#I need to know what the correct answer is

[topoillogical]

Several people have explained how to verify that this answer is correct, or explained much simpler ways of doing this. But I'm interested in this way of doing it.

I'm just not really sure how you would generalize it and also... how to do it at all without brute force

What I mean is, suppose you are Ponytail, and you only like to decide fate by having a player roll a certain number of dice and then taking the sum (and, for the case of problems of success or failure like this, checking that sum against a DC). How do you take an arbitrary probability like this (2/9 odds of 'success', i.e. no cursed arrows) and turn it into a DC check?

I can say this: if you roll a bunch of different-sided dice, the probability of getting any specific result (e.g. all ones) is just the product of the numbers of sides. Rolling 2d6 gives a 1/36 probability to any one outcome, and the example from the comic (3d6 and 1d4) gives a 1/864 chance to each outcome. Notably, 864 is divisible by 9, which is necessary. But what's the difference between this and just rolling 2d6 above? 36 is also divisible by 9.

The problem is that 2/9 = 8/36, and there's no way to find a DC where the probabilities here add up to 8/36. See, with 2d6, the closest we can get is the probability of rolling a 10 or higher (which is too low, at 6/36), or the probability or rolling a 9 or higher (too high at 10/36).

But how can we know which combination of dice will have a DC that works? I'm mathematics and I need to know

Look, you can't complain about this after giving us so many scenarios involving N locked chests and M unlabeled keys.

D&D Combinatorics [Explained]

Transcript

[Cueball, Megan, Ponytail, White Hat, and Knit Cap are sitting at a table. Everyone is looking at Cueball. Ponytail is facepalming. The table is covered in sheets of paper and assorted dice.] Cueball: I grab 2 of the 10 arrows without looking and fire them, hoping I didn't grab one of the 5 cursed ones. Did I? Ponytail: Sigh. Umm. Okay. Ponytail: Roll... Uh... Hang on... Ponytail: Roll 3d6 and a d4. You need... 16 or better to avoid the cursed arrows.

[Caption below the panel:] I got way more annoying to play D&D with once I learned that our DM has a combinatorics degree and can't resist puzzles.

[rawme-price]

Do you sign the emotional torture rock before you throw it straight at my face?

I gave it a kiss just for u <33

Anyways here's a part 2 to dog shifter!reader :]]

"They fucking what?" soap paces the hospital room. he knew it was serious when gaz called him in the middle of the night, he just didnt expect it to be this serious. ur sat anxiously on the waiting chair next to the bed, hunched over with arms crossed. self-consciously, you try to hide ur scars. a disfigured copy of the ones soap wears.

"thats- that not okay! thats horrible! i mean, staying shifted for long periods of time is already harmful, but- against your will? its deadly!" hes ranting as he paces, and you have to bite back the urge to shift. if you were a dog, he wouldnt be looking at you expectantly, wouldnt want you to make any difficult decisions.

"it wasnt against my will...." you finally mutter out, eyes glued to the floor. even talking back, a small correction, makes the hair at your neck stand up. "i choose to shift. they dont force me."

soap pauses his pacing, looks at you, actually looks at you. you look small, even as a shifter, pressing into urself. you dont look at him, you try not to flinch when his shoes enter ur vision. it feels wrong, monstrous, to be sat in front of a real shifter. unlike you, he is something good, something better. you are just a creature damned from birth, destined to be *this*. soap leans down so you can see his face, and you startle a bit at the kindness you see there, surely meant for someone else. "when you say you choose to shift, is that really true? do they ever...ever make you feel like you should shift? maybe they dont say it, but theyre more rude when you dont, or they praise you when you do?"

you purse your lips, glance away, feeling horribly seen. it feels vulnerable and stupid, like ur a child being lectured about peer pressure and not a grown adult. you dont say anything but you dont need to, soap already knew the answer. he sighs, brows furrowed. "....why dont we get something to eat, yeah? im sure gaz is tired of orange slices and jello."

he wants to tell you not to be scared. he wants to offer help, escape. he doesnt know if you are ready for that.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Two pink lines || dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Getting pregnant at nineteen by Rafe—who was still knee-deep in his issues and drugs—wasn’t exactly on your bingo card.

Warnings: s1rafe…..yeah….. mention of cocaine

Word count: 1,413

A/n: I acc enjoy writing s1!dad!rafe a lot… lmk if u want more!!

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

The two pink lines showed up fast—too fast. You stared down at the test, perched on the edge of your marble bathroom counter, like it might suddenly disappear if you looked away. But it didn’t. The second line deepened, steady, undeniable. Solid pink. Positive.

Your hand shook as you placed the test back down, chest rising in shallow, quick breaths. You were nineteen. Nineteen. You lived in a gilded prison of beachfront houses and Sunday brunches and family names that meant something. You had a trust fund, an inheritance, a reputation to protect.

You were supposed to be the good one, the composed one, the one who didn’t end up barefoot and pregnant like one of the Pogues your mother whispered about behind cocktail glasses. And yet—here you were. Pregnant. Because of one stupid, reckless night.

A night where Rafe had gotten too bold, too desperate, too handsy in the backseat of his truck after a kook party. You’d both been tipsy. Things had gotten heated. You were both tipsy, the windows fogged up, your judgement clouded. There was no condom in the console. He’d promised it would be fine. “Just this once, babe. I swear I‘ll pull out.” You’d let him.

You were drunk on him, his kisses, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he couldn’t get enough of you. And God, you wanted to believe him. You pressed your knuckles to your lips, trying to stop the bile from rising. This was real. This was happening.

You stumbled back onto the cool tiles of the floor, legs folded beneath you, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at your chest. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You couldn’t. Not until you talked to him. So, you called him. The phone rang twice before his lazy voice answered.

“Babyyy,” Rafe slurred, all soft and syrupy. You could hear the fan in his room spinning. “It’s—what time is it? Why you callin’ me at—” He yawned. “—the middle of the night?” It wasn’t the middle of the night. It was 9:43pm. But you didn’t bother correcting him.

“Rafe,” you said, your voice too shaky. “Are you—are you high right now?” A chuckle. “Only a little bit. Nothin’ serious.” You closed your eyes, pressing your fingers to your forehead. He’d promised he’d stop—at least slow down. But that was always after the fact. Always a “next time.”

“I need to tell you something,” you said. “Yeah? Can it wait, babe? I’m about to pass out, not gonna lie…” “No,” you snapped, and your voice cracked. “It can’t wait.” That made him go quiet. You could almost picture him blinking up at the ceiling, brows twitching slightly in confusion.

“…Okay. What’s goin’ on?” You swallowed. “I’m pregnant.” Another beat of silence. Then: “…Wait. What?” “I’m pregnant,” you repeated, each syllable like a stone in your throat. “I took two tests. I—I’m late. I’ve been nauseous. I’ve never been late. Rafe, I’m pregnant.”

There was a long, slow exhale from the other end of the line. Not panic. Not urgency. Just a half-baked sort of curiosity.“…Damn,” he muttered. “For real?” “Yes, for real,” you snapped. “Jesus, Rafe—this is serious.” He hummed softly, as if he were still trying to wrap his sleepy, high brain around it.

“Well, I mean… it’s not the end of the world, right? I mean, you and me—we’ll figure it out.” You blinked, stunned by the casualness in his tone. “What?” “I’m just saying, like, we’ve been together a minute. You know I love you. This ain’t gonna ruin anything. Don’t freak out, alright?”

You stood up, pacing now, your robe trailing behind you on the tile. “Rafe—we’re nineteen years old. You’re talking like we’re some married couple on the verge of starting a family. We don’t even know what the hell we’re doing tomorrow, let alone—raising a baby.”

“We’ll get help,” he said easily. “You’re parents are loaded. My dad’s loaded—he’ll chill once he knows it’s mine. I mean, you think Ward’s gonna not help with his grandkid?” You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. “Rafe, Ward can barely handle you. He’ll lose his goddamn mind. And my parents—fuck, my parents are going to kill me.”

He paused, and for a second you thought maybe something was finally clicking in his head. But then: “Look…you’re stressin’ for no reason. You don’t gotta do anything right now. Just…breathe. It’s you and me, alright? We’ll figure it out.” “No, Rafe,” you snapped, voice rising.

“You don’t have to do anything right now. You get to lay in your bed, high out of your mind, and pretend this is no big deal. But I have to carry this. I have to tell people. I have to be the one to face everyone’s disappointment and judgement and—and—”

You stopped, breath heaving. “I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m really fucking scared.” And that’s when he finally sobered—at least a little. “…Shit,” he muttered. “I didn’t know you were feelin’ like that.” You sat back down on the edge of your tub, clutching the phone tighter. “Yeah. Well. I am.”

The line was quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said quietly. “I swear I didn’t mean to act like it wasn’t a big deal. I just—I’m not good with this stuff. You know that.” “I need you to be,” you whispered. “I need you to be good at this, Rafe. Because if I do this—if we do this—I can’t do it alone.”

“I won’t let you,” he said, more serious now. “I’ll get clean. I’ll get my shit together. I’ll—I’ll go to that place Rose keeps talkin’ about. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t shut me out.” Your heart ached at the promise. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeated, softer now. “I swear to God, I’ll be better. For you. For the baby.” You stared down at the test again. Two pink lines. Clear as day. “…We’ll see,” you said.

