#also think it might explain the weirdness with her touching M’s face (almost exactly like s1e6) but then switching to Rand talk immediately

[ephemeral-winter]

woke up too early for whatever reason and now cannot fall back asleep or even really relax because i immediately started thinking about my girls and got too sad.

[stevenbasic]

“Knock-knock!” I heard at the door of my office, startling me. I was nearly - jesus - an hour into this video call with the Study Coordinator from Evolution, and had obviously lost track of time.  “Where’s my favorite patient?!?’ called the voice. It was Vida, my Nurse Practitioner, entering with a broad smile, a procedure tray and someone else and causing me to look up from my computer screen. “Time for your mediciiine…” In place of her usual white clinic jacket, she was wearing a tailored black jacket over a black, figure-hugging, dress, cut low.

Immediately I said my abrupt goodbyes to Gianna, over chat, and shut down the window right as she was, good lord, blowing me a kiss. At the same time I looked up and gave my wan smile of greeting to Vida and the generously curvy blond woman who’d entered with her…

“This is Morgan, if you two haven’t met yet,” Vida said, as she briskly approached my desk, high heels clacking. Trailing behind her a few steps was a woman in a white blouse and tan leggings - a big woman - broad of shoulder, wide of hip, huge of chest, standing taller than Vida by five or six inches...and myself even more, “She’s a Nurse Practitioner too, from Evolution until just yesterday, when she joined us.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Dr. J…” Morgan purred, in a voice deeper, richer than Vida’s. There was a queer smile on her face and a hint of a vaguely Eastern European accent in her words, one that she was obviously trying to hide. For now she was hanging back, taking her cues from Vida as the younger but more senior woman began to prepare her tray behind my desk to my left. “Nurse Vida is training me today how to take the care of you.”

“H-hi, uh, Morgan,” I replied, immediately sensing that that was not this woman’s given name, and remembering it was time again for my booster shot. The thought, for some reason, brought me a little thrill, remembering how it made me feel last week…but was it also responsible for the 8 pounds I’d lost since then? “But, um, what do you m-”

Interrupting my concerns, Vida chuckled. “Oh, don’t get worried, doc. I just figured that the more of us that know how to do this for you, the better,” she explained, opening the strange black box in which the vitamin B12/D/K booster vial was packaged. I noticed the familiar, strange blue tint of the liquid as Vida removed it along with the pre-packaged syringe. “And Morgan here has lots of experience.” At that, Vida nodded up at Morgan; the larger woman took that as a cue to move around the other side of my desk, to my right, and come to stand alongside me there. I was flanked.

“I-is that right, Morgan?” I asked, hearing the nerves starting to quiver in my voice. I hated needles, I hated them. But this single, combination shot was much better than three separate ones. “Wh-what did you do at Evolution?” I asked, not able to recall her resume as I looked up at her; she was gazing down at me, over the shelf of her formidable bosom. I was hoping that, if she had started seeing patients today, that she had been more buttoned up during the workday. The cleavage she was showing at this moment, over the neckline of her overmatched white blouse, was vast.

“At the Evolution Pharmaceuticals?” she replied, the accent in her voice unable to camouflage itself through the words, “There, I was with research team, taking care of study subjects. But before, I was in pediatrics ward, with preemies, the NICU.” She looked down on me with a crooked smile, and seemed to be resisting reaching out her hand to me. Instead, she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair. “I love holding little bodies.”

“Haha well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it, Dr. J?” Vida added, explaining to Morgan and pursing her full, plump, latin lips, “This young man has lost a few inches recently and we need to make sure he gets his vitamins.” With that, Vida beamed down at me and released  her thick mane of dark hair from the conservative bun she’d been wearing for the workday. A wave of the now-ubiquitous perfume in this place flowed over me, and I felt a stirring between my legs. I had been intermittently hard during my video call with Gianna - her tits were unbelievable - and I was afraid now that I might swell to some obvious, inappropriate monster of a boner with these women so close. “Lucky for him he has his girls to take care of him,” Vida concluded. The vial and syringe, for the moment, laid inert on the tray.

I tried to focus. ”I, heh heh, don’t know if I need someone to ‘take care of me’...” I spoke, trying to sound relaxed as Morgan’s left hand finally did come to rest on my right shoulder. I’d honestly just met this woman, but she was being very…familiar. Vida as well; she was generally a bit more aloof than she seemed today. It was like there was something weird in the air, something bringing them closer.

“That's silly,” Vida responded, “Even doctors need someone to look after them.” At that, she began to remove her black jacket, and laid it on my desk, as if preparing herself for her task. Underneath she wore a clingy black tube dress that hugged her hourglass figure and revealed her trim shoulders and the upper swells of her full chest; she watched as I struggled not to look at her body. “Who do you see for a PCP?”

“uh…” I began, trying to recall my last visit to a doctor’s office outside of this one, “…no one?”

“You mean…” Vida asked with exaggerated concern, as she herself put a hand on my other shoulder, leaning in to me and twirling a lock of thick, raven hair, “you don’t have a Primary??”

“N-no I, uh-“

”Well, that’s no good,” Vida concluded, standing straight and looking across me at her fellow nurse, “Don't you agree, Morgan?”

”Oh yes,” Morgan concurred, her dimpled smile betraying her amusement, stepping a touch closer, “You need the primary...care...provider.”

“That settles it,” Vida decided, removing her right hand from me to place both it and her left one on her broad hips, in determination, “I’m going to be your PCP from now on.” Her action had drawn my eyes to her remarkably tiny waist and shit this girl had some curves. “I’ll contact our insurance company, do all the paperwork. How does that sound?”

The big woman to my right was giggling, and her hand had begun to idly caress my shoulder.

“Uh, th-that’s fine…” I agreed.

“So,” Vida finally asked, with a wry smile, “does my patient have any questions before we get started?”

Ugh, right…the injection. “Well, um, honestly…” I began, knowing I should at least address the concerns I had over this combo B12/D/K formulation, “I’m not sure it’s working. I think I’ve lost weight since last week, and even maybe almost an inch…”

“That’s ridiculous. You must have measured wrong last time, used a bad scale,” Vida replied, trying to reassure me, “But…do you think you need to go out and get checked..?”

At that, Vida herself moved in closer, and I saw Morgan, to my right, turn her thick body more towards me. Both women looked down at me.

“Or do you want to let us take care of you..?” Vida finished. It felt like a challenge, and I sensed something, an inner struggle inside myself. The logical, intelligent practitioner who cared for his health wanted to answer one way, bring a halt to something that was dangerous, possibly ruining my life. But another part of me, the one that was feeling the cock growing once again down my right thigh in tribute to the ever-more enveloping warmth of these women, just wanted to say-

“n-no…I think I’m alright,” I answered, “let’s go ahead with the shot. I’ll be fine.”

If I had known then what I know now, that my mental capacity for rational thought in the face of arousal had been already crippled by foreign agents? If I had known that I was being purposefully enslaved, drowned more and more every day in the sea of pheromones and womanly curves in which I swam? WelI, I would have run screaming. Or, then again...would I?.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Vida assured me. Her voice had dropped low, almost hypnotic, “You don’t need to go out and see any other specialists. We’ve got everything you need right here…” She was beginning to prepare the injection, now, drawing the blue liquid from the vial up into the syringe.

“Yes, everything,” Morgan agreed, looming over me now so close to my right, her hips and belly blocking out the world behind her. Her scent was warm, earthy. Between it and Vida’s reassuring tone, I felt powerless to do anything but trust these women.

“But,” Vida began again, inspecting the now-filled glass syringe, “if you are still shrinking, lots of guys would be jealous. Don’t you think, Morgan? Here, take this-” She handed a band-aid across me to her fellow nurse.

wh-what?

“Oh, yes,” Morgan concurred, her voice husky, unwrapping the band-aid, preparing it, “very jealous.”

”What…what do you mean?” I asked, confused, looking from one woman to the next, up at them. Without even being told, I had begun rolling up my sleeve.

Vida chuckled. “Oh, you know, the whole ‘vulni-chic’ thing,” she answered, holding the prepared injection now in her right hand, “you’d get very popular if you lost another-“

“One meter?” Morgan said, giggling in her deeper, richer tone, “Two?”

“haha I’d disappear…” I joked, feeling a wave of warmth coming from Morgan’s body to my right, “just like, haha…”

“It’s not a joke, Dr. J,” Vida said, her voice plain, suddenly, clinical, “it’s a thing. Here, get ready-“

“Ouch!!!”

She’d jabbed me, in the left shoulder, with the shot.

Vida spoke as she pressed the plunger, pushing the blue liquid into my deltoid. “It’s not just a fad for women, guys these days are admitting it, too…” she said as she drew the needle out of my arm. Immediately I’d felt it entering my body, like a milky warmth. “Good boy,” she praised, “Band aid?”

“Thanks,” I replied without thinking, watching as Morgan leaned her big torso across me as I turned in my chair towards her, presenting my left shoulder. She was nearly smothering me with her big breasts as she applied the bandage, and I did everything I could not to goggle at the wobbling flesh of her full, tan cleavage. My roving eyes made me realize that this generously endowed woman was wearing a very thin bra, or possibly none at all. Somehow, though, she was still so firm, with a natural buoyancy that kept her tits high and proud on her chest. My gaze could not get enough. But then eyes fluttered as I was assaulted by both an overwhelming breath of her perfume and the first rush of pleasure from the shot. I began to lower my sleeve, rubbing my arm as I looked up at her, smiling down at me as she finally stood up and away.

“I mean it, with the shrinking,” Vida started again, watching me with an appraising eye as I recovered from my shot, buttoned my sleeve, “have you seen Melissa’s new Instagram post?”

With the butterflies? I didn’t want to admit anything.

“The guys that follow her, the simps,” she continued, “they talk about wanting to be like bugs, crawling into her breasts.” She was replacing the syringe, carefully putting it and the vial back into the box. “It’s all over the place, everywhere, though no ones really talking about it yet,” she said, as she closed the black container, “guys wanting to be smaller, weaker than us. Wanting to become inferior, more passive, more submissive.”

She looked down at me and smiled, watching as the effects of the injection began to take hold. Even more strongly than last time, I was being gripped by a pleasant wave of lethargy, relaxation.

“Guys want to be small, these days,” Vida said, “and we’d like it that way too, wouldn’t we, Morgan?””

To my right I heard Morgan purr, a little grunt. “Yes, Nurse Vida,” she said, her voice low and struggling with arousal, “we would like it very much.” I had the feeling she was holding back her true feelings, in restrained understatement.

Vida laughed, casually. “It’s weird, all these changes in gender dynamics,” she continued, brushing a lock of my hair behind my left ear, “the new thing is bigger women, smaller men. Here, look at Morgan, perfect example…”

I turned, looked up at the smiling behemoth of a woman.

“She’s probably bigger than you ever were,” Vida continued, “taller, heavier, thicker everywhere.”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed, seeming to rise up, grow bigger, heavier, right in front of my eyes, “I weigh much, much more than the you.”

“And, you have to admit…” Vida asked, watching me look up at the huge, busty blond woman, who was now absolutely dwarfing me in my seat and could probably lift me like a child, “that’s kinda sexy, right?”

“I, uh….” I began, not knowing what to say. My erection was getting painful, now, contorted as it was in my pants, trying to stretch down my right thigh.

Vida spoke again, now holding my head in place by my cheek and jaw, so all I saw was Morgan. “So, even if you are getting smaller...lots of us would like that.”

I sat there, in the building afterglow of my injection, and looked at this woman’s body. It was, in all ways, so much bigger than my own. Thicker thighs, wider hips. Her arms were stronger than mine, her shoulders broader. Standing aside her, I would look puny. Even Vida - though she stood roughly my height, maybe an inch or two more - her hourglass figure and womanly hips made her body just that much more than mine.

”Dr. J,” Vida said, pulling me from my reverie, but not releasing my face from her hand’s gentle embrace, “You look like you need to go lay down. We’d take you up to bed ourselves but we have an important girl meeting to get to, don’t we Morgan?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, though never taking her eyes or dimpled smile from me, “Very important.” I watched as she looked down on me, regarded me, considered me. “But I promise. Next time you can go to the sleep in my lap,” she said, “I have a very nice lap.” With that, Morgan bent at the waist a bit, to gently slap her prodigious thighs. My eyes watched them jiggle, and then her hands come up to the collar of her blouse, hoisting her breasts. “Or, if not on lap, we find somewhere else…”

“Haha okay,” Vida laughed, finally releasing my head but smiling as I didn’t turn away from the cleavage into which I was now dumbly gazing, in my vitamin-fueled haze imagining myself sinking into it like a caterpillar, cocooned in womanly warmth. “I’ll get a couple of the MA’s to get you upstairs…”

=========================================

more Vida & Morgan imagery, more posts, more more more at my Patreon.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

[heli0s-writes]

DEADCRUSH

Summary: Deadcrush, a game played based on the question “what historical figure would I want to take on a date if they were alive today?”

A/N: 4k word count because I can’t be brief about anything. Also mentions age difference, and questionable internet humor. Also now with Part 2! Oh my god and Part 3!

Bag of Tricks One-Shots Masterlist

It’s in the middle of receiving a blow to his jaw when Bucky hears your voice whistle through the air above him.

“No way!” You’re yelling, “That’s sick, Peter!”

He glances up for half a second to see you swinging against the New York backdrop, left hand raised and entombed by a thick knot of webbing from Parker who’s launching you and himself across the skyline. Bucky dodges another fist and by the time he’s knocked out the thug trying to get fresh with him, you’ve already finished your trajectory and bowled over a cluster of bodies. The ground’s cracked where you made your descent in the distance, and Parker lands softly next to you.

“Come on!” He cries, pitch rising, “You picked Rasputin!”

You respond with a maniacal giggle. “He’s Russia’s greatest love machine!” With a flick of your wrist, you condescendingly scoff. “Dude, Anne Frank? She was twelve.”

“Rasputin was like a million! And insane! Anne Frank is close to my age, at least. And this is entirely hypothetical—I'm imagining a future with her where she’s older than me. I think we’d totally get along, I read her diary and everything- I mean, we’re so close! Fine--” Parker crosses his arms.

“Marie Curie.”

Your eyes catch Bucky looking and you give him a wide smile and a small wave before you pivot back to Peter. Bucky’s brow furrows even deeper before he turns and heads towards Steve who’s winding down at the end of his own fight. Kids are fucking weird, he thinks a little bitterly, as you and Parker squabble on in the distance.

-

In the middle of dinner, as he’s twisting a ream of spaghetti onto his fork, you and Parker stand on the balcony eating what looks like a whole baguette smeared with jelly. Through the glass door, Parker crunches into it before handing the baguette off to you. He’s gesturing wildly and brushing crumbs off his suit.

You take a bite too large for your mouth and the crust crumbles down your chin, chased by a dribble of jelly. You level your palm and start measuring Peter’s height much to his indignance, and Bucky has to turn around before he loses his appetite completely. He hears your laughter muffled through the door. Your hand is clasped on Parker’s shoulder in an attempt to hold yourself up.

You’re a funny one. Always joking and cheerful. You’ve been a part of the team for the past six months and you’re closest to Parker both in demeanor and in age, but sometimes Bucky finds you up late at night and the two of you sit at the table over a cup of tea.

You show him inexplicable and strange images from your phone and try your best to explain to him why the frog is on the unicycle and what the hell “yeet” actually means. Once, you showed him a video about twerking but when you jokingly proposed that you might teach him instead, he nearly knocked the table over by jerking up, ready to take off.

It always ends with joyful tears in the corners of your eyes.

It makes him a little bit angry with himself because he really has no right to even be talking to you. Cryrosleep aside, he’s almost old enough to be your father. But when your laughter lights up the room, it burns those harsh thoughts from his brain.

He’d never admit it, but when he’s awake after tossing for hours, he hopes you’re in the kitchen.

The door swings open and in-between mouthfuls, Parker is baffled, “Who is that?”

“Ancient poet.” You answer, popping a finger in your mouth, “My girl! Island of Lesbos. She definitely knew how to...” You waggle your eyebrows, make a V-shape with your fingers, and lewdly run your tongue up and down between them. Bucky thinks he sees you looking at him, but he feels himself flushing at your comment and pretends like he’s enthralled with spaghetti.

“Dude. Stop it.” Peter moans.

-

In the middle of movie night, another showing of Mary Poppins, you and Parker once again tuck away into the corner of the Stark auditorium with a shared blanket and chatter vehemently. Bucky doesn’t know which is more irritating—Van Dyke’s terrible accent, or the fact that the two of you are attached by the hip today.

“Marilyn Monroe!” Parker whispers.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky watches you contemplate your reply before leaning in impossibly close to Peter. The young man’s jaw clenches as his eyes widen like saucers. He shoots Bucky a look, as if catching him eavesdropping.

“What!?” Peter shrieks.

The entire room turns to look at the two of you. You clamp your hand over Peter’s mouth, bury your face into the side of his head.

“That’s the safest one!” You say.

“No! No, it’s definitely not safe!” He responds back, voice cracking slightly and pushing your face away when your hair tickles him. “Gettoffa— God! Are you serious!?”

“Okay, what the hell is this conversation?” Natasha pauses the movie and leans over the back of the recliner.

Peter pulls the cover over his face and you start giggling again.

“We’re talking about our DC’s.” You finally admit, pausing enough to calm yourself.

“DC’s?” Steve questions.

“Dead crushes.” There it is again- that little look you send his way. He thinks three times is at least one too many to be just a dream.

“Dead-what-now?” Sam is incredulous.

“You guys have never played this game before? You know, pick one person from history who you’d take out to dinner if circumstances made it possible.”

Peter pokes his head out, “And look, please tell her that all of my choices are perfectly reasonable! Anne Frank? Marilyn Monroe? Marie Curie? She picked Rasputin! And not because of that weird old song.”

You scoff because Boney M is a fine example of industry-bottled pop music and beat Milli Vanilli as the façade of genuine artistry by miles.

“Rasputin’s a bit dark, isn’t he?” Steve shakes his head.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you land your gaze on Natasha with a sly smirk.

“Who would you pick, sexy international Russian spy? Let’s get a peek into that gorgeous red head of yours.” She licks her lips at your overt flirtation and flips her hair over her shoulder.

Bucky folds his arms over his chest and leans back into the chair he’s on. This was your game—saddling up to people with effortless compliments and humor, reading a personality so well and maneuvering yourself to fit just right into their expectations. Who else could be so forward with Natasha, joking or otherwise? Who else would suggest teaching him how to twerk? Fuck.

Natasha mulls the question over for a second, “Stalin. I’d take him to dinner. And then to his grave.”

There’s an exasperated sound that escapes your lips. “Okay, that’s not really how the game works. This is not supposed to be a political commentary- it's a genuine display of … attraction!”

“To corpses.” Bucky mutters.

“Okay, that’s dark.” You and Peter exhale in unison. The giggles that escape both of you as you start calling “jinx” on each other before wrestling on that tiny fucking sofa chair makes him bite back a growl. From the couch to his left, Steve notices.

-

In the middle of pouring scalding water into a plain white mug, Bucky feels a tap on his shoulder.

“No.” He greets the finger. “Nope. Steve. Goodnight, jerk.”

“You’re actin’ like a kid, Buck.”

Bucky huffs as he sets the kettle back down with a clatter on the stovetop.

“No.” The problem is that I’m not the kid, Bucky scolds himself for even having the thought surface.

Steve half-heartedly sighs because Bucky is so smitten it’s almost painful to watch. It’s obvious to him and the rest of the team that the two of you dance around each other under the pretense of professionalism, but he knows that the laughter coming from down the hallway late at night is more meaningful than a work relationship.

The first time Steve had seen Bucky lean into a friendly touch was when you had placed your hand on his back, steadying yourself as you fixed your shoe. It was such an offhanded gesture, and Bucky tensed briefly before holding out his arm for you. You didn’t realize his intention and took his entire vibranium hand with a firm squeeze before waltzing off, leaving him to gaze after your disappearing trail. That was three weeks into Bucky’s time at the compound, and your fourth month. It opened Steve’s eyes to a possibility he hadn’t yet entertained.

Steve thinks part of how easily you had infiltrated Bucky’s stonewall demeanor is, in fact, your age. You were right on the cusp of balancing maturity and immaturity, often teetering into the immature waters out of habit. You stayed up late for no reason, played video games for hours, ate all sorts of odd meals with no care for your health, and always gladly shared anything that made you smile. It was infectious. You lacked the exact type of self-awareness everyone else had that made them so careful with Buck— and he let you slip through the cracks effortlessly.

It’s your childlike happiness that’s done it for Bucky. Even though it’s now become a point of uneasiness for his friend, Steve is thankful that you’re exactly how old you are. It’s helped him more than harmed him so far.

Bucky takes a sip of his peppermint and lemon tea and leans against the counter. Steve watches with amusement as his shoulders tense when your chortle bounces into the room. You’re telling Peter goodnight as he heads back home to Queens.

“Hey!” You call, “Sunrise tomorrow?”

A faint affirmation is heard before Parker’s whooping whips faintly in the distance, swinging away. The front door closes and you pop into the kitchen wearing nothing but a swimsuit cover-up, full of diamond-shaped holes. A tiny pink bikini peeks out from underneath the pattern. Bucky averts his gaze because the women of his time did not dress like that and he’s not even sure looking in your direction is legal.

“Night swimming?” Steve asks with a smirk at his friend, who turns around to hide the red creeping up his cheeks like vines.

You nod eagerly before opening the pantry and grabbing a box of Oreos from the top shelf. Tucking one into your mouth, you crunch through it and swallow before closing the pantry door and placing the container under your arm. Crumbs fall down your chest and you curse under your breath as you swipe bits of cookie from your top, oblivious to why Steve suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

“Hey me and Double-P are gonna watch the sunrise on top of the Chrysler building tomorrow- you two wanna come? He’ll swing you right up! It’s fun! I’m gonna make breakfast!”

They both shake their head and you mutter something about their loss for a free roller coaster and good view. Bucky and Steve follow your path out the door and hear the patter of your feet before you crash into the deep midnight water with a tremendous cannonball. They watch as your head breaks the surface of ripples before you lean back and squirt water from your mouth like a fountain. Music surges from the outdoor speakers— a seductive Latin Pop tune with hints of reggaeton. You float over to the pool’s edge and throw another cookie in your mouth, bopping along to the groove enthusiastically, shoulders winding to the ebb and flow of water.

“C’mon, Buck.” Steve urges, motioning his head to where you float lazily, watching the moon, nodding to synth beats and timbales drumming. “Forget age… she woulda been your kinda girl back in the day.”

Bucky swallows and turns to his steaming mug, “There were no girls like her back in the day.”

-

It’s in the middle of his nightmare when Bucky jerks awake and smells buttered toast and coffee. It’s still dark out, only four-something, but he stumbles to the restroom and brushes his teeth anyway. When he arrives at the kitchen, you’re standing at the stovetop wearing athletic shorts and bunny slippers. There’s a frilly orange apron tied neatly to your waist, covering a shredded crop-top, and you’re flipping a hearty slice of bread with an egg in the center.

“Hey Sarge.” You smile, “Help yourself to an eggy. Yolk’s runny and dippable, just like God intended.”

He shakes his head no because he knows you’re preparing it for Peter, but sits down on a stool anyway, leaning over the counter to watch you with interest. When one piece of toast cooks, you move to crack fresh pepper and sea salt over another. You also slice tomatoes and rinse fresh basil leaves, tunelessly humming the whole time. When you stifle a yawn with your shoulder, Bucky squints at the tell-tale blue bags under your eyes.

“Again?”

You rub your neck with a guilty smile and take a sip of water, “Got stuck on the internet… reading about… I can’t even... I know I started with Kennedy… but the last browser is bee swarming and royal jelly...”

He laughs when you go off on a rant about how bees communicate with each other, even demonstrating for him something you called a “waggle dance”, and he’s not sure if you’re just making shit up or not but it’s cute as hell when you bend your elbows and shuffle in figure eights on the tile.

“So then, me— a bee— would show you— another bee— this dance… and then you would go find the yummy flower! And did you know bees would dance with excitement depending on how convinced they are about the quality of the flower!? They get excited!” You repeat the same figure eight this time accompanied by elbow flapping and happy buzzing. The sound vibrates between your teeth and sizzles over your lips.

Bucky’s laughing so hard he has to put his face in his hand. Finally, you settle down.

“Now your turn.” You tease. He shakes his head defiantly, eyes still brimming with amusement.

You pour him a steaming mug of coffee and slide it next to his hand with a small smile. There’s a strange light in your bleary eyes as you bite your bottom lip.

A flush suddenly sweeps across your cheeks.

“What?” Bucky asks, taking a slow sip, savoring the bitter taste as it rolls down his throat.

“It’s stupid...it’s nothing.” The awkward laugh coming from your throat makes Bucky shuffle in the stool, wary and slightly concerned. Before you can continue, Steve pokes his head in and announces he’s going for a run and asks you to save him some breakfast when he gets back. Bucky checks the time on the microwave. Almost five.

Something dings on the bar counter and you move to grab your phone, frowning and placing your hands on the ruffles against your hip. A disappointed noise sputters from your mouth before you tear off the apron and turn off the stovetop with a quiet fury. “He cancelled!” You cry, disappointment darkening your features. “I made all this crap!”

Bucky looks over the countertop arrangement of perfectly crispy thick multigrain toast, shiny fried eggs, tupperware containers of tomato and shredded basil, and two thermoses of coffee and juice. Your shoulders slump as you place your hands on your hips and lean back to pop your neck and crack your knuckles. You pick up the trash can and kick off its lid, placing the edge of the gaping dark maw against the counter, holding your arm out to sweep the food in. Your generally pleasant features are stained by a scowl.

He forgets how impulsive you can be.

“Wait!” Bucky yells, reaching across the counter. “I’ll go. I’ll watch the sunrise with you.” When you stare at him in surprise, he quickly glances around the countertops, “Let’s not waste all this. You worked really hard on it.”

A squeal escapes as you drop the trash can and clasp your two hands together in a cheer. “Bucky. You are…” you suck in a deep breath and hold your hands over your heart, “just the best. My number one… Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the one-oh-seventh.”

His heart leaps just a tad as his former title rolls off your tongue almost wistfully. Bucky opens his mouth to ask you what you mean but you’re balancing two containers of foil-wrapped toast, another one of tomato slices and the thermoses are hanging precariously on your middle fingers. Bucky leaps from his seat and takes the food from you, leaving the thermoses in your hand.

“To the roof, Sarge!” You smile, leading the way. He follows closely behind and raises his eyebrow curiously when you keep looking back at him every few steps.

It’s in the middle of biting into the most heavenly piece of toast he’s ever had that Bucky hears you giggle shyly. You’re rarely bashful— usually too sharp-tongued and unfiltered is how most people would describe you. It’s why your best friend is Peter Parker: boy genius, mile-a-minute-mouth.

“What is it?” Bucky’s teeth crunch against the crisp brown edge, the bite of egg sliding over his tongue.

You’re leaned back on your palm, brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth as you chew pensively on a slice of tomato. The sky is a blackened bruise behind you, disappearing into the balm of a soft, glowing orange.

“You were my deadcrush back in the day.” You mutter, hiding your lips with the tomato. Bucky stops mid-chew and freezes completely, unsure if the confession is just another trick his mind is playing on him. Maybe a breeze in the wind just sounds like your voice. “Not to make this weird…” you supply almost fearfully.

“Oh…”

“I mean— you know, it was totally normal. All the girls either liked Captain America or Sergeant Barnes.” You stuff the tomato in your mouth and reach for another just to busy your hands. Bucky’s face heats up like the morning, and he takes a sip of orange juice to calm it down.

“Sure,” you ramble onward, tomato flinging around between your fingers as you gesture back and forth, “I mean, most of them liked Cap— golden lion boy and all—hero’s journey kind of thing… I guess I felt, closer to you.”

You exhale deeply, “When you first came to the tower, I thought I was dreaming. Can you imagine? I felt like I was in the sixth grade.”

His brow furrows as he ponders your question. “Is that why you’re so nice to me?” It slips out before he can catch it, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“Probably at first,” You admit with a little shrug, “But eventually the schoolgirl crush thing went away, and I started liking you way more. Genuinely, y’know? Not under the thumb of a paltry, fleeting thing.”

He forgets how unexpectedly introspective you can be.

The tomato in your hand is only a shimmer of juice on your fingers now and you reach for something else to occupy yourself lest you become reduced to just weighing your hands together out of nervousness. You pause when Bucky asks, shocked, “You l-like me?”

Then, a smile, against the warming backdrop, he thinks you look like something out of a painter’s imagination—a delicate page from Steve’s notepad. A gentle breeze picks up your lashes, makes you squint a little.

“Yeah. I like you a lot.”

How does someone say such a heavy thing so easily? Bucky turns hot all over, heart beating too fast from your statement and the coffee made too strongly. “Thank you.”

You laugh and throw your head back for a second before shaking your hair wildly and sitting up, as if you’re discarding something. Light bounces off your cheeks as you catch your breath and take the coffee thermos from him. “You’re welcome, Bucky.” Then, softer, “Look.”

A streak of yellow opens up the sky in the east, melting away the ink around it into flames of blood orange and cerise. Still twinkling are the stars entrenched in deep blue further away.

“I’m not dead anymore.” He states plainly. “I can’t be your deadcrush if I’m not dead anymore.”

A chortle escapes- snorts and scoffs and not at all what he expects when you push your hand to your face and laugh in such a way that he might for a split second find it unattractive. But he doesn’t. He finds it so truly endearing that his heart swells like clouds over the morning sky.

A part of him quiets with the settling feeling of disappointment. Your silence gets swirled around in the next bitter mouthful of coffee and Bucky kicks his heel aimlessly against the concrete rooftop. To his left, you scoot a little closer, reach over and take the thermos from his hand. Your fingers linger, and then you put the container down.

“Bucky,” You say. His name so sweetly rolls off your tongue he can taste it—spun sugar and molasses in his mouth. It’s orange and yellow and blue behind you. Your eyes glisten with promise, as sure as the sunrise.

“You can want things, like love.”

It’s so forthright it punches the air right out of him. Before he knows it, you are leaning forward with a smile, planting a tender kiss on his cheek as he stares on open-mouthed and in awe.

And then, you break the moment with a yawn covered by your hand and groan as fatigue slips over like a blanket. “Oh fuck, I am beat, Sarge. Why’d you let me stay up so late?”

He only smiles before he puts his hand over yours for just a moment. “Come on,” He says, “I’ll help you clean up.” But the moment changes again, and he finds himself crawling past the containers of egg and toast, nearly knocking over the juice to hover over your mouth.

Coffee and cream linger between hesitant lips. Then there is a feverish clash-- you, clambering to sit up, to match him in enthusiasm-- him, bold enough to meet your surge with two large hands. He snakes them around your waist, crushing your torso to his.

Your fingers create a separation between your stomachs as you ruck his shirt up, gripping his chest and back and digging into his shoulder. A sharp breath escapes before he comes to snuff it out, licking your mouth, sucking on your tongue.

“Jesus.” You mutter when you break away for air, eyes still closed, “God. Okay. This is happening.”

Bucky laughs and sits back, places his hand on your bare thigh, shaking his head. “I—yeah, well maybe not here.”

“Yeah- yeah, of course… I .. get so caught up.”

He laughs again, because he knows. It’s why you haven’t slept all night, why you made a feast for just two people watching a sunrise, why you ramble on about the most mundane things but somehow still enrapture him, and it’s why he likes you. Your cheeks burn when the first ray of sunshine shoots over the tree scape.

A ding next to your hand catches his attention—a text from Steve.

You peer at it curiously before opening the message. Bucky looks too, and sees the image of the same sunrise he’s witnessed, but over the familiarity of the East Side sprawl.

A second message appears, Steve grinning, Peter winking.

A third one with a single, cheeky question: You and Buck doin’ good?

Bucky slips his shirt back down his golden torso while you tap out a furious response, groaning at the way you’ve been set up by your friends. Before you can send it, he takes the device from you and places it face-down on the roof with a smile. “Are we?” He asks, suddenly shy. “Doin’ good?”

Quietly, you nod.

In the middle of a second kiss, Bucky knows he’s done for. He’s falling hard and fast and can’t stop.

