#so instead I’ve been using the one that is literally taped together to avoid me getting glass splinters in my fingers when using it and has

[onlythebravest]

.

[helloalycia]

girl next door [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: the time has come where you realise your boyfriend just isn’t worth it, and your neighbour may or may not be an Avenger

warning/s: none i don’t think??

author’s note: part 3 is here! I kinda got carried away and wrote two more parts so my bad, but i hope you like it!

part one | part two | part four | part five | masterlist | wattpad

I couldn't be bothered with today. I just wasn't in the mood to go to work, so of course, I procrastinated as much as I could in the morning until it was finally time for me to get out of bed without being late.

Teddy had fallen asleep here last night after we watched a film, but he left earlier for work, so it was just me. I knew I had to break it off with him, it was time. But I didn't know how to tell him without hurting him. So, I was cowardly in that sense, which was only worse because I was leading him on. I'll find a way to say something soon, I promised myself as I took my clothes off and wrapped a towel around myself.

When I headed to the bathroom, I immediately slipped on the wet floor that only one person could have left behind. But, unlike the many times I had done so, I wasn't able to catch myself and instead fell on my leg, hearing a deadly crack noise, forcing a scream from my lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I got out through gritted teeth, tears slipping from my eyes. The pain was unbearable and as I looked to my leg, I knew something was wrong because it instantly began to swell up and change colour.

Taking deep breaths to get through the pain, I tried not to imagine the several ways I was going to skin Teddy alive. He was so ignorant! How many times did I have to explain to him how dangerous it was to leave the floor wet?!

"It's okay, Y/N, you're okay," I told myself, before stretching and grabbing my phone from the side.

A striking pain shot up my leg and I suddenly felt nauseous, unable to deal with it. Swallowing hard, I called Teddy to give him a piece of my mind but also ask for his help since I couldn't move. Unfortunately for me, it went to fucking voicemail making me scream with frustration. I clenched my jaw as I tried to stand up myself, but more tears rolled down my cheeks as I accepted I was stuck.

The next person who came to mind was Wanda. If I was lucky and she wasn't at work, she'd be able to help me up and get me to a hospital.

I called her next and thankfully, unlike the arsehole that was my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, she answered.

"Hey, Y/N!"

I breathed out as calmly as I could. "Hi, Wanda. I, er, I need your help."

"Everything okay?" she asked with concern.

I nodded, though I felt really sick as I tried to avoid looking at my leg. "Yeah, well– no. This is really embarrassing, but I slipped on the bathroom floor and I think my leg is broken. Please can you come 'round and help me up?"

"Shit, Y/N, of course!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks," I got out breathily. "Spare key is taped under the plant pot outside my door."

"Just hold on," she insisted, before hanging up.

I dropped my phone to the side and glanced down at myself, definitely embarrassed that I was sat here in my underwear and bra, but also glad that I wasn't completely naked.

As promised, Wanda came as soon as possible and I heard her approaching the bathroom before she squeaked and covered her eyes.

"S-sorry!" she said, flustered. "I didn't mean to look. I just–"

"Wanda, you need to see if you're to help me up," I said as nicely as I could without snapping from the pent up anger reserved for Teddy.

She removed her hand, though her eyes wouldn't meet mine. "Right, yeah, duh. Okay, er..."

Successfully, she managed to lift me up and let me use her for support as we limped to my bed and I took a seat.

"Can you pass me my–"

"Clothes, right," she caught on, still not meeting my eyes, before moving around the room to grab a shirt and shorts.

I put my shirt on with ease, but she had to help me with my shorts as I tried my very hardest not to cry from the pain. My leg, or rather my knee, was turning a yellow-purple colour pretty quickly, making me flinch.

"How did this happen?" she asked with worry, gaze falling to my leg.

I clenched my jaw. "My stupid fucking boyfriend. I've told him so many fucking times to mop the damn floor! And he always says okay, but he never does! Oh, boy, when I get my hands on him, he's gonna wish he'd never been born!"

"Y/N–"

"And can you believe he has the audacity to have his damn phone switched off?! I could be dying and he wouldn't even know! That selfish, ignorant son of a–"

"Y/N!" she called, snapping me out of my rant. "Hospital."

"Right, hospital," I agreed. "No ambulances because they're way too expensive. Maybe you can get me down to a taxi and I'll take it from there?"

She raised her eyebrows with disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

I mirrored her expression. "Er, no? Ambulances are like $700, and even with my insurance that's like $400. Taxis are, what, twenty bucks?"

She wasn't convinced as she crossed her arms and stared at me with uncertainty. I sighed and tried to stand up, but I pulled a face at the pain. She was quick to help me stand, giving me support on my right side.

"This is gonna take a while," I mumbled, biting back annoyance.

"Don't hate me," she said suddenly.

I looked to her, furrowing my brows. "What are you talking about?"

She avoided my gaze and instead swept me off my feet quite literally, taking me by surprise. I wrapped my arms around her neck on instinct, eyes widening as she held me close, bridal-style.

"Wanda, you can't just carry me like this," I said, though I was surprised at how strong she was.

She ignored me and walked out the bedroom before stopping at the fire escape. I gripped her tightly, wondering what the heck was going on. There was a hint of red in her eyes, startling me, before I noticed the two of us rising into the air. Levitation, to be exact.

"Woah!" I shouted, holding her as tightly as I could. "What the hell?! How–?! What–?!"

As she flew us away from our building, there was a red hue floating all around us, like an energy I'd never seen before. Except it seemed familiar... and that's when I put it together.

"You're that Avenger!" I blurted out. "The witch, the one with all the magical powers! You're– you're– Oh my God."

She frowned, eyes darting to mine apologetically. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I swallowed hard, fearfully glancing over her shoulder at the clouds interwoven with the tall buildings of New York. Never in a million years did I think I'd be flying amongst them, with an Avenger nonetheless. She'd fought at the battle of New York, I remembered seeing her on the TV. She was dubbed an official Avenger not long after, but then coverage of her went quiet... because she'd moved away. It made so much sense now!

"I knew I recognised you," I said with disbelief, studying her face closely as I now knew who she was.

Her eyes still had a red hue surrounding her irises, matching the energy surrounding us as she flew us to, presumably, the hospital.

"I didn't intend to hide it," she explained guiltily. "I thought you'd figure it out. But then you didn't and it... it just never felt right to bring it up."

I thought back to the random hours she worked, the spontaneity of being called in for her shifts, her whole backstory for crying out loud... how stupid could I be?

"This... this is a conversation we should have," I said, nodding slowly, "but maybe not right now."

"Right, yeah." She nodded in agreement, jaw tensed as she stared ahead. "Just hang on."

–

After getting an x-ray at the hospital, the doctor told me I'd need to go into surgery so they could realign my knee – it wasn't anything concerning, but I wasn't exactly over the moon about it.

I returned to the hospital room to find Wanda had been waiting for me. I'd say I was surprised, but I was more grateful that she stayed. We hadn't had a moment to speak about her whole Avenger situation, and she was oddly quiet about the whole thing, so I decided to ease it into conversation whilst waiting for the doctors to return to prep me for surgery.

"You know, you didn't have to stay," I said to her, watching as she distracted herself with the stuff on the bedside table. "It's only a broken leg."

She stopped whatever she was doing and gave me a knowing look. "It's not only a broken leg. And I just thought you might like the company. Who else is going to make sure you're okay?"

I offered her a small smile. "Thank you. But the surgery is gonna take a while. I'll head home after and catch up with you then."

She seemed against the idea, but said nothing, before resuming whatever she was messing around with. The tissue box, I think.

"So... magic, huh?"

She swallowed visibly. "It's, er, not magic... at least, not exactly."

I hummed in acknowledgement, still adjusting to the fact that she had actual powers. It was amazing and unusual all at once.

"It's okay that you didn't tell me you know," I said gently, making her glance at me. "You apologised earlier. Back when we were–" I breathed out, still in mild disbelief, "–well, flying. You didn't need to. You don't have to be sorry about anything, Wanda."

She frowned. "But I lied to you."

Her Sokovian accent was more noticeable when she was upset, I noted. I wondered if she realised.

"You didn't lie, per say... more like bent the truth," I tried to make her feel better, stifling a laugh. "Either way, it's alright. Well, for me anyway. I don't know if you wanted to tell me or–"

"I did," she cut in with nod, eyes focused on me. "I wanted to."

I hoped she couldn't hear the way my heart rate picked up a little. "Okay, then I don't see a problem. You're still the same Wanda, just with a little something extra, right?"

Her shoulders relaxed and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Right."

I mirrored her expression, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, before tearing away when I heard the doctor enter the room. After prepping me for surgery, I headed off into the operating room and made sure Wanda knew she didn't have to be there when I came back.

They put me under, so I wasn't awake until several hours later when I woke up to horribly bright, fluorescent hospital lighting and the accompanying nasty disinfectant smell filling the room. The first thing I noticed was the giant cast on my leg, followed by the sleeping brunette in the corner of the room that was Wanda. I would have questioned why she was there as my first thought, but I couldn't help but take notice of the lovely room I was in – for starters, it wasn't shared with other patients like I expected.

"Wanda," I called, my voice rough-sounding, but she didn't stir in the slightest.

I chewed on my lip as I found the remote that controlled my bed, using it so I could sit up. I was able to grab the water on my bedside table and take a few sips before calling for her again, sounding a lot better. To my relief, she began to wake up, eyes blinking open and looking around with confusion before realisation crossed her face and she settled on me.

"You're up!" she exclaimed, before a yawn escaped her lips.

"And you're here," I returned, hinting my confusion.

"I told you I was staying," she reminded me, before standing up and approaching my bedside. "Had to make sure you were okay. And obviously to help you home. By taxi, not flying, don't worry."

I smiled at her caring nature, expression softening at how cute she was.

"Also, before you ask," she added, "your hospital bills are taken care of. Hence the room."

I lost my smile, eyebrows raising. "Come again?"

She sat at the edge of my bed, getting comfortable as she looked out the window opposite us. "I didn't want you worrying about it, especially when none of this was your fault, so I called in a favour at the Avenger's compound. Tony owed me."

I almost forgot how to breathe as my eyes widened. "Tony Stark? The Tony Stark? He's paying for my hospital bills?"

She looked to me, a hint of panic in her eyes. "I hope that's okay. I mean, I knew you would say no, but I feel like I should've done something. You've done so much for me and it was only fair."

"I can't believe..." I trailed off, losing track of what I was going to say, still shocked. It made sense with her being an Avenger, but it was still hard to believe.

"You still with me?" she joked, her hand resting on mine.

I cleared my throat, ignoring the warmth from her skin touching mine. "Yeah, sorry. I just– wow. Still digesting is all."

"Don't worry too much about it," she said gently.

I nodded weakly, swallowing hard and avoiding her gaze.

"I should go get the doctor and let her know you're awake," she said, letting go of my hand. "You okay on your own for a minute?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks."

After a chat with the doctor and an explanation of how everything would play out from here, I was getting ready to leave for home. I got changed out of the annoying hospital gown in the bathroom attached to my hospital room (another perk of Tony Stark paying for my bills – no shared toilet) and was in the middle of adjusting to my crutches in my room when there was a knock on the door.

Wanda and I paused as we looked up, and I was about to say for whoever it was to come in, but the person came in quickly and without waiting. To my bitterness, it was Teddy of all people.

"Oh my god, Y/N, there you are!" he exclaimed upon seeing me. "I got your message, both of them. I was so worried!"

In addition to the message I'd left him when breaking my leg, I also left him another before the surgery to see if he actually cared enough to check in. Clearly not.

I gripped my crutches to get out my frustration. "It took you long enough. I went into surgery five hours ago."

He scratched his head awkwardly. "I was at work."

I rolled my eyes, promising myself I wouldn't snap, but the annoyance of everything happening was building up and I couldn't help but blurt out, "I told you to mop up when you freakin' showered, Teddy!"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't!" I shouted, raising my voice. "If you did, I wouldn't be in this fucking cast!"'

He winced. "Are you, er, sure that it was the water that you slipped on?"

I clenched my jaw, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping my crutches. I didn't care that I was temporarily crippled, all I could see was red.

"Am I sure?" I repeated his question, tone laced with anger. "Am I sure?!"

I attempted to lunge forward, but Wanda seemed to know what I was thinking before I did it, holding me back suddenly.

"Y/N, just leave it," she mumbled, eyes meeting mine.

Something about the way she looked at me made my anger temporarily melt away, and I almost forgot why I was mad, until...

"Who are you?" Teddy asked with confusion.

Wanda and I looked to him, figuring he was just being his usual rude self, but he genuinely had no idea who she was as he studied her curiously.

She blinked with disbelief. "Wanda....?"

He waved his hand, motioning for her to say more.

Wanda raised a brow with offence. "Y/N's neighbour...?"

He pursed his lips, eyes squinted with thought.

Wanda almost scoffed. "Really? You got nothing?"

He chewed on his lip, genuinely stumped, and I couldn't help but groan with frustration, earning his attention.

"Of course you don't know who she is!" I glared at him. "You don't listen to a word I say! Not about this, not about mopping the floor–!"

"Y/N, just calm down!" he cut me off, only adding fuel to the fire.

"No," I said sternly, before nodding to the door behind him. "You can leave. You have no need to be here since we're not together anymore."

He raised his eyebrows with shock. "Seriously? You're breaking up with me? For what?"

I breathed out through my nose, genuinely stunned at how I managed to stay with him this long without either losing my mind or killing him. I could swear he wasn't this stupid when I met him.

His eyes fell to Wanda with distaste. "Is it because of her?"

"Did you actually manage to get stupider since this morning?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Because I totally accepted when you said you were bisexual," he continued, "but I didn't think you'd actually leave me for a woman."

I pressed my lips together, looking to my shoes as I tried to talk myself out of not killing him there and then. The fact that he was blaming the breakup on anyone but himself was disappointing but not surprising.

"Can you leave now?" I finally spoke, looking up to him with expressionless eyes.

His smile of disbelief turned into a scoff as he headed for the door. "Whatever. Your roast lamb is shit anyway."

I scrunched my face together with annoyance, unable to stop myself from yelling, "No it isn't!" as he walked out the door.

Unexpectedly, I saw the familiar red wisps of energy by the door before it suddenly slammed shut, smacking Teddy in the butt and propelling him forward with a start. He turned around to look through the glass, expecting to blame someone, but Wanda and I were nowhere near the door, so he glared our way before storming off.

"Sorry," Wanda said, referring to the door, lowering her hand and red eyes returning to normal. "He's just a real dickhead."

I tried not to laugh as I nodded in agreement, already feeling better. "You're not wrong there..." I sighed, losing my smile as I gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry for everything he said. Again."

Wanda rolled her eyes dismissively, shrugging her shoulders. "You should really stop apologising on his behalf. Especially since he's not your boyfriend anymore."

I relaxed my shoulders, leaning against the bed and looking to the floor. "Yeah, you're right... I just can't believe I put up with him this long."

Wanda didn't respond, but I heard her make a weird noise before she fake-coughed terribly, making me look up. Trying ever-so-hard to suppress a smile, she shook her head apologetically when she realised I noticed.

"Sorry, I– it's not funny," she attempted.

I smiled with amusement. "What?"

She licked her lips, before giving into her smile. "I just– I can't believe it either sometimes."

I breathed out with defeat, my smile turning into laughter alongside her. Eventually, she continued to help me with my crutches before I got the hang of it and the two of us began to leave the hospital. On the way out though, a random thought dawned on me and I stopped walking suddenly.

"What is it?" she asked worriedly.

I looked to her with curiosity. "That guy who stopped by your place a while ago. Your friend. Are you telling me that was–"

"Captain America?" she filled in with an amused smile. "Yeah."

"Woah." I was amazed, eyebrows raised as I let that sink in. I spoke to the Captain America and even implied he was a stalker. Woah.

"Come on, idiot," she laughed before leading me out the hospital, finally.

–

Breaking up with Teddy was long overdue, and whereas I thought I would feel bad for doing so, it was quite the opposite. I felt better, freer, unrestrained by the stupidity that was my ex. It was a few days after leaving the hospital when I found myself sitting on the couch with Wanda. She'd been helping me during my recovery, even though I insisted I was fine alone. She, of course, didn't listen though, and I was secretly glad because it meant I could spend more time with her.

"What about that fork? Can you move that?"

Wanda gave me a knowing look from the other end of the couch, amusement knitted in her smile. "Yes, Y/N."

To prove her point, her eyes glowed red and she flicked her hand, raising the fork on the dining table up in the air before setting it down.

I was amazed. "What about that cushion?"

She stifled a laugh before levitating the cushion between us and setting it down.

"And that book?"

"I have other powers, too, y'know," she pointed out, but levitated the book nonetheless.

I grinned. "Yeah, like flying."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, like that..."

And this.

"Woah!" I said with a start, eyebrows raised with surprise. "Did you just– what?!"

She laughed, the sound sending a swirl of butterflies in my stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she met my gaze, amused by my amazement.

"You can speak in my mind?" I asked in bewilderment.

"I can read minds, too," she continued.

"Wow." I breathed out, still not used to her having powers. Suddenly a thought came to mind and I glanced at her. "Have you, er, read my mind?"

"Never," she assured me, before adding with a head tilt, "at least not on purpose. Sometimes, if somebody's thoughts are too loud, I can't help but hear it."

I felt my face heating up as I avoided her eyes. "But my thoughts are quiet... right?"

Every potentially-embarrassing thought I'd ever had, including those I'd had of Wanda, came to mind and I suddenly grew nervous to her answer.

"Er, well, I mean..."

I looked to her when I heard her forming an answer, but the look on her face told me she had heard my thoughts at times and I ran a hand down my face with embarrassment.

"I promise it's never anything embarrassing or anything," she tried to make me feel better.

I groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Hey, I promise," she said with reassurance, before I felt her rest a hand on mine and squeeze it gently.

"What was the last thing you heard?" I asked, trying to veil my curiosity with a shrug.

I felt her gaze on me and looked her way to see green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Mostly you cursing at your ex."

Cracking a smile, I nodded. "Okay, maybe that's fine then..."

Her laughter surrounded us again and she let go of my hand before pulling her legs up on the couch to get comfortable and face me. She watched me with an endearing smile, making me unusually nervous.

"So, what other things can you do with your powers?" I asked, partially curious and partially trying to distract from my nerves.

