," Gekko breathed, Wingman bobbing excitedly beside him. "Are those real street tacos?"

"Damn," Harbor's eyes widened at the spread. "This is... this is incredible."

Fade approached the Turkish dishes, her expression softening. "This smells like home."

"Everyone," you called out softly, and the room quieted. "I... I wanted to thank you all. For giving me a chance. For showing me what a real family could be." You gestured to the table. "In my world, I knew all of your counterparts. Some better than others. They taught me these recipes, shared their favorites... before everything changed. I hope... I hope you'll share this meal with me."

The reactions came in waves:

Raze whooped at the sight of the feijoada: "THIS SMELLS LIKE MY GRANDMOTHER'S KITCHEN!"

Iso picked up his army stew, eyebrows raised. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," you smiled, remembering how your world's Iso would sneak extra portions during late nights.

Gekko was already stuffing his face with tacos: "These are better than the ones in Mexico City!"

The room filled with chatter and movement as everyone found their dishes. Chamber appreciated the wine pairing you'd selected. Fade closed her eyes at the first bite of börek. Harbor couldn't stop praising the butter chicken's authenticity.

Even the more reserved agents showed their appreciation. Viper nodded approvingly at her salad's composition. Omen found a quiet corner but cleaned his plate completely.

Reyna's reaction was particularly striking. She stood over her plate, purple eyes gleaming with an unusual softness. "Mole poblano... mi madre's recipe?" she asked, her usually fierce demeanor gentling as she took in the complex aroma.

"As close as I could get it," you admitted. "The other you... she spent an entire night teaching me how to make it right. Said some recipes carry the souls of those we've lost."

Reyna's hand briefly touched the heart locket she always wore. "Hermana would have loved this," she whispered, so quietly you almost missed it. Then, louder, with her usual confident smile: "Your soul is strong, pequeña. You honor our traditions well."

Yoru tried to maintain his gruff exterior, but you caught him getting seconds of the curry. And thirds of the onigiri.

Cypher... Cypher sat nearby, occasionally glancing your way as he savored each pastry. You pretended not to notice how he'd specifically chosen a seat that let him watch over both you and the room.

You watched as Reyna and Gekko good-naturedly argued over whose Mexican dish was more authentic, while she simultaneously kept refilling everyone's plates with mole, insisting they needed to "put meat on their bones." It was a side of her you'd rarely seen in your world - nurturing, almost maternal.

The evening evolved into something magical. Barriers broke down as agents shared bites of their dishes with others. Stories flowed as freely as the drinks. Even KAY/O joined in, sharing his observations about human bonding rituals over food.

"In my world," you found yourself saying during a lull, "we lost moments like this. The war took away our ability to just... be together. To share meals and stories."

"Well," Skye said firmly, squeezing your shoulder, "you're not losing these moments here."

"Never," agreed Harbor, raising his glass. "To family - across all dimensions."

"To family," they echoed, and you felt tears prick your eyes as every agent - even the most stoic ones - joined the toast.

Later, as people were helping clean up (despite your protests), Cypher approached with an empty pastry plate.

"You made them with pistachios," he noted quietly.

"Your favorite," you replied, then caught yourself. "I mean, his favorite. Sorry, I shouldn't assume-"

"No," he interrupted gently. "They're my favorite too. Some things, it seems, are constant across dimensions."

You looked around at the warm scene - Raze and Gekko arguing playfully over the last taco, Harbor teaching Phoenix the proper way to eat naan, Fade and Omen sharing the last of the Turkish coffee, Yoru pretending he wasn't wrapping up extra onigiri for later.

"Maybe the best things are," you whispered.

For the first time since arriving in this world, you felt truly at home.

[lilhwahwa]

heart swindler - J.WY (Part 3)

PART 2 

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ part 3: Your mind is breathing and living Wooyoung, which wasn't avoidable seeing as you're now staying at his place. Yet your anxious and paranoid mind won't let you breathe. You are certain Wooyoung could be plotting something against you, to manipulate you and use you. You decide to take your nephew and leave, once again. Would this change trigger something?

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: AFAB Conwoman reader! x Conman Wooyoung! Enemies to Lovers. Angst. Fluff. Smut.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ smut themes in the future parts. Mentions of drug abuse. Abusive parenting. Violence. Bi? Wooyoung? Stalking. Slowburn!. Conning? Crack! shitty writing... More to be added... This is fiction and does not represent the real idol. 

proof read? - no

words: 5.7K

tags:  @bl3ss3d-curs3d @mayosgrises @k-queen @starrysvn @harusoraa @chiefbananaearthquake @leeknowsalot @toxicccred @yunhorights​ @shibera @tunaasan

MASTERLIST 

Waking up in Wooyoung’s clothes felt almost mocking. It seemed like a perfect setup to test your morals after you had clearly declared that Wooyoung was the main reason business wasn't going well at LUX. Yet, you inhale deeper catch the scent of his detergent and sigh as you open your eyes to the new scene.

Even though you felt safer in Wooyoung’s proximity than alone at the hotel (for obvious reasons), there was still an alarm ringing in your head, reminding you to secure yourself and Jisung against possible dangers. You lifted your head to glance at the little boy, but your heart skipped a beat when all you saw was an empty space, an indent in the sheets where the little boy had slept.

“Jisung?” you called out, getting out of bed to rush through the door and in whichever direction you remembered the living room to be. You moved frantically to locate the child, scenarios of him being kidnapped and you being lured in by Wooyoung in an evil plan rushing through your head. If that were the case, you weren’t sure if you’d be more upset about being tricked so easily or that whatever Wooyoung had shown you during the past 24 hours was nothing but a scheme to take you down.

“Jisung-ah!” you called out again.

“Lord, woman, we heard you the first time,” a voice snapped you out of your panic. Your eyes fell on Wooyoung peeking his head out from the kitchen, a much shorter and smaller head peeking out right after him at torso level.

You instantly let out a breath you were holding, shaking your head to get rid of the looming anxiety that had settled over your body. Were you slowly losing your mind over everything that had happened? Sure, being cautious was part of human nature to ensure survival, but at this point, you were as jumpy as a mouse waiting to be attacked by a cat.

Choosing not to reply to Wooyoung, you entered the kitchen to see what was going on. The smell of food hadn’t even registered in your panicked state until now. Of course, they would be making breakfast. It was a normal morning, after all, but honestly, you didn’t take Wooyoung to enjoy hosting guests as much as he seemed to.

“Auntie! We are making you breakfast! Wooyoung let me cut the spam!” An excited Jisung approached you, draped in an oversized shirt similar to yours, only his swallowed him up down to his ankles. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still so tiny but so smart for his age. Too smart, maybe, and part of it was your fault. As much as you tried to tell yourself that you did your best at keeping him safe, there was always some doubt about how much of a childhood he was actually experiencing.

Your thoughts almost distracted you from the boy’s words. Almost.

“You let him cut with a knif—” you raised your voice in concern as your eyes searched for Wooyoung, who was in front of the stove, frying up ingredients. He wore a thin tank top with sweatpants. It was unfair how smooth and golden his skin was. It was unfair how toned his shoulders seemed to be in the tank top and his arms... You never doubted that Wooyoung kept his figure for his job, but what you hadn’t expected was for his body to be this built. Thick veins ran up his forearms as he gripped the handle of the pan. His bony fingers were long as they wrapped around it, maneuvering the contents around for an even simmer. You couldn’t be bothered to analyze the food when your heart pumped enough blood to flush your face in mere seconds. He looked strong and delectable. Wait.

“He’s a big boy, very concentrated on the task, so he can be trusted with a knife,” Wooyoung commented, turning around to lean back against the kitchen counter. He raised an eyebrow at your reaction to him, a small smirk evident on his lips, and you hated that you had let yourself get caught checking his arms out. But now that he turned around, his collarbones—

“Well, I don’t let him touch such stuff; he could’ve hurt himself,” your words came out as a mumbling mess as you looked back to Jisung, who joined Wooyoung’s side and tried to reach the pan on his tiptoes to see whether the spam he had put effort into was cooking right. Wooyoung noticed his struggle and picked the boy up into his embrace, allowing him to see his hard work being made into a meal.

“Auntie, I did just fine, and besides, I tried my best for you.” The boy smiled brightly at you from Wooyoung’s arms, and you almost wanted to snort at how hypocritical this situation was. But something inside of you didn’t want to ruin this moment for Jisung. And for yourself. And maybe Wooyoung too… the man looked over Jisung’s excitement with a curved smile and a familiar look in his eyes, as if longing for something or someone. For once, you decided to push back your overbearing brain and just enjoy the normality of the situation in your chaotic life.

“What are you boys making?” you sat down on one of the tall kitchen chairs and supported yourself on your elbow as you watched the heartwarming sight of Jisung finally getting to act like a curious kid. You had only slept here one night, but the obvious problem wasn’t solved just yet. How long did Wooyoung intend to let you stay? You already hated having to ask somebody for help, let alone him. But it seemed like he was the first person spawning on the scene whenever something bad happened to you, and just for that reason, you decided then and there that it must be a sign from someone or something. But that didn't mean you should overstay your welcome.

“Fried rice,” Wooyoung answered and let Jisung down to start plating breakfast as you slipped between reality and your thoughts. You simply nodded and let the man serve you the food. Only then did you realize just how hungry you were. Who would’ve thought you’d be eating food cooked by Wooyoung, dressed in his clothes, in his kitchen? You couldn’t help but snort.

“Excuse you? We tried hard all morning, and you mock us?” Wooyoung took playful offense and turned to Jisung, who played into the scene. “Auntie! We truly tried. I even almost cut my hand off for you!” he joked, making Wooyoung throw his head back as he let out a series of short huffs of laughter. That was the first time you ever heard him laugh.

You rolled your eyes to save the situation and brought a mouthful of the dish to taste. “Mmh!! Wow,” you groaned, dramatizing your reaction by clapping your hands. Wooyoung rolled his eyes playfully, but Jisung smiled brightly. Was this how normal life was supposed to be? You, having dinner with your family?

No, Wooyoung wasn’t family. And up until two weeks ago, you weren’t even on speaking terms. He doesn't even know your real name yet, for fuck’s sake. Besides, the weekend was just around the corner, and you’d have to face the reality that one of you, probably not you, would have to return to the club. There was no way you’d leave Jisung alone.

Going to the police wasn’t a smart option as they’d start digging in places they didn’t belong. Telling Hongjoong could be risky as he could ask you to leave the club for the sake of guests’ safety. What would you do now? Appoint a gang? Obviously not.