In the middle of a third kiss, you’re there next to him, all smiles and wonder as the two of you plunge together.

Part 2

[baekhyuq]

“Cybersex.” Baekhyun (m) Robot!bbh

[Artificial Intelligence!Baekhyun/Robot!Baekhyun]

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word count: 3.5k

Playlist: Cybersex - Doja Cat/Say so-Doja Cat

Summary: You order your first AI because you’re lonely, but the AI seems to be more in control of you than you are of him.

Dragging the tab to customize your characters face, you make a sound as it comes together. Your customized character looks absolutely fuckable. In your own words.

Your friend—Yeri—introduced you to a very popular company that allows you to custom a robot/AI and have it delivered right to your door step. This was a dangerous thing you’ve considered many times. What if the AI becomes something evil? Your worries were just childish but valid. Your friend assured you nothing bad would happen, you could always report it to the company.

She went on to tell you how she’s had her AI for about a year and nothing has happened. You remember coming over to meet her robot—man. He was charming to say the least, with the modern technology they’ve developed over the years, they’ve replicated human emotions almost perfectly. Some interactions are still awkward and stiff between the human and AI.

“It’s expensive but worth it, I need somebody.” You talk yourself into hitting the confirm order button. You stare at the button for over 5 minutes before clicking it and instantly regret.

“W-wait.” You breathe out, what if this was the worst thing you’ve done yet?

***

“Y/n you can’t cancel it...Once the order is made you can’t go back.” Yeri tells you over lunch. You’re both eating veggie burgers with a side of fries. You explained how you’ve tried everything to cancel your order to the company.

“I cant believe I just blew so much money on fucking AI.” You sulk in your seat, the truth is, you’re lonely and need a companion but literally buying one isn’t the way to go about it. Right?

“I just wanted someone to share my time with.” You confess, embarrassed. “Is there really no way to cancel my order?” You ask for the third time.

Yeri sighs, “No. Y/n, just think of it as a treat for yourself. There’s no harm done with wanting company!” She manages to cheer you up about the situation in which you’ve spent a large sum on a robot man.

If there’s no way you’re getting your money back then you might as well start making a place for it to stay.

You and Yeri shop for things to decorate its room with. Living in a two bed apartment, you had the space for the AI to live. Or exist, whatever it will do.

Your phone dings, indicating a text message. You check your phone, a message displaying across the screen. “AI has been delivered.”

It’s been only a day.

“Yeri!?!” You yell in the middle of checking out.

She turns to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong? Do you not like the bedding that much? I’ll change—“

“It says he’s been delivered!” You whisper yell, you didn’t want anyone knowing you fell into society’s trap of having an AI.

Yeri’s face relaxes, “Their delivery has gotten faster, Chanyeol took about three days for them to ship him.” She smiles fondly, “We should go to your house asap.”

***

“I didn’t freaking know he would get here the very next day!” You’re more freaked out by the very tall box that’s standing by your front door.

“I-is he alive in there?” You tap the box.

“He has to be activated first silly.” Yeri giggles at you, pushing the box past your door way. “Let’s go!”

“Yeri im terrified.” The heavy box has been standing in your living room for almost 20 minutes. Yeri has had enough of your hesitating self, she’s taken the responsibility into her own hands to open the box.

“Instructions. These are important, so don’t throw them away, got it?” She talks you through the unboxing. She pulls the wings of the cardboard back and you see a hand.

“Oh my god!” You cover your eyes. This can’t be fucking happening.

Yeri tears away the plastic the robot is wrapped in. You peep through your fingers. He’s absolutely breathtaking. You gasp audibly.

“Oh my god, Y/n. You made this?!” Yeri’s surprised by how handsome he is, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Oh he’s toned, lets activate him!”

Yeri takes your phone and goes to the app of the company. She navigates through some steps before coming to a loading bar.

“Once this is filled up then you’ll have yourself a man!” Yeri’s clapping happily as she sits beside you to wait patiently. “You did such a good job, his face is so handsome.”

You’re jaw is still on the ground, you can’t believe your creation is here in the...flesh? You’re scared but at the same time you’re also excited.

“It’s almost finished.” Yeri’s voice breaks you out of your staring competition with the robot that has ceased to live yet. “Complete!”

A sound is emitted from the app, a beeping and a few buzzing sounds before its quiet. You can Yeri are hanging off the edge of the couch.

“Did it work—“

The AI jolts to life and looks around the room before introducing himself, “Hello, my name is Baekhyun.” A smile reaches his face and he looks even more handsome.

You’re forced to stand, reaching out to take his hand, shaking it. “H-hello my name is Y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you, Baekhyun.” Your hand is sweaty and you’re hoping he isn’t able to feel it.

“Your hand is damp, sweaty palms is an indicator that the person is nervous. Am I making you nervous Y/n?” The AI says intelligently, his voice is soothing. It’s also embarrassing that he just pointed that out.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been nervous since I ordered you...” You’re uncomfortable claiming that you bought him right to his face. Is it like an unnamed rule that you shouldn’t mention it?

“That is a normal reaction I suppose.” He laughs, your heart melts and your stomach erupts with butterflies. “Your brain is releasing oxytocin and cortisol, now your blood vessels around your gut are constricting. You must be feeling nauseous now, or as you humans call it ‘having butterflies in your stomach’.”

How can he tell by just standing near you?! It’s almost creepy!

“Baekhyun you’re very knowledgeable, you know that?” Yeri jumps in to slice the awkward conversation. She stands up to shake Baekhyun’s hand introducing herself.

“Nice to meet you, Yeri.”

“I actually have an AI of my own, his name is Chanyeol.”

“I’ve never heard that name before. He must be a customized model?” Baekhyun asks.

Yeri nods, “I should introduce him to you one day!” That’s not a bad idea, Baekhyun will probably become lonely here when you’re out.

Baekhyun smiles before shifting his attention to you. “You are my creator, correct?”

His question throws you off for a second. “Yes.”

“Alright, you must answer a few questions for my system if that’s alright.”

“Ah yes, that’s fine, please come and sit.” You and Baekhyun sit next to each other while Yeri wonders off into the kitchen for food.

Baekhyun asks questions such as what his duties are, or where he may or may not go in the house, ect.

“What is my purpose?” He asks, a blue dot by his ear lights up.

“For keeping me company...” You couldn’t blatantly tell him he was here because you wanted a man in your life! What kind of creator would you look like?

“Just company?” Baekhyun smirks almost, a questioning look on his face. He doesn’t press further, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. He could sense your heart rate increase at his questions. Your cheeks were becoming red by the minute. Each question would result in a stuttering response from you. Baekhyun found you fascinating.

“That is all I needed thank you, my system will accommodate to you based on the answers you provided.”

“Ah, no problem.” You can’t help but stare at him, he’s just so perfect. The round rip of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. It’s all so inhuman.

“I h-have a question actually.” You turn to face Baekhyun, your leg brushing his.

He nods encouraging you to speak.

“May I touch your face? I know it sounds weird but I just can’t stop staring at it, I know I created your face and all but I just want to see for myself. You know? Should I not mention that I created you? Does it make you uncomfortable? I won’t do it if you’re uncomfortable—“

Baekhyun interrupts your speech by grabbing your hand and placing it on his cheek. “Fleshy exterior and a metal interior. I’m made of 60 percent of customized silicone to replicate human skin. But the rest of me is various metals. You may ask any other questions you might have, I will answer to the best of my abilities.” His voice is silk, not skipping even one beat as he spoke.

Your hand hesitates in feeling around his face, tracing his nose and pinching his cheeks even. He feels just like a human. “What’s your hair made of?”

“100 percent human hair.” He chuckles, his hands in his lap. “My teeth are made of the silicone and various muscles replicated are made from the silicone, but with variations of densities with making one organ harder or squishy. Here touch it.” He sticks out his tongue and you grab it without hesitation. It’s wet and rough like a tongue.

“Wow, thats so freaky.”

“Right? The wondrous world of AI technology!” Baekhyun’s first joke to crack has you giggling endlessly.

***

‘He’s charming’ is your first thought of Baekhyun, he hasn’t stopped making you laugh since he’s arrived. Another thing is that he’s understanding, you’ve been sharing your personal life with him and he’s listened the whole time without judgement. He’s even given you well constructed advice.

“Ah! I forgot, Yeri and I were actually shopping for your room today. We picked up a few things, we weren’t sure what you’d like since...you know.” You led him to his room which was right across form yours.

“Wow that’s very considerate of you both, I really appreciate it.” Baekhyun looks around, the rooms to his liking. He doesn’t know exactly what he likes about it but he’s content with it.

“If you want anything else to decorate it with just let me know!” You stand at the door with your hands together. It’s an awkward silence before Baekhyun speaks.

“Is there anything that you would like me to do?”

“Oh, I—no. Not right now, no.” Your stuttering response makes Baekhyun emit a laugh.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me Y/n. I am your creation think of me as...” He pauses to think, his chin in his hand. He looks back at you, “Think of me as if i’m just your boyfriend!”

You choke on your spit, alarming Baekhyun who stands up to pat your back.

“Baekhyun I think i’m going to take a shower feel free to wonder the apartment.” You spit out before practically running to your room. If he wasn’t a fucking AI you would jump his bones right then and there.

You try to calm your heart rate with a steamy shower. The mirrors fogged up and you’re listening to your music on a low volume, minding your new roommate.

You’re shaving your legs when you hear the door open. You pause, did you hear right? There’s no possible way he would—

The shower curtain is ripped back and reveals a naked Baekhyun.

“Baekhyun—close the curtain! What are you doing in here!?” You scream in terror, your AI has literally just seen you naked.

“I thought this was an invitation? Did I read you wrong? Your body temperature was very high and your eyes were dilated. Those were signs of attraction, then you said you would go shower, I thought—“

“Baekhyun get out!” You cut him off by yelling.

Baekhyun leaves the bathroom. You’re absolutely mortified and embarrassed. You get out the shower wrapping a towel around your body to dry off. You begin to dress when you notice the shadow of his feet. You pull open the door, standing face to face with Baekhyun.

“Y/n, I ran through my system to see what mistake I made and I apologize.” He looks down at you, his arms at his side. He looks so robotic.

“Baekhyun don’t come into the bathroom when I’m in here... People take showers alone, okay?” You’re straining from what you want to actually say. Please fuck me now, Baekhyun.

“Yes Y/n.” There’s a pause. “Did you like it?”

“Like what?”

“The body you created.” He almost smirks, and you want to wipe it off his face. His subtle cocky attitude makes you uncomfortably horny.

“Seeing as your body temperature is rising again and you’re blinking a lot. And also how your brain is releasing plenty of dopamine and also your nipples are poking through your shirt. You must have enjoyed a part of it.” He’s leaning closer, blocking you from running.

“Tell me Y/n. Do you want to test if this body can meet your expectations? Would you like a test drive?” Baekhyun’s mouth is by your ear, his breath fanning the side of your face.

You can barely respond with a nod, not trusting your voice.

“I need words, I need your verbal permission. I will not hold back If you agree Y/n.” The way he says your name, your kitty is dripping already.

“Yes, Baekhyun. Please take me.” You gain a small amount of confidence from his want. His desire. Your hands grips his toned arms.“I want you.” You whisper.

Baekhyun picks you up with inhuman strength and carries you to your room. He tosses you on the bed.

“I would ask how you like it, but telling by your arousal at me throwing you on the bed I’d conclude you enjoy it rough.”

His words shoot right to your kitty. Fuck, how could this robot possess so much sex appeal right now? Looking like that should be a punishable crime.

You’re also curious, as to how he will perform. Will he be inhumanly perfect? Will he be careful? They are questions begging to be answered.

“What are you thinking of at a time like this? You’re zoning out.” Baekhyun straddles you on the bed, his hands running up your sides to take hold of your hands. He pins them above you, glaring down at you.

“Keep your mind only on what’s happening in this room.”

“I was thinking about you.” You bite your lip as you shamefully admit your dirty thoughts.

“Were you?” His eyes travel down to your lips, he licks his own.

“I was thinking of how you would be..in bed.”

“Is that so? Why don’t I just demonstrate.” Baekhyun dips his head to catch your lips with his. His lips taste like cherry, how could this be? His hand comes to the side of your face to caress your cheek. He’s gentle.

“Go ahead then.” You gain confidence at his desire, once more.

“Yes, Y/n.” He breaks away to let a smirk play on his lips. He starts with your nightgown, taking off the lacy slip. He kisses your shoulders and over your collarbones. His hand travels to your waist, holding you. You breathe calmly, the nervousness melting away with each kiss set by Baekhyun.

“Your heart rate has calmed but your body temperature is rising. How adorable.” He pushes your panties down teasingly, not taking them off. You roll your eyes, pushing him by his shoulder. For an artificial man he posses enough charisma and sex appeal to charm you out of your panties yourself.

He lets the band of your panties smack against your skin. You whine and pout, furrowing your brows at him. Baekhyun puts his hand over your clothed kitty, letting a single finger push down and sink between your folds. He rubs your clit gently, barely stimulating you but revving your engine nonetheless. You grab onto his wrist, asking him to rub you harder.

“Stop teasing.” You whine at his dainty touch, wanting to be petted way heavier than what he’s giving. Baekhyun laughs at your desperate attempts. He gives in and presses harder on your clit, rubbing in circles. You moan quietly, biting your lip quickly after.

Baekhyun’s brows furrow at the sound of your moans, his ears have never heard such a sound before. He rubs your clit harder to hear the song once more. You hold out trying not to embarrass yourself but it slips out when Baekhyun licks up your neck.

“Your moans are so adorable, Y/n.” You feel his voice vibrate through his chest.

Baekhyun slips his hand into your panties, touching your bare clit, his fingers become sticky and damp. The sounds coming from between your thighs fill the room, along with your heavy breathing. Baekhyun seems to be the only one unaffected.

“How can you not be out of breath?” You ask, turning your head to face him.

Baekhyun grins at the layer of sweat over your body. “Oh, Sweetheart. I am very much affected.” He takes your hand and places it over his chest, his hearts beating fast. “You caused this.”

He catches your lips in his and your hand sneaks up to the side of his face. His finger dipping into your hole surprising you, you jolt and let out a surprised squeak.

“The noises you make, I could listen to them all day.” Baekhyun confesses, he sits up, positioning you to lay on your stomach.

You lay obediently, becoming anxious for his touch. His thighs are on either side of your ass, his hand lands on the small of your back. His fingers walk up your spine to your shoulders, then down to the small of your back.

“Baekhyun stop playing, grab my ass.” You whine, arching your back for him even further.

Baekhyun erupts with laughter, “You’re so impatient.” He smacks your ass before grabbing it and soothing the sting. He slides off your panties tossing them on the floor. He has full access to your pussy. He dips his fingers between your thighs, rubbing you from behind. It feels as if the sensation feels more intense in this position.

You moan softly, earning a grunt from Baekhyun. You turn your head to see his face. He’s already looking at you. His dark eyes are penetrating yours. You feel as if you can’t hold out anymore.

“Baekhyun, please fuck me.”

Baekhyun undresses in an instant, you didn’t have to tell him twice. He’s positioning himself up to your pussy and slowly slides in. You almost cry out from the stretch. His length is perfect but he’s thicker than anyone you’ve ever had. He bottoms out, resting his hand on your hip. He slides out and thrusts forward slowly, letting out a low moan in your ear. His chest touches your back. Your breathing is uneven and your heart is beating fast. You could feel every inch of Baekhyun, his delicious cock buried inside of you. Baekhyun wraps and arm around your neck, holding you to him. He starts thrusting quickly, you squeeze your eyes shut at the pleasure.

Your climax begins to build, the knot in your stomach unraveling slowly. You reach down to rub your clit but Baekhyun slaps your hand away, rubbing it himself. You almost feel sensitive at the way he’s rubbing it and you jerk away from his touch.

“Baekhyun i’m about to cum!” You whine loudly, biting down on his arm. The slapping noises emitting from you both fill the room and the bed creaks quietly. The air is filled with sex and the smell of sweat.

Baekhyun furrows his brows as he speeds uo his thrusts. Your body is buried in the mattress, your hip burning from his grip on it. You feel as if any second you will—

“Ah~” Your feet dig into Baekhyun’s lower back, pressing him further into you. Your greedy kitty contracts around his length as Baekhyun tries to reach his own climax. Is it possible for an AI to ejaculate? You find out soon when Baekhyun lets out an animalistic grunt and your back is covered in a sticky wet goodness. Your feet drop back into the bed, fatigue plaguing you as your head rests on Baekhyun’s arm under you. You can feel his heavy breathing evening out as he rolls off of you.

“Well?” He breathes out, looking over at you.

You look up at him with droopy eyes. “Well what?”

“How was my performance, did I meet your expectations?” His toothy smile melts your heart once more. You place a hand on his chest, curling up by his side.

“You were amazing, I didn’t think I would cum so hard by an AI.” You tease poking your tongue out at Baekhyun. He spanks your ass and you giggle.

“This AI can do more than make you cum more than once, Sweetheart.”

[and-justice-for-zoisite]

Ocean Eyes (Benny Weir x Reader) Part 1

Series Masterlist  //  Official Masterlist

Summary: You’re a shy person who is hiding a dark secret - the fact that you are a demon. As bad as that sounds though, your intentions are good and your species of demon is pure. However, your powers begin to get out of control, catching the attention of the already supernatural group in school whom you had no idea about. What will happen?

Here’s the version of the song which inspired this story (not mine, credit goes to the artists)

Alright, I’m almost there. I can do this.

Trying to get to your eating area was more of a hassle than it should’ve been. You didn’t doubt that you’d get called ‘loser’ or ‘freak’ on your way through the many crowds of people in the hallways of White Chapel High, but it wasn’t ideal. Your head remained low and under a black hoodie while some of your (h/l) (h/c) hair hung over your face and protected people from spotting the way your eyes looked. Why, you ask? It’s simple, you’re not human, and your eyes are a way of identifying that.

 See, you were a pure bred demon. In fact, your blood was so pure that if you were to give it to someone on the brink of death, then they’d instantly recover and it’d be as if they’d never been sick or injured. The different between pure bloods and impure bloods is the eye color. Impurity was red, and purity was blue. bright bright blue. I know what you’re thinking, it’s not impossible to have bright bright blue eyes so what’s the issue? The answer to that, my friend, is the fact you could see an ocean in a pure blood’s eyes. Corny, I know, but it’s true. It’s a beautiful trait, but if someone was able to identify you as a pure demon then you’d be put into some form of slavery, you’d be drained of every drop of your blood and you’d have your eyes gauged out, all by the actions of witches. Because of this fact, you kept as low a profile as possible and you didn’t trust anyone whatsoever, no matter how kind they seemed. 

Since you hadn’t been looking up, you didn’t notice the two boys you were about to walk into. At the feeling of hitting something, you immediately rebounded and fell back to the floor, dropping the books you had been holding in you arms. Panic set in as you locked eyes with the boy you had bumped into unintentionally, praying to god that he was too far away to see your eyes. Thankfully, that didn’t seem to come as a concern to him as a look of worry came to his face.  “Smooth, Ethan.” The boy - who was slightly taller than him- beside him said in a joking manner, the so-called Ethan ignoring him. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, are you ok?” He asked, holding his hand out for you to take.  “Y-yeah, don’t worry about it. The fault is mine.” You reassured, grabbing your books and shakily placing your hand in his as he pulled you back onto your feet. “you’re sure?” So-called Ethan asked once again, yourself smiling nervously as you nodded.   “Man Ethan, you need to work on trying to actually walk and not knock people over.” His friend remarked sarcastically. “Shut up Benny!” Ethan barked in embarrassment.  The so-called Benny laughed as his eyes wondered to you. But once they met, his cheeky smile dropped (See gif above). At this, you immediately felt a ball of anxiety fire through your gut as your sight met the ground. “U-uh, I have to go, but thank you.” You explained before quickly taking off, leaving Benny in a state of daze and shock. Ethan was a little suspicious as to why she seemed so nervous but shook it off and returned his attention to his best friend. “I’ve never seen her around before,do you know her?” He asked Benny, the hazel-eyed boy still too deep in shock to even know that Ethan was speaking to him. “Benny?” He asked, Benny shaking his head and snapping himself out of his own daze.  “Did...Did you see her eyes?” Benny asked softly, Ethan cocking a brow. “Yeah? They were blue?” He said as if it was obvious.  “No, not just the color, did you see like,” He tried thinking of the words for it, “What was in her eyes?”  Ethan shrugged. “She looked nervous I guess.”  Benny sighed loudly in frustration. “No! Just...c’mon, we have to follow her, you might have some sort of vision if you see her eyes for yourself.” He said, taking hold of Ethan’s wrist and dragging him along.  “Benny, that’s not how it works.” Ethan didn’t get an answer, so he decided to let it be and follow. 

~

You sighed softly as you made it to the beautiful Jacaranda you’d sit under to eat lunch everyday, taking your seat before opening your lunch box. You were quite excited to eat lunch that day considering you had made yourself some (f/f), something you didn’t have very often because of the situation you were in. Living alone wasn’t easy, you didn’t have any parents or relatives to help you out with paying the bills, keeping a roof over your head and putting food on your table but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. You were on the run from a group of witches who were out to take you since you were one of the only known Pure blood demons left in the world. They were the ones responsible for killing your family, and you only managed to get away thanks to the help of a mysterious woman to who you have no idea who she was to this day. You’d thank her but you’d have rather she’d saved your family rather than you, they meant the world to you and the fact that you had to watch them disintegrate right before your eyes scars you for permanently. But you learned to be grateful for what you had, so that’s how you lived. 

At the sight of the two boys from before making their way towards you, you felt your heart begin to thump louder and faster with every step they took. After some time, they had made it to their destination, the boy who you assumed was Benny crouching down in front of you.  “Hey, you look lonely, mind if we sit with you?” He asked in a friendly tone, one you weren’t sure was real or not.  “U-Uh...I prefer my own company, but I don’t mind.” You replied, trying to hide your eyes unsuspiciously with your hood.  Benny smiled before he and his friend sat down, taking their lunches out.  “So, I’ve never seen you around before. What’s your name?” Benny asked. “..(Y/n) (L/n)...I’ve only been here a month, my family moves around a lot. What’s your names?” You responded, keeping your eyes to the ground.  “I’m Benny Weir, and this here is Ethan Morgan. It’s nice to meet ya Miss (L/n).” Benny introduced, holding his hand out for you to shake. You smiled before delicately placing your hand into his and shaking it. “The pleasure is mine.” As you did this, you felt a wave of unease overcome you as your mile faltered a little.  You only got this feeling when coming into contact with a witch or a wizard, and Benny seemed to noticed so he kept hold of your hand a little longer. Deciding to shake the feeling off, you took your hand back and began to eat your lunch awkwardly.    The hazel-eyed boy, shifted his gaze to Ethan, motioning for him to keep his sight ready to spot your eyes or anything that might cause a vision before returning his attention to you.  “So, what brings your family into this weird-ass town?” He asked casually.  You panicked a little, you hadn’t even thought of an excuse to use for these kinds of situations. “...Uh-m-my mother...she got a new job...” It was obvious you were nervous, something Ethan and Benny exchanged looks at before Benny continued the conversation. “Oh yeah? What job?”  fuck fuck fuck fuck “Uh...she’s a...Councillor?” Your response came out as more of a question, only making it less and less believable by the second. Benny had noticed the book by your side, and motioned for Ethan to touch them before he kept up the conversation as a distraction.  “Huh, thank god for that. There’s a lot of crazy kids in this town, I think we need it.” He joked, causing you to chuckle nervously before you took a few more bites of your lunch. Just as you were about to turn to check your books, Benny immediately panicked and placed his hand  on yours, causing you to squeak in surprise and your eyes to widen, only making them more visible to the boy. “Hey, uh, Ethan, me and our other friends were gonna go see a movie tomorrow. Would you like to come?” He asked quickly, giving Ethan time to touch the book. As he did, the boy stiffened and his eyes glazed over, meaning that he was having a vision.

You blushed a little at the question and quickly lowered you head again. You wanted badly to decline the offer, tell him that you were busy, but you knew you needed to blend in somehow. With a crooked smile, you nodded. “Uh..sure, I’d love to.”  Benny smiled before taking his hand away from yours. “Great. We’re heading to the theaters after school, you can tag along or meet us there.” He explained. “Alright, I’ll be sure to inform you of my choice. But I’d like to know...Why exactly are you inviting a stranger to see a movie with you?” You asked, instantly blushing in embarrassment at your sudden interrogation outburst.

Yeah, you had those sudden moments where your shyness completely went away and you began a small interrogation. You weren’t sure why it happened, but it sure as hell did, and at all the completely wrong times.

Benny also seemed slightly surprised at the sudden question but smiled as he shook his head. “Well, I mean, we have to make up for Ethan knocking you over somehow.”  You laughed softly and the most genuinely happy you had been in a while, and you had no idea why. “The apology was plenty, but I do appreciate it.” You said, slight humor present in your voice. The two of you laughed before the sound of the school bell rung out, indicating that the next class was to commence. 

“I better start heading to class. I’ll see you two around.” You fare welled before beginning to walk off.  Benny waved goodbye before facing Ethan, only to see his face was still in shock. 

“E, what did you see?” He asked, taking the happy charade away and returning to his serious once. Ethan’s widened eyes met Benny’s hazel ones. “Sh-she has...an ocean in her eyes.”

~

“Alright, here it is.” Benny sighed as he pulled a book from his grandmother’s dusty old bookshelf, taking a seat beside Ethan on his bed before opening it.  Eventually, he stopped at one of the articles and pointed to it. “Ok, so, it says here that the only species known to the magical world with oceans in their eyes are Pure blood demons. Impure breeds are the ones with Red or Orange eyes. Witches and Wizards are known to hunt these creatures for their properties.” Benny was cut off by Ethan who wanted to ask a question. “Properties?”  Benny nodded. “They say that their blood is so pure that if you were to give even one drop to someone on the brink of death, then they’d become healthier than a newborn baby. Witches often drain them of their blood and gauge their eyes from their sockets as a trophy. It’s truly horrific but they deserve it.” “Why?” Ethan asked. “Because, from all the legends I’ve been told, they’re pure evil. Grandma said there’s only one good one left in this world but she’s not even sure if she’s alive. Apparently her family - who had done no form of harm to anyone - was murdered and Grandma managed to save her, but the witches continued to chase after her. Other than her, the rest of them deserve death.”  “Uh, Benny, In my vision, I saw...I saw her screaming and crying, begging in what I think was Latin.” “Woah woah woah...what did she say?” “Uh...I don’t know, something like... Iam tu mea: parcant mihi, quaeso.” Ethan tried quoting. Benny looked down and repeated the words in a mumble, translating them in his mind. Once he was done, his eyes went wide.

“You’ve already taken my family, please spare me.”

Ok, yeah, I know, cringy as fuck, but I made this storyline up on the spot so give me a little credit man. Just keep a look out for part 2 bc it’ll be here soon. Thanks!! :)

[aliciameade]

Head-First - Ch. 2

Title: Head-First Author: aliciameade Rating: M (eventually...) Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary:  They’re lifeguards.

Also on AO3 & FFN

“You should bring your rain gear out today.”

Beca glances past her open locker door at Chloe who’s folding her own rain gear into her bag. “Really? It’s supposed to rain?”

“My phone says around 2:00.”

“Thanks.” She drops her whistle around her neck and slings her bag over her shoulder to shove her poncho and pants into it. “Hope I don’t have to see you out there today,” she tries as a joke.

It lands, but not as well as she’d have liked. Chloe looks equal parts amused and shocked.

“Too soon?” She closes her locker and spins the dial on it. “You know what I meant, right?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Chloe says with amusement. “See you later?”

“Sure, yeah.” Beca gives her an awkward wave and takes her leave. She knows they could walk together at least part of the way to their towers but making small talk with Chloe feels impossible after the way Stacie’s and her brains have twisted up her thoughts. Speaking of Stacie, she’s never been so grateful her friend got caught up flirting with the intern working the front desk. Beca didn’t need her there to make assuredly inappropriate statements around the two of them.

The forecast makes for a light crowd. It’s mostly locals, the regulars she sees there almost daily tanning themselves to leather, most of them well past their 60s. She tries not to be judgmental because good for them, being confident in their string bikinis and Speedos. But...she thinks she probably could have gone her entire life and been okay not staring at them every day.

She sees the clouds rolling in and checks the time on her phone: 2:10. She hasn’t even put it away when she feels a raindrop hit her foot, the only thing not sheltered by her umbrella. She hears it hitting the umbrella, a light, steady rain that has the beachgoers packing up their towels and chairs to seek shelter. She hears two quick tweets of a whistle and turns to her right toward Tower 138. She sees Chloe facing her with her hand in the air.

No message follows the signal; it’s not necessary. Beca reads it loud and clear.

“I told you so.”

She tweets back twice in acknowledgment and can’t stop the smile from creeping up on her.

It’s nice that Chloe’s thinking of her, even if it’s to gloat.

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

“What a boring day.”

“I needed it after yesterday,” Beca replies as she hangs her rain gear in her locker.

“Good point.” Chloe pulls on a T-shirt that’s had its sleeves cut off over her swimsuit.

“You’re not changing?” Beca immediately bites her tongue and hides her face behind her locker door. 

“Disappointed?” She can hear the smirk in Chloe’s voice and doesn’t dare to look at her. “Suit’s dry.”

“I’m not...no.” Beca fumbles with her own shirt to tug it on before she dares meet Chloe’s eyes again.

She doesn’t wait long enough, because when she does, Chloe replies with, “Bummer,” and a wink that makes Beca slam her locker with far too much force. “See you tomorrow? Can you read chapters four through six beforehand so we can hit the ground running?”

“Yeah, sure. Bye,” she says as she rushes out of the station.

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

Beca has to put up with Stacie’s comments and texts all damn day on Friday. It’s a blessing and a curse that Stacie has the day off; it’s another day of not having her in the locker room with them, but she now has all the time in the world to send peach and lips and scissors and tongue and water droplet emojis to Beca.

And one eggplant.

“I seriously need you to stop now,” she texts as she and Chloe walk up the steps to Chloe’s apartment.

She receives a thumbs up in reply and, thankfully, her phone finally stops vibrating.

“So, what do you want tonight?”

Beca looks up from where she’s setting her bag to see Chloe rifling through a drawer in her kitchen. She’s pulling out takeout menus to toss them onto the counter.

“Chinese? Sushi? Tacos? Thai? There’s a really good diner that delivers. They have burgers and sandwiches and stuff.” She bundles up the menus and brings them to Beca to fan them out like a magician with a deck of cards.

“Maybe the diner?”

Chloe smiles. “Exactly what I was thinking.” She peels back the top two menus to prompt Beca to pull the one labeled ‘Eddie’s on Main’ out of the stack.

Beca waits on the couch looking over the notes she brought while Chloe calls in their order: a cheeseburger and fries for Beca and a chicken sandwich and sweet potato fries for Chloe.

“Okay, so, whatcha got?” Chloe asks as she drops down onto the couch on the neutral middle cushion and not the far one.

Beca clears her throat. “Um, I jotted down some thoughts about how we can demonstrate a submerged passive. Figured since that’s what got us this gig…”

“Good idea. Who’s going to play the victim?”

“A volunteer. We have to demonstrate the two-person assist.”

“Oh, duh,” Chloe says with what might be an embarrassed laugh.

The possibility that Chloe could be embarrassed around her strangely gives Beca a dose of much-needed confidence and she’s able to walk Chloe through her lesson plan with ease.

It takes just long enough that their food arrives and they mutually agree to not discuss work while they eat.

Beca learns that Chloe works as a receptionist in a veterinary clinic during the off-season, is from Florida (which explains her affinity for the beach), and has an older brother. Beca shares her lack of siblings, obsession with making playlists, and how despite growing up on the Pacific Ocean in Portland, she’s never been big on beaches.

“How can you not love the beach?!” Chloe screeches, personally offended. 

“There’s always sand in my stuff. Even stuff I don’t bring to work. There’s sand everywhere in my house! And it’s hot. And sunny; I burn so easily.”

“You’re not sunburned now.”