She studied her right hand, red energy wisps at the tip of her fingers. "I can... I can throw energy balls," she remembered, looking to me before smiling, "but I won't demonstrate that since I'm sure you love your curtains."

"That I do," I said in agreement, leaning on the back cushion with my elbow as I faced her better.

"I can also manipulate thoughts, but once again, I'm sure you won't want a demonstration." She chuckled as she saw my change of expression.

"Yeah, no thank you," I said jokingly.

She pressed her lips together, thinking of what else she could do, but her smile faded into a thin line as a dark thought seemed to cross her mind.

"My brother had powers, too," she said quietly. "Super speed."

Since finding out who she was, I tried to piece together Wanda's background without bringing it up to her for fear it would upset her. It made a lot more sense why she'd moved next door now that I knew who she was, but she hadn't once brought up her family again until, well, until now.

"Pietro," I said, hoping I'd got his name correct. "Right?"

She nodded, lowering her hand and looking to me. "Yeah, that's him... he also had powers. It was actually what got him killed." She barely flinched as she spoke. "He saved someone's life in the battle against Ultron."

I sensed her sadness when her gaze softened as she finished speaking, and my heart ached now that I knew the truth.

"You don't have to tell me, Wanda," I said gently, hoping she didn't feel obligated to.

"No, no...," she shook her head, "it's nice to finally be able to tell you the truth. The whole truth. Not some rendition of it."

I nodded, relaxing under her stare. I was glad, too, to know she trusted me with such sensitive information about her life. It made me feel important, kind of like confirmation that I meant as much to her as she did to me.

"Do you think you're gonna go back to the Avengers tower anytime soon?" I asked. "I know you mentioned living here was temporary, so..."

It was selfish of me to think, but I hoped the answer was no. She hadn't said, but I gathered she hadn't been fulfilling her role as an Avenger as much as she should have been, as she was still on a break from there since grieving for her brother. But she seemed better than she did when she first got here, and if that meant she was going to go back there... I hoped it didn't, selfishly enough. I know the world needed another hero, but, I mean, did they?

"Trying to get rid of me already?" she teased, quirking a brow, making me smile with embarrassment. She noticed and added, "I'm kidding, Y/N. But to answer your question, no, not yet. Maybe not ever. I thought I would be here to get away from them whilst I grieved, but I've come to like it here. It's become my new home. I can still help them and not stay there."

I tried to resist the urge to smile like a weirdo. "Oh, cool. Yeah, I get you."

Calm on the outside, but over the moon on the inside.

"Though I may have to reconsider if my neighbour keeps using me like a carnival attraction," she added playfully.

I laughed, putting my hair behind my ear as I shrugged. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's just so cool that you have powers!" She laughed quietly, making my smile widen. I continued without thinking, "Plus, your eyes go this pretty red colour whenever you use them and I just think that's pretty neat."

She rolled her eyes playfully, but I was surprised to see her cheeks turn the colour of said powers. God, she was stunning. I was sure I'd always known that, but maybe I'd never acknowledged the thought. Now though... she was adorable when she bit back a smile and her hazel eyes sparkled with distraction.

Suddenly remembering the beautiful girl before me had the ability to read minds, I cleared my throat and tried to debate whether or not that would be classed as a 'loud' thought. I'd liked to think it wasn't, but now I wasn't so sure... what if this was a loud thought? And she could actually hear everything I was saying about her in my head? Oh, no... I was definitely overthinking this. It was nothing to worry about.

"You okay over there? I can practically read your mind."

I looked up and saw she was teasing again, though now that I knew she had powers, those words carried a double meaning.

"Yeah, yeah, sure you can," I played along dismissively. "Nice try, Wanda."

She shrugged, laughter slipping from her lips. "Okay, whatever you say."

Nah, she was definitely playing me... right?

[nishisun]

DORM BUDDIES

32. girlfriend, huh?

DORM BUDDIES MASTERLSIT

DING!

it’s him. it’s sugawara.

“and remember, if he does or says anything that makes you uncomfortable, what do you call out?” tsukishima has both hands place on each of your shoulders with a stern look on his face.

“I say strawberries and you’ll come ‘rescue me like a knight in shining armor.’ we’ve been over this like 10 times in the past hour, kei.” you say playfully. tsukishima’s facial features soften a bit and he smiles at you, but it’s more to himself. he’s just happy you’re not feeling nervous.

“i know.. i just want you to be safe, that’s all.” he smiles, staring at your eyes, then quickly glancing at your lips. you smile back at him and come closer so you’re almost nose to nose to him, taping his nose softly.

“you’re so soft for me.”

“shut up. i’m not.” he stands to his full height and scoffs, blush allergens on his face “last time i checked, you have a guest waiting for you at the door. maybe you should answer it. if you need me just say—“

“strawberries.” you interrupt him, heading to the door with a smirk on your face, making tsukishima chuckle.

“i’ll be in my room.”

for some odd reason, there’s not one ounce of fear or nervousness in you. you don’t know if it’s because of the little lecture tsukishima gave you this morning, or if it’s just the breakfast you ate, but this sudden in urge in confidence is something that was indeed needed.

tsukishima turns around at last and enters his room. you purposefully waited until he went back to his room to avoid him and suga having a very-much-not-needed-convo.

once you opened the door, for some odd reason, the confidence went away. you’re pretty sure his face is what triggered that to happen.

“hi.”

“hi.”

“uh, it’s pretty cold in here. can i.. come in?” sugawara asks, it’s barely even a whisper, but you manage to hear it. you avoid making direct eye contact, you opt for nodding your head and letting out a small hum instead.

you move to the side so he can enter and you close the door and lock it as you walk behind him with one arm placed on the other. he looks back at you and smiles sheepishly, and you signal to the couch, he talks that as a sign to sit.

you both sit in silence for what seems like forever (even though it’s been a good minute or two).

well this seems pointless.

“y/n, i’m sorry. i truly am.” he sounds like he’s begging, and honestly it’s annoying the fuck out of you. is that all he came here for? is to apologize? he could’ve done that through text, you wouldn’t have minded if he did it that way.

“is that all you came here for? to apologize?” you mutter, staring at the ground.

“well, yeah—“

“well then you could’ve done that through text, sugawara.” you scoff, obviously annoyed with him. he cocks your head at the way you’re staring at him in annoyance and furrows his brows, not used to the sudden behavior.

“the hell’s wrong with you?” he asks, his voice is deeper and laced with irritation, a voice he’d usually use when you two were together and he was about to do something he’d later on regret. your eyes widen suddenly and you immediately faced the floor to avoid eye contact once again.

“nothing— just.. what’s the actual reason you came here, sugawara?”

“what, so now it’s sugawara? not koushi, kou? not even suga?”

“you’re not answering my question.. i want an answer.”

“what if i don’t wanna give you one? what are you going to do?”

now it’s your time to cock your head, you really don’t have time to have petty arguments with your ex, who’s obviously not making things easier for you.

“i’m going to have to ask you to leave then.” you say stern and sugawara‘s face lights up with amusement, as if he’s testing you. he gets up from where he’s sitting and sits next to you, but not too close.

“c’mon, baby. can we just go back to how things were before? i’ve missed you so much.. even went to therapy because i couldn’t stop thinking about you...”

he’s staring directly at you, boring his eyes out on you, as if he’s challenging you to stare back. you don’t, you’re trying your best to restrain yourself from bursting into tears. how the hell is he able to make you feel so sick to the stomach?

“yeah, you already mentioned that to me over text.” you place both your hands on your lap before picking a small piece of lint that was on your leggings. sugawara looks down to see your fingers playing with each other, signaling that you were already feeling overwhelmed. he look like he’s having the time of his life. is he a sadist?

“i’m making you nervous? you always used to twiddle your fingers like that back then when you were...”

“can you just answer my question? my patience is running out.”

sugawara scoffs and tears the gaze he has on you to face forward. he doesn’t say anything, he just sits there.. what’s with him?

“i-if you don’t then i want you to leave.” you try to prevent yourself from showing that you truly are feeling nervous, but you always tend to stutter when you were feeling a bit too overwhelmed, and sugawara seems to love it because he laughs.

it’s not a long one, it’s just a huff of a laugh, but the fact that he laughed just proves that he still doesn’t respect you up to today.

“nah. i don’t wanna leave. your cute little stutter’s telling me that you’re not even sure if you want me to leave or not. you obviously aren’t using that tiny brain of yours. if you were, you’d realize that i’m trying to better myself for you. you’re making this harder on me, y/n. it’s not the other way around.”

“i really don’t have time for this, sugawara. i want you to leave. if you need anything, you have my number so i don’t see what the problem is.”

“the problem is you won’t give me a chance when i’ve literally changed!” he’s yelling at this point, his fist slammed against the table so loud, you’re pretty sure tsukishima heard it. “i don’t understand why you won’t listen to me! i’ve changed so why are you acting like this?”

you slowly move away from him, keeping distance with him in case he lashes out again. you can hear footsteps from the tsukishima’s room, he’s probably getting ready to come out, but you’re hoping he doesn’t. just not yet. if sugawara finds out tsukishima’s been listening this whole time he definitely won’t be happy.

“suga, this is exactly why! because you think you can get whatever you want by trying to guilt trip me! you’re only upset that i’ve realized my worth.” you keep commented contact with sugawara once you see his eyebrows furrow in confusion, confidence rushing within you once again. “i’ve already forgiven you and moved on... so can you please leave?”

he groans once more, putting his palms on his face, staring at the floor and still seated on the couch, you’re already backing away because sugawara looks like he’s about to throw something. if you weren’t feeling nervous before, you definitely are now.

“i-if you want to talk.. then explain yourself now or you’re leaving.” your voice is slightly shaky, you don’t think sugawara noticed, given the fact that he’s too annoyed with this whole situation, you are too. he wipes his palms on his thighs, then stands up and starts walking towards you, not quickly, but that doesn’t really matter.

“keep your distance,” you say firmly, you’re backing away from him and he doesn’t seem to be listening to you because he just continues to keep walking. “sugawara, i’m not playing, stop.”

“i’m not playing either,” he has you backed against the wall now, his right hand is giving him support from the wall and his other arm is placed next to him. “i’ve missed you.”

you’re uncomfortable. it’s not that you can’t defend yourself, you can. you just didn’t know what sugawara would do if you even laid a finger on him in a violent way. he would definitely not be happy.

“stop...” you try to shrink away from him, but it’s literally no use. he won’t budge, and you’re pretty sure he’s not going to listen. “strawberries.”

“what?”

finally, you hear the door to one of the rooms in the house open, it’s tsukishima and he walks out, you can’t help but smile when he looks at you and playfully winks. he’s such a weirdo.

“oh hi, y/n! what’re you doing in such a naughty position?” it’s tsukishima and he has a shit eating grin on his face. all you want to do right now is smack that smirk off his damn face. tsukishima looks at suga and furrows his brows with a chuckle. “that’s not how to treat a girl. i thought out of all people you’d know this.”

“ha ha, very funny.” you mutter. “now do what i hired you to do, four eyes.”

“hired? last time i checked this was my idea. i’m the brains behind this plan.” tsukishima retorts. sugawara is staring at the both of you in confusion, he still has you trapped between him, but you’ve paid no mind to it since you were too distracted arguing with tsukishima. it was a petty argument, really.

“why the hell is he here?” sugawara suddenly says, interrupting you from your mini argument. he’s finally standing straight, and you immediately move away from him. his brows are furrowed, and you can see the irritation rise up in him again.

“what’d you mean? i live here. i could ask that same question to you.” tsukishima asks, he’s staring back at sugawara.. maybe even glaring? you look at tsukishima in amusement because honestly, this situation went from stressful to entertaining.

“nah, i came to talk to y/n, i was expecting any other guest.” sugawara says, he glares at you saying the last part and you do everything in your power not to burst out in laughter, tsukishima is doing the same.”what even are you to her? a friend?”

“she’s my girlfriend, and i don’t like people flirting with her unless it’s me. she also lives here, so.”

“girlfriend...?” you look up at tsukishima in confusion then you glance at sugawara who looks like he’s about to lose his shit once again. he won’t though, you know he doesn’t act violent in front of people.

sugawara leaves your side to walk in front of the 6’5 tall man and all tsukishima does is look down at him with a bored expression.

“can you do both me and y/n a favor and leave? we usually like staying here by ourselves. without any guest.”

tsukishima’s passive aggression is kinda hot. you think.

“ah, i see.” he turns to your direction, keeping eye contact with you and you’re staring back defiantly. “so this is it, y/n? you’ve seriously moved on?”

your eyes widen at what he says, not expecting what came out of his mouth at all. he sounds pretty hurt, you don’t think it’s fair for him to act suprised. what did he expect? he’s the one that ended the relationship you had with him in the first place. did he expect you to just wait for him to come back?

you lift your hands up and shrug, not trusting that your voice won’t break. your words come out as a whisper, but the effect is there.“i mean, you can’t really act surprised, suga. you broke things off.”

tsukishima is watching the both of you from a distance, he’d rather cuddle with you and watch a movie in his room than be here watching you finally break things off with your ex for good. sugawara widens his eyes and then smiles.

“yeah, i guess you’re right. well, it was fun.”

you wish you could say the same.

“i’m glad you’re happy.”

“thank you, sugawara. i hope you’ve learned from your mistakes. i’m sure there’s someone out there for you, you just have to be patient, kay?”

sugawara walks towards the door, he turns around to face you with his hand on the door nob smiling, and looks at tsukishima. “she’s a keeper. you’re lucky to have her.”

now it’s your turn to widen your eyes, you weren’t expecting that one bit. what you were expecting was a raging sugawara who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

“yeah, i know.”

he doesn’t even make eye contact with you, he smiles at tsukishima’s response before heading out the complex. once the door finally shuts, you heave a sigh of relief and look up at tsukishima in amusement.

“girlfriend, huh? that’s the best you came up with?” tsukishima huffs out a laugh and then walks up to you to hug you. while in his grasp, you look up at him in confusion. “you’ve been so touchy lately. it’s cute.”

“i’m so proud of you.” he kisses the top of your head, and you snuggle your head in his chest further. he’s so cute.

“it’s nothing really kei.”

“no it isn’t. i’m proud of you. so proud.” he hugs you tighter, and you smile softly at how affection he is.

“that was easier than i expected. i thought it would take way more arguing for him to actually leave.” you laugh, tsukishima does the same and shakes his head.

“y/n, i’m gonna tell you something and you have to promise me you won’t judge me for it. okay?”

oh no. is this what akaashi was talking about?

“you’re scaring me, is it something bad?”

“i mean it depends. i don’t think it’s that bad.”

“okay...”

tsukishima takes a deep breathe and hugs you impossibly tighter, almost as if he’s stalling.

“take your time, kei. but the quicker the better cause you’re squeezing me!!!”

“i think i love you.”

—

previous

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a/n: ahhh second to last chapter!! i did cut it a bit short because i felt like there were so many chapters.

taglist: @m01k @sunasro @cvlliesstuff @appleciderslut @lilacnoodles @sinistersith @d0llpie @kac-chowsballs @resetrestartandreplay @satomiis @xo-lovelyreign-xo @idiot-juice-enthusiast @definitelynotbianca @my-weeb-ass @yourlocalbabybird @bokutosuwus @tadashisprout @daninaninani @r4twh0r3 @tazinva @neokawa @mirikusashes @helloshoutohere @goldenchaos7 @wingsofmydemons @fearlesskz @moonieho @denkis-slut @nikanikabitch @peteunderoos @itsjustsavs @lalisbitch @micheleinumaki @tsukkisbbyg @kuroosluv @immxnty @rory-cakes @thechaosoflonging @ish-scribbles @randomesk-yuku @emazzello @fivxss @morosis-haze @setterswife @rarr-com1452z @excujeemi

[shokobuns]

something sweet

maybe having someone to help you out in the stockroom wasn't so bad after all.

PAIRING: itadori yuuji x reader

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: almost stabbed, mentions of sharp things (boxcutters and broken glass), making out

it’s not like you had a problem with the same menial tasks everyday.

in fact, you would even say that it was a fun way to spend your free period. it was better than doing some complicated assignment or even having to talk to people with your lack of sleep and patience. coffee never allowed for a proper nap no matter how exhausted you were and your teacher wouldn’t allow that anyways.

it was an easy job that you could do with minimal help. all you had to do was put the beakers away, clean up the floor once in awhile, maybe pop some bubble wrap when new packages arrived. being alone in the stockroom was nice because you were able to turn on some music on your headphones, do whatever dances you felt like doing as long as you were still doing your job. no help was needed or wanted.

“where should i put this?”

you jump, nearly stabbing the blonde haired boy behind you with a boxcutter. luckily, he was quick, jumping backwards with a yelp as you took a deep breath in to process the situation. you didn’t accidentally hurt the boy in front of you, did you? your face falls and the initial rush of fear turns into guilt. “i’m sorry! i didn’t know you were there!”

“it’s okay,’ he responds with a smile, unphased by the fact his shirt had almost been slashed, ‘i understand. you’re probably here alone most of the time, right?”

“yeah, i wasn’t expecting for anyone else to be here,” you sigh before realizing what he had probably walked in on before the whole ordeal, “wait.. did you see me doing anything?”

“you’re a pretty good dancer if that’s what you’re asking.”

embarrassment. your cheeks feel unbelievably hot and your stomach turns while embarrassment settles in your body. this period was your alone time, your chance to flail about and having someone else witness it? definitely not preferable. although, he does seem nice and he hasn’t made fun of you. not yet, at least.

his voice brings you out of your train of thought. “so, where should i put that thing?”

he carries on as if nothing happened. thank god. “the flask goes in that cabinet, bottom shelf. you’ll see more just like it.” you reply, pointing to the space.

he mumbles a quick thank you before doing unloading more of the new flasks onto the cabinet. you work on your own, choosing to count the new magnets on the other side of the room, doing your best to avoid him considering you just embarrassed yourself in front of the stranger by nearly injuring him for asking a simple question. though, he looks slightly familiar, he’ll probably be gone tomorrow and that’s all that matters.

behind you, yuji takes small glances while he puts away the flasks, waiting for you to turn around and ask for his name. hell, he’s waiting for any type of question. after all, who sees a random boy in their work space and doesn’t question it at all?

when the next day comes, you’re proven wrong because he sits in the chair, awaiting another order from you. you curse under your breath before putting on a faux smile. “do you need help with anything?”

