#he should make something gibberish like mugs again

[cottonlemonade]

Confessions After Hours

word count: 1124 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: Akiteru x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: like one time swearing

synopsis: Akiteru accidentally confesses to you

You looked outside the café windows for the fourth time in the last 5 minutes, it was past closing time, all the cleaning was done and your fellow part-timers had already left. So you just tried to find some busy work to have a somewhat legitimate reason to stall. The rain was getting worse and by now you were pretty sure Akiteru wouldn’t come.

It’s not like it was an actual plan, you reminded yourself, it was just kind of implied that he wanted to walk you home but no one could expect him to go out in this weather.

And so you hummed to yourself while carefully brushing down mint leaves and edible flowers with egg whites and sugar.

Your mood dropped a little when you checked the clock again. You had been looking forward to spending time alone with Akiteru.

Of course, you had little hope that he was interested in you romantically but that didn’t stop you from dreamily staring at him during study sessions or making a fool of yourself whenever possible - like running into a glass door when he smiled at you like last week.

When you laid the sugar coated decoration out on a baking sheet, a familiar figure caught your eye.

He stood on the other side of the road, waiting for a safe crossing. Quickly you walked over to the front door to unlock it and let him in.

“Ugh, wet.”, he commented, waddling in.

“Why didn’t you bring an umbrella?”, you asked incredulously when he pulled back his drenched hood and shook his soaked hair like a dog.

“We only have one and one of the others got it tonight.”, he explained as if that was normal.

You swallowed the start of what would probably be a rather long discussion about why it wasn’t smart that 4 roommates shared a singular umbrella and so instead opted for “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

He gave you an overly dramatic look of shock, clutching his soaked collar like a Victorian lady.

“Oh, grow up!”

Together you peeled him out of his hoodie (his t-shirt underneath was dry for the most part) and you considered the dripping bulk of fabric for a second, before making a decision.

Wringing out as much of the excess water as possible over the kitchen sink, you then opened the still warm oven from the banana bread you made earlier and placed the black hoodie on a baking sheet inside.

Akiteru watched you with crossed arms and then asked in complete earnest, “How long do you think it needs?”

“I don’t know, Akiteru. I have never baked hoodie before. I’d give it like 5 minutes and then I’ll turn it over. We’ll see.”

To warm him up you brewed him a big mug of coffee in the already cleaned machine. A gesture that didn’t fail to impress. “I have never felt this special in my life.” He wrapped his large hands around the steaming cup and breathed in the cozy coffee scent.

“Don’t get used to it.”, you said, smiling, taking a sandwich and a bowl of fruit you had prepared for him earlier out of the fridge.

“This café has such excellent service. Thank you.”

You pulled a folder of various papers from a shelf, turning pages as if to check things - he didn’t need to know that you were just pretending. “So, how is the Kei situation - still hating the club?”

“Not so much hating, I’d say indifferent, which somehow is almost worse.”

“How come?”

“At least hate would indicate a strong emotion.”, he said wisely, plopping a grape in his mouth and feeding you one, too, while you were “busy” tapping something on your phone’s calculator and writing gibberish numbers on a slip of paper. When his fingertips accidentally brushed your lips in the process your brain came to a full stop.

“But the spring tournament is right around the corner and I am almost sure he is actually starting to enjoy himself - a little.”

Another grape.

He took a sip of coffee and sighed.

“Your coffee tastes like a hug.”

Your eyes lit up. “I… that is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. You mean, like a good hug though, right? Not one of those half-assed one armed thingies.”

He spluttered into his mug and coughed to clear his throat.

“Yes, a good hug. Both arms, full body contact. I am talking full-on cocoon.”

With a bragging smile, brain still fried, you said “I’ve been told I give pretty amazing hugs like that.” proudly pushing your chin up.

“Oh yeah? Well then let’s see what you got.”

You thought for a second, then dropped your highly important paperwork back on the counter. “Let’s have a look at your hoodie first, don’t want it to get too dark.”

A moment later you stood across from each other stretching as if getting ready for a fight. “Alright, little one. Give it your all.”, he said and opened his arms.

He had been ready for a lot of things. He had held your hand before, when navigating through a crowd (only as friends of course), so he was no stranger to the tingles your touch sent through his body.

