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arklay · 11 months

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RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

#mine.#oc: diana #pair: ewskers #click for better quality cause it's large & tumblr ate it ♡#hii so happy birthday diana !! queen is 60 today :]#um. there's no template cause i made this from scratch...i couldn't find any i was vibing with so i was like you know what lmaoo #i'm sorry for the essay...it was meant to be just a short rundown of the family but well...that happened. typical leah fashion...#oh and guys. did you know that there's a limit to the amount you can put in one blockquote? that's why the rest is just left like that caus #i didn't like how it looked with a blockquote each paragraph...cause the spaces between were unever. you understand 😔#with the tree i was also going to include weskids adoptive parents but i couldn't figure out how to arrange it all & make it look nice !!#cause i also wanted to have spencer in there as well cause he's a big reason why the weskids are the way they are...was maybe gonna include #sherry as well. like connected to jake (hehe) and then do her parents too but that would've made things so wide & it's already big enough #yes. i hc that albert & alex are biological twins. just for clarification there :] i don't think i added anything else that isn't canon or #implied with canon. cause the weskids were put in homes (or at least whatever ''controlled environments'' means) where they were monitored #by umbrella but were unaware of it. so yeah. i don't think i really changed much there !!#honestly i could've kept rambling cause there's alex's whole situation. there's my lore with jake's mum. there's way more with the ewskers #but it's already so long & i can't be concise so there's that lmaoo oh also diana's grandma. so much stuff #also meant to say the weskids birthday in that ramble. it's january 15 1960 :] they are capricorn sun leo moons but alex was born earlier s #their rising signs are albert is a scorpio rising & alex is a libra rising !!#had to redo the image cause typo on diana's birth year for some reason lmao so if that messed up the formatting i will sob

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undertheopensky · 9 months

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Life First

Whumptober Day 23: Alt #12 Broken

Characters: Four, Sky

Trigger warnings: Broken bones, violence to a child, (if you personally consider Four a child)

Read on Ao3!

Merry fucking Christmas.

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It sounds like a stick snapping beneath a thick layer of mud.

Four’s back arches, a high, wavering shriek caught behind his teeth. When he slumps, gasping and whimpering, only the whites of his eyes are visible below half-closed lids.

If there wasn’t razor steel at his throat Sky would have already lunged. As it is, he can feel his lips peeling away from his teeth in a snarl, and the tension running through him is definitely making the Yiga at his back sweat a little.

Good. They deserve much worse.

In a flash of red smoke the two grunts pinning Four down vanish. The blademaster, boot still pressed to Four’s thigh, remains, surveying his handiwork. “It’ll do,” he says at last, and steps back.

Four keens combined relief and agony. Sky twitches; feels hot blood run down his collarbone as the sickle grazes skin.

The blademaster laughs.

“Worry not - this is merely insurance. You’d never leave your friend behind, but there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up with you now. If you choose to carry him, you won’t be able to evade us, nor fight should you happen to come across your weapons. Can’t have you leaving before the real Hero shows up.”

Behind the featureless mask, the blademaster gives the impression of a self-satisfied smile.

“And if you do choose to abandon him… well. At least one of you will live to regret it.”

The next instant, he’s gone, along with the blade at Sky’s throat.

The choking clouds of scarlet don’t slow Sky down in the slightest. He ignores their acrid tang in favour of getting to Four, dropping to his knees so fast he nearly skins them, and fumbles for his hand, for some way of helping when he knows there’s nothing he can do.

Incredibly, Four clings back.

“It’s okay, I’m not leaving you, I won’t, we’ll be fine,” Sky says, over Four’s harsh panting.

Four opens his mouth, maybe trying to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled whimper.

“It’s okay,” Sky says again. Useless isn’t a feeling he appreciates; the Yiga had taken Fi, his bags, everything he could potentially have made a splint out of. They’d even taken his fucking sailcloth. “I’ll figure something out. You’ll be okay.”

Scanning the cell, he has to hope he’s not making a liar of himself. Unadorned stone blocks and heavy wood don’t offer much opportunity. Even if it didn’t look like it weighed as much as Koloktos, the gate had ‘clunked’ into place with the resonance of a lock sliding home, and Sky doubts either of them could fit through the narrow spaces between its palings.

He’s not gonna let that stop him, though. He squeezes Four’s hand again. “It’ll be alright. I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you to - whatever the fuck these fuckers -”

“Wha-wha-what’s stopping them, stopping them from doing it anyway? You-you-you need to get-get out of here, S-s-sky.”

Sky ignores this completely in favour of pulling off his overtunic. The white face, the chattering teeth, the stammer - was Four going into shock? Wasn’t there a massive blood vessel right by the bone in the leg? Fuck, he hopes Four isn’t bleeding out right in front of him, Sky thinks. Laying the tunic over Four’s torso as a makeshift blanket, he glances fruitlessly around the cell again, praying for inspiration.

“R-rope.”

Heart lurching, Sky quickly turns back to Four. “What’s that? I’m sorry, did I pull on you?” He starts trying to disentangle his hand, but Four’s tight grip doesn’t falter.

“N-no. The rope. Cut - cut the c-crossbar free.” Four points with one shaking hand.

The crossbar - on the gate, of course. The palings are held together by a long beam near the bottom, if Sky can cut it loose he might be able to force a gap wide enough to escape. Except -

“I don’t have anything sharp, they took all my weapons.” He scans the floor for loose rocks he could shape into a cutting edge.

“I - I do. Boot knife.”

That’s honestly not surprising. The smithy keeps half an armoury tucked away in various pockets; it would have been weirder if the Yiga hadn’t missed one. It sure as hell works in their favour now. “Where is it? Which foot?”

“Luh-left.”

Because of course the knife has to be in the boot on the broken leg. Sky grimaces. “Okay. I’m gonna move slow, okay?”

Sky definitely jostles him more than once working the knife free, though Four doesn’t so much as squeak through Sky’s whispered apologies. Sky squeezes his hand one last time before turning to the gate.

The rope is coarse and heavy, but any blade owned by Four is kept razor-sharp, and Sky makes steady progress sawing through key points. Near the edge, so the shadows half-hide it, in case of someone walking past - not that there’s been anyone since they were first dumped here. It seems like this area of the Yiga’s base isn’t well-travelled. Lucky for them.

Sky gets two logs free of the bar and starts wedging his foot and leg between them. If he can just work them another couple of inches apart -

But they’re thick and solid and not particularly given to movement. He has to stop, gasping for breath, before trying again, the force of it burning through his calf and his hip where his leg is cocked awkwardly out to the side. “Who designed this thing,” he hisses to himself, and braces for another go.

“S-sky,” Four gasps, and he abandons the attempt immediately in favour of scrambling back to him.