“do you need help with anything?”

“no, thanks. i’m good on my own. you can go back to whatever you do in this period.”

he scratches his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “i thought you needed help. that’s what my math teacher told me when he sent me here.”

“not really? i can usually get a lot done on my own. who told you i needed help?”

“gojo. i’m his teacher assistant, but i don’t know how to do the math he’s teaching, so i can’t really help anyone.” he explains

“oh, yeah! i had him for calculus last semester,” your eyes light up at the mention of your favorite white haired mentor, “weird guy. good teacher.”

wait. gojo’s teacher assistant?

you’ve heard your friends talk about him, given that they were in that exact class the blonde haired boy was supposed to be in right now. the one guy that pe teachers fawn over and coaches try to recruit? why did they put him in the math department instead of pe? what’s his name again? yuki? yugi?

“you’re yuji itadori?”

“yuji itadori.” he confirms and you’re relieved. good thing you didn’t mess up his name.

no wonder he looked familiar. miwa was fascinated by his physical ability, you distinctly remember her pointing him out during lunch and telling you about how he was ‘scarily fast’ and could probably ‘lift ten of her at a time.’ although, it was from far away and he was partially blocked by a girl with short brown hair and megumi, the intimidating spikey haired quiet boy in some of your classes.

but yuji didn’t look like someone who could lift ten miwas up close. maybe he was hiding behind the oversized hoodie he wore, but he was a kind looking boy with wide eyes and messy tufts of strawberry blonde hair. throughout the short time you’ve seen him up close, he always had a slight smile on his resting face. in short, he looked approachable and was seemingly friendly.

“so, do you need help with anything?” he asks again and you decide that maybe he can be of use to you. especially if he has the strength that miwa had described.

“actually, yeah. can you lift those boxes over there and bring them to the other side of the room? they’re kind of heavy-”

she was correct because he lifts the box, which is supposedly about thirty kilograms according to your teacher, with ease. now, you don’t have to constantly go back and forth around the room just to put the packaged metal away in a farther cabinet and he can probably just put them away himself, too. it goes that way for the next hour and a half, both of you staying in your respective sides of the room, putting away your own respective items.

“thanks, itadori.”

“call me yuji.”

“will do.”

over the next two weeks, you two don’t talk as much as yuji had hoped.

he still remembers gojo’s words of encouragement, his push to get his favorite student to talk to the person who drops off notes to the teacher across the hallway from time to time. he’s never talked to you and he doubts you would even know that he existed in the first place. in fact, he was perfectly content with just stapling the papers that gojo would give him, maybe getting his own homework done in the period, but he was insistent.

“i’ve seen you staring outside the window whenever they pass by, yuji. just talk to them.”

“it’s okay.’

“no it’s not. get to know her. what if they’re nice? hmmmmm?”

“i’ll talk to her myself at some point.”

that was all it took for gojo to leave him alone, not that he didn’t like gojo or anything, especially with gojo being his second favorite teacher in the first place, but he’s content with his little crush. and again, he doubted that you would remember him in your history class and from the looks of it, he was right.

he just didn’t expect to be sent at the very stockroom that you would be in. for the rest of the semester. gojo had definitely set him up for something.

yuji was in that conflicting position in which he didn’t know whether to start a conversation or not because he didn’t want to bother you. but he also wanted to get to know you up close. of course he can sense your exhaustion himself through droopy eyelids that threaten to close and your dependence on caffeine, something he had learned about you so far in these few weeks. the only thing, it seems like.

as for you, a short talk with your science teacher confirmed that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon and though you will miss dancing around the stockroom by yourself, he wasn’t bad company. he mostly kept to himself, often being more rigid when you barely spared him a glance. at the times you would speak to him, he seemed more excitable and easygoing, listening to every word you say.

“yuji?”

“hmm?”

“come help me by unboxing these beakers, alright?” you patted the spot next to you before sliding the blade down the tape, “don’t worry. i’m not gonna stab you.”

“i guess i’ll help,” he snorts, “don’t you usually do these by yourself?”

“yeah, but since you’re spending the semester with me in here, we might as well get to know each other right?”

the whirring of the fan, the sound of your voice — it all seemed to fade into the background as his heart thumped hard in his chest. a million thoughts, both good and bad, race through his head as he formulated different questions, answers, and scenarios in his mind, all of them being a jumble of fantasy and panic.

you wave a hand in front of his face in an attempt to catch his attention. he seemed completely frozen, staring at you with dead eyes and it’s now that you realize you haven’t seen him up this close. honey brown eyes, the soft curve of his nose, and were those crinkles under his eyes, too? up until now, you only knew him as the ‘athletic man who was bad at math’, but he was also undeniably beautiful with his carved face and strawberry blonde hair.

“yuuuuuuuji?”

“oh! i’m sorry! did you say you wanted to get to know me?”

“yeah, we’re kind of stuck in this room everyday for an hour and a half together. i might as well find out what your favorite color is or something.”

“red! my turn! what were you listening to when you almost stabbed me?”

“hey! it was an accident!” he giggles, slicing the tape seal down the middle and opening up the package and pointing right at it. “you see that? that could have been me. i should at least know what i’m being stabbed to.”

“meg thee stallion..”

“nevermind. she’s beautiful and i wouldn’t mind dying to her music.”

you snort, thinking up another question. maybe you should ask him about why that megumi guy was so gloomy? nope, might get too personal. what about the reason he’s here? nope, you already know.

“why don’t you do any sports even though you’re literally physically gifted?” you ask curiously. there’s still a smile on his face, but his expression becomes more wistful. you didn’t accidentally hit a spot, did you?

“my grandpa is in the hospital,” oh shit, you think, “i visit him everyday and if i was on a team, i would have to go to practice at the same time.”

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hit a sensitive topic, but that’s sweet of you.’

“i don’t mind. and i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable.”

“no, it’s alright. let’s just keep asking questions then, okay?”

he nods.

in one hour, you learn that yuji itadori also likes karaoke, rice bowls, and that he’s just as bad at science than math. ironic. and yuji enjoys getting to know more about you, falling into easy conversation, becoming less of a nervous wreck. the more you speak, the deeper he falls into the trance and he silently thanks gojo for letting him get a closer look because you’re even better than what he could have imagined.

but the period is coming to an end and it’s time for him to carry off the last box of beakers to his side of the room. at least there’s time for another question and it’s his turn to ask.

“what’s your type?”

you place your fingers on your chin as you think for a moment, finding a common trait in every crush for a proper answer.

“i guess my type would be sweet boys. with pretty faces, like you, i guess.”

the response is nonchalant and you don’t think twice about it. maybe you were a little too tired to process how he’d interpret it or maybe a little too tired to filter yourself, but it slips out of your mouth like butter and you’re completely unphased. shameless, even.

meanwhile, the box drops to the ground and like before, every other noise besides his own heartbeat fades into the background, even the sound of shattering glass. heat creeps of his neck into his cheeks until his face is burning, his feet stuck in their place and his palms becoming uncomfortably sweaty. his mouth is wide open, but no words come out.

“yuji! we need to clean this, hurry up!”

your voice brings him out of his thoughts as he realizes what’s been done and immediately snaps back to carefully, but quickly, picking up the shards of glass and placing them in this box. “i-i’m sorry!”

“don’t worry. just leave the box on the counter and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

maybe you didn’t quite realize what you had said or what effect you had on him during that time in the stockroom because you continue everyday as if nothing happened.

it’s been, what? a little over a three weeks? and sitting next to you still causes his mind to go to odd places, ones with you. he starts to notice little things about you, too. how your tongue peaks out of your mouth when you’re peeling another sheet of bubble wrap off of some glassware, how you only count in even numbers when you take inventory of the containers.

god, you were adorable.

“yuji?”

“yeah?”

“did gojo ever tell you that there’s no cameras in here?”

“no? i thought they had security cameras everywhere.”

“that’s only hallways and classrooms. there’s none of them here. do you know what that means?”

“what?”

his head is already turned in your direction, the perfect opportunity to lean in and catch his lips. it’s small and he’s hesitant at first, but before you know it, your hands tangle in his hair, bringing him closer to you. he tastes like something sweet, like cherries, and his lips are warm. one hand rests on your cheek, his thumb brushing against it endearingly. when he pulls away, both of you are panting for air, the packages long forgotten.

“this sounds bad, but i’m glad that you’re terrible at math.”

“thanks.” he laughs and admires the look of your heated cheeks and swollen lips before pulling you back in for another searing kiss.

sure. being in that room by yourself could be fun, a perfect break with menial tasks lacking human interaction. you were far too tired to be patient with other people. but there was an exception.

© this is a work of @crybabygumi, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, copy, or repost.

[antiloreolympus]

8 Anti LO Asks

1. tbh i just think minthe's design just looks better for a queen. she genuinely looks intimidating and regal, meanwhile persephone just looks like a baby who cries at the drop of a hat. thats not to say baby-faced people cant be taken seriously, but rachel has made her too immature and childish looking (as well as canon making her stuck at 19-but-looks-even-younger forever with an even more childish personality) that i just cant buy her as any sort of authority figure.

2. i think thats also it. rachel really wants there to be drama, but at the same time she also refuses to actually let them suffer, so it just comes across as shallow. persephone wont see punishment for killing mortals (who were at fault for being killed, very cool), she was only on the run for maybe a day or two but is now living it up with hades, only like three people dont support hxp, etc. LO wants to be a dramatic epic without having the stakes, so it just ends up as superficial instead.

3. to that one anon about an LO stan saying apollo was obsessed with some princess or whatever: there is a version of that mostly known by parthenius of nicaea which was just combining the daphne and hyacinthus' myths together to make it No Homo™️ to have apollo only love daphne and basically every mythology editor and historian sees that version as some odd ball take that isnt legitimate in the greek myths. im not surprised an LO stan takes it as fact tho, they think LO is factual too.

4. there are bad apples in every fandom, but LO fans in particular seem convinced Greece doesn't exist anymore and RS get free reign to claim the mythology and remove it from its entire culture because "its theirs now" and I can't stand that mentality. It's should be seen as an honor she gets to play around with the stories, not claim it as her own for her to do as she pleases, and it's awful the fans encourage it, especially since LO is a damaging piece of work even outside of mythology circles.

5. its silly LO set up persephone's trauma via demeter as this deep set horror (the locked greenhouse esp was setting it up as that) and yet when we were actually shown demeter's "torture" it was them bickering over her going to college and thats it? like demeter is actually a super doting mother and only failed in making her daughter a spoiled brat and never letting her face consequences, and yet she's framed as evil for this, but hades does the same thing and he's romantic for it? please 😒.

-----FP Spoilers-----

(Please read the message at the bottom)

6. ya know if hades is lying that hes known persephone longer than a few weeks isnt that him knowing this relationship is bad and theyre rushing things but hes trying to save face? like idk maybe its just me but if your relationship is built off lusting after her in a submissive position, yourself controlling the woman including her finances and where she lives, and lying to others and keeping things from her so she never questions you, then the relationship is a no-go 🤷🏿‍♀️

7. if hades literally has to lie that hes known persephone longer than a month to try and excuse his relationship to her and to try and get her out of trouble then 1) thats an automatic admittance of guilt that hes refusing to acknowledge, but also 2) lying on the stand is illegal. like what lawyer is he if he just lies to get her off?? thats not showing he cares, it shows hes a corrupt person who should also be stripped of power along with her.  i wouldn't want a liar as an absolute king, TBH.

8. im kinda confused tho? why would he lie about the time? zeus was right there when hades saw persephone for the first time? unless they mean the tapes the fates got them? which even the most dedicated LO fans didnt like since it was a bit of a stupid retcon (also im not sure persephone was even over the age of 18 then so thats concerning) also they apparently forgot each other right after that meeting anyway so?? whats the point??

Regarding #6-8

I've been trying not to say it out right because fp spoilers but a lot of people are confused so I'll explain while trying to avoid more spoilers:

Hades says to Apollo that he's noticed that Apollo has been brutalizing his wife (aka Persephone) for months. Apollo calls him out on that by saying something along the line of "She's your wife now?". Hades then says he misspoke (by calling her his wife). Either they got married of screen or he genuinely misspoke which is still very suspicious.

By months, Hades probably just overexaggerating. LO takes place over the span of March - early April so that also might be why he says months. However, he really should’ve said weeks.

I highly suggest using zahard/./top (remove the slashes) if you want to read the fp for yourself and don't want to pay.

[youngerdrgrey]

highlight(s) of my life // a WildMoore fanfic (2/2)

about: Inspired by Sophie's new S3 highlights. Good Bro ™ Ryan Wilder teases Sophie about what other post-break up activities Sophie might have partaken in. Sophie is less than amused and more than a little interested.

read part one here + read part two on ao3

🦇

Right. It’s not like Ryan hasn’t considered it. Sophie is, well, she’s Sophie freaking Moore. But she’s also Sophie ‘Kate’s ex,’ and Sophie ‘member of the Bat Team.’ Sophie ‘quit her job after Ryan wanted her to.’ Sophie ‘sat with Ryan on Coryana when they both thought Ryan was dying.’

There have been many nights where Ryan lies awake with the ghost of Sophie’s hand in hers. It’s ridiculous. She couldn’t really feel the heat of Sophie through the gloves. But she could feel Sophie’s shoulder. Hear Sophie’s breathing along with the crackle of the field. Remember Sophie’s voice straining as she urged Ryan to hold on just a little longer, just until they got to Luke.

Ryan used to say she wanted to go peacefully, in her sleep, with her wife beside her. Very The Notebook. Dying on Coryana like that wouldn’t have been the exact same, but it wasn’t the worst interpretation.

Maybe that moment did something to her. Maybe it changed them both. Maybe it… crossed some wires to have literally been there together through that. Or maybe it has more to do with the last few weeks. With everything from “I know you’re Batwoman, Ryan” through to here, in the bar, with Sophie’s expectant eyes on her.

What the fuck does Ryan say to that?

Another woman slips up beside Sophie before Ryan can respond. This brown skinned girl with dark blue box braids and a staggering set of dimples. Her smile’s amazing as she turns to Sophie.

“I’ve seen you around here before. Vodka, right?” she asks.

Ryan responds at the same time that Sophie does. “Tequila,” they say together. Ryan flashes back to that night of Never Have I Ever at the loft. Back when the couch seemed miles long and too small at the same time, when Ryan’s face betrayed her and softened as she watched Sophie think up things that she hadn’t done.

Sophie gives Box Braids a polite smile before looking back to Ryan. “Can we…?” She motions with her head to the side.

Box Braids’ eyes volley between Sophie and Ryan. “Ah. Well, can I still get the discount?”

Ryan shakes her head at Box Braids. “Deal’s off. Sorry.” Box Braids walks off, and Sophie stares at Ryan expectantly. The thing is, if Ryan goes with Sophie, then everything changes. That should be a good thing. That could be, right?

Ryan scans the bar for some kind of excuse. Sophie clocks the avoidance. Sophie’s earlier nervousness shifts into impatience. Her brows lift as she tries to tamp it down.

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be off soon anyway.”

Ryan chuckles. “Leaving work early? Issa bad look for the manager.” Sophie glares at Ryan, which, okay, that’s fair. Sophie’s trying to put herself out there, and Ryan can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“You know what else is a bad look?” Sophie motions at the general charged air between them. “This. I’m a big girl, Ryan. If you’re not interested, then say that. I can handle it.”

After being rejected by her own mom, a bartender probably wouldn’t hold much weight. Ryan gulps. It’s not that she isn’t interested. It’s just… the timing and the bar and… the them. But she can’t let Sophie leave thinking that Ryan’s not interested.

Ryan pulls her apron off and slips it under the counter. “Come on.” She leads the way from behind the bar and out towards the back exit. Sophie follows her without another word. They turn down the small employee-only hallway and out the door to the back.

It’ll be better out here. It’s private, but not too private. The loft would’ve been an awful idea. Mary’s gone tonight, and it would’ve just been the two of them. Just Sophie with her sunshine hair and incredible lips.

The back of the bar’s well lit, but it’s an overhead light that somehow makes Sophie look smaller than normal. Sophie holds herself tighter when she’s unsure. As if exuding confidence will make up for the fact that she so clearly doesn’t know how to proceed here.

Sophie breaks the silence first. “Believe it or not, I thought this would go much smoother.”

Has she thought about this a lot? How long has Sophie been into her? Ryan bites down the questions and goes for a smooth response of her own.

“How’d you see it going?”

Sophie glances around. Her eyes land on the bench against the brick wall. It’s mostly for smokers and vapers. One time Ryan saw two people hooking up on it. Ryan’d hosed them down and taped a ‘DO NOT HAVE SEX HERE’ sign on the wall behind it. Sophie chuckles at the sign as she crosses to sit down.

She leans back. “First, I walk in with my new hair and my nice outfit, but you don’t see me right away.” She’s already off to the wrong start. Ryan had spotted Sophie the moment that she entered The Hold Up. Ryan played it off, but Ryan usually knew where Sophie was.

Sophie continues, “I sit at the corner of the bar and wait until you look my way. You’d go to make me a drink, but I’d stop you and say that we’re getting out of here.”

Ryan would’ve smiled at that. Would’ve joked that Sophie isn’t in charge here, and Sophie would’ve lifted a brow in a silent challenge. Her apron would’ve been tucked under the counter within minutes.

Sophie grins. “I drive us out to the quarry near the river. There’s not much to do there, so it’s quiet when nothing else ever is. I’ve got blankets in my car, and a hoodie since you never wear real clothes.”

Ryan cuts in. “I wear real clothes.” Sophie gives her a doubtful look from the bench. There’s still way too much space between them, so Ryan walks over to sit beside Sophie. “I’m not knocking your plan or anything, but you know I have a van, right? It’s got a heater, a ton of blankets, and a lot more space than your car.”

Sophie’s eyes widen. “Wait, is that where you went when Kate came back?” She turns to face Ryan as her own face crumples. “You chose a van over staying with me?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ryan insists.

Sophie’s tone hardens anyway. “Yeah, right.”

Ryan shakes her head. “It wasn’t. I…. I’m used to holding space and giving it back.” In group homes, in seasonal jobs, and here, in the most important job she’s ever had. “You were so excited to have her back, and I didn’t want to be in the way of that. It’s easier if I just let go.”