[wendichester]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 car buff²,

summary. dean had no clue you knew so much about cars. and oh boy, he's feeling it

pairing. dean winchester x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 918

notes / warnings. mentions of autism and sensory overload (handled gently and respectfully), light cursing (dean being dean), flirting and soft romance, excessive sweetness — may cause smiling, swooning, or the sudden urge to kiss someone in a '67 Impala

ᯓ★ read part 1

The diner Dean picks is very Dean Winchester. Vinyl booths. Pie slices the size of your head. Neon sign that hums like a lullaby. The jukebox in the corner is older than both of you, and Dean picks a table in the back where you can see the Impala from the window.

She’s parked in the glow of the streetlight, all chrome and pride. You can't help but glance at her every few minutes. Like a kid sneaking peeks at their Christmas present.

Dean notices.

“Y’know,” he says, sipping his coffee, “I think Baby might like you more than she likes me. She’s never looked that smug.”

You smile around the edge of your milkshake. “I’d never take her from you. But I would ask to help with her tune-ups. Joint custody.”

Dean chuckles. “Alright, fair. As long as I get visitation rights on weekends.”

You’re still smiling, but the buzz in your brain is louder now. The diner’s not too crowded, but the flicker of the fluorescent above the counter is grating. The hum is high-pitched. Someone slams a glass down two tables over and it startles you just a little too much. You grip your straw tighter.

Dean clocks it. Not in a pitying way—more like a hunter spotting a shift in the wind. His voice goes a little quieter.

“You okay?”

You nod, but then shrug, because honesty’s easier than pretending.

“Just… kinda loud. Lights’re doing the thing. Not a meltdown or anything, just... a little much.”

Dean’s brow furrows, but not with discomfort. Concern, sure. But the good kind. The “tell me what you need so I can do it” kind.

“We can leave,” he offers immediately. “Or we could take it to-go. I know a spot where the Impala always looks good at night.”

You blink. “Are you… asking me to go look at your car under moonlight?”

Dean leans back, smirking. “Maybe.”

You snort. “God, you're such a gearhead.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You slide your milkshake across the table toward him. “Only if you don’t share.”

Dean grins, and that’s that. You split the check, grab the pie to-go, and make your way back out into the night.

The “spot” he mentioned turns out to be a hill just outside of town. Gravel shoulder. Empty road. Crickets chirping like backup singers.

He parks with the nose of the Impala aimed right at the valley below, the glow of faraway lights blinking like stars. The sky above you is clear—deep navy, dotted in constellations you only half-remember the names of. The air smells like engine grease and pine trees and something sweeter you can't place until Dean opens the pie box.

“Apple,” he announces proudly. “No better nightcap.”

You sit on the bench seat, knees turned toward him, fingers sticky with pie crust and joy.

Dean leans back, elbow on the steering wheel, his other hand resting casually on the seat behind your shoulder. Not touching. Just there. Just available.

“You always like cars this much?” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You nod. “Before I could write, I was drawing V8 engines with crayons. I memorized the gear ratios of every ‘60s Chevy before I turned ten.”

Dean whistles. “That’s impressive. I was mostly just getting into trouble at ten.”

“I was getting suspended for correcting my science teacher about spark plug heat ranges.”

He laughs, but it’s soft. It’s fond. You look over to find him watching you, eyes warm.

There’s a pause. A moment heavy with something not uncomfortable. Something nice. You’re not sure what to do with it, but Dean seems okay just sitting in it.

Then, after a second, he says: “I like how you talk about things.”

You blink. “Things?”

“Things you care about. You light up. Makes it feel like the world’s got a little more color in it.” He shrugs. “Kinda makes me wanna find more stuff to light you up with.”

You stare at him.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry, that was maybe—too much—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your voice is soft. Real. And Dean turns to look at you again.

You point at the dash. “You know how Baby’s engine sounds different in third than it does in fourth?”

Dean blinks. “Yeah…”

“That’s how your voice just changed.”

He raises his eyebrows, curious. “Meaning?”

You smile. “You just downshifted. Got softer. That’s your ‘I’m being real’ voice.”

Dean watches you like he’s not used to being seen. Not like this. And you’re watching him like you’re already mapping out his mechanics in your head—like he’s a beautiful, complicated engine you want to understand.

He leans in then. Slow enough you can move away if you want. But you don’t. You tilt toward him just a hair, and the kiss is barely more than a press of lips—gentle, for a guy who probably fights monsters before breakfast.

When he pulls back, he smiles.

“Bench seat privilege,” he murmurs.

You grin. “Best date I’ve ever had.”

Dean nods, serious. “Same. Not even just ‘cause you knew the exact horsepower of my car.”

“You said that like it isn’t the sexiest thing someone could do.”

Dean laughs, head thrown back.

And maybe the stars burn a little brighter that night. Maybe the Impala catches the moonlight just right. Maybe two people sit there talking engines and life until it’s nearly dawn.

But either way— It’s already a love story.

It just keeps going with pie.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

There's No Fixing You

Prompt #3 - It's Five O'Clock Somewhere | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Gareth, Eddie | Pairing: Gareth & Eddie, Steddie | Tags: Eddie's Pining For Steve Harrington, And Gareth Can't Take Another Minute Of It, He's Gonna Nudge Him Towards Steve, Or Off A Cliff, He's Not Picky

Gareth

"I'm gonna tell him I love him," Eddie says, hand covering the top of his tilting glass. Gareth grabs ahold of it, steadying it against the bar top before they have a mess.

"You're crazy," Gareth says. He's heard this over and over, it's just a little earlier in the day than expected this time. Usually Eddie waits until late at night to do his obsessive yearning.

"I'm drunk," Eddie corrects, and he's definitely right there. If the bartender isn't gonna cut him off, Gareth will.

"C'mon. It's noon," Gareth coaxes.

"It's five o'clock somewhere," Eddie slurs, laughing at himself like a fool, and Gareth grabs him by the arm. Eddie fights him, making himself heavier.

"I'm gonna tell him, and I'm gonna regret it, and you'll have to fix me," Eddie says, tugging Gareth close to his face, too close.

"There's no fixing you," Gareth banters, pulling harder, winning the battle, forcing Eddie to his feet.

Eddie laughs, giggling like he definitely thinks he's funnier than he actually is, and Gareth doesn't know what he's gonna do with him. Drag him back to the hotel? That doesn't sound like fun.

Fucking Steve Harrington. Gareth's gonna make him pay.

"C'mon, you gotta walk," Gareth instructs, tugging him towards the exit. Eddie goes, not willingly, but Gareth will take it. 

"I love him," Eddie says as the sunshine hits their faces, and Gareth hears him loud and clear. Has heard him for at least a year spouting the same shit.

"So you've said," Gareth counters, "Let's go. One foot in front of the other."

"It's noon," Goodie accuses, looking at the state of Eddie splayed out on the bed. As if Gareth isn't well aware of what time it is. He's the one that had to wrangle him back to the hotel with the sun beating down on the back of his neck.

Gareth grits his teeth and answers, "That's what I said."

Jeff pulls off Eddie's shoes, dropping them to the floor next to the bed.

"Steve?" Jeff asks.

"Fucking Steve," Gareth confirms.

"Steve," Eddie mumbles, clearly clinging to consciousness by a thread. 

"I'm calling him. This is ending, one way or another," Gareth says, and he looks at Jeff and Goodie, trying to gauge whether or not they have his back on this.

They both nod, and that's all the permission he needs. 

Steve Harrington has to deal with this mess he's created, and if it doesn't go Eddie's way, well, then they'll pick up the pieces. But at least Eddie will know and can start getting over this obsession. Listening to him pining has really put a damper on their vacation. They were supposed to get the fuck out of Hawkins, not drag part of it along with them to obsess over relentlessly.

Gareth's gonna give Steve a piece of his mind, and this is ending, one way or another.

Eddie

"Hey." 

Eddie tries to open his eyes, but they feel so heavy. He's hearing things. Things that sound like Steve. 

He remembers flashes of yesterday, and he didn't really call him, did he? He was just running his mouth. He's always running his mouth, nothing new there.

"Eddie."

That's definitely Steve. 

"I know you're awake. Gareth called me." 

"He was lying. Whatever he said."

The mattress dips, and Eddie opens an eye. Steve's crawling up the bed, his suitcase sitting upright at the foot of the bed. He's really here. This is a nightmare.

Steve lays down on his side, head on the other pillow, "Oh, was he?" 

Eddie turns his head, "Definitely." 

"Well, he got me good, I guess. Made me fly out here for nothing."

Eddie reaches down and takes Steve's hand in his, squeezing. Closing his eyes again. He's scared. He's not brave enough to do this, even with Steve handing it all to him on a silver platter. 

He wants to run away. 

"He shouldn't have called you," Eddie says. It wasn't fair to put this on Steve. Steve's his friend. Steve's everyone's friend. The glue that keeps them all together.

"Gareth said you had something to tell me," Steve probes, and Eddie can't. He can't.

Eddie shakes his head.

"Well, that's too bad," Steve says, and Eddie knows that tone. He's teasing him. Dorkily. 