“What’s wrong, are you okay -” how can I help, he means but doesn’t ask, because how can he help, with no potions and no supplies?

Four takes a moment to gather himself, breathing shallow and hitched. “Luh-leverage. Y’need… leverage.” Struggling for words through the haze of pain. Sky takes a moment to check his pulse - a little fast, still strong, not too bad. “Th’ crossbar - use it - as a pry. Too strong.”

Sky considers. He’s making no progress as it is. And if he keeps enough of the rope intact -

Aha. “Got it,” he breathes, and moves back into action.

It’s a damn good thing no one’s come down here, because there’s no way they’d miss the mess that he makes of the gate - crossbar down, shreds of rope everywhere, and one serious trip hazard poking out the bottom while Sky wrestles it into place. At one end of it he’d left the rope and bulky knots attached so he can do what he’s doing now: throw his whole body weight into the other end of the rope, looped just once around a paling further down. As Four had said - he needed leverage, and this makeshift pulley system is going to give him that leverage.

Apparently he’d picked up more from Groose than he’d thought.

The rope groans worryingly. Sky hadn’t been entirely successful in leaving it undamaged as he pried it out of its knots; a couple times he’d had to shave the edges a bit to convince it to come free. He can only hope it holds long enough. It’d be a pretty useless pulley system without a connecting line, and he’s not quite ready to sacrifice his belt to the cause.

(He will, if it comes down to it. He’d just rather keep his pants on if at all possible.)

There’s another groan, and then a crack. Swearing, Sky falls back on his ass as the tension goes out of the rope - fuck, he’s gonna wind up doing this escape in just his tunic, isn’t he -

Wait, no. The crack had been the paling giving way. Eager and apprehensive in equal measure, Sky studies the new hole.

It’s… not ideal. The log had broken low, less than a foot off the ground. If he crawls, gets his shoulders low where the gap is widest, Sky can just make it through. But there’s no way Four will be able to do the same, not with his leg busted up. Sky will have to drag him. But would he survive that?

In truth, Sky’s been trying not to think about it. As he worked on the door he’d been wracking his brain for what he remembered about broken legs, and it had just made him more anxious. He’s sure that Four is okay right now - he’s in pain, but breathing steadily, shock staved off temporarily - but that’s going to change as soon as he moves him. In fact, without a splint or something to keep his leg steady, moving him could well kill him.

(But leaving him here would be worse.)

“Four,” Sky says, slipping back to his prone form and taking his hand, “Four, I cracked the gate, there’s a hole now.”

“G-good. Get out of here, S-s-sky.”

Despite his stubborn words - Four’s frightened. It’s in the white of his eyes and his gritted teeth and his knuckles where he clings to Sky’s hand. As his mouth says leave me and everything else says don’t leave me.

“Four, I need you to listen to me, and listen all the way through,” Sky says, unyielding. “Can you do that?”

If Four’s in too much pain to focus – if Sky has to make this decision and then live with the consequences –

Four grunts and cracks one eye. Still clear, still alert.

“Your leg is bad, but holding for now. If I move you, it could kill you. If you don’t want to risk it, and you can swear to me that’s the only reason, I’ll leave you here - briefly - and come back with healing supplies as soon as I can.”

Four opens his mouth, probably to argue; Sky ploughs on.

“If I carry you out of here, it’s a straight run to the exit, as fast as I can make it - we’ll have to come back for our gear, because as soon as I disrupt whatever’s going on in there –” he waves a hand at Four’s leg, disconcertingly swollen – “we’re on a time limit. And if we don’t make it out within that time limit, and find help, you’re going to die. I won’t do that to you without your say so.”

“S’not safe,” Four says. “I’ll just – s-slow you down. Be quicker – if you run without me – an’ get help.”

“There is no option that involves me leaving you behind in this hellhole,” Sky says frankly.

Making a frustrated noise, Four thumps his head against the floor. “Why not – jus’ carry me – t’our gear – an’ heal up there? I know – I’ve got – ‘nough potions – t’ deal with this.”

“Because I remember the way out, but I don’t know where they took our things,” Sky says. “And I don’t know if I could find them in time before –” his throat closes over. Before you bleed out.

Four grunts again. He doesn’t say anything this time, though, and seems to be genuinely thinking it over. Heart in his throat, Sky waits.

He tries one last time to convince him. “S’not safe. Y’d have a – better chance – if y’left me – behind.”

“You know damn well that’s not gonna happen.”

Four whines and flexes his hands like he’d like to strangle him. Then, finally:

“F-fine.”

He takes another shuddering breath; Sky squeezes his hand.

“Take me with you. Let’s get the f-fuck out of here.”

“You got it, buddy,” says Sky.

First is the awkward operation of getting them both out. Sky has to move Four to the exit, as close as possible, then wiggle through himself before reaching back to drag Four through. “This’ll hurt,” Sky warns him.

Four’s already shoving his leather-covered forearm in his mouth, so his response comes out slurred. “Jus’ ge’ on wi’ it.”

Sky grits his teeth, makes sure his hands are secure in Four’s armpits, and heaves.

Four’s howl is muffled by the bracer.

It’s not far to go, thank the goddesses. Sky tries to make it happen in one smooth motion and doesn’t quite manage. But he gets Four’s shoulders close enough to the gap, then very awkwardly crawls over the top of him to wiggle through first. Four’s too preoccupied with trying to breathe to notice Sky doing his best not to knee him in the face.

Time or even Warriors would not have fit through the hole – even Sky had had to worm his shoulders through at an uncomfortable angle. It’s a good thing Four’s even smaller. Sky rolls out his shoulder, grimacing at the twinging complaints – nothing pulled, just cranky. He’s fine.

Now for the hard part.

Sky gets back down on his belly – there’s no other way to reach in – and touches Four’s shoulder. Damn, how is he going to get a decent hold from this angle? “Hey. Brace yourself.”

Again, Four’s scream of pain is stifled in thick leather. Sky cringes, both at knowing he’s causing his brother such agony and at the way the noise echoes off the stone. They can’t stay undetected forever, but the longer they can go –

No use worrying about it. They’re both out of that cell, even if Four’s weeping through gritted teeth at what it took to get them there. Sky gently tugs Four’s wrist free of his teeth to start pulling him over his shoulder.

Shuddering, Four tries to wave him off. “S-stop, wait, gimme a minute –”

“We don’t have a minute,” says Sky, implacable, and hauls Four up.

This time, his shriek weakly peters out. He’s still breathing – Sky can feel the unsteady puffs against his shoulder – but that last effort had been too much for Four. He’s out.

In all honesty, it’s probably best this way. Sky can pin Four’s broken leg against his chest to minimise jostling, without worrying about if it was hurting him.

He just hopes he stays unconscious until they’re well clear of the hideout.