Sophie breathes that in, and her eyes seek out Ryan’s. Ryan averts hers to the ground in front of them. She doesn’t need to see the pity. It’s not—

“Hey,” Sophie bumps her shoulder into Ryan’s, “You’re not in the way. You were once or twice, like when you stopped my fear toxin run, but….” Sophie takes a deep breath. “I meant what I said during the blackout. About you making Batwoman your own and giving the city hope again. It’s not the suit that did that. It’s you. And I would gladly spend the whole night praising you if that’s what it takes for you to see that.”

Her tone’s earnest and raspy in the way that makes Ryan’s heart swell. It’s hard to talk around it, so Ryan jokes, “I don’t need your praise. It’s not really my thing.”

Sophie reaches up to cup Ryan’s cheek in her hand. Ryan melts into the touch. It would be embarrassing, if not for the fact that Sophie’s hand shakes just a bit against Ryan’s skin.

As Ryan turns her head to face Sophie’s, Sophie whispers, “Show me what is?”

Honestly, the praise thing would be pretty great. Ryan could use a few reminders that she’s meant to be here, that Sophie wants this and wants them. That Ryan’s not a placeholder and is actually the reason Sophie’s sitting out here instead of going after any of the women who might want her.

Ryan lifts a hand to the highlights in Sophie’s hair. “You really do look amazing.”

Sophie smirks. “You should see them in the sun. Maybe in the morning?”

Ryan laughs. “Very smooth.” She drops her forehead, and Sophie brings hers to meet it. “I’m not that easy.”

Sophie snorts. “You’ve never been easy, Ryan. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

This could be an awful idea. But Ryan’s done a lot worse than go out with a woman she’s already falling for. Ryan has to look through her lashes to meet Sophie’s eyes. They’re rich and searching, and Ryan knows hers could give the answer. Hers could give everything. So she pulls back just enough to bring her lips to Sophie’s. A soft brush at first. A yes to trying. A yes to a night on the river and finding each other under the covers. A yes to a life, if that’s what Sophie wants.

Sophie chases after Ryan’s lips, catching her and deepening the conversation. Because she does want. She’s shown again and again that she wants anything Ryan will give her. She’s gone along with ridiculous plans and the countless times that Ryan’s iced her out. She’s here for this, and as her tongue swipes across Ryan’s lips, Ryan finally lets her in.

When they do break away, Ryan’s breathless. “You wanna see my van?”

Sophie laughs, then nods, then kisses Ryan again. “Who’s easy now?”

🦇

[sadachmesarthim]

towers for your honeycomb chapter 3: no i do not condone underage drinking i just think it's a good plot devic-

content: the boys have One Beer Each™, peter both sets and completely ignores his own boundaries, author remembers the communion chapter from "how to read literature like a professor" and bastardizes it, both of them have anxiety but neither say anything about it, smoking

words: 2k     song: outskirts of paradise - bad suns     

Looking Tony in the eye was like staring at the sun. Peter could barely hold his gaze, always finding an excuse to turn away.

He was sat in front of the other man a few weeks later, sharing drinks and pizza at a new brewery down the road. It’d cost him his liquor license, and potentially a clean record, if anyone found out, but Richie (their most beloved regular) offered to let the pair try the latest house brew if they ever swung through.

Peter wasn’t one for beer, but he’d accepted Tony’s invite anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Since their fight, they’d worked all of maybe three hours together. No other shifts, they avoided each other at meetings, and neither were particularly willing to reach out off the clock and apologize.

It was like the world was screaming at them to stay away from each other.

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

After his shift that morning, Peter found Tony outside, leaning up against the hood of his car & working through his second cigarette. He drummed on the side of his thigh, keeping his empty hand busy as he waited for Peter to come out. Tony jumped at the sight of him, tossing the half finished cig down a storm drain.

“You know those lead straight to the ocean, right?” There was more amusement than anger behind his words. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was up to, but he was too tired to start shit. He crossed to the passenger side of his car, tossing his belongings to the floor.

“Even if it didn’t go through the city’s filtration system – fuck the fish.” Peter rolled his eyes. Funny as he was, Tony always had to be contradictory.

“Don’t you have, like, a school of them on your shoulder?” Tony’s normally visible salmon tattoos were safely tucked away behind a denim jacket Peter’d never seen before.

“Irrelevant.” Peter rounded the hood and turned, facing the other man. “Did you need something or were you just here to argue about my town’s plumbing system?” He huffed the words out, arms crossing in front of his chest expectantly.

“I, uh…” He suddenly went silent. The ground crunched under Tony’s feet, gravel scraping asphalt under his shoes. They were a rattier pair he owned – more tape than sole, oil staining the canvas.

“I wanted to know if you’d come to lunch with me. Today. Like, right now?” He hesitated at the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he could say them out loud. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I have some things to say to you, and Richie’s got some good stuff waiting for us at the Pub House…”

Peter was astounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Tony?” My Tony? What? “I- why should I trust you? I’m sure as hell not getting in a car with you.”

Tony’s face fell. A bit of- what, disappointment? flew across his face. Peter would’ve missed it had he not been staring, impatient for his answer. Tony, floundering at the rejection, couldn’t give him one.

“Okay, maybe- how about this. I’ll think about it. Give me five minutes to go wash up and I’ll be back.” He turned & headed inside, not waiting for a response.

The cool water felt good against his burning, salt-stained cheeks. Peter hadn’t realized just how tired he was – opens had always taken it out of him, and the early spring temperatures didn’t always prevent the stand from turning into a heater during rush hour.

The soap in the stand was always too fragrant for his taste, but it did the job – it felt good to wash away the day’s work and come back looking like a new man. He smoothed his eyebrows down and dried himself off, wetting his hair a bit as he finished.

He wound up with grind in it again, brushing it out with a comb he found in the first aid kit. One of these days he was going to have to start wearing hats to work. Shampooing his hair every single day was taking its toll on his curls, and he wasn’t a fan of burnt coffee smell.

Stepping back, he squinted into the warped mirror in front of him. Much better.

Back outside, Tony’d lit up his third cigarette of the day. The shakes’d largely abandoned him, allowing his anxiety to drift inward. The sticks only did so much – he missed the higher, stronger hit of his Suorin, but he was trying to quit (ironically enough).

He was actually able to finish this one by the time Peter made his way back outside, looking significantly better without $5 worth of product on his face.

“Okay, some rules.” He came up, stopping just short of Tony. “You’re paying for both of us. We leave whenever I want, without complaint. We go straight there and come straight back - it’s eight blocks, I don’t want any bullshit scenic routes.” His tone was firm – something Tony’d never encountered with him before. 

“Yes. Yes, anything. Okay.” 

Tony’s car was a lot nicer than Peter anticipated. He’d recently sold his truck, swapping it for a silver Mini Cooper instead. It was a pretty little thing, just up his alley.

It was also fucking obnoxious. He’d bought it with a modified exhaust and had plans to make it even louder. You could almost always hear him coming, little pop pop pops audible for quite a ways. 

It was… less clean than Peter expected. Tony was always so well put together, so well-maintained - seeing stray gum wrappers and drink cups littered around the interior was almost jarring. He didn’t realize he was staring until Tony spoke up. 

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Peter nodded. He silently took in his new surroundings, nerves on fire. He’d never done well around strangers, in new places. His mind’d always screamed at him, danger unsafe bad run, overriding his sensibilities.

“Hey, are you good? I can take you back if you need.” They’d barely left the Outback parking lot. 

“No- no, I think I’ll be okay. Just… not where I thought I’d end up when I woke up today, y’know?” Peter tried to laugh it off, but he’d always been pretty transparent. 

Tony turned a corner, cutting back into the lot they just came from and turning the car off. “Seriously, Peter. If you don’t want to come to lunch with me just say so. I’ll take you back to your car and we can pretend it never happened.” Okay, seriously, who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Tony?

“No, I- I think I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go and get it over with - I kinda want to hear you grovel anyway.” He settled further into his seat, failing to shake away the agitation. 

The flatbread was actually really good. It was more of a hipster take on pizza - white sauce and pearl onions definitely making it stand out - but it wasn’t a bad lunch by any means. 

The beer definitely wasn’t Peter’s favorite. He was barely sipping by, trying hard to keep a straight face as he swallowed. Damn Richie anyway. 

It’d started off awkward enough - discussing where to sit, small talk about their week, the weather. It felt more like a bad first date than an apology, but- 

“I really am sorry. For what happened in the fridge.” 

Oh. 

“Okay. Why?” Peter tightened the hand around his glass, bracing for Tony’s next words. 

“I.. I was kind of an asshole when I was younger, too. I figured I could make a fresh start here with a brand new town of people that didn’t know or assume anything about me.

“I was doing okay for a little while, too, but I don’t know man I just.. something happened and I just- I don’t know why I’m a dick to you. But I’m trying not to be. This is that, like, ‘first step’, I guess?” Peter nodded along, attentive. 

"So, I don't know. I'm sorry for being a dick to you at work. I'm sorry for being a dick to the girls. I shouldn't yell at you or drag your family into this bullshit - I'm sorry, Peter."

There it was again, that name. His first fucking name. 

“I- thank you, Tony. It’s a start, and I certainly haven’t forgiven you, but… thank you. Seriously.” Tony sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. Peter let go of his glass and wiped it off, standing and walking around to Tony’s side of the table. 

“Okay then, time for a do-over! Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m 19 and I’ve worked at Outback North Espresso for a little over 9 months. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out, waiting for Tony to make the next move.  

Tony laughed, pushing his chair back and standing to meet the other teen. “Okay, uh, I’m Tony Stark, I’m 18, and I’ve worked at Outback for almost 6. Nice to re-meet you, Peter.” He shook Peter’s hand, awestruck at just how soft it was. He quickly steeled his face and sat back down, releasing Peter and allowing him to do the same. 

Once he was sat back down at his side, Peter looked up, confused. “Wait, you’re still 18?” 

Tony laughed. “Not for long. My birthday’s at the end of next month.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m older than you!” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s - it’s literally three months, that barely counts.” 

Their debate lasted well into the afternoon, alongside several other discussions. Peter’s childhood in Richland, and what it was like growing up there. What Federal Way was like, and why Tony left. Peter could tell he was remaining intentionally vague, but didn’t push it. 

Their beers were warm and the pizza was long gone by the time they abandoned their table. Tony guided him out the back, hand high on his arm. 

Once they were back in the car, Peter’s anxiety returned. It was like he’d spent the last few hours speaking to a completely different person, and now that he was sitting mere inches from Tony… 

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He wasn’t… sure, exactly. What it was. 

Tony spoke up when he noticed the tension in his passenger seat. 

“Hey, we’ll get you back to your car soon, I promise. Eight blocks, remember?” His right hand made its way to Peter’s knee, digging soft circles into the denim. Just like in the fridge.

“Please don’t- don’t touch me. Without asking.” It came out harsher than intended. 

“Okay, all good. No worries. We’re like, two minutes away.” Tony eased off the clutch, turning right out of the parking lot and onto the road. The windows rolled down and Peter let his head fall back in relief. Fresh air always helped him clear his head. 

It really was a short drive - right turn, left turn, right turn - and they were back at Peter’s car. The doors unlocked, and he was out in an instant. A bit too fast to be respectful, if he was being honest, but he knew he needed out. Tony stopped him before he was able to get in his car. 

“Hey, for real. Thank you for today. I’m sorry if it was too much.” 

Peter looked over and down to meet his eyes. “I- yeah, of course. No, yeah, thank you. For the apology. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But no this- it was good. Yeah. Thank you, Tony.” 

He turned, unlocking the door and closing it before either could say anything else. After turning the key he sped off, without throwing even a glance behind him. 

Tony watched as Peter peeled away, reaching for the box of Pall Malls in his cupholder. He lit one, shifting into first and heading in the opposite direction. 

Not bad. Not good, but not bad. 

lmk if u want on or off the tags list!

@snowstark @kaleidoscopeluli @parkerrbitch @carelessannie​ @bluestarker​ @longlivestarker​ 

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[frecklef0x]

Mass Effect 1: Playthrough Masterpost

At last, I have finished Mass Effect 1!

I have heard some mutuals say they wish they could play it again for the first time, and you kind of can--through me! I’ve been posting little “episodes” of live-tweet-stream-of-consciousness as I play, and now I’ve compiled them into one post to make my life easier.

Anyway, here’s the first one, the rest are under the cut. :)

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode one

My ass looks great in this uniform, first of all

Impaled robo zombies, yikes

Cheap shot, Saren, smh. How will I pass my spectre test now?!

Why does he have robot eyes? Is he like, Geth-Turian? Why? Is he a robo zombie also? Was it the beacon???

Cool beacon nightmares, I'm sure this is fine

This Kaiden guy has implants? ORTEGA?!??!?

"Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor" lol obliterated

The citadel elevators are very realistic, five minutes of tense silence huh

Ya girl got a PROMOTION and a DOPE SQUAD time to catch a TRAITOR

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode two

First things first, gotta go find the blue scientist to join the gang

This galaxy is HUGE! How many of these places will I actually be able to go?!

Only two friends at a time????? D:

Ah, a distress signal, let's see wha--A DESERT CENTIPEDE NOPE ABORT ABORT

Robo aliens? In MY Theronian mining facility? Its more likely than you think

Running over dudes in my Mako is extremely satisfying tbh

*runs over geth troopers* *runs over geth armature* *runs over geth colossus* ... *backs over geth colossus*

Working elevators in the ancient ruins ✔

Oooooooh man hope this nerd is gay

Wrex, a friend of yours? Nope, not a friend, too murdery

"ShAaaAame about the ruins Shep, sOooOo much collatoral damage, SHEP" stfu Council, "ruthless" was in the resume when you promoted us, 10/10 would shoot lasers through archeological digs again

When Kaiden calls us "ma'am" I am, uh, into it

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode three

Time to talk to the gang! Gotta meet the fam proper

Oh dear seems we got a shmee of racism on board, compatriots

Wow Raina, good foot-in-mouth moment with Wrex there huh...sorry about the eventual extinction of your race, lost this round of Pain Olympics

OH SHIT OH SHIT BLUE HOTTIE BIGENDER? THIS IS NOT A DRILL???

“hi I’m Kaiden wanna hear about my last crush ;)” “hi I’m Liara wanna hear about Asari mating rituals? ;)))” damn we really slidin right into the DMs no chill

Garrus: fuck rules and red tape amiright Raina: oh u right ;)

Guess I’ll actually do a mission now LETS GO LESBIANS LETS GO

Honestly rolling out with Tali and Liara is a mood, squad goals

Raina @ every corporation on Noveria: I would sell you to satan for one(1) corn chip

This reactivation puzzle is some shit

I see some Mistakes were made

We already killing moms at this stage damn BioWare

FUCK FUCK BENEZIA KILLED ME AND I LOST A FUCKTON OF PLAYTIME

THERES LIKE NO AUTOSAVE IN THIS BITCH FUUUUUUUUU

fuck fuck fuck god damn it gotta shoot a bunch of deranged baby bug people again god DAMN IT

Okay we killed Liara’s mom in front of her hope that’s fine

And we let mama bug go free because after talking to Wrex, Raina’s like “this galaxy is a little trigger happy with the genocide, good luck out there bug mama ❤️ be cool please”

I have literally watched the scientist in the hot labs get killed three times now

So far the debreifs with the council have not gone very well

“You let bug mama go?! How many generations until they take over everything???” “My money’s on two :D Place your bets now assholes or stfu :DDD”

Asked Liara if she was okay and she seems pretty Cool With It

I hope to one day return to Noveria and Death Star it into oblivion

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode four

Talked with Tali and this situation with the Geth and the Quarians is giving me an existential crisis

You “inspect” my beautiful ship? You got somethin’ to say about my crew??? Talk shit get hit, bitch I will kill you

Yoooo my old earth gang, yeah what the hell, I’ll help ou—oh nope nvm he’s a xenophobe, you hang him and I’ll shoot his friend in the face, thx for your time

Went to the citadel to finish some assignments, left tasked with twice as many

“dOn’T cUt CoRneRs” fear not dear Kaiden, I have a permit: this piece of paper that says I do what I want

Still with the elevators, I really cannot with this

“You make it all sound so...dangerous...” ;) ;))))))

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode five

Headin’ to Virmire to rendezvous with the Salarian team

A cure for the genophase?!?!?! :D

Oh wait oh no are we for real gonna talk about destroying the cure like Wrex isn’t standing right here omg

SHIT GUYS NO NOT LIKE THIS WREX PLEASE

Phew for a conversation that basically started with guns drawn, it went pretty well... “What Saren has isn’t even a proper cure, he’s just fucking with the Krogans at this point. Are we gonna stand for that? Or are we gonna murder?” “Damn Shep, you right, we gon’ murder”

Okay Ashley, go join the aliens, try not to die

Shadow Team!🎵 tearing through the base 🎶 disabling all the     defenses 🎵 (you gotta sing it to the tune of the Trogdor song)

We free the prisoners!!! :)

We shoot the prisoners??? :(

“Raina? How can you shoot them where they stand?” So it’s more merciful to let them explode? NAH FAM

This scientist is responsible for the mind control stuff? For Benezia? Fine     I’ll let her go but I hope she explodes

We did not learn our lesson concerning beacons I see

Wait if even Saren is worried about his mind control ship does that mean there are larger forces involved here?

Oh. Oh fuck

Ugh Ashley I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU NOT TO DIE

(so we really never found any info about that genophase cure huh? disappointing)

Oh Seren, you dumb dumb. You absolute fool. Clown man.

When Raina slings Kaiden over her shoulder to carry him to the ship—mmmmmmmmwoooow I am very bisexual

Bruh Raina takes every council call and she disconnects pissed off every time

WAIT I literally just hung up with the council, ASHLEY is DEAD, and Kaiden needs a DTR RIGHT NOW?!?!? Boy, NO, READ THE ROOM

This has been a stressful day

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode six

Shepard will avoid her feelings and go to Faros instead

Seeing Ashley’s figure greyed out and her locker inaccessible makes me sad

Wrex and Garrus, let’s go shoot some geth 💪 

A mind controlling planet—of course!

Shep gets all her renegade points shooting capitalists

Saved, uh, about half the colonists

If I have one more bad acid trip I stg

Oh nope here’s another one

Shep needs a nap

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode seven

Ah, the council. Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.