You decided that whatever choice you’d go with, you wanted to enjoy the sight of the two boys competing to see who’d eat faster just a little longer. Their giggles turned louder with each bite, and playful pushing of shoulders made rice fly over the table.

After breakfast, Wooyoung occupied Jisung with his variety of video games. The little boy’s cheers twisted your heart as he played. You knew things could be worse, but still, you longed to be the reason for his cheers, to make him as happy as Wooyoung had seemed to in just the span of a day. You were letting yourself go slowly. Whoever had named you Bullet obviously must’ve forgotten that you were not lethal unless fired from a gun. A motivation. Something that would make you want to hit a target. Most often, it stemmed from watching bastard men and their pathetic lies that destroyed families and futures. It was drilled into you before you even officially came out on the market. Men are cheaters. Men are liars. Men deserve what you do to them. Every woman in your field seemed to agree, and everybody else just stayed silent and allied for the chunks of money.

But as that motivation dried up, after you gave your all and conjured your most vile and evil personality onto these men in an attempt to give them just what they deserved, you were suddenly dropped back into reality where you were just you. No Bullet, but a simple Y/n who had been wronged. Wronged by men. Wronged by family and society. The high heels were exchanged for bare feet, and the glamorous outfits for an oversized shirt that seemed to swallow you as if you were Thumbelina herself (though you’d argue she was more graceful than at the moment). It made your throat hurt to even think about admitting that you were nothing outside of being Bullet. That you had almost broken in front of Wooyoung – An ally of the industry, but nonetheless just a man.

And like that, the flame of motivation was ignited again. It was merely heating under the coal, waiting to burst into full potential. The picture perfect breakfast was over with, and with that your feelings of a belittled and hopeless girl. You wonder for a second whether slipping into this headspace was wrong. Jisung had just gotten a taste of how normal life could be. How delicious fried rice could be for breakfast. And how a man could lift him easily into his arms whenever the little boy desired. But your choices of safety were limited, and staying with Wooyoung was not a stable route, at least emotionally. 

You can feel Wooyoung glancing over at you.

“What are your plans today?” He decides to break the silence, looking away to give you a safe space to speak. 

“I don’t really have many plans, I was hoping it would be okay for us to stay today while I look for options” You reply, emphasizing that you wouldn't be staying for long. But with the way Wooyoung bit at the inside of his cheek, you wondered whether he truly worried for you or if you had read him wrong. 

“You can stay for however long you need” he simply replies, almost as if brushing off the topic of you leaving. You glance over at Jisung who has made Wooyoung’s couch his own by the way he moves around as he plays on the large TV screen. 

“Thank you” you offer him a tight-lipped smile, deciding any more words or elaborating would quickly put out the newly sparked flame inside. You needed it to survive. To figure out what was going on. And you were not proud of the decision you were slowly coming to take. 

You reach for your phone, opening the contact of a number you don’t dial often. Not because of any particular reason, but rather the fact that you saw the person every weekend. 

Need a favor…can I call in a few? 

“I am gonna go stock up at the grocery store some time later, you can come or stay, whatever you prefer.” Wooyoung distracts you from your phone that you quickly turn off. You turn to look at him, and see him already looking for your eyes. Do not fall for it, you tell yourself. However sincere his foxy eyes try to be, he was merely a man who thankfully had not taken advantage of your situation, yet.

“I am not picky, I’ll trust the chef's opinion” you answer strategically, adding a smile. Yet you what you receive is a serious expression painted on Wooyoung’s face. He was probably suspecting something, thankfully you were already ahead. 

Of course, bullet x

—

“Auntie, did Wooyoung not want us to stay?” Jisung’s voice is careful as he tiptoes around the question. You squeeze his smaller hand holding yours, warning him to not have the conversation here.  “We discussed this, Jisung-ah” You smile at the boy with everything you could muster, eyes pleading for him to not speak further about Wooyoung. The little boy seems to get the memo and instead turns away apologetically to look out of the car window. 

“Didn’t know Wooyoung and you tolerated one another” Mark chuckles, looking at you through the rearview mirror. You roll your eyes and shake your head. Your relationship with Wooyoung has been simple. Stay out of each other’s sights and minds. Do not mess with taken victims or with business. That was on normal days at least, because you can recall a handful of times where Wooyoung would go out of his way to send teasing looks and whistles at you from across the dance floor or bar as you worked your magic on a man twice your age. Sure you weren’t the bestest of friends but it was because you’re purely colleagues. 

“We don’t, but he just happened to show up at the right place at the right time” You scoff as Mark doesn’t give up the wiggling of eyebrows. But you don’t miss the feeling of a smile begging to spread over your lips. You don’t let it this time. 

“You know, I heard he’s a decent guy apart from the obvious…maybe you’d consider?” Mark tries but you quickly reject his attempt. “You know what I will reply already so don’t even go there”. Although your words sounded harsh, Mark was no stranger to them. If anything, you even think the little smile on his otherwise harsh features appreciated the realness behind your tone. None of those sweet and fake pleasantries you were both trained to share with guests. 

“Didn’t hurt to try” Mark sighs and continues the drive to his place as he knows prying would only shift the mood for the worse. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t called him right away after the accident. You knew he’d be there for you. One of the only men you saw as a person. A man that you had known since the day you stepped foot at LUX on your first work day. He had been there in a finely tailored suit, an earpiece attached to a radio on his waste along with a weapon. Mark has seen LUX transform into the number one club in the city, proudly standing at its doors every weekend to welcome guests, including you. For him, LUX, had been a new start just as it had been for you. In his case, out of prison and not a penny to his name after he took the blame for his best friend’s robbery attempt on a judge’s house. It had been unplanned, childish and a desperate attempt to gain adrenaline rather than money. He had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, with sincere loyalty to his friend (loyalty he totally didn’t deserve). You had told him it was because he was a Cancer. Hongjoong spawned into his life like he does in anybody’s, totally unforeseen but at their most desperate. And Mark had jumped at the opportunity because who was he to reject?

“Hey buddy, want to stop and get food?” Mark asks the little boy who had been staring out the window in a mood of melancholy. He turned to face Mark, but you could see that his response was out of politeness rather than pure joy. “If it is of no bother”. 

“If it is of no bother? You are better articulated than I am at my ripe age” Mark tries to lighten the mood, sensing the boy was down for whatever reason. You nudge Jisung in an attempt to get a smile out of him, but today, that wasn’t enough. You almost choke on all the sighs you hold back, chest stinging slightly from the trapped air as you lick your lips anxiously, hoping to keep the mood in the car light. 

“I apologize Mark, he just-” 

“Hey, it’s all good. Let’s go get some burgers and then head to mine.” He was quick to assure you. There was no way he hadn’t created his own assumption as to why he had come to pick you up from Wooyoung’s place on a Saturday evening. And knowing just how serious he took his job, you appreciated the effort. 

Wooyoung had gotten ready for the club just earlier in the evening. You didn’t dare to hang around as he did, afraid you’d change your mind about your plan. Jisung however, had stayed glued to his side all evening and it was contradicting to think that Wooyoung was preparing for a night of work at a club where his job was literally to seduce people out of their money with kids' songs playing loudly in the inbuilt speakers. Jisung didn’t need to know exactly what you both did for work, especially you. Although with age it was becoming obvious that your workplace was different from what the jobs other kids’ mommies and daddies did in Jisung’s class. You however, would keep it hidden for as long as possible.

That night Wooyoung had worn a simple white button down with tight black slacks. His luxury sunglasses were propped strategically on top of his head, adding to the look. You didn’t allow yourself the luxury of admiring the view, yet somehow the image of him bending down to hug Jisung goodbye is vivid in your memory as you replay the clip in your head again and again all the way back to Mark’s place. 

For some reason, despite your new found confidence a few days back on Wooyoung’s couch you were hesitant. Hesitant. That was one thing becoming more common in your otherwise sure and confident way through life. Deep inside you suspected you knew what the cause of it was. You were going soft. You wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the warm glances and the much needed help from somebody were genuine. You felt pathetic for wanting to romanticize your life as you once did when you were younger. Yet it was anything but that simple or easy. Life has made sure to let you know. And with Wooyoung’s line of work, he was the last person you could trust. No picking you up from the sidewalk and caressing your cheek could prove otherwise, or shouldn’t at least.

Settling into Mark’s apartment didn’t take long, mostly because you had almost nothing with you still. Wooyoung did mention he’d get someone to go get your stuff but at this point it was too late anyway. When he’d come home tonight, probably a few thousand dollars richer, he’d find his place just how it was before your arrival. Large, luxurious and empty. 

Jisung remained silent through dinner and left to stay in the guest room, asking to play on your phone while you helped Mark clean up in the kitchen. How ironic that after leaving Wooyoung’s place with an argument that he’d betray you on the grounds that he is a man, you find yourself in an apartment with another. Mark would be your only exception. Apart from Jisung that is. 

“So…Wooyoung? A nephew? Should I be expecting a unicorn to fly in through my window, sweetheart?” Mark chuckles but you scowl, feeling comfortable enough to show the man your displeasement in his teasing. From the times you’d worked together, you were sure he knew that your ego would have to be put aside to ever ask for help, so something must have been going on. 

“I just…didn’t feel safe at my old place all of a sudden. It had a specific…aura to it.” It was not fully a lie, because ever since the first ever threat, the luxurious creamy walls of the hotel apartment were suddenly gloomy and taunting. “It was a rather haste and unplanned move, you know when you just get the feeling to do something” you continue but see Mark isn’t completely sold by the way his lips are slightly parted, tongue running over his teeth as he was debating on what approach to take. 

“...And as for Wooyoung, he just happened to be there. I had some…craze about leaving, you know women and our hunches. As soon as Hongjoong pays me back all of my deposit I can get a new place” You hate to use that as an excuse, especially on Mark. He was not your target and he didn’t deserve to be talked to so shallowly. This was for your own safety though. And for Jisung’s of course. 

Mark stays silent for a few seconds but ultimately sighs and gets up from the couch where you’d been talking, probably to give you space. 

“It’s getting late. I can give you a change of clothes and let you wash up” Mark rather states than suggests, knowing you’d agree anyway. You glance over at the clock hanging above the TV and note that it was almost midnight. Jisung must’ve fallen asleep by now and Wooyoung’s night was probably only getting started. You didn’t want to let your thoughts wander. But the more you resisted, the heavier the overflow of anything Wooyoung related. Wooyoung at the club. Wooyoung eating. Wooyoung’s scent. Wooyoung holding Jisung. Wooyoung’s forearms–

“Yeah, sounds like a plan” you stand up to follow Mark to what you assume is his room. This scene was awfully similar to what happened at Wooyoung’s house, yet the reality of the moment felt nothing like it had been at Wooyoung’s place. The twisting of your stomach in his proximity and the way his eyes would stare past your eyes and into your soul as if he knew you. Now that you come to think of it, he probably was the only man to know about Jisung. The only man to see you so panicked, and to be allowed to rescue you, twice. He wasn’t a stranger either as you made acquaintances every weekend. 