With Four’s body locked in place over his shoulders Sky sets off. He doesn’t know what’s down the corridor to the left and can’t risk it being a dead end, so he heads right, back the way they’d come. Even then, his anxiety rises – he can see the end of it from here, blank and shadowed and featureless, but he swears they’d come this way, there has to be a door or something.

Then, as he comes level with it, a gap in the stone opens up. There’s nothing – magical, or mechanical about it. It was just hidden by perspective and the careful shadows. If it’s all like this he’s going to have to be so careful –

At the peak of the stairs, Sky pauses.

Here the passage turns from stone to wood, wrapping around the second floor of a cavernous room like a balcony – and he can hear metal on metal and grunts of exertion. Cautiously, he peers over the railing.

Down below, half a dozen Yida foot soldiers are sparring. They’re using the sickles Sky is already familiar with and another, full-circle spiked razor of a thing to practice lethal-looking strikes. Even as he watches, one of them muffs a parry and yelps when blood is drawn.

None of them are looking up, and he’d like to keep it that way.

There’s no way they can look like they’re meant to be here, so their best bet is to not be spotted at all. Fortunately the balcony is heavily shadowed, and by sticking to the far wall and moving in a low profile, Sky can avoid attracting notice. He creeps along the edges, trying not to flinch at every crash and ‘ha!’, and nearly has heart failure when an archer teleports onto the top of a nearby platform. Luckily, their back is turned, and they just fire off a few arrows for their fellows to dodge before vanishing again. Sky breathes a sigh of relief and slips out the door.

This next set of stairs, he remembers, open up straight onto the floor of another room. A single, central pillar built up out of wood sits in the middle. He has no idea what it’s for and also doesn’t care, except that he can’t see if the room is clear, and he can’t exactly stand around waiting. Sky gets as far as the pillar itself and cautiously peers around it – and scrambles back just in time to avoid the huge katana that slashes down.

Sky backs away as the blademaster rounds the wooden tower. “You know, I was just thinking to myself,” he remarks, almost conversationally. “If we’re being technical – we don’t even need you alive, really. Your bodies will make a good enough lure.” He raises his weapon for a strike.

Sky can see the path the greatsword will take – observes the ripple of magic along the blade – sidesteps, and lets the razor’s edge of both blaze past him. He doesn’t give the blademaster a chance to recover – as soon as the blow passes he’s racing forward. If he wasn’t carrying Four he’d use the solid force of his shoulder to drive the wind out of them, but instead he sidesteps a grab, feints back, and as he darts back the other way to get past he slams his leg up.

He’ll have a bruise later – his shin had made contact with something too solid to be anything except a protective cup – but for now it doesn’t matter. The blademaster crumples and Sky has a clear shot to the stairs.

No point trying for stealth anymore. Sky takes them two at a time, feeling the burn in his thighs, and hits the landing at a dead run. Round the corner, over the bridge, flashes of colour through the railings –

Hanging floor to ceiling, a tapestry blocks the corridor. For a second panic wells – had he forgotten a corner, gotten turned around, were they lost trapped captured again – before Sky spots the edges fluttering in a breeze he can’t feel and the faint glow of firelight from behind it and remembers –

He doesn’t hesitate, just ducks to the side so the brocade can’t tangle around them, and they’re in a circular room lined by stairs and identical tapestry-covered passages and which one which one he remembers a shift to the right and angles left and thank the goddesses the first tapestry he pulls aside has dunes of gathered sand and the taste of desert ozone.

Scarlet smoke and laughter. Out of time. But – if it had to be anywhere –

Sky leaps back from the exit in time for the heavy fabric to flap back in the face of an archer who’d just teleported in. Others poof into existence, strips of paper fluttering down, and start to circle, to cut off any escape. Backing up, step by step, Sky passes through the line of braziers, and hesitates on the central pedestal as if realizing he had nowhere to run. The raised platform gives him a good vantage point, lets him count masked faces peering up at him – at least eight, maybe more, jeering gleefully as they crowd closer.

Sky waits, tense and ready, until one draws their bowstring back – then he whirls, one leg extended, and sends embers scattering all around the room.

There are screams of surprise and pain. The effect is the same: every Yiga scrambling away from the bite of the flames, while Sky runs through them, unafraid.

The base itself is hewn from stone, but there are enough flammable objects in the antechamber alone to keep them busy. Sky’s gone to the chill place in his heart where only the next few seconds matter, the place that had kept him alive when all he wanted to do was lie down and die. It doesn’t matter that the fire is a short-lived distraction, doesn’t matter that they’ll catch up all too soon – for the next few seconds, all that matters is there’s no hands reaching for him, no weapon’s edges near enough to harm.

The searing heat of desert wind has never felt so much like triumph.

Stone floor gives way to sand. Sky takes a moment to be thankful the Yiga had left them their boots – they’re not even in the sun yet and he can feel the heat of it even through the leather.

Though burning hot, the sand’s not as deep as he’d expected. There’s even bare patches where rock’s been blasted clean, presumably by the wind screaming through the canyon. Darting between them gives Sky a brief reprieve from trying not to slip on the sand, gives him a solid platform to push off from and gain a few precious yards of distance.

As the canyon narrows and closes in Sky’s showered with grit from above – more sand, tossed off the peaks by the wind. He’s got no hands free to shield his eyes so all he can do is duck his head and run through it. Then the path diverges and Sky has to hesitate because he doesn’t remember this, the trip had gone in nauseating flashes of teleportation but he only remembers long and near-featureless stone walls so which way which way –

Down, it had to be down, the left is too open and flat and he’d remember passing quite so many creepy frog statues on their way in, and there’s the slim possibility of cover in the various ledges and outcrops. Up til now the canyon’s offered nothing, and while Sky can’t risk stopping and hiding, he’ll take the opportunity to break line of sight.

He heads down.

Four stirs as he passes the first ledge. His head tilts against the pull of gravity as Sky stumbles.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sky whispers, and his footing fails again and they both jolt with it. “I’m sorry, Four, we’re nearly there, just a little longer –”

He just makes a noise too soft to be a groan and goes still again.

Sky wishes he could spare a hand to check Four’s pulse.

There’s no bare spots now. The sand’s gotten deep, caught between the tall stone walls, and it’s real work for Sky to keep up the pace. At least this is mostly downhill, he thinks, though the slope is too shallow for – oh, nice, as they pass under an outcrop the rock walls start to drop away, and the sand does too. There must be a supporting shelf underneath that the cliffs spring up from, and without it, sand tumbles away in a steep dune that would be awful to climb in this heat.

But Sky’s not climbing today. Making sure Four is still secure, still breathing, Sky steps forward onto the looser sand. One leg stays loose, to push and to steer; the other he locks at the knee, and slides down the sand like his own foot is a sled. The more distance they can get the better – without supplies, the heat of the desert will wear him down fast. Not to mention the still-pursuing Yiga.