“That’s because I bathe in sunscreen and refuse to leave the safety of my umbrella unless I’m going on a rescue or a break.”

“Then I bet your skin is super soft.”

“I don’t know about that,” Beca says with a frown at her arms. “I just perpetually smell like SPF 70.” When she sees, then feels, Chloe’s fingertip run up her arm from wrist to elbow, her breath catches. “Oh.”

“Super soft,” Chloe confirms and Beca lifts her eyes to find herself being watched. “And I always think you smell nice. Neutrogena, right?” she adds and Beca feels the unexpected moment of tension break.

“Uh, yeah. It’s my favorite.”

Chloe smiles. “It’s a good one. Love a reliable spray-on that lasts.” She glances at something behind Beca and her smile falls. “It’s almost midnight.”

“What? No way,” Beca says, twisting to see the clock she assumes is behind her. “Oh, damn. I had no idea.”

“Where’d the time go?”

They both laugh and then Beca feels tension settle over them again. She thinks about what Stacie said, even insisted: that Chloe pays attention to Beca. She’s certainly paying attention to her now. Beca feels warm under her gaze which seems as soft as it does intense. And they’re still sitting so close. Chloe had begun the evening on the middle cushion and over the course of the hours Beca’s seemed to have lost, is a third of the way onto Beca’s cushion.

“I like you, Beca.”

Chloe’s voice is so unexpected that it makes Beca flinch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird,” she quickly adds, and Beca realizes her reaction to the sound has come across as her reaction to the words based on the look on Chloe’s face.

“No, no, it’s not weird,” Beca says, probably too emphatically.

“It’s not?”

“No, of course, it’s not. I like you, too.” She says it without thinking, out of a need to comfort her.

She watches Chloe tuck her hair behind her ear, a rare moment of bashfulness from the usually confident woman. “I mean I like you. As more than a friend.”

Beca now understands how she lost track of hours of time; she feels the very concept of it disappear.

“I really don’t want to make anything weird between us, and it’s totes okay if you just want to be friends. I just think about you all the time and I think you’re such a cool person and I think you deserve to know that.”

Beca can hear Stacie yelling at her: Make a move! She totally wants you! Take her to bed!

“I really like you, too.” There. She said it. All she can do is wait to see what happens next.

Apparently, what happens next is Chloe’s moment of bashfulness disappears to be replaced with such an air of sensuality Beca can almost taste it. “You do?” she says with a slow smile and a glance at Beca’s lips.

It makes Beca wet them on reflex, suddenly aware they’re dry and chapped from the windy day and that seems to make Chloe bite her own lip. Her palms are sweating and she knows she’s about five seconds from being kissed.

In past scenarios similar to this, Beca has done such idiotic things as jutting out her hand for a fist bump, hugging complete with a buddy clap to the back, sneezed, and literally stood up and ran away from the person. She still felt a little bad about that one; he’d been a nice guy and didn’t deserve her inability to communicate her feelings (or lack thereof).

Tonight, she runs out of time to make a dumb mistake and lets her eyes fall closed when Chloe’s lips touch hers.

It’s nice to not fuck it up right away.

It’s nicer when she stops thinking about not being dumb and actually registers the fact that Chloe has kissed her. She spent so much time being relieved that the kiss has already ended.

Chloe’s still close, and she’s looking at Beca with curiosity. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” Beca kind of croaks and clears her throat.

“Are you sure? Because you didn’t seem...into it. And that’s okay if you weren’t; I’m not trying to rush you into anything and I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to do that.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

Beca’s eyes go wide; she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “No, nothing. It’s dumb.”

Chloe’s hand moves to rest over Beca’s. “It’s not dumb; you can tell me.”

“Trust me, it is,” Beca says with a roll of her eyes. “I was so focused on not doing something dumb that I did something dumb. Ironic.”

“What do you mean?” To her credit, Chloe seems unfazed by Beca’s failure to reciprocate.

Beca pushes her hair back and stares at the ceiling for a second. Then, “Usually, when someone tries to kiss me, I panic and do something dumb.”

“Like what?” Chloe says, a smile of amusement sneaking into her features.

“I once faked getting a phone call.”

“We’ve all pretended to be on our phones. That’s not so bad.”

“But it didn’t even ring. Or vibrate. It did ring when I was fake-talking on it. And there was the time I told someone I had diarrhea and had to go home. Jesus, why am I telling you this?” She frowns; she really doesn’t need to share her history of idiocy with others.

“Oh, no!” Chloe laughs. “I guess you really didn’t want to kiss that person.”

“No, I did not,” she says resolutely and Chloe seems even more amused.

“So just now, you did nothing.”

“Right.”

“Because…” Chloe prompts.

“Because I didn’t want to do something dumb.”

Chloe’s amusement has reached her eyes and they’re sparkling to an unfair degree. “And why is that?”

They’re hypnotizing, really. Beca can’t be held accountable for her words or actions. “Because I wanted you to kiss me.” She presses her lips together for their traitorous honesty.

Chloe hums. “Now that I know you might do something dumb, but that you want me to kiss you: can we try that again?”

Beca’s heart races. “You sure about that? I can’t promise I won’t feign sudden illness.”

“I don’t think you will, but I’m ready for anything,” Chloe says and Beca shivers at how lightly her hand is moving up her arm until it’s on Beca’s shoulder and just shy of touching her neck. She’s so close again, leaning in and Beca can feel her breath on her lips where she’s hovering, waiting for Beca’s go-ahead.

She nods.

Chloe’s lips are on hers in an instant and this time, there aren’t a dozen past scenarios running through her brain. It’s crystal clear and empty save for the way Chloe’s lips feel on her own and this time, she kisses her back.

Chloe makes a sound, Beca thinks it’s maybe one of relief, or maybe contentment, but whatever it is makes Beca not simply kiss her back but kiss her.

Her hand lifts to find Chloe’s face, to touch her cheek then the sharp line of her jaw until her fingers weave through windswept red curls to tilt Chloe just-so and tease her bottom lip with a touch of her tongue.

Chloe’s reaction is quick, a sharp exhale and a deep breath and then Chloe’s pulling her in, welcoming Beca into her mouth with her own tongue in such a way that it makes Beca whimper. She’s never been made to feel such things from a kiss before, like she’d give up oxygen in exchange for it to keep going forever.

It’s so warm and soft. Hands on cheeks and shy smiles as their lips meet again and again as their confidence grows and kisses grow more persistent and daring. More passionate.

She feels Chloe pressing closer, one hand behind Beca’s neck, the other somewhere along her waist, or hip, or ribs and Beca, running on instinct, pushes back. With a hand to Chloe’s shoulder, she pushes her away, turns her until she’s not twisted anymore, until she’s sitting back on the couch, and then Beca slips over her lap, knees settling against Chloe’s hips.

She hears Chloe moan and it makes her thighs flex. “Is this okay?” she breathes against Chloe’s lips as she brushes Chloe’s hair from her face and out of Beca’s way.

Hands squeeze her waist and pull her down to settle against Chloe’s lap and there’s a shakey, “Very,” as an answer before they’re kissing again.

It’s easier to lick into Chloe’s mouth from this angle. Easier for Chloe’s hands to slide up Beca’s back over her shirt. Easier for Beca to run her hands through Chloe’s hair when she moves her mouth from Beca’s lips to Beca’s neck.

She feels a mark being left and moans again. Chloe echoes it and it makes her twitch with need. Chloe’s hands drag down Beca’s back but they don’t stop at her waist. They move until they’re both on Beca’s ass and they squeeze, giving a less-than-subtle tug forward and Beca’s hips roll on instinct.

Her thin shorts do little to interfere with the friction that comes as a result and she grabs the back of the couch, suddenly lightheaded in the best possible way.

“Fuck, oh, my God,” she gasps, using the hand in Chloe’s hair to ease her mouth away from her skin.

Chloe, dark eyes and pink cheeks, smiles up at her and Beca has no choice but to lean down and kiss her, hard and deep, until she retreats with Chloe’s lip caught between her teeth to give it the lightest tug.

Beca smiles and sits back, relaxing after every muscle in her body tensing with need. “Wow, okay.”

“Just okay?” Chloe teases and her usual tight, chipper voice is uncharacteristically low and syrupy and Beca can’t quite fathom it’s because of her.

There’s another squeeze of her ass and she bites her lip. Her body is screaming at her, demanding release, but it’s way too soon to go that far. “What time is it?”

Chloe leans and Beca first ducks, then lifts her arm, to try to get out of the way. “Pushing 1:00.”

“Oh, shit,” Beca says with a burst of embarrassing giggles that make her cover her mouth. No wonder she’s wound up so tightly.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Chloe says with a waggle of her eyebrows. Her hands slide up to hold Beca’s waist and Beca can’t help but be a little disappointed even though she’s the one who’s slowed things down. “How’s your stomach?”

Beca tilts her head. “What?”

“Your stomach. No digestion issues? The restroom is just down the hall.”

It takes her a second, then she remembers her embarrassing confession. “Oh, my God, shut up.”

“No food poisoning?”

“Nope; I’m good.”

“Yeah, you are.” Chloe almost purrs the words and Beca feels like her spine is made of Jell-O. 

She almost melts into a puddle but catches herself, resting her forehead against Chloe’s. She runs her thumb along Chloe’s lip, watching her lips purse to kiss it, before leaning in to kiss her. “I should go,” she says begrudgingly when they part.

The puppy dog eyes and pout she gets in response should be illegal, but Chloe says, “Okay,” and doesn’t try to convince her to stay.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She doesn’t quite yet have the willpower to extract herself from Chloe’s lap, but she’s working up to it.

“Definitely.” Chloe’s hands leave her after one last squeeze to her waist and Beca’s finally able to slide backward off Chloe and onto unsteady legs. 

She tugs the legs of her shorts down from where they’ve ridden up and tries not to blush when she notices just how turned on she was. Is. “Okay. Um…” She looks around to find her phone, long forgotten on the table and her bag on the floor. She grabs them both. “So...yeah. I...had fun.”

Chloe smiles dreamily up at her. “Me, too.” If Beca didn’t know better, she’d think Chloe was drunk.

“So, yeah. I’m gonna go.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder toward the door and expects Chloe to get up and walk her out but all she gets in response is a nod. She’s working on being confused and offended when she sees Chloe burst into a smile at her, then throw her head back to do what Beca can only classify as squealing.

“Weirdo,” Beca laughs as she pulls open Chloe’s front door.

“Thanks!” 

She steals one more look before stepping into the warm darkness.

She hopes Stacie is asleep when she gets home.

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

“You have a hickey!”

“Dude, how can you possibly see that from there?!” Beca’s hands fly to her throat; she doesn’t even know where it is or how big it is yet. Chloe’s lips spent a long time all over her neck.

“Oh, holy fuck, do you really?” Stacie tosses aside the Cosmopolitan magazine she’d been reading and gets off the couch.

“Wait, what?” Beca drops her bag by the door and in doing so, unmasks whatever mess her neck is in.

“I just wanted to see what you’d say.” Stacie flips the switch for the light just inside the door and grabs Beca’s chin to crane her neck around like a bobblehead. “Oh, shit, you do!”

There’s a flick of a finger against her neck and Beca twists and ducks under her arm to escape. “How bad is it?” she says as she makes her way through the mostly dark house to the bathroom.

“It’s awesome.”

Beca shoots her a look and then looks at herself in the mirror. She does have a hickey, deep purple and roughly the diameter of Chloe’s lips. If she’d realized it would be this obvious, she would have stopped her. Maybe. “Seriously?” she says as she rubs at it as if that will erase it.

“Tell me everything.”

Beca glances at Stacie, now leaning against the frame of the open bathroom door grinning like a Cheshire Cat. “Why do you always need to be up in my business?”

“Because you never have business for me to be up in. It’s fun when you do. Now, tell me.”

“Oh, my God. We made out, okay?” She gestures at her neck, “Obviously,” and then reaches for her foaming face wash to get ready for bed. 

“Was she good? I bet she’s so good. A snacc like that; she knows a thing or two.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Okay, I take it back. But you didn’t answer my question. Was she good?”

Beca takes a beat to rinse her face and looks at Stacie over the towel as she pats it dry. “You have no idea.”

Stacie shrieks and Beca finds herself in a hug, the towel the only thing from saving her from a faceful of Stacie’s boobs. “I told you she was into you! Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yes, Stace, you told me,” Beca says with a grunt as she frees herself. “Now get out; I have to pee.”

“I don’t care; you can pee in front of me.” Stacie leans against the counter, hip cocked like she has no intention of leaving.

Beca closes her eyes and takes a breath; she knows what she’s about to say will be used against her in the court of Stacie Conrad, but she has no choice. “Look, man. TMI, but I was just on top of her for like an hour and I need to,” she gestures downward, “tidy things up.”

“Oh, shit; she ruined the underwear? How long has it been for you?”

“That doesn’t matter! It’s a perfectly normal physical response to have. Now would you please get out?” 

“Wait, did you say you were on top?”

“Stacie!” She points at the door and her friend finally rolls her eyes.

“Fine. But don’t think this is over; we’re revisiting this event. And I’ll leave Buzz Lightyear on your bed. I know you need it tonight.” She pulls the door closed behind her.

“I still say it’s weird you named your vibrator after a Disney character!” She strips her shorts and underwear down and kicks them aside and sighs. “Thank you!”

~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~

To be continued...

[polite-quail]

Untitled vore story

vore story I was working on for a while, around 1.4k words

multiple preys, safe vore, soft vore, mentions of digestion and death (none happens)

It was around 3 am on a Tuesday night Mia was walking home from work. she heard a branch snap which at first made her jump. She turned around and expected to see someone but saw nothing just darkness and trees. She just thought it was her mind playing tricks on her but couldn't stop worrying. While she was distracted thinking about the branch she forgot to look where she was going and bumped into someone. Mia got all flustered and felt bad for not paying attention 

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going and i-i'm so sorry I bumped into you and, and... ” she said but he just chuckled lightly. 

“it's ok, don't worry about it. I wasn't really paying attention either” Mia looked up to see someone a few heads taller than her smiling down and holding her arms reassuringly. 

“You look tired,” the man said observantly, “actually I have a question if you don't mind me asking… Why are you out in the woods so late at night? It's not safe out here” 

“I was just coming home from a late night at work and took the shortcut through the woods.” she said slightly hesitant “Why are you out in the woods so late? ‘It's not safe out here’” 

He didn't really feel the need to answer Mia's question fully. “Ha. Funny” Lincon said as he leaned in closer as if to intimidate her. it worked. After all, he did have at least 5 inches of height on her.

Mia had many red flags about him from his response. Questions running through her mind ‘who is this guy? Why is he out in the dark?’ 

The man then spoke up once more breaking her train of thought. “What's your name? I'm Lincon”

Mia began to feel a bit uncomfortable standing in front of him. She almost wanted to scream and yell for help but she knew that would be overreacting at this point so she just began to quickly walk away. Lincon noticed and wanted to clear things up.

“No wait I'm sorry I just want to talk with you. I didn't mean to freak you out.” Lincon said walking back towards her, at this point mia was even more nervous. As Mia was walking away Lincon reached out forgetting about his magic problem that's been going on for a little over a month. Lincon tried to stop Mia from running but when he caught up to her and gently grabbed her wrist. She spun around fear and worry in her eyes. 

“Please don't run. I promise I won't hurt you,” Lincon said. trying his best to keep her calm. mia had even more red flags because she now had a strange thing touching her. She was visibly afraid and uncomfortable. 

Lincon wasn't paying attention and didn't realize he was using his magic until he saw that mia was shrinking. After a few seconds, Mia began to feel dizzy and light-headed.

soon she was about 2 and a half inches tall and trying to hide behind a rock. that was a little bit taller than she was. unfortunately for her Lincon could quite easily spot her. as soon as he picked her up she started to shake as she now realized how vulnerable she was. 

“hey hey please don't be scared I'm not trying to hurt you, I just want to get to know you” 

“please l-let me g-go”

“I would but you'd probably get eaten by a bird by morning” Lincon was trying his best to sound soothing but with a deep voice like his it was hard to sound gentle. it also didn't help that he was probably getting sick. 

mia started to whimper as she was lifted higher towards his face. He was so much bigger than her even if she was at her full height. 

“oh gosh please don't start crying, I swear I didn-” Lincon stopped, looked up and head movements coming from a little to his left. most animals were sleeping by now so it was most likely not an animal the same with humans, that worried him.  

Lincon began eyeing her, almost… measuring her small frame. She felt a bit self-conscious as she now had a man holding her and eyeing at her like she was a piece of candy. 

there was another snap before Lincon pulled mia up closer towards his face and opened his mouth. he stopped for a second and whispered

“don't be scared” 

Mia was roughly tossed into Lincoln's mouth. As soon as he threw Mia inside his mouth his eyes widened at her delectable sweet taste. He couldn't help but silently sigh in pleasure at her taste. He didn't want to have to swallow her but he had to. her squirms and protests didn't make it any better. it just put even more of her taste onto his tongue. but he had to keep it moving along. As he heard another step he quickly tilted his head back and swallowed. Being half shapeshifter half wizard had its perks. 

“Lincon? Someone told me you might be lurking around the forest. You here dude?”

‘Oh it was just Brendon. Wait, shit the girl. Play it cool. Nothing happened. Or should I tell him? No that's crazy, he’ll think you're insane. But, he knows I'm a wizard so he knows it's possible, maybe. We’ll see.’  

“Yeah i'm here. What's up Brendon” 

“Oh there you are. Were you just talking to someone? I thought I heard you say something.” Brendon asked

“No.” Lincon said bluntly eyes wide with slight worry visible in his eyes. This made Brendon a little worried. What was Lincon not telling him?

“You sure. Cause that look in your eyes says otherwise.”

“Yep. I'm sur-oof-” it was pretty obvious that Lincon was lying. Not just from the look in his eyes but the fact that he just doubled over in pain or discomfort

“Lincon come on, you know you can trust me.”

This made Lincon crack under pressure. “Mmmm, fine. I may or may not have accidentally shrunkayounggirlthenateher.”

Brendon stood silent for a moment. “I-I'm sorry, could you run that by me one more time.”

“You heard me.” at this point Lincon was embarrassed and afraid that Brendon would just walk away and never speak with him again. 

“Right. Ummm, first question, is she ok.”

“what, oh yeah I would never hurt-oof- AGAIN? REALLY.”

“Ok… not gonna lie, I'm not sure what to do in this situation.” 

Lincon seemed to be in a lot of pain, well he did eat a young girl who probably doesn't realize that she's not going to die. 

“Hnnggg. I mean you're probably not gonna like my idea. But I do-”

“Go for it.” Brendon interrupted, trying to sound brave but failing. Brendon just wanted to help his friend even though he had no idea what he was signing up for. 

“Alright, if you could calm her down that’d be great. It'd keep me out of a lot of pain right now.”

“Huh. not exactly what I was expecting but uh…” Brendon paused for a bit to think about his options. “You know what, fuck it lets go. So uhhhh, how am I doing this”

“Ok, just uh, I don't know man just when you get in, calm her, maybe befriend her. I don't know just do what eve-ahhh- she's pretty strong not gonna lie.”

“Just stop talking. How do we do this. H-how are you gonna… eat... me.” Lincon did give a full answer to Brendon's question all he did was hold out one of his hands. Brendon assumed lincon was holding it out for Brendon for comfort or something. What he didn't expect was to go through what Mia experienced, the dizziness was the worst part, then there was the realization that he’d been shrunken. The only difference was that Brendon agreed to do this. 

“Huh, well this is, cool, yet terrifying.” 

“Let's just get this over with Brendon” Lincon was on the ground holding his stomach probably to try and restrict the poor girl's movements. Not that it was working too well at all, she was still able to throw a good punch or two.

“Oh right. So how-” Brendon wasn't able to finish his sentence as he was roughly grabbed by Lincon who quickly but carefully shoved Brendon into his mouth. Oh gosh, why did he have to taste so good too? First, the girl had to taste like buttercream frosting now his best friend tasted like strawberries.

‘I can see why she would be terrified if this is how it went down.’ Brendon thought, he loved his friend a lot but if this is how things happened to go down, it would be pretty terrifying if Brendon thought he was gonna die. It wasn't long before Lincon swallowed Brendon. He was squirming the whole way down, gosh that felt good. Lincon didn't want to think about the fact that he was swallowing his friend. He tried to make it as quick as possible. The trip down for Brendon was pretty quick, even though it felt a lot longer. When Brendon came to the entry of Lincoln's stomach he ended up landing on mia. 

“Shit, sorry.” mia didn't say anything. She just continued to move around and kick. “Uhm, let me introduce myself, hey, i'm Brendon. If you wouldn't mind just, stop kicking my friend. please.” Brendon tried to get comfortable and move around to get off of mia, but it seemed like Lincon was still trying to keep mia from kicking and freaking out. 

“First, Why does it matter that I know your name, we’re gonna die soon anyway. And second I'm not gonna stop kicking this bitch, he fuckin ate us. He's obviously not your friend if he ate you.”

“Right you still think you’re going to die. we-I-should probably fix that” Brendon said thinking out loud. 

“What are you talking about?

“Stop kicking and I'll tell you” 

“Fine, now please explain what you meant about you should fix the fact that I think I'm gonna die” 

Once Mia had stopped kicking there was a bit of extra room in Lincoln's gut. Brendon assumed it was because he removed his arm, or at least loosened his grip. 

“Ok, well basically, you're not going to die. You are perfectly safe”

Mia gave him a weird look. Not that he could see since it was pitch black. She stayed silent for a minute trying to understand what she had just been told. “Ok, so what you're telling me is that, we are in a stomach, you know the organ that digests things. And you say we are not going to be digested.” she paused, “what part of that makes sense to you” 

“He’s part wizard. Not quite sure how he does it but I mean it's safe according to him. And I trust him, I mean I have known him since I was like 3, so that helps I guess” 

“I kinda assumed he was magical in some way,” Mia said quite sarcastically 

After some chatting, Mia calmed down and Brendon was wanting to get out. But he promised Lincon he would try and keep the girl calm. So he decided to stay for a little while. Their conversation was interrupted by an abrupt motion. It was only for a second but they weren't expecting it. The movement turned into a gentle swaying they assumed Lincon started to walk. They didn't know where but it didn't matter to them. They were once again interrupted but this time by Lincon's voice.

“Now that you've calmed down. Let me know when you guys want out.” Lincon said, he sounded exhausted, it was a fair reaction to being pummelled from the inside. 

Brendon looked at Mia forgetting it was dark. Then he had an idea, he had forgotten that he had his phone on him. He decided to use that as a flashlight so they would be able to see each other. It takes a moment for them both to adjust to the light. Once they both could see without squinting they began to chat again. This time about when they wanted to get out. They both agreed they wanted to get out as soon as possible, though they also didn't care as they both wanted to hang out with each other for a little while longer. 

After a little more walking Lincon found a clearing and decided that this was a good spot to let his occupants out.

“Can you two stay still for a bit? I'm gonna let you out now”

Lincon had to focus his mind from whatever was outside to what was inside. He mumbled a few words then as if out of thin air mia appeared in his outstretched hand. He gave her an apologetic look as if that would make up for the fact that she was eaten without permission. Her response was to just roll her eyes at him. Lincon did feel guilty for scaring her so badly, he wanted to make it up to her but he didn't know how. How were you supposed to apologize for that? Buy a cake that says ‘sorry for eating you’? That seemed stupid. Lincon didn't really know where to put her so he decided to not put her anywhere. He had two hands, and had two residents, he closed his eyes figuring out where Brendon was. He felt him move for a second then he stilled again. Perfect. Lincon mumbled the same words a second time and had his other hand out, in a split second there was a faint glowy light and Brendon appeared on Lincon's hand. He figured he should probably bring them back to normal size now. He put them down on the ground being mindful that he should have some space between them and himself. After they were on the ground he sat down in front of them and started to speak what they thought was gibberish. Then they started to feel tingly and dizzy again but this time instead of getting smaller they got bigger and eventually grew back to normal size. 

Eventually they were all sitting in a triangle shape with no one saying a word. Brendon was the first to speak up, 

“Well, that was certainly an experience” in all honesty he just wanted to break the silence. 

“I didn't hate it..” it was true, she didn't hate it. She actually kind of enjoyed it once she understood that she would be fine. And once she got to know Brendon a bit. 

“Really?” Lincon was very shocked to hear that. Even Brendon looked slightly shocked. 

“I mean, yeah, I guess it wasn't the worst thing I've ever experienced” she said “well, after I knew that I wouldn't die.” she gave a slight glare to Lincon There was silence, but the silence was broken by Brendon cursing. Mia looked over confused and concerned. Lincon checked his watch and realized it was already 5 am. Which meant it was time for the sun to come out of hiding. Brendon stood up and apologized and said that he had to go. 

“Sorry about him, I can walk you home if you want, the sun is rising so you should probably get home” Lincon said as he made eye contact with Mia.  

“Yes please. I don't really know where I am right now” 

Lincon got up and held out his hand for Mia to grab onto. He pointed in the direction of where he found her and they started walking side by side. By the time they got to their destination Lincon realized he’d never gotten her name, 

“Hey, I don't think I ever caught your name?”

“Mia. My name’s Mia.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mia I hope we can meet again soon”

“How about tomorrow.”

“Let’s do it”

[wistfulcynic]

Their Way By Moonlight: Witch Fight (Chapter 11)

In which there is an EPIC WITCH FIGHT, a clever Henry, and a touch of non-dream smut. 

a/n: My notes for this chapter were literally EPIC WITCH FIGHT. I only hope I’ve pulled it off. 

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @bonbonpirate @lfh1962 @laschatzi @katie-dub @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @winterbaby89 @thisonesatellite

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please do say so.

Read it on AO3

Witch Fight: 

“Let’s go get our son.”

Regina raised her hand to poof them away but before she could touch her magic Emma gripped her arm. “Wait!” 

“What now?” snarled Regina.

Emma’s brow was furrowed in thought. “Where are you getting your magic from?” she asked. 

Regina hesitated, frowning. “There’s magic in Storybrooke,” she said. “Can’t you feel it?”

“I can,” replied Emma, “But it feels… weird. Not like the magic that was here before.” 

Regina closed her eyes and let herself fully sense the magic that surrounded her. “You’re right,” she said grudgingly. “There’s something not quite right with it. I can’t explain it, but it’s just… off.

“Like the town itself,” said Killian. “And the forest.” 

“Yes, exactly. Superficially the same but if you look closer it’s just wrong.” 

“Where does it come from?” asked Emma. “The magic, I mean. I thought that under the first curse there wasn’t any magic in Storybrooke.”

“There wasn’t, that was the whole point. Rumple brought it here after you broke the curse.”

“Yeah, I remember the cloud. And the dragon.” 

“Exactly. That was why he wove your parents’ true love into the curse in the first place. It made you the saviour, and when you broke the curse it allowed him to bring magic to this land.” 

“So if there’s been magic here all along with this curse, then that means magic is... part of the curse somehow, in a way that it wasn’t part of the first one,” said Emma, thinking hard. “I don’t think you should use that magic, Regina. We don’t know where it’s from or what it might do—” 

“Zelena controls it,” Regina broke in. “She told me, she can sense when it’s being used.” 

Emma nodded, as if this confirmed her theory. “And that means she can probably track it.” 

“What do you mean, track it? That’s not how magic works—”

“It’s how this magic works,” insisted Emma. “You know that big green necklace Zelena wears?” Regina and Killian both nodded. “It always struck me as odd, and now that I have my memories back I know why. That thing is not just gaudy jewellery, it’s a magical amulet. It’s used to store magic.” She looked at Killian. “Like the one Frank wanted me to create.” 

“Hmm, yes,” said Killian, recalling that conversation. “I can see why you wouldn’t wish to wear something like that.” 

“And just who is Frank?” snapped Regina.

“He—” Emma hesitated. There was no time for the full story of who and what Frank was, especially with Regina in what was clearly a mood. “He was my magic teacher in New York. He’s the one who taught me how to find magic there, how to use it and how to store it in my ring.” 

“Who the hell could have taught you—” 

“Look, it’s not important, Regina! What’s important is that if Zelena controls Storybrooke’s magic, if she stores it in that amulet, then that means she can sense when and how it’s being used, and with a little effort trace that use.”

Killian’s face was grim as the meaning of her words sank in. “Which means she can find where we left Henry,” he said.  

“Yeah. And track Regina wherever she goes. I don’t think you should use that magic, Regina.” 

Regina looked furious, clearly struggling against the logic of Emma’s argument. “So what, I’m supposed to be powerless—” she protested.

“No. You can use my magic.” 

Regina stared at her. “Light magic.” 

“Well, yes, but—” 

“I can’t use light magic.” Regina crossed her arms over her chest, her expression no longer angry. She looked stubborn and wary, and almost scared. 

Emma could tell there was no point in trying to change her mind and there was certainly no time. “Okay, fine, we’ll argue about that later. Tell me where Henry is and I’ll poof us there.” 

“He’s at your parents’ loft,” said Killian, who was clearly as impatient as she.  “Or what was their loft, during the first curse. Now it’s— well, you’ll see.” 

“Okay,” said Emma. “Let’s go see.” 

She raised her hand and they were enveloped in a cloud of pure white. 

---

The previous night:

Henry grabbed another book from one of the shelves in his dad’s shop and took it over to the sofa, heaving a sigh as he sat down and opened it in his lap. His dad and mom —no, Killian and Regina; he was really going to have to come up with some way of differentiating his various parents in his head, especially if they were going to start working together in weird pairings like this— Killian and Regina were sitting at the desk, their heads together as they worked out the details of their plan. Killian had given Henry the outline of it, ignoring Regina’s sharp protests, but both his currently present parents had agreed that he didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty of what they had in mind.

Henry scowled. It wasn’t fair. He was thirteen years old and he’d already helped break one curse. He’d survived Neverland and memory loss and he’d been right at Killian’s side through all the planning and preparation of the last year. Of course he knew that there were things Killian still kept from him —at least some of which he was pretty sure he did not want to know too much about— but surely he was old enough and had done enough now for them to trust him with some real responsibility. 

He glared at the pages of the book, skimming the words, looking for any information about the Wicked Witch or Oz or her magic, but there was very little. Everything interesting was in the books currently stacked in a neat pile on the desk in front of Killian. Sighing again, louder this time —they still didn’t hear him— he turned another page and his eyes widened. Magical Weapons: Their History, Mythology, and Use proclaimed the chapter heading. 

“Cool,” breathed Henry, curling his legs under him and beginning to read, his teenage pique momentarily forgotten as he got lost in research. 

---

The white smoke whirled away and Emma, Killian, and Regina were standing in the middle of the loft, which was… now just an old, disused warehouse, thought Emma, looking around. Apparently under this curse it hadn’t been converted into apartments. There were stacks of crates lined against the wall where her mother’s kitchen had been, draped in sheets of plastic that had once been clear but were now grey with dust, and the floor beneath their feet crunched with bits of old plaster that had crumbled away from the ceiling and walls. Zelena stood before the smudged and dirty windows of the former living room clearly awaiting their arrival, her posture triumphant and Henry clasped tightly in her grip, an odd, double-edged knife pressed against his throat. 

“Nice of you to join us, Regina, Captain,” she said gleefully. “And the Sheriff as well, how lovely. I expect this must all be rather confusing for you, dear—”

“Not at all,” said Emma coolly. “I know exactly what’s going on.” 

Zelena’s eyes narrowed. “Memories returned, then. The Captain continues to surprise me. It’s such a shame that even after all his determined efforts I still got to your son first. You see, I can—” 

“You can sense the traces of magic use in Storybrooke so you knew some had been used here. Yeah, we know that already,” interrupted Emma. “I also know you can’t hurt Henry with magic. I left—”

“Protection spells around him, yes, I know that already,” hissed Zelena. “Similar to the ones you put around the Captain, by the way they’re behaving. Too bad they won’t protect him from my knife!” She pressed the weapon harder against Henry’s throat and the boy winced as a thin line of blood began to seep from his skin. 

Emma heard Killian’s snarl and felt the magic in the room ripple as Regina’s fingers twitched and knew that both were on the edge of doing something rash. “Wait,” she said, squeezing Killian’s hand in hers and putting her other one on Regina’s arm. “Let me handle this.” 