It's so endearing.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says, still refusing to look at him.

Eddie startles when Steve's palm cups his cheek, warm and solid. 

"What a coincidence," he says, and the lightness in his voice is enough to make Eddie finally open his eyes, "I'm in love with you, too."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, and Steve laughs, "Yes. Really. Don't act so surprised."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Eddie asks.

"Why didn't you?" Steve counters, and that's kind of fair.

But really.

"Because I'm a big chicken and you're the brave one," Eddie says, smiling at him, "It was your responsibility to take care of this for me. For us."

Steve laughs, a delighted sound, and scoots closer, lips so close to Eddie's that Eddie can feel his breath on his face.

"I'm so sorry for shirking my responsibilities."

Eddie surges forward, lips pressing against Steve's. Kissing him. It's the best first kiss he's ever had, even with his pounding headache. 

When they pull back, Eddie grins, "I'll forgive you. I guess."

Steve laughs, and ducks his head against Eddie's neck, and Eddie wraps him up, hugging him tight. 

Gareth

He shouldn't have called Steve. The sounds coming from his shared room with Eddie will be burned into the deepest parts of Gareth's psyche for many years to come. 

Now, he's roomless.

He's not, of course. Jeff's holding open their door across the hall. 

Gareth steps inside, then turns back, grabbing the do not disturb sign from their door, and hooks it over the door across the hall. 

Goodie raises an eyebrow. 

"Housekeeping doesn't deserve to walk in on whatever state of perversion they're gonna be in for the next week." 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[need-a-hand-peter-pan]

"Getting blood flow out of her legs and to her brain. So she doesn't faint," Marie answers. "Ruth, he was a dragon, the scent stuff isn't that weird. What is weird... is actually my theory. I think Rumpelstiltskin is the Beast, and you happen to remind him of the beauty... who's missing. This actually helps us a lot, because regardless of version we know that Beast upholds loyalty and kindness above appearances, it's why he fell for her in every story. So we just need to figure out where Belle is and he'll leave you alone. He's lonely and you're a book worm, he probably just wants to be read to or something to remind him of her."

"Why not just read a book himself then?" Killian asks.

"Because it's different when someone else reads to you. Instead of focusing on the actual words on the page, you can take in what's being told to you and listen to the voice of the person reading. You can fall asleep to it, knowing... thinking," she corrects herself, "that you'll always have that time to look forward to, a safe tradition to cherish and enjoy as you drift off into a dream following the story you were just told..." Marie trails off. "Maybe we could try to find Belle for him..."

@need-a-hand-peter-pan

Marie snoops around the woods outside a small town in Maine. "I swear, Ruth, I know there's something up here... the vibes are off... like seriously off"

“Snooping when something feels off is how people get killed in horror movies Marie! And we both know I’ll die first because I’m disabled!” Ruth hisses as she follows her friend. Her cane tapping across the ground as she shadows Marie.

“We just need to keep our heads down long enough to fix our car I don’t see…” she stops talking. There’s a whirring sound.

“Do you hear that?”

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act IV : Chapter three

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

The October air had a sharpness to it, cold enough to sting bare legs and pink noses. The field was damp, a little muddy, and no one was in the mood for jokes. Not today.

The Yellowjackets were one game away from states qualifiers.

Every footstep felt heavier than it should’ve. Every drill was tighter, faster, and followed by Coach Scott’s booming voice barking corrections like the season hung in the balance—because it did.

Lottie’s ponytail was already sticking to her neck, her breaths short and uneven as she weaved through cones with the ball. She was halfway through a one-on-one scrimmage when Jackie intercepted her, clean, fast, frustrating.

Lottie’s foot slipped and she lost control, the ball rolling off into the sideline mud.

Jackie clapped once, sharp. “That’s the third time today, Matthews. Lock in.”

Lottie turned around, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “I am locked in.”

“Then stop playing like your head’s still in homeroom.”

“Oh, screw you, Jackie,” Lottie snapped, loud enough to make the other girls pause. “You don’t run this team.”

Coach Scott’s whistle cut through the tension like a blade. He stomped over, face set. “Break it up!”

Lottie and Jackie stared each other down as if they were seconds from throwing punches. Coach stepped between them. “You two want to blow our shot at state because of some teenage pissing match?”

Neither spoke.

“Apologize,” Coach demanded.

Jackie rolled her eyes but muttered, “Sorry.”

Lottie scowled but added, “Same.”

“Again. Like you mean it. You’re leaders. Start acting like it.”

Lottie stared at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

Jackie sighed. “Same here.”

Coach glared. “You think this is pressure? This is just the warm-up. One more game. One. Don’t waste it.”

Practice ended soon after, with everyone too drained to talk much as they packed up. The sun was starting to dip low when Lottie found Jackie at the edge of the field, still wiping mud off her cleats with slow, deliberate movements.

Lottie crossed her arms. “Can I ask you something?”

Jackie didn’t look up. “Shoot.”

“What is up with you and her?”

Jackie blinked. “What?”

“Y/N.”

Jackie leaned back on her palms, finally meeting Lottie’s eyes. “She’s my Smalls.”

Lottie frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

“She’s been my best friend since before you knew her name,” Jackie said quietly. And after no response from Lottie, Jackie speaks up again, an amused grin on her lips. “You think I’m trying to steal her?”

“I think you already had her once, and maybe you still want her now.”

Jackie gave a short laugh. “That’s cute. Look—I don’t care who she chooses to hang out with nowadays. But whether you like it or not, our friendship will always be there in the way you can’t touch. We survived a thousand things together. I was there when her brother was born. When she started taking pictures on Polaroids. I was the one who even suggested she should take pictures. We buried her parents together. We’ve had thousands of sleepovers, thousands of heart to hearts, lived through almost every high and low. You think you know her? I’ve known her at her worst and her best. I’ve seen every version of her and love every one of them.”

Lottie’s stomach turned.

Jackie stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It’s different now…obviously, things change, Matthews. But that bond? That’ll never change. So that’s what’s up with me and Y/N.”

Before Lottie could fire back, a familiar silver car pulled into the lot. Lottie’s car, which in a way has become yours, the way she lets you drive it. Your window rolled down, smile already in place, hair messy from the wind.

“Need a ride?” you called out.

Jackie turned to Lottie, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Lottie didn’t answer. She just walked to the car, jaw tight. Because deep down Lottie knew Jackie wasn’t just being dramatic. There was truth in what she said.

And that scared Lottie more than anything.

The Burger King bag crinkled between them, the scent of too-salty fries thick in the air. You had insisted on paying, arguing that if Lottie was going to run laps in the freezing cold tomorrow, the least you could do was fuel her with fast food royalty. Besides, you needed an excuse to blow through your allowance that your grandparents give you.

Lottie knows part of it was because you could tell she was still off. Too many things swirling around her head. All blending together in a mush. They were parked on the edge of the school lot, headlights off, the world outside dipped in dusky blues.

Lottie was buzzing not the post-win kind of buzz, but something deeper, more electric. Her knees bounced. Her fingers pulled at the straw wrapper. Her eyes kept darting to the field in the distance, where the Yellowjackets would be drilling their last practice before the qualifier tomorrow.

You unwrapped your burger with slow purpose, eyes drifting to Lottie’s still, tense silhouette. “You okay?”

Lottie blinked. Swallowed. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You leaned back eyeing her still, clearly unconvinced but nonetheless chewing. “No, you’re doing that thing where you look like you're astral projecting.”

Lottie glanced at you.

“Like you’re already in some weird fever dream about tomorrow,” you added, gently. “You see something?”

Lottie stilled. You didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just asked like you meant it. Lottie’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

“What was it?”

“I saw us win state.”

You paused, wiping your hands on a napkin. “That’s good, right?”

Lottie’s throat tightened. “No. I mean, yes. But I’m not supposed to see things like that anymore. I thought it stopped.”

You turned in your seat to face her fully, knees pulled up a little, gaze steady. “You’ve been seeing things since—?”

“Since forever.” Lottie’s voice cracked. “Sometimes I think it’s nothing. Sometimes it’s everything. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was—”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” You said. Firm, but soft.

Lottie blinked at you. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “You saw it. So you’re gonna win. That’s exciting.” You smiled — not forced, not pitying. Just you being you. Quietly sure of Lottie in the way Lottie couldn’t always be sure of herself.

Lottie stared at you like she'd never seen you before. And maybe she hadn’t — not like this. Not this exact version of you who made the world feel less haunted.

She said it without thinking.

“I’m in love with you.”

The car went still.

Even the music — the fuzzy static of the radio station you half-liked seemed to pause. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink. You just looked at her for a long beat. Then you smiled, this lopsided, quiet thing that made Lottie feel like she wasn’t standing on the edge of something terrifying.

“Good,” You said, almost a whisper. “’Cause I was worried I’d have to be the first one to say it.”

Lottie let out a laugh, sharp and full of breath. And maybe relief. Maybe something heavier.

You leaned over and kissed her, soft at first, like the way sunlight touches cold skin. Then deeper, not rushed, but real. Lottie clutched the collar of your hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” You whispered back against her lips.

Lottie’s smile was big, and she pulled you closer letting her lips kiss you again, and again, and again. Until she is convinced her lips were molded against yours. That your lips only could fit around hers.