A flash of smoke; Sky’s duck sends him skidding forward and the sickle aimed at his shoulder misses completely. The sand makes him fumble. He tries to stand, slips and falls to one knee, stands, takes two sweeping strides and almost falls again. Fuck sand.

Fortunately it’s also hampering the Yiga. The one he’d dodged is still tumbling down the sand dune some fifty yards away now, and a second who’d teleported in had, after firing a poorly-aimed arrow, immediately fallen over with a shriek when gravity reasserted itself.

Sky would probably find it funnier if not for his brother potentially bleeding out over his shoulders.

Still, their inability to find their feet means they’re following the slope of the dune. Sky angles off, pointing himself in the direction of a stone pillar-monument looking thing. Even a few seconds out of the sun will help though nothing can be done for the way his heart is thundering –

He’s far too close when a silhouette separates itself from the shadows at the base of the pillar. Sky kicks up a whirl of sand, hoping to blind them for a few precious seconds –

His eyes catch on blonde and indigo and his brain goes !!!

“Wild!” he blurts out, coming full circle and blinking in disbelief. Wild isn’t wearing the heat-resistant silks – it’s a dark-coloured bodysuit similar to the Yiga, which was why Sky’s instincts had reacted the way they did. His silhouette is near-identical, except his hair is pinned in a bun instead of a scruffy topknot. “You, what, how did you find us? No, wait, nevermind, we need to get to Hyrule now –”

Say what you wanted about Wild’s recklessness and mischief. In an emergency, he’s all business, and quick on the uptake besides. He hooks an arm around the spot Sky is gripping Four’s wrist, so they’re both in contact with him, and taps at the Slate.

They dissolve into blue light.

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu four #lu sky #lu fic #skies writes #featuring first aid for complete fucking morons #DO NOT DO WHAT SKY DID HERE #if nothing else he should have torn up the tunic and used it to tie four’s legs together #not ideal but definitely better than what ACTUALLY happened #if you spot any typos please tell me bc i typed most of this on my phone with no formatting #tumblr ate my formatting and i’m cranky

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sakuradust111 · 7 months

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Kidnapper, placing a piece of tape over Phoenix Wright's mouth: stop eating the fucking tape

#me resisting the urge to say 'i ate it' when people ask where their item went #this is the dumbest thing i’ve ever posted #i just wanted to make a post tbh #ace attorney #i'm procrastinating on my psychology paper #wtf is apa format

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moondropstash · 9 months

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Another WIP! Bigger this time, part of a larger project I hope to pick up again after the holidays.

SFW/only suggestive here in this chunk.

~2200 words, Moon x reader. No particular content warnings necessary! What about that hypnosis function, huh Moon? :)c

° • ¤ ☆ ¤ • °

You’re good at your job - or so you thought.

Sure, ok, it’s not usually much of a job. There’s a 90% chance you’re only in the daycare for the benefit of the parents since Sun and Moon have this place on lock, but you’re not completely useless. You help. You pass out snacks. You clean up glitter (so much glitter). You spelunk into the depths of the ball pit after lost plushes and shoes while Sun comforts the wailing child, and emerge like a hero with your spoils. And after months, Moon finally let you help with naptime.

He watches you like you’re handling a bomb instead of little Sydney’s favorite pillow, but at least he lets you out from behind the desk now.

And you thought you were getting pretty good at it. There’s only one Moon after all, and sometimes there’s more than one really fussy kid. Most times, really. But goddamn. After the dozenth time watching Moon lull a screeching demon child to sleep in under a minute flat, upon whom all your efforts had been for naught, you finally snap.

You drop down next to him on the plush tiles on the outskirts of the nap area, leveling your most determined stare at him as he twists his head towards you with a jingle and a questioning flicker of his optics.

“Ok man. Spill.”

His face clicks to the side, his nearly ever-present grin growing wider. Your eyes narrow.

“Spill what?”

“How you do that,” you whisper-yell, leaning into his bubble and waving towards the slumbering angel a dozen feet away that had been hell-bent on ripping out your hair minutes before. “That kid was out for blood and then you pick them up and wham! Out like a light - and don’t you dare say magic!”

“But I am.” Slowly, with a series of purposefully loud snaps and clacks, he twists his frame at the waist to align his upper half towards you while his legs stay placidly crossed, his faceplate spinning once as you scoff. Maybe that would get a rise out of your coworkers, but you don’t spend months around these two contortionists and not get innoculated to a few uncanny angles. With a hissed chuckle and unmistakable smugness, he wiggles his fingers. “Metal - and magic.”

“Bullshit,” you spit with mock venom, Moon giggling as the two of you lean ever closer. With a grin near as wide as his, you jab a finger against his chassis. “I have scrubbed glitter glue, paint, and substances unknown to mankind off every inch of you and I haven’t seen a single sketchy rune or magic crystal.”

Moon cackles low in his voicebox, swaying and jingling with each poke of your finger before he raises his own, claws extending with a crisp snk and tut-tuts back with a sharp claw. “Not looking close enough.”

You blow a raspberry back at him, swatting at his hand with a smirk as it silently dances out of reach.

The claws bothered you when you first started. The idea of giving the childcare robot literal razors in his hands was dumbfounding - seeing Sun pop them out to open boxes even more so - but after looking at the Glamrocks, now you just figure the designer has a thing. You’re not paid enough to ponder what kinks the artist has, after all, and there’s only so many times a person can have knives laid across their shoulders and still work up a fuss. And, frankly, if an hour of your shift goes by without either of these two not slipping a hand across your arm or leaning on you or touching you somehow, you’d think they were broken.

That’s probably your fault.

You’ve always been tactile, and then they gave you coworkers starved for touch. What little remained of your personal bubble died within the week. What kind of monster would refuse Sun a hug, or tell Moon to stop draping across them like an oversized cat? Not you.

Doesn’t hurt that it’s fun.

Moon’s eyes gleam bright, playful crimson as you lean even further into his space, dragging your other hand up his chest plating. Slowly. Following the seam of black and white, skittering the edges of his buttons with dull nails. You feel his claws settle across your thighs, points pricking just enough to remind you of their presence.

There’s a moment of quiet. The two of you, watching each other with mirror grins, fingers dancing across metal and fabric. Then your hand darts up, grabbing his neck ruffles and yank him even closer.

His bells jostle, jingling sharply, and you laugh silently in triumph. Barely two inches separate your faces now, his lanky form bent towards you like a willow branch. This close, you can see every chip and irregularity in his paint. The way his optics tremble in repressed delight, the red light that floods your vision flickering-stuttering in brightness as he hisses a near silent giggle, face twisting and clicking to the side until his gleaming teeth nearly touch your skin.