No, that is not an excuse to doubt your plan. Wooyoung could not give you what you needed long term. And relying on him would cause you to soften. To get vulnerable and weak. 

Truly you wished for something to hit you in the head to temporarily put your running brain on a blackout. It’s almost as if you could hear small engines running and overheating in your skull. You change into Mark’s shirt and push back any thought or comparison between him and Wooyoung. Instead you go to lay down beside Jisung.

That night, your dreams were vivid. They were not really scary yet uncanny would be the right term. Full of colors and noises. Most of them changed quickly with the plot of the dreams but the noise. Lord, it was so annoying. What the hell was so loud? You groan in annoyance which slowly makes you slip from the colorful world and open your eyes to a still dark room. It must still be night time. You furrow your brows and roll onto your other side in hopes of falling asleep when you hear it again.

“Get the fuck up! Ya! Mark Choi” 

The noises interrupting your dreams were not part of your imaginations after all. You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep for but judging by the way your eyes sting when you try to keep them open tells you only a few hours at most had gone by. 

You sit up in bed, trying to drain the drowsiness off to check on the sound. Jisung was still asleep, miraculously. You get up and exit the bedroom to find that Mark was up. Hadn’t someone called his name earlier? The lights in the living room were on and Mark was opening the front door for somebody. 

“What the hell is going-” you mutter but stop yourself when you catch a glance of a man appearing at Mark’s door. “-Wooyoung?” you hiss and come closer. 

“What the hell are you doing here man, it’s fucking four am?!” Mark mutters, seemingly just as tired as you. Well at least as tired as you had been two minutes ago. The sight of Wooyoung was like a splash of cold water in your face. Instead of answering, Wooyoung looks past Mark and straight at you. He let out a breath which half sounded like a chuckle.  

“I can’t fucking believe you” Wooyoung shakes his head, dramatic in his expression of displeasure by you. Behind the rash and sharp movements and words, there was a twinkle of sadness in his eyes. A sense of betrayal almost. 

With a hand on Mark’s shoulder you ask for a minute and the man happily returns back to bed, only after making sure you felt comfortable being left with Wooyoung. 

“I don’t even know why I came, but it must have been to confirm that after all I did for you, after our conversations, you really just left without even a fucking thank you” Wooyoung’s word were harsh. His face was as stoic as he managed to keep it, but his eyes didn’t lie. It was a shock to say the least when he had received a very unexpected message written by Jisung about you leaving his place. 

“Wooyoung, get inside at least or you’ll wake the neighbors” You hiss and make way for him to come inside. You didn’t really expect him to accept, yet he did. He steps inside Mark’s apartment and shuts the door behind him. The guilt on your face was nothing compared to the heaviness of it in your belly. Wooyoung stays silent, watching you with a razor sharp and demanding gaze. You notice his jaw clenching and unclenching a few times as it locked in place. He was waiting for you to speak first, ever so pettily.

“I was scared. That’s the truth. I am scared that you, in some twisted way, could be a part of the attack. Fuck, I am not even sure of Mark. I am losing my fucking head worrying for my safety, Wooyoung. You know the line of work we do. We lie and we trick people. Nothing is stopping you from doing the same to me” while these words itched to be said louder, to be yelled in a satisfying growl that came from the chest, you held back. 

Wooyoung puffs air from his nose and throws his head back as if to process your explanation.

“And you could be doing the same shit too. I invited you into my home. You could have robbed me or some shit.” He accuses. “Most importantly, I fucking helped you.” He pauses to finally look back at you. His voice isn’t filled with anger much longer, it was rather disgusting disappointment. “I don’t even know how or why, but out of all the people who would have deserved my help, it ended up being you.” The more he spoke the harder it became for you to ignore the bulging veins on his neck. His gaze was dark with anger. Was it normal to like the feeling of intimidation? Suddenly you weren’t even sure if you wanted to disagree with him. You didn’t want to make excuses because what he was saying is true. And it was one of the rare things a man had ever said that you couldn’t even deny. Instead your eyes stubbornly look over his features until it isn’t discreet anymore. Maybe if you furrowed your brows, you could look mad enough.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that when you’re accusing me of fucking you over like you think I did” 

You disregard the last part, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Like what? 

“Like you’re upset when reality is…” he steps closer until you can feel the heat of him radiating onto you. “You just can't get me out of your head, can you?” 

Your spit catches in your throat as you gasp. You look back at him in shock as if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind before. How dare he suggest something like that so shamelessly?

Wooyoung senses he’s caught you off guard and keeps pushing. “You like acting like a little naive girl, having me help you and chase after you. You like it when you make me go after you and give you what you need, don’t you?” He is too accurate for your comfort but instead of pushing him away, your eyes droop from the tension, as if it was too heavy to keep them open. 

“You don’t – look-” you gasp for air to speak but Wooyoung’s smirk had spoken louder. He reaches up and when you expect his touch – probably rough too – all you feel is his palm stroking the back of your head. It was comforting, almost nurturing, which confused you. 

Wooyung watches his hand on top of your head with intent, almost as if he was braiding the sentences with words that would push you around the most. 

“And to think I am the one being chased all the time. I can get the attention I want from any woman or man but here I am, stalking you outside some man’s house at dawn only for you to want to deny it?” It was like he spoke to himself out loud. Yet each word burned your stomach. “This switch– you like it too, don’t you? Not being in control of a man. Being in the place of a victim whom I have wrapped around my finger” Wooyoung’s voice is like a siren-like. It was rough like gravel, yet it flowed so smoothly.

Wooyoungs trails his hand lower until his knuckles brush against your cheekbone. His eyes never meet yours as if to deny you of his gaze. Instead he follows wherever his hand goes. Both of you seemed to forget where you stood, too lost in the enticing moment you had created.

As much as it hurt your ego, Wooyoung was once again right. He had managed to swindle your heart like he had done with at least half of the city. You liked that he would come to you and see through the bullshit that you spewed when you were anxious. You liked that he could read you. Perhaps this is what scared you so much. Who is to say you weren’t a number in his account?

The insecurity must have appeared in your eyes because Wooyoung’s hand now cupped your cheek. His hands are soft, of course, and warm. The palm of his hand covered most of your cheek and lower jaw which created a comforting pillow over your skin. 

There seemed to not be any words left. Wooyoung was already aware of whatever answer you would have mustered if you weren’t tongue tied. He wasn’t particularly cocky tonight to keep teasing you about it either. 

The things leading up to this moment could have turned into many other scenarios yet in the position you two now shared it was painfully obvious that there was no more escaping this. Yet still you wonder if this was a trap set by Wooyoung to wickedly seek petty revenge on you or to prove a point. He was sure that he had successfully made you fall. But would he still then be looking at you with just deep eyes? In which he wished only you could swim. Would his breaths be shaky and nervous as they were now? Was everything a planned detail to get you?

And your biggest disadvantage against him was surely how he was aware the second those thoughts reached your head, so he didn’t stall for much longer. His body is stiff as he leans forward. Everything seems like it’s in slow-motion but a millisecond later, Wooyoung’s nose impacts your cheek as his lips take yours. If your mind blanked, then your body was ready to reciprocate what it had been whining about for months. You’re eager to push back against his plush lips with just as much vigor, hand wrapping around the wrist of the hand on your cheek. 

It’s fast but it’s thorough. It’s messy but it's meaningful. Wooyoung is eager as he turns his face to adjust the angle of his lips every so often to make sure you could feel the plumpest parts of him. And he needed to make sure he could get to taste every corner of your lips and mouth. 

Low hums of approval escape his throat as if he’s tasting a pleasant meal. You try to pull away but his lips follow after yours, seemingly glued together. You stumble back at the force, but Wooyoung is quick to wrap his free hand around your waist, taking the opportunity to push you into his chest. It is like you were the oxygen keeping him going but when your nose couldn’t support a breath anymore, you pulled away panting shakily. Wooyoung is visibly dazed. He curls his lips and licks the corners of his mouth as he keeps his eyes on yours. He brings his forehead against yours before sliding his forehead to rest on your shoulder. He had let it slide for tonight, seeing as the circumstances weren’t right. 

After a moment of silence and your unsynchronized breathing, Wooyoung speaks up.

“Can we leave another man’s house now, please?” he mutters into your shirt and the warmth absorbing through the material makes your shiver. You nod and he feels the motion. But you voice it anyway, shakily. “Yeah”. You assumed you’d be going home, wherever that may be. But for now it seems to be with Wooyoung. 

[formula-wind]

choose your agent! — valorant mains of furin high first years

※ headcanons for wind breaker characters as valorant players ft. sakura haruka, nirei akihiko, suo hayato, & sugishita kyotaro

Sakura Haruka — instalock duelist

Like with gang fights, he definitely had his fair share of experiences with cocky duelists so it’s no surprise he tries to take the main damage-dealer role first in his team when he queues for a game.

Reyna would be the first one Haruka tries to pick because of the agent’s self-sustaining nature. No need to rely on teammates for entry support or heals—relating well with his independent character.

I mean, Reyna’s blind wont affect his teammates so there’s no reason for them to yell at him for bad blind timings or wasting heals so less problems!

Though not that he would admit this, but he also thinks she’s the most useful agent for helping the team out.

No one is an initiator? Haruka entries site for the team with a blind, killing anyone there who stops his team from getting in.

No one is a sentinel? Haruka stays behind to guard their backs trying to stay alive for as long as possible to protect the spike (when attacking) or site (when defending).

No one is a controller? Well, he can’t really do much with Reyna’s abilities but he does hunt down enemies when he has ultimate available to reduce the team’s worries.

Definitely sets a good example for how Reyna mains should be.

He also just hates being in a team with Reyna players who talk shit more than get kills. Who doesn’t though?

Because of this, he does understand that instalocking Reyna would get his teammates assuming he’s one of the bad players but he couldn’t care less when they express their annoyance.

Haruka can and will prove them wrong, after all.

However, in extremely rare cases where people instalock duelists before him, he either dodges (95% of the time since he just wont be able to stand the possibility of egoistical teammates) or picks Chamber.

Why? He can stay behind guarding flank or site strongly as his “dumbass teammates” charge the enemies.

With his shooting skills, he can really makes the most out of Chamber’s abilities.