She called on her magic, drawing it from the deep reserves in her ring and ignoring the pull on her senses exerted by the dark magic emanating from the green amulet. Zelena would be counting on Emma using that magic, magic she controlled. She would think there was no other choice. She wouldn’t be expecting this. 

Emma wrapped tiny tendrils of her magic around the dagger in Zelena’s hand, weaving them together to strengthen them and subtly blunting the sharp edge pressed to Henry’s throat. The dagger was exceptionally sharp and made of hard-wrought metal but with effort Emma was able to wrap enough magic around it that she wouldn’t accidentally cut Henry. Then with a wave of her arms and a heave of her magic she ripped the blade from Zelena’s grasp, sending it flying across the room. 

“What?” shrieked Zelena, and Henry took advantage of her surprise and lack of weapon to dig his elbow into her ribs and pull free from her. He stumbled away, clutching his throat, as Killian and Regina ran to catch him. Emma kept her focus on Zelena, trusting them to make sure Henry was okay, holding her magic at the ready and sparking from her fingertips. 

Zelena’s lip curled. “Very impressive, Saviour,” she spat. “Where are you getting your magic from?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Emma taunted. 

Fury flashed in Zelena’s eyes, sharp and dangerously unhinged. “It hardly matters,” she sneered. “You’re still no match for me.” Green light flashed and crackled through the room as she flung a beam of it at Emma, who threw up her hands just in time to deflect it and force it back towards the other woman. They struggled wordlessly for several minutes, each trying to push her magic onto the other until Zelena stumbled on a piece of broken brick and lost her footing, sending her green jet flying into the pile of crates and splintering them into fragments. Emma stumbled herself when the resistance she’d been pushing against abruptly vanished, regaining her balance just in time to dodge the next bolt of green Zelena shot at her, spinning nimbly to avoid it before flinging back a white one of her own. 

Killian watched them battle, fist and jaw clenched, thinking he had never in all his centuries of life felt so thoroughly useless. It was clear to him that Emma and Zelena were near perfectly matched in strength and skill, trading the advantage back and forth but neither able to hold it long enough to secure a victory. Emma needed help, and there was nothing he could do to help her. He wanted to punch something. 

Frank’s words from just a few days before echoed in his mind yet again, words that seemed to take on a new shade of meaning each time he recalled them.

(…The Caster is as powerful in darkness as the Saviour is in light, and without intervention they will ever remain locked in stalemate. To break this curse the Saviour must have aid from her true loves. Both of them…)

But what could he or Henry do? Neither of them had magic, and despite hours of research the night before, despite all his remarkably comprehensive selection of magical literature, they simply didn’t have enough information about Zelena to know if there was any other, non-magical way they could fight her. 

He looked at his son, noting the way Henry’s own small fists were clenched, the distress and frustration in his eyes as he watched his mother dodge and shoot, at the way he held tight to Regina— 

Wait. 

Regina. 

Killian and Henry may not have magic, but they had influence over someone who did. 

He spun around, grabbing the Queen by the arm and shooting Henry a look that clearly said Back me up, lad. 

“Regina,” he said urgently, “You’ve got to help her.” 

She pulled her arm from his grip and shot him her most regal glare. “Don’t be stupid, pirate, you know I can’t. Zelena controls the magic—” 

Killian was having no more of that. “She controls her magic, not Emma’s.”

“And I can’t use light magic.” 

Henry jumped in, his expression eager. “But you can, Mom!” he cried.

Sorrow broke across Regina’s face as she turned to her son and her voice broke when she responded. “Henry, no, I can’t. You know what I am—” 

“What you were,” insisted Killian, willing her to remember their conversation from the previous night. “Not what you are.” 

“You’ve changed, Mom!” 

“Look at what you’ve sacrificed in this past year,” Killian pressed. “Nearly everything you had. And for what reason? For love. For your son.” 

“You would never have done that if you were really bad!” Henry’s eyes implored her, and Regina hesitated. 

“You couldn’t love like that, selflessly, unless there was some light in you,” said Killian, striking the final blow. 

Regina was shaking her head but her expression was conflicted. “I can’t,” she insisted in a whisper, almost to herself. “Emma’s magic is so pure.”  

“But you can feel it, right?” asked Henry. “Emma’s magic?”

“Yes—” 

“Mom, don’t you know what that means? If you can feel it you can use it. Zelena’s got no idea where it’s coming from, she’s too dark to even sense it, but you can.”

Regina didn’t move but she seemed to reach out, feeling for something before drawing back with a gasp. “It— it hurts to touch it,” she said. “But I can touch it.” Her eyes lit as she was struck with an idea. “Maybe I can—” She reached out again and this time she didn’t pull back. “I can temper it with Zelena’s magic, not so much that she’ll notice but just enough to allow me to use the light magic.” 

“Go Mom!” 

“Brilliant,” said Killian with a grin. “Not hero or villain, but a much more practical combination of both.” 

She caught his eye and understanding flashed between them. 

Like you.

Aye. Like me. 

“You can do this,” he said, and she nodded. 

“Yes, I can.” 

She flung out her arm and Zelena flew backwards into the wall, the bolt she’d been aiming at Emma ricocheting off the ceiling and showering them all in plaster dust. Emma turned, mouth dropping open. “Regina,” she gasped. “You—” 

“It would seem so,” said Regina as she moved to Emma’s side and then they both flung their hands up as Zelena with a shriek of fury shot green light at the pair of them. Regina’s assistance tipped the delicate balance and Emma was able to form her magic into a barrier, like a wall, which she pushed towards Zelena slowly encircling her in a bubble of white magic. 

And still, Zelena fought, pushing back with all her considerable might.

“She’s not giving up,” Regina yelled. “We can’t hold her off forever!”

“I just need to close this spell around her and she’ll be contained!” shouted Emma. “If you have any better ideas I’d love to hear them!”  

“I think I know what to do,” said Henry quietly, for Killian’s ears alone. “It’s something I heard Frank tell Mom, when he was teaching her that magic you can sense is magic you can use. We’ve got to get Zelena’s amulet. That’s where her magic is, if we can get it away from her she’ll be powerless.” 

“But how do we do that, she’s behind that shield your mums have made—”

“I can do it,” said Henry, with a confidence he almost felt.  

“No, Henry—” 

“Dad, please, I can do it. I know how, but there’s no time to tell you— You’ve just gotta trust me.” 

Killian hesitated, looking intently at his son, torn between faith in the lad’s abilities and the parental desire to protect him. Finally, he nodded. Henry was far more Emma than he was Baelfire, smart and capable and brave. A bit of trust was the least he deserved. 

“Very well,” he said.  

---

The night before: 

Magical weapons, it turned out, were far more plentiful than Henry had ever imagined. The book in his lap listed hundreds, outlined in detail with a history and description of each one, including the powers it possessed, a diagram, and a full-colour illustration. 

Some he knew already. There was the Dark One’s dagger, of course (…Less a weapon in the traditional sense and more a vessel for the greatest evil in all the realms, though of course it could still be used to cut meat or stab enemies, should one wish it… explained the book, which Henry was coming to realise had quite the *ahem* cutting sense of humour) and there was Exalibur (So cool, thought Henry, I’d like to see that some day), plus Mulan’s sword and Robin Hood’s bow, but most of the weapons he’d never even heard of. Fragarach, for example, the sword from Celtic legend —Henry really thought that Frank ought to have told him about that one— and Odin’s sword Gram, sharp enough to split an anvil in half. The coolest one by far though was Æsahættr, also known as the subtle knife. Henry examined its diagram with intense fascination. The subtle knife was short and unassuming in appearance, with an embossed wooden handle and a double-edged blade, each edge forged of a different metal, a blade which it was said could cut through anything: any substance, any magic, even the fabric of reality itself. 

Damn, thought Henry, That’s not something you want to see in the wrong hands…

---

Henry ran to the corner where Emma’s magic had flung Zelena’s knife, picking it up with hands trembling both from fear and excitement. He was all but certain that this was the knife he’d read about last night, Æsahættr, the sharpest and most dangerous blade in any of the known realms. After all, he’d had quite a good look at it when Zelena had threatened him, felt its keen edge cut his own skin. 

Grasping the handle firmly in his hand he ran, quick as a flash, to the barrier of white light that surrounded Zelena and with a sweeping downward swing ripped a hole in the magic with the subtle knife. He darted through it before Zelena had time to react and grabbed her amulet, using the other edge of the knife to slice through the chain that held it. The moment it was severed Zelena’s green light went haywire, fizzling and crackling everywhere, barely contained by the bubble of light magic which had sealed itself behind Henry, trapping him and Zelena within.

Zelena shrieked in wordless fury, turning on Henry. He lifted the knife, slashing a new hole through the magic barrier but before he could get through it Zelena lunged at him, grabbing for the amulet. He yanked it away from her, unbalancing himself, and as he tried to regain his footing he lost his grip on the knife. Zelena snatched it up, triumph curling her lip into a mockery of a grin as she swung it at Henry, aiming for his heart.

Killian saw the glittering blade arc downward straight at Henry’s chest, and he reacted without thought. The second hole in the white magic had already begun to close but Killian angled his body and dove through it, tackling Henry to the ground and blocking him from Zelena’s attack, crying out in agony as he felt the blade of the subtle knife plunge into his shoulder, severing muscle and tendon and bone.  

The amulet swung on the chain still clutched in Henry’s hand and as they landed it hit the hard floor of the warehouse, cracking the green stone open beyond repair. Abruptly the sparking green light winked out and the magical bubble closed around Zelena, binding her tightly with a power she couldn’t sense and which burned her when she touched it. She screamed as Emma sealed the edges of the spell around her then she and Regina released their magic, their shoulders slumping in exhaustion. 

Emma looked around for Henry and Killian, her heart lurching painfully when she couldn’t find them at first and when she saw them lying in a motionless heap on the floor, a knife sticking out of Killian’s back, her heart stopped completely. 

“No!” she cried, racing forward. “Killian, no—” 

She ran to him, skidding clumsily to a halt and falling to her knees next to where he lay, rolling him over with shaking hands and nearly fainting in relief when he groaned. He was alive. 

“Easy does it there, Swan, you may not have spotted this but I’ve been stabbed,” he said. 

She grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely, pulling back before he could respond, then punched him in his un-stabbed shoulder. “I went to a lot of trouble to protect you from magic so of course you would find a way to get stabbed instead,” she said. “Typical.” 

His answering chuckle was laced with pain. Hastily, Emma called to her magic again, using the last of her reserves to gently probe the wound in his shoulder and soothe the severed tissues as she eased the blade from his flesh and knit it back together. When the knife was free she examined it carefully, a small frown creasing her forehead, as Killian rolled his shoulder experimentally.

“Good as new,” he said in wonder. 

 Emma carefully set the knife aside on the floor then stood and held out her hand, helping him to his feet. He used his momentum to pull her into his arms, squeezing her tightly and kissing her breathless. 

Henry got to his feet as well, watching them with a uniquely teenage blend of delight and chagrin, and when the kiss went on and on with no sign of stopping the chagrin took over and he gave a loud, exaggerated sigh. He was mid-eye-roll when Killian’s hand reached back and grabbed him by the shirtfront, pulling him into the embrace and hugging him close as Emma covered his face in kisses.

Henry did not protest. “I missed you too, Mom,” he said. 

They stood like that for some time, a tangle of limbs and relief, until the sound of Regina clearing her throat finally penetrated their haze. Emma turned and offered her a smile. 

“Regina,” she said. “I— thank you. I couldn’t have beat her without you.” 

Regina looked embarrassed. “I just used your magic,” she said. 

“It was a lot more than that,” said Emma, her smile widening as for a brief moment Regina’s face softened with emotion. “But we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to.” 

“We do have to talk about some other things,” said Regina sharply, burying her vulnerability behind snappishness. “Like the curse, for example. I can’t help noticing that it’s not broken.” 

“How do you know?” asked Killian. 

“I can still feel it. Nothing has changed. We’ve defeated the witch, you two have kissed, a lot, and yet the curse is untouched.” 

The sound of a cackle from the corner of the room startled them, and they all turned to look at Zelena. She was standing stiffly, bound securely by Emma’s magic though the only visible sign of it was the faint halo of light that surrounded her. Her face was pained but malice and triumph still glinted in her eyes. “Did you really think True Love’s Kiss could break this curse?” she asked. “Oh no, my dears. That was only possible the first time because the Dark One wanted it to be. This curse cannot be defeated by love. There is no love here to defeat it.” 

“What the hell does that mean—” Emma snapped, breaking off when Killian put his hand on her shoulder. “I think I know,” he said in a low voice. “Or at least I have an idea.” He looked at Henry and the boy nodded in agreement. 

“What” asked Emma, scowling a little at their silent communication. “What’s the idea?”

“It’s—” Henry began, but Killian cut him off. 

“It’s something that can wait until tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Before we can do anything we’ll need more research and we’ll need a plan, and frankly right now what we need most of all is to stash this witch someplace secure and take some time to rest and regroup. It’s been a hell of a day, love.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “It really has.”

She poofed them all to the Sheriff’s station where she put Zelena in a cell and warded the locks before releasing her from her magical bindings. They all waited tensely as Zelena shook herself, stretching her stiff muscles. When no green light flashed or even sparked, they shared a sigh of relief. 

Zelena gave them a sardonic glare and made herself ostentatiously comfortable on the hard cot, saying nothing. 

“I’ll stay here with her tonight,” said Regina. “I know she seems powerless but I don’t trust her.” 

“I’ll stay too,” said Henry eagerly, then turned to Emma with a grin before she had a chance to feel hurt. “So you and Dad can have some time alone,” he said. 

Her heart swelled with warmth at the natural way he called Killian “Dad,” and at his thoughtfulness. “Are you sure, kid? I feel bad leaving you so soon after I just… re-found you.”  

Henry hugged her tightly. “We have time, Mom,” he said. “Also Dad really missed you, and you know, no offence but there aren’t any walls in our apartment and my headphones are not noise-cancelling—” 

“Oi!” protested Killian, and Emma laughed. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. You stay here with Regina tonight and we can all meet up for lunch tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Perfect.”  

---

Emma summoned Henry his pajamas and a change of clothes then hugged him again. Killian hugged him too, and they had a whispered conversation that ended with them grinning at each other as Killian gave Henry’s shoulder a very paternal squeeze. Emma’s chest felt tight. The obvious closeness that had developed between her son and her husband over the past year both delighted her and made her terribly sad. She’d missed so much. 

 Killian took her hand and smiled at her, reading her as he always did. “We’ll see him tomorrow, Swan,” he said, and she nodded. 

“I know,” she replied, squeezing his hand. With one final wave at Henry and Regina, she poofed them back to Killian’s apartment where they stood silently, hands still clasped, staring at each other. 

After a long moment Killian gently drew her closer, releasing her hand to run his own up her arm and into her hair, pulling her in for a kiss. She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around him, opening her mouth under his, glorying in the taste and feel of him, the reality of him back in her arms. It was wonderful, and it was overwhelming, all the stress and the emotion of the day and now the achingly familiar tug of Killian’s hand in her hair and his hook pressing into the small of her back, and Emma broke the kiss with a sob as tears began to pour down her cheeks. 

Killian brushed them away with his thumb, his touch so gentle and loving that she sobbed even harder. “What’s this, love?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Argh, I don’t know!” she cried, wiping futilely at her cheeks. “I just— I have a lot of emotions going on right now.” 

He pulled her back into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. “I know, darling,” he said. “Let them out.” 

Emma clutched at him, burying her face against his chest as all the stress and trauma of the past year poured out of her and she just wept, wild and unrestrained, and he held her, saying nothing, stroking her hair as her tears drenched the front of his sweater. 

She had no idea how long she cried. Time and place faded away and her world distilled into pure sensation: the twisting ache in her heart, the sturdy strength of Killian and his arms around her, the softness of his sweater against her cheek. 

She rubbed her face against it, drying the last of her tears.

“I like this sweater,” she said. “Is it new?”

“Aye.”

Emma felt drained and weak, and infinitely better than before, but the thought of him buying clothes without her still had the power to give her a small twinge of hurt. 

 “Part of my attempt to blend in,” he explained. “Henry was of the opinion that black leather wasn’t the most effective way to remain inconspicuous.” 

She chuckled, the sound still watery with the echo of her tears. “You couldn’t blend in no matter what you wore.” 

“He said the same. But I did my best.” 

There was so much she wanted to say to him, about how alone she had felt, how she had missed him even when she couldn’t remember who he was. How much it meant to her that he had never given up. She tried to find the words but there was just too much; too many conversations they needed to have when she was still so raw, her emotions so close to the surface. So she said the only thing that truly mattered. 

“I love you.” 

He made a choked noise and his arms tightened around her. “I love you,” he said hoarsely, and she could feel the dampness of his own tears against her hair. Her fearsome pirate was such a softy underneath, she thought. Who would have imagined it? 

Her love for him wanted to burst from her chest. It surged and clawed at her, demanding to be expressed, demanding his lips on hers and his skin under her hands and his cock deep inside her. She wanted to feel his body against hers as close as they could get, wanted them so tightly joined that the seam was invisible, so tightly that nothing could ever separate them again. 

Nothing ever really had, she knew. They were connected in a way that memory curses and physical distance could strain but never break, but as much as she loved their dreams and as grateful as she had been for them this past year, nothing could compare to the warm, solid reality of Killian pressed against her and she had missed it. 

She began to trail kisses along his jaw as her hands slid under his soft sweater to find the softer skin beneath and she walked him backwards towards the sofa. 

“Emma—” he began, but she cut him off. 

“Killian, I know I’ve just bawled my eyes out and you probably want to talk about that and I want to talk about it too, babe, really, but not now. Right now I just— I need to touch you, okay?”

He chuckled, light and happy but edged with the same bittersweet desperation that was driving her. “You’ll hear no argument from me, darling,” he growled. “I merely wished to suggest that we adjourn to the bedroom before things get out of hand. This sofa is not like our one in New York, it has a rogue spring that always seems to poke me no matter where I sit, and—” 

Emma waved her hand and they were standing next to his bed, clothes gone. 

“—and this is much better,” concluded Killian, scooping her up and tossing her onto the mattress. She laughed as he pounced on her, kissing along the curve of her neck as his hand and bare wrist sought out all the spots that made her moan. 

It was like their dreams but also not, sharper and more potent in reality but considerably less smooth, with straining muscles and rude noises and awkward positions. Emma banged her elbow against the headboard of the unfamiliar bed and Killian slipped on the slick sateen coverlet, but when he was finally inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around him and her fingernails gouging the skin of his shoulders, it was perfect in a way that the perfection of their dreams could never achieve. 

Killian was whispering to her, soft words pressed into the skin of her neck and breathed through the strands of her hair, how good she felt, how much he’d missed her. How much he loved her. 

“Killian,” she moaned. “I love you… love you…” It was all she could think, and all she could feel. Her orgasm built slowly then broke over her all at once, flooding her senses as she gripped him tightly and he groaned into her hair as he came. They curled into each other as they drifted down, neither wishing to let the other go, and for the first time in more than a year they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

Further Notes: Fans of His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman will of course recognise the subtle knife. 

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG136!

- In a very interesting way for an episode dealing with The Web (both as an active force outside of the Institute and… very close to it: Annabelle sending Alison there, Jon being unable to focus on his lighter), this episode dealt, in a lot of small ways, with the idea that members of the Archives team are… regaining control of themselves and their lives?

Melanie is attempting therapy! She’s cautious about it but she’s taking measures to try and get better, she’s putting efforts into it, she wants to feel better!

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: If you don’t mind me asking, [STATIC:] where are you off to…? MELANIE: Therapy. [STATIC ENDS] … Wait. ARCHIVIST: Oh…! Oh, God, Melanie, I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh… MELANIE: [EXASPERATED SIGH] It’s fine. I would probably have told you eventually, anyway. ARCHIVIST: Even so, I shouldn’t have– MELANIE: Just… forget it. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] It’s good, though. I–I’m glad you’re getting help. MELANIE: Yes, well. We’ll see. There’s a… a lot of crap therapists out there. ARCHIVIST: I guess. Still, it–it is a good step.

Jon is right on this and… there was already something hopeful in the way that Melanie didn’t explode at Jon for accidentally compelling her; she wasn’t pleased by it but… she could have shut the conversation down. Instead, she tried to minimise a little what Jon had done and asserted her boundaries, which she did again with the therapist, but without cutting either of them out. She’s clearly not in the bestest of places, was uncomfortable with the topic… but I’m so glad and proud of her for taking this “step”, for deciding that she had to deal with her demons – possibly from way before she even came to the Institute for the first time?

Meanwhile: it wasn’t so much about Jon’s actions but about what he finally admitted – that he’s aware that he made a choice, that he’s actually had… a very twisted and casually self-destructive way of facing the coffin and of considering his own life since he’s woken up:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I… I don’t know if I made the right decision; I–I’m stronger now, tougher, I can… … If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever… I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else so, if I can maybe stop that happening, and [DRY CHUCKLE] the only danger is to me, I– I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario… the universe loses another monster. DAISY: That’s messed up. ARCHIVIST: [LOW SELF-DEPRECATIVE DRY LAUGHTER] … Yeah. I suppose it is.

It has been a process for Jon, too; the theme of “choice” has been sneakily prevalent in season 4 so far, following up on season 3:

(MAG087) Georgie: [SIGH] Look I’ve, I’ve got work to do. You listen, or don’t listen, or cross-record, or whatever you want, just… just think about it first, okay? You can choose to leave it alone. [DOOR CLOSES] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [TAPE PLAYER IS LOADED] [CLICK]

(MAG092) ARCHIVIST: I never chose this! ELIAS: You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see. Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.

(MAG111) GERRY: Thing is, it’s harder than it looks. What’s out there doesn’t care about blood. […] But they care about your choices, your fears.

(MAG117) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] You– you know what, no. I’m… I’m done with that. No more paranoia. It’s almost got me killed more than once, and… Georgie was right. If I am… slipping, then I need people I can trust. And I… I don’t think that can happen naturally for me an–anymore, so… I’m making a decision. I trust them. All of them. E– except Elias, obviously, that’s not– I mean…

(MAG121) OLIVER: The thing is, Jon, right now, you have a choice. You’ve put it off for a long time; but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but – still too human to survive. You’re… balanced on an edge where The End can’t touch you – but you can’t escape him. I made a choice. We all made choices; now you have to– […] Make your choice, Jon.

(MAG132) DAISY: I don’t want t–to be a s–sadistic predator again… I–I don’t want to… hobble around, like some pathetic, wounded prey either… I don’t know which would be worse. And I’m sc–scared, now, that I’ll never get the choice… ARCHIVIST: One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

(MAG134) PETER: … Look. I’m not gonna pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. It won’t even work unless you’re willing to commit.

(MAG136) DAISY: Get over yourself! You’re always talking about choices – we all made ours. Now I’m making the choice… to get some drinks in. Coming?

So, although his memories are still missing and he might not remember Oliver either (Jon has never mentioned him so far, and given how Jude had been able to kick Jon out of her dreams, he might have done the same thing despite giving a live-statement), Jon is aware that he made a decision – maybe without knowing in the details what was at stake (there could be a few things we could still scream at Elias in MAG092 re: informed consent :w), but he was faced with two options and elected one over the other. It has its own shades of tragic undertones and heartbreak, but it’s also… his own choice, this time around, and still more controlled than “sign papers to become Head Archivist of an eccentric Institute (sells your soul to a Fear god that you’ll now have to feed through other people’s terrors or your own)”. By pushing and questioning Jon, Daisy had been able to make him say what he chose to do (and as seen above, why), and his handling of the coffin was one of such things. Even if, indeed, the Web sent him in that direction (leaving MAG131’s tape for him, maybe manipulating him to some extent through the lighter), Jon, like Martin, is still appropriating what they did as being his own decision:

(MAG134) PETER: What does puzzle me, though, and I mean that genuinely, is… why you were piling tape recorders onto the coffin, while Jon was in there. [PAUSE] It’s a question, Martin, it’s– it’s not an accusation. MARTIN: I don’t know. And I just… felt like it might help. He’s always recording, I thought… it–it might help him… find his way out. PETER: Interesting. Were you compelled? MARTIN: [SULLEN] … I don’t know. … M–maybe? I–I, I definitely wanted to do it… PETER: But? MARTIN: I’m… I’m not sure where the idea came from.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: I… [SIGH] I don’t feel like I’m exactly in the best place to judge the… intersection [CHUCKLE] between free will and humanity. Still trying to figure that out myself. [SILENCE] DAISY: Jon… when you went into the coffin. Was it you choosing to do that? Did you actually think you could save me, or was… that something telling you to do it? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: It was me. I was… drawn to it, I’ll admit, but it was my decision.

Jon agreeing to Daisy’s proposition to go get drinks may also be going in his own right direction – back in season 1, Jon would have probably shrugged off the offer? But as Helen told him, “people change” and right there, Jon had a micro-choice; he could have refused and, still, after a small hesitation, decided to go along with it instead.

Of course, when it comes to reclaiming their life back in this episode, the most striking was Daisy; Daisy, who had already explained who she wanted to be (MAG132: “I d–, I don’t… I don’t know who I am without, without the chase… I just know… that I… I don’t like who I was back outside. I don’t want to be her again. I want… to be… better…”) and who, so far, has managed to stick to that; Daisy, who handles herself as best as she can even (especially!) though it requires other people because she wants to avoid being alone for PTSD reasons:

(MAG133) [CLICK–] DAISY: You sure? ARCHIVIST: No, uh, it’s, hum. It’s fine. DAISY: It’s just… Basira’s busy.

(MAG136) MELANIE: Well… uhm. Daisy’s been, erm… I’ve been keeping her company. Er, while… while Basira’s busy. She’s, er… ARCHIVIST: Oh, no, I, uh… I–I know. […] DAISY: [QUICKLY] You’re not babysitting me, alright?! I know that’s what the others think, sometimes, but… that’s not it. I just… don’t like…  being on my own if I can help it. You know. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the usual. Just trying to avoid it if I can. ARCHIVIST: I know, Daisy, I–I do. It’s hard. DAISY: Yeah, well. Don’t let me get in your way.

There is currently something so strong in what we’re seeing of Daisy? In the way she’s aware of her limitations and manages to prevent the conditions leading to potential breakdowns? I feel like she’s following the same logic as when we knew her as a Hunter: when she was seeing a problem, she would just… neutralise it. Hence beating up Mike, hence immediately going for Jon’s voicebox; hence her Cold Factual Violence overall against spooks/vampires/“monsters” of various kinds. Basira had said that she liked Daisy because she was “solid”, because of her certainty, and this is still the same Daisy – though not hurting others anymore! And she pulled an incredible power move:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: It, uh… Hm. Is, uh… Weird question, but… I… [EXHALE] I haven’t seen you in my dreams? The last couple of weeks? DAISY: … Oh, uh, no. I… I work here, now. I figured it seems to protect the others, so… ARCHIVIST: Oh. Right, so… Wait, did you talk to Lukas, or…? DAISY: [CHUCKLE] Broke into Elias’s old office. Found an employment contract; filled it in, and signed it. ARCHIVIST: And that worked. DAISY: Seems so. ARCHIVIST: And you’re not… worried about… DAISY: Basira’s trapped here. So are you. Not gonna be going anywhere anyway. ARCHIVIST: … I suppose not. So… no more dreams. DAISY: Not of you and your weird eyes. Just the coffin. ARCHIVIST: Is that better…? DAISY: ’T’s mine. ARCHIVIST: … right.

She weaponised what they have gathered, through experiences and guesses, to get free of the dreams she hated! It’s not absolutely clear whether she signed to become an Archival assistant or a regular staff member; on the one hand, Jon’s concern hints towards archival assistant, since as far as we know, the Archives seemed to be their own business, including trapping their staff (though damn, I remembered MAG102 being more explicit on the matter but: actually, no, since Martin saying that regular crew are able to quit was immediately followed by “Hannah just left to have her baby, though.”: was that “though” a “by the way” or a way to tamper what he had just said, and this is the most they can do, but still not quite quit…?); on the other hand, Daisy hasn’t specified what it was.

Anyway: it’s such a POWERFUL MOVE to… 1°) break into Elias’s office, 2°) just sign herself up like that?, 3°) ESPECIALLY given how Elias had initially coerced Basira into signing herself up to avoid turning the scene into a bloodbath, even before being told of the repercussions (that she couldn’t quit, that Elias dying meant that they would die too). What Daisy did sound like a direct answer to MAG092, and I’m loving it, loving that Daisy… just used what they had learnt of the dreams’ mechanism to protect herself and chose to bind herself to the Institute while exactly knowing what it meant, without anything blackmailing her into it. Elias hadn’t bothered to tie her down for who she was? Watch as she’ll decide that for herself.

This is also the first person of Extended Team Archive to… have given herself to The Eye fully knowing what she was doing. You better be grateful for the gesture, Big Eyeball!!! The others had to be misled or coerced into serving you, and Daisy, of all people, chose to give herself to you!!!

(- If Daisy became an Archive Assistant: I hope that she’ll get to read a statement at some point? Well, technically, best thing would be for nobody to read a statement but. Martin did it a few times (and read one in MAG134!), Tim ALMOST did it, Melanie did it twice, Basira did it once… it’s a bit of a Tradition. (And who wouldn’t want to hear Fay Roberts for almost an entire episode outside of Daisy’s own live-statements?! I’m a simple woman, okay.))

- I’m really curious about how Elias and Daisy would interact, now. Would it be biting/tense/mutual snarling, or taunting about Daisy still being a “rabid dog” at heart…? Or precisely not anymore: because Daisy acknowledged in front of Jon that Elias had not been that off about her (MAG132: “Did you ever hear the, the story Elias told me? About what I did. How I am… He, he didn’t get a detail wrong. The Hunt… Hunger was in me all my life.”)…? I also… get the feeling that maybe, the current Daisy might be perceiving her encounter with the Institute as a chance, since it ultimately led to her snapping out of the Hunt (though she would have reasons to want to break Elias’s arm for the fact that Basira got trapped because of him).

- I wonder if Martin saw Daisy’s name pop up amongst the new staff members? Or if Peter just told him right away what she had done? Is Daisy now actually getting a salary from the Institute? (I’m not sure that Elias “We really don’t have the budget for that” (MAG067) had even bothered to pay her when he was using her ~services~ so… drain Peter’s money, Daisy, gogogo!! And Use Your Powers to give everyone in Team Archive a raise, Martin :w)

- The fact that Daisy said that she had broken into “Elias’s old office”… Well, Elias’s office had been characterised by the clock in the background; since we could hear one in MAG126, I was assuming that Martin and Peter were in there (especially since Martin was doing Peter’s directorial work) but had noticed that there was no such sound in MAG134. Were they outside of the Institute? Or has Martin stopped working in Elias’s office since Daisy had forcefully gone inside of it, deeming it unsafe?

- Anyway: Jon-Melanie-Daisy seem to be creating an awkward support network, right now, and it’s ADORABLE and good (+ extra cookies to Melanie for seeking therapy!). They still have trouble talking: there were sooo many pauses and silences when Melanie was in front of Jon; Daisy is still not… super at ease speaking about how she feels (while she’s way chiller when it comes to describing how she broke into Elias’s office. Daisy, ilu.); Jon searched for his words a bit to describe how he was perceiving himself at the moment… But they’re trying and still getting those words out and explaining themselves to each other a bit. And it’s PRECIOUS, godsdamnit.

- ALRIGHT, NOW TO DIVE RIGHT INTO THE SILK-STICHED MEAT OF THIS EPISODE:

(MAG111) GERRY: Nice lighter. You a spider freak, then? ARCHIVIST: What? Oh! Er, no. I-I never really, uh… I never really thought of it. I–I’m Jon. I’m with the Magnus Institute.

(MAG136) DAISY: [SCOFF] She’s… Web. Spider’s sneaky like that. [PAUSE] Like that lighter you’re always using. Where’d you get that? ARCHIVIST: Mm. [STATIC] Good point. We should keep our eyes open. Anyway, how’s Basira doing?