At least Liara is good at pep talks ;)

Joker, you cockblock

Haha DUDE we airborne, you THOUGHT

Now that I am exiled from the Citadel, guess I’ll run some galactic errands:

o   Killed corporate scientists who though we would rescue them lol

o   Destroyed a bunch of geth camps helping Tali on her pilgrimage

o   Disabled a nuke and killed some pirates

o   Shut down some evil Cerberus experiments

o   And illegally traded information!

Okay time to get back on track

So we may or may not be flying to our doom

OH GOD LIARA LOVES ME!!! RAINA, YOU DISASTER, YOU DID IT AAAAAH ❤️❤️❤️

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode eight

You know what I love? Being murdered by geth armatures

All these Ilos ruins be looking the same

Security panel is only kinda helpful

Oh, luckily I know Prothean now!

“CANNOT BE STOPPED” wow very encouraging, thanks

After that super motivating message and disabling security, its time to go down, down to goblin town

Vigil? Oh word?

My girlfriend is GEEKING out

I knew something what wrong with that fucking Citadel

Vigil: information is power. Also Vigil: What does it matter why they do what they do? All that matters is you stop them

“non-essential” personnel die first, huh? GROSS, VIGIL (gotta be honest that hits different in 2020)

Garrus gets it, I knew we liked that guy

Okay, find conduit, save galaxy, break millennium-old genocide cyle, nbd

Ugh Mako you gotta do me dirty one last time I see, I hate this thing

THE CONDUIT STRAIGHT YEETED MAKO

The citadel robot says we’re doomed : )

This shootout is SO fun, seriously

Saren get it toGETHER

Renegade Raina can kill with a conversation apparently, well done then

Concentrate on the Sovereign—why am I gonna save a council that hates my guts, sorry, but I have a JOB to DO that you ACTIVELY HINDERED

Great, zombie husk Saren, just what I needed as I mull over the possible consequences of my galaxy-altering decision

GO JOKER GO

Humanity-only council seems…questionable. Raina didn’t love the council but this sits wrong. Couldn’t we just appoint a more diverse council, including a human?

Anderson seems like a good enough dude, so…we’ll see.

TIME FOR WAR BOYS, GODDAMN WHAT A GAME

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (5/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Hello, hello, we return with a new episode of Disaster Boys and their Winged Friend. We’re picking up right where we left off last time. Please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Warnings: Heights, falling

Part 4

“You sure you’re alright staying behind?”

“(Y/N), I’ve already told you, the two of you need some time outside of the city.” Clint pushes Bucky and I out the door. “Get your asses upstate and get some fresh air. If you’re back before dark, there’ll be consequences.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Consequences? What’re you gonna do? Spank us?”

Clint grins. “Don’t tempt me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and hooks his arm around my waist. “We’re leaving.”

“Good.”

“We’ll pick up a couple of pizzas on the way home!” I add before Bucky can get me too far down the hall.

Clint shouts his approval and Bucky shakes his head. The smile on his face betrays his annoyance and I laugh. Bucky gives me a half-hearted glare and reaches over to take my hand.

“You think this is hilarious,” he grumbles.

“I think it’s hilarious that you refuse to smile in public.”

“We’re in a hallway.”

“And you treat it like a public space!”

"Other people live in this building, (Y/N), it's not just us!"

"Is this the moment when you finally admit you live here, too?"

“How is that what we were talking about in any way?”

“You said us when you were talking about who lives here, not just Clint and I!” I poke him in the side. “You live here too. Admit it.”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“Seriously?” Bucky rolls his eyes and moves in front of me to walk down the stairs. He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Bucky, you have spent more nights in either my apartment or Clint’s since I moved back in. You live here.”

“I don’t pay rent. I don’t live here.”

“Then you’re a squatter. A really well-paid squatter.”

“You’re an awful person.”

I hummed. “I know, but you like me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.”

I cackle and follow him down the last few flights of stairs. We load up our bags, the picnic basket, and the umbrella Bucky wanted into the back of the car. The umbrella tries to escape a few times and Bucky has to climb into the car and hold it in while I close the back hatch. Once it’s secure, Bucky helps me get into the car by, first, laying the back of the passenger seat down flat. I tuck my wings as tightly to my body as I possibly can and lay down on the passenger side and Bucky buckles me in as soon as I settle. I pillow my hands under my cheek and wait for the car to warm up so that we can leave.

“You look comfy,” Bucky says.

“This sucks, and you know it,” I grumble.

He laughs. “Maybe.”

As soon as we’re out of the city, Bucky reaches over to me and I take his hand. He softly tells me to get some rest and that he’ll wake me when we reach our destination. I do my best to stay awake as long as I possibly can, I eventually nod off and sleep for about an hour and a half before Bucky gently shakes me awake. It takes me a moment to wake up and realize where we are.

“We’re here already?” I mumble.

“Mhm.” Bucky squeezes my hand. "Come on. Let's set up."

I nod and unbuckle my seatbelt. I open the back passenger door and crawl out across the back of the car seat. I shake out my wings as soon as my feet hit the grass and stretch my arms over my head. I pop my back all the way up and down my spine and I sigh loudly. It takes me a moment to register that Bucky’s driven us out the literal middle of nowhere and parked at the edge of a massive grassy field. Behind us stands a giant wall of trees and beyond that is miles of rolling hills and fields of grass, rippling in the wind. I look at Bucky and grin. He smiles and shakes his head before jerking his chin at the back gate of the car. I grab my bag and the umbrella and trail after Bucky while he looks for the perfect place to set up.

After wandering around for nearly five minutes, Bucky finds a spot he likes and spreads out his blanket. I open the umbrella and drive the stake into the ground at one corner of the blanket. Bucky immediately stretches out across the blanket and I lay on my stomach in the sun beside him.

“Seriously?” he asks.

I shrug and spread my wings. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do this.”

He shakes his head. “You’re nuts.”

“Not all of us have metal arms, Buck. I'm not gonna burn myself if I sit in the sun for a bit.”

"You could still burn," he mutters.

I hum and fold my arms under my chin. "Worth it."

He shakes his head. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

“Someone has to be, and seeing as Clint’s not here, I’ve gotta pick up the slack.” Bucky laughs and I smile. “How’d you find this place, anyway?”

“Stark moved operations upstate for a while. Things got loud and crowded so I left and drove around for a bit. Found this open field and filed it away for later.”

“Have you brought Clint out here yet?”

“No, not yet. He doesn’t need quiet like we do.” He takes my hand in his when I reach out to him. “He’ll get his turn at some point. But today it’s just you ‘n me.”

“I’m kinda glad it’s just us today,” I confess. “We don’t get a lot of time alone together, what with you living at the tower.”

“I know. I get sucked into a lot of work with Steve.” He sighs. “I love him, he’s my best friend, but he’s such a fuckin’ work-a-holic. Acts like he’s still got shit to prove, even though he ‘n Tony are probably two of the most respected people on the planet.”

“Well, you know how it went the last time I tried to talk him into taking a vacation.”

“You jumped out a window.”

“He started having a panic attack thinking about the paperwork that could potentially pile up while he was gone.” I sigh. “I worry about him sometimes.

“Don’t worry about him too much. Sam and Rhodey have been helping more, recently. Rhodey is great with the leadership stuff, and Sam is the perfect backup when training starts getting a little out of hand.”

“That’s good.”

“Stark’s talking with that Pym guy to see if he’ll loan his guy to us for a while.”

“Scott, right?”

“Yeah, gave Sam a hard time a few years back, but…” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “We’re not supposed to know about that.”

I laugh and he turns his head to grin at me. “And how do you know this?”

“Confidential, sweetheart.”

“Aw, Buck, come on!”

He laughs. “I was going back through old security tapes a while back and found the feed.”

“Putting all that training to good use, I see.”

“I gotta find my fun somewhere, (Y/N).”

“And you’re not one to go tugging on Clint’s pigtails, or anything.”

“Nah, he’d like it too much.”

I giggle. “Probably.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Anyway, Steve’s doing better than he was. Work might slow down enough that I could spend more time at the building with you guys instead of stuck at the tower. Well… more than just the evenings and the occasional weekend.”

“That’d be really nice.”

He nods and hums in agreement. His eyes flutter shut as he relaxes and I watch him doze for a bit before I pull my hand from his and wander out to the middle of the field. I close my eyes and tip my face to the sky, spreading my arms and wings, just to soak up the warmth. A gentle breeze kicks up around me and the faint rustling of grass slowly reaches my ears.

I sigh and begin to move my wings, lifting from the ground with each downbeat. When I can see nothing but the tops of the trees and the rolling hills of the countryside, I angle myself and fly in several wide, lazy circles over the field. Bucky and his umbrella are little more than a speck on the ground below when I circle back around the fifth time.

With one strong stroke, I break off from my course and glide out over the treetops. I climb higher and higher through the clouds until I can’t see the ground below me. I relish the strain of the muscles all up and down my body, groaning through months of disuse, but pleased to finally move after being stuck on the ground for so long. Up in the clouds, I swear I can breathe a little better than I could not even ten minutes ago. My head is clearer than it has been in nearly a year. I feel wonderful. Wonderful enough to pull my wings in tight against my back and free fall through every single inch of cloud cover before unfurling them and gliding out over the countryside.

I do a few loop-the-loops and have to pause after to shove my hair out of my face. Embarrassed, I glance around and laugh when I realize that absolutely no one could’ve seen me.

I take off again, dipping down below the clouds, only to find that I’m in a completely different place from where I started. I squint at the surrounding area, searching for any kind of defining landmark, and immediately backpedal when the Compound comes into view. I angle my wings into a sharp turn and take off in the direction I came from.

I figure I’m home free when I see the umbrella and I put on an extra burst of speed in an attempt to reach Bucky faster.

“Long time no see, (Y/N)!”

I jerk my head from side to side in an attempt to figure out where the voice came from. A second look over my right shoulder reveals Sam, slowly emerging from some kind of cloaking shield. Startled, I forget to move my wings and Immediately lose altitude.

“Fuck!” I yell out, flailing my arms as I plummet to the earth below.

I manage to roll and face the sky and I take several deep breaths to try and calm myself. When I open them again, Sam is diving, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch me. His yells reach my ears and I pull my wings tight against my body, arch my back and flip myself to face the ground once more. About fifty feet before I hit the ground, I snap my wings open and streak across the field. Sam pulls up just in time to avoid crashing into the dry grass below.

I bank sharply and land a short distance from Sam. Anger rises in my chest and I ball my hands into fists.

“What the fuck was that, Wilson?!” I shout. “Are you trying to fucking kill me? If I had something on me right now, I’d throw it and your head!”

"I am so sorry, (Y/N)," he says, hands raised in defense. "I didn't think you'd get spooked like that."

"You were cloaked. How the hell was I supposed to know you were there?"

He freezes. “I… I don’t know.”

I let out a frustrated yell and, with one strong stroke of my wings, I send him tumbling to the ground with a massive gust of air. I storm off in the direction of the car shouting back at Sam each time he tries to defend himself.

“Come on, (Y/N), it was an accident! I’m trying to apologize.”

Bucky lumbers over, raking his hands through his hair. “What’s going on?”

“Sam just about killed me,” I grind out.

“What?”

I fold my arms and shake my head. “I got distracted and didn’t realize how far I’d flown and wound up a little too close to the Compound. I got out of there as fast as I could, and I thought I made it. But Sam followed me all the way back and decided to do so cloaked-” I look back and Sam and glare. He has the decency to look guilty. “-And startled me bad enough that I stopped flying. I fell a few hundred feet before I could get my bearings and get my wings out again.”

Bucky looks past me at Sam, brows pulled together in a scowl. “What the hell, man?”

“Look, something appeared on the scanner, I had to go check it out. How was I supposed to know it was her? We didn’t even know she was back in town!”

“Yeah, but you figured out it was her, right? Why would you follow her back after that?”

“I don’t know. None of us have seen her in two years, man. I guess I wanted to make sure it was actually her.”

“You could’ve done that from a distance, Sam,” I counter. “You know I’m not a threat. Scaring the shit out of me put us both in danger.”

“You’re right.” Sam looks between Bucky and I and sighs. “I’ll get outta your hair.”

“I hope this doesn’t end up in a report, or something,” Bucky says.

Sam laughs. “Don’t worry, it won’t. My lips are sealed.”

I give him a tight lipped smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it, (Y/N).” He lifts off the ground and grins. “I’d hug you, but I’m pretty sure you’d just punch me.”

“Damn right I would,” I mutter. Bucky laughs and bumps his shoulder against mine.

“See you next week,” Bucky calls.

Sam nods and Bucky and I watch him disappear into the clouds. Bucky sighs and shakes his head and leads me back to the umbrella, muttering to himself about hating his job. I slip my arm around his waist and tell him he doesn’t hate his job, he just really enjoys his time off.

We spread out on the blanket and eat our lunch. We don’t talk much and I take off to fly again when I’m finished. I stay much closer this time, choosing to just do laps around the field instead of exploring like I had been earlier. Instead, I content myself with doing different aerial maneuvers and buzzing by the umbrella every once in a while.

I fly for another three hours before I get tired. I drop down in front of Bucky and he cracks one eye open to look up at me.

“Done?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I know Sam said he wouldn’t tell anyone, but I can’t help being a little paranoid,” I say. I offer him a hand up and he takes it.

Bucky yanks the umbrella from the ground and shrugs. “I’d say that’s just smart thinking, on your part.”

I hum and begin packing things back into the picnic basket. I shake out and fold up the blanket and tuck it under my arm as we head back to the car.

“Did you at least get to relax a little?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. I think I napped most of the time.”

I laugh. “Good.”

Once everything is packed in the car, Bucky helps me back into my seat. The interior is warm and my overworked muscles are crying out for me to rest. The hum and rhythm of the car isn’t helping my case much, and I grow drowsy the further we drive. Bucky takes my hand as I begin to doze off.

“Did you have any kind of fun today?” he asks.

“Mhm.” I nod and squeeze his hand. “Gonna be sore in the morning.”

"Sounds like you had a really good time, then."

"Yeah." I nod off for a moment, but suddenly remember something. "We gotta get pizza on the way home. I promised Clint."

"I know, sweetheart, don't worry. We'll grab a couple'a pies on the way back into town."

"Okay."

I sleep the entire way home.

Bucky gently shakes me awake when we arrive and I groggily crawl out of the car. I grab the bags from the bar and Bucky shakes his head when I reach for the umbrella and picnic basket. He gestures for me to follow him into the building and we trudge up the stairs to Clint’s apartment. Lucky is at the door as soon as we’re inside and Clint barely looks up from what he’s doing when Lucky barks and announces our arrival.

“What’d I say about coming home early?” Clint asks. “It’s not even dark out yet!”

I shake my head and drop the bags near the door.

“(Y/N) got a little too close to the Compound and Sam followed her back after she got picked up on the scanners,” Bucky explains.

“He decided to surprise me and I nearly fell to my death.” I grab plates from the cupboard. “So there’s that too.”

“Holy shit,” Clint says.

“Yeah… But we have pizza.”

Bucky holds up the two boxes and Clint grins and clears his arrows from the coffee table.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you guys around.”

I roll my eyes and hand him a plate. “There’s more benefits to us than pizza.”

Clint flips open a box as soon as they’re on the table and takes three slices. “Right now, the main benefit is pizza.” He leans over when I sit beside him and kisses my forehead. “You’re still pretty great without it, though.”

“Aw, thanks, Clint.”

We eat in relative silence, doing our best to ignore Lucky’s pleading looks, though Clint gives in and tosses him his own slice. Bucky admonishes Clint but Clint just laughs and jokes about throwing Lucky another slice.

When I finish, I lean forward on the table, stretching the muscles all up and down my back. Clint reaches over and presses his knuckles between my shoulderblades, gently massaging away the steadily growing soreness. Clint and Bucky talk between themselves and I watch as Lucky climbs into Bucky’s lap and curls up.

I smile and listen to their conversation and let their voices and Clint’s hand on my back lull me into soft relaxation.

---------

Part 6

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[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Commission: Surprises

A Valorant commission for @sr-023! Was fun to write. :3

If you’re interested in commissions you can find my prices here: (x)

Tags: fluff, humor, light angst, people cooking together. Platonic Viper/Jett getting to know each other a little bit more in the kitchen.

Word count: 2413

-----

“Oh my God, you cook?”

Viper without her mask gave way to several emotions Jett forgot she was capable of. Like amusement. “Yes. And I eat, too.”

“Wow! I never would have guessed. I thought you subsisted on like, diluted snake venom and children’s tears.”

Viper rolled her eyes, peeling a potato in one smooth movement, leaving a curl of peel to fall into a bowl. “It was Breach’s turn to cook. I don’t know about you, but snake venom is far more palatable than lutefisk.”

Jett couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. “You’re just secretly a sweetheart.”

Viper twirled the knife in her hand and pointed it at Jett, mouth a hard line. “Don’t push it.”

Jett shrugged it off smoothly, hoping she didn’t see the stutter of nerves in her shoulders. She looked over the kitchen island-thawed meat, potatoes, green beans that looked like they must have come from a garden, except there weren’t any gardens on the compound that she knew of so...beans-of-mysterious-origin. And all of it in huger quantities than needed to feed the compound. How very American.

And there was Viper in the middle of all of it. Peeling potato after potato in a silent kitchen, a bowl filling with impeccable ribbons. She wondered where she might have learned to peel a potato like that. Like, that totally wasn’t a master poisoner skill, right? It was like a housewife or a hobby cook that was…really into peeling potatoes. Given she was usually taken with annoying Viper, and Viper in turn was taken with threatening her life with any method that violated the Geneva Convention, the fact she hadn’t already kicked her out must have meant she was in an unusually gregarious mood.

And maybe Jett was in her own kind of mood from witnessing the phenomenon of the great mighty Viper being distinctly un-snakelike. She glanced at all the food again, rocking from heel to toe. “Can I help?”

“Yes.”

“Great! How?”

“By leaving until I’m done.”

Jett rolled her eyes, coming to the other side of the island, out of stabbing distance. “C’mon, please?”

Viper stopped mid peel, nicking the skin so it fell, unfinished. She looked at it like it had cut in front of her in line, but it was too public to make a scene. Her eyes flicked up to Jett, who spread her palms over her heart. “I’m good with knives!”

Viper looked from her to the meat, then back again. She sniffed. “You may cut the beef into steaks, if you insist. Inch and a half.”