Also because of chamber’s pistol and rifle ultimate, he’s also able to buy a gun for a teammate if needed. Again, definitely not something he would admit, but if pointed out, best believe he’s going to scream in voice chat about how irresponsible his team is with credits.

Akihiko Nirei — sentinel or controller strategist

We all know how proactive he is with gathering information about guys he finds cool so I am pretty sure that when he gets really into Valorant he has a notebook full of strategy plans, setups, and lineups from his research and actual game experiences.

His analytical skills and game-knowledge would definitely make him the best supporting member of the team.

Nirei would be that person that waits for everyone to pick their agent before picking his to avoid complaints and to work with the team dynamic.

If a sentinel is needed, fits well with the team and the map; he would most likely select Killjoy.

He probably mastered a lot of swarm + alarm bot setups. Though, he does like using the same setups twice or more instead of switching it up if it works against the enemy.

Probably does it because he thinks the enemy wouldn’t expect such plans to be executed again (not really true most of the time).

Good thing about Nirei is he knows what he’s capable and not capable of; he understands his weaknesses so he plays it safe to not become a burden to his teammates.

Enemies call him a rat for being so skilled with his utility usage, and he takes it as a compliment with pride.

Loves playing post-plant lineups! He practices a lot in custom before each ranked game.

However, if his team needs a controller to block out sections of a site to secure entries, he’s playing Astra.

Now, Astra is probably one of the toughest agents to master since it needs good map awareness skills and team coordination so Nirei only picks her if he knows his team can give good comms and support (like if he would be playing with the other bofurin members).

He would definitely take pride in assisting his teammates with getting kills by using concuss (nova pulse) and pulling enemies (gravity well).

May get too focused with getting his abilities set up and activated right so he would need someone to watch his back (he has been trolled and stabbed multiple times, which sometimes led to really funny games).

Truly the teammate with the braincells we all need (and aspire to be).

Suo Hayato — duelist-like sentinel or full-on duelist

He is a Sage main. 100%. No doubt.

Oh but Hayato's not your stereotypical bottom frag “team before me” Sage main.

He’s the type that would carry the whole team—some would even say he’s one of those “selfish” Sage players.

Why she’s his first pick? Simple: fun walls.

He doesn’t really like walling off the spike since it doesn't provide good entertainment he knows his walls can be used for better uses.

He loves tormenting the enemy with crazy Sage wall placements, getting kills without the enemy knowing where they’re getting shot at brings him so much joy—it’s almost sadistic.

You think a wall is misplaced so bad it lets you enter the site easier? Wrong. Hayato's behind you getting your team one by one.

Sometimes he drags it out, watching the enemy team get past him when they don’t check their corners and follows them to the site—and if they’re attacking—he does the little ninja defuse trick; defusing the spike as soon as the other team has planted it.

With his healing orbs, he is still very supportive of his team and usually heals them first instead of himself, not really minding if they still die first after getting healed. He’s pretty confident with his shooting skills so he survives well without needing additional health stats.

He plays at a distance so even on low health he is able to get frags.

His slow orbs are also mainly there for its regular use of keeping enemies at bay, but also torment his team members if they’re getting on his nerves—which doesn’t happen often.

The reviving ultimate? If his team keeps asking to be revived best believe he’s only using it to use the revived bodies as a shield or revives them in the most inconvenient moment.

When given the chance to be a duelist, he is definitely picking Jett.

You really can’t convince me otherwise cause her swift play style suits well with Hayato's character.

Those updraft knife trick shots on tiktok? He does them at least once a game to bring down the enemy’s mental.

Would probably be like a Tenz with Jett’s ultimate. He would save the other abilities if he knows he has or is getting his ultimate soon to do those crazy killer dash moves.

This is pretty much self-explanatory so I don’t know what else to say. Hayato is graceful; Jett lets him prove it in game.

Sugishita Kyotaro — hunting-focused initiator

Probably not the most active player in Bofurin but when he does play, he’s playing Fade.

Is probably only ever playing fade because it fits the most with him though.

Short explanation: their auras match well; scary and will be out to torment you.

Long explanation: if he’s playing with Umemiya, he’s probably using Fade to provide support and keep the enemy as far from him as possible.

Since he also doesn’t talk much, Fade uncovering the location of enemies helps him be useful for his team without needing much interaction. I mean, the agent literally can direct you to enemies with the ultimate ability so what else is there to point out?

I also see him as a very proactive corner-checker so Fade’s haunt and prowler is really handy for him. No corner of the site is left unchecked with Kyotaro around!

However, I can’t really picture him using seize that much for capturing enemies so I think he doesn’t really purchase it. If they’re out in the open, he likes killing them head-on so he doesn’t see much value to the said skill.

Overall, even as a one-agent player, he definitely excels with making the most out of Fade’s abilities.

a/n: depending on whether or not anyone is actually interested in this i may turn this into a series,,

[iamshay]

Life Update ✨

I'm finally getting fully settled in soon. The last room is actually my setup room. The kitchen and bedroom are done. The only thing missing is the bed, which I can’t afford right now. Both closets are filled. Now it’s just the office/setup room left.

In the meantime, I’m setting up the alarm and security system-someone’s coming next week to handle that for me. I have to wait on garage security until I get an internet connection run out there. Then I can set up security there too.

There’s still some small stuff left in the living room. It’s just me moving boxes around and opening them. Everything will be settled soon, and I’ll finally see the living room floor.

Balcony furniture will have to wait-probably next year I can really enjoy it, especially since I’m getting a Weber grill too next year summer. I’ve got way more space than I’ve had the past seven years in old apartment.

I can finally feel at home now. No more cluttered paper boxes around my bedroom or setup room. I’ve got a storage unit inside the house, plus a tiny room in my office room that I use for cleaning products and storing extra food that doesn’t need to go in the fridge or freezer-also laundry products. I love my bathroom is big enough have my washing machine in there. I don't like sharing. I love everything is near me. Neighborhood is super nice. Around nature. After I am settle I will go for hours walk to get know the streets and learn the road to the stores.

I’ll get back to content creation in July. I need this whole month to finish settling in, relax, and recover from the pain. My body’s super sore from lifting heavy stuff. Financially, it’s a mess-this move created a lot of bills because of the contract with my old apartment. I have to juggle bills and delay some things until I’m back on track.

I’ve got a lot of overdue bills. Now that I live on a new street, I need to secure my home. I need this security system. Luckily, the company I’m going with is open to splitting the bill and delaying part of it. I used this company years ago when I lived in a similar house-they were so kind.

I told them I wanted the package setup to be black, with two pink and two black key fobs. He giggled and said he’d make sure I get the color combo I want. That’s just the feminine side of me. Pink isn’t my favorite color, but I like having a cute keychain-and it’s easy to recognize what it’s for. This company is amazing. Best in Norway, honestly.

I also need to get a doorbell with a camera for the apartment. Things are slowly coming together-starting to feel homey. I plan to live here for more than 7 years, unless the landlord decides to move in himself. I want to stay here until I’ve saved enough money to buy my own house.

I’ll probably end up buying a place around here. I’ve seen some really nice, affordable houses in this area. Oslo? That’s just for doctor appointments or spa treatments-I’ve never been a city girl. I’m from the countryside in Iran, surrounded by farms and nature. I’m a freakin’ Taurus-it’s in my blood. I just can’t live where it’s crowded and full of bad energy.

I love living in a good environment, in a family-friendly and much safer city. I live in an area where neighbors look out for each other, and there are dogs that bark at unfamiliar faces-makes it easy to tell if someone’s acting sus. I already said hi to my neighbor below me; she has more than one dog that barks a lot. I even offered to babysit if she ever needs help.

I’m only allowed to have visiting dogs-not allowed to own one myself :/ I’ve told a lot of people that my last apartment didn’t allow dogs either, and I lived there for 7 years. Renting just sucks when it comes with those pet rules, especially when the apartment doesn’t even come furnished. Like, what exactly is going to get ruined? The floor? And even then, it’s not like I’d let anything sit there- plus the dog would be potty trained, and I’d take it for walks.

I really, really want a dog :/ A dog would help me on so many levels. I guess I was just born to be petless. Back in Iran, I had pets-so many animals-and that’s why life has felt empty without them. I’d rather have a dog. I’ve dated, but I never really enjoyed being with the people I dated. I love dogs more than boyfriends. More than humans, honestly.

I’ve got more love and respect for animals than I do for people. There, I said it. Animals are just so pure and kind. Best believe that. I’m a dog person, and they say dogs are a human’s best friend for life.

My life’s been flipped upside down, and I miss my childhood. All those animals I had back in Iran brought more joy to my life than anything in adulthood has. There’s just something about animals- words don’t do it justice. Some of them show more humanity in a single day than most people do in a lifetime.

Xo,

Shay

[mariacallous]

It was one of O’Rourke’s first times doing drugs, but he didn’t hold back. Armed with cannabis edibles, cocaine, ketamine, and booze, he partied for nearly 12 nights consecutively last August, during which time he claims to have raved for 60 hours—all without ever leaving his apartment. (He did take bathroom breaks and managed to eat a steak.) In the past 18 months, the 38-year-old IT worker from Dublin, who did not want his first name used due to privacy reasons, has partied on virtual reality platform VRChat every weekend, often staying up until 8 am, suited up in goggles and a full set of motion trackers.

“There’s a lot of weird shit going on, and it can be hard to adjust, but if you do it's magical,” he tells WIRED. “If you're not able to self-moderate and police yourself, it’s endless. You're not going to win; you're not going to see the end of the party.” O’Rourke is one of many who may struggle with the fantastical, escapist allure of having access to a nearly nonstop, wild metaverse party from the comfort of their own homes. Especially when he normally doesn’t have plans with friends in the real world.

Before Covid-19 lockdowns, there had barely ever been more than 20,000 concurrent users on VRChat—but its popularity has since exploded. More than 130,000 people locked into VRChat on New Year’s Day this year, according to a VR culture blog, and there are dozens of weekly VR parties thanks to organizers across the US, Europe, and Asia. Once inside the VRChat metaverse, users—who describe it to WIRED as an immersive, futuristic utopia—can choose which “maps,” or parties, they wish to explore in the form of their avatars.

Meanwhile, traditional clubs in the US and the UK are closing at an alarming rate—casualties of rising costs, lower profits, and, in places, onerous regulations around noise levels, security requirements, and closing times. The infinite amount of space available on VR, plus the lack of regulation, allows creators to blissfully ignore the economic pressures that limit nightlife in many places today. VR venues don’t charge for entry, so the main cost is hardware, which can exceed $5,000 with a high-quality gaming PC and full-body tracking devices, although a simpler setup with just a Meta Quest headset can be procured for as little as $350. There are, however, often long lines to get into the most popular virtual club nights, since they are all capped to 80 people each due to the limits of the software on the VRChat platform, which is available through host Steam.