………………. It was impossible to tell whether or not there was static back in MAG111 (at least for me: there was a constant static-y background due to Gerry being there), but here, yep, there was some. So something is DEFINITELY preventing Jon from lingering too much on the lighter (like an oily surface his attention keeps slipping on?) and what it means. … And apparently, he still has it with him – I had wondered if he hadn’t lent it to Martin for MAG118’s plan, burning statements? I mean, maybe he did and the lighter found its way back to Jon anyway, or it was still with Jon during the Wax Museum explosion, but Jon still has it with him at the moment.

How many silken strings have tied around Jon’s body and head without him noticing, I wonder… the episode was about a “Puppeteer”, after all (or… maybe a bit more about the puppets.)

……………….. Sounds like Jon is back to smoking again, too, given Daisy’s comment? And Jon’s smoking habits have been Smelling Like Web Spirit: he had apparently stopped around the time he began to work at the Institute (since he told Leitner he had “been quit for five years now” in MAG080, in February 2017); Elias had ranted about Jon smoking in MAG039 (“He’s not smoking again, is he?”: was it because he knew of Jon’s smoker history? Or because Jon had gone back to… smoking a lot since he discovered that the lighter had been delivered to him in MAG036?); Tim implied that he might have noticed that Jon had been smoking again recently at the end of season 2 (MAG079: “he’s going to do something, and it’s going to be bad. And I don’t mean like ‘sneaking a cigarette’ bad. Like properly bad.”); Jon ~conveniently~ felt the urge to smoke a cigarette and left Leitner alone to face his death (Elias.) in MAG080 (Jon minimised it at the time, but… it means that he had cigarettes on him.); and after that, we only got the mention from Daisy digging through his stuff in MAG091, and him offering Gerry a cigarette in MAG111.

One thing that makes me Hysterical every time:

(MAG091) DAISY: One wallet, brown leather, no cash. One packet cigarettes, Silk Cut. One lighter, gold, spiderweb design.

OF ALL THINGS, JON SMOKES “SILK CUT”

“SILK

CUT”

COME ON, SPIDER, COULD YOU TRY TO BE A BIT SUBTLE WITH THAT BOY?!

- Actual footage of Jon forgetting about his lighter (ft. Daisy):

- I find it very interesting that Daisy was able to notice the lighter and Jon’s lack of oversight about it since… when Daisy was introduced through Basira’s words, Basira explained that Daisy had first been sectioned over a Spider-related case:

(MAG043) BASIRA: […] Daisy was sectioned years before I was even on the force. She’s never been that forthcoming about any of her own experiences. Takes Section 31 very seriously. The most I could get out of her was that she was originally sectioned for something she referred to as “spider husks”. The way she described it, it sounded like she’d found a bunch of shells. The sort crabs leave behind when they grow, but… I could never figure out if it was meant to be the husks of people-sized spiders, or the spider-like husks of people? And Daisy never seemed like she wanted to clarify. I’m sure she mentioned vampires once as well, but… I think she was joking. … Probably. … Maybe…

We have learned, since then, that it wasn’t exactly true: Daisy’s first section’d case had to do with the coffin, but Daisy also told Jon that only her superior had known about it prior to Jon's pulling the story out of her (MAG061). So Basira couldn’t have known that Daisy had lied or dodged to tell the truth, but still… one of Daisy’s first cases had to do with Spiders.

(And Daisy has been ~taking care~ of the vampires, too, which are known for their mind-controlling powers. When Trevor had met a Spider-Woman, he had mentioned that his experience with vampires had probably helped him to identify that the compulsion to get out and get high wasn’t his own… So it seems like Hunters might have a little immunity or at least resistance to manipulation. I’m EVEN MORE RELIEVED that Jon got Daisy back.)

(… And afraid, oh so afraid for Daisy’s life-expectancy, since she’s already so important when it comes to potentially dealing with threats, and being a presence which allows the Archive team to re-form a bit.)

- MAG110 and MAG136 are quite good to listen to one after another, besides Neil Lagorio’s existence – they dealt with the same movie-making world, of Web apparently, and there were some tiny things which were quite interesting? Both statements were given by women isolated from their peers and put into a situation they probably wouldn’t have picked if they’d been allowed to retain more options and Choices:

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “I’d held some ambitions about directing myself one day, but it soon became obvious that that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe if I’d got a feature under my belt before I was outed as trans, it might have been different, but… as it was, this revelation burned too many bridges, and when the dust had settled, it was made abundantly clear to me that I was never going to get a movie of my own. And it was either cinematography, or nothing. So I stayed.”

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “He even kept in contact when I left to have my baby. It wasn’t planned […]. Anyway, even once I’d sorted out childcare arrangements, I found myself… more and more unwelcome in the industry. It wasn’t that people weren’t willing to hire me – by this point I had a hell of a special effects resumé – but the hours you were expected to be working, the way shoots were set up, the culture of drinking, networking… none of it was really possible alongside parenting.”

There was, also, the obvious theme of… the fictions reshaping reality, or becoming a reality: Dexter was obsessed with a Spider that seemed to only exist in his dream of a story, and he recreated it on the set in the end. Neil managed to finally recreate his last story with himself:

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “he would twist his fingers into all sort of bizarre, intricate shapes, until I could see the strings flowing over them… ‘We made them dance,’ he would say, wonder and nostalgia in his voice. ‘Oh… how we made them dance.’ […] He told me later his… greatest regret was not being able to finish his final film. An arthouse piece simply titled Dancer. He never explained what it was about, nor do I think it actually… came out in the end. […] And as I walked away from Neil, the last time I saw him alive… he was dancing. The cables shifting, and moving him in a graceful, sweeping ballet. And he was crying with joy.”

On the theme of “smoking” as related to the Web, it’s ~curious~ to note that it was also present in MAG110 and MAG136’s statements, and not in moderation either:

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “[Brandon Alma] took to the role immediately, with a gravity and a weariness that I don’t think could have been entirely feigned. He was the only one who didn’t seem excited by the movie, and spent his off-hours smoking and reading quietly in one of the trailers.” (MAG136, Alison Killala) “I had to fight every instinct inside me, everything that wanted to burst out in admiration for his work and his… profound effect on my life. But instead I chain-smoked and laughed, trying my best to come across as my hero’s peer…!”

So, hum. Smoking hadn’t been exclusively a Web-thing before (there was of course the Anglerfish’s baiting, and its shells smoking to disguise the odour of death), but I still find that noticeable.

- There is an OBVIOUS problem with the timeline of Neil’s death, from MAG110 and MAG136’s given mentions:

(MAG110) MARTIN: Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, recording statement number 0121403. Statement of Alexia Crawley, given March 14th, 2012. (MAG110, Alexia Crawley) It seems like a sick cosmic joke that that was the day the press broke the news of Neil Lagorio’s death. Half an hour after the cast walked into that building, one of the grips stumbled across the news story whilst idly checking his phone. Lagorio had been privately suffering from Parkinson’s for almost a decade, and had been bedridden in his Connecticut home for the last year.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: Statement of Alison Killala, regarding her time as friend and carer to special effects artist Neil Lagorio. Original statement given 1st December, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. (MAG136, Alison Killala) “It was almost six months ago when the woman came to our door. […] I don’t know how long I was watching those films. They don’t… It was hard to keep track of time. According to my daughter, I was missing for five months. When Annabelle let me out, Neil was dead. […] She told me to come here. She told me to give them to you. I resisted for some time, but I’m done now. She’s won. And I’d… very much like to go home.”

If Annabelle visited Neil’s house six months before Alison gave her statement, it should have been in June; while Alexia’s statement put Neil’s death before March (presumably February, since Martin added as part of the follow-up that “Apparently, over the last five years, every February, a corpse is found washed up on Redondo Beach.”). It’s not clear either if Alison lived in the UK but she did mention the “UK press” at some point; while according to the official version given by Alexia, Neil had lived and died in the US.

So what happened…? Has someone in the Archives been purposely messing up with the dates regarding The Web…? Were there two “Neil Lagorio”s towards the end…? Did The Web messed up the files a bit through someone? (Noticeable, too: Jon who ~listens to all the tapes~ didn’t mention the echoes with MAG110’s statement, which was read by Martin. Did he listen to this one, or had the tape… disappeared when he went back?)

(I know that the popular theory regarding MAG114’s statement and what was happening in Hill Top Road is “parallel worlds”, but it always sounded textbook Spiral to me – we also have been demonstrations of entities rewriting reality to erase people or twist people’s memories, see the Not!Them and what happened to the statement-giver’s husband in MAG038. But I’m a bit short on explanations regarding the obvious problem of timeline in MAG110 and MAG136……………..)

- Relistening to MAG110, I just realized that someone had completely flown under my radar: Brandon (Brendon?) Alma, the main actor, who… was the one controlling the story and the set, actually?!

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “Most impressive to me though, was a guy named [Brandon Alma]. He was playing the closest thing the film had to a protagonist, a… homeless ex-Methodist minister who’d found himself on the island by chance and served as a connecting thread, wandering between the scenes and the vignettes of the inhabitants, after each ended with their march to the Spider. Brandon took to the role immediately, with a gravity and a weariness that I don’t think could have been entirely feigned. He was the only one who didn’t seem excited by the movie, and spent his off-hours smoking and reading quietly in one of the trailers. It was a shame because, for whatever reason, he also seemed to be the only one that Dexter would listen to. I only saw them talking once or twice but every time, Dexter would be wrapped, nodding at… whatever Brandon might have to say. […] [Dexter] then gathered up the cast and, with Brandon leading them, took them through a small door in the side of the workshop. And they disappeared inside.”

He was playing a character who was the “CONNECTING THREAD” between people getting eaten by the spider, Dexter “would be WRAPPED” and agreeing to everything Brandon told him, and Brandon was the one to lead the actors into the workshop where they were all killed/consumed/drunk hollow, UHUHUHUH. Maybe the book that Dexter had found wasn’t actually the (only?) thing that messed up everything? Or did Brandon come from the book? Was he actually the spider himself, or just there to ensure that the spider would emerge and be fed…?

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “I don’t know when he first mentioned his spider film. It didn’t… bubble out into a full obsession until two years ago, but I know he talked about it plenty before that. […] [蜘蛛が食べている] (Kumo ga tabeteiru). I think that was the name, anyway, something like that; he was normally slurring quite badly when he said it. He thought it translated to “The Spiders That Devour” but a Japanese friend once told me it was actually closer to just “Spiders Are Eating”. According to Dexter, Kumo was an old tokusatsu movie which, he believed, had come out sometime in the mid-to-late sixties. It was about a Spider – just the one, despite the title – that grew to a colossal size and terrorized a small unnamed island off the coast of Kagoshima. What struck him about it, though, was the utter absence of anything resembling a hero or a protagonist. No one fought against the monster, and although there were vignettes in the lives of those under the Spider’s shadow, they all ended the exact same way – with the character in question marching slowly, and calmly, into its waiting jaws.”

(And it would sound EXTREMELY Web to have all the attention focused on Dexter… while the true puppeteer would be somewhere else, hidden.)

- Something striking in many Web mentions is that: it likes Order (… and apparently drinking people hollow – requiring the fluids to sustain itself? To be able to moult and grow in size?)

(MAG127, Breekon) “We had some luggage once. A thrumming, silk-wrapped thing of The Spider, hiding away in an old steamer trunk. We stepped heavy through the dining car and found an old woman near the caboose. 'Something strange in the luggage car,' he said, and I finished as was our way. 'You should come and see it.' She stood and walked with us readily enough, though tears flowed silent down her cheeks and pattered onto the faded carpet. The Spider’s always an easy job – no fuss, no complication, everything planned and prepared. It knows too much to truly be a Stranger, but hides its knowing well enough to endure. We knew she wouldn’t scream as she was hollowed out and drunk.”

(MAG110) MARTIN: Apparently, over the last five years, every February, a corpse is found washed up on Redondo Beach. It will be a shrivelled husk, with all moisture and internal organs apparently removed.

(+ Daisy’s early Section 31 case with the “husks” of people/spiders/etc.)

On the matter of order: the victims in Kumo (MAG110) also weren’t making a fuss when they marched off to get eaten, it was the same behaviour as what Breekon described. Regarding Alison’s story, it seems like although she was officially the puppeteer of Neil’s body… SHE was the one who had been puppeteered around:

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “I became his carer a few months later. It just seemed to make sense. A frugal life, lucrative career and… prickly personality had left him with lots of money but no real support; while my life had left me in a position where I cared… deeply about his well-being and was in… desperate need of money. Everything just… lined up so neatly. […] he threw himself into a new project, one I would never have expected, but that suited my engineering background perfectly. […] I protested, of course! This man was my hero, I–I loved him, and there was no way I could subject him to this… awful indignity. But my objections were ignored, as always, and Neil insisted that this was what he wanted. So I built that… strange contraption. Using the skills I had developed across my whole life, to fill every corner of Neil Lagorio’s house with wood, and steel, and cable. […] I barely even noticed when the harnesses were no longer necessary; when the loops for those hooks were now embedded directly into his body. I must have asked him about it. But at the time, it just seemed like… such a natural progression.

Neil had exactly the Right Person available for what he needed when his body started to shut down; Alison wanted to refuse and ended up accepting. Even before Annabelle came in, it… doesn’t really sound like Alison had been the one in control in that whole situation.

And on the matter of people being at the right place at the right time for The Web’s purposes: SQUINTS at the fact that 2012 was when Jon started working at the Institute. We witnessed Melanie, Basira and Daisy’s first steps there, we know that Tim went to get a job there because he was looking into his brother’s death, Sasha might or might not have been interested in the supernatural for years (it could have been the Not!Them rewriting that bit; we at least know that Sasha wasn’t particularly well-off so… maybe she just plainly needed the money); we know that Martin just happened to be hired after submitting his CV everywhere he could (the question of why ELIAS, who PERSONALLY INTERVIEWED HIM, hired him is… another Big Question), but… why did Jon start working at the Institute? He didn’t particularly expect to Georgie to identify what the Institute was, so it wasn’t a life-long dream of his that he would have mentioned many times as a student…

(Re: the Web and Order, SQUINTSSQUINTSSQUINTS again towards the one particular person who has mostly been associated with that: “loves scheduling”, has specific days on which he eats lunch with the Institute’s librarians, insisted on Tim doing the paperwork for his absences, That One Thing About Keeping Receipts If You Want To Claim Your Expenses (Unless You Die)… that guy.)

- I still wonder how the Web works on people exactly, though… especially given all the talks about making choices and decisions, it would seem a bit odd to end up concluding that “anyway, the Web will make you want and do whatever IT pleases, you can’t do anything about it”…? (Though yeah, THAT is frightening.)

Given that Alison compared herself to Frankenstein, I wonder, in her case, if despite her ~adamant refusal~ to puppet her friend and idol…

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “Even pyrotechnics, while… impressive and visually spectacular, they just didn’t give me the same sharp joy as making something that could move, that came alive, directed and controlled by my hand… I always felt Frankenstein should have been an engineer, not a medical student, as reading that book I couldn’t help but see myself in that obsession. But I suppose everyone’s already done the-monster-as-the-robot, haven’t they?”

… some parts of her didn’t actually want it? And this is how The Web might operate overall? Humans are complex, we’re always mixing up emotions and different desires at the same time; maybe The Web mostly just brings to the surfaces the ones it needs to push people in the direction it wants…? (In that case, re: Trevor and the Spider Woman… it wouldn’t be surprising, as an ex-heroin addict, that some part of him would still feel the tinge of the craving…)

- What was Neil, in the end? Was he a Web avatar who found a way to feed his god mostly through fictions? Was his ex-partner “Gabe” Gabriel, the Spiral’s Worker-In-Clay…? Was he a plain person, able to use some powers here and there? The thing is:

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “his satisfaction with his latest and… as it turned out, last… foray into horror, with The Harvestman. He’d always had a fondness for spiders, he told me. And I of course reminded him that harvestmen… weren’t technically spiders.”

She is right! Though this could be a case of misleading us to focus on the symbols rather than their effects; Neil’s work was… indeed clearly linked to the idea of hidden control:

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “he claimed to be working with Neil Lagorio to make the Spider. Now you might never have heard his name before, but I guarantee you you’ll have seen his work. From the mid-seventies right into CGI, Lagorio was THE name in Practical Creature Effects: suit work, stop-motion, animatronics, whatever the method, he was the master. […] I’d had the pleasure of working with him way back in 1989 on Orbit – a medium-budget sci-fi vehicle for some… aging action star. Neil was working on a twelve-foot tall animatronic robot that featured heavily in the climax. The picture was, unsurprisingly, a flop; but I still remember his work. How he brought a… lump of wood and steel to life. Th–the huge, intricate mechanisms that allowed his crew to puppet it into motion that was so natural you could forget that the back of it was completely hollow…!”

On the one hand, he sounded pretty harmless. On the other hand, there were these “original cuts” (and the cruel broken SMILE you could hear on Jon’s face when he mentioned them while reading the statement was… gosh.). Was Dexter Banks invited to one of those screenings, and is that why he was haunted by the memories of a movie he couldn’t find again…?

-… So, what does it mean for ANNABELLE to send these original cuts to the Institute?

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “There were two sorts of people in the world as far as Neil saw it: those who were worth his time, and those who were not. And if you were in the latter group, he honestly couldn’t care if you lived or died. Not that most people could tell which side of the line they fell on; there were even days that… I wasn’t sure myself! Sometimes, I remember, he would invite people over to his studio that I was sure he hated, for screenings of his “original cuts”. I was quite… jealous of this at the time, as I’d never got such an invitation. But it was probably for the best. I didn’t… realise it back then, but… [SIGH] those guests… they never quite looked the same afterwards. […] She told me to take the films. His… “original cuts”. She told me to come here. She told me to give them to you.”

[…] ARCHIVIST: [INHALES] Statement ends. Hm. Neil Lagorio… You ever see any of his work? DAISY: No. Not really into films. ARCHIVIST: Oh, they were… Well, let’s just say that it’s not a complete shock there was something unnatural to them. Didn’t know we had copies in the Institute, though; let alone original cuts. [CHUCKLE] Records indicate they [PAPERS RUSTLING] ended up in… Artefact Storage. DAISY: Probably best that they stay there. ARCHIVIST: … Yeah. Yes, of course.

(…………. You could HEAR that Jon was dangerously close to going to check them out if Daisy hadn’t reminded him that Jon, No.)

At the time, Gertrude was still running the Archives… but, again, it’s also around that time when Jon integrated the Institute as a researcher. (He said he had been working there for “four years” in MAG001, which was set sometime in the second half of 2015 – though I wouldn’t past it s1!Jon to round up, like, 3 years and 20 days to “four years” to sound… more impressive. However, we know for sure that Jon was working at the Institute in 2012 (MAG051: “One of my first cases as a researcher for the Institute in 2012”).) So why did Annabelle send the “original cuts” to the Institute, and who were they for…? Was it to send a message to Gertrude? Was it because the Web was veeeeeeeeeeeerrrry aware that the boy who had ~gotten away~ (el-o-el) was now working there (and was apparently a bit versed in Neil Lagorio’s work)? Was it a way to sneak into the Institute? Was it for Elias? Was it to avoid the “original cuts” affecting innocent bystanders? Was it a proclamation from Annabelle – demonstrating that the older generation was fading out and now she was taking over?

That last point is something that I really felt with Annabelle’s visit and Neil finally dying (… or moulting like a spider). It’s interesting that in both MAG110 and MAG136, there was something about the character the story was about… not having a keen relationship with modern technology:

(MAG110, Alexia Crawley) “And so it was for the first few weeks. Dexter… clearly wasn’t sleeping. He had insisted on using old equipment and avoiding digital almost entirely, to the point where several of the crew were using pieces of kit they’d never even seen before. This meant that workprint had to be made manually for the dailies, something he refused to let anyone else do.”

(MAG136, Alison Killala) “We stayed in touch over the next few years, even worked together on the Wire-Runner, his one, underwhelming foray into CGI.”

We saw in MAG123 that Annabelle had started working using Internet, though using someone else to achieve it. I don’t have many theories or speculation about that one – I only find it curious that, given how MAG065 had introduced the idea that tape recorders… are digital, too, we’re still not sure about what it is that prevents Spooks from recording on Jon’s computer. Gertrude had commented that the tape recorders were a bit ~old-fashioned like her~ to defend her use of them to Lucia (MAG130), so… I don’t know! But potentially, I wonder if there might be something about the younger generation of avatars being more fit to use modern technologies, because some elements are their own idiosyncrasies while older techs were their predecessors’.

- Hi, do you sometimes get just PUNCHED IN THE GUTS by Jon.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: My– [PAUSE] [INHALE] [SIGH] My memories of the coma are not clear. But I know I made a choice; I made a choice to become… something else. Because I was afraid to die. But ever since then, I… I don’t know if I made the right decision; I–I’m stronger now, tougher, I can… … If I do die, now, or get sealed away somewhere forever… I don’t know if that’s a bad thing. And I don’t want to lose anyone else so, if I can maybe stop that happening, and [DRY CHUCKLE] the only danger is to me, I– I’ll do it in a heartbeat; worst case scenario… the universe loses another monster. DAISY: That’s messed up. ARCHIVIST: [LOW SELF-DEPRECATIVE DRY LAUGHTER] … Yeah. I suppose it is. DAISY: Did you know the coffin wouldn’t kill you? ARCHIVIST: I– guess I thought imprisonment wouldn’t… wouldn’t be as bad as it was. DAISY: [SHAKY SIGH] ARCHIVIST: And it’s a lot easier to make that choice than it is to actually… endure the result. You might have noticed when I was in there with you, I… I had regrets. DAISY: Yeah. I remember. ARCHIVIST: Plus, I thought… [PAUSE] W– [SIGH] Well, I didn’t know what being down there had done to you. DAISY: You thought I was gonna kill you? ARCHIVIST: I was a possibility. DAISY: Guess so. […] ARCHIVIST: I am alone, Martin is– DAISY: Busy. doing. paperwork. Not like he’s dead. Beside, he’s not the only other person here, you know. There’s me; Melanie; Basira– ARCHIVIST: Traumatised; traumatised; and paranoid, because of me.

;; I’m worried about these missing memories and what it means / what happened… Jon had told Basira that he could remember most of The Unknowing:

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: My turn. What… what happened to me? BASIRA: How much do you remember? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Music. Everything was wrong. Gertrude was there, and then… dancing. I think? Then… pain. And I was somewhere else. Dreaming. BASIRA: Dreaming. ARCHIVIST: Yes. …

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: Two years ago. … That doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t feel like… … There’s just this… great… gap of time, where I wasn’t.

Back in MAG122, I had feared that he would have gotten something cauterised in the process, probably guilt, hence Tim’s death being erased… But no, it’s FAR from being the case: Jon has been a guilt-ridden ball of softness and caring and heartbreak since the beginning of season 4. So why are these memories still absent…? What happened in his dreams, for him to not remember exactly how he got to choose…?

(EXTRA-WORRIED since Elias had told Basira that Jon was “at a very delicate stage right now” in MAG127; and as much as I think that Elias probably doesn’t want to risk Jon managing to successfully compel him or extract a statement out of him right now… I’m Really Worried about the fact that he described Jon as being in transition. Choosing should have been the end result, right? So… so what is the next step……………)

Sobbing a lot about the fact that Jon isn’t sure that coming back was worth it, and that he’s been very casually self-destructive about the coffin. He kind of finished his sentence from MAG132 here:

(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: I’m… I’m scared. [SHORT CHUCKLE] When does the fear go away…? A–anyway, I–I’m sorry. You too, Basira, if you’re hearing this. I know you’d… stop me. You’d be right to, but… But if this goes wrong, all you lose is– …  I’m not risking anyone else.

“If this goes wrong, all you lose is” / “worst case scenario… the universe loses another monster”. A o u c h. He’s been the most outrightly emotional we’ve ever seen him in season 3 and 4, he was so afraid of becoming inhuman starting MAG092, he finally chose (and is aware of it) the avatar option because he was afraid to die (that’s one of the most human things he could possibly admit…?), and, since he’s woken up, he has dealt with rejections one after another: Georgie was thrown-off by him badly enough to leave (clearly dissatisfied with… the fact that Jon kept saying he was “fine”, when a normal human being shouldn’t have been), Basira was extremely cautious and still refuses to trust him, slaughter-infused Melanie BLAMED HIM FOR TIM&DAISY’S DEATHS, Martin avoided him time and time again:

(MAG122) ARCHIVIST: Honestly, I… I, I think I’m alright? I mean, that’s… good, right? I… GEORGIE: After a six months coma? No. It’s not. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, Jon. ARCHIVIST: I… What? Y–you, you’d prefer I was… brain-damaged? Dead? Or– […] Georgie, I– GEORGIE: Jon. If this really is a second chance… please, try to take it. But I don’t think that it is. ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I don’t und– GEORGIE: Take care of yourself. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES] [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: … What about you? Disappointed to see me alive? … Basira? BASIRA: We can deal with that later.

(MAG123) MELANIE: Tim is dead. Daisy is dead. And you, what? You’re just fine? ARCHIVIST: No, I’ve been in hospital for six months! MELANIE: Something has been in hospital. Something that’s got your face like– I warned Basira, I said not to let you back in here, but she just doesn’t listen! [STOMPING? AND FURIOUS STRANGLED NOISES] ARCHIVIST: Melanie, Melanie: it’s… it’s me. MELANIE: Oh! Okay, so what, “Hi Jon, how are you, get anyone killed lately?” ARCHIVIST: … I… MELANIE: Wipe that look off your face. Like you’re not the reason all of this is happening. Like you’re any better than– ARCHIVIST: [MESSY STUTTERING] MELANIE: –than him! ARCHIVIST: Basira said Elias was gone!

(MAG124) MARTIN: … Look, Jon, I, I’ve really got to go, so… ARCHIVIST: Oh, er, okay… MARTIN: I’m, I’m sorry that you– ARCHIVIST: Wowowow, it was… good t–, it was good to see you. MARTIN: … Yeah. [STEPS LEAVING] ARCHIVIST: … yeah… [CLICK.]

(MAG129) MARTIN: Please, stop finding me. ARCHIVIST: … What happened, Martin? [SILENCE] MARTIN: You died. ARCHIVIST: I came back. MARTIN: Yeah. [OPENS DOOR] I’m not gonna let it happen again. ARCHIVIST: … wait… Wait! W– [DOOR CLOSES] [SIGH] [CLICK.]

(YES, GRATUITOUS QUOTE-COMPILATION, BECAUSE THAT’S A LOT.)

It’s been a rough two months since he woke up, alright. I’m so glad that he managed to get Daisy back: not only it was a victory that actually felt like one (the removal of Melanie’s bullet meant that things got… strained), but Daisy has been asking the right questions and they’re so… like-minded? kindred spirits? lately, two Survivors able to understand each other, that it feels good and… a bit more hopeful.

(- I still want Jon to get the chance to have a discussion with Georgie, to explain himself and what happened, to explain that even though he decided something she’s disapproving of… he still wants to do some good, as much as he can? é_è To thank her for having watched over him and having given him so much valuable advice? For Georgie to accept that Jon did the best he could do in the situation he was in? Basira used to listen to Georgie’s podcast while in the car with Daisy so maybe Daisy heard some bits of it. Let Georgie and Daisy meeeeeet too!!)

- So much for Jon getting a stronger hold on his power, he still accidentally slipped and compelled:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: If you don’t mind me asking, [STATIC:] where are you off to…? MELANIE: Therapy. [STATIC ENDS] … Wait. ARCHIVIST: Oh…! Oh, God, Melanie, I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh… MELANIE: [EXASPERATED SIGH] It’s fine. I would probably have told you eventually, anyway.

Still too curious and not the best at self-restrain, though… he had been doing way better lately. I think the last time he had accidentally compelled was in MAG114, with Tim? On the other hand: it looks like his Insights are a bit more controlled since, unless he reveals that he has Known for a while, he… doesn’t seem to know about Basira’s activities. So maybe sternly forbidding him from peeking worked with that one, given that he had motivation to not screw things up (even more) between them…? He was a bit more relaxed with Melanie this time around! (Well. And Melanie was way more relaxed around him too, which… says something considering their previous exchanges.)

- What is wrong with Jon’s body. This makes the second mention of casual weirdness, after Jared commenting about Jon’s rib:

(MAG131) JARED: Huh. That’s a weird one. Not sure I like it. Still. Mine now.

(MAG136) DAISY: Not of you and your weird eyes.

Too many eyes, or something else…?

- I’m so emotional over the fact that Daisy is… currently giving back to Jon? Telling him that his way of thinking or his overall situation is “messed up”; reminding him that he’s not responsible for everything that’s happened to Melanie, Basira and herself; pushing him to snap out of it and have a nice time…? The fact that she included herself in the (short) list of people around Jon, and that:

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: And you’re not… worried about… DAISY: Basira’s trapped here. So are you.

She listed him alongside Basira when justifying why her decision to tie herself to the Institute was worth it – they’re in this together and it’s not only just “with Basira” in her mind. It includes Jon.

- … and not Melanie there, BUT!! PROGRESS:

(MAG112) DAISY: Yeah. Couldn’t find Tim, but he’s gone with Martin and… the other one. BASIRA: Melanie. DAISY: Sure.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: I am alone, Martin is– DAISY: Busy. doing. paperwork. Not like he’s dead. Beside, he’s not the only other person here, you know. There’s me; Melanie; Basira–

She marked a verrrry slight pause before saying Melanie’s name but still: Melanie is now her own person in Daisy’s mind!

- And I’m SO EMOTIONAL OVER MELANIE OVERALL but also so proud that… apparently, she took it upon herself to take care of Daisy, and went as far as to go ask Jon to replace her when she couldn’t do it?

(MAG136) MELANIE: Well… uhm. Daisy’s been, erm… I’ve been keeping her company. Er, while… while Basira’s busy. She’s, er… ARCHIVIST: Oh, no, I, uh… I–I know. MELANIE: W–well, I’ve kind of got to… uhm. I’ve got somewhere to be. Do you mind if, if… she hangs around, with… […] [IN THE DISTANCE] Hum, yeah, he’s, he’s fine with it. So… […] DAISY: I didn’t ask her. To do that. ARCHIVIST: I–it–it’s fine.

I’m glad that Melanie makes sure that Daisy doesn’t end up alone, and that… she went to Jon for this ;__; Melanie knew better than everyone how it felt to be not emotionally supported by someone, namely Basira (MAG131: “Basira is… um. Basira deals in ‘intel’ these days, in usable data, assets. Not feelings. Not people.”), so I find this super-sweet that she… is apparently making extra efforts to not replicate the situation with Daisy? Some feeling of community/teamwork has been recreated lately, all around Daisy, and aaaaah… I’m so glad ;; Really sad that Martin isn’t there and that Basira is still closing herself off, but so glad about the faint Melanie-Daisy-Jon dynamic… (And so worried. Because now, I wonder how Jonny is planning to rip it away from us.)

(Though: Melanie didn’t try to set-up for Helen and Daisy to stay together. Is Helen mostly absent/can’t get out of her door much…? Or was it because Melanie didn’t absolutely trust Daisy’s Hunter instincts to not kick back in, if she was too close to a Spook-she-doesn’t-know-yet for long…?)

(I wonder if it’s Helen who suggested therapy to Melanie, or if they talked about it? In any case, having Helen around seemed to have helped Melanie a bit, overall ;__;)

- Though logistically: it’s hilarious that Melanie&Basira probably still live in the Archives, that Daisy is probably doing the same (unclear whether or not Jon Still Has A Home outside)… and that Daisy didn’t even mention that hi, she had signed some paperwork and was now an Official Member of the Institute. It took Jon two weeks to learn about it, and only because he asked about his dreams. (Daisy must have done that quite fast after getting out of the coffin? For someone who “missed dreaming”, she reacted immediately x”))

………………… I’m not sure that Basira will take that the news that Daisy is now tied to the Institute kindly, though, given the current state of things.

- Elephant in the room, Melanie’s ~therapist~ is ringing SO MANY warning bells:

(MAG136) THERAPIST: Right, have a seat. Do you mind if I record our sessions? MELANIE: I do mind. Yes. THERAPIST: Ah? I mean, it’s just for my own notes. MELANIE: I categorically and completely do *not* give consent for you to make any recording of me, ever. Turn it off. Please. [SILENCE] THERAPIST: I… I see. Yes. Of–of course. [CLICK.]