Snap-snap.

He clacks sharp teeth together twice, his large hands resting heavy on your thighs. Just enough for his claws to teeter at the edge of painful on your flesh; maybe enough to draw pin-pricks of blood. You’ll find out later.

You ignore his little show.

Instead, you make a slow, obvious job of looking him over. Scrutinizing every inch of his plating - ah, hell, that paint’s going to suck to scrub off later - until, finally, you close the distance between you, resting your forehead against his own with a smirk.

“Is this close enough?”

Moon cackles. Your hand releases his ruffles to slip around his shoulders, muffling your own laughter as he bonks his head against your own. It’s no surprise when his claws slip free, ghosting up your back to pull you close like a plush and drag you both into a sprawl on the ground, his shoulders propped up against a squashy, ancient beanbag to keep his loop from jamming into the floor. You rest your chin on his chassis, the two of you sparing a moment to glance at the snoozing kids. All good. No stirring, no fussing.

It’s a fine line to toe - goofing off with Moon, but quiet enough to not cause a disturbance. His eyes scan the room a moment longer than yours do, but once they’re back on you, you knock softly on his plating with your knuckles.

“No, but seriously Moon. I’m feeling inadequate here. Unable to equal your mechanical superiority etcetera. Can I have like, a tip? Pretty please?”

He hums. Low and slow, making sure you feel the hum of his mechanisms working away below you inside his shell, before he lifts away his hands from your back and raises a claw to his grin.

“It’s a secret.”

Before your retort makes it past your tongue, his claw rests carefully against your lips.

“Shh,” he hisses, barely audible. His eyes flick to his other hand and your own follow silently.

It’s raised. His fingers waggle at you before he twists his wrist strangely - and one of the bells on his wrist tumbles down, suspended on the length of ribbon. You raise an eyebrow at him, only for his claw to hook under your chin and turn you back to the hanging bell.

The dim neon star-lights of the darkened daycare glisten across its surface. Brassy and flawless, it hangs limply until Moon slowly twitches his wrist and it begins to swing.

Back. And forth.

As steady as a metronome, a deep sea of stars glitters on the metal.

And then he closes his claws around it with a low laugh.

You blink.

“Feeling sleepy?”

His words slide off you at first, before they hit you like a truck and you gape at him, Moon giggling and terribly pleased with himself as he tugs the bell and ribbon back into place on his wrist.

“No.”

“Magic.”

You have to bite down your words, remembering at the last second that there’s two dozen kids sleeping a few feet away and huffing out the yell you’d wanted to spit at him with a smack against his plating.

“Moon, I can accept the ‘melatonin’ candies but are you selling me snake oil now? Hypnotism?”

His face spins a circle, hat jingling against the beanbag as he resettles his hands on your back.

“Unofficial function,” he says, claws dancing a smug jig across your skin.

That stops your retort. The claws are an unofficial feature. Unlisted and unreviewed, included for nebulous reasons. And now - hypnotism. Assuming he’s not just fucking with you. You prop your chin up on your arm, frowning.

“You being serious, Moondrop?”

He makes a vague hum, preoccupied with dragging a finger down your spine. You chew on the idea, but disbelief is definitely winning out. Hypnotism’s the kind of shit your friend’s weird aunt is into; the one who thinks placing quartz chunks in specific spots around her house ‘drains the negative energies’ of her neighborhood. You straighten Moon’s ruffles as you mull it over, before tugging them once more to pull his attention back to your face.

“I’d notice if you were doing that though. That whole. Pendulum thing? That’s not subtle.”

“Not the only way.” He pauses. “Don’t use it often. Only when they’re being… very naughty.” His voice edges deeper for emphasis, one arm wrapping around you to squeeze you like a plush.

“Isn’t that kind of… I dunno, dangerous?”

“Maybe. Sunny doesn’t like it.”

“Can Sun-”

Moon cuts you off with a sharp snicker. “Never tried. Says it’s cheating.”

“Because it is! I’ve been trying to just talk and soothe them but you’re like,” you pause, lowering your volume as Moon’s eyes flicker brighter, his grip tighter in warning. “I don’t know. How are you doing it, if not the uh… The trick with the bell?”

Moon cocks his head at you. His frame whirrs under you, fingers tap-tapping across your ribs before he silently brings a hand up and slowly draws the dull side of one his claws over the soft skin beneath your eye. And then - tap-taps - at your temple.

“I look,” he murmurs. “They look back. I send them off to dreamland.” His hand dances away from your face, miming sparkles with a cheerful jingling of his bells.

You frown, silently resting your face against his plating as you think.

Eye contact, then. That’d… be subtle enough. You guess it’s useful, if it’s true. You drum your fingers on him, before you flick your gaze back to his. It’s only then you notice his hands are still on your sides, his usual fidgeting and petting paused as he stares back at you, eyes shrunken down to sharp red pupils.

You’ve seen that look before. Always when Sun and Moon get… nervy. When you admit that something can’t be fixed with a screwdriver and a wet washcloth, and the specter of the place none of you mention by name hovers in the room.

You soothe your hand across the line of his chest, tweaking the bell of his hat where it sits draped over his shoulder.

“Are you supposed to tell me this, Moon?”

The single twitch of his face in answer tells you all you need to know. You exhale. Right. You’re just gonna chalk this one up in the ‘the designer is into some weird shit’ category.

“Well,” you begin, pushing a grin back onto your face. “Now you’ve said that, you’ve obviously gotta prove it.”

His optics widen back to bright seas of red in an instant. His arm squeezes you tight, fans whirring fast - before he pushes your face down against his plating.

“No.”

You squirm, smacking at his hand on your head before he finally lets you up for air with a wicked snicker. Perched on him, you reach to catch the edge of his faceplate, only for him to avoid your efforts like a stubborn cat.

“Come on Moony~ Give me some sweet, sweet dreams. Don’t you want me to shut up for a bit?”

Moon spins his face, angled away from you with another giggle, and oozes further up onto the beanbag as you paw after him - though he does pause. You can see his pupil on you at the edge of his eye before he raises a hand, tapping thoughtfully at his chin.

“Hmm. Tempting.”

“That’s right! I’ve been very naughty-” You voice edges into a poor imitation of his own, and you experience a brief moment of triumph as he trembles with repressed laughter before you both hear the sounds of fussing from the nap circle.

You’re unsure if you got too loud, but it doesn’t matter. The two of you peel yourselves apart without a word, slipping back into work mode in an instant. One fussy kid leads to another, and the two of you quickly sink into a familiar rhythm: Moon stalking close to the loudest fussers, his music box chiming away and voice low, as you help settle blankets and plushes and pillows with soothing smiles and careful hands. Sometimes you hum along with Moon’s song, nonsense words on your lips, and sometimes you reach for a misplaced plush only for Moon to press it into your hands, his claws trailing naturally up your arm as he passes by.