WIRED spoke to 12 people who are engrossed in the scene, from trans people who feel safer partying in VR to introverts and seniors who find it more welcoming. It’s even spawning underground VR sex and drug subcultures, with erotic club nights and venues meant to mimic the effect of psychedelics. O’Rourke and other enthusiasts say they’ve clocked up drug-fueled, marathon dance sessions all without many of the stressors of traditional club nights.

O’Rourke, an introvert who is self-conscious about his 5-foot-4 height, co-runs a party called Euro-Corp, which resembles a traditional club space, with a narrow, wooden-looking dance floor and a DJ booth overlooking it all. He says he is putting in so many hours—almost 1,800 at the time of writing—because he feels now is the “high-water-mark moment” for the scene. “When people look back in 10 or 20 years, they’ll say now was its peak. That’s why I’m partying so hard.”

But he admits he overdoes it sometimes. “I accidentally did a heroic dose [of mushrooms], and it was a bit of a mess,” he says of a March 2024 trip during which he could not distinguish between his hallucinations and the VR world. “I haven’t taken shrooms since because it was a bit heavy.” Since then, he has decided that ketamine “synergizes most with VR,” because it enhances the levels of immersion to render the virtual reality more real.

Others, like Heelix, a 61-year-old VR DJ from Berlin who has spent nearly 5,000 hours in VR—the equivalent of about 200 days—struggle to control their drinking. “I think it's a little bit dangerous,” he says. “I’ve seen people going overboard, and [their avatars] suddenly disappearing.” Another VR party promoter says, “Because of the headset, you don’t realize how drunk you are till you take it off.” One partier says he has had friends who have needed their stomachs to be pumped after marathon drinking sessions on VRChat.

But socially awkward individuals, homebodies, and LGBT people tell WIRED that VR raves are secure and surreal spaces where, through their avatars, folks can metamorphose into whatever form they wish.

Ru, a trans woman from rural Ohio who works as a hospice nurse, says VRChat provides her a safer environment than she might find in real life. “I get sexually assaulted far less often,” says Ru, 48, who didn’t want to use her real name for professional reasons. “I'm a trans woman, and I live in the middle of a red state. Sometimes you don't want to go to that local place and deal with all of that shit.” Plus, she says that the music that DJs on VRChat play is just better than at the clubs in Ohio she has been to. “The music is unbelievable,” she says. “Go listen to your local people, and then come to any random club in VR; you're going to be shocked that your local DJs suck ass.” Ru’s virtual club, Kaleidosky, looks like the inside of a shape-shifting kaleidoscope, bending the laws of physics with all the fractal visions of a DMT trip. Her VR success as a DJ has even led her to play physical shows in Japan, although she was not the headliner. “My life has been expanded in ways that I can hardly relate to you,” she says, “all because of VR and how it brings all these different, immensely creative people together.”

Luna, a VR raver from the Netherlands, was suffering from poor mental health, unemployed, and socially alienated when she first went on VRChat at the age of 19 in 2022. “I was really depressed,” she recalls. “I didn't have work. I didn't have real friends. I was stuck at home.” But, like many before her, discovering raving changed everything. “It was like a way to experience new things, new worlds,” she says. “I loved it instantly.” She has partied so hard from her living room that her neighbors have complained. “I can dance quite wildly.”

Just like she would in the physical world, Luna developed an entire group of friends from VR rave encounters. They now pre-drink together before heading out at the weekends in VR, and sometimes they even take MDMA as a group, from their individual silos. Her first trip came in her first few months VR raving, when a friend of hers in Australia said she was going to take the euphoria-inducing drug, and fellow raver Benji, who also lives in the Netherlands, offered to mail a dose of a legal version of MDMA to Luna’s house. Later, at an in-person rave organized by a VR club, she connected with Benji; they’ve now been a couple for two and a half years, and he goes on VR far less.

But others get hooked on the platform’s rave scene, even though the experience cannot fully replicate the neurochemical correlates of a real rave, says Maria Balaet, a research associate in the department of neuroimaging studies at Imperial College London. Prolonged drug use in VR could also amplify sensory overload and cognitive fatigue, raising the risk of dissociation and having a bad trip, she warns. “Having a bad trip in VR is probably worse than a bad trip outside of VR, because once one comes out of the VR environment their body and mind needs to readjust to the world too, and that is taxing in addition to the bad trip itself.” She adds that drug use in VR could bring about a “false outward experience,” in which an individual has an inner experience in an artificially designed context. “I am not sure how long one can stay in this state without feeling disconnected or disoriented,” Balaet cautions.

Some VR ravers say they've found real-life partners and friends through virtual partying. Photograph: @ayase_

Benji and Luna first connected romantically in person, but sometimes one thing can lead to another on VRChat—with or without drugs. Through the use of VR rooms and custom avatars with adult capabilities, clothing can be removed and certain “gestures” can be performed to simulate sex. The explicit phenomenon, tucked away in private metaverse spaces, has spawned whole categories of pornographic videos on adult websites, where VR users record themselves having sex. “When people engage in ERP [erotic role-play], they typically pick out an avatar to dress the part,” according to an explainer video on how people “do it” in VRChat. “There’s special physics for body parts that can be added to avatars, as well as ‘collision,’ so that other users can interact with them.” This is against VRChat’s terms of service that prohibit creating pornographic content, and these sorts of avatars should be swiftly banned if they are active in a public world.

Heelix’s avatar is a young female anime character, and he describes how loneliness led him to find solace in VR, where he plays shows as a DJ. “All of my friends are old, and they don’t go clubbing anymore,” he says. On the occasions he has gone out by himself he has felt conscious of his greying hair and growing belly. “But here in VR I know a lot of people,” he says. “It's much easier.” Plus, “the way home is very short,” and en route he can even stop by places like one of VRChat’s sex-positive clubs, PSHQ—originally known as Pussy Squad Headquarters—where as many as 20 lap dancers can be tipped during exotic dance nights, and attendees can slope off to a motel area for what the club describes as “NSFW activities.”

Some erotic dancers, like Lichbait, have even developed popular online personas and are profiting from subscriptions, like a VR OnlyFans. PSHQ, according to its creator DeityAnubis, who did not want to be named for privacy reasons, is “a sexually positive adult space with a focus on music. The music, the dancing, the lighting, the atmosphere, the sense of community, the LGBTQ safe space, those are the important parts of PSHQ and make us what we are.”

In January, VRChat introduced age verification on the platform to ensure children were not accessing certain adult spaces, after a BBC investigation found children were able to enter VR strip clubs and could be cajoled into performing virtual sex acts. Zeus Tipado, a PhD candidate researching neuroscience at the University of Maastricht, describes VR as a mammoth social experiment, but it's one that he has increasing concerns about. Some frequent users get progressively less interested in base reality, to a far greater extent than traditional gamers, he warns. The site’s anonymity also provides cover for racist or bigoted behavior.

During one of his forays into VRChat, Tipado says, he was part of a group invited into a man’s apartment. “It was a vibey apartment,” Tipado recalls. “Everyone was watching Power Rangers. I found a nice place to sit down on the sofa, and then this guy comes up in front of everybody and tells people to take off their clothes.” Nobody took off their virtual clothes, and they were soon kicked out of his apartment for failing to comply with the request.

User safety is a top priority, a VRChat spokesperson tells WIRED, and the platform has provided users with a number of tools to protect themselves, such as making it easy to block and report others. “When our trust and safety team receives a report, they have the ability to use metadata and logs to track down and ban problematic users,” they said.

While many might assume that all VR users are on a quest to escape reality, sometimes the parties act as a gateway to live events.

Promoter James Campbell, who runs the popular Shelter map, has held events in New York, San Diego, and Los Angeles playing dubstep, bass, and other electronic music genres to bring VR ravers together.

At Shelter’s first party, in New York, attended by more than 250 people in May 2022 at the now-closed VRWorld in Midtown Manhattan, he says countless people came up to him and said it was their first ever actual rave, telling him: “I didn’t think I’d ever have the confidence to come to a show.”

[quartz-components]

DIY Laser Tripwire Security System Using Arduino

The project consists of a laser module that continuously emits a beam aimed at a laser receiver sensor. When an object (such as a person) obstructs the laser, the receiver detects the interruption and triggers an alarm via a buzzer. This system is ideal for securing doorways, hallways, or any restricted area.

COMPONENTS REQUIRED

Arduino Uno 

Laser LED Module

Laser Receiver Sensor Module

Buzzer

Jumper wires

Breadboard

Circuit Diagram

CODE

#define LASER_PIN 7  

#define RECEIVER_PIN 8  

#define BUZZER_PIN 9  

void setup() {

  pinMode(LASER_PIN, OUTPUT);

  pinMode(RECEIVER_PIN, INPUT);

  pinMode(BUZZER_PIN, OUTPUT);

  digitalWrite(LASER_PIN, HIGH); // Laser ON

  Serial.begin(9600);

}

void loop() {

  int status = digitalRead(RECEIVER_PIN);

  if (status == 1) {  // If laser beam is blocked

    Serial.println("⚠️ Intruder Detected!");

    digitalWrite(BUZZER_PIN, HIGH);  

  } else {

    Serial.println("✅ Area Secure");

    digitalWrite(BUZZER_PIN, LOW);  

  }

  delay(500);

}

[generalluxun]

Big Day: an MLFemslash Feb ficlet

My second fic for @mlbfemslashfebruary , this one is Chloé x Alya and just a short bit of fluff. It's set years after my In Direct Opposition fic, but that isn't really required reading if you just want some domestic goodness.

Ficlet is 929 words.

Link to AO3 is here.

Full text below the cut.

The squawking of the alarm wasn’t immediately a problem, when you had a wife like the one Alya did you were used to a little squawking. In fact, at first it folded nearly into the pre-morning dream state. The warmth in her arms, the back against her cheek, the rise and fall of ribs against her skin in deep slow breaths was a long familiar but ever thrilling experience. Mixed into this moment, the alarm’s sharp calls could be turned into a long winded complaint, the music of her woman, not a call to break from the sweet embrace of the bedsheets.

Eventually though the warmth shifted. There was a gentle press back against Alya’s chest, followed by a slow unraveling, then a swift turn and- Fwump. A well aimed pillow swept Alya’s phone, a lamp, and the book she had started yesterday all from the nightstand.