She needed to be the one that only had you like this.

Outside, the night pressed in quiet and vast. Inside the car, it was just them. A bag of fries. A truth cracked wide open. And tomorrow, the biggest game of Lottie’s life.

[bckysbabydoll]

Drunken mistakes

summary - After sneaking out for a night of clubbing, you return home drunk at 1AM—only to find Bucky and Steve waiting, furious and afraid. A tense, emotional moment tests the strength of their love, trust, and the bond they share.

warnings - alcohol, intoxication, emotional distress, mild argument, lying/sneaking out, polyamory, protective behavior, raised voices, caretaking while drunk, mild language

The apartment was dark, save for the faint golden hue coming from the kitchen. It was eerily quiet—too quiet. But y/n was far too drunk to care. She stumbled through the door, heels in one hand, the other arm bracing her against the wall as she tried—and failed—to shut the door softly behind her.

The unmistakable click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

She winced.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

She didn’t expect them to be awake. She didn’t expect this.

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers stood side by side in the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like two angry statues made of muscle, guilt, and frustration.

“Heyyy, baby boys,” y/n slurred, flashing a crooked grin, mascara smudged under her eyes and hair tousled from dancing. “Didn’t think you’d still be up…”

“Clearly,” Steve said, his tone tight and cold.

Bucky tilted his head. His jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone. “Where the hell have you been, doll?”

y/nsquinted, blinked a few times, then smiled like it was all a joke. “I told you I was staying in.”

“You told us you were going to take a bath and relax,” Steve corrected, stepping forward. “That was at 8PM. It’s 1AM.”

“I was going to take a bath,” she said defensively, swaying slightly. “But Nat and Wanda texted me and I thought, ‘Hey, what’s the harm in going out for a bit?’”

“The harm?” Bucky repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “How about the fact that you snuck out? Didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer your phone.”

“I didn’t sneak—okay, maybe I did a little,” she muttered, looking away. “But I’m fine.”

Steve gave a humorless laugh. “You think that’s the point? That you’re fine?”

y/n felt the buzz in her body start to fade. Guilt started to creep in, pushing out the giddiness of dancing and alcohol. She finally noticed the way Steve’s fists were clenched, how Bucky’s eyes were stormy with a mix of panic and anger.

She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry.”

“You mean everything to us,” Bucky said, his voice raw now, less angry, more hurt. “And we thought something happened to you.”

“We were five minutes from calling Sam and running a city-wide search,” Steve added, stepping closer, towering over her protectively despite his anger. “Do you know what it’s like to come home and find your girlfriend gone, no note, no call, and her phone dead? In this city?”

Her chest tightened. The fear in their voices was real, and it hit her like a slap. She never meant to hurt them—not Bucky with his careful tenderness, not Steve with his constant steadiness. But she had.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she whispered, her bravado vanishing. “I just wanted one night. Just… some fun. Something reckless.”

Bucky’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes still burned. “You could’ve had reckless with us, sweetheart. We’d dance with you. We’d stay out all night if that’s what you wanted.”

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t need to lie to us.”

“I know,” she said, tears brimming now. “I don’t know why I did.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that stretched too long and made her feel naked under the weight of their gaze.

Then Bucky stepped forward, took her face gently in his hands, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “You scared the hell out of me, doll.”

Steve joined him, wrapping an arm around her waist, grounding her. “We love you. But this—this secrecy, this disappearing act—you can’t do that.”

“I won’t,” she promised, voice trembling. “I swear.”

They were quiet again. But this time it was heavy with relief, not anger.

Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing her temple. “You smell like tequila and sweat.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Is that a turn-on for you, Sergeant?”

Steve groaned, though his mouth quirked into a small smile. “God, she’s still drunk.”

“I’m very drunk,” she confirmed proudly, giggling.

“Alright,” Bucky said, scooping her effortlessly into his arms before she could protest. “Bed. We’ll deal with the rest in the morning.”

“Nooo,” she whined half-heartedly, though she curled into him like she always did. “You guys are mad at me.”

“We’re not mad,” Steve said, walking beside them, his hand running up and down her thigh soothingly. “We’re scared. And maybe a little pissed.”

“But we still love you,” Bucky added, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Even if you’re a pain in the ass.”

She buried her face in his neck. “You guys are too good to me.”

They got her into bed, helped her out of her club clothes, dressed her in one of Steve’s t-shirts. Her limbs were heavy and clumsy, but their hands were gentle, reverent.

Once she was tucked in, sandwiched between them, she turned her head to look at them both.

“I’m really sorry.”

Steve kissed her forehead. “We know.”

Bucky pulled her closer. “No more secrets, okay?”

She nodded. “No more sneaking out.”

“And if you do wanna go dancing again,” Steve murmured into her hair, “you take us with you.”

“Even if I wanna grind on strangers?”

Both men turned to her, eyebrows raised.

“You what?” Bucky deadpanned.

She giggled. “Kidding! Kidding. Totally kidding.”

Steve groaned again, dropping his head into the pillow.

Bucky shook his head with a smirk. “You’re gonna be the death of us, sweetheart.”

“Worth it,” she murmured, already halfway asleep.

They lay in the quiet together. Their anger was fading now, replaced by the warm hum of safety, of having her between them again. Of knowing she was alright.

She might be a handful—but she was theirs.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow they’d talk more seriously. Tomorrow she’d apologize again, sober this time. And maybe there would be a few consequences—no phone, maybe a curfew. Nothing too harsh. Just enough to remind her how deeply she was loved.

But tonight, they’d just hold her.

Because love, at its core, was about being scared sometimes. It was messy. And hard. And beautiful.

And for Steve and Bucky, she was more than worth it.

As always, reblogging really helps creators so its always appreciated ! Asks are always on so im open to requests! Make sure to eat, sleep and drink something. See you later dolls 🩶

[beef-brisket]

Adam: No. You fucking hold it against me. Whatever fucking happens, hold it against me. Fucking... hate me from the fucker after AFTER life- or whatever. But I'm not killing you.

Before Lucifer could answer, Adam pulled him into his chest and rolled on top of the king. If Lucifer wasn't the Devil, he would have been crushed.

Adam: I could pretend to kill you- then she'd let you go- and she'd make me a Seraphim- then I can go down to Hell to see you! Bitch, this might fucking work.

Lucifer: Mf-.

Adam: And I can bring Abel with me, so he can meet Chardonnay, and see Hell- not that I really want him to, but what the fuck ever.

Lucifer: Hnf-.

Adam: Also, you know how nice I am for NOT asking for 10,000 years of child support? Honestly, I did my best with him- I just don't know why Eve had to hate him-.

The first man stopped talking when he felt Lucifer tap of his arm.

Adam rolled over and loosend his hold on Lucifer: Yeah?

Lucifer: As much as I love being pressed against you, Adam, it makes it hard to correct you.

Adam: Correct me? Why the fuck woukd you need to correct me?

Lucifer: Well... I don't think you can pretend to kill me. I'm sure they'd find out eventually. And you really want to be a Seraphim that badly?

Adam: Uh... no... not really. I guess I just want the extra wings. Definitely don't want the responsibility... maybe... I could get the key from Sera.

Lucifer: Like... steal?

Adam: ...Borrow.

Lucifer: Adam.

Adam: ...I'll give it back. Eventually.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.

[theseventhdimension]

okay okay, but imagine Tech analyst reader who frequently helps out or takes over for Garcia. The team technically knows they do that but sometimes they forget so imagine Derek calling the tech cave and reader answering just hearing “What’s up baby girl?” and reader just being like “Excuse me?!” because he’s definitely not at that level of comfortable with Derek and also not exactly a girl

also, congrats on getting married!

404: Garcia Not Found..

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Male! Reader

Word count: 1.3k+

DNI: Fem-aligned

Author's note: Arghhh this is a really nice idea, and i'm always looking to write more stuff for Morgan but I'm absolutely hopeless at coming up with ideas for him.

Thanks so much for the congrats! Everything went perfectly, except for the fact someone brought their kid despite being specifically told not to. As always, all feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoy!!

By noon, the heat had evolved sentience and declared itself sheriff. The Nevada heat clung to everything like regret—sticky, unrelenting, and just a little personal.

Two murders in three days. Both victims were hitchhikers, both picked up near the I-80, both found stripped of ID, with matching bruises around their wrists and necks—suggesting a clear dominant/submissive dynamic between the killers.

The locals were out of their depth. Hotch was in an interview. JJ and Rossi were talking to truck stop staff. And Morgan?

Morgan needed tech backup. Now.

He stabbed the call button on the secure laptop connection, barely watching the screen flicker as the signal went through to Quantico.

Ring. Ring. Click.

“What’s up, baby girl?” Morgan said automatically, leaning one hip on the desk. His voice was smooth, familiar—pure muscle memory. “We’re out here baking in the sun with two vics in the morgue, and I need you to work your magic. See if you can pull anything from highway cams near the last truck stop they were seen at—mile marker 178. Also, if there's any pattern to the direction the victims were headed, maybe someone’s choosing their targets based on where they’re trying to go. Could mean the unsubs are mobile. I’m thinking truckers, maybe a couple? Something about the crime scenes says shared space. The bindings were too clean. It’s coordinated. Might be a dominant-submissive thing. Maybe sexual, maybe just control—either way, it’s intimate and practiced.”