What he hadn’t been ready for was your head to be leaning against his chest and your hands gently stroking over his back. He returned the hug immediately, placing one hand on your back and one gently cradling your head, resting his cheek against your temple. A perfect fit. It was better than he had ever imagined. Where did they even make people as soft and heavenly squishy as you? For many hasty heartbeats he held you like this. Then you gave the smallest sigh and actually snuggled even closer to him. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. And so without thinking in one quiet breath he let out, “Shit, I’m so in love with you.”

He felt you stiffen in his arms and prepared for the worst. You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes sleepy like you had been about to doze off.

Akiteru loosened his arms so you could pull away like you undoubtedly were going to. But you didn't.

"I'm... I'm sorry that was really stupid.", he said quickly.

"Don't worry, I accidentally tried freezing a cucumber last week. You're good.", you said in a drowsy sort of way.

"What?"

"What?"

He didn't know what to do. You hadn't pulled away. You weren't screaming or running away or hitting him. Instead, you got on your tip-toes, a hand on his chest and smiled, before you set the softest kiss against his surprised lips.

[altamugs]

Hi! I'm just venting feelings, it's okay if you think this is dumb. I've been listening to Fullkawa for a few years, but since I speak Japanese I didn't check the lyrics for *all* of his songs, and I never understood his english lyrics because of his accent. But a few days ago spotify uploaded his lyrics and I realized, "Lifetime Soundtrack" has such... weird lyrics. "We pretends you to escort a motel and molests you." Surely it made you uncomfortable too, right?

[continued] I couldn't think of a single way to justify writing this  without rape culture... usually I'm a 0-tolerance kind of person but  Fullkawa's songs have already became the comfort space for me :( I don't  know what to think. Please tell me your thoughts even if it's that I'm  being too sensitive and judgy.

---

No, I absolutely don't think you're being sensitive and judgy because that particular line makes me really uncomfortable, too. Luckily (should I say so) I don't find this song particularly good, so I don't have to listen to it too often. With that said, I don't associate it with rape culture or anything. As a language learner, I know how hard it is to grasp the nuances of a foreign language when you’re not very good at it. I think Fullkawa just... didn't understand the true meaning of "molest" when he wrote the lyrics. I just looked up the word “molest” in a Japanese dictionary, and sure, the first definition is to hurt / to harm someone intentionally, so Fullkawa really ought to have thought “This is not good, I have to find something else”. But in his defence, the second meaning is to “conduct (sexual) mischief”. Since I’m not a native speaker of both Japanese and English, I can’t say it for sure, but to me, both “mischief” in English and “いたずら" in Japanese have a playful tone to them, and therefore I don’t normally associate them with criminal intention or truly heinous deeds. I look at them and I think “yeah, that’s a child doing something stupid for attention.” I’m sure Fullkawa aimed for something playful here, but it doesn’t work out at all and it’s just downright creepy and disgusting. 

Anyway, regardless of the reason why he wrote it, nothing can invalidate your feelings towards the song. You should avoid it if it makes you uncomfortable. I do that too. I just don’t go as far as rejecting all of his other works. I don’t know him personally, so I can’t vehemently insist that Fullkawa is not a problematic person. I just think it’s more probable that he made an honest mistake and leave it at that. I hope I’m not being overly biased :D

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

New Duties

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, cheating, fuck machine, toys, tied up.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky’s wife is never around as much as the maid.

Based on these drabble requests:

Bucky Barnes + “If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought.” + Maid AU + Bucky is rich and married too, but his wife is never in the house so he decide have fun with the naive maid. 

Bucky Barnes + “You really think this is over?” + Fuck machine + honestly just the reader being tied up and left with a fuck machine and some overstimulation.

Both requested by anons.

The large house was often empty when you went there. You had a key on a tag and the alarm code written on it. You showed up in your black pants and matching shirt and let yourself in as you always did. You tied on your apron and looked around as you went over the work in your head. 

It was hard not to be envious of the grandiose abode. Hard not to feel bitter at all the money spent on the place and yet it seemed the resident never enjoyed it. They hired a maid, you, to clean the table they never ate at and make the bed which was the only lived-in part of the place.

You started on the lower floor as usual. Living room, dining room, kitchen, the office, the foyer, and the parlor dedicated to a carved pool table and shelves of expensive sculptures. You climbed the stairs and set off down the hall of unused rooms. There wasn’t much more to do than dust and check that the sheets didn’t smell musty.

As you approached the master bedroom, you stopped short as the door opened and you were met by one of the elusive owners of the mansion. You saw Bucky Barnes more than his wife but your run-ins were still rare. And you’d never seen him like this. You were embarrassed and off-centre as you were surprised to find him there.