She almost buzzed, throwing one of her knives up to hover beside her and quickly washing her hands. She wasn’t super into cooking usually, but it was kind of like getting to see the lions actually up and wandering around at the zoo instead of just sitting there and waiting for their next meal. Very aware of the eyes on her, she grabbed her knife from the air, adjusted the meat on the cutting board, and slowly started cutting down into it, trying to channel every lesson her dad ever gave her in the kitchen, all of which she’d ignored so she could go back to doing literally anything else.

Evidently, she wasn’t channeling them very well, as there was soon a knife clattering over the counter toward her. She jumped, half expected to get stabbed, but the knife rested a foot away. She looked up at Viper, who looked absolutely pained. “Use…use an actual knife.”

“This is a knife?”

“It’s a throwing knife. The blade is five inches at best. That is a chef’s knife.” She went back to the potatoes, though somehow Jett still felt her eyes on her. Maybe she had false eyespots like a moth and her real eyes were on her forehead. She palmed the handle, tilting the blade so it glinted in the stark kitchen light, then lined it up and finished cutting the steak-smooth, easy, like butter. She looked over at Viper.

“Good,” she said. She was still peeling potatoes. How many potatoes were there? “Set it on the plate. Use the seasoning there. Not too much.”

Jett snorted, setting the meat aside and using her meat-juice covered hand on the unlabled spice shaker. “Yeah okay, Mom.”

There was another nick, a potato peel falling half done. Jett could see her muscles tense-her whole body, in fact, went rigid, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and the knife was steadily scraping against the potato again. She could have imagined it. This was Viper after all, the same woman that once “accidentally” bumped her into a poison pit because Jett had been “annoying”.

And yet…

She shrugged, flipping and seasoning the other side of the steak, apparently to her cooking neighbors satisfaction, and then went ahead and cut the next steak, seasoning and flipping it, leaving bloody lines on the seasoning bottle until she realized just how unsanitary that probably was, and got the idea to clean it, then grab a paper towel and fold it over a few times, wrap the bottle and tape it. Viper raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve seen you do something so smart.”

Smart? She just called her smart? Sure, it was backhanded, but she’d never heard her call anybody smart. Especially not her. She threw on a British accent as she said, “don’t need anymore bloody spice shakers, huh?”

She hummed. But it could have been a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a British person sound like that.”

“Phoenix said if I ever try to do the accent in his presence again he’ll set me on fire.”

“As is his right.”

Jett snorted, returning to her cutting and seasoning. “You’re not…wrong.”

Viper finally finished her unholy pile of starch and set up two pots of water to boil the approximate 230,000 potatoes, give or take a half dozen. Jett finished her own job and set the steaks up on pans to broil, Viper taking over from there and telling her to “get the beans ready”. Considering she’d only ever eaten green beans straight from the can at 2am this was a bit of a difficult task. Difficult, unfamiliar tasks tended to make her nervous. But Jett wasn’t about to be shown up by some beans.

So she confidently put the burner on high, grabbed a handful and dropped them in the water once it was boiling, thus splashing water over burners, herself, countertop and floor, sending up a grand sizzling equitable to the sounds of demon laughter bubbling up from hell. She yipped, jumping away, in doing so smashing into Viper, who almost slipped on the water, caught herself on the counter and flicked the gas off.

The look she gave Jett could have boiled the ocean.

“Get out.” She said. Low, dangerous, like the buzz of a rattlesnake’s tail.

Jett scurried backward, tapping her hip to count how many of her knives she still had on her as her calf knocked against a chair at one of the circular dining tables in the room. She sat in it, not entirely sure as to why. Probably because Viper hadn’t straight up killed her, and she had the self-preservation instincts of that rat from Ratatouille.

She watched from her seat, how she moved around the kitchen as if on a breeze, smoothly following the curve of the wind, twirling between the meat and the potatoes, setting up the beans by gently placing them into the pot (which, in hindsight, was definitely common sense that Jett…apparently didn’t possess). The beautiful potato skins were tossed in one large bowl and covered with water, then a timer was set. It felt like watching an artist, spawning a question in her head.

Viper saw her staring and glowered. “Why are you still here?”

Her feet fidgeted, and she clasped her fingers together to avoid tugging at her hair, like her Mom had taught her. Better to look pensive than apprehensive. “Were you a chef?”

Viper stared, glower softening to a neutral expression tilting towards surprise. She glanced back towards the kitchen, slowly crossing her arms under her chest. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, cooking is like, a form of chemistry, right?” She pulled the only fact she’d ever retained from Home Ec out of her ass, hoping and praying it worked, cause otherwise she was probably going to be banished from the room…and maybe dinner. Man, she really hoped she wasn’t banned from dinner.

Thankfully, the wind blew in some luck. “I was a double major at University of Washington. Culinary Arts and Chemistry.”

She let herself smile, just a bit. “So, you’re good with knives, too.”

“You could say so.” She was eyeing her, and instead of sitting in the chair across from her, she leaned against the nearby wall. “Did you have any training with your knives?”

Jett was surprised she’d bothered to ask. “I taught myself. Since I was a kid.” She leaned back and swung her hand casually, swirling a knife into the air to illustrate her point. “My mom wanted me to go to college but, like, I can control wind with my mind, so that sounded kind of lame.”

Viper cocked her head to the side. “So, your powers, it’s all mental manipulation?”

Jett shrugged slightly. “I mean, mostly. I also gotta like, move my hands and legs and stuff. But I mostly just think about it. Or don’t-like it’s natural now, like walking or breathing.”

“Fascinating,” she said with a thoughtful tone, returning to the food. Somewhat hesitant, Jett joined her, at a respectful distance. She stabbed the potatoes, and apparently that meant something because she drained them immediately after, chucked in some butter and started sprinkling some salt and pepper and beating the living shit out of them with a hand mixer. She noticed Jett standing and nodded toward the sink. “Make yourself useful and drain the potato skins. Toss them in the bowl with olive oil and the spice mix and put them on a pan in the oven.”

She blinked, then shrugged and slipped around her. Now that she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get speared through, or find her way into another poison pit, she decided she…sort of liked working with Viper in the kitchen. She was rude but she also was sort of…normal? As normal as she was capable of being? She did as directed, coating the skins until they looked unhealthy and chuckling as she threw in the spices. “Y’know, I probably should have asked if this was poisoned before I put it on.”

Viper huffed, turning off the mixer with a click. “Please, not everything I do involves poison. I wasn’t born with, with tubocurarine dripping from my fingertips, hell I wasn’t like this, I was made into it.”

She tossed everything in the oven. Jett paused, gripping her arms, trying to seem casual. She’d heard a few throwaway comments before, they all had, but right now she thought, perhaps, if she phrased it right, she could ask certain questions without sounding (and being) a total dick. “What’s tubocurarine?”

“A neurotoxin, first used for poison arrows and later to keep muscles relaxed during surgery. It would paralyze you for a couple hours, basically.”

“Oh, interesting.” She bit her lip, digging her nails into her skin. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything but, can I, can I ask who?”

Viper paused, turning slowly to look down her nose at her. She was, again, reminded of the other woman’s venomous namesake. “Excuse me?”

“Who, uh…made you, uh,” in fear of phrasing it wrong, Jett gestured vaguely at Viper, who narrowed her eyes.

The air was heavy, but it wasn’t boiling like with the beans. It wasn’t even rumbling. It was contemplative, quiet, even a little sad. Like a waveless ocean. “I don’t know.” She said finally.

Jett blinked. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know.” She shrugged smoothly, though she was visibly tense. Like when I called her mom¸ Jett thought, a stone sinking in her stomach. “My family, my friends, myself-it all was taken from me. And I don’t have faces or names to put it to.”

Her shoulders dropped. “Shit.”

Viper let out a very uncharacteristic snort, pulling the steaks and potato skins from the oven. “That’s about the best way to describe it. Perhaps in some ways it’s my fault, I didn’t fight it as much as I should have…” she stopped, staring at the steaks and then shaking her head, taking a deep breath. “Though if I ever do find out who, they’ll wish they’d killed me. Anyway,” she gave Jett a sidelong glance. “Now you. Venice.”

A bolt of anxiety speared through her being and she gripped the strap of her tank top reflexively. “I-I didn’t do it.”

“A floating city and a wind radiant found at its base? Please.”

She pursed her lips. “I. Didn’t. Do. It.”

She turned slightly, furrowing her brow, eyes darting over her face as she began to move the steaks to a plate. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” She looked at her feet. “I was there when it started cracking, and I used my powers to jump off and landed on some chunk that hadn’t come up with the rest of the island. Some guy got me on his phone camera. Nobody believed me when I said I had nothing to do with it. And if I’m being honest with myself, they probably never will.” She sighed and forced herself to look up, braced for the pity, or the accusation-you’re bad at lying, she’d say, like so many others.

But in place of either, there was a slight, slight smile. “Guess we have more in common than I thought, Jett.”

---

Everyone was very thankful to not have to try and find the politest way to refuse Breach’s lye-soaked cod. Jett saying she helped also reassured everyone that the food didn’t contain Viper’s latest experiment. At least, that was until Viper was noticeably not eating, glancing around the tables, sipping only her water as the members of Valorant gradually stopped chewing, some digging into their potatoes, Breach eyeing his steak suspiciously. Jett glanced around and suddenly choked, falling off her chair.

Phoenix screamed, scrambling backward over his chair, the others quickly beginning to scoot away until Jett sat up again, grinning.

“Gotcha,” Viper said, smiling over her glass.

[manlyquail]

Nerdy Lucid Dreaming

So I figured for no reason whatsoever that I’d share the small story about how I started to learn how to lucid dream as a kid without even realizing what I was doing.

For some brief context, I’m (and always have been) a big gamer. My dad had me playing video games ever since I was young (looking at you Blizzard games), and needless to say I became a bit of an addict. So anyway, with video games ingrained in my brain, there was a day where I suddenly just learned a new skill in my dreams, and it was sort’ve the first step of learning to lucid dream.

See, what would happen is I was a kid that got nightmares quite a bit. Waking up from the cold sweat all scared of whatever happened to be going on (I also grew up on movies like Alien, Friday the 13th, etc. I even saw the opening scene to Fullmetal Alchemist when I was a kid, the scene where they try to ressurect their mom? Yeah, lots of nightmare fuel for my tiny little brain to process). Anyways, it really gave my brain a lot to process, and I don’t really remember any of the dreams because I was so young, except one.

I remember this particular dream because it was the first time I’d ever been aware of my dreaming state, and I was so scared I basically took control almost in a state of panic. In the dream, I was in a really thick hedge maze, above me was all black so no stars or anything, kind’ve like there was just a thick black ceiling above me that was so dark it didn’t even seem like there was anything there. In this maze I was being chased by monsters, in particular I remember Predator being there, a xenomorph from Alien too, and a few other baddies all teamed up chasing me through this maze. As hedge mazes do of course, I eventually found a dead end in the chase and got cornered. So, for dream me it was basically the end, but then the weirdest thing happened. I was so desperate to get out of the dream, to get away from this moment, that a “PAUSE” menu appeared.

Think any game with a pause menu. The screen sorta darkens around the edges, a bright menu in the middle with a list of options and “PAUSE” at the top. It showed up just before things were at their worst, and I was so desperate to wake up from the nightmare that a cursor started to move its way across the image of my dream. It made its way to the pause menu, scrolled down to an EXIT button, and when it clicked it BAM, I woke up. It was so weird to me, and internally I realized how absolutely dorky it was that a video-game style pause menu is what I somehow used to get out of my dream.

After that happened I guess I internalized that ability because I was so thankful to be able to wake up from dreams that it ended up becoming a sort’ve default setting to nightmares at that point. I gained some foresight into when a dream was going to be a nightmare and could simply just ‘exit’ the dream, wake myself up, and then just try another dream. 

Since then I’ve learned more to be able to lucid dream, but in my own way I suppose. I haven’t looked too much into what its like for others with the ability, but for me I’m almost just actively ‘watching’ a show at this point. I’m well aware I could change things around, intervene at any time to wake myself up or change the course of the dream, but I’ve become essentially my own checkpoint system. My curiosity to see how a dream plays out before me makes me eager to simply let dreams play out, but if something bad happens to me in the dream, or something happens that would prevent the dream from continuing or finishing in a way I’m satisfied with, I briefly rewind in a sense and let it play out once more but with the knowledge of what went wrong to avoid it.

I have a few other unique quirks about the way I dream, but some of them are honestly a little horrifying to describe, so I’ll put like a TW and a cut right now for descriptions of extreme gore, and like, loss of limb stuff below really quick just in case before I continue on, mostly because I’m enjoying sharing this and figure why not put all my dream stuff in one place?

So something else kind’ve messed up about the way I dream is how vivid everything is. Because of the self awareness I have that everything is a dream, I no longer panic or freak out when something horrible goes wrong. I’ve been eaten by cannibals, had my limbs ripped off, been cut in half, and so on in my dreams before, but because I realize that they’re dreams I don’t get super freaked out by the events. Usually I just roll with the punches, and in most cases, quite literally try to put myself back together.

I remember one dream in particular, I was in a Halo Warthog in the dream and I don’t quite recall where we were going (group of just sorta faceless people I suppose, and it was a four seater without the turret), but there was a crash and an accident and I ended up getting cut in half right at the waist. Horrifying yes, I remember the feeling of that dismemberment followed by desperately crawling across the ground to a set of legs I thought were mind. Through dream logic I just sort’ve planted my torso on the set of legs and after a couple second was able to use them. Joke was on me because I found out they weren’t actually my legs but someone else’s from the accident, but they were already attached so what was I to do?

The freakiest part of it all though wasn’t the dream, but when I woke up I still felt ‘separated’. I’ve described it to some people in the past as almost like a reverse-phantom limb situation, where I have the body parts but it doesn’t feel like they’re actually attached to me. I was so scared that if I lifted myself up in bed my torso would just pop off from my legs.

It’s not the first time a situation like this has happened, though most of the time it involves my hand. Somehow I frequently get my hand lopped off in various ways, usually not at the wrist but somewhere along the palm or even a few fingers. I always ‘reattach’ it in my dream (usually with something silly, like glue, tape, etc.), and the logic in the dream is as long as I don’t move it around too much it’ll naturally just ‘heal’ itself back connected. I think I get that logic from the idea of sewing limbs back on in emergency situations to save the limb, my brain just equates that to “Well if I just find a way to keep the two pieces lined up long enough it’ll all work out!” Then, when I wake up, than translates to me being utterly terrified to so much as flex my hand or move my fingers around too much lest it just fall apart.

It’s the same sensation as the cut in half one as well. Despite the fact I can see my hand, I can move it and wiggle it around, there’s a lengthy period of time where it feels like a cold fog is there instead. Like, I can feel the warmth of my body up to the part where the limb was lost, but then its like this cold sensation where its as if it isn’t really there even though I know it is. It’s a spooky sensation, almost like a part of my soul was just cut off or something. Eventually the sensation goes away with time, but my imagination and memory are vivid enough that if I think really hard about the scenarios I can recall that feeling pretty distinctly. Spooky stuff.

Anyways, that’s about the end of my weird dream rant. I love sharing nonsense like this but it mostly feels like me rambling some of the time, so thank you for indulging me if you’ve read this far at all and I hope it was the least bit interesting!

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #3)

(cw: alcohol) <-Previous | Next-> ----------- 12/18/87  4:04 AM

Hey. 

Don’t know why I’m keeping up with this.

But don’t worry, I don’t think so little of you that I’d believe you were dead without question.

My first theory was that it was all a big joke. Some prank you’d set up with literally everyone other than me, probably payback for one thing or another. Far-fetched, but, hey. Less far-fetched than you being dead.

That theory was stretched to its limits pretty much right away. Game Central Station went on lockdown for a couple days, and then there was this… event. I guess it’d be called a memorial or something. Whatever it was, it was a Devout thing. There were preachers and everything, and GCS was done up all fancy. Everyone kind of pretended to be Devout that evening, all dressed in blue, like they’d all run for cover under this one idea that they thought would protect them. What you did, no one had ever seen before. I don’t think anyone even knew it was possible. And once they did, no one knew how to handle it. The world did not seem safe anymore. The whole arcade was just hushed and shaken and at a loss.

But, I gotta say, this “memorial,” it really wasn’t any sort of honor to your memory, or a funeral, or anything like that. I’m certain you would have wanted the arcade to come together and collectively wonder how in Litwak’s name they were going to go on without you, but that just didn’t happen. Hate to break it to you, but after the stunt you pulled, you stopped being a ‘good guy’, shot right past ‘bad guy’, and landed square on ‘worst guy’. No one really came to proclaim their love for the worst guy.

I am sorry about that.

Pretty much every sprite in the arcade was there, though. My whole game came out, with Fix-it being way too clingy, as usual. When I was able to get some time away from him, I even found Tapper. He closed his game down so that he could serve traditional blueberry wine at the memorial. When I saw him standing behind that table draped in blue cloth, part of me hoped that he would shed a bit more light on the situation for me. But he, like everyone else, reacted to me in a way I’d never seen. His eyes lit up at the sight of me, not quite with happiness, but with a sort of relief that seemed almost painful. It looked like he would have hugged me if I’d let him. Instead, he just told me how glad he was to see me all in one piece. And how sorry he was, a sentiment I was quickly growing tired of hearing. He did give me an entire bottle of that wine with his condolences, though, so I didn’t complain. 

But I didn’t drink it, either. I felt a storm toiling in my belly, and it thundered at the thought of ingesting anything.

The event had a handful of preachers lined up to say their piece on the situation and try to give the masses some sort of faith to hold onto in such dark times. I didn’t absorb too much, but I was admittedly not paying close attention. My bored, wandering mind had found something else, and gotten entirely stuck on it. 

There were two empty game ports that had otherwise been filled, last I could remember. Your game, and the game you hated. The entrances had been framed with blue ribbons and flowers of all things, and it was crossed with Surge’s yellow tape, barring entry. There were no lights, no gold hallway, just a black, empty terminal with a hole where the train tunnel should have been. I could see right through to the floor of the arcade.

There’s no faking that. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It went back to feeling like a dream.

It was all a really long in-depth dream, and I’d wake up on your couch, covered in candy wrappers, with a wicked hangover. Then I could tell you that your memorial flowers were blue, and you’d make gagging noises and tell me to lay off the sugar before bed. There would be soda and takeout leftovers for breakfast, and the arcade would open and close like any other day, and I’d no doubt end up on that couch again, covered in candy, goofing off with you. As per usual.