He paused just long enough to breathe.

“You still with me, baby girl?”

A beat.

Then— “…Excuse me?”

The voice on the other end was not high-pitched, not glittery, and absolutely not Penelope Garcia.

It was deep. Masculine. Smooth in that ‘voice actor for luxury car commercials’ kind of way, and currently laced with dry confusion and more than a little judgment.

Morgan blinked. “Wait—what?”

“It’s me. Not Garcia,” you said flatly, already typing away like this happened more often than it should. “You know—the other tech analyst? The one who’s been covering for her while she’s off presenting at that FBI coding retreat in Maryland? The guy who’s been patching your signals and processing your half-sent field requests all week?”

Morgan sat up straighter, suddenly aware of how much talking he’d done. “Oh. Oh, damn.”

“Yeah. That’s the correct response,” you said, amusement starting to creep into your voice. “You just called a grown-ass man ‘baby girl,’ listed four crimes, and didn’t even pause for breath. Honestly, I’m flattered. But also—deeply concerned.”

Morgan rubbed his forehead, suddenly feeling every degree of the desert heat. “I didn’t check the name—I just hit the line. It’s usually Garcia.”

“Yeah, well, today it’s me,” you said, matter-of-fact, fingers flying over your keys. “And for future reference? Maybe wait for the voice to talk before you start handing out nicknames like candy.”

Across the makeshift office, Reid coughed pointedly into his elbow, and Prentiss didn’t even pretend she wasn’t listening.

Morgan groaned, quietly and with soul. “She’s gonna hear about this, isn’t she?”

“Oh,” you said with a smirk he could feel through the phone. “She’s gonna make a slideshow.”

Two days after wrapping the Nevada case, you were elbows-deep in corrupted metadata, muttering darkly at your monitor like it had personally insulted your family line.

Your desk looked like a warzone: a battlefield of empty energy drink cans, half-eaten protein bars, and one worn notebook full of scribbled access codes and passive-aggressive post-its to yourself.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t look up.

"..You’re not Garcia," you grunted. "So unless you’ve got a sandwich, an apology, or the exact GPS coordinates of an unsub’s burner phone, I’m not interested."

There was a pause—then a familiar throat-clear.

"...Actually, I’ve got two outta three."

You looked up.

Derek Morgan stood in the doorway like a man approaching a trap he helped build. In his hands, a cardboard tray of two iced coffees—the sides slick with condensation—and a paper bag radiating "guilt muffin" energy.

One cup had your exact order written neatly across the lid.

The other just said: BRIBE.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but entertained. "This your version of groveling?"

"It’s a start," he said, stepping inside like the floor might reject him. "Also brought a blueberry muffin. I hear your kind can be appeased with carbs."

"...Garcia?"

"She may or may not have emailed me a PowerPoint titled ‘How to Apologize to the Other Hot Nerd.’"

You squinted. "Other hot nerd?"

"She wrote it. Not me."

You leaned back and crossed your arms. "So let me get this straight. You call a grown man ‘baby girl’ in the middle of a double homicide case, ignore three emails about the tech rotation, and now you think caffeine and a muffin are gonna fix it?"

"...Yes?"

A beat.

You reached for the coffee and inspected the lid.

"I will accept this tribute," you said, taking a long sip. "Only because you spelled my name right. That’s rare."

Morgan exhaled. "Good. I was afraid I’d have to beg."

"Oh, don’t worry," you said, licking some foam from your lip. "I haven’t decided not to make you change your ringtone to ‘Oops I Did It Again.’"

He blinked. "As in... Britney?"

"You called me baby girl, Morgan. We’re past embarrassment. We’re in consequences now."

You turned back to your monitors. Morgan hovered nearby, unsure whether to sit or evaporate.

Then, with the faintest grin, he said, "For the record... your voice threw me off. I expected Garcia’s sparkle and jazz hands, and I got Morgan Freeman after two Red Bulls and a week without sleep."

You smirked. "Damn right. Now sit down if you wanna watch me reroute a VPN signal through six countries in under ten seconds."

He did.

Somehow, between the quiet clicks of the keyboard and the occasional slurp of coffee, the awkward began to smooth into something easier. Familiar. Not quite friendship, not quite anything else—but a start.

Almost.

Until you muttered, "Also... I am keeping the BRIBE cup. For legal leverage."

"Noted."

Just then, the sliding glass door to the tech office cracked open with the softest of squeaks.

Garcia peeked in—just her head at first, curls bobbing, glasses slightly askew. Her eyes scanned the room like a hawk on a sugar rush, pupils dilating the second they landed on the scene.

Morgan, sitting casually at the edge of your desk, coffee in hand, looking far too pleased with himself.

You, leaned back with his cup labeled “BRIBE,” one leg hooked under the other, sipping coolly mid-keystroke like this was just another Tuesday.

She froze.

Her eyes widened—comic book style, full saucers. Her mouth parted slightly, as if to gasp, but no sound came out.

She squealed—silently, violently, like her entire body had been possessed by the spirit of a thousand fangirls trying to behave in a museum. Shoulders shaking, hands clenched in excitement, every cell of her being vibrating at a frequency only dolphins could hear.

And then—

She turned on her heel and sprinted out of the room.

Just full cartoon physics. Gone.

You didn’t even blink. “She’s gonna turn this into a PowerPoint, isn’t she?”

Morgan sighed into his coffee. “She already has one.”

[singerwriter04]

The Moment - Spying & Fighting Series

Pairing: Yelena (White Widow) Belova X Fem! CIA agent Reader

Category: Fluff, slight Angst, fighting, found family, hurt/comfort

Summary: After a heavy breakup-non-breakup, you end up adopted by Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes, and then see Yelena again months later, when you're doing an assignment to help Sam & Bucky out. While you & Yelena realize that your love for each other is actually worth fighting for (literally).

Word count: 1426

Notes: finally giving y'all a happy fic! This was so fucking fun to write, I really hope y'all love it as much as I did!

It’s been a year since you last saw Yelena, but you’re on a small assignment at Valentina’s building for Sam & Bucky, and are getting ready to scale down the building, so you can get in through the window, and try to find evidence against Valentina. 

“Y/N, you good to go?” Sam asks over comms, and you sigh, double-check how tight your harness is, and then breathe as you get yourself ready, “Yeah, I’m about to head down. You two prepared me horribly for this.” you groan, and hear laughter on the other side of your coms, “You’re also stubborn as fuck, dear, so we couldn’t do much” Sam sighs, and you roll your eyes, and mutter, “here goes nothing” as you descend down the OXE building, and momentarily panic as you realize how fast you’re going.

“D-dad!- I AM GOING A LITTLE QUICKER THAN PLANNED-” You scream as you’re descending faster than anticipated, and hear scrambling on the comms, “Kid, what do you mean?” you hear Bucky ask on the comms, and you just—momentarily ignore it, as you kick in the window once you reach the correct floor.

And proceed to do a somersault so you can catch your balance as you hit the ground.

“Well—I made it—I just—went a little too fast, but I’m mostly–” You begin, and then look up, locking eyes with Yelena, “..fine” you manage to get out, and can hardly make yourself breathe. Everything comes back to you once you see her again, all the heartbreak, betrayal from being unable to handle everything she was dealing with, the unspoken words for months on end, literally everything slams into you like a ton of bricks.

“..Y/N?” She asks, and you look down while biting your lip, slightly ashamed, and flustered all at once. Because it’s not helping anything, seeing the woman you fell in love with, literally holding a guinea pig in her arms. “...Y-Yelena?” You still are in shock, and think to yourself before adding, “When di- Wha- Why are you here?” you ask, mostly for yourself, in all honesty, “I could ask you the same thing, why are you here, Y/N? You said, you’d never work for someone like Valentina..” She points out, while walking toward you, and putting the guinea pig somewhere safe, “I could ask you, the same thing, Lena, and I’m not working for Valentina, I’m here because, my adoptive dads,  Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes asked me too” you explain, and the pain in your eyes is an understatement for how you feel right now. Even though, part of you doesn’t feel like it’s deserved.

You finally start hearing the comms again, and hear, “Y/N, fucking answer, why did you say ‘Yelena’? Is she there?” Bucky asks, and you can’t bring yourself to answer, but force it out, “..yes, yes she is..” and you can see the shock building on her face, “Dads? They—adopted you? When did that happen?” she questions, and you take a deep breath while swallowing, before responding, “A few months ago.. It’s—fairly new..” you explain, and she shakes her head in understanding, “You know I can’t let you leave with anything here..” she mutters, and you shake your head in understanding, while pulling out your batons, “I’m so sorry, Lena, but I have to” you breathe out, as you get ready, “I’m sorry too, Y/N” she sighs as she kicks away one of your batons before you’re ready, and uses the momentum to punch you square in the face, while you grab her available hand and kick her forward.

“Lena, please, just let me get what I need to get, and I’ll go” you plead, right as she uses her widow bites to electrocute you a bit, “I can’t, I’m sorry, I want too” she breathes out, before knocking you flat onto the ground with a ground-leg spin that took out both your legs.