He wore only a pair of silky pajama bottoms and his hair was amess, sticking out at all angles. His muscles moved under his skin as he rubbed his eyes and smiled at you. His voice was thick with drowsiness and he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “thought I heard someone.”

“I didn’t know you were here, sir,” you glanced around. It was late for him to be sleeping still.

“I took the red-eye home,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you chuckled nervously, “I can come back when--”

“You sure?” he batted away the last of his tiredness with his lashes and leaned on the doorframe, “you almost jumped out of your shoes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you assured him and started to turn back.

“It’s fine, I’m up now,” he stopped you, “I’m gonna have a coffee…” he caught up to you and brushed by you, facing you as he blocked your path, “bedroom is all yours.”

You fidgeted as his eyes flicked away from your face for just and instant but you didn’t think much of it as the apron hid made your figure lumpy and vague. You nodded and gave another yes, sir. He watched you until you spun back and headed for the bedroom. You felt his gaze until you slipped inside and let out your breath at the rumpled blankets. 

You heard him descend the stairs and set down your bucket of supplies. You went to the bed and fixed his side of it. You could smell his sweat on the sheets still. Then you began to wipe down the edges of the tables and inspected for any inch of imperfection.

“Looks good in here,” his voice spooked you again. Bucky stepped inside and set his tall coffee mug on the polished table beside the door. “I’m glad I caught you, I did have a special request.”

“Oh?” you stilled the cloth and twisted it in your grip. You watched his metal arm as he he rubbed his middle finger with his thumb.

“Here,” he crossed the room and waved you over, “it’s a bit of a secret but… I haven’t had the time to take care of it myself.”

You watched as he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and he reached behind the gilded globe. He spun it slightly but you could see what exactly he was doing. There was a shift and the shelf lurched forward. He carefully pushed it over until the edge met the corner and a small doorway appeared.

Your eyes rounded in confusion and he chuckled as he looked over his shoulder, “our little secret,” he said, “I figured since you’re here…”

“I… yes, sir,” you neared as he waited, his hand on the shelf, and as you stepped by him, he quickly followed, so close you could feel his body heat.

You stopped short as he flipped on the light. A red haze cast over the hidden room. You were shocked, almost laughing in disbelief as your brain spun to process what you were seeing; leather cuffs hung from the wall on one side and a leather bench sat center with similar bounds, there was even a sex swing dangling from the ceiling. You never expected that but really, you tried not to think about your clients intimate habits.

The shelf shifted behind you and the room grew dimmer, only the scarlet shadows of the tinted bulb remained. You turned back to Bucky.

“My stuff,” you pointed to the wall behind him. There was no visible mechanism and that made you nervous.

“Oh, well, you see, I haven’t had a chance to use any of this,” he shrugged and stepped closer. You inch backwards and dropped the cloth as his hands settled on your upper arms, “Ilona’s never here, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Mr. Barnes,” you winced as his vibranium hand squeezed, “I should get back to my--”

“The house is spotless. I only pay you because my wife can’t be bothered to lift a finger herself or even be around,” he said.

“Please, I should go,” you gulped, “I think you, uh, you…”

“Fine, go,” he moved out of your way and smirked at the wall, “if you want to, go.”

You looked between him and the smooth wall. You neared it and shoved on it. It didn’t move. You felt all along it, searching for anything that might trigger a response. There was nothing there.

“Can you--” you began to ask but stopped as he pressed himself to your back.

He tugged at the knot of your apron and it fell loose. His hands crawled up your back and he lifted the strap over your head. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you to face him.

“Thought you were going,” he taunted.

“Let me out,” you tremored.

“I said go, so…” he gestured to the wall.

“I can’t--”

He snickered and pulled you with him as he walked backwards. “It’s just a little fun,” he purred, “for both of us.”

“No, I-- you’re married--”

“My wife, if you can call her that, hasn’t touched me in a year, probably more,” he pulled at the hem of your shirt, “so this is as much her decision as mine.”

“No, Mr. Barnes, I--”

“Listen,” he grabbed your jaw and loomed over you, “you can be a good little maid and do what you’re told or I can report you to the agency for stealing.”

“What, I never--”

“Maybe a few of Ilona’s necklaces go missing or a few bills out of my wallet,” he growled, “we’ll see who they believe.”

“Please--”

“It’s time you start earning that tip,” he turned and thrust you towards the low bench, “now get undressed and lay down on your stomach.”