Just the thought cut me out of the heavy atmosphere around me and placed me in a fragile, eerie calm. That’s when a preacher finally earned my attention.

She was the only one who even spoke directly about you. None of the others had the nerve to do anything other than tiptoe. Though, she never did actually say your name. She just referred to you by a lot of unflattering descriptors that I don’t want to honor by repeating. Overall, her point was that you, by disrespecting the Devs’ design, let into your code a festering digit of binary that spread and corrupted your once favored, blessed, pure data. She said, in your final days, that you played host to a virus of avarice. You abandoned all the blessings and protection of the Devs for your selfish desires, and took innocent lives with you. 

So then, of course, she turned it all into some bullroar cautionary tale. She said we are all, as sentient beings, at risk of your “fatal corruption,” and reminded everyone how to avoid a repeat of this disaster: The textbook long-winded “Follow the Devs, follow the program, sit down, stay still, shut up.”

Barf, right? I thought so, too. I’d had quite enough of it. Someone had to shut her up, and no one else was going to do it. I gave even less thought to consequence than I normally would -- none of it was real, in my head, so none of it would matter. It was free game. 

So, I did just about the worst thing I could have done, and painted some fireworks. In the brightest red I could conjure up. You know, the color they should have been using for you. 

Those split seconds between the whistle and the bang were some of the best I’ve had since you left, purely for the look on the stupid preacher’s face when I cut her off. But when the explosions hit, and Game Central was bathed in red light, and the whole crowd broke into screams, something deep inside of me changed. 

I panicked.

That snap reaction, that fear that did not feel irrational, but rather, instinctual, took hold of me like a gamer’s command. I ran. I needed to get away, far away, quick. You know I live for my fireworks. But right then, the screams and the burning lights, they were something right out of a nightmare.

Even if I hadn’t been clambering to get away, that would have been my last moment at the event. The crowd didn’t take kindly to me or my display, so I was chased out of GCS by an instant angry mob. Shouting abuse and throwing their wine glasses and all that. 

I hid myself away in my game, trying to rationalize it all. It had to be a dream. It was just a vivid, terrible dream, and I could wake up at any moment. So, I had the unique experience of staying up all night just trying to wake up.

There could be no reality where you and your game were gone.

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Vol. 1: I’m an Idiot but At Least I’m Fun

[ID: a blue patterned banner with text reading “BABYLON.” End ID.]

BIG CW for this one: Blood, mild body horror.

(Totally ran out of time to post this yesterday, so here we are a day late again! For the 2/3 people that actually see this on tumblr lol. Just one chapter, and not a mega long one, but be safe while reading and feel free to message me for a summary or sections to skip if you’re worried about the content warnings. Hope you enjoy!)

Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @charlottedotexe @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites @viawrites-andacts

16. I’m An Idiot But At Least I’m Fun 

    There was a steady dripping from the edge of the table she sat on. Azure sighed and then held her breath, digging the scalpel into her arm once more. She’d missed the intended node once already, and this was getting a little dicey. It crossed her mind that she really should consider an assistant for when she did her more complex updates, but then she’d have to deal with their concern for her wellbeing and that really only ever did more harm than good for her efficiency. A twinge of pain shot up from her elbow, and she reached behind her to carelessly flip a switch on a box wired to her ankle by about four yards of copper wire. The pain subsided, and she set the scalpel down in exchange for a pair of forceps. Time to dig. The dripping continued, blood running onto the ground and towards her workshop drain. She paid it no mind. She’d eat a cookie later. 

    But still, something burned at the back of her mind. She looked at the clock on her monitor, brow furrowed as she wiped a bloody gloved hand on her shirt. She was forgetting something. The faulty node was still blinking beneath all the blood, taunting her. Suddenly, a spurt of blood crossed the room, and some wiring escaped her arm, snaking slowly out of her open incision. She grit her teeth. That was never a fun feeling, blood-warmed metal exiting her body. “Fuck, oh, goddamn it-” Another spurt of blood, this one dripping down her arm and to the ground even though she had her free hand clamped around it. She grumbled low in her throat, words coming through the forceps she now held between her teeth. “Sonofabitch, I swear everytime I try-”

    “Bluemom, You have a visitor.” Her floating personal assistant bot, Bean, hovered over to her, his front display reading out her current rate of blood loss and the time. “He had an appointment.”

    “I don’t recall my brother or Turq or even Smalls needin’ appointments to see me. Just send ‘im in, whoever he is he’s seen worse I’m sure.” She waved the bot off and he hovered away, whistling his customary exit tune. She used the hand on her currently bleeding arm to open a drawer and rummage through its contents. “Gauze, gauze, gauze….”

    The door slid open, and a voice, not that of any of her shipmates and yet all too familiar, said, “Jesus.” 

    “Your Three O’Clock is here!” Chirped Bean. “Trinity Jericho has arrived.”

    She looked up to see Trinity standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. She could practically see the loading screen behind his eyes as his brain searched its databanks for an appropriate reaction or facial expression in response to the bizarre scene in front of him.

    She was a mess, blood running down her arm and all over her white tank top, a spare coil of fine wire hanging around the shell of her ear. A strange contraption was slithering its way out of her wound, the inside of her elbow flayed open. She’d have blushed in embarrassment, but she couldn’t really spare the blood, so she settled on smiling sheepishly. “Oh, uh, hey?”  More blood, this time escaping her fingers and splattering weakly at her feet. “...I’ve got gloves in that drawer right there behind you, would you mind helpin’ me for a quick sec? My hands are occupied right now.” Her tone was conversational, as though she was asking him to grab something from a fridge as opposed to putting on gloves to shove wires back up into her bicep. She continued using her lacerated arm to dig for gauze, blood dripping from her elbow and onto her bare feet.

Rather than figure out how to react, it looked like Trinity had decided not to react at all. His face was exceedingly casual, save for his slightly raised eyebrows, as he went over to the desk and removed the gloves, pulling them on. “Should I even ask?”

Something between a human laugh and a pig snort left her mouth. “Only if it’s necessary. I think I just nicked a vein. I’m more concerned with these connectors, they’re not supposed to be connected this loosely, which means they really shouldn’t be hangin’ out my arm like a hound dog out a pickup truck window.”

“Just nicked a vein,” Trinity mimicked, affecting a higher pitched southern drawl that combined with the slight disbelieving tone to his voice. “Ok. Ok, you’re completely insane, and probably only partially from blood loss. Now, tell me what to do.” He turned his attention to the wires, examining them closely with an expression that rivaled his focus when looking at a particularly interesting problem in one of his own production lines. “I think I see the basics of what’s going on here, but you’d know best.”

“It’s just the coolin’ lines, they kinda just gotta be-Oh!” She pulled a roll of gauze and some medigel from the drawer she’d been digging in. “Found ‘em.” She looked back up at him, arm stretched out, still applying pressure. “I’m not insane until I lose a full liter, by the way. We’re not even a quarter of the way there. They’re just coolin’ lines, you can just shove ‘em back in. I’d have done it already if I didn’t need to keep my blood in my body.” The cooling lines glowed a faint purple and continued to slowly snake their way out. She beheld her own mess with interest for a moment, puzzling something out. “Wonder if I could…”

“Let’s save that little curiosity journey for later, yes?” he interrupted, just the slightest hint of panic creeping into his tone that stopped short whatever she’d been about to come up with. “Maybe best to explore all the other experiments you could run on yourself when you’re not already bleeding all over the floor.” He started pushing the wires back into her arm, probably more gently than she would have done herself. “And, for the record, you’re insane with all your blood in your body. But I’m sure you know that already.”

“It’s what makes me fun!” Her irreverence for her own safety could almost be seen as endearing, if it wasn’t so dangerous. She grabbed a spray bottle marked ‘alcohol’ in big red letters, a roll of duct tape on her wrist. “Here, put pressure on it once it’s all in there, I’ll secure it back down later. Musculature will hold it for now.” She put the spray top of the bottle of alcohol between her teeth and bit down, twisting to remove it and dumping some of the contents over the open wound, no sign of a grimace. “Quickly dude, or we’re gonna be covered in blood. My heart’s still beatin’. God this would be so much easier if my limbs were detachable.”

Trinity almost said wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been covered in blood, or detachable limbs are another thing we don’t want to explore right now, but he was a little too busy to worry about snappy comebacks. He got some disinfectant a little more directly to the wound by covering a bandage in medigel, and set to work sealing the edges together temporarily with glue that he knew should work like stitches. The alcohol had luckily done the double job of cleaning away the excess blood, so all he had to do was swipe away the fresh blood that had just welled from it with a piece of gauze and apply the bandage. On top of it he folded a few more pieces of gauze for extra pressure, and he secured the whole thing with medical tape. It was quick, but rather well done for a rush job nonetheless. Azzy blinked at the result.

“Oh, I was gonna slam some gauze and medigel in there and throw some duct tape over it but that works too.”

“I know that’s what you were going to do, which is exactly why I didn’t do it. Might as well make use of an extra pair of hands.” Said hands, though gloved, were a bit of a bloody mess now, and he walked over to a sink with a bin for biohazard disposal to clean up. “Luckily I know something about cybernetics and first aid. I know you do too.” Unspoken was the implication that not everyone did-- that most people would probably freeze up or panic at such a sight. Beneath even that lay certainty that she did this often. Despite his jokes about her being insane, she’d been perfectly calm. This maybe wasn’t how all her repairs went, with the blood and all, but it wasn’t a surprise, either. He thought maybe that should scare him, but instead he simply accepted it as fact. What else could he do?

“Can’t see how it matters too much, can’t avoid the scarrin’ anyway. Thanks, though.” she looked up at him with that same lopsided smile before bending her arm a couple times. “I forgot you were comin’, lemme get this shit cleaned up and we’ll get that maintenance outta the way.”

He shrugged as he finished washing his own hands and disposing of the gloves, and started to help her clean up. “Scars, those don’t matter. Everyone has them, visible or not, you don’t make it far in life without them. But in this kind of world… I think you might as well save yourself a little pain and danger any time you have the chance.” There was an honesty in his voice that drew her attention, but he was facing away from her. He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned with a crooked grin. “So, what nefarious plans do you have for my eye today?”

She was already across the room in front of a pair of doors, arms crossed over her front to pull her shirt up and over her head. She was facing away from him, her back tan and striped with thin white scars all the way up her spine, ending in one final splintering burst at the base of her neck. Barely visible at this distance was the white ink tattooed across her back to make the whole mess look like a dandelion puff. The shirt fell to the ground with a wet flop as she hit a button to open a closet full of more white tank tops, these ones pristine. Her hands were clean already. “S’not like I feel it anyway, that’s what the ankle wire’s for.” She grabbed a shirt and tugged it over her head, fixing her beanie as she turned to face him again and grabbed a mop from the corner. 

“Ankle wire?” He glanced down, mechanical pieces fitting together behind his eyes. “Of course. You electrocute your nerve endings to suppress pain. Makes perfect sense.” Was she imagining the tiny edge to his voice? “And to think you lectured me before about the external charging I was doing. Don’t you ever worry you’ll fry them, go numb permanently? Although…” He shook his head, the joking tone back to his voice. “Never mind, you could probably fix that if it happened, anyway.” 

Azzy began cleaning, ignoring the edge to his voice. This was why she never let anyone assist with her cybernetic self experimentation. This, and the process of the reset. She let herself sound cocky. "Of course I could fix it. Anyway, I have an update for the cooler, so it'll adjust with your body temp, like a real eye. Good for if someone's lookin' atcha with thermal imagin'." She hit a button and hopped onto a counter, the edges of the floor beginning to flood slightly with water. "I also thought maybe I'd upload this real spicy book I read last week to it, in case you get bored. You’ll love it." She snorted, unable to keep a straight face.

He laughed quietly along as he lifted himself onto the counter next to her. It was odd-- even through genuine humor he was looking at her like he was considering something, searching her for the answer to some unspoken puzzle. He let his gaze wander again just before the point where consideration became outright staring. “Feel free. That thermal imaging sounds like a great idea.”

The floor was done flooding, washing the remaining blood down a drain in the center of the room. She hopped back down, crossing the room and grabbing her boots off a shelf. Can't mess with people's eyes with your bare feet just out and around. She looked up from her feet with a curious expression, like he'd given her a brain teaser. "What was that look? You were thinkin' about somethin', and it's almost definitely not the alien erotica I'm puttin' in your peeper as soon as the standard tune up is done."

He shrugged. “I’ll tell you later. There’s some research I want to do first.” He slid off the counter. “First things first, heat regulation and alien erotica.”

"Don't have to tell me twice. Get on the table, I'll get the hookups. Pop that sucker out too, I need to check the retina." She pulled a clean pair of gloves on, snapping the cuff against her wrist. The sensation ricocheted up her arm. Her elbow and wound sparked. Her freshly patched arm swung out of its own volition, landing squarely on Trinity’s backside. Azure blinked, tips of her ears turning bright scarlet as her mouth twitched. “Oops.”

Trinity turned to look at her and blinked bemusedly. “...Getting an early start on the erotica part?” he quipped, but his already pink cheeks flushed darker as he spoke.

Azure giggled in response, pulling her arm back the moment she realized she’d left it there in shock. “Sorry. The node’s been misfirin’, if I hadn’t missed the incision point I’d have replaced and calibrated it by now, my bad.” Her eyes flickered briefly downwards and then immediately to her desk, smirking as she rolled her shoulder and shook her hand to get out any further bursts. “...Glad to know you don’t skip your squats. It’s a nice ass, now that I’m lookin’ at it instead of the wires in my arm.”

“A misfire, sure.” Trinity smirked back. It was easy to tell she was being serious about the misfire-- a lie would have come with a lot more stammering and awkward pauses-- but it was a prime opportunity to tease his friend that he wasn’t about to miss. “Your powers of observation are astonishing. Here.” He popped out the cybernetic eye, deceptively simple looking detached from its complex inner workings. He grinned, and tossed it lightly in one hand, waiting for her to turn back to face him. “Catch.”

She held a jar of fluid for his eye in her hand already as she turned, brow raised. As she faced him, he smirked and tossed the eye towards her, an easy to intercept underhand throw. “Ohfuck-” Snatching it out of the air and setting it gently in the jar, she pouted at him. “Dude, I’m not makin’ you another one if that one breaks.”

“You didn’t make the first one.” He smiled. “It’s fine, I knew you’d catch my eye.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then set the jar down and cracked a smile, some small hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Very funny Hotshot, well done. Don’t throw your fuckin’ organs.” Digging out a small monitor and some wires, she glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “I’m sure all the girls tell you that though, right?”

He scoffed, amused at the idea of the women at the events he attended saying anything about organs out loud. “Just you. It’s a bit of an honor, really.” 

“Flatterer. Don’t think I don’t know about your eight illicit rendezvous with five women in the last two days. Sara Mitchell told me all about them last time.” She rolled her eyes and stood, handing him the bundle of tech and tugging at his shirt collar to plug something into his port. “They’re tryin’ harder every time, I swear. I can see why you wanted the backup more ‘n more, I can’t imagine how you got anythin’ done at those things.”

“Mostly by ignoring anyone I didn’t want something from,” Trinity replied casually, opening his shirt a few more buttons to let her access his port more easily. The motion revealed those tattoos she’d already noticed a few times before when doing repairs-- the birds in flight, the trinity knot, the wall, the crumbling tower. Again she considered that their placement, so close to bone in most places and with so many heavy black lines and detailed patterns, must’ve really hurt. A phantom pain shot down her own spine in sympathy at the thought.

“Well, I guess that explains it just fine.” She flipped a few switches, monitors whirring to life. “Not very nice, but then again neither is listenin’ to them gripin’ because I won’t tell ‘em your-” She stopped herself, face reddening as she dropped a heartbeat sensor in his lap. A nasal feminine voice replayed in her ear, begging the question how big is it, really? She picked her sentence back up with a rambling vigor, trying her absolute best to drown her own thoughts out. “-current plans. Nasty, all of ‘em. Super nosy. Can’t blame you for ignorin’ it. Wanna put that on your finger? Don’t matter which, any of ‘em are fine, I gotta make sure the readin’s are accurate.” 

He gave her a look like he wanted to question her about the hesitation, though she was certain he had a pretty good idea what the ladies had actually been asking her about. However, he simply quirked an eyebrow in her direction as he slipped the sensor onto his pointer finger.

Face still red, she hooked the eye up to a different wire. Something hummed and buzzed, and she heaved a dramatic sigh. “Sorry, you don’t have enough space for the porn. You have all of it allocated for images and text files made by the unit itself.” She made a few keystrokes and turned, looking at everything but him. “Okay, that’s updatin’. Lemme see your empty eye socket, your nerve is registerin’ some weird readings.”

Trinity turned his face up to hers, exposing the scarred inner socket of his eye. He’d never said what had happened to it, but it didn’t look pleasant. “The optic nerve? It should be fine, it’s totally cybernetic. It’s not degrading again, is it?” There was a hint of nervousness in his voice at the thought.

“It’s probably just one busted cell. It’s still machinery, sometimes parts need to be replaced.” She grabbed a pair of foreceps and clicked them together where he could see with his good eye. “Tell me if you feel this, because you’re definitely not supposed to.” She poked around at the back of his socket. “Anythin’?”

“No. I think your mother poked around in there enough when she was installing it that it won’t feel much ever again.”

“Then your actual nerve past the cybernetic and into your brain is fine, its just a couple of cones tryin’ to be data transmitters.” She poked at something else and made a small noise of triumph. “I’ll have it replaced, shouldn’t be hard. I think I made a couple extras when I was up all night last week.” The foreceps went back to the table and her face reappeared in his line of sight, beaming. “Your whole business is just as busted, but it’s no worse than when you came the first time. Matter of fact, some of the burns from when your eye wasn’t cooled properly have healed pretty well, like they weren’t even there.”

“Oh,” Trinity responded, pleasantly surprised. “Yes, I tried to do some first aid to keep it from scarring the way my leg did when I used to charge my taser externally.” He didn’t meet her eyes, even though he’d only done it a half dozen times, and all long before he’d met her. The second reminder of his own carelessness with his remaining nerves made him feel a bit guilty for sniping at her about her own. “I took the eye out when I could, used some burn creams and medigel, that kind of thing. Anyway, I’m glad to hear that there’s nothing wrong with the organic nerves.”