Eventually, Yelena gets you in a choke-hold, and asserts, “Go, before I make you go, Y/N, I do not want to hurt you further.”, and you struggle against her grasp before agreeing, “Fine, I’ll leave, just promise me you’ll get away from Valentina.” you plead, and she breathes while nodding, before letting you go, and as you’re walking away, she grabs hold of your arm, and pulls you in for the second most passionate kiss you two have ever shared. “I’ll find you again, someway, somehow, I don’t want us to end, not like last time.” she expresses, and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest as you nod, “I’ll find you”, and feel it as she lets go when you connect yourself to the harness, and fall back out of the building, but activate your parachute in time. So now, you’re just floating, free as an eagle, through the streets of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and finally get back to listening to your comms.

“Dads- I’m back—My bad” you mutter as you get off of your parachute, “‘my bad-’?! Are you– Dear, you went off comms with us—and all we got to hear was you getting your ass beat by a Widow.” Sam expresses, very clearly frustrated with you, and you just sigh, “I know Dad, I’m on my way back home, don’t let da leave for any congressional out-of-state shit before I get back, okay?” you ask, as you hop on a last minute flight to New York.

As you head back to New York, you stare out the plane's window, and smile as you see that building's floor explode, and you know exactly who did it. And mutter, “I love you Lena,”

*********

As you walk through the front door of the apartment you live in with your adoptive Dads, Sam & Bucky, you can hear them both rushedly get up.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks you, and you breathe before nodding, “I missed her so much dad & da, seeing her again like that just–” you start, and they both run over and hug you, and you lean into it.

“We’ll figure it out, you’ll see her again, even if we have to use our connections.” Bucky says, and Sam nods into you, “That, and I’m still slightly upset she beat you up, even if deserved” and you huff in shock, “Dad, what the hell? You’re supposed to be on my side!” you complain, and they both chuckle, “I am, but we also know how hard that whole breakup-non-breakup was on you both.” Sam points out, and you move your head side-to-side while agreeing, “..that’s fair..”

*******

A few days pass, and you’re watching the news with Sam, and beg him to let you go downtown, because you can’t handle just sitting back & watching. Yelena’s down there, and hell is literally breaking loose.

“Fine, just be safe, I would like you & your father to get home in one piece.” He grumbles, and you smile as you nod, and run downtown.

When you get down there, it’s as the void is taking over, and you see Yelena step into it, and nearly run for her, before remembering what you promised Sam, and that makes you run over to where Bucky is, and you see him look around to you when he’s dealing with everyone else, “Kid, what’re you doing here? Wait- Did you-” he starts and breathes deeply as you nod, “I saw, go save the world, Da,”.

Once you leave the void, you see Yelena, and run over, before stopping short when you see how she’s acting with the new guy, and your heart breaks a little.

As they’re all headed to deal with Valentina, you see the new guy see your face, and you both lock eyes, and the understanding is immediately understood, which causes him to make it very clear that there’s nothing romantic there, they’re just best friends.Shortly after the press conference, you pull Yelena to the side, and—she doesn’t even wait a second before kissing you deeply, and passionately, “Thank you for being there, that day, and all the others. What happened—doesn’t take away from those moments. I want you, solnyshko (little sun), for as long as you’ll have me,” she expresses, and all you can do is smile, and cup her face, “Of course I will, you were my first thought as this shit happened. I want you, and I want us.” you state, and the two of you just stay there for a few moments. "You're mine, for forever now" she mutters, and you chuckle, "You're mine for forever, too."

[insidekatmind]

WHAT IF... ~CHO SANG WOO

Plot: What if Sang Woo won the Squid Game edition? How would he have behaved?

It was raining that morning. The air smelled of mud and metal, and you were seeking shelter under the bus shelter, your bag full of homework to correct and your coat still soaked in chalk. The bus was late. As always.

A man approached. Elegant, composed. He seemed to have stepped out of a magazine, but there was something in his eyes, something that didn't quite fit. You noticed it right away: it wasn't his appearance, but his gaze, which betrayed an internal war.

"Is he late?" he asked, cold but polite.

You nodded. "He always is on Mondays."

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. As if he had forgotten how to do it.

You were 24, and you taught in an elementary school. You were cheerful, but not naive. You liked people's stories, even broken ones. Maybe that's why, when the mysterious man in the gray suit offered you a coffee a few days later, you said yes.

His name was Cho Sang-woo.

And he never said anything about the game.

He spoke little about himself. He only said that he had worked abroad, that he had done business, that now he wanted to start over from scratch. But every now and then you saw him remain silent, staring into space, as if there was a continuous court inside him.

You were sitting in his small, elegant but bare apartment. Too tidy to have lived in. He served you tea. You looked at his hands. Beautiful, but cold. He had always kept you at a distance, and yet you returned to him, almost as if drawn by a broken magnet.

“You are not like the others,” you murmured.

He stiffened. “In what sense?”

You stood up. You moved closer.

“You have too much sadness to be just a businessman.”

The silence that fell was as heavy as lead. Sang-woo looked up at you. There was something scary inside him.

“How many people do you think can be killed… before there is nothing left of you?”

And he told you.

Everything.

The game. The blood. The betrayal. The victory. The price.

He didn’t yell at you. He didn’t look for excuses. He told you as if he wanted you to hate him. As if he hoped that finally someone would see him for the monster he thought he was.

And instead you stayed there.

“You killed, it’s true,” you said.

“But you’re not dead yet. The fact that you told me everything… means that something inside you wants to live.”

In the days that followed, he tried to push you away. He ignored you, avoided you. He wanted to protect you from himself.

But you didn’t let him go.

You saw everything:

– The calculating coldness.

– The outsized intelligence.

– The desperate need for redemption.

And he saw in you a light that he didn’t deserve, but that he craved.

It was attraction, but also pain. And tension. As if he was always one step away from letting you in… or destroying himself so as not to hurt you.

One day you came home from school and found him on the doorstep, with a suitcase.

“I’m leaving. I have to disappear. I can’t stay.”

You looked into his eyes. “Why?”

“Because if I stay with you… I might start to believe I deserve forgiveness. And I don’t deserve it.”

Something inside you broke.

“Sang-woo… living isn’t forgiving yourself. It’s paying day after day without ceasing to feel it. But doing it with someone by your side is different.���

He didn’t answer. He looked at you. For the first time, really.

And then he looked down.

You don’t know if he stayed for you…

…or if he really disappeared forever.

But from that day on, every time it rains, you sit at the bus stop.

You wait for a bus that doesn’t come.

And you hope that the man with the sad eyes will come back.

Not for him.

But for both of you.

[dandylion240]

“Cory? You spoke of a good friend. Is that him?” He asked with curiosity, he sat on the bed with Jonah, listening to him. “Tell me about him.”

“Yes that’s him,” he curled up on the bed, his head resting in Cecil’s lap. “Cory’s my best friend. He never got upset when I needed to talk about … bad things that happened to me. Like the first time I met the master.” He shivered at the memories. He’d been so young and scared.  Now he was just scared.

“He always made me feel like I was still a whole person even though I felt like damaged goods,” he didn’t know why his mind kept prompting him to say unlike Ethan. He never felt able to tell him the things he’d been able to tell Cory. He missed having someone to share the dark hidden places that he kept locked inside him. Some days it felt like that darkness was trying to eat him from the inside out. 

“I know he’s looking for me,” there was the doubt again as a voice wondered inside his head if Ethan was looking for him too. Of course he was. Wasn’t he? 

“He and Ethan are  probably working together,” that image didn’t bring the comfort he thought it would. There was an underlying animosity between the two men. Jonah had felt it many times. 

“Maybe he will come with us when we take you to see snow,” he said trying to push the unsettling thoughts away from him. “Wait until you meet him. You’ll know you can trust him with anything. Even your life.”

Hearing Jonah’s words Cecil brushed his hair gently. Cecil could tell this was someone important to Jonah. But it rather puzzled him, Jonah spoke of this man, but very little of his husband. He’d ask Jonah about this some other time.

“He sounds like a good friend. And I am certain they are looking for you. This is why you need to send a message. Send him a message.”

Gently he brushed Jonah’s cheek. 

“Tell me more about your family. Your children, your husband.”

“Oh he is,” he enthused “he’s the best friend you could ever have.”

He could feel himself relaxing as Cecil brushed his hair. “Ethan…,” he stopped wondering why he found it so difficult to talk about him. “We,” he almost said high school sweethearts but that wasn’t really true, “we dated in high school. I thought he was the love of my life.” 

“Prom night Ethan and I took our relationship to the next level.” He paused before adding “I wasn’t sure I was ready but I wanted to make him happy.” He’d never told anyone that before, not even Cory.

“I found out later I was pregnant with Eli,” a soft smile transformed the sadness in his eyes. “No one wanted me to have him. My parents said I was too young. They would take my baby and raise it for me. Ethan he…” he gulped the old pain resurfacing “he didn’t want to be a father yet. That having the baby would ruin all of our plans. That he would go with me to ….”

“I couldn’t do that,” tears were silently running down his cheeks. “I ran away to keep my baby. My son. No one would listen to what I wanted. It was like I didn’t matter.”