By the time naptime ends, the lights flickering on and Moon shifts back into Sun, who immediately whips you up into a tight, whirling hug, you’ve all but forgotten what Moon told you.

After all, he was probably joking.

#chants hypno bot hypno bot #moon x reader #moon x y/n #cw suggestive #hypno kink is in the room but we're not fully acknowledging it yet #stash writing #they're just bein goofs in this section tbh #it ate my formatting but i am just gonna live with it #just know in your heart moon talks in italics #moondrop x reader #moon fnaf

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kresnikcest · 1 month

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i want to start my zestiria lore compilation but that requires labelling my zestiria transcript and doing a playthrough and :(

#i still haven't shared my labelled x1/x2 transcripts #i mean i formatted the x2 one but it's english only #aka i finally ate some food and slept and now i feel energised for everything at 7pm #v

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distraughtlesbian · 6 months

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bryce lahela in the edenbrook OR, taking out mc’s organs: intestines, slay. liver, slay. spleen, slay. appendix……..FLOP!

mc: can yuo turn the lady gaga down it’s making the anaesthetic wear off

#ate a weed gummy earlier and now it feels like the top of my skull is gone #and saw a version of this format w chilton and whats his nuts gideon something from hannibal tv #it’s fine though the bryce girlies will eat this up probably. tumblr equivalent of a manufactured hit tweet #any mention of bryce is the piece of bait cheese and the rest of the stupid ass post is the box propped up w a stick trap #maeve speaks #playchoices #choices #pixelberry #open heart #choices open heart #choices oph #bryce lahela #bryce x mc

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nigh-temptation · 8 months

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Alledia, in this version, is split up into 7 countries:

Windsor

Coco

Lufen

Nautilus

Frontera

Kanalis

Gulfeńn (which is split into more regions, or provinces)

(I will draw a better quality map someday 😔)

I made the map a little less of one big supercontinent, and I thought that making this world feel a little bigger would help make this story feel more vast without needing to leave the planet (I am never forgiving Kazu for that goofy ending in book 7, it literally came out of nowhere)

I will update this map later (I’m going to move the mountain range in Gulfeńn to the coast, so that geographically it makes a little sense as to why that whole area is an arid desert, and extend the mountain range up up north a bit)

During the war all the western countries are known as the Common Alliance (or at least, it will be if I don’t think of a less cheesy name). The best way to think about these countries is this:

(The flags are a bit ugly, but I tried my best 😭)

Windsor:

NOT occupied by Gulfeńn yet

the superpower of the CA

It’s really cold up there

Like… wet and cold

This place is just 1940’s England

Their national animal is the whale

I imagine Windsorian cities looking like Dunwall from Dishonored

Coco:

I haven’t come up with much other than it’s a small nation with not that much to offer in the way of trade, and was actually going through negotiations to become a part of Lufen before the war

Not occupied by Gulfeńn

Nautilus:

They are only partially occupied by Gulfeńn

The “front line” country

A lot of citizens have been displaced from here

This country (in my head at least) reminds me a little of Ireland

Frontera:

Completely occupied by Gulfeńn

A lot of elves actually live here

Human-Elf relations here is a lot more chill than in… say Windsor

Kanalis:

Also completely occupied by Gulfeńn

Basically if Chicago was a country

I always read Enzo and Rico’s lines in a Chicagoan accent, because they have Italian names 🤷‍♂️

Lufen:

‘MERICA RAAAHHHH 🦅🦅🦅

Idk, I have it in my head that this is cowboy country

This place is a lot looser than The boarder countries or Windsor

It’s a bunch of farmland broken up by forest, plains, and towns (kinda like where I live)

These guys are technically neutral, but have been sending supplies to Windsor

I will have a separate post for Gulfeńn (and why I am spelling it like that), but for now I want to focus on the human countries.

You might be wondering… how exactly did humans end up on Alledia anyways? Well my friend, I have a surprisingly simple answer for you!

I don’t fully know :/

I’d like to think they stumbled across the “Gate” (or portal thingy that Emily stumbled into) at some point hundreds of years ago, and adapted accordingly… but that leaves a couple of plot holes (how did that many people fit through the Gate? How did people of that many different cultures come all at once?) so let’s just not think about that for now 😅

The time period in which this will be set is more so in the 1930’s-1940’s. Because this is fantasy, we don’t have to be exact, and we can be a bit more flexible with “historical accuracy” or whatever.

I feel like a war oriented story such as this would benefit more from a Dieselpunk aesthetic. That way we have a bit of the modern age to work with, in terms of technology, and a thematic framework for the story right off the bat.

Here is an example of Dieselpunk! This piece is called Gray Monster by Jakub Rozalski:

I think mechs, blimps, and wartime would work perfectly with this genre of punk

final quick note, in my version of this story there are a couple different powers at play: The Common Alliance (bad-ish guys), The Resistance (okay guys), Gulfeńn (bad-ish guys), Ceilis (meh guys), and the Luna Moth Crew (good guys!)

Remember, this is an ongoing WAR. It is NOT a good time to live in Alledia, and the world should feel as such. With that being said, this is not going to be a “gritty” depressing story. I still want to capture the magic that the early books had. We can still have some fun with it!

Let me know what you think and if I should change anything :D

#amulet series #amulet comic #Cam’sAmuletRewrite #kazu kibuishi #duuuudeeeee this took me so long to get the formatting to work 😭#Tumblr ATE like half my paragraphs #anywho… I am super stoked to share my thoughts on elven culture #’cause that’s kinda what started all this #and then after that I will show y’all my redesigns! Which I am also super stoked about

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 5 months

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Ramones - The Job That Ate My Brain

#Ramones #Mondo Bizarro #The Job That Ate My Brain #Format:#CD #Album #Released:#Sep 14 #1992 #Punk #classic rock #USA

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attroxx · 1 year

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while i enjoy rping here sometimes i just wanna write on disco cause i’m too lazy to open my laptop and format posts ☹️ rip my lazy ass

#if any of y’all ever wanna rp on disco im down #i am not in the mood to open my laptop rn or format a bunch of shit djjdjdjd #so i’ll be on later today probably #i just ate lunch so that might be why #im in a food coma now 🤡#〈 ooc. ★ 〉#〈 mobile post. ★ 〉

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good-beanswrites · 1 year

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Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Friendship

Python’s Ten-Step Guide to Discovering You’re Aromantic

First, you need to notice something is different between you and your best friend. Do it nice and early, when he reads you storybooks of heroes and kings and battles that all culminate in a beautiful wedding. Your friend likes looking at the illustrations of the knight rescuing their lover. He can’t rest until he’s finished reading the last page. Stop him to look at the pictures of the fights. Enjoy the dragons. Enjoy the hero’s sword. When you’re alone, be sure to close the book before the lovers even reunite, because you’re excited that he won the battle using all his strength and valor, and isn’t that enough?