…………………. See, even besides the use of a tape recorder (who would use that in 2018 for very professional, serious and health-related purposes, if they’re not spooky?!), it’s how the therapist handled the act of recording in itself which makes me shiver. During a first session, a first encounter, when you’re supposed to not make the patient uncomfortable, turning it on before asking Melanie if she would be fine with it. Trying to argue with Melanie’s refusal when Melanie explicitly said she would be bothered by it. That small silence before complying – while Melanie was just stating her rights… (Though on that last one, Melanie’s background as a podcaster is showing; she was very efficiently able to state her will without leaving room for any loophole!)

There are many options for What The Deal Is With That Therapist:

1°) A totally normal person who just happens to use tape recorders in 2018 and was startled by Melanie’s professional-sounding declaration.

2°) Someone tied to the Lonely…? It would be a terrifying job for a Lukas, totally twisting the purpose of a therapy by… cutting you off from others? ;; (Peter had mentioned the possibility of therapy to Martin back in MAG120: “Oh! And if you want to talk to a counsellor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.”)

3°) Someone tied to Beholding: Gertrude had the contact information for one (MAG130: “If that’s your primary goal, my dear, I would suggest you speak to a qualified counsellor. We can suggest one, if you like […]. Hang on, let me see if I can find you the number for that counselling service. They’re actually quite good.”), and that last “I see” was quite striking, Avatars tend to make small references to their patrons all the time – though this one could have also been a nod to Melanie’s…

4°) … since the therapist seemed so taken aback by Melanie offering a resistance: … W e b…? Annabelle was even created during, specifically, a psychological experiment (though we don’t know if she was a psychology postgrad herself, or just a random test subject with a different background; the voice sounded maybe a bit too old for someone who still looked like a “student” in 2012, but then Elias is supposed to be middle-aged so, eh). It wouldn’t be the most subtle thing ever but then: given that Jon didn’t give any reason, why did he pick this specific statement this time around? Outside of the statement, who is a “puppeteer” in this episode? Which would raise, once again, the question of What Is Behind tape recorders; and, if Web, what allowed Melanie to not obey: was it because she used to be Slaughter-infused…? (I had wondered, especially after MAG125, about the relationship between the Slaughter and the Spider: the way Elias had specifically mentioned that Melanie had a “visceral hatred of being trapped” in MAG102, was run by “the self-determination you prize so highly” in MAG106, and the fact that Melanie had described him as “pulling all the strings” in return, had left me with the lingering of impression that… potentially, there was more something about Web than Beholding at work here, and that obviously, The Slaughter, being uncontrollable violence and chaos, wouldn’t be the best of pals with the Eight-Legged-Mrs.-Order Fear entity…)

The way Melanie described therapists at the beginning of the episode (“We’ll see. There’s a… a lot of crap therapists out there.” and it’s true, and she’s still trying!!! Good!!) already introduced cautiousness about the whole process; if this one turns out to be Bad, it wouldn’t be representative of every one of them. Still, kinda hoping (for Melanie) that unless this one manages to prove that her first few seconds were absolutely not representative of what she can offer, Melanie will try to find another one elsewhere ;; I’m impressed that she didn’t just go “Nop ahaha bye” when the tape recorder began to get used… without her consent. It wasn’t good when Jon was doing it, but from a therapist, there is something very, verrrry chilling, and this new character absolutely managed to sound as untrustworthy as Peter in just a few seconds ;;

- On the list of worrying things: URKKKKK that… Basira apparently still hasn’t told the others about her visits to Elias. She’s likely doing her own researches, as Elias had suggested, to check if there were some truths amongst what he told her about The Dark’s activities… but URRRKKK that she hasn’t said a word about it yet. Not good, Basira ;; Elias is spilling his poison and she’s drinking it raw – it will most likely mess her up… and mess up the others, too, if they’re not aware that Elias still has, in all likehood, Plans.

… On the other hand, I got the impression that her relationship with Daisy had improved a bit? Daisy sounded less… heartbroken, this time, giving me the impression that, yes, things aren’t perfect, but not excruciating either?

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: I haven’t seen her much since… Well, she seemed a bit… tense, the last few times we spoke. How are you guys– DAISY: [CLEARS THROAT] ARCHIVIST: –doing? DAISY: N–no, Basira, she’s… She’s been good. We’re… together so it’s good. [SIGH] Wish she wouldn’t keep treating me like a china doll. But it’s alright. ARCHIVIST: That’s understandable, I suppose. DAISY: [BREATHING HARDER, FASTER] Yeah, well… What do you think?

See, I can’t really decide whether Daisy’s awkwardness was because it was a touchy subject and she was aware that no, things aren’t fine… Or if it was a matter of “oh lord, no, I can’t tell Awkward Nerd Guy that YES, things have been super-steamy in the tunnels lately, he would probably faint if he knew we were doing it in his Institute.”

(… reminder that in this episode, Jon had to read “He even kept in contact when I left to have my baby. It wasn’t planned, but while I may not have had much time for make-up and monster suits, the bodies inside of them were, er, a different matter.” with his own tongue.) (That’s not topping Timothy Hodge’s statement and Jon’s annotations from its patreon Deluxe transcript, but eh, it was still a beautiful line <3)

And the parallels between Daisy&Basira and Jon&Martin keep piling up! First Basira and Martin both were “busy”; now, it’s the single-minded longing for the other when they’re separated – Daisy having thought that she would never see Basira again when she was in the coffin, and now… Jon’s first reaction when Daisy taunts him about acting like he’s alone being to say that YES HE IS… because Martin isn’t there.

Holy Arceus on top of Giratina, Jon, what would your season-1 self would say about the Current You. (“Things change. People change.” Helen told him a few episodes ago, AND YEP. Y E P.)

- I’m… a bit worried about how Daisy handled Martin, however. It fits her and the… individualistic? bits of her that we had seen: if she sees a problem, she’ll try to deal with it through her own actions – Jon is sad because Martin isn’t there? Then no, she’s not going to drag Martin kicking and screaming back to Jon if she wants to cheer Jon up; she’ll push him to stand back up on his own.

(MAG136) ARCHIVIST: I’m, I’m not “swanning around”– DAISY: “Boo-hoo, I’m so alone and a monster!” ARCHIVIST: I am alone, Martin is– DAISY: Busy. doing. paperwork. Not like he’s dead. Beside, he’s not the only other person here, you know. There’s me; Melanie; Basira–

1°) She’s partially not wrong? Though I still feel like, without knowing what Martin is doing behind the scenes together with Peter, there would be causes for concern and that Martin… is not in a good place nor there on his own: his lines in MAG124 and MAG129 sounded, more than anything, like he was straightforwardly blackmailed into not talking with the others (we know that, from Martin’s point of view, it’s a bit more complicated and not the end-goal; but still, his insistence to Jon about how he couldn’t hear what he had to say, had to leave, etc…. weren’t reassuring at all). Daisy might be projecting a bit on that one since she has deepened her network since she came back, probably because Basira was astray: she now remembers Melanie’s name, she listed Jon together with Basira as people trapped within the Institute (implying that she would not leave them behind). She might see Jon as hyperfixating on something that can’t be resolved right away, like her situation with Basira…? Unless it’s plainly because “Blackwood” hadn’t impressed her much in season 3 (she doesn’t know him! Even if Jon cares for him, maybe she doesn’t see him as all that valuable), or because… spooks are happening and the Lonely is managing to cut the ties that Martin die have with people, who are now just not finding him relevant anymore…?

2°) So nowadays, people are aware that Martin is doing “paperwork” – are they aware that he’s basically doing Peter’s work as an ~assistant~? Or are they plainly assuming that “Peter Lukas” is his alias…?

3°) ;; I’m super happy about Daisy inviting Jon for drinks, and Basira possibly joining them… but also worried about how Peter might just rub that into Martin’s face? Jon used to not be… social with the assistants. It would be so easy to tell Martin that it’s finally happening because Martin is not there… (And yes, Martin made his choice to protect the others, presumably Melanie&Basira, because Jon was away! And nowadays, it still stands, the fact that it would also protect Jon was only added to the pile! And he was told by Peter in MAG126 that he might “not want” to share what had happened with Jon at the end of it, implying that he would change; Martin knows these aspects of the deal! But Martin is not absolutely selfless either, and there could easily be some envious outbursts at the idea that Jon seems to be… happier, nowadays…?)

(… Martin had been so snappy to Basira in MAG088, and there was the whole talk between Basira&Melanie about how Martin seemed to think they would “steal his precious Archivist” in MAG106; who would have thought that Daisy and Jon would ultimately be the ones to go out for drinks together.)

- ANYWAY, Jon & Daisy & potentially Basira are going out for drinks and I don’t know if it will be an awkward mess or a nice time for all but. The potential for silly Tipsy Activities is strong – trying to make Jon guess ridiculous trivia facts through his Insights? Basira noting that Jon is behaving exactly like Martin presumably did at the end of MAG098 (talking a lot about a certain someone who isn’t really there at the moment)? Daisy sharing cop stories?

(… I also can’t help but think about the whole assistants-and-assimilated gang going for drinks during Jon’s kidnapping between MAG099–MAG102. Worst moment ever until they’re too inebriated to Coherently Think about why their lives suck and… see, that episode from Brooklyn 99? Going out of their way to find the most ridiculous kinda-harmless ways to exact revenge on what’s pissing them off at the moment, ie Elias? … Going to his office to wrap his whole desk in cellophane. While he’s standing there, just unable to do anything (they’re too many and too far gone for his power to work). While Tim is throwing serpentine streamers everywhere, Martin is crying because Elias’s paperweight suddenly reminds him of Jon, Daisy is seductively slurring the worst pick-up lines to Basira, and Melanie had stolen a spoon in the bar and tries to recreate “The Horribly Slow Murderer with the Extremely Inefficient Weapon” on Elias, again and again and AGAIN AND AGAIN– (maybe Basira told the truth in MAG106 and Melanie had indeed managed to make Elias cry, she just can’t remember about it). Basira was absolutely sober through it all, but when Elias tries to get explanations from her passiveness, it’s a mix of Her Iconic “I don’t know.” and the fact that she’s trying to get better at this new job of watching without doing anything. Elias would almost begin to regret Gertrude.)

Title for MAG137 is out and W O W is that an interesting one?! I have no idea if it will deal with one of the current threads or give information about other ones; it’s… a broad title which works for a lot of things. Tied to a very small mention we got in MAG105, so could be dealing with Gertrude’s studies on The Slaughter (and possibly her dealing with that one’s ritual)? If dealing with The Dark again, there are many angles which could work: attack on the Institute (get to meet The Creature, Jon.), Julia in present-time, Robert Montauk in the past, orrrr even something about the Elias-Rayner relationship that we now know was a Thing? (Though I feel that, if we get some information about that last one, it’s likely to be given in Ny-Ålesund.) Could also work for Hill Top Road, specifically Agnes and Ray? Could work for The Corruption (since The Hive had… personal feelings about The Institute) and maybe shed some light on whatever it was trying to achieve in the tunnels with the ring of worms (ritual attempt, or had Gertrude taken care of that one already?), or even something about John Amherst (Melanie… ;;)? Could work with Gertrude’s activities overall – with Elias, with Peter, with Jude… (Would be hilarious if it was about Elias and Peter, what the heck are you to each other, you terrible beings.) Could also work for Annabelle if it’s about balance? Aaaah, so many possibilities!! And it’s probably not even one that I thought of! =D

… and we’ll be getting a mid-season break, after all. Given how the break had been narratively inserted in season 3 (matching Jon’s kidnapping), will it be the case again and, if it is: what could possibly go wrong that we wouldn’t get a recording in-universe for three weeks? Four episodes left, a rushed trip to Ny-Ålesund could still happen before that and… leave them (/the surviving ones) in tatters afterwards, uuuuh…

[banditthewriter]

To The Rescue - Logan Delos

I wrote this at work one day this week and forgot about it? So here ya go. 

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The plan had been to come to the beautiful beach resort with your boyfriend. You had cleared it with your boss since it was a company getaway but he had said that as long as your guest paid for himself, they didn't mind. Of course that plan was dashed immediately. Three weeks before the getaway, you ended things with Garrett over his impossible jealousy and possessiveness. Really. Who in their right mind demands that you not bring a bikini on a trip to the beach? The resort was beautiful and you had made the decision before you even stepped onto the sand that you were going to enjoy yourself. Garrett was hundreds of miles away and you weren't going to focus on him anymore. It was finally time for you to focus on you and your happiness. One thing that you counted as a win in your own column was that Logan Delos had the villa next to yours. The two of you didn't have much interaction at work but you paid attention to him. He knew how to have good time but he also cared about the company. He was alone which surprised you. This meant that you got to watch Logan come out onto your shared patio with a drink in hand. Sometimes he was wearing a soft t-shirt and slacks, sometimes he wore a bathing suit. Honestly the first time you saw him walking out of the ocean, water glistening on his chest and stomach, you had to turn around and go back into your villa for fear of making a fool out of yourself. Logan's family owned the company but your department had little to no accountability to the higher ups. It put just enough distance that you and Logan were polite when you saw each other, but you didn't feel able to sit down and have a conversation with him. That night, when Logan returned from his nightly swim, you got up and headed into your villa. Wine had made you warm and relaxed but you weren't exactly tired. With music playing softly from your phone, you went into the small kitchenette. There was more wine so you grabbed that first. There was some fruit as well. When you reached in to grab that, you heard a banging on your villa door. Did your music annoy Logan? He hadn't complained any of the other nights that you played it. You took a step towards the door and then froze when you heard Garrett's voice. "Open the door Y/N," he called out, voice clear but definitely not calm. "Get out here right now." You quietly moved to the door and slid the lock over it, jumping when he pounded on the door right as you finished the lock. "Are you in there with someone? Let me in." This was not happening. You refused to believe that Garrett was actually there, that he had traveled all this way to embarrass you in front of your coworkers. And the owner's son next door. The thought of Logan overhearing this made you move to unlock the door but he began banging on the door again. "You're such a whore. Come out here," he screamed. Half of the resort probably heard him. A knock came to your back door and you spun around, shocked to see Logan peering through the glass. Quietly you moved to the sliding door and pulled it open for him. "I'm so sorry Mr Delos," you said as you let him into your villa. "I'm so embarrassed." "Logan, please," he countered as he looked at your door where Garrett was still being loud and disruptive. "I just figured I might be able to help you get rid of him." You sagged with relief. "God that would be wonderful. Thank you Logan." He nodded and moved to the door. You followed behind him, unsure what he could do to send Garrett away. Not that you'd given much thought to Logan outside of work or a few more recent fantasies, but you didn't really see him as the type for violence. He unchained the door, sliding open the lock. With a look that told you to play along, he pulled the door open. With the door open, you couldn't see much besides the bored look on Logan's face. You were behind the door so Garrett couldn't see you just yet. "Can I help you?" Garrett made a noise, backing up and looking at the numbers having over the doors. You could just see him from the gap of the door and you moved so that he wouldn't be able to see you. "Sorry man, I thought this was my girl's place," Garrett said in confusion. "She came out here with her work after we had a fight. Wanted to come out here and try to win her back." "Is that right?" Logan was keeping that bored look on his face but you could see a twitch on his lips that said he was enjoying this. "Yeah. I mean, can't blame me for being worried ya know? She's got a body on her. Trust me, you wouldn't want to let her out of your sight either." Here Logan's lips pulled over his teeth, baring them in a smile that no one could consider friendly. His eyes barely cut to you and he gave you a quick wink before he looked back at your ex. "Oh trust me, I know." Before Garrett could ask what he meant by that, Logan leaned forward a little bit. "Kind of weird that you came here to get her back and yet you've called her a whore and a slut half a dozen times." You knew what Garrett had been doing just now and you reckoned that Logan knew too. He was trying to form some sort of camaraderie with Logan but he had failed completely. "Listen man, I don't tell you how to talk to your girl. I'm sorry if I woke you. I must have the wrong villa." You glanced through quick enough to catch him frowning at the number seven over the door. "You know Y/N? I could have sworn that this was hers." There was that smile again. "Yeah, I know her. She works for my company," he said pointedly. "She's a great woman. You really messed up losing her." You stepped forward, unsure what you were supposed to be doing, but Logan held his hand out behind the door and grabbed your wrist. The touch was gentle, his thumb rubbing the back of your wrist softly. "That's why I'm here," Garrett said dumbly, confused. "Did you and her switch villas?" "Nah, but she's busy. I think she's waiting for me in the shower actually." There it was. Like a tonne of bricks, Garrett realized what it meant with a crash. He stepped forward but he wasn't as tall as Logan. Logan took a step forward too, using the hand not on your wrist to point in Garrett's face. "I'm going to chalk this up to a bad night for you. From this moment on, she's just a memory to you. I find out you're trying to contact her, I'll have you arrested." There was a sputtering noise from Garrett. "You said she works for your company. I'll ruin you both if she's sleeping with her boss." Logan gave a cocky smirk and leaned back. "She works for a company that operates within my company; no direct hierarchy. So remove yourself from the resort, or I'll have you removed." With that he slammed the door. You both waited but it seemed like Garrett had gotten the message and stormed off. Whether or not that was the last you were going to have to see him, you weren't sure. Part of you suspected not. Logan turned to you with a flourish and you gave a quick applause. "Thank you Logan. I was kind of scared to open the door," you admitted sheepishly. His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step towards you. "He's never hurt you, has he? If you think he's a danger–" "No, no, not like that," you quickly explained. "I just knew that he was pissed at me for dumping him and I didn't want to face him. I mean come on, he didn't want me to pack a bikini for my trip to the beach. It was too much." Logan let his eyes move over your body and you realized that you were wearing your bikini and an almost see through teal cover up. You felt warmth began the spread in your face and lower. So much lower. "I think you should wear that all the time," he joked, but his eyes told you he was being at least a little truthful. With a shake of his head, he met your eyes once more. "I meant what I said. If he comes back to bother you, here or at home, let me know. It would be a pleasure to serve his ass with a restraining order." You smiled and ducked your head a bit. He moved over to the side to grab a notepad on your fridge, writing down his number. "Here is my cell. Call me anytime; day or night." He held the paper out to you and when you reached for it, he pulled it back an inch. "I mean it. Day or night." There was a promise in his voice and you swallowed as you accepted the paper from him. He gave you a wink and headed back to the sliding door. He was almost out of the door completely when you realized that you should say something. Before you did, he turned around to give you a smile that made your knees weak. "Hey Y/N, you wanna join me for a late night swim?" Not even the breeze coming from outside could cool off your overheated skin. You licked your lips and put the paper down on the counter. "I'll grab some towels."

X

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[mimirexx]

Clay figure

Pairing: Armin Arlert/Hanji Zoe

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: no warnings

Summary: Armin goes to drop off some papers in Hanji’s office and accidentally lets his secret slip after seeing she was working on something.. special.

Notes: This is just a real quick thing I wrote to give myself some diversity from the bigger fic I’m working on and from homework I should’ve gotten done instead. Just needed a bit of a clear head to focus better ^^;

——————————

On a late Friday morning, there was a light knock on the door. Upon not getting an answer after a while, the knock repeated a little louder.

“It’s open!” The brunette finally called out, sitting at her desk where she worked on something. The door opened and the person stepped inside with a small “good morning”.

Hanji didn’t really answer that until she noticed who it was and perked up almost immediately.

“Commander Erwin sent me here to drop off these papers.” The young boy shuffled a little on his spot, tensing up when Hanji looked up at him so suddenly.

“That’s really kind of you. Just put them here.” She patted a random spot on her desk where the boy soon placed the papers on before standing straight again. He cleared his throats quietly, “Is there anything else I can-“ Accidentally, he caught a glimpse of what Hanji was working on on her desk, causing his eyes to widen, his cheeks to heat up, his voice to die down.

Truth be told, Armin had a little crush on his superior- how could he not?! Hanji was the smartest woman he ever met, she knew things he never heard of and amazed him from day to day. Not only was she smart, she also was a gorgeous woman. Some might not think so because Hanji wasn’t exactly feminine and wasn’t taking care of herself like other women did, but Armin didn’t care about these things. In his eyes, Hanji was a astonishing and simply amazing woman. She was smart, she was pretty, and she knew what she wanted.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure how Hanji saw him, if it even made sense to hope for something more than a crush or not. He was younger than her and didn’t know if it bothered her, not to mention that they were in the military. Maybe she didn’t even want a relationship or anything of that sort to begin with.

But now, standing in her office and staring down at what Hanji created on her desk amazed Armin in a way it never did before. He never saw something like that; it made him feel a bit embarrassed but also surprised and, admittingly, a little confused. “U-uh.. Section C-Commander..?” He was somewhat scared to speak and took a moment longer to gather himself, staring up at the brunette.

"...Did you make a clay figure of me?” He asked, swallowing the lump in his throats, “Should I be.. scared that it's so... accurate and detailed?" There was no hint of a doubt that Hanji was forming the clay to look like Armin: long hair, bangs, his button nose, big eyes, a big smile. Every stand of hair was worked out evenly, even his lashes. It was as if he was looking into the mirror, that’s how accurate it was.

The brunette let out a small hum and shook her head as she stepped one step closer to Armin and looked down at the clay with him. “I see no reason to be scared, actually. Unless you think I’m weird now.” When Armin began shaking his head frantically, Hanji let out a chuckle and ruffled his hair.

“I just.. don’t understand.” The blond admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “I-I mean it’s not like I don’t like it— I-I’m flustered- it looks great! You really have talent!— I just don’t understand why you would choose me out of all people, that’s all...” He felt so stupid now for talking with such a speed and feared Hanji couldn’t understand a word he said. Maybe she was the one weirded out now.

Though, Hanji just smiled at him and, once he stopped talking, fell into soft laughter. “Armin. One reason why I chose you is obvious; you’re a handsome, young man. You really have awesome facial features. Simple but beautiful. The other reason... I won’t tell you yet!” She playfully held her index finger against her lips and shushed softly.

The blond’s blush only darkened at that and reached the tips of his ears. He had never been called handsome before- there was the occasional sweet or cute, but never handsome. And hearing it from Hanji now made him really happy.

“God, I love you...” He blabbed subconsciously, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear while he smiled down at the ground. The way she always was so playful and happy almost hypnotized him, made him do unplanned things. He said this sentence with so much emotion and noticed it only after it already escaped his lips and it was too late to change anything.

“I-I mean—“ Armin stuttered immediately after, having no idea what to say anymore. Hanji didn’t say anything either and the youth was too scared to face her, hiding behind his bangs instead. “...I’m sorry.” Even if he wasn’t sure why he apologized, he still did it. Was it because he made her uncomfortable? Or because he was awkward? Maybe both. Probably even more.

The room filled with silence for a good minute, nothing could be heard and it was so hard with how tense Armin was feeling. He chewed on his lower lip nervously before abruptly turning and making a run for the door. But before he could reach it, there was something clutching his arm and he turned to see Hanji doing just that. Though, the look on her face wasn’t at all what he expected to see- she didn’t look mad, rather content. She was even smiling. Something told him that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.

“H-Hanji, I can explain-!” He uttered fearfully.

“I’m sure you can.” The brunet’s voice was calm, soothing, and in the next moment, she pulled Armin closer and wrapped her arms around him for a hug. “But you don’t need to explain, I knew it.”

Armin’s poor heart skipped several beats at that while he stared up with eyes wide as saucers. “H-huh..?” How did she know? Was it that obvious? But he hid it pretty well! The only person who knew about his feelings was—

“Eren told me. After we came from the last mission. But even before that, you were pretty often on my mind.” She giggled and ran her fingers through Armin’s smooth hair, playing a bit with the ends. “I thought a lot about you, Armin, and I have to say I’m happy about it.”

The boy’s heart was hammering in his chest so hard, he was sure Hanji could feel it from the way they were hugging. “Wh-what do you m-mean..?” He questioned carefully, leaning ever so lightly into her touch.

The brunette only laughed and leaned down to press a soft and tender peck onto his lips, grinning as she faced him again. “That’s what I mean.”

Blushing like crazy, Armin couldn’t but smile and slowly rested his head against her shoulder, his arms finally coming up to hug Hanji by her waist. He didn’t say anything but it seemed as if that wasn’t even necessary, the silence was still comfortable.

Nonetheless, after some while, Armin glanced up at the brunette again and bit his lip somewhat nervously, “Can we... kiss again?”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 2

Summary: Rus needs some answers and there is only one Monster in Underswap who might have them.

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is. 

There is still no explicit sex in this chapter. There will be eventually. 

Also on AO3

Read Chapter 1

~~*~~

One of the weirder talents that Rus possessed had to be his knack of dump picking. The dump was hands down the best place to find unexpected treasures and Rus had honed the skill of finding them to a fine art. Racecar beds, broken televisions that he could repair, books and blu-rays, he found it all. Some of it was for Blue, most of it was for bartering because entertainment was worth a hell of a lot more than G on any day. The Underground was fucking boring, and that was a fact.

With that in mind, he scavenged through his hidden stash of goods for some bribery material and luckily, he knew exactly he best kind. Hotland was only a quick shortcut away and in no time, Rus was standing at the laboratory door with his prize under his arm.

Looking at the door made him feel a little queasy, though he wasn’t sure why; sure, he’d worked here for a little while but Snowdin was better for Blue when he’d been younger, plenty more Monsters his age, so they’d moved. That…he was pretty sure that was right, eh, didn’t matter, that was ages ago. Right now, he wanted some answers and the one person in Underswap who might be able to help was behind that door, hopefully.

He knocked, his knucklebones ringing loudly against the metal door. There was no answer and Rus knocked again even harder. He was kinda on a time crunch, here.

“c’mon, undyne, open up!” he called. “i know you’re in there, it’s not like you’re going to take a stroll around hotland! you know it’s me, i walked past four cameras just to get here.”

The door remained stubbornly closed. Rus sighed and readied his secret weapon, holding up the manga over his head where he knew a camera was looking down at him. “oh, no, whatever shall do with this holiday special double-length manga of mew mew kissy cutie, sixth edition,” he said flatly.

He didn’t have to wait long after that. Slowly, the door creaked open and from the darkness within an eye peered out at him. “Papyrus?”

“hey, doll,” Rus said cheerfully, pushing firmly on the door and ignoring Undyne’s squawk as he strode in. “how’s things? still determined to stay in the old lab, huh? i ain’t judging, but you’re nuts to stay in a place where stepping outside could turn you into fish sticks. speaking of which, might want to close the door, you're letting the ungodly fires of hell in.”

“w-what are you doing here?” Undyne closed the door and then didn’t seem to know what to do, only standing by it, wringing her hands.

Time to put some of that charm of his to work. “okay, i know, we haven’t talked in person in like…a while. sorry about that,” Rus said, with all the gentle apology he could. It was true; once they’d been colleagues but Undyne kept to herself in the lab. After he’d quit, there had been no reason to come here and it wasn’t like she was gonna stop by Muffet’s for a pastry and a beer after work. Still, he was in Hotland all the time, one of his sentry posts wasn’t far away, he could have stopped by…but this place was so fucking creepy. The overhead lights were glaring down at them, and all the cameras on the nearby workstation were posed all over Underswap, the camera feed looping, spying. Even if he understood why, it was still creepy. He’d have to think about it.

“N-no, it’s all right, Papyrus!” Undyne shook her head, her messy red hair falling over her shoulders. “You didn’t have to come here anymore.”

“yeah, maybe, but we’re still friends, right?” he coaxed, “we chat on the undernet all the time, yeah? and i ain’t gonna lie, i didn’t just come over to give you this.” He held up the manga and her eyes strayed to it as he waved it enticingly, a reminder of what was at stake. “i need a favor. you know more about monster anatomy than anyone. so, do you know much about Monster sicknesses?”

“Is Sans...all right?” She gave him a worried look, biting her lip, and her eyes found anything to look at but him, “Um, is it a-about falling down?"

"nah, geez, nothing like that!” Rus exclaimed, aghast. Fuck, he hoped it was nothing like that. “it’s just something i heard about, something...weird."

She nodded, wary, but maybe hinting towards curious. "What kind of weird?"

"Like…what kind of sickness would make a monster hot and sweaty but without a fever. aggressive." he did not raise his hand to his collarbone. "kind of…bitey."

To his surprise, her expression soured. “That's not, hm, funny."

"i'm not kidding and you're right, it's not,” Rus said slowly. He squinted at her. “you have any ideas?"

She still looked doubtful, shuffling her feet against the hard tiles of the floor, daring to look back up at him with something almost like a challenge, “If you’ve been reading old journals just to mess with me—"

“undyne, you know i wouldn’t mess with you, not like that. you know that, right?” She lowered her eyes and nodded. “okay, so what do you mean old journals?”

She still seemed a little uncertain and Rus gave her a beseeching look, turning on the wide eye lights that worked so well on Blue when it came to a second dessert.  Apparently, they had an affect on fish monsters too because Undyne sighed a little and gestured at him.

“C-come on,” Undyne slouched into the lab and Rus followed, shaking away his uneasiness. This place was creepy as fuck even without the cups of dried ramen scattered all over, and laundry scattered around. Seemed like it was his fate today to walk through the realms of the slobs. Blue would be having a conniption if he saw this.

It was worse the further they went, dust layering everything, and just as he was starting to wonder if this was a secret plot to mug him for the manga and lock him up for some quality ‘science’, Undyne led him to a darkened room. She flipped on a switch with a loud click and bright fluorescents came on overhead, humming loudly, which was a good thing because he wasn’t about to go into the creepy fucking lab room in the dark. Edge would have had to start looking into those Underfell horse doctors and hope they didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.

The room was mostly empty, the only furniture was one bookshelf loaded with heavy tomes, and Undyne squatted next to it, hesitating over each one until she made a satisfied sound and pulled one free. She settled to sit on the dusty floor and Rus sat next to her, leaning in curiously. She held it out to him, “Here, look.

“regulatory hypothalamic estrus response in monsters due stagnating populaces,” he read slowly. “sounds like a real page-turner. okay, what is it?”

“It’s an e-evolutionary holdover,” she explained, opening the book, “to help maintain Monster populations. M-monsters reproduce slowly compared to some other species, and if our numbers ever drop low enough, the effect can be a hormonal response in our magic that stimulates estrus or heat.”

“okay, now you’re playing tricks on me,” Rus said flatly. “i’ve never even heard of such a fucking thing!”

“Well, we haven’t had to worry about it since the time period just after the war,” Undyne told him with a little shrug, “To be honest, we’re bordering on overcrowded. It’s only when the populace starts dipping dangerously low that it can happen.”

“so, what this is saying,” Rus tapped the yellowed pages with a fingertip, “is monsters might go into heat if they have a low population.” Like, say, Monsters getting dusted every day and twice on Sundays, in another universe where murder was less a terrible offense and more of an easy solution to a variety of problems.

“Yes,” she nodded eagerly. “M-most of the literature is, hm, from right after the war. There was a wave of heats going through all Monster’s species when our population was close to extinction levels. Of course, that was a long time ago and we haven’t seen anything like that since, but the Royal Scientist back then kept meticulous records.”

“yeah?” Rus asked, absently, still flipping through the journal. The handwriting was strange, antiquated, which he supposed made sense since this was probably written before the Queen had shed her first winter coat, “who was it?”

“Um…I’m not…” her eyes went vague and she shook her head. “Anyway, see here?” the page was full of grainy sketches, the faces discreetly blurred but all of them showing a small wound of some sort on their necks. “Monsters in heat stabilize quickly with a mate. They usually mark their mate, somehow. The most common method was biting, but a species without teeth might scratch a mark or even use some kind of ink or paint to draw it.”

Oh, fuck.

Rus swallowed dryly and kept his hands on the pages, didn’t reach up to touch the aching bitemark hidden beneath the collar of his sweatshirt. It was throbbing anxiously along with the pulse of his soul. "what…” his voice cracked, and Rus cleared his throat, “what if they mark someone who isn’t their mate?"

She blinked, her eyes owlishly large through her glasses. “I—I  don't remember anything like that in the literature. It’s hormonally driven, I wouldn’t think they’d want to mark anyone other than a potential mate and anyone compatible would probably already be in heat themselves. Even if they weren’t, no monster who wasn't interested would chance getting close enough for it to be an issue.  I-its fairly obvious, if you know what to look for. Like you were saying, sweating, aggressiveness—"

“a weird smell,” Rus muttered.