“Mr--”

“I have a gag. I have several if you want to choose,” he warned, “even if I’d rather hear that sweet voice calling my name.”

“Why are you--”

“I won’t tell you again,” he barked as he crossed his arms and paced. 

You noticed how the front of his pants tented and you slowly neared the bench. It was all so jarring, you didn’t know what else to do but obey. You couldn’t leave and you were certain if you tried, he would lose all patience. You peeked over as his metal fist tightened and a chill went through you.

You pulled off your shirt and kept your eyes down. You rolled down your pants and took your time untying your sneakers. You hesitated to strip off your underwear but a gristly breath made you wince and you added them to the pile of clothes. 

You were cold but your flesh burned as you sensed his close attention to your every move. You got down on the bench, the leather icy against your chest, and stared at the floor. Bucky walked around behind you and framed your ass with his hands as he stood over you. He pushed your thighs apart until your legs bent over the side of the bench and the cool air tickled your cunt.

“Hmmm,” he mused as he flicked his finger along your folds, “I can’t decide what I want first.”

An overwhelming wave of panic shook you and you tried to push yourself up. His hand slapped down on the middle of your back and he held you down. He tutted and reached down to slip your wrist into a leather cuff and tightened it until you whined. He ignored your struggles as he did the same to your other arm and your ankles. You straddled the bench as he pushed himself up and groped your ass again.

“Why are you making this hard?” he asked, “you’re already spread for me.”

“Please…”

He sighed and you heard his bare feet on the floor as he marched away from you. He came back around you and knelt to force the ball gag into your mouth and buckled it behind your head. Your eyes glistened as you watched him desperately and breathed heavy through your nose.

“We have a lot to do,” he touched your chin, “you need the proper training.”

You tried to talk past the gag but it only came out as muffled gibberish and your saliva soaked the gag. 

“If you think I feel bad for you, you’re more pathetic than I thought,” he chuckled and stood, rubbing the front of his pants, “guess you’ll have to wait for it.”

He left your eye line again, even as you craned your neck around. He was quick to huff and stomp back to your. He took the collar that hung from the front of the bench and secured it around your neck so you could stare at your impossible escape.

You heard something rolling behind you and metal fasteners being loosened then tightened. His fingers scared you as he touched your cunt and felt around for your clit. He teased you until you tilted your pelvis in response. You moaned around the gag as your thighs quivered. Despite your fear, it felt wonderful.

He played with you until you were wet and then you heard the same wheels. You felt a prod at your entrance, a hard silicone tip slowly slid into you until you were full. You gasped and choked as he pulled away his hand entirely. You heard a soft click then a whir and the dildo began to move, your cunt sucking at it loudly as you grew wet around it. He reached under you and a new buzz began as he placed a vibrator against your bud.

He rounded you again, his pants were gone and his hand glied up and down his dick. He watched you with fiery eyes as you tried to hold back. The flames licked from your core and crawled along your thighs and back. You shuddered and your eyes rolled back as your voice droned sloppily as the gag made you drool.

You came in defeat and hung your head. You gasped and gulped for air and your entire body tensed and released, but he didn’t stop it. The vibe kept buzzing on your clit and he only turned the machine up so that it fucked you harder and faster. You wined and rolled your head back and forth.

Another orgasm strangled you and your muscles ached from the tension as it snapped again. You lost count as the red light glared through your eyelids and a sheen of sweat coated your body. Breathless and battered, you could only twitched as you were rocked by climax after climax.

And then it all stopped. The machine shut off and the dildo was slid out of you, your thighs sticky and sore. The vibrator stilled and slipped from under you and you groaned. There was a moment of peace as your heart slowed and then a slap across your ass made you yipe.

“You really think this is over?” Bucky asked as he got behind you and bent over you. His tip pressed against your entrance and his hot breath bristled against your scalp, “I’ve only just begun.”

🧹🧹🧹

Please reblog and leave some feedback if you enjoyed.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[bibliocratic]

set during 159-160, jon/martin Martin doesn’t sleep through the night these days

minor cws for nightmares, Martin’s relationship with the Lonely

The blanket that they pulled out of the upstairs airing cupboard is ragged, moth-claimed over many winters, and it’s slipped off again. Martin’s t-shirt has bunched up over his stomach and lower back during his restless quest to settle comfortably, meaning that now, with the blanket having failed its duty and abandoned its post, it’s like having an open fridge against his back, bared to the elements.