He wiped away the tears unsure why he was telling Cecil about this other than it had been on his mind lately. “I’d do anything for my kids and I never want them to think their feelings don’t matter.”

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you,” he sniffed a little “I didn’t really answer your question did I? You wanted to know about my family and I gave you this sob story.”

Cecil brushed his cheek gently, helping him wipe his tears.

“I think it was unfair for your family to not take into account what you wanted. To not listen to you… I hope this doesn’t happen anymore. You have a right to a voice, to have your will respected.”

And he sighed, brushing his cheek.

“But you are now with Ethan, so this means he accepted your will. Correct?”

Yet he felt by Jonah’s voice, that Jonah was not happy. He felt antsy and scared, despite being such a strong man who had already survived so much. Then why did Jonah feel so vulnerable.

“And you don’t need to apologize for that,” he smiled at Jonah. “You are my friend. I am glad to hear your story. If it’ll make you feel better, I can share mine.”

“Yes I suppose he has,” Jonah sounded uncertain. “We don’t talk about it much. We had three more kids together after Eli so I guess he has.” He wished he knew for sure or had he just assumed. 

“You are a good friend to me,” he reached for Cecil’s hand kissing the fingers before saying “I would very much like to hear your story if you want to share it with me.”

“I know it may be painful for you,” he shivered wondering what it would be like to be blind and living inside a cave.

He smiled at Jonah’s kind action and takes a deep breath, eyes cast to the ceiling. That was the one thing he could “see”, so to say. The stars, he was aware of them, where they were, what they looked like, why they were.

“I was born blind,” he explained. “It is not common among my kind. But I was born blind. When a dragon is born blind, he is to be killed at hatching. But… like you… my parents didn’t want to give up on me. So they did the other thing they were forced to when a dragon is born blind. They raised me inside a cave for me to never leave.”

He lifted his hands. “I was not aware when I became alone. I only know that at a point, it was only me in there. I think when they believed I was old enough to take care of myself, they just left without a word. Dragons are… prideful beings. Very prideful, and, as a society we pride ourselves in being perfect. Any defect, disability, unsavory thing is to be either hidden or rid of.”

“When I said you were someone I meant it. No one is looking for me… I have no family, no friends, the only humans I took for friends only wanted me to turn human so they could sell me to master, so they could make up for that one toy that got away. They thought, if they sold the master an exotic dragon, he’d be happy.”

Jonah gasped sitting up “you’re here because of me. I’m the toy that got away.”

He pulled his knees into his chest “I’m sorry … for all of this.” How many times has the master told him he had searched far and wide for him. The toy he most wanted. 

“Even if we escape here, the master will still look for me,” he shivered “I’ll never be free of him. He’ll always be out there looking to bring me back here.” How many more innocents like Cecil would be brought here? 

Swallowing the bile that rose inside him. He didn’t want to stay here but if it would save someone else from being taken … no that didn’t make sense. He shivered, the master had several toys he used to entertain his guests. Shoving the unsettling thoughts aside to focus on something more important.

Inhaling deeply he pulled Cecil into his arms “no matter what you’re not alone, not anymore. You have me. I am your family.”

He stroked Cecil’s hair “I’m glad your parents did not give up on you. You are worth more than ten perfect dragon’s put together. You see more than most people do who have two good eyes.”

Holding the dragon close “you are priceless and if anything good has come from being here it’s that I got a chance to meet you. To know you. You have given me so much. I’ve given you so little. I promise if it’s the last thing I do you’ll walk out of here a free dragon. I’ll make sure that when they come for me we won’t leave without you.”

Cecil held tight to Jonah, closing his eyes, he buried his face on his shoulder. He took in his words, never had he thought of himself like this. Priceless, it sounded nice, to feel worth something beyond being a toy. He didn’t answer back and with a deep sigh he pulled back, holding Jonah’s hands in his own. 

“It’s not your fault. Master would eventually bore himself of you, as he did of me, and then he’d find a new favourite to obsess about. I just came in handy at the right time for some underling to get off the hook for failing. That is not your fault…”

Brushing his cheek he added. “We will escape, I trust in you, I trust you will find a way, and the master won’t look for you, or me, or any of us, once we find an escape. The same way you promise me freedom, I promise you safety. I won’t let him hurt you.”

No, he had decided that once Jonah’s efforts had led his family to them and freed them, he’d show his master the dragon he had in chains, and he was going to hurt him. He was going to hurt his master as he had hurt all of them, and make sure that even if he wanted, he’d never be capable of taking or harming anyone ever again. He told Jonah one thing for sure, dragons were prideful, but they were even more resentful and quite loyal. 

Ethan stepped back, glaring at his uninvited guest. “What do you want?” he demanded. “Checking to make sure your avenging dragon didn’t eat me.” He tossed his head back, finishing the bottle’s contents before tossing it aside.

Turning he stumbled to the kitchen in search of another bottle. Opening the fridge he took out a wine bottle he and Jonah had been saving for a special occasion. Without preamble he uncorked it, taking several swallows from it.

“Maybe he should have,” Evan observed watching his brother. He ached for the man Ethan could have been. It was hard to imagine that this was all that was left when he didn’t have Jonah to hide behind.

“What happened to all that brotherly love you keep telling me you have for me?” he asked rocking slightly on his feet, his words slurring. “I want to see my kids.”

An eyebrow rose in shock “I’ve told you before you can come see them whenever you want. Jolene would love to see you.” Shaking his head, the bottle in his hand waving in front of him. “I want them here with me. I’m their father.”

Crossing his arms Evan shook his head “then act like their father.” He made a grab for the bottle “you don’t need this. Whatever you’re trying to block from your memory isn’t going to happen with this stuff.”

Snatching the bottle out of reach, he held it close like a baby. “I can quit anytime I want to.”

“Prove it,” Evan challenged, wondering if he could appeal to Ethan’s ego. His pride. “If you want your kids back you have to stop drinking.” He paused thinking a moment before adding “what would Jonah think if he could see you now?”

Ethan’s chin jerked upwards “will he come home?”

“I think so. At least I hope so,” Evan said, almost telling him what Caiden and Cory were planning. Pressing his lips together he forced himself to remain silent. He couldn’t determine what Ethan would do if he knew. He was a loose cannon at best with the ability to go off and ruin the best chance they have of ever finding Jonah.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he jabbed a finger at Evan. “You’re thinking it’s a good thing I’m not helping. That I’ll mess up again and he’ll be lost forever. You probably think it’s all my fault that he was even taken in the first place.”

“What else am I to think? Everyone warned you not to do it. That it was too risky. You wouldn’t listen to anyone.” He flinched a little at the murderous gaze Ethan bestowed upon him. 

“It would have worked,” he mumbled sounding like a broken record “I couldn’t have known how imcompetent Caiden was at his job.”

Shaking his head sighing “the point is it didn’t work. No amount of drinking or pointing fingers is going to change that. It’s time you stopped wallowing in self pity and accept your part in the blame.”

Tears rolled down his puffy cheeks “how would you feel if it were Jayden? What if he never came home?” “I’d feel terrible,” he didn’t have to think, he’d lived in fear of that for weeks while Jayden lay in a coma. He’d spent night after sleepless night alone in their bed feeling it’s emptiness and cried himself to sleep only to do it over the next night. Yet he had held it together. “I never gave up hope and neither should you.”

“It’s not the same,” he hissed “what is there to hope?”

He sounded so lost, that Evan blinked in shock “there’s always hope. He could come home. He took a step back at the hostile look his brother gave him. Why was he bothering to try and help him when he obviously didn’t want it? He knew the answer even as he asked himself the question. He wouldn’t give up on the random stranger who walked into the shelter needing his help and he wouldn’t give up on his brother if he wouldn’t give up on anyone else. “Or don’t you want Jonah to come home? Maybe it’s easier to give up instead of facing up to what you’ve done and risk him finding out.”

“Get out,” he bellowed, spit flying from his mouth. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Then you can tell everyone that when you needed me the most that I have failed you. That won’t work. Not with me brother.” “Suit yourself,” he muttered walking past him, still clutching the wine bottle to his chest.

Shaking his head as he watched Ethan shuffle past he couldn’t help but wonder if they had it wrong. Maybe it was Ethan who was the unstable one and not Jonah the way they all believed it was. It was like Ethan had lost his identity the day Jonah disappeared, like he didn’t know who he was if he weren’t Jonah’s protector. His hero.

The door to Caiden’s office slammed open. A wild eyed man stumbled inside “I demand to know where my husband is?”

Caiden exchanged looks with Cory. “Why don’t you have a seat,” he offered as Cory stood up to make room for him to sit.

“I don’t want to sit down,” he snapped petulantly, sounding more like a child than the adult he was.

Rolling his eyes Cory moved to close the door. He couldn’t disguise the disgust he felt from flickering across his face. What did Jonah ever see in him? If it weren’t for Jonah he’d have shown Ethan out the door and into the nearest dumpster where all the rubbish went.

“We’re doing everything we can to find your husband,” Caiden assured the younger man who was rocking from side to side in front of his desk. “Have a seat and I’ll….”

“I don’t want to sit,” he repeated,almost tripping over his feet.“Evan told me you were bringing Jonah home. I want to know how. He’s my husband. I have a right to be with you. To bring him home”

“Now’s not the time to play hero,” Cory ducked in time to miss the fist Ethan aimed at him.