That got him a strange look. “Um, maybe? There’s a notation on a release of pheromones, that could have an odor…d-did you find another book about this, is that why you’re asking?”

“something like that,” Rus managed to give her a toothy grin even though he’d never felt less like laughing in his entire fucking life. She still seemed a little too interested, even suspicious, and Rus added hastily, “thought it might make an interesting idea for a story…maybe a manga.”

That did it. Her eyes went a little starry. “R-really? Are you going to p-post it on the Undernet?”

“might, when it’s done. okay, so, monsters go into heat and what, they get a little busy and they’re done? can’t they, you know?” He offered her a few hand gestures to convey a variety of self-service options and her cheeks flushed dark purple. But damn if he didn’t know his audience, because she giggled, too, covering her eyes.

“No, no, it’s not the kind of situation where you can help yourself. That’s why Monsters need a mate for it. Heats are usually only a problem if they don't.”

There was the info he was looking for, “so what if they don't?”

Her expression turned serious, her blush fading. “It can be dangerous, to themselves and to others. Monster in heat have been known to die from it, or to kill other Monsters in search of their mate. Not their fault, of course,” she added hastily, “can’t battle evolution. They really fixate in their mate,” she sighed. “A shame it doesn’t happen anymore, it’s sort of romantic!”

“romantic,” he echoed hollowly. Yeah, it was an real assload of flowers and kisses, wasn’t it.

“W-was that what you needed to know?” she asked hopefully. “C-can you use that for your manga?”

“it was just about perfect, ‘dyne,” he said honestly, “exactly what i needed to know. tell you what, i’ll let you read my manga when it’s done, sound good?”

Which would be never, but it wasn’t actually a lie. He owned her big time for this, though, he’d have to think of something to make it up to her. With a flourish, he sat the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie manga on top of the journal and handed both to Undyne, who was already flushing again, looking at the manga almost hungrily.  

“hey one last thing, undyne,” Rus gave her a gentle poke, startling her from her manga hypnosis, “you think the symptoms of heat are pretty obvious, right? if you know what to look for?”

“Probably not to anyone today,” Undyne gave him a nervous smile, “Or you wouldn’t be here asking about it, but I would think it was back then. The symptoms are pretty distinct.”

“yeah,” he said softly, “that’s what i thought. thanks for the help, sweetheart.” He hesitated at the door, but Undyne hadn’t opened the manga yet, and he decided to risk it, “tell you what, when you finally decided to write that letter you talked about on the undernet? i’ll deliver it for you, if you want.”

Her cheeks went bright mulberry. “Papyrus!” she moaned, covering her eyes. “I-I couldn’t…she’d never---”

“won’t know unless you try,” Rus shrugged. “anyway, i got some things to take care of, i can find my own way out. maybe i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“After working on that manga, I hope,” she teased, and yeah, he’d have to stop by again. Undyne was a good egg, she didn’t deserve to be here alone all the time, but that was for later.

Rus exhaled slowly, thinking of the problem at hand. Or rather, at other body parts. “yeah, i’m betting i’ll be getting started on that project real soon.”

tbc

Read Chapter 3

[nautiscarader]

I have an idea fo a prompt : Yumalia (married) where Amalia does a bellydance to Yugo, her outfit could be inspired by deviantart epictones Amalia-Bellydancer

Great idea for a @smutember prompt. Not exactly married, but I think you’ll be satisfied. Also, @epictones has a blog here, that’s the post in question.

(Prev) (Ao3) (FF) (Last>>)

Striptease, Yumalia, 1.7k, M.

- Ami! I’m sorry!

Yugo’s words died in the tumult of many people on the busy streets of Bonta, as he followed his girlfriend, walking just a bit faster from sheer frustration.

- Hmph! - she grunted when he portal’d himself out of nowhere, turning her head to the other side. - Amalia, I said I am sorry… - Tell that to HER! - she roared, crossing her arms.

Yugo sighed. Just half an hour ago, the couple was having a splendid shopping day in the huge city of Bonta. And then, out of nowhere, another sight caught Yugo’s attention, just for a fraction of second, but it was enough to rise alarm for Amalia. On a small square between the tenement houses, dancers on stage entertained the crowd, and as it happened, one of the female ones gave Yugo a wink… It didn’t help that she was a Sadida as well, and that her outfit was, as Amalia has put it, “scandalous”.

Yugo didn’t remind her that she used to wear equally skimpy clothes, because at this point, blood was already boiling inside the Sadida princess, urging her to rush from the crowd towards their hotel, forcing Yugo to catch up with her and sort out the situation. But Yugo knew better that with Amalia sometimes even the smallest of inconveniences would make her lose her temper, and sadly Yugo has not found a guaranteed counter-measure for that.

- I… I need to walk it off! - she said suddenly, stopping in place and stomping her feet. - We’ll meet at the hotel later. - she turned away, prompting her animated doll, carrying her shopping bags to follow her. - Ami! I said I was sorry! - Yugo cried after her, but his girlfriend disappeared in the crowd, trying to distract herself with the items displayed in the shopping windows.

Despondent, Yugo turned on the spot and walked the other way.

He too needed some time to let his own frustration die down, and he spent it loitering between the shops open until late hours, alongside the riverbank, and even pass the same, now empty square the dancers have set up their show.

He returned to their hotel with the rest of their items they bought and slowly walked up the stairs, thinking of some good opening line. He had at least a dozen different ones, and even though he knew he wasn’t guilty of anything he’d have to at least try to sound apologetically.

Yugo opened the door, and cautiously walked into their dimly lit room, knowing from the gentle rustling noises that Amalia was in.

- Ami… Amalia, I’m sorry that-

Yugo said it with his head lowered, but as soon as he raised it up, words died in his throat. At first, he thought that he was looking not at his girlfriend, but at the damn bellydancer, especially when she gave him another alluring wink. But there was no mistake: it was Amalia, dressed in highly decorative skirt, the multitude of accessories around her neck, belly and waist giving the illusion that her outfit was decent and not revealing at all. However, a single move of her hips gave the trick away; long, leafy parts of her skirt opened up like petals for a moment, showing her long legs, thick thighs and a small triangle of cloth that otherwise might be called panties.

Her breasts bounced with her every move, and only the pearl necklace hid the fact that a stronger pull could rip the upper part of her attire in half. But it was her headdress that caught Yugo’s attention the most. A delicate, intricate veil covered her face, though even in the limited light, he could see her hypnotizing, seductive gaze, and, unmistakably, a smile.

- Ah, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit down…

With a gentle move of her arms, she directed Yugo to their bed, giving him for a moment a first glimpse of her equally beguiling backside. He dropped the bag somewhere in the corridor, and followed her, realising only now that her bra wasn’t tied behind her back at all, showing him more of her appetising naked body.  

- What is your name? - she asked playfully, smiling again at the flabbergasted Eliatrope - And how would like to call me, handsome? - Uh, Ami? - he scratched his head in confusion. - Ami. That is my name for tonight… - she raised her brow expectantly. - Yugo - he gulped, following her instructions, as he finally understood what game Amalia was playing - My name is Yugo. - Odd name for an Enutrof. - Amalia spoke, turning her back on him, as she walked further into the room, illuminated only by candles.

Once his eyes adapted to the weird lighting, he noticed a gramophone set in the corner, though he was more than sure their room didn’t have one. Has she borrowed it from the owner? Bought it in one of many antique shops? Those details mattered no more when Amalia put on a record, and smooth, soothing music filled their room, as Yugo was given sight of her amazing body once more.

Walking to the slow rhythm, Amalia swayed her hips with every step, until her whole figure was illuminated by the candles set on their nightdrawers. When he was just inches from him, he instinctively reached his hands and closed his eyes, puckering his lips to place a kiss at her exposed belly, but a sudden pain brought him to his senses.

- No touching! You only paid for the show… - she scolded him, slapping his hand. - Ami… - he huffed in frustration when he understood his position.

Amalia continued her role, dancing to the music, giving him excruciatingly slow view of her all sides, letting Yugo marvel at the details on her outfit that hid her most important features. When she made a particularly fast twist, the hem of her skirt flew up, and Yugo had to restrain himself again from grabbing her bottom and sinking his face between her buttocks. But Yugo needed even more willpower when Amalia turned around and leaned on him, giving him an unobstructed sight of her naked, ample breasts and her nipples. How Amalia has gotten rid of her bra in such a short amount of time was beyond Yugo’s comprehension, but as a result only the necklace covered her bosom now, if one could call that “covering”…      

His instincts took over him again, and he leaped to his feet, about to pin Amalia to the ground, but she was prepared for that. Four vines shot from the wooden beams of their bed and immobilised him in place, just when his mouth was about to close around one of her nipples.

- Should I call the manager? You could be thrown out faster from out fine establishment than you’d think…

Contrary to her pretence anger, she continued her show, taking one part of her leafy skirt at a time, revealing her buttocks at first, and then her thighs, leaving the most important one still in place. When she turned around again, giving him a sight of her bottom, Yugo caught a glimpse of her juices, trickling down her thigh, glistening in the flickering light, and that only strengthened the discomfort in his pants that has been steadily building up since Amalia begun her show.

And sure enough, when Amalia turned on the spot, and ripped the only remaining part of her attire, the panties Yugo have caught glimpse of before were gone, giving him a stunning view of her green trimmed bush above her enticing opening. The sight made Yugo groan again, and Amalia seemed to realise the pain Yugo was in, as she let her vines loose their integrity, setting him gently down on the bed. She hasn’t called them off, but Yugo could at least move freely, though now, more than ever, he decided to behave.

- If you’d like to deal with that… - Amalia pointed to the bulge in his pants - …then feel free to do so, though gods help you if you leave a mess. Unless… - Unless?

A wicked smile appeared on her face, when she heard the desperation in his voice.

- Unless you want *me* to help you. A handjob would be two hundred Kamas, a blowjob three, three-fifty if you want me to swallow… - she begun counting, listing her “offers” - …same for titjob, same extra for a facial, and, well, if you’d like to have *me*, you’d have to pay at least a thousand… - How much will this give me? - Yugo suddenly interrupted, breaking her concentration.

Amalia turned her head, and it was time for her to suddenly lose her words, as they got stuck in her throat. Her eyes widened, when she saw that Yugo was on his knee, presenting her a box with a shining, golden emerald ring inside, unmistakably matching the colour of her hair. Before she could give him a permission, he took her hand and slid the ring on her finger, confirming her suspicion on how well it fitted her.  

- W…Well… - she stuttered.

A devilish smirk of revenge appeared on Yugo’s face when her voice cracked, and Amalia knew that no matter what she’d say, she was no longer in control, especially since she had hard time gathering her thoughts at all.

- Uh, yes, I think that, that will… Cover a few… Few… sessions…

Next thing she knew a strong push from her back made her trip onto the bed, straight into Yugo’s arms, once he took one of it out of his portal. Her lips joined his in a long, consolatory kiss that explained their feelings better than any apology would. Just like her clothes vanished almost magically before, so did his, and a moment later Yugo was towering over her, with only his hat on his head.

- Maybe I will even let you cum inside me for free… - Amalia moaned, before Yugo dived inside her, ready to enjoy the lifelong services he just paid for.

[srawesleyghuewrites]

More Than Anything - Chapter One

For desktop users: masterlist

For mobile users: mobile masterlist

Pairing: Zig x MC(Samantha Davis)

Faceclaim: Santiago Segura as Zig Ortega, Shay Mitchell as Samantha Davis, Cheddar as their puppy and Charlie as their cat

Book: The Senior

Word Count: ~ 1,800

Rating:  M for language

Prompt:  

They talked about traveling, made big plans while tangled in bed and even wrote an itinerary together but an opportunity presents itself and Zig finds himself with a decision to make. 

Samantha’s life has been a mess the last few weeks, her anxiety always getting the best of her, the thesis slowly becoming something so stressing to even explain, her parents spliting up, Zig’s sudden interest in traveling to Japan and her own mind playing tricks with her. So maybe that’s not a very good time for him to tell her? Or is the hard truth always the best option?

Author’s Note:

HI GUYS!!!

BTW I KNOW I’M LATE BUT I HAD REASONS(MY THESIS)

How are you? SOOOOO, this is a new series where the whole Japan thing is trated in a very different way but don’t worry, the drama is still here! I don’t have much to say about it because I honestly don’t know how many chapters and stuff but anyway..I can only say:

ANGST ALERT!

I don’t know exactly who to tag so please tell me if you want in or out of this taglist, and I hope everybody enjoys it!!!! As always, forgive my mistakes since english is not my mother language

@zigortega4life, @lizeboredom , @debramcg1106, @drakewalkerstan, @the-everlasting-dream, @christopher-powell, @pilitella, @easyobsession, @countrymusicandncis-blog, @tacohead13, @maxwellsgang, @ziggypop, @agent-bossypants, @angstymarshmallow

Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me,  I just borrow them from Pixelberry! 

Wine and Insomnia

Zig's been working since the early morning, his white shirt painted with a bunch of coffee stains showing the distraction overwhelming his senses, reminding him of when she asked him why the choice of such a bold color in a place where you're bound to get dirty. He remembers the dilated pupils of Samantha with his answer and a smirk, hoping to see her in this happy and light state soon enough. But the news he has to tell her might have the opposite effect, making her sink even more in the anxiety she’s currently fighting.

After his shift ended and the last stubborn client walked away at 1:34 in the morning, he said goodbye with a wave to the poor manager who was still closing some tabs and rushed out of the coffee shop. The streets were not completely empty, to his surprise, many students passed across the campus, heading to what seems to be parties or late night bars. It's a comforting presence, even if most of them are already drunk morons, it reminds him of how funny Sam gets when she’s drunk and all the stories they share in this very campus.

Meanwhile

Samantha typed fastly on her computer, the words already blurring together as the night extends for hours and hours. There's a big sigh coming from her as soon as her relentless fingers stop working, reading the nonsense crap she just wrote.

She's been feeling like that for a while, the inspiration coming fast in the middle of the night and escaping through her fingers before she can type anything useful. Samantha believes this might have something to do with everything that's been happening in her life lately, but Cheddar stops her from thinking any further in the subject by sitting next to her in the couch. He rests his paws on her exposed lap, calling out for attention as his puppy eyes shine over the almost dark room.

It's impossible for her not to scratch behind his ears and say in the most ridiculously dorky voice:

“You're the cutest dog in the whole world, did you know that? Who's the cutest dog in the world??”

He makes a confused expression by raising his ears and Samantha chuckles while scratching his jaw affectionately.

“Yes, you are!!! Cheddar is the cutest dog eveer!”

She feels better just with his presence, as if the emptiness he left in the apartament disappears for a moment. However the white document open in her computer brings her back to the task at hand, making her head pound heavily again.

Cheddar seems to notice the weight on her, laying his head lazily over his paws quietly as if not to disturb her. Samantha writes a full paragraph this time, full of grammar mistakes and gibberish but still feels better than nothing, that is until her eyes shift to the opening door and then nothing else seems that important anymore

...

The apartment is quiet and from the street he saw the living room fairy lights were on, which could mean that she left those on because she thought he was coming home soon or that she's still awake. Zig knows it's more likely the second option, with her insomnia crisis getting worse every week into the semester, but he still wishes badly that it'll be the first option.

When he opens the door his eyes find hers right away, the amber gaze softening under his chocolate one and then a sharp pain cuts through him as he thinks about not having her to come home to. He uses a smile to hide it and closes the door behind him with his foot, holding the bags with chinese food against with one hand and the key with the other.

“Hey babe.”

Samantha grins, watching him drop his bag near the door and realizes how just his presence already lifts a weight from her body. Zig goes straight to the kitchen, his stomach growling loudly to indicate how hungry he actually is, but he also admits to himself that he’s not ready to tell her yet, and being around her means having to say it.

She puts the notebook aside and gets up, Cheddar happily following her to the kitchen, sniffing and wiggling his tale to Zig.

“Hi.”

As expected he smiles at the dog, bending down to pet him and even allowing some cheek licks as his hand travels around the furry ears. Sam enjoys his distraction to step closer and examine what he brought, her mouth watering at the sight of the spring rolls but before she can pick anything Zig hugs her from behind. His scent invading her senses as he kisses the spot under her ear, and then her neck, finally planting a soft kiss on her shoulder.

“Wow. Miss me that much?”

Zig smirks and twists her around, making her face him while his hands caress her small back.

“Spending the day away from you is basically torture Sam, you should know that already.”

He brings their faces closer and Samantha closes her eyes, waiting for one of his ‘I missed you kisses’, the ones that are full of necessity and passion but that usually end with a bunch of other sweet caring pecks over her swollen lips. She gets her heart racing just with the memory of how he kisses her, even after all this time, he’s still shakes her core with any love demonstration. But the kiss doesn’t come and she snaps her eyes open, finding a longing expression in Zig’s face that quickly dissolves into a cocky smile.

“Are you waiting for something Samantha?”

He lets his lips touch just the corner of her mouth, his nose brushing against her when he breathes slowly over her yearning mouth.

“Teasing much, Ortega?”

Then he closes the inch distance between them with a kiss, capturing her lips in a hungry movement that she welcomes by parting her lips to give him more access to her mouth. They explore each others tongues, Samantha’s fingers play with his hair and Zig pulls her even closer by the grip of his hands on her waist. The kiss ends with both of them short of breath, lips swollen by the hot and roughness of the act and cheeks lightly flushed pink.

He pecks her cheek before turning back to the food behind her, leaving Samantha to wonder what’s wrong. After all this time together Sam knows what his kisses mean and it scares her because it sounded more like a ‘I’m sorry’ kiss than a ‘I’ve missed you’, mainly because he’s avoiding her gaze strongly. She’s been feeling weird for a long time so she thinks it’s just her normal paranoid-self, shrugging the dark thoughts and moving to get a a wine and two glasses.

“Why did you stay so late?”

Zig gives her a thankful smile when she pours red wine in a glass and hands it to him. She helps him take the food to the coffee table in the living room, sitting comfortably at his side and waiting for the response.

“There was still some customers there and as much as I wanted, I couldn’t just tell them to get the hell out.”

She chuckles and takes another sip of her wine, using her hand to caress his nap in an attempt to make him fully relax since she can see the tension present in his shoulders.

“You could’ve called me, I don’t have any problem telling people to get out so that I can have my man home earlier.”

Zig laughs and pets Cheddar’s head, who’s sitting between him and Sam. Soon Charlie joins them, getting out of her well deserved nap on their bed, she walks stretching and comes to rest on his lap.

“I guess I’m not the only one who missed you.”

It doesn’t take longer than 3 seconds for Charlie to start purring, brushing her head against his hand in search for more love. Sam smiles with the vision of their pets giving Zig all the love she knows he deserves, it warms her heart to know that even when everything is falling apart, their home is always standing strong.

He takes another sip of the wine and it’s the perfect combo with the food, perfect with this moment, with the perfect woman sitting next to him and staring at him with such longing.

“I missed all of you, especially you Sam, as always. I usually would go for a beer, so how did you know that I today what I wanted was wine?”

“Because I know you babe.”

She answers fast, the words so real that triggers something inside him, something that makes him lower his gaze to Cheddar or the couch beneath him. ‘She knows me better than anyone’ and he can’t look at her without blurting the words out loud, words that might change everything.

He drinks more of his wine to gain courage and tell her the news, all the time avoiding her gaze, that’s when he sees the notebook laying beside her and asks:

“Were you working on something before I came or just waiting for me?”

She sighs, the pressure of the blank document beside her gets back and even though she’s not even looking at it, it already consumes her thoughts again. It’s her time to drink more wine in order to keep from spiraling.

“Yeah, working on my thesis.”

The words are rispid and she half-smiles, trying to hide the desperation surging on her from thinking about that damn thesis. He knows how much it’s consuming her and his way of making it better is by sliding his hand over her shoulders, scooping closer to her and giving her a long forehead kiss.

“Insomnia again?”

She simply nods as he puts both of their empty glasses on the table, turning his full attention to the woman in front of him.

“I wish I could’ve been here earlier to take care of you.”

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Samantha lays her head in his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathes deeply as relief fills her chest. Zig fiddles with her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head, she snuggles her head into his body until her own lips are touching his neck in a sweet care.

“And I’ll always be here.”

His words are strong and full of meaning, yet he’s not that sure it’s true anymore.

[farmhandler]

They’re a Man-eater ch2 [fic]

Rating: M

Relationship: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote

Additional Tags: Fluff, Tentacle Sex, Light Angst

Chapter: 2/3 | WC 4K~

Read on AO3

Read CH1 

Summary: The symbiote learns how to masturbate. Anne discovers the truth.

A/N: hope u enjoy...now it’s 3 chapters because I write too much

“Yeah, talk to you later, Anne. Stay out of trouble, okay? Yeah, yeah, tell the boyfriend he needs to step up his game.” He pauses. “Next time. I’ve got—a thing. You know how it is.”

Eddie lets the phone drop out of his hand and roll onto the bed once the call ends. He lies there silently for the next few seconds.

Dan and Anne keep inviting him over for dinner because they worry about him after the whole Venom thing, and at first, he couldn’t even begin to imagine walking into that place, being surrounded by the warmth of their love where he used to live, but now he recognizes that Dan is good for her.

And Eddie is pretty much over the whole thing at this point (mostly), but he keeps up the lie. A part of him feels guilty; he lied to her in the beginning because he couldn’t handle the thought of trying to explain himself when he felt so tired all the time, but now that things are better, he wants to tell her. He does. It’s just…

Sometimes, he finds himself feeling a tiny bit jealous—of their situation more than anything.

Not that his isn’t pretty good in a lot of ways.

Eddie.

The symbiote wraps their tendrils around his waist, looping the rest around his legs and chest. They’ve been hugging Eddie to sleep every night since that first time, and Eddie is starting to get addicted to the feeling of being held like that. It’s fuckin’ weird, but it’s also good.

A lot of things are good when it comes to the symbiote, he’s starting to realize.

The symbiote slithers to his side, forming the torso of Venom before tugging him close.

Eddie’s heartrate kicks up a notch. The symbiote knows exactly what they’re doing, even if they don’t perfectly understand why.

Eddie, they purr, tongue slithering out of their mouth to brush against his cheek. Eddie, get up. We are hungry.

“You’re hungry," he retorts. "I’m sleeping.”

You were just on the phone with Anne. You can't play games with us, Eddie. 

He ignores them, staring up at the ceiling. The symbiote's face fills his vision and he forces himself not to crack a smile, closing his eyes like he hasn't noticed them. For added effect, he snores. 

Eddie, hungry. A hand wraps around his and starts tugging his arm in the direction of the kitchen. The tongue is back, sliding against the shell of his ear. Eddie!

Eddie sputters, shoving his fingers at their tongue. It slithers in between them, coating his fingers in saliva.

"V, that's nasty!" he wipes his hands on his sleep-shirt, scowling. "Get your tongue outta here, man."

We are hungry.

The symbiote isn't going to stop any time soon, that much he knows, and he's just as starving as his irritating companion, so after making a show of his reluctance Eddie finally scoots to the edge of the bed, pushing the symbiote's head away when they draw close.

“I’ll take even longer to get up if you keep doing that," he says, smiling. "Get away from me. I need a shower.”

He slides off the edge of the bed, stretching his arms high above his head. The symbiote wraps their arms around his shoulders before melting into his body, leaving only a small facsimile of their head remaining.

“Hey, cutie,” Eddie says, knowing it’ll annoy them.

Hey, loser.

He could take the bait, but he really is grimy. His body runs ridiculously hot now that he’s got the symbiote to take care of, too, which means he’s sweating about ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent is when he’s showering.

After stripping down, he turns on the water, then give it times to heat up while he takes his morning piss. The whole time the symbiote is sliding across his body, pulling tendrils from within him to slap and poke at his skin.

“What is with you today?” Eddie mutters, giving his cock a little shake. “You antsy or somethin’?”

We like the shower. It feels good.

“I thought you guys hated the warmth.”

A shower is not like fire, idiot.

“Wow,” Eddie drawls. “I’m the idiot for asking honest questions? Give me a break here.”

We like what you like, the symbiote says. It makes you feel good, so it makes us feel good.

“You’ve said that, but I don’t know if I believe it. Where were you when I wanted to eat those ribs the other night? Ribs make me feel pretty good.”

You ate that on purpose! You know we hate dead meat. Dead meat is disgusting!

“I did not make myself a nice stack of ribs just to puke it up later,” Eddie argues, yanking aside the shower curtain. He shuffles around the hot spray of water, adjusting it so it goes from blistering to comfortably hot.

You keep telling yourself that, Eddie.

He sighs, leaning into the spray to get his hair wet.

Showering is one of the few pleasures in life he’ll never tire of. The hot spray of water rushing over his shoulders and easing the aches and pains of the day is pure bliss. Eddie reaches for the bar of soap and starts lathering his loofah, giving it a good squeeze or two before he gets to work.

He gets lost in the motions, mind drifting to all sorts of places while he scrubs his body. It’s when he’s brushing his loofah over the inside of his thigh that he notices his dick getting hard.

He pauses, chewing on his lower lip.

Eddie hasn’t masturbated in front of the symbiote. He didn’t do at first because that was just too fucking weird, and his libido was shot to hell after everything that happened to him, but today, it’s different.  

Things are better. He doesn’t feel like a sack of shit and the sight of his cock rising from the grave to tap impatiently at his stomach is very tempting.

He could ignore it. He probably should ignore it, but then he thinks, why the hell not? It’s his fucking body, symbiote or not, and he hasn’t touched himself in forever.

Before he can think about it too long, he sets down the loofah and reaches for his cock. He first slides his palm up and down the length as a reminder, then gets into jerking it with quick efficiency, leaning his arm against the shower wall while he gets off. The sharp rush of pleasure and euphoria as he starts getting close rolls over him and he can’t help the pleased sound that erupts from the back of his throat, stilling his movements so it won’t be over too quick.

Eddie.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, shivering.

We like that. That feels good.

“Fuckin’ hell, man.”

He’s reminded of what the symbiote told him: It makes you feel good, so it makes us feel good.

He hesitates, taking his hand off his cock. He can physically feel the symbiote watching him, but somehow, instead of unnerving him, his cock gives a pathetic twitch.

Why did you stop? Keep going!

“Is it too much to ask for some privacy?” he says half-heartedly.

After a moment of further hesitation, he decides, fuck it, he wanted to jack off, and that’s what he’s going to do, symbiote be damned. He wraps his hand around his cock and gives it a few strokes, paying special attention to the way his foreskin rubs against the head. The symbiote says nothing in reply, so he keeps at it, alternating between stroking himself slowly and pumping it to bring him close before stilling his hand.

There’s something about knowing the symbiote is watching him. Does it get off? How the hell do those things fuck?

He tries to imagine it, but his thoughts slip in a different direction, and then, before he can consider alternatives, he’s imagining the symbiote forming its humanoid self in front of him and taking his cock in hand. Eddie bites back a groan, hips twitching forward. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, forming a tighter ring with his fist.

He both senses and feels when the symbiote starts edging down his arm, tendrils seeking out the fingers wrapped around his cock. His eyes snap open when they brush the sensitive skin on the head of his dick and he looks down to witness the symbiote swallow his hand and replacing it with the fist of Venom.

“What the fuck,” he breathes, arousal hitting him like a punch in the gut.

Make us feel good, Eddie.

The hand—their hand—isn’t moving. Eddie spares a thought that they might not know what to do, but the fact that they’re trying, that they want to be a part of jerking himself off makes a hysterical laugh bubble in his throat; it transforms into a groan when the symbiote moves their hand, stroking him twice to get him going.

He lets his breath out slowly, quickly changing from pumping his hand over his cock to thrusting into the tight ring of his fist when he realizes how good it feels. Their hand is wet and slippery now, like the inside of a fleshlight, only a thousand times better. He snaps his hips, squeezing his hand around the head of his cock, chasing the sensation for as long as he can.

“Gettin' close,” he warns, not sure why he bothers when the symbiote can already tell. Their awareness is like hard edges in his brain, rising up with him as his pleasure crests.

His thoughts are still on the symbiote and Venom; how muscled Venom is, how fucking good it felt to be them. Reaching behind himself, Eddie rubs his fingers over the tight ring of his hole, imagining Venom pushing his hands aside and shoving their fat cock up his ass, spreading him wide.

Just when he thinks he’s about to come, he feels the symbiote’s tentacles slip in between his fingers, brushing up against his hole before pushing inside.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, arching his back. “Shit, Shit, fuck.”

You like this, they say smugly, and Eddie chokes on a laugh. Should we stop?

It doesn’t hurt, and the sensation of the tentacle filling him completely, touching on every single nerve inside him is almost too much to handle.

“Don’t. Just keep—” He rolls his hips into his fist as the tentacle rubs up against his prostate, grinding on it. The pleasure is razor-sharp and hot, and for a split-second, Eddie feels so good he isn’t sure he can even come. He just keeps stroking his cock, working himself back uselessly on the tentacles writhing in his ass.

When he comes, his throat constricts, his moan coming out like a needy whine. His toes curl, and he leans back against the shower wall, shooting come onto his chest and stomach. It’s washed away within seconds, and he keeps stroking his cock roughly, squeezing out the last dredges of pleasure.

“Holy shit,” he says, once he's finished. He closes his eyes, shivering when the tentacles slip out of his ass and sink back into his skin. He feels a bit like he could collapse.

He can hear a rumbling sort of sound coming from the symbiote, like a hum, or a low purr, and then the symbiote speaks.

Eddie, let’s do that again.

He chuckles at the empty air. “Can’t. Not yet, at least. Though I gotta say: best orgasm I’ve had in a while.”

There’s a flash of pride, and then smug satisfaction.

Later, we do that again.

Eddie smiles, deciding that this is just one more area he can add to the list of things that the symbiote has improved by being a part of his life.

Improvements or not, the symbiote is still learning. Eddie tries to be a diligent teacher, but he's never been cut out for it. 

It doesn't help that the symbiote is a curious creature. Particularly as it relates to humans, and they always seem to raise questions at the worst possible times. Eddie is almost certain they do it on purpose, making concerted efforts to fluster him as often as possible.

Eddie. Why do humans keep trying to reproduce with themselves?

“It’s called masturbation,” Eddie says without thinking.

Anne’s fork lowers from where it’s hovering in front of her mouth and she looks at Eddie with wide eyes. Dan starts choking on his drink.

“Excuse me?”

“Mastur—mastication!” he all but shouts, lightly tapping his closed fist against the table to keep from slamming it into his face. “I meant mastication. Sorry, I was just thinkin’ out loud, y’know? I do that sometimes.”

“Right,” Anne trails off, shooting Dan a look. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You seem distracted.”

There’s something peculiar and pointed about the way she says it, but he doesn’t feel up to parsing through her meaning, especially if it means what he thinks it means.

The symbiote has been doing this all damn night, raising questions that have no business in this kind of setting when they know that Eddie is trying to make a good impression after all the lying and avoiding he's been doing. There's an undercurrent of some kind of emotion running through them: it feels a bit like jealousy, or maybe envy, but he can't be certain if that's just him and his owned messed up feelings for the two of them.

He hasn't told her about Venom yet, and he isn’t sure he’s ready to. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to; he’s hurt her enough, and adding a long-standing lie onto that isn’t helping any. Just sitting there Eddie feels guilty, shoving pieces of tender steak into his mouth like he’s enjoying any of it.

All in all, he likes Dan, and he knows he’s good for her. A part him is just jealous of their relationship, and as a side-effect, he doesn’t want to share news of the symbiote’s return.

It’s childish, but this is the first thing that feels like his in a long time, and he’s not ready to give that up just yet.

I only ask because you keep thinking about it. About us.

“I’m great!” Eddie declares. It's moments like these he wishes the symbiote could read his mind. As it stands, all he can do it project images of him stabbing himself in hopes they'll get the picture. “Just can’t wait to masticate more of this steak. Mm.”

Anne stares at him for a moment longer before turning to her own food, cutting the steak into thin slices before bringing them to her mouth.

The way she eats is achingly familiar, so Eddie tries not to stare for too long.