Martin thinks monosyllabic swearwords in his head, and they’re no less vehement for their curtness.

Jon, bricked in by the back cushions of the sofa and the front wall of Martin’s body that forms a line of defence against the occupying chill, does not notice. He’s stamped himself into Martin’s space, cheek squashed against breastbone, pulled up knees digging into Martin’s thigh, swaddled in all of the other blankets, steadily leaving Martin with the only one remaining. Martin listens to the bellows of his lungs, the open-fire furnace of his skin making him prickle with sweat.

Jon snores, not loudly but persistently, rattling in his throat like a juddering engine, and Martin cannot bear to wake him.

Martin has never tried acrobatics, but there’s some caricature of it in the level of contortion he goes to, trying to rescue the puddled blanket. A half backwards, spine-creaking lean over the edge of the sofa, paired with blind feeling around with the only arm he could free from Jon’s grasp. His fingertips crackle under-skin with pins and needles.

His temper amps up to huffing and frustrated and freezing, but finally retrieval is achieved. He mutters a murmur-quiet ‘jesus christ finally’. Jon snorts and mutters into Martin’s t-shirt. He’s wedged in so smugly against the back of the sofa that Martin can’t tuck it in to stop it slipping off without waking him up, so he resigns himself to this particular cross to bear, draping it over them both haphazardly, at an odd angle that misses Jon’s double-socked feet.

It’ll have to do.

--

Martin is going to fall off the sofa. He urges himself further in, making a wormish rocking motion with his body. He knew this was going to happen, and it’s one of the reasons that he suggested that Jon take the inside, being the smaller and slighter of the two of them, far more likely to fall off in the night if Martin fidgets too much.

Only now, his chivalry means that he feels like he’s trying to get some sleep while his body is half-way acquainted with threatened gravity, like snoozing on a gangplank. He worries he’s going to whack his head off the coffee table.

Jon makes no sound of complaint when Martin’s worming shuffles him closer, instinctually tugging him in tighter with his slung over arm.

For a moment, he is anchored.

Jon hums, stretches out, and his legs push Martin back to the edge.

That coffee table is really becoming a worry.

--

The room is not smothered by fog. His body is present, and here, sweaty with the crush of bodies sandwiched together, but Martin has always had trouble living in the moment, beyond the overthinking and second-guessing of his own thoughts.

Something in the particular tenor of this quiet has him feeling untethered, smudged. Like someone’s taken a rubber to his limbs and started clearing away the lines.

Jon mumbles and frowns, pulling them closer.  Martin breathes stuttering into the scratchy upshot of Jon’s hair, and keeps his head above water until he drifts off, his arm gone dead and Jon kicking him every ten minutes or so as he fusses in sleep.

--

Jon is dreaming. He straightens out from his jack-in-a-box coil, jolting Martin out of sleep.

His eyes open. Peeled back to stare at nothing, his pupils wide and devouring all light. His mouth moves in a steady and unrelenting stream of silent speech as the Eye sends its Archivist trawling through nightmares.

Martin has learned by now that waking Jon up doesn’t help. He keeps his touch light around Jon’s rigid form, and stays awake throughout, making sure it doesn’t worsen.

Eventually, Jon’s body relaxes. His eyes folding closed. He shivers even though he can only be boiling, and he burrows closer into Martin’s space, gasping and twitching through the aftereffects of whatever horror he has been forced to witness.

Martin grips him closer, and wishes they could both have better dreams.  

--

Martins’ watch, the strap rubbed down to frayed and colourless, stopped working after the Unknowing. It’ll just be the batteries, nothing to changing them and getting the stalwart lines of the second and minute hands back ticking round. But then, Martin’s not exactly been in the right place to be worrying about anything like that.

It’s early, he knows that. The hastily tugged over curtains untouched by dawn. It’s so early, so clearly hours yet from any hint of morning that he’s irrationally worried over making any noise in case he wakes Jon. Rather than simply filling the kettle through the spout, and clicking on the switch like a normal person, he’s caught up in the looping knowledge that it’ll just be too noisy. The bubble and roil of the water, the rushing noise of the filaments rapidly heating.

Martin does not want Jon to wake up. The prospect of conversation, of interaction of any kind to break up the ice sheet of the pre-dawn hour, makes his chest go knotted, his breathing wobbly.

So, making do, he’s turned on the left hob of the electric oven, filled a saucepan with tap water as quietly as he can manage, and he’s now waiting for it to boil silently. Leant back against the plasticky kitchen counter-top, his head too full and too numb with night-time.