Alya opened her eyes, looking up at her golden companion who was currently rubbing their temples and glaring after the projectile. The phone still stubbornly announced its now muffled complaint.

“Don’t know why you still have that ridiculous alarm,” Chloé groused.

Alya shifted, but remained stubbornly supine, stretching beneath the sheets. The theme song to the first Ladybug movie kept playing on a stubborn ten second loop. “Mmm, because then whenever you hear it, or any of the remixes, you’ll think of me.”

Chloé’s glare focused on her, but the teeth went out of it. “Don’t know why you couldn’t just let me sleep in on today of all days. I should be allowed to bury my head in the sand as long as possible.”

Despite the bitterness in her tone, Chloé’s fingers brushed Alya through the covers before she stood and circled the bed. Alya got to simply observe, especially enjoying her wife stretch, reach, and grope for the phone behind the nightstand before turning it off.

Alya sat up, indulging a stretch of her own. “Maybe you have an easy day ahead, but I’ve got to cover Mayor Bourgeois’ inaugural speech. I’ve got hours of setup, wrestling with security, planning, then wrangling as many interviews as I can from guests who would rather not see me most days.”

Chloé rolled her eyes and shook her head before tossing Alya’s phone to her. Turning on point; Chloé strode to the master bathroom, shedding her silk pajamas as she went. She called back from the other room, “You could just skip it. Ridiculous political nonsense. Cover something important instead.”

Alya smirked, pushing herself out of bed and fishing through the chest of drawers. “Skip it? And let Chamack scoop me? I don’t think so. You knew who you were getting involved with long ago, honey. Too late for regrets.”

“Just because I love you, doesn’t mean I have to like all of you all of the time,” came back. Followed by, “Damnit, could you-”

Alya tossed a pair of panties and a cami that she had collected into the bathroom before Chloé had even finished the question.

“Thanks!” came back.

Alya scanned her phone’s queued messages to be sure they could be ignored before joining her.

Chloé’s hair was already up and impeccable. Alya had seen the woman turn bed head into a coif with a single motion, and yet still didn’t understand how she did it. She was applying makeup with a confidence to make professionals blush.

Alya budged in, giving her a hip bump then taking the low side while her long-legged wasp of a wife took the top. Alya set about sorting her own hair, a longer task that it had been before. Chloé had convinced her to stop straightening years ago, and they had both loved the results, but Alya was years behind in proficiency with finger combing.

She glanced up and spotted the real strain under the painted lines on Chloé’s face, “You could join me,” she teased, “You could stand in the press box, elbow to elbow with jackals jockeying for your place. You could take flak for being too revolutionary or being a toady for the state, depending on who was yelling. It’s a blast.”

She got a cutting look that years of experience taught her meant, ‘That did not work, but thank you for trying.’

They worked in silence from that point until they were back out in the bedroom dressed in blouses and blazers; Alya with buttons at her breast, Chloé with ruffles. Chloé crossed to Alya while Alya was trying to harangue her film crew into motion via text.

Chloé turned Alya towards her and straightened the front of her blazer, fingers lingering on the quarters. “What about after the speech? There are always parties to either join or avoid.”

Alya sighed softly and bumped foreheads with her. “Editing, writing up tomorrow’s segments, and trying to slip a few follow up interviews if I can. It’ll be late before I can break away. You know how it works hon.”

Chloé gave Alya’s jacket one more little tug, her voice pitched into a sulky pout that was desperately sincere, “I won’t get to see you at all today then… Sometimes I’m jealous of your success for stealing you away.”

Alya gave a little sass for that one, nudging Chloé’s tummy with a fingertip. “You’re trying to play that card with me Ms. Bee?”

Chloé countered,”You know it’s always easier with you close.”

Alya smiled. She did know. She knew because the same was true the other way around. She leaned in and just before kissing her whispered, “You’ll do fine, Mayor Bourgeois.”

[thosefuzzywordfeelings]

La Seduction Vengeance // Part Two.

CW: mentions of violence, manipulation

The rope was tight. Enough. Coarse, tied securely around the trunk of a blossom tree outside the house, I observed my setup. If my amateur calculations were correct, the breezeblock suspended from the tree should fall directly onto the bonnet of Mr Thompson's car. It was midnight, people on my street known for getting early nights. That was the lucky thing in my situation, the residents of Blossom Close either over the age of 80 or so inundated with money that they'd be visiting their multiple holiday homes as soon as the sun burned the streets warmer. My dad and I were the youngest on the street, keeping everyone feeling youthful and hopeful with the sitcom-like happiness that used to radiate from our home.

Now, Mr Thompson wasn't a terribly behaved man, he just had some what he called 'old-fashioned' ideals about the way the world was changing. And it was those outlandish opinions shared a little too loudly to those on our street that made me choose him for this particular mission. I needed to get that SUV down this road, and I needed to speak to that officer. Double checking that none of the houses lights had switched on - elderly folk up using the bathroom at witching hour - and when I was sure it was clear I pulled out the shiny engraved switchblade my dad had bought me for my 18th. "Every young woman should have one of these. In case of emergencies, you know?"

I'd consider this an emergency, Dad. Slicing the thick rope in one swift cut, the breezeblock came tumbling down onto the grey metal, the alarm instantly blaring to alert the street. I ran away to my house, three doors down - thankfully - and ran through my screen door. Sweat formed on my brow as I peered through my living room curtains, making sure to keep all my lights off. As I heard commotion and angry yells from Mr Thompson; I knew that was my cue. Wrapping a large hoodie around my frame and pulling it over my head, I pulled an eye mask over my head too, letting it nestle on the rim of my forehead as I slipped on some slippers. Heading out into the cold, dark night once again, I found Darcy coming out to our side of the road.

"Looks like Jerry's in a bit of trouble there." Darcy spoke with a slight giggle. She didn't like him either, not many of the residents of this street did. Looking down the pavement at Mr Thompsons arms flailing about angrily as residents began to gather at the chaos, the all too familiar silhouette of the black SUV came swinging around the corner of the street. Bingo. Clunky black DM's hit the concrete as the young man stepped out of the car, sucking back a disgusting cloud of flavoured smoke from a vape I could see was electric green from down the street. He came towards Mr Thompson and his beautifully wrecked car (you're welcome) before looking around at the other residents. His eyes landed on mine for a moment before drifting back to Mr Thompson.

"He might just be the dishiest officer we've had around here, you know. Your age too." Darcy mumbled as she folded her arms, trying to hug herself away from the chill of the night. I knew what she was trying to do, trying to hook me up with the not entirely unattractive sheriff, but she had no idea of my ulterior motive. I chuckled lightly in her direction, keeping my eyes on the officer. Shit. He was walking towards me. If I end up in a jail cell I'm screw-

"Good evening ladies, or should I say mornin'?" The young man spoke with a sideways smile. Darcy and I smiled in response, her bony elbow nudging mine subtly. I nudged her back. "You lovely ladies see what happened to Gerry's car?"

"No, sir. I was sleeping. Woke up to the alarm blaring." I replied innocently, pointing to the eye mask atop my head. His eyes flickered up to it, studying it for a moment.

"Sleep is for the week?" He read the lettering on it aloud, chuckling to himself as he turned towards Darcy. "What about you, Ms Brook? Know you ain't too fond of the man. Got some weightlifting trophies we don't know about?"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his ridiculous attempt at humour, my eyes looking over his uniform and his features. He had beauty marks dotted over his skin, ironic considering his cocky personality was so ugly. But the way his kevlar hugged his frame, his cap rested almost over two big chocolate eyes was getting a little intense. He didn't seem that attractive when he was perring out of the SUV window, but I suppose that's a distance away. Doubt flooded my mind that this young man could have possibly killed my father, but I needed to get answers nonetheless.

"Well here's a card with my details on. You know, incase something comes to ya." He said, shoving a little piece of cardboard into just my hand, Darcy peering over my shoulder at the writing. Gator Tillman. Tillman sounded familiar, but i couldn't think where from. I nodded up at Gator, tucking the card into my dressing gown pocket. He walked away, taking one more quick glance over my shoulder at me before patting Mr Thompson on the shoulder; seeming to have made amends with the old crony about fixing his car. Hm. I needed to speak to him more, I thought to myself, as I bid goodnight to Darcy and headed back into my house to sleep. And plan.

Like some kind of crazed, grieving magician I'd been working on my next trick for just a few days. The middle of the night worked best, as it seemed Gator was on call a lot more nightly as of late. I'd decided to make this one a little personal, meticulously planning out a break in. Of my own home. I'd wait until the street was silent, all the elderly folks resting peacefully in their beds - bar Gerry Thompson who I could practically still hear grumbling about his car even still - and I'd smash my front door window in. My dad had left some money in piggybanks in the basement and it was a little window, easy to fix. In he'd come, like a knight in shining camouflage and then I'd out him. Or whatever, I hadn't actually thought of the crux of the trap yet. The onyx sky rolled around quickly, as I bound multiple tea-towels around my fist and headed through my back door and around the porch towards the front. Punching straight through the glass, I unlocked the door and snuck in; making sure to use a pair of my dad's old shoes to tread in the glass. I did the same to my back door, punching out the glass towards the patio so the 'attacker' could escape.

Unwrapping the tea-towels and putting them back in the kitchen drawer, I was relieved that my fist was unharmed. The next part was to wreck my beautiful kitchen, making sure the drawers were emptied and the knife block was menacingly strewn onto the floor as it looked like someone had ransacked the place. Grabbing duct tape from the drawer, I wrapped it around my wrists, pulling it and securing it tightly with my teeth. Some feat. I threw the duct tape underneath the sink. Holding two strips in between the fingers of one hand and my mobile phone in the other, I headed upstairs to my dad's bedroom, sitting in the corner opposite the dresser and tying one of the duct tape strips haphazardly around my ankles. Calling 911, I took some quick breaths in succession before they picked up. Just as an unfamiliar male voice answered, my tied feet kicked the dresser and let everything crash from its top. I screamed for help as the person the phone confirmed someone was on their way. As I covered my own mouth with the final strip of duct tape, I muffled some fake screams through it as the call handler tried to reassure me. Rolling my eyes I took the final step, adrenaline running through my veins at my intricate plan; drawing my head back hard against the wall and slumping down with my eyes.

I came round to a deep voice and a firm hand pinching my shoulder. "Ma'am? Can you hear me?" Groaning and mumbling, I blinked my eyes open to see two officers knelt beside me, holding pieces of duct tape from my body and bottled water. "Is he gone?" I mumbled, mentally noting that I should absolutely write a speech for my upcoming Oscar. "Is who gone? We found signs of forced entry, you're looking at getting two new doors replaced. No perp though." One of the young officers spoke softly. Neither of them were Gator. My entire plan had been to get Gator into a corner, like a little rat. A rat who, no matter how intelligent he may have seemed, had no idea that the person holding the cheese had backed him up into that corner on purpose.