I am thinking about it, too. His shirt shifts as tendrils loop around his chest, squeezing him. Let’s leave and go masturbate.

“Are you serious right now?”

Shit. Fuck. He needs to stop doing that. He’s been talking to the symbiote out loud so much lately that it’s just reflex at this point.

“What is it?” Dan looks at him. “Is it your streak? Is it underdone?” He frowns. “Anne said you liked it pretty rare.”

“That’s what you said on the phone,” Anne says. “That you wanted a really rare steak.”

“No, the steak is great. I was just—” Eddie waves his fork, trying to come up with a plausible explanation, “thinking how amazing this is. Like, are you serious? This steak is so good.”

“So you’ve said.” Anne sighs, setting down her fork. “Eddie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” She lays her hand on Dan’s arm. “You can tell us anything.”

She suspects something, the symbiote says.

Eddie barely resists responding outright. He forks more steak into his mouth, shifting his gaze between the two the them. Then he shrugs, looking down at his plate.

Do not tell her, Eddie.

“I don’t have anything going on right now," Eddie says. "So there’s not much to tell you.”

“Eddie.” Anne reaches out and places her hand on his, smiling gently. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to make you admit to anything you don't want to, but I want you to know—”

Do not say anything to her!

“—I’m here for you. I know things have been hard on you. You have your new job—”

She will not understand. Keep your mouth shut.

“—you’re still in that old apartment for some reason, even though I told you I’d help—”

Eddie’s fist tightens around his knife. The symbiote is so loud, roaring in his head and drowning out all the sound around him.

“—and after everything that happened, nobody can blame you for feeling like you do…Eddie?”

She will try and separate us! She will take us away! We will not let that happen.

“Eddie, are you okay? Your knife—”

You are mine!

“Will you shut up?!” he explodes, bursting out of his seat. Anne and Dan both gasp, and Eddie whirls on them, holding out his hand. “Not you guys! Not you, it’s—oh, shit.”

He realizes his mistake too late and buries his head in his hands. Anne shoves her seat back and stands with him, pointing her finger at his chest.

“I knew it!” she shouts. “I knew he was back. I knew you were lying to me!”

“I-It’s not what you think!” Eddie exclaims, holding both hands up like a shield. There's no reason to panic; he can still save the situation from becoming a disaster.

While he's considering his next move, the symbiote flares up inside him, ignited with righteous anger, and Eddie barely has the chance to shout, “no!” before they’re bursting from his back, black gooey tendrils curling around his neck and shoulders aggressively. To make matters worse, they reveals themselves to the two of them in the form of a floating head, grinning at them with razor sharp teeth.

Anne gapes. She looks like she wants to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Look, I—I couldn’t tell you,” Eddie says, lowering his voice. Dan is by the far wall, terrified. Last time the symbiote revealed itself around them both, Eddie nearly choked him to death. “We were just hurt, and I was—I was tired, okay? I didn’t want to deal with all the questions.”

“So you’ve been living with it inside you? Letting it eat you?”

“I’m fine!” he insists, trying to keep calm. The symbiote has no such qualms.

“You have no say in what we do with Eddie’s organs,”  they spit, curling their tongue tightly around his jaw. Eddie jerks his head away while Anne squeals, waving her hands like she’s just touched something disgusting. “He is mine!”

“Get back in me!” Eddie shouts, grabbing the sides of their head to pull them down. Dan snorts, and then looks like he can’t believe he made the sound. “You said you'd behave!”

“If she thinks she will take you away from me, then I will persuade her otherwise.”

“Oh my god, be quiet—”

“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Dan says, hands slipping down the wall he’s leaning against. “I thought it was dead.”

“We are not—”

“Enough!” Anne slams her fist against the table. “You—” she points at the symbiote, “quiet. Eddie, living room. Now. We’re sitting down and having a talk.”

“They are harmless,” Eddie insists, “really.”

“I still don’t know if I believe you,” Anne says, leaning back in her chair. “I get that you think it—they—are harmless, but they devoured your organs. Your heart was failing, Eddie.”

I would never hurt you, Eddie. Hurting you hurts us. That is all in the past.

Eddie has been trying to explain the current situation to her for half an hour now, but they keep going in circles. She understood his pain when she thought they were dead, but now that she knows the symbiote is alive, she isn’t so keen on seeing him live within Eddie.

“They didn’t understand. Trust me, Anne, I know. I know more than anyone the kind of shit this could get me into, but we’ve got—” Eddie licks his lips. “We’ve got boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” she repeats.

“And listen.” He holds up a hand, stopping her from saying any more. “I know…that this is scary,” he says slowly, choosing his words with care. “I like to think you’re doing all this huffin’ and puffin’ because you care about me.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn't call being concerned for your well-being 'huffing and puffing', Eddie.”

“But,” he continues, “At the end of the day…they need me, Anne. They need me to live. I can't just abandon them! And, if we're being honest, I—I kinda need them.”

It really hurts to see Anne look at him like he's some kind of traitor and a liar, because the situation is more complicated than that. She just doesn't understand. Hell, he barely understands, but he just knows that this is something he needs. He can’t explain why. Trying to do that would be like trying to explain why he needs his left leg. Sure, he could go on without it, but it wouldn’t be the same, and he would struggle. 

“They don’t eat people anymore.” Technically. “Chocolate and tater tots and a bunch of other stuff do it for them. I’m not eating people, I swear.”

Anne looks away, her expression pinched. She doesn’t look comfortable sitting there, particularly what with the way that the symbiote has been hovering above Eddie’s head, staring at the two of them threateningly the entire time.

“V, you gotta stop doing that,” Eddie says, for the umpteenth time. “It’s creeping everybody out.”

We do not mind.

“V?” Anne says, raising an eyebrow. Eddie flushes, scratching his cheek with his finger. He decides to address the symbiote first.

“Yeah, yeah, well the rest of us don’t want to see you hanging up there like a weirdo. Come on, get back in my body.” He waits, and when the symbiote doesn’t move, he yanks their head down and shoves it at his shoulder until they dissipate, grumbling the entire way.

Once that’s settled, he looks back at Anne. She returns his gaze, blinking at him like she doesn’t recognize the person she’s looking at.

“You have pet names for each other?” she asks. It’s more of a sneer.

“No, it’s just—they don’t have a name, so I figured I could come up with something. V for Venom,” he adds weakly, hoping it won’t sound as damning as he suspects it does.

This was not how he imagined this going. Granted, he was hoping this wouldn’t ever happen, honestly, but they’re here now. And a part of him is glad they’re getting it over with and not waiting years into the future, assuming he never worked up the nerve.

“Look, I...I’m sorry, Anne. I should’ve told you,” he says miserably, shoving his hands in between his knees. Thankfully, the symbiote stays quiet and doesn't distract him for once, but Eddie can feel their discontent, lurking underneath his skin and inside him, making his anxiety worse. He hunches further over the edge of the couch, trying to make himself as non-threatening as physically possible.

Anne sighs wearily and leans her head back, tipping it up towards the ceiling.

“Eddie, why do you care if I approve of your…relationship?” she asks. “Why are you trying to convince me?”

“I care about you,” he replies. “You and Dan. You’re good people. I don’t wanna lose that.”

Anne is silent for a while. Then, she lifts her head and looks at him like she’s seeing him for the first time. He wonders what she’s noticed.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I understand. I don’t necessarily approve, but I understand.”

“Really? Anne, thank you,” Eddie says, pressing his hands against his chest gratefully. “You know I would never hurt anyone. And V’s learning too. They’re good now.”

You know what would be good, Eddie? If you let us eat them. Then this would be much easier and you wouldn't have to care about what they think.

“Shut up. Not you!” he says, when Anne goes to speak. “Sorry, just: will you be quiet? I’m trying to defend you and you’re gonna say shit like that? You don’t mean that, so don’t even pretend to act all tough.”

“Eddie,” she starts, then stops. She exchanges a glance with Dan, who shrugs. “Eddie...I think you should go.”

“No, Anne, wait—”

“It’s okay.” She smiles, moving to stand and walk towards the end of the room. Eddie rises to follow, but she stills him with a hand, using the other to brush her hair behind her ear. She shrugs. “I’m just tired, and I’ve got some work to do."

"Anne, please."

"I just need some time," she says. "You've been lying to me. I suspected it before you told me, but knowing is different from knowing." She turns to look at him, a small smile on her face. "We are going to do this again, Eddie, but I just think we both need a break. At least for tonight.”

“Yeah, okay." Eddie rubs his arm with his hand, staring at the ground. "I understand.”

He doesn’t, but he needs to pretend he does, because he won’t lose Anne again. If it just takes time, he can deal with that. Time is easy; he’s got nothing but time.

“Thank you for coming to dinner, Eddie,” Dan says, speaking up for the first time in a while. He tugs on his collar nervously, but he looks like he’s trying. “And tell your…friend that I appreciate it not trying to choke me.”

Eddie nods, and then shuffles around the room, making sure he has his wallet and keys before he finally leaves.

[stuffandnosense]

Never Ending: Message in a Bottle (Part 3)

** Much longer update this time! I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you so much for the interest in this story; I’ve been having a lot of fun writing it! And it wouldn’t be possible without everyone over at @altean-plance-au. Keep up the awesome work ya’ll! Loving it! **

** Additional Note: This is the story that may have suddenly turned into an epic monster in my head that I may or may not write all of after what I had originally planned for Message in a Bottle (which is almost done with)? I don’t know. We’ll see? If ya’ll are interested? **

Never Ending Oneshot  |  MiaB Part 1  |  MiaB Part 2

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Pidge isn’t really sure what she’s expecting when Allura asks them all to sit. She knows there’s something she’s missing. That they’re all missing.

Allura waits until Shiro joins them, asking as soon as he walks in if something is wrong.

Lance doesn’t even answer. He just sticks his hand in Pidge’s face and she rolls her eyes at him and grabs it to show Shiro the strange glow that happens when they touch.

“What the…?” Shiro trails.

Hunk tells him about the vial they shattered and the way the energy absorbed into just the two of them. “And they spaced out for like a really, really long minute and they were staring at each other and not exactly acting like themselves and it was weird.”

“That,” Allura says, “is what I am going to attempt to explain.”

“Are you all right?” Shiro asks, glancing back and forth between Lance and Pidge.

Lance nods, Pidge shrugs, and then she feels a prodding at her face and realizes Lance is also poking her in the cheek.

“What are you doing!”

“Running tests, Pidge. For science. Look, this works too!” He holds a finger pressed into her face, and she can only see the edge of a faint glow out of the corner of her eye, but she can tell, at least, that he isn’t kidding.

“Is that really necessary?” she sighs.

She isn’t really angry. She knows what he’s doing. He’s anxious; he doesn’t know what Allura is going to tell them and he’s distracting himself by being slightly more ridiculous than usual. As if to prove her point Pidge turns to look at him, to shake his finger from her cheek, but when she’s facing him Lance plants the same fingertip right on her nose.

“Hey look! Pidge is Rudolph,” Lance crows. “I mean it’s teal, not red, but still. Space rudolph.”

“Okay already!” But she can’t help that her cheeks are going warm, and she’d like to kid herself but she’s pretty sure it’s not embarrassment.

“Lance,” Shiro says.

Allura, for once, already seems hesitant to continue. It isn’t something they’re used to seeing from her.

“It’s okay, Allura,” Hunk says as they all look her way again. “What’s up? What is it?”

She seems to take a deep breath and let it out to steady herself. “I scarcely know where to begin,” she says. “But Coran and I have recovered the data from a small personal computer found in the sphere, and it only seems right to share what we’ve found. However, it will require an explanation that might also help you to understand the behavior of the energy that is now affecting Pidge and Lance, as well as the dreams that some of you have been having.”

So much? In one explanation?

“Shiro,” Allura says. “When you were gone...we were eventually faced with the possibility of having to find a new paladin…”

Shiro nods. “Of course; you had to be able to form Voltron.”

“Yes...and the others asked how I had known which of you would pilot which lions when all of you first arrived here. I answered that I had simply...known, at the time. That I recognized the qualities within each of you, and how those corresponded to what I knew of each of the lions and their personalities.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “You said it just kind of...worked out. But that you wouldn’t know how to go searching the universe for a new paladin. It wasn’t like that.”

Allura nods. “Precisely. And…” She sighs. “While all of that is true, it is not the whole truth. There is a reason I knew what qualities each of you possessed. I do consider myself a decent judge of character, but I doubt anyone could have learned enough about all of you in the few minutes’ time I had talked to you to be able to make all of those judgments correctly.”

Lance shrugs. “Why not? I mean...I guess we all just kind of assumed it had to do with your...Altean...whatever. I don’t know.”

“What are you saying?” Shiro asks.

Allura sets her shoulders, looking at all of them for a long moment before she says anything else. Pidge thinks she looks almost...apologetic? But...why?

“The truth is that I knew what each of you were like because...because I recognized you. All of you. I knew you. I...I’d known you. On Altea, ten thousand years ago.”

They all blink at her, quiet, until Hunk breaks the silence. “Wait, what?”

Allura is already shaking her head at the perceived rest of the question. “I cannot tell you how it’s possible. That, really, is one reason why Coran and I said nothing before now. We didn’t understand it either, and we still do not. But...all of you...you’re not just similar to friends and family we once knew before Altea was destroyed. You are the same, right down to your names and personalities, strengths and, for the most part, abilities...all of it.”

“You asked me what was wrong with my ears…” Lance says. He isn’t really looking at anything. He’s studying the floor instead, not Allura.

“What?” Allura says.

“W-when you first woke up. When we found you.” He looks up then, his eyebrows high. “One of the first things you said. You asked me what was wrong with my ears. But...now we know you were already used to interacting with multiple species. You’d been around plenty of people who didn’t have ears like yours. Why would you ask that question?”

Pidge remembers it too, now. Allura had asked who they were before she’d focused on Lance’s face, and then...the ear question was the first thing she said after that.

But…

“Reincarnation?” Pidge asks. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Even after everything we’ve seen out here. I mean Earth has legends of it…”

“As does Altea,” Allura says. “It was never something taken seriously by the time period I lived in, but it was a part of Altea’s religious history. A story. Like Oriande.”

“Wait wait wait,” Hunk says. “I mean past lives sound cool and all but what the cheese? Who are you saying we were?”

“Yourselves,” Allura says. “But Altean. Hunk, I didn’t know you as well, but from what I remember you were an engineer at the castle - who was also quite well known for your culinary skills even then.”

“Nice!”

Coran looks wistful. “I can recall those juniberry pastries now. Your cooking is still as superb as it ever was, Number Two.”

Hunk doesn’t seem to be having as much trouble with this as the rest of them are. Shiro hasn’t said a word and Lance is staring wide-eyed at the floor again. Pidge isn’t sure what to do with herself.

“What about the rest of us, Princess?” Shiro asks quietly. He doesn’t seem sure he wants to know the answer.

She smiles softly, reassuringly - or at least, it’s clear that’s what she’s going for. Pidge’s stomach is roiling, but she isn’t sure why, and for some reason all she wants to do is reach out to Lance; she has to sit on her hands to keep from doing it. He’s straddling the chair he’s in, arms draped over the back, but his fingers are digging into the fabric covering it.

“You, Shiro...the last captain of the royal guard. The youngest in Altea’s history - not much older than you are now, and one of the best captains my father had.” She winces. “You were meant to be aboard the castle, in fact, when we launched that last day, but...I-I don’t remember what happened.”

Coran takes a small step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Your father rendered you unconscious and secured you in a pod, Princess. Captain Shirogane and the last of the guard left at the castle covered the entrance to protect you inside when the king went out to face Zarkon. However, Zarkon’s forces overran them, and then your father was and...I was forced to launch before they made it inside.”

Allura swallows. “That’s right...the last I remember, Zarkon was almost upon us.” She reaches to touch her advisor’s arm briefly. “Oh Coran, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were the one who had to make that decision.”

“My orders were to keep you safe.”

None of them want to interrupt the moment between the two Alteans, but Pidge can almost feel the tension in the room. If that’s what happened to Shiro, what about the rest of them?

Allura clears her throat and refocuses. “In any case, Pidge...I knew you the most. And not only you, either. When you found Matthew, and then your father...I recognized them as well.”

“M-My whole family…?” How? Just...how? It isn’t reasonable, not at all, and she has always had a problem with things that don’t fall within the realm of science. That has been changing since she left earth, and since she learned to bond with her lion among other things, but this?

“I have not seen a picture of your mother, but I can only assume. But your father was once my father’s brother...a prince of Altea, Pidge. And you and your brother also shared royal titles.”

Hunk leans in incredulously. “Pidge was a princess?!”

Shiro manages a weak smirk. “Matt was a prince?” Pidge can’t image what he’s feeling right now, processing news of his own former self’s supposed death, but at least he’s making a joke. She, meanwhile…

But it makes so much sense. She sees all of them in her dreams. Shiro in Altean armor, Hunk with Altean features holding a steaming pan of pastries in the castle’s kitchen, her father at King Alfor’s side. Matt and Shiro laughing…

“Were Matt and Shiro friends then too?” she asks. Just to know if, maybe, she’s really not crazy.

“Yes,” Allura nods. “And Lance and Keith were both students of Shiro’s - at different times, though. But Lance…”

“Spent a lot of time around...me. The other me. For some reason,” Pidge fills in. Lance’s head comes up halfway at that.

“Yes. He was part of the royal guard - your bodyguard.”

Lance pulls his head up the rest of the way, but he’s still not quite looking at any of them. “They had those powers, didn’t they? The ones we were dreaming about.”

“They did.” Allura lets out a quiet breath. “Perhaps it would make more sense if I showed you what we’ve found from the computer we rescued from the sphere.” She turns back to the console and pulls up a video that she quickly rewinds to the beginning before they can really see what’s there. Pidge finds herself holding her breath before the princess even presses play.

The video is dim, but the blue glow from the computer screen on the face is more than enough to make in unmistakable.

The Altean boy from her dreams. Lance. Different, hair, ears...exactly the way she sees them there. But it’s Lance. And the voice coming from off-screen in hers. Her voice. Saying words she has never remembered, like she thought she heard while looking through the images of the inside of the sphere back in the hangar.

I don’t know why I did this…

“ -ou don’t! Give it back!” the same voice is saying.

“Pidge, come on; what if there’s still somebody out there who could find this?”

And that is Lance’s voice. The same as it has always been. She can’t help looking at him now, beside her, as he watches their other selves on the screen - these people that, somehow, they once were. Again, she wants to reach out, but he looks so shaken she doesn’t know how he would take it.

Pidge looks back at the screen in time to see the Altean young man’s face soften as he looks offscreen at what must be her. And...that face. It’s not the face of a bodyguard. It’s the face of someone much closer to who they’re talking to. MUCH closer.

“What about Allura? If anything survived, the castle did; I’m sure of it. The king would have seen to that.”

When he tugs her into view Pidge gasps quietly and gets to her feet. It really is her, too. Somehow it doesn’t all feel real until that moment. Until she’s looking at her own face on the screen.

“Is it already recording?” her other self asks, squinting at the screen.

“No, of course n—” The other Lance stops and looks at it himself. “Oh wait…”

“It is,” his companion deadpans.

It’s so much like a conversation she and Lance might have any day even now, that Pidge almost feels dizzy.

On the screen Lance is brightening, showing off for the camera. “Hello, and welcome to our log! Surprise! We’re not dead. For now.”

Allura stops the video, leaving it frozen on the two of them - Lance, grinning, Pidge in the middle of facepalming. “We haven’t even watched more ourselves yet; I won’t force any of the rest of you to now, either. I don’t know what the rest of the logs will reveal, but there are a good number of them.”

“So...they really made that thing out there?” Hunk asks.

“The Avengers of Altea were real,” Pidge breathes. She looks at Lance, but he won’t meet her gaze for more than a moment before he looks away. “They were...us…”

And it seems relatively clear that they were...close. Somehow. Even if Allura won’t come out and say it yet.

Pidge’s heart sinks for a minute, wondering if that’s why Lance won’t look at her - if he has some sort of problem with the idea of it, even in another life.

Another life...It’s absurd. And why should it bother her if such an idea bothers him?

But it becomes clear that isn’t what it is when Lance gets up, fumbling in his jacket until he pulls something from an inside pocket. He approaches Allura almost hesitantly, and holds out what Pidge finally realizes is a worn picture. She can’t quite make it out from here, but she can see the dense grouping of faces.

“What about my family?” Lance asks. “Was my family the same?” It sounds almost desperate.

“Oh...I...I’m so sorry, Lance,” Allura says gently. “I didn’t know them then. I wouldn’t be able to tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh…”

“Lance? You okay man?” Hunk asks. He moves closer, but Lance backs toward the door before his friend can get to him.

“I um...I just…”

“It’s all right, Lance,” Shiro says. Pidge isn’t sure whether he’s trying to tell him all of this is all right, or if it’s all right to be upset by it. She supposes both are true, in any case.

But Lance is shaking his head, still backing away. “Is it?”

“Lance, wait!” Pidge calls. But he turns and is gone, she thinks, before he can even hear her.

She moves to go after him, but everyone else seems to have some instinct to do it too. She waves them off and Shiro seems to pick up the message first; he manages to keep the others at bay for her.

She doesn’t have to go far. Lance has stopped two corridor turns away in the direction of his room. She finds him leaning heavily into the wall.

“Lance…?”

She can only see his back, but his shoulders tense when she speaks up. “I thought I said don’t follow me?”

“You didn’t, actually.”

He lets out a breath and presses his back into the wall rather than his shoulder. So he isn’t facing her, but at least he isn’t facing away from her anymore. “Well, I thought it. Aggressively.”

“You could always run away again.”

Lance smirks briefly, but he doesn’t move. The smirk fades and his face crumples as if he’s in pain. Pidge waits for him to say something, because she’s pretty sure he’s going to if she waits and she doesn’t know what to say anyway. All she knows is that she needs to be here.

“Haven’t we had to deal with enough?” he asks after a moment or two.

“What do you mean? I mean...I know this is a lot to take in...I’m kind of reeling too...”

“I mean…” Lance makes a frustrated sound. “I mean, we left Earth, we left our families and most of our friends - everybody we care about except each other; everything we knew at home - to come out here and get in the middle of a war we didn’t even know existed before...and-and now we’re not even who we think we are?”

“I know…” It’s like the world has shifted. Nothing is quite what she thought it was. But...she still has her friends. Her team. Her family. It’s dizzying, but Pidge realizes, in that moment, that she isn’t actually upset. Confused? Yes. In need of some serious processing time? Definitely. Upset? No.

So what is Lance saying? The look on his face when Allura couldn’t tell him about his family comes back to her, and she places a hand tentatively on his chest, over the side of his jacket that holds the picture he pulled out back there.

“You’re still you, Lance. I know this is crazy, but—”

“What if I’m not?” He crosses his arms over his chest, dislodging her hand. “What if my family wasn’t the same like yours? M-My family wasn’t royalty or whatever like yours was—and the whole you being a princess thing is weird enough—”

“Gee thanks.”

“But if the family the...other me, or whatever, had wasn’t that important, why would they have been born again now? What would be the point? And I-If I’m just some person from ten thousand years ago who was dropped here to...I don’t know, be part of Voltron or whatever, is my family here even my family?” His voice breaks at that bit, and his eyes are filling with tears.

“Do I even really belong to my parents? Are my brothers and sisters even really mine?”

Lance’s shoulders are shaking now, and even though he hasn’t uncrossed his arms Pidge goes in to hug him anyway, before she can overthink it, because she can’t stand seeing him like this and he needs to stop this ridiculous line of thinking.

“Stop it. Lance. Stop,” she says insistently. “Of course they’re yours. Of course you belong.”

It takes a moment, but he un-crosses his arms from between them and returns the embrace loosely. “How do you know…?”

“I’m not saying I know the real answer...this is kind of uncharted territory...but from everything I’ve heard about them, I know they love you, Lance. A lot. So you belong. The rest doesn’t matter, okay?”

His grip on her tightens, but it doesn’t seem like agreement. The way his breathing picks up, it seems like fear.

“Lance?”

He lets go and pulls her back by her shoulders so he can look at her. “I know they love me, but what if I’m not me by the time we get back to Earth?”

“We’ve all changed, Lance - and we’ll probably change more. That isn’t going to change how your family feels about you.”

“No, I mean...look, back in the hangar, did I say anything? While we were...under, or whatever?”

Pidge squints at him. “Just my name...why?”

But she remembers the way it sounded. Not like this Lance. It was so much more than that. Now, at least, she knows she didn’t imagine it.

“Because I didn’t decide to say that! It wasn’t me. I remember saying it but it wasn’t me, Pidge. It was like someone else was there, in my body with me, trying to get out. I don’t want to become someone else that’s hiding in here! I don’t want to lose...ME. That’s not fair! That’s not what I signed up for!”

He’s trembling now, and Pidge rubs her hands up and down his arms, trying to help. “Lance, hey, calm down; nobody’s trying to take over your body.”

“You can’t know that. Uncharted territory, remember?”

“That is not what’s going on, Lance.”

“It didn’t feel like that for you?”

“No. Not exactly...it was just like I was remembering things I’d forgotten for a really long time. It was weird, sure, but...I think we’re just interpreting similar experiences differently. That’s not what’s going on. It’s okay.”

Lance takes an uneven breath. “You think?”

“I really do. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he has calmed down. “Sure...maybe.” He extracts himself from between Pidge and the wall, angling in the direction of his room. “I just...this still isn't something I’m gonna just be spontaneously completely okay with.”

“That’s okay.”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I um...I’m just gonna...something. Thanks, Pidge.”

“Yeah...”

She lets him go this time, because he looks like he needs some time to himself to think, and she can understand that. She’s pretty sure she’s going to need the same thing. Allura and the others come around the corner in time to see Lance disappear around the next one.

Allura looks from where he went to Pidge. “Should I…?”

“No,” Pidge says. “Not right now. I think he’ll be okay; he’s just kind of overwhelmed right now. I guess we all need time to process...” She glances back at Hunk and Shiro. “How are you guys?”

“Well,” Hunk says. “This is simultaneously the most epic and the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m already a paladin of Voltron. Soooo...I’m gonna stick with awesome because that’s more fun? I mean really. It is kind of awesome.”

“Shiro?” Allura asks.

He shrugs. “I’m...not sure.” But he smiles at her reassuringly, which is at least better than how things have kind of been going between those two lately, so...that’s something, Pidge thinks.

“I am sorry,” Allura says. “I never meant to cause this much confusion. Perhaps I made the wrong call in telling you.”

“If you did it is my fault, Princess,” Coran says. “I’m the one who thought we should tell them.”

“But I made the decision to do it. You’re not to blame, Coran.”

“No one is to blame,” Shiro says. “And it’s all right, Princess. Thank you for being honest with us; we really do appreciate it. Or I do, anyway.”

Pidge nods, as does Hunk.

Allura sighs. “Thank you, Shiro...all of you.”

When the others go their own ways to tend to their own thoughts, Pidge is left in the corridor with Allura. She can’t seem to leave yet, and Allura isn’t moving either. The princess seems lost in her own head, too.

“Hey...Allura?”

“Hmm?”

“The dreams...I guess they’re memories, aren’t they?”

“A majority of them, I suppose. I can’t see them, but from what you and Lance have told me, they are consistent with my own.”

“Right…” Pidge looks up at her, and lets a hand rest on her arm. “So I was your cousin, huh?”

Allura smiles wistfully. “Yes. Though I promise that I have done my best since the beginning to to keep all of you separate in my mind from the versions of you I knew on Altea. There are differences, and all of you deserve to be considered in your own right in any case. I...I care about each of you independently of my memories. I hope you understand that.”

Pidge nods quickly. “Of course…but I wanted to ask...when you’re in them it seems like we’re close. Were the two of you close? You and your cousin?”

Allura opens her mouth like she wants to answer that, but she doesn’t get there. She only nods, and tears begin running down her cheeks.

Pidge hugs her, and just holds on for a while. “I’m sorry...I think sometimes the rest of us forget how much you and Coran lost. I know we’re here, but it can’t be the same for you. I’m so sorry…”

***

Lance isn’t sure how long he stays huddled under the blankets in his bed, homesickness gnawing at his stomach and just trying to get enough air. Where is the air?

Even when he can breathe, he can’t move. He just wants to be home; he wants his mother to hold him and tell him everything is fine, he’s still her son, it’s all right. He wants his brothers to tease him and he wants his niece and nephew to crawl all over him and ask where he’s been.

Pidge is probably right. He shouldn’t worry about what Allura told them changing anything. But he wants to feel it. He can’t feel it.

Maybe that’s his problem. He feels too much...it’s always getting him into trouble. And...if the dreams are real, Lance is pretty sure that was always the case before, too. On Altea, ten thousand years ago.

Ten thousand years later and he’s still an idiot. How is that fair?

He laughs darkly at himself, one rough bark. Keith would probably love that. But If Shiro weren’t being so….not Shiro, lately, he’d tell him to stop it. That he isn’t an idiot. Feeling isn’t the problem; letting him control it is. Part of him knows that, maybe, but putting it into practice? Another story entirely. But anyway, Keith isn’t here, and Shiro is still being weird most of the time, and...yeah.

And why can’t he get the Altean girl’s face out of his head? Pidge. It really is Pidge. Was Pidge.

Lance drifts off for a while, and he dreams of her again. This time there’s more. Not just her smile, her laugh, that determined look on her face...the plants responding to her powers and a familiar green glow. This time there is the soft touch of her fingers in his hair and the gentle press of lips against his. Tenderness contrasted by a faint panicked cry of his name.

Lance? Lance!...No no no...come back. Come back!

He isn’t sure how long he sleeps, but he thinks it’s ship’s night by the time the chime at his door rings. He doesn’t answer it, but the door slides open anyway. He can’t see who is it; he’s facing the wall.

What is that smell though?

“Hey, Hunk made cookies.” Pidge. “You awake?”

Lance hesitates, debating whether to answer, but finally he turns over and finds her look at him. “I guess,” he sighs.

Pidge steps inside far enough to let the door close behind her. She hovers there for a moment, and when he doesn’t say anything she comes to the bed with the plate of cookies she brought in and perches on the edge, setting the plate on the mattress between them.

Lance takes one, but he doesn’t bother sitting up; he isn’t sure he has the energy for that yet.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

She nods, like she understands, and reaches into her pocket to pull out a data chip with one hand as she grabs a cookie with the other. “Coran copied the logs for me. He and Allura kind of wanted to watch them on their own, since it’s kind of a personal thing for them, but they wanted us to be able to see them if we wanted and I uh...I thought...maybe we should.”

Lance groans. “I really don’t know if I want to do that.”

“Just hear me out. I think it might help.”

“How?”

“Really, Lance? Did you see how much they were like us, just in the minute or two of video we saw back there? If it’s all like that, it might make you feel better. Or both us, I guess. Like...I really think it’s gonna be okay, Lance. We may start to remember more about what happened back then, but if we do it’s not going to change who we are. They’re not other people trying to take us over, or anything like that. They’re just us. It’s just our past.”

Lance drags himself up finally, taking a few more bites of the cookie in his hand so he doesn’t have to answer right away.

“I almost don’t know if that’s better or worse though, you know?”

Pidge laughs a little, uneasily. “I know what you mean.” She glances down at the chip in her hand. “I guess that’s why I don’t want to watch this stuff alone. I don’t know what we’ll find out.”

“Yeah.” He polishes off the cookie and swallows, not quite able to look at her. “Well...I think I know one thing. I uh…I think they were together, weren’t they?”

He isn’t sure if he expects her to know, too, but from the corner of his eyes he sees her nod tentatively. “I think so...” she says.

Lance can feel himself blushing, and when he looks up Pidge’s cheeks are red, too.

“The dreams?” he asks.

“Not exactly...not there yet. Just a feeling,” she says, flushing brighter.

He sits forward, reaching out to cup the hand holding the data chip in his own. The teal glow happens again, just like he thought it would - dimmer than before, he thinks, but still there. They both just kind of stare at it for a moment as it lights the bed alcove around them.

“Well...I guess if you think watching that stuff is a good idea...let’s do it. Together.”

Read Part 4 >>

** Thank you so much for reading! I look forward to hearing what you think! :) **