Spend your childhood hating every Day of Devotion to varying degrees. You can start off enjoying it, if you’d like: confess nonexistent feelings to a pretty thing in the hopes it’ll do you some good. Give flowers to the cute neighbor only to feel nothing at his rejection. Eventually, though, realize that something about the day pisses you off. You won’t be able to put your finger on it (it’s only step 2, after all).

Worry that your best friend is the problem, and far too sentimental over everyone and everything. He’s definitely not the norm you should be comparing yourself against. Worry your pops is the problem. You know he never loved your mother, you’d never seen him love anyone, maybe this all started with him somehow. Then, worry that you are the problem. Spend sleepless nights and miserable days wondering why the goddess put you together with something missing on the inside. Try to spend as little time as possible on this one, but it’s okay if it takes a while.

One particularly quiet night, break into your friend’s father’s lord’s library. A little crime is necessary in affairs like this. You’re not the quickest reader, but maybe there’s something in here that you’ve been missing. Even if the bastard doesn’t have any books on the subject – flip through those pages of romance, courting, soulmates, and the power of love until you get fed up and leave with nothing to show for it.

Court everyone you possibly have a chance with in your little village. Silently compare yourself with the way your best friend talks about the butcher’s daughter, then break off each courtship when it doesn’t match up. Find someone new, they might be the right one. Take up archery to impress your potential dates. Learn all sorts of songs on your cittern (you’ll prefer the dances, but you have to learn the love songs because that’s all people will request). Leap into every gossipy conversation you can about affairs and crushes and relationships. Lend an ear to romantic tales about everyone from your neighbor to the head of Zofian knights. Throw yourself into it with a flirtatious fervor until you no longer recognize yourself.

Next, you need to undo everything you just did. (Well, you can keep up the cittern playing. That will still help you take a date to bed now and again.) Look yourself in the mirror one day, and take down the act. Find yourself again. Be at some kind of peace with it. If there’s anyone you’re going to learn to love in your life, it’s going to be you. Start that right now, while staring in the mirror and listening to your friend chatter on in the other room, since he invited you over to offer comfort after your latest, and last, breakup. You don’t really need the big to-do, but you do enjoy the company.

Gather up the courage to broach the subject with your friend. Don’t do it like a normal, composed person. No – save up the thoughts for a long while, waiting until you’re at a real low point. You’ve got to be in the dumps for more reasons than this alone, but this is the main thing that comes spilling out of you as you curse the world, the gods, and yourself.

Now, this is the best step because you don’t even need to do anything. You may think that you will. You may have spent the past few steps preparing for the worst. But really, you don’t need to do a thing. Let your best friend pull you close. Let him hold you for a minute, assuring there’s nothing wrong with you. Let him say how much he cares about you. How he wouldn’t want you any other way. Let him buy you a drink, because he says it’s something that you should take pride in.

Celebrate. Celebrate. It’s important that you repeat this step. Do it as often as possible. Repeat it every single day of your goddamn life.

Now that you’ve got yourself all figured out, you can help out some others along the way. You’ll find people just like you, and people nothing like you who show what else is possible. There will be that kind pegasus knight you get talking with late into the night. That young and withdrawn mage boy. The boisterous footsoldier. The imposing swordsman who was occasionally a swordswoman. The mysterious redhead who’s feeling as if something important is missing. Remember your own pain, and your relief, and offer him some of it.

(It’s not an official step, but make sure you’re getting your share of shuteye the whole time. This shit is exhausting and you deserve a break. Godspeed.)

#fe aspec week 2023 #fe echoes #fe python #fe forsyth #fire emblem echoes #fire emblem python #fire emblem forsyth #fanfic #idk why but i think how-to formats are so fun for fiction lol #i think python would be really worried that forsyth wouldnt understand as the sappiest romantic hed ever met #and of course forsyth is the biggest ally in valentia #my tablet ate my art for day 3 rip - but otherwise ive got a lil somethin for each day :)) im so excited!

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the-tummy-closet · 2 years

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Past-Midnight Snack

((A/N: Heyy I hope you like this :) these are my OCs (which I changed the names of just in case) and they are bestie partners-in-crime mercs. And they only have a few supernatural things going for them!! It's normal in their sort of cut-throat big city. Enjoy!! - Cherricharlie))

- - -

"You wanna watch Dance Moms or The Office?" Skylar asks, legs propped up on the table, remote hanging languidly from their hand.

"Can't we watch something that's less dramatic? More action, maybe?" Mason says, folding and placing his sunglasses on the table- it's way too dark to have them on, even for his usual insistence on wearing them.

The sun is past set, and the only light on in the apartment is the flatscreen TV, illuminating the two's faces like they were phantoms. The blinds remain open, letting a light blend of neons shine onto the floor at the window. A boom sounds off and the two don't do much besides blink.

"Dance Moms it is." The remote is discarded to the cushions as the show starts.

Mason groans, sliding off the leather couch at snail speed.

"It's literally my turn to choose. Shut the fuck up, they're already pulling each other's wigs off. Is that not action-packed??" Skylar kicks him in the side of his ribs on his way down to the floor, but Mason just slouches further.

"But they do that every episode, Skylar."

"Your little dudes slow-motion punch each other every episode too, Mace. We get it, you want to bruise him. Kinky for real." They lean forward and grab his arm, tugging.

He pushes himself up like the world is weighing down on him and sits on the couch heavily, turning to extend his legs over Skylar's lap. "Well, if you like it that much, you'll have no problem not getting up." Mason smirks.

"You act like you just did something. Bruh." Skylar's wings fidget and settle as they lean against the back of the couch. "I love this shit. I mean, I could also totally just look out the window, to be honest. But sometimes that's so lame, and this is so.. Making me invested. Not like that dude who totally took the L delivering your neighbor's live mice."

Mason nods slowly and vigorously. "The difference is that we can mute Dance Moms."

"Hah, tell me about it." The two sit in a tired and drowsy silence, occasionally bantering for a few episodes.

Today was one of those separate jobs days. Mason was typically hired when someone needed something done quickly and/or quietly, and Skylar was better at undercover socialization and manipulation. Together they could do either or, but both did what they could to get money and get a reputation, akin to the rest of the city. In the end, both of them stumbled home at around the same time that night, prompting a change in clothes and for Skylar to steal the remote.

Skylar didn't think they would have a problem with not getting up until they started to feel hungry. And really there was no way they were about to complain when they already acted like it was no big deal that Mason was preventing them from moving, but hell if they weren't starving. The last time they would have eaten had to be around eleven that morning; brunch with Alisa. Which was fourteen hours ago. Skylar internally groaned at the realization as they glanced behind them at the clock on the microwave, which taunted them with a tick from 1:24 AM to 1:25.