With an inspection of my head and more numbers to call if I was 'alarmed', the officers headed back to their station as I packed a bag to stay at Darcy's for the rest of the night. The officers warned that the 'perp' may come back with my broken doors, so they'd asked my sweet, oblivious neighbour if I could crash at her place. She was kind, as always. Opening the door in her fluffy robe and matching slippers, her smile as warm as the heating that rushed out of the door of her home. "Come on dear, tea is ready for you. Lord knows you must be shaking like a willow in a storm." Her soft voice carried me into her home, as I settled on her floral-patterned couch. We drank tea, as I allowed my mouth to ramble about the horrors of what - I had orchestrated - had happened that evening. I felt awful lying to Darcy's face but the rigid ache in form of flashbacks and memories of my father pushed the lies right out of my mouth.

She gave me a kiss on the head as I stood in the doorway of her spare room. I felt my eyelids tingle with a sadness I hadn't allowed myself to process yet. "You'll be alright darlin'." Darcy's words were gentle, but her actions bore a heavy weight that I think she knew I needed. Then they came, what felt like gallons of tears washing over my cheeks as Darcy wrapped her arms around my shoulders, pulling me against her chest. "Double squeeze." She whispered softly, her arms tensing around my shoulders twice. I pulled away instantly with a worried look on my face between sobs. "How do you know - about - about double squeeze?" I said weakly, my voice wavering with sadness. Darcy's face broke into a sympathetic smile. "I've known you since you were this big, darlin' -" She whispered, holding her index and thumb finger paralell to each other, "Saw you grow up. Saw how your father loved you. Saw how you loved him. He always told me how clever you were, how you were going to take on the world. I still see it. In your eyes, you're still that clever little girl, that clever big man raised you to be. He said to me one day," Darcy spoke with such passion, her elderly voice hinting with her own grief for my father as she grasped my hands tightly, "He said, if I'm ever not here, remind her. Remind her of her bravery and dont forget the double squeeze." I let out a sad chuckle as I kept the flow of sadness streaming down my face as her words clung to my skin like the double squeeze. My father would always hug me, tightly, sometimes so tight that my lungs felt like they could burst. He'd let go with a chuckle, kissing the top of my head as he'd wrap his arms around me tighter, squeezing twice as he mumbled 'double squeeze' into the top of my head. What I'd give to feel that from him again. Darcy's arms were thick, soft and plush and the squeeze felt too kind. I needed the air knocked out of me. With a sad smile, I hugged her and thanked her for her kindness tonight as I shut the door behind me and settled into the squeaky metal bed frame. I hugged one of her downy cushions tightly, letting a few more tears hit the pillow. "Take on the world." "Clever little girl." Darcy's words echoed around my head as I tossed and turned, staring up at the mottled ceiling. I needed to get to that smarmy officer. Pretty boy. Dangerous for an active murderer to wear such a sweet smile. I needed to come up with something better.

[callboxkat]

One of those Yule Log videos, but make it Infinitesimal

I'm a little late, since this idea came to me courtesy of some Yule Log videos that we played in the background on Christmas Eve. I recommend one called Puppies Crash Christmas on Hulu. 10/10.

Writing Masterpost

I would make this for real if I had 1: the time 2: my stylus (I'm visiting family and left it behind, smh) and 3: any animation skills to speak of. Alas, I lack all three.

But! I'm still sharing the idea with you all. Enjoy!

...

Roman and Logan live in an apartment without a real fireplace, so this is a little different than the usual Yule Log video. Instead of watching a roaring fire, the camera view centers on a laptop sitting open on a table. On it, a fullscreen video of a campfire plays.

Above, stockings are hung up on the wall, each already filled. Three of them are full size: a red-and-gold one embroidered with the name Roman, a stylish blue one embroidered with the name Logan, and a black one with REMUS crudely hand-stitched in an alarming shade of neon green. (Remus originally brought in an actual knee-high, black-and-green-striped sock, yanked right off his foot, but this was immediately shot down by all other parties).

The remaining three stockings are of the miniature kind: one purple, one sky blue, and one green. The letters V, P, and E are hand-sewn on each one, respectively.

These stockings all hang below a shelf, which is adorned with LED candles, a small statue of Santa Claus in a space ship, a toy Dalek in a Santa hat, and various Disney snow globes. The whole setup is framed by a large garland, which is interwoven with Christmas lights that twinkle in a rainbow of colors.

As the video begins, voices can be heard in the background. They are accompanied by footsteps as their owners walk around out of view.

0:00 "It isn't even a real fire."

"It's festive, Logan!"

"The combustion of fuel to create heat, carbon dioxide, nitrogen, water vapor, and oxygen is festive?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

Logan sighs. "I suppose I can admit that lit fireplaces are an image that Christmas conjures. But, again, we do not posess a fireplace."

"Hence the video."

"Roman, that video is of a campfire."

"Fire is fire."

The voices and footsteps pause for a beat.

"....Why does it have to stay on when we aren't here? This seems like a waste of electricity, especially given your insistence upon the purchase of gifts for the holiday."

"What if Pat stops by? Or Virge, or Emile? It's for them!"

"I am unsure what desire they would have for--"

"Do you want them to have a bad Christmas?"

"I don't see how--"

"Do you?"

"I'm impartial to Christmas, as you know."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"...No."

"Great! Then it stays."

Another pause.

"Why does it have to be my laptop?"

"Because yours has a bigger screen. Ooh! There's a last-minute Christmas present idea for you!"

"My laptop?"

"No, a new one for me."

"I am not purchasing you a laptop. Yours functions just fine."

"Fine. Oh, wait, did you plug it in?"

"Naturally. When have I ever neglected to plug in my laptop?"

(Please note, dear reader/would-be viewer: the laptop is not plugged in)

0:05 The footsteps retreat. We hear the jangle of keys, then the door closing and locking. Flames continue to flicker on the laptop screen. We can hear them crackle and pop.

0:06 A car honks outside.

0:07 We hear footsteps and laughter in the hall, which quickly move on.

0:08: The seam in the wallpaper just above the shelf, visible under the garland and lights, silently opens. 5-inch-tall Virgil pokes his head out, then steps onto the shelf and beckons to someone behind him. He walks using a pair of forearm crutches.

Emile emerges a second later. He carries a fishing hook and rope and wears a hand-sewn backpack secured with a button.

The pair look around, before Emile secures his hook on the garland above the shelf. He carefully rappels down to the first of the miniature stockings, sky blue, and starts pulling out candies, stashing them in his backpack. Virgil leans over the edge of the shelf and watches, occasionally pointing or gesturing to his brother.

With the stocking visibly more empty, Emile climbs back up on the rope to the shelf. He slides off the backpack, which Virgil carries back the way they came, out of sight. He returns with an empty backpack.

Emile takes it and once again rappels down, this time moving to the purple miniature stocking.

0:12 As Virgil and Emile collect candy from the stockings, Patton arrives. He pushes a present the size of a ring box in front of him. It's wrapped in red paper, with green ribbon. He waves to Virgil, then leaves.

0:13 One of the Christmas lights goes out, not far from the doorway into the wall.

0:15 Emile finishes taking candy out of the last miniature stocking. He and Virgil leave with the candy. The three stockings are about half as full as before.

0:20 Patton returns, pushing another present ahead of himself. This one is a black box, with a too-large blue bow on top.

0:24 Virgil and Emile return with the third present. This one isn't in a box. Bafflingly, it's a medicine bottle, with a too-large green bow on the cap. Virgil uses one crutch and pulls on a string tied around the bottle. Emile pushes. As we watch, Virgil trips, and Emile accidentally tips the bottle, nearly knocking it over completely. The cap comes off, which Virgil quickly grabs. A piece of candy shaped like an eyeball tumbles out. As Emile rights the bottle, we watch the candy bounce off the laptop keyboard (causing the volume of the video to rise by 1), then hear it hit the floor, bounce, and roll away.

(It's old Halloween candy. They're expired. Remus will love it)

They position the gifts on the shelf, then whisper an inaudible conversation. Emile goes to make sure the cap is tight on the medicine bottle this time.

Virgil notices the Christmas light that has gone out. He looks for a moment, then smacks it with his crutch. The light comes back on. He and Emile leave.

The digital flames crackle and pop.

0:35 Patton reappears at the bottom of our view, carrying a bag on his back. A candy wrapper pokes out of the top. He climbs up the ladder attached to the table and sits down beside the laptop and its campfire video. He pulls out the candy and starts to unwrap it.

0:37 Virgil and Emile arrive. Virgil has both crutches now, and Emile carries a larger bag of candy on his back. They climb up the ladder to join Patton. They eat the loot from their stockings in the light of the "fire".

0:40 A notification pops up in the lower right-hand side of the laptop screen: Battery Saver Mode Engaged. The littles don't notice.

0:50 The littles finish their candy, climb back down the ladder, and leave.

0:55 Another notification pops up on the laptop: Warning! Low Battery.

1:00 The laptop dies, and its screen goes dark. A moment later, so does the video.

...

Thanks for reading! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year!

[cryogeniccrush]

A Coin Flip Away - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Chapter Six: Collision Course

Summary:

Mission status: botched. Emotions: leaking. Bucky goes down like a majestic, brooding tree. She goes full rabid raccoon mode. Confessions are screamed. Feelings are felt. Alexei brings soup. Hello Kitty magnets are mentioned. Nobody is okay.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: language, injury/blood, mild angst, emotional yelling, mutual pining so intense it might be a war crime, near-death Bucky (again), soup-based jump scare, hand holding (scandalous)

masterlist • next chapter

The Next Mission.

The next mission was simple.

In theory.

Secure intel. Infiltrate. Extract.

No drama. No surprises.

But you should’ve known better. The second Bucky was assigned to lead the op—and the second Valentina didn’t send Mel—your gut twisted.

Something about it reeked. No backup. No real prep. And Mel, who usually never missed a field op, was suddenly “reassigned.”

Suspicious didn’t even begin to cover it.

Still. You went.

You always did.

---

The Setup.

The quinjet cut low through gray skies, skimming just beneath radar. Below, a derelict Alpine town flanked the forest. Satellite heat signatures showed a hidden Hydra vault built beneath an old textile factory—one storing cutting-edge tech, bio-weapons, and whispers of something worse.