“Fuck you,” he cried his forward momentum making him lose his balance and he sprawled on the floor at Cory’s feet. Crawling to his knees “I need to do something. It’s my fault…” His eyes bulged at the sound of his words like he didn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“Damn right it is,” Cory dragged him upwards and deposited him into the nearby chair. “Jonah wouldn’t need to be rescued if it weren’t for you.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he sobbed, covering his face in his hands. “I need to find him.”

“What you need to do is go home and dry out,” Cory snorted, disgusted at the sight of the drunken man. 

“No,” he cried “not until I know what you’re doing to find my husband.” He put special emphasis on the word husband needing to remind them that Jonah was taken.

Sighing loudly Caiden interrupted whatever Cory was about to say. “We have made some discoveries that may lead us to where Jonah is.” That was putting it mildly. He and Cory had closed down a traffic ring that saved almost a hundred kids from being sold around the world. 

“Jonah? You found him?” he looked up “why didn’t you let him come home?” Glaring at Cory “it’s because of you. You don’t want him to be with me. You don’t want me to have him.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked, appalled “you’re talking about him like he’s a piece of property…”

Tears swelled in his eyes “I love him. More than anything…”

Shaking his head “I didn’t think it was possible but I like you even less drunk than sober.” Turning to Caiden “don’t tell him anything. He’ll only mess it up. Ruin our chances of getting Jonah back.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Caiden replied.

“Please let me help,” Ethan begged, “I need to find him. He needs to know I tried…”

“No,” he shook his head firmly “maybe if you were sober…”

“I’m not drunk,” he staggered to his feet swaying.

“Cory take him home. Make sure he stays there,” Caiden said. “When you come back we’ll go over our next plan of action.”

“You know where Jonah is and you’re not telling me,” Ethan accused sulking a little.

“Telling you is the last thing Jonah needs right now,” Cory grabbed Ethan’s arm hauling him towards the door “time to go home.”

“I can drive myself,” he jerked himself free.

Heaving a sigh Cory looked towards Caiden before punching Ethan and sending him to the floor way he lay whimpering like a hurt puppy. “That didn’t feel as good as I hoped it would.”

Previous/Next

[preemptivejustice]

The subject answered, and once again, it wasn’t what Arthur expected. Nothing about this ever quite had been; the being was unique, that much was pointedly so. Not like an adult, but not like a child, either; like a being with an understanding of things adults understood, with the mental maturity of an adult, but… inexperienced. 

There was no defensiveness, no hostility. No scripted response, either - just a quiet apology, offered as if it were from someone who hadn’t realized they’d committed a social misstep. It struck Arthur, how earnest the apology was - there was no manipulation here, no desire to placate or win favor. There was only recognition, a course correction; and Arthur found himself feeling more like he was talking to someone who wanted to do right rather than a program that wanted to be right. 

He watched every microgesture. The way the subject’s lip curled between his teeth, the indecision; the inhale and exhale as he thought, seemed to really think - he didn’t mean to be rude. He claimed that, and Arthur believed him. It felt like the truth. 

The subject’s explanation came out in slow, careful fragments, like a mirror being held up to its own pieces. He didn’t ask questions because he hadn’t considered that he could. He hadn’t asked if this was allowed, but only because no one had told him if it wasn’t. It was a familiar framework, an unfortunate mental trap - but it was telling. Very, very telling. 

The subject had never been taught that he had agency. 

Arthur’s brow furrowed again, a twitch of concern that he made no attempt to hide. Not pity or fear, but just a worried thoughtfulness. He was a doctor, one who had helped people before taking this job - one who had spent too long studying how people were shaped by their limits. Invisible instructions were typically given when being raised, growing up and absorbing without thought; where could they have come from, in this? 

It was fascinating. 

“You’re not being rude,” he said at last, voice low and even. “You’re behaving like someone who was never really invited to participate.” 

Arthur supposed that he was at fault in that, at least some; re-framing helped it feel more like that was a truth. He should have been more mindful, at least in the foods; should have made it more clear that the subject had options. 

“You’re not wrong,” he continued. “Most people are taught, whether explicitly or not, that they are supposed to… wait, for permission. That they need to prove something, before they’re allowed to take up more space - typically that’s good behavior, intelligence, usefulness. Things of that sort.” 

His eyes stayed on the subject, though they softened once more. “But you’re not waiting for that. You’re waiting for… something else.” 

He didn’t say what he thought that was, or even try to see if he was right; he just leaned back slightly, still letting his elbows rest on his knees. He pulled his leg back in again, trying to keep the ache out of it, the poor ache in the muscle. 

“You said that you ‘look like someone who once was, but isn’t anymore’,” he mused. “That tells me things I know about you - understanding, loss, identity. Displacement, even.” Recurring themes, with the subject. Arthur almost felt like he had the being boxed out, already - mentally mapped out, at least. 

“Do you think that, just because you look like someone who died, that you’re not allowed to feel anything about this? That you shouldn’t be confused, or curious, or angry? Have you ever been upset with everyone around you, for how they’ve reacted to your existence?” 

It wasn’t an accusation, or even a challenge to the invisible rulebook around him; it was just a genuine question. Wanting to know if he had ever been upset, if he had ever found this unfair - or if he didn’t mind it because it was logical. Because it made sense for everyone to treat him cruelly, considering the situation. Did that make it ‘okay’, in his mind? 

It felt like he already had the answer, just from observation; but he wanted to see how the subject took it. If it was, again, something he just hadn’t considered. 

The offer to change out meat for something else - fish, just to give it a try to see whether Kane might enjoy that one more than what he'd had so far - is noted, acknowledged, appreciated even; A pair of dark irises flicks up briefly, meets the ones in front of him, accompanied by an expression that's a bit softer at the edges - not quite a smile but close to the concept of it, a subtle curl of a lip - before that gaze returns to where a circle is currently growing, pieces stacked on top of each other, balanced out.

Dr. Harrow doesn't like to eat meat either, he says - he doesn't eat any products made from animals. He calls himself Vegan; It must be the respective term for humans who decide to not consume any animal products, Kane assumes. Is he himself vegan as well, perhaps? Unsure. So far he hadn't felt very fond of most of what he'd gotten served - always preferred the vegetables, especially when they weren't covered in some kind of overwhelmingly flavorful sauce. That slice of bread was nice though, just a little soggy - he would prefer to have that one dry next time.

---A blink, with Kane realizing his thoughts are trailing a bit too far there.

"I don't think they've served me fish just yet." A thoughtful reply, soft, but also curious, while hands continue to fumble with the puzzle pieces. "---I would like to give it a try."

A piece falls all of a sudden, takes another one with it, and Kane lets out a small breath at that - something akin to a tsk, accompanied by a knit of those dark brows - before he picks both back up, then attempts to stack them again... and succeeds this time. They stay where he wants them to be, to which something almost a little smug tugs at the crows feet around his eyes.

But it's gone relatively quickly, replaced by his usually rather blank, neutral - but certainly not unfriendly - expression.

More silence stretches, one that does not bother him, not much. He's used to it, to the quiet hum of electricity that he listens to whenever that light above him is turned on, his own breath, the soft rustle of him shifting on the bed. Right now Kane also listens to the noise those pieces of wood make then he stacks them on top of another - subtle, barely there, but existent.

---Dr. Harrow speaks again, however, and what he says actually causes Kane, not-Kane, to pause, to stop the movements of his hands - his gaze flicking back up again, brows lifted ever so gently, something close to an unspoken question now existing within his irises that did not show any of that shimmer so far today.

And he blinks once, then glances to the side, thinking, before his eyes are on the other for a second time - looking, taking in the sight, considering things. Sucking a lip between his teeth, biting it, before letting go.

"---I apologize for that. I ... didn't mean to be rude." Definitely not. And no, Kane doesn't think that he's not caring, neither does he know what's happening - at least not in great detail. He's aware of the fact that he's being monitored, that this is about him being different, yes, but... he just---

Another moment passes, and he's thinking again. His lips open, then close, then open up again just to close immediately after, but no word comes out at first; He inhales, exhales, shakes his head for a brief moment, shrugs---

"...I think that I didn't... consider it, to--- ask questions." And it feels odd, in a way, to realize that it's the case. Kane did not really focus on it, at all - he'd just existed, he'd woken up in here, and... that's what it is. What it has been for a while. "I know why I'm being watched. I'm looking like someone who once was, but isn't anymore, yet here I am; It must be confusing, so is the entirety of me, I assume." Different, yes, definitely. "Should I have asked questions? Am I expected to? ---Am I allowed to? I don't know. No one ever told me."

No one told him to... behave a certain way. That it would be okay to inquire, to ask for something. Perhaps Kane also never really asked himself any questions, as the concept of existing is so new to him that he has to figure it out still.

He simply doesn't know that his life is potentially made of something else than what this is. All he'd ever gotten to know was Kane, Lena, this facility, this room, and Dr. Harrow. The people bringing him food. And he doesn't exactly know any of them - just... being familiar with everything now. That's it.

There's something almost a little sad appearing there, on his face, as he swallows - then looks back down and avoids the other's gaze.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

For research purposes…I’m doing a science…