“Yep, if nerves had feelin’s they’d be happy as hell. Strong impulses, not too much overtime. Whatever took ‘em out the first time, you’re recoverin’ pretty well given that you lost your whole ass eye.” She returned to her computers, hands flying deftly across the keys and screens as she looked for more anomalies. 

“Well, it’s been a couple years at this point. I let it degrade for a while before I sought out your mom, but… it’s good to hear that damage didn’t last.” At least those nerves had recovered. Others hadn’t, but that was going to be the subject of his research for the next few days. Despite what he’d seen earlier when Azzy had been working on her own cybernetics, he trusted her implicitly with his. If anyone could fix his problem, she could.

“It makes sense, the brain doesn’t like leavin’ things so close to it busted. Optic nerve is pretty close.” Her tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth and she squinted at her screen. “....Hey, want a wider zoom on your sensor?”

“Why not? Whatever you think, I trust your judgement.” He leaned back slightly, relaxing, and let her work. She stood quietly for some minutes, occasionally humming a quiet tune that was almost familiar. 

Eventually, she was satisfied with her work. She unhooked his eye from its wires, passing him the jar. “There you go, go ahead ‘n smack that back into its place and you’re all set. Recalibrated it’s temperature sensin’ and the coolin’ system to be a little more sensitive to ambient heat. Don’t go swimmin’ in super cold water, though. Might be a little too ambient for it for now.” She had that same smug look she always did when she was done doing maintenance, eyes bright.

“Of course. Thanks, doc.” He said the last bit with a slight smirk, and popped the eye back into place. It rolled around for a few seconds before settling. “See you at the next event?”

“Only if that guy with the braid’s there, I hear he’s kinda fun.” She took her gloves off and waved him off the table. “Get outta here, I gotta reset my arm.”

“Alright.” He stood, a quick pat on her non-injured shoulder his goodbye. “Be careful of that wound. I bandaged it so well, it would be a shame if you messed up my handiwork.”

“I have three doctorates, of course I’m gonna mess it up.” She gave him a quick pat as well, her smile genuine. “I’ll go easy on it. Bean’ll take you back, careful none of my scary vigilante’s eat ya on the way out.” The small bot hovered over his shoulder, beeping a hello tune.

He grinned, and nodded. “I’ll try to steer clear. Let’s go, Bean.” He followed the little bot from the lab, with one last wave towards Azzy, not looking back. She heaved a sigh and grabbed a wire, connecting it to one of her ports once the door closed behind him. She had a limb to test and reset.

[leviathanhomecooking]

RumRollins Week, Nov. 27th: Home

Content Warnings: Murder, Dead bodies  •  Based on

Brock can barely think straight beyond the piercing shriek of his daughter’s wailing. He’s been up since 02:00 but he’s been accruing a massive sleep debt for a while now. If it was anybody else’s kid Brock would have probably strangled it by now, but Brock has a soft spot for Abigail’s chubby red cheeks and big doe eyes. Even now, screaming quite a few decibels beyond what Brock will tolerate, snot and spit smearing over the baby’s face from endless fits, and probably all over something silly that Brock has yet to decipher, he can’t be mad at her.

But he can be mad at Jack all he likes.

Jack, who has been for the past 30 minutes on hands and knees in the living room wiping blood from between the cracks in the floorboards over the spot where the antique coffee table used to be. The one his Nonna left to him in her will that is now very fancy, splintery firewood. 

Brock slaps the towel in his hands onto his shoulder and throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay, time to switch. I’ve done literally everything! She’s not wet, she’s not hungry, she won’t go to sleep! I don’t know what she wants!” 

Jack sits back on his heels to look at his flustered husband standing in the middle of the kitchen. Their baby is still trapped in her high chair and screaming bloody murder. "You can’t just push her off on me when you don’t know what to do, you’re her dad too.” Jack sighs. He rings out a rag into a bucket of red water.

“Now’s really not the time for a parenting lesson. We need to get that thing--” Brock points to a very human-shaped garbage bag wrapped in tape lying next to shreds of their coffee table, “outta here.” Just looking at it almost pushes Brock over the edge, social services can just waltz in whenever they want because he and Jack had the nerve to adopt a baby instead of cum one out like the billions of other people on the planet, at least during this temporary grace period.

Jack concedes and abandons the floor in favor of washing his hands and arms thoroughly before finally taking Abigail in his arms and bouncing her gently. He whispers and coos to her, patient in all the ways Brock isn’t. “Sun's still up, better to move it later after dark.” He says in between his cooing. Brock is grumbling to himself.

“S’Your fault we’re in this mess 'n the first place...” Brock mumbles.

“You really want to have this conversation again?” Jack’s reply is more of an icy threat. 

Brock huffs, trying to avoid rekindling the flame of a very raw, very recent argument. Brock can avoid Jack’s gaze all he likes but he can still feel the man glaring daggers at him. “Your daddy’s a ripe old bastard.” Jack whispers to Abigail, whose fit has deescalated to only big, tearful sniffles. Neither have ever played the blame game against each other and won, best to let it lie.

After Brock dumps out the water, he seals up the soiled mop and rags in plastic for disposal later. This would have been a lot easier with one of Hydra’s clean up crews, but they’ve already asked Pierce for far too many favors as it is. 

The doorbell rings. 

“Fuck, that’s probably that bitch social worker again.” Brock curses. He doesn’t know what crawled up her ass, but she likes to harass them almost on the daily. 

“I’ll get the door, you get that fuckin’ thing outta here.” Brock orders, referring to the very obvious corpse in their living room. “Where?” Jack asks, because there’s nowhere in the house they could hide it. Many of their doors have outside locks in order to store their personal weapons and confidential work documents. The social worker takes a locked door as a challenge. 

“Somewhere outside, figure it out!” Brock orders, marching towards the door after the second ring. But when Brock flings open the door, he’s not met with sour face of their heavy set social worker.

“Surprise!” A chorus of familiar voices cheer. There, standing on his porch, are several of their coworkers. Brock blinks like a dumbass and what falls out of his mouth is, “What the fuck?”

“You rat bastard, you didn’t tell us you were adopting a baby.” Johnson says. “No way you get out of us throwing you a baby shower!” Rodriguez chimes in. Rogers is looking sheepish, clearly he was roped into this by the rest of the team.

Brock can’t believe this. They pulled this same stunt after he and Jack got married without telling them. Except they had enough boundaries to ambush them at work—and treat them to an obnoxiously inappropriate penis-themed wedding party. A man’s house is sacred! What used to be a safe place for him and his loved ones now keeps getting violated by trespassers! 

Brock’s clenching the door frame so hard it’s splintering. “If now’s not a good time we can go.” Rogers suggests warily, always the courteous boy-scout. “We’ve got gifts! Real gifts this time and not just dildos! Baby stuff.” Rodriguez chimes in, rattling around a wrapped package. Brock’s gotta stall, he can’t have Rogers or Romanoff catching a glimpse of Jack moving the body. He reluctantly lets them in.

Meanwhile, Jack covered the body bag with a blue construction tarp and is dragging it down their side yard. There’s a hole he dug at the side of the house from when they were repairing the foundation, it’ll have to do for the moment. There’s a flew planks covering the hole, so he moves them aside so he can roll the bundle in. There’s a heavy thud and Jack can see a trickle of red dripping from the bundle. 

There’s nothing he can do for now, so he heaves himself up to cover to hole but freezes when he sees a figure standing a few feet away. 

It’s their social worker.

.

When Jack walks back inside, he’s heaving like he just ran a marathon, looking like a deer in the headlights seeing his friends and coworkers in his living room, fawning over his daughter, and Rogers putting some contraption together with Dwyer’s help. Brock approaches him, Abigail in hand, and already knowing what Jack is going to ask says: “It’s a surprise shower, apparently.”

“We’ve got a problem.” Jack says.

“Fuck yeah we do.” Brock replies.

“No, we have another problem.”

.

When Jack lifts the tarp of the hole in their yard, Brock nearly blows his own head off because lying there on top of the black garbage heap, is the stiff body of their social worker, neck jutting at an unnatural angle. His home is turning into a nightmare murder house real quick. 

“Okay, this one might actually be my fault.” Jack says.

Brock has a feeling there’s about to be three bodies in that hole.

[petaldancing]

fic: for all the times i can’t reverse

fandom: pokespe characters: sapphire, ruby summary: ten years later, they strike a new deal read: on AO3 or below

notes: for gret, who gave me the prompt: "don't ignore me" P.S. i haven't finished the ORAS arc, so not sure if this is canon-compliant, P.P.S. for pokemon nicknames, i use chuang yi's translations cause that's what i grew up reading

have i come a long way from 50 frantic ways? *shrug* but i’m still a sucker for these two a literal decade on

----

Over the years, Sapphire has attempted all manner of confession: face-to-face under torrential rain, hand in hand standing before the possible end of the world, foolishly through Gold, a bit more gently through Crys, yelling mid-argument, and then, softly, when there is no one else around but them.

Likewise, Ruby has mastered all tactics of avoidance: pushing her off Pilo’s back, using imminent disaster as distraction, pretending not to hear her, feigning ignorance, keeping his big mouth shut for once .

She does not know when she grows out of this back and forth and stops trying. Maybe it is when she is sixteen or eighteen. She’s twenty-one now, and looking back at the last few years, her friendship with Ruby has improved. They still argue, but it’s less these days. (Emerald would be proud of ‘em, if he bothered to step out of his lab to notice.) Their fights are no longer about unrequited feelings or ten-year old love confessions. It’s more like: which way to go when they’ve gotten lost, or how her new clothes aren’t colour-coordinated, stuff that they can laugh about, stuff that can be either ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. You can’t really do that with feelings.

Part of why they fight less is because they talk less too. The Petalburg Gym is always expecting new challengers and she hasn’t had a break since she took over Norman three years ago. Having this job takes her mind off nagging thoughts, pushes her to keep training, adapting to new trainers and their partner pokemon visiting from regions she’s never had the luxury to travel to. On the rare afternoons she can afford to leave the gym early, she treks through the lush forests encircling the city, retracing the steps of her childhood backyard.

As she walks with Toro, she thinks about new strategies, designs for the gym, what she’ll have for dinner, and on days she passes by her old Secret Base—Ruby. Unlike the past, when the thought of him would make her scowl, now it is more often accompanied by a sigh, maybe a sheepish grin if she is in a good mood. It’s not just because she’s mellowed a bit since her anxious teenage days. It’s because he’d spent a lot of effort on the old Secret Base, dolling it up and even adding a tent with pillows inside for her in case she spent a night in the forest. “Though I’ll never understand why anyone would want to,” he’d sneer, as if begging to start another fight.

Now, he’s always in Lilycove judging those Pokemon Contests. But once a month, she’ll receive a parcel from him with something fancy to clip in her hair and this particular brand of Pokemon food that Toro and the rest like to eat. It’s shipped in from Kanto, and Lilycove is the cheapest place to get it. Usually Ruby includes a hurried note like “Mimi’s gotten even prettier” or “I found the perfect fabric today” or “I’ll visit soon”, though the third time she receives this particular sign off, Sapphire takes it with a grain of salt.  

She hasn’t been to the old base in awhile, but today is special. She weaves through the twisty paths of the woods until the leaves open up to the entrance of the long abandoned Secret Base. The sound of dry leaves and twigs crunches under the soles of her boots. All the memories she and Ruby made here, it’d been before they got proper jobs and stopped hanging out, before they cleared out the entire base, before she gave up on him replying her confessions.

She remembers stumbling into the base after getting into a nasty fight with a group of territorial Mightyena, and how Ruby brandished a first aid kit and stitched the deepest cut up. And the other time, when he surprised her with a cake on her birthday and didn’t get too upset when she couldn’t resist smashing a slice into his face. And the time when they both fell asleep waiting for the rain to stop, and she dreamt that he’d touched her cheek and whispered something she couldn’t hear. And, the very first time they met—their 80-day bet. So many things changed in the span of those 80 days.

Sapphire double checks the date on her PokeNav. Ten years ago on this day, she swung from a vine and saved a helpless Ruby. Ten years ago, she reunited with the little, fierce boy who saved her when she’d been helpless.

In the middle of this tranquil forest, Sapphire shuts her eyes and feels the warm sunlight on her skin. How much has changed the past decade? She’s proven her worth as a gym leader, she’s met and learned from so many other Dex Holders and pokemon masters, she’s become a braver and wiser person. So what if the only thing that she hasn’t gotten better at is dealing with Ruby? So what if she can’t help but come back to this sentimental spot even though she should’ve grown up and moved on by now?

Just then, she hears a rustle from inside the Secret Base.

Toro readies its fists as Sapphire jumps back and lands on all fours. “Who’s there? Come out!” she growls at the darkness.

“Easy. It’s just me.”

Toro lowers its talons and squawks, immediately recognising the voice.

Ruby steps out into the light, a hand adjusting the frame of his spectacles. He’s stopped wearing his goofy hat, and looks a lot like his dad now. Except, his eyes are kinder. They’ve always been. Zuzu the Swampert appears beside him, greeting them with mild-mannered coos.

“What’re you doing here? You spooked me!” Sapphire asks as she stands upright, more surprised than angry. Zuzu and Toro are much more agreeable with one another, bounding off to play fight in a pile of leaves.

“Very nice to see you again too,” Ruby says with a dash of sarcasm, and inches back when she shoots him a dirty look. “Just thinking of redecorating, I suppose,” he relents, propping a hand on his chin. He examines the mouth of the cave with a measuring tape as Sapphire stands aside, jaw slack. “Remember how this used to look? I must admit it was one of my best interior design projects. I don’t think I gave myself a proper pat on the back for that. No matter, I’ve already got ideas for how to make Secret Base 2.0 even more fabulous!”

Sapphire doesn’t understand what’s happening. Trust Ruby to be the sort of person who you miss, and then immediately want gone when he’s actually around. “That was when we were kids! What… what’s the use of coming back here now? Don’t you have a job?”

Ruby glances over his shoulder mid-measurement and raises an eyebrow. “Pot calling kettle black, much?”

Sapphire sucks in a breath and stands her ground. “This is my neck of the woods! I can come here whenever I want!”

“You know how I never really liked spending time at that house with my dad around? This place is about the closest place I’d call home for me, at least in Hoenn. Lilycove is nice and clean and all, and I hate to admit it, but I was starting to miss this place.” Ruby does not turn around when he says this, but watching the firm line of his chin and the hand he runs along the cave wall, Sapphire can tell that he’s being serious.

“And today’s our anniversary, isn’t it? Of the day we met.” He spins on his heel to finally face her.

Sapphire wills herself not to blush like a thirteen-year old, and it is easy when she thinks about how Ruby shouldn’t be allowed to use that word.  

“Pfft. Anniversary? Ain’t that reserved for lovey-dovey couples? Who gave you permission to call it that?” Sapphire feels her heart sting at this, and hopes that it hurts Ruby too, even just a fraction.

The expression on his face shifts, from classic, nonchalant, above-it-all Ruby to a more neutral one. He presses his lips together and slowly winds the measuring tape around his knuckles, fidgeting with his hands.

“Will you help me rebuild the Secret Base, Sapph’?” he tries to change the topic.

“Why should I? I don’t come here anymore.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” Ruby points out.

Sapphire sputters. “That’s—argh! Look, maybe to you it’ll be a fun and easy project, something to getcha’ mind off the stress of work. Whatever. This place means a lot more to me than you, and I ain’t in the mood to be a part o’ your flights o’ fancy.”

“It means a lot to me too.” Ruby stares at her, his mouth curving into a frown.

The words burst from Sapphire before she can contain them: “Then why didn’t you come back sooner?”

Her emotions have gotten to him and he fires back without filtering his words either. “I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know when would be a good time. I didn’t know how scary and disgusting the cave would be. I… I didn’t know how to tell you that I missed you, Sapph’.”

Hearing this from Ruby, the Ruby who is supposed to be selfish, the Ruby she hates, the Ruby she loves, Sapphire clenches her hand into a fist. She does not say a word, instead choosing to glare at him, daring him to continue.

To his credit, he does. “I know I’ve been a Gold-level jerk about it, but I’m not good with words. Running away? Making anything look pretty? All that’s easier than talking about feelings.” Ruby straightens his posture and removes his spectacles, so that he’s looking directly at her. “But Sapph’, all the times we’ve spent and all the times we’re going to spend—they’re important to me too. They’ve always been. I was too young and immature to face it. I’m trying to get better at it. Ten years is a long time to do nothing, and I don’t want to spend the next ten years not doing anything.”

Sapphire bites down on her lip, suppressing the urge to shout at the top of her lungs, to point and laugh at how their roles have reversed. To give him payback for all these years of chasing and dodging and convenient amnesia, hasn’t that been something she’s always wanted?

But Ruby’s words also cause her to think about everything she’s been through with him. She wouldn’t call it ‘doing nothing’. It’s everything but that. Haven’t they been through thick and thin together since their very first adventure? Haven’t they saved the world and held hands more times than she can count? Sure, they never talked about what they meant to each other, but at the end of the day, she knew that Ruby had her back. That he’d be there, always with a new set of clothes for whatever reason, and how she loved wearing the stuff he made even though she was too embarrassed to admit it.

Maybe she should have paid more attention to what Ruby did for her, instead of the stuff he refused to say. Maybe she’s been just as much of an immature brat as him.

“Don’t ignore me,” Ruby says in a soft voice. It is the voice of someone who is guilty, who knows that they don’t deserve a reply, not after what they’ve done, and not done.

For all the mistakes Ruby has made, Sapphire is sure she’s made some too. And Ruby, he never really left her alone, even when they had huge, ugly fights. Even when they were cities apart. He always found a way to show that he was still thinking of her, with sparkly hair clips she only wore on special occasions, and a bag of food that wasn’t meant for her.

Sapphire clears her throat and says, “I’ll help you rebuild the base, on one condition.”

Ruby visibly gulps. “What?”

“Take me out on a date.” She puts her hands on her hips.

He blinks a few times, as if he can’t quite process what she just said.

“Deal?” she asks with a chuckle. It’s funny, seeing Ruby caught off guard.

“Alright,” Ruby concedes at last. Instead of looking defeated, he smiles.

Sapphire lifts her hand up for a handshake. When Ruby takes her hand in his, it is a warm and familiar feeling. It reminds her of deep seas and heavy floods and relentless droughts and soaring through the skies. Of soft, blurry afternoons playing in the grass, childish laughter ringing in the air.

“It’s a deal.”