You were suited up and strapped in, ribs still sore from the last mission but functional. The suit felt tighter somehow. Not physically. Just—tighter. Like the air had pressure. Like the day had teeth.

Bucky stood across from you, checking his gear with sharp, methodical focus. The others buzzed around the cabin—Yelena cracking her knuckles, Bob balancing snacks on his thigh, Ava running through comms—but your eyes kept drifting back to him.

He hadn’t said much since the last mission. Since the campfire. Since that almost-confession, half-buried in a heartbeat and swallowed whole.

Since you slapped Mel down like a boss and Bucky handed you chocolate the next morning like he didn’t care.

He hadn’t said a word since.

You secured your vest and raised a brow at him. “If I get impaled today, you better avenge me dramatically. Preferably with fire and tragic piano music.”

Bucky didn’t look up. Just loaded another mag and replied, “You’re not getting impaled.”

“Aww. So you do care.”

“I care about not dragging your bleeding body out of another blast zone.”

You smirked and turned to Yelena, who was already rolling her eyes.

“He loves me,” you said casually.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Desperately.”

Bob nodded solemnly. “Truly a tale for the ages.”

Bucky muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “deranged idiots.”

---

The Disaster.

Everything went sideways in seconds.

The team made it to the vault undetected. You and Bucky moved like muscle memory—sweeping corridors, breaching doors, slipping through infrared fields like water. For a moment, it felt easy. Natural. Maybe even… good.

But Hydra never made anything easy.

The intel cache was secured. Bob cracked the server’s encryption. Ava phased into the deeper wing to retrieve a second drive. And then—

Alarms.

Not triggered by you. Not by Bob.

A failsafe. Built into the tech.

Sirens screamed. Red lights flared. Steel doors slammed shut with magnetic force.

“Shit!” Ava’s voice rang through comms. “Something’s overriding my phase! I’ve got the drive—Bob, catch!”

A glint of silver flew through the air.

And then—

Boom.

Not a fireball. Not a blast.

Worse.

A shockwave—invisible, brutal, seismic. Like the vault itself bucked and screamed.

It hit you square in the chest and threw you backwards into a concrete wall. Your shoulder cracked hard—pain flashed white—and your head spun. When you blinked through the haze, rubble rained from above. Dust thickened the air.

And in the chaos—

You saw it.

Blood. Debris.

Bucky—

Half-buried beneath a steel beam. His arm pinned. His eyes shut. Blood running from his temple, too much of it.

“No.”

You were moving before the thought fully formed. Crawling, slipping, gasping. Your fingers clawed at debris, adrenaline surging like molten panic through your veins.

“Nonononono—James, no—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the salt in your mouth. The others shouted in your ear. Someone screamed for extraction. None of it mattered.

You dropped to your knees beside him, ripped off your gloves, and pressed two shaking fingers to his neck.

A beat.

A second.

A pulse.

Faint.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “Come on, come on—open your eyes—”

He groaned. Just barely.

You let out a breath so sharp it hurt. You leaned down, brushing the dust from his cheek with trembling hands. “Stay with me. Please. I swear to god, I will kill fate itself if you die right now.”

He blinked blearily. His head shifted slightly. “You’re… loud.”

A wet laugh ripped from your throat. “You absolute bastard.”

---

The Medbay.

It took everything in you to help pull him free. Ava and John handled comms. Bob got the quinjet prepped. Yelena covered your backs with a storm of bullets and knives and swearing in Russian.

By the time you were airborne, your body had stopped shaking.

But your heart hadn’t.

Bucky drifted in and out. He was stable—barely. Bob worked on stabilizing the arm; most of it was prosthetic, but the shoulder wasn’t. The gash on his head would need stitches. But he was alive.

Alive.

You sat beside him, silent, for the entire ride home.

But the second the med team cleared him for observation—and he sat up on his own, wincing but awake—

You snapped.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

His eyes flicked to yours, still groggy. “What?”

“You charged into the server chamber alone! You didn’t wait for the signal! You could’ve—you almost—”

Your voice cracked. You bit your lip hard.

“I had to get the data,” he said hoarsely.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t care about the goddamn data, Bucky. I care about you.”

Silence. Hard. Dense.

Even Bob froze mid-bite, a granola bar half-raised.

Bucky blinked like he didn’t understand the words.

You stood up, pacing now, breathing hard. “You don’t get it, do you? I joke. I flirt. I stick Hello Kitty magnets to your arm and pretend none of it means anything. But it does. You matter. You’re the only thing—God. I’d lose it if something happened to you.”

He looked wrecked. Shaken to the core. Like your words cracked a dam he’d held shut for decades.

“You… care?” he said, voice small. Disbelieving.

You turned slowly to face him. “Of course I care, you emotionally constipated tin can!”

More silence.

Then—quietly, almost broken—

“I didn’t think you meant it.”

You froze.

And then your voice softened. “If I didn’t mean it,” you whispered, stepping closer, “I wouldn’t still be here.”

His hand reached out—hesitant, unsure.

You took it. Held it tight.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “The feelings. The… connection.”

“Same,” you murmured. “But I’m willing to wing it if you are.”

His eyes flicked to your lips. Yours to his.

And for a second, everything else fell away. The beeping monitors. The smell of antiseptic. The buzz of the world—

Just you. Him. And the slow, magnetic pull between two people terrified to fall.

Then—

CRASH.

The door slammed open.

Alexei barreled in with a tray of soup and the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“YOU STILL BLEEDING? GOOD. MEANS YOU’RE NOT DEAD.”

You and Bucky jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Bob snorted soda out of his nose. Yelena groaned somewhere behind Alexei’s bulk.

But your fingers stayed curled around his.

HELLOOO!!! This chapter was… A LOT. Bucky nearly died (again), our girly went full feral soulmate in crisis, and we finally yelled the feelings into existence like the emotionally repressed icons we are. This was the chapter where everything collided—the mission, the tension, the trauma, and Bucky’s ribcage under a steel beam. Romantic!!

I just wanna say THANK YOU for being here with me through this unhinged ride of magnets, missions, and mutual breakdowns. Whether you’ve been here since Chapter One or just wandered in because you saw “Hello Kitty” in the tags—YOU’RE FAMILY NOW. A chaotic little crime family. I love you. lol

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS THE FINAL ONE. OMGGG!!

And Bucky didn’t let go.

[jangillman]

Let’s get straight to it regarding Signal gate.

Alex Wong is the individual who added Jeffrey Goldberg to the Signal chat. That’s not speculation — that’s confirmed. And this rabbit hole runs far deeper than anyone expected.

Alex Wong is Mike Waltz’s National Security Advisor, and he’s now at the center of the unfolding SIGNALGATE scandal.

Investigative bulldog Laura Loomer peeled back the layers on this guy — and what she found is alarming:

Alex Wong is Chinese, and he’s married to Candice Chiu Wong, also Chinese, who was one of the lead prosecutors of J6ers — under both Obama and Biden.

Candice served as an Assistant U.S. Attorney for D.C., led the Violence Reduction and Trafficking Offenses Section, and was nominated by Biden to the U.S. Sentencing Commission — where she helped hand down extreme punishments to political dissidents.

She also clerked for far-left SCOTUS Justice Sonia Sotomayor — no surprise there.

Alex Wong himself worked for Covington & Burling LLP — the same firm President Trump stripped of ALL security clearance and federal contracts on Feb. 25, 2025, for their central role in the weaponization of government against Americans.

So let’s talk about what actually happened:

Wong invited Jeffrey Goldberg into a secure Signal chat involving members of the Trump team and national security figures — right before a classified military strike on Houthi targets was set to unfold.

Here’s the truth:

The Houthi strike was highly successful, and thankfully, Goldberg did not publish anything before the action took place.

But it’s what happened after that raises even more red flags.

Goldberg never said a word in the chat. Never asked why he was there. Never left.

He sat there, lurking — while real-time national security discussions were taking place.

Think about that.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to be in that chat, and instead of alerting anyone, he kept quiet. That’s not a misunderstanding — that’s deliberate.

And now the media’s trying to spin this like Trump leaked a “war plan”?

Give me a break.

What Goldberg eventually published was not a war plan — there were no names, no coordinates, no targeting data — just a vague note that F-18s would strike a terrorist somewhere in the Middle East.

This entire thing smells like a coordinated setup.

A Chinese-connected security advisor.

A DOJ insider wife loyal to Biden.

A disgraced law firm with a history of targeting conservatives.

A hostile journalist embedded in a secure chat.

All in the middle of a military op?

Alex Wong must be investigated and immediately removed from any role involving national security. This isn’t just about internal communications — this was a direct threat to our operational integrity, troop safety, and the security of the President.

Why was Alex Wong — a man with ties to Covington & Burling, a Chinese background, and a wife who served under Obama, Biden, and Sotomayor — not properly vetted before being placed inside Trump’s national security structure?

This isn’t some junior staffer.

This is Mike Waltz’s National Security Advisor.

This is the person who had access to internal Signal chats, military comms, and high-level intelligence flow.

Was there a breakdown in vetting?

Did someone bypass security protocols?

Or was this an intentional move by someone trying to embed a liability inside the system?

Either way — this is unacceptable.

Proper vetting exists to protect the country, not just the President. If Alex Wong was able to slide through the cracks with these kinds of connections, then we have a serious national security vulnerability that needs to be addressed immediately.

Heads need to roll, and accountability must follow.

The rest is noise.

This is the real story.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Default risk in energy trading firms prompts calls to tighten regulation in Brazil

Lack of risk-mitigation mechanisms, price volatility expose weaknesses in Brazil’s free energy market

The growing financial distress among Brazil’s energy trading firms has triggered alarm across the power sector. Since 2019, at least seven companies—including recent cases such as 2W Ecobank, Gold, and Máxima Energia—have filed for court protection to shield themselves from debt enforcement. This trend has exposed systemic fragilities, signaling that the issue may extend beyond isolated incidents and pointing to the risk of a broader crisis in Brazil’s free energy market.

Energy traders act as intermediaries in the free market, connecting generating companies with consumers through bilateral power purchase agreements. These contracts are freely negotiated in terms of price, volume, and duration, but lack centralized guarantees—a setup that leaves the system highly vulnerable to counterparty defaults.

When one trading firm fails to meet its obligations, the shockwaves ripple through the entire chain—hitting suppliers, buyers, and other market participants. The recent surge in financial instability among these firms has laid bare the structural weakness of a system that operates without robust safeguards against credit risk.

Industry stakeholders are increasingly split between two demands: regulatory reform and the creation of a market infrastructure capable of ensuring greater security and credibility. Many point to solutions modeled on mechanisms used in financial markets.

Continue reading.