At their movement, Mason peeled open his eyes to glance up at them, half-lidded and slightly gruff. "Tired of Dance Moms? It's literally putting me to sleep, so I would understand."

"No, dumbass. I can't move because your stupid legs are on me."

"I thought you wouldn't have a problem with that?" Mason closed his eyes and smiled, tilting his head back over the armrest of the couch.

Skylar pressed their lips together- damn. "I don't! My legs are just, uh, asleep. Come on, Mace, pleeaaseee??? We can go to bed, I'll turn off your 'favorite' show, and we can wake up tomorrow- refreshed and not crampy."

Mason looked back up at Skylar, unamused. Then, with a supernatural breakneck speed that they had grown familiar with, swung his legs to the side like a gymnast who saw a spider on their beam. Their brief freedom was immediately taken away by his torso on their lap instead. "Nope." He said, a smile on his face as one arm covered his eyes.

"You still had that in you this whole time?" Skylar gawked. Mason smiled and nodded in response. "Well, do it again and get the hell off of me!" They whined, with no real malice in the plea.

"Sorry, Skylar. That was my last one for the night. I mean it."

"Oh, fuck you. Kill yourself. I mean it," Then, softer "not actually on that last part." Skylar gently slapped Mason, before sinking into the couch, further resigned to their fate. At least the remote was within reach; their eyes were burning off. They turned off the TV and reveled in the silence of the room. The busy city outside served as white noise, drifting in the room gently and blanketing the room in comforting silence.

Skylar quickly learned that the harsh noise of some crazy dance moms screaming was the only thing covering up their stomach growling. The long gurgle was easily heard in the otherwise quiet room, and Mason was definitely close enough to hear now. They shifted awkwardly, to let their wings rest over the back of the couch and give their spine a break, but to also get comfortable since Mason was starting to get up, slowly this time. Their wings started to bristle, nervous of Mason's reaction.

"That you?" He asked, using his elbows and forearms to prop himself up.

"No, it was the tiger I'm illegally hiding in the closet. Yes, it was me. Are you gonna let me get up or are you gonna let me starve?" Skylar responded, voice dropping low in embarrassment.

"You could've just said so, Sky." Mason responded, a serious tone with a playful jab.

He pushes himself up to sit up and Skylar finally gets the relief of stretching their legs with a satisfied groan. A hand flies to their stomach and they start to rub it, accompanied by a muttered "Ah, fuck…" as it made a deep, hollow-sounding growl with a high-pitched squelch at the end.

"Jesus, Skylar. I'll grab you a snack, you stay there." Mason stood with a bit more urgency.

"I finally can use my legs and you're doing it for me, half asleep?" Skylar asked. "You're too kind."

Mason ignored this as he slowly navigated the dark apartment to his kitchen. It was small, and he could still be heard without speaking up much in the next area. "When's the last time you ate?"

"With Alisa. Sausage and egg breakfast sandwich. She thought it was weird that I put tabasco sauce on it." They recalled, but their stomach wasn't immune to thinking about food, and gave another displeased groan.

"And you're always telling me to take better care of myself," Mason shook his head, finding pita and mildly spicy hummus in his pantry, which he knew Skylar would have a taste for. "If you went to sleep, you wouldn't have eaten in a full twenty-four hours." He continued, bringing the dish over to the couch.

"You were intent on keeping me on the couch! Sorry you couldn't take a hint over Dance Moms though. My b."

While Mason's eyes typically went unseen by most under his shades, he wasn't wearing them at the moment. Skylar could make out through the dark that he had rolled them in a mocking manner.

"Dance Moms: Now more important than eating. Got it. Do you want this or not?" He waved the dish around, the pita slices threatening to teeter off. Skylar had to swallow; their mouth was watering like crazy.

"Please." They muttered, staring the dish down, their hand now firmly against their discontented stomach, which had started to growl intensely in anticipation. "My stomach's mad at you, by the way." They added with a pout, lifting their hand so Mason could hear the full extent of its roiling complaints.

"Consider this my apology." Mason sighed as he handed Skylar the plate and plopped down next to them. Skylar dug in quickly, scooping a load of hummus onto a slice and shoving it in their mouth, silent as they repeated the action before even swallowing.

Mason felt like he could continue teasing them, but with the gusto that they were eating and not even quipping in between pieces, he decided to let off. They started to get to the last couple of pieces before they stopped momentarily. "Uh, Mace, do you want some?" They offered, moving the plate towards him.

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Big dinner tonight." He patted his stomach, which was long done with sending his meal to his intestines, but he could still remember the fullness, which had easily been making him very drowsy. "Stomach got kind of jostled on the ride home, so no more appetite, but I don't know what I expected from a dinner at Mami's."

"Aw, you went to Mami's without me?" Skylar asked, disappointed.

"She's my grandmother, Skylar."

"Oh, come on, you can share her."

Mason made a noise along the lines of surrender, as Skylar continued to cram the rest of their snack into their face with urgency. "You can come next time. I had to have eaten like twenty of those meatballs." He offered.

"Mmm.. Shut up, I'm supposed to be content now." Skylar said, but sounded less on edge and more placated than anything, putting the now empty plate on the table and reclining. They stretched out their wings, draping them around the back of the couch. Their stomach was relatively quiet now, the only sounds coming from it being the result of it working away on their snack. "I accept your apology, by the way. My stomach definitely does."

The two sat in silence, the only noise back to being faint city arguments off in the distance and the occasional digestive grumble of Skylar's sated stomach. "Mace?" They said to the darkness, a half-asleep acknowledgment hum coming from his direction. "You can come back if you want." They patted their lap. "I don't care about sleeping sitting up. You're warm."

"What, am I your personal heater?" He joked, but lowered himself back down anyways, using Skylar's lap as a pillow. Their stomach was more audible up close, and he could hear a constant stream of calmly digesting burbles, which was pretty relaxing. The sound of gas dislodging in their gut could be heard making its way up.

"Hm. Yeah, I guess so. Urp-" Skylar belched. The speed of their eating caused a lot of air to be swallowed, and they briefly pounded on their chest with their fist to dislodge another, louder belch, prompting a sigh of relief. "G'night, Mace." Skylar muttered, tilting their head.

"Night, Skylar." He responded, closing his eyes for the night in turn. The two fell asleep on the couch, with no care about how they would wake up with muscle soreness in the morning. They were just glad both of them were content and happy. For now.

#hunger #tummy noises #burping #Cherricharlie #from the mod: hey just to let you know :0 tumblr ate the formatting on this #I did my best to rearrange it in what seemed like an accurate way but #if I messed anything up [like which dialogue goes with which character] feel free to let me know

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