He is thinking about how he nearly died, and is second-hand upset that he isn’t more upset about it. He is thinking about how his body had felt as it dissipated like sugar in water, how little was left of him to disperse. How Jon came to get him (had to, needed to, shouldn’t have had to) and gather back the scraps of him into a man, and that boils up a harsher firebrand of shame in him.

He pours the water from the saucepan into his waiting cup, over the teabag that fattens and floats. Only some water spills from the awkward-shaped lip of the pan, and he sorts it out with a tea-towel that bears a hand-stitched thistle in the corner of the fabric. He leaves the tea steep before he takes out the bag with a spoon, and in those two minutes, he thinks about the wizened, crumbling body of Jonah Magnus, sat imperious and blind on a ruined throne. How heavy the knife was in his hand, how easily the will to violence might have come to him.

He thinks, blade-sharp angry and despairing, that he should have stabbed Elias in his smug face instead.

His feet are cold and numb on the kitchen tiles. Martin stands, sips at his tea that burns against his lips. Feelings sweep through him like weather fronts, and he lets them advance for the first time in a long time.

When tears come, he doesn’t wipe them away.

When he’s done, he washes his mug as quietly as possible, and leaves it to drip-dry by the sink before returning to the living room.

The blanket has slipped again.

--

Dozing in this fuggy, clamping heat of the space, a garrison of clotted, layering warmth compared to the night’s temperature, skirting zero for hours now.

“Huh?”

Martin’s roused from this disorientating state of not-sleep by Jon saying something. Both his lips and throat scraping dry.

A measured pause. Around him, and Jon, well and truly bundled in place, coiled up in blankets like a badly wrapped Christmas present, there are house-sounds, creakings, snappings and gruntings, the outside low-timbred threat of the wind.

Jon’s breathing. Low and slow.

“Jon?” Martin whispers.

Nothing.

The house continues its evening orchestra, and Jon sleeps on.

Martin’s convinced himself that whatever it was, he imagined it, when, on an exhale, Jon sighs out a muttering babble of sincerely put noises that still, in no way resemble words.

“Jon?”

“I….  busuhvenerismuh. Uh. Cravs.”

It’s so – just so random and mundane and meaningless. Nothing else, nothing malign. Only Jon, clearly sleep-talking gibberish at him.

Martin finds himself trying to stifle his disbelieving laughter.

“Going er. Ships. It’s market wild.”

“Good point, Jon.”

“Muzzuhin raids,” Jon seems to agree.

--

Jon’s lack of snoring lets Martin know he’s awake.

“You sleep ok?”

“Not bad, considering,” Jon says. He stretches his arms up and rolls his shoulders, his neck, and things go pop like kindling inside him. “What about you?”

“Alright,” Martin says. Better than some nights, worse than others. Jon glances at him with an assessing, hawkish gaze but says nothing other than adjusting the pillow under his head that’s gotten all squashed and misshapen during the night. “What time is it?”

“Too early to be even thinking about getting up.”

Jon burrows back down, his arm a band over Martin’s chest, his eyes already closing.

Martin lets himself be lulled back into sleep.  

[star-going-supernova]

I would certainly be interested in reading the unofficial version of Damsell in Distress if it's not a problem. - Elsie

Ask and ye shall receive! It starts immediately after Maddie tells Godzilla that her dad was kidnapped and includes the beginning of the original ending. It's also incomplete, as I stopped writing the murdery part maybe 2/3 of the way through.

Please be warned, what happens isn't nice. If KiaRL was too much for you, maybe skip this one. It's similar to what Godzilla did to those kidnappers, but it's from one of their POVs, so, like, there's a bit of detail in some places. I wouldn't say it's overly graphic, but... yeah. Exercise caution.

• • •

Kidnapping, when done right and with fellow professionals, was a lucrative business. Blake Curtis knew that well.

It was with well-earned confidence that he and the other seven members of their homegrown operation relaxed in the nice office space they’d rented out for this particular venture. The building was decently far from the mark’s—no pun intended—place of residence, but not so far from the location of the organization he belonged to.

You didn’t want the fingers to start rotting in the mail, after all. And sending them in anything other than a padded envelope was bound to be memorable to the wrong people.

Being forgettable was, in all ways, the name of their game.

Blake and every last one of his associates were plain. Not a one of them was particularly attractive, or had stand-out features, or had public interactions outside of the most basic, scripted conversations. And for that reason, no one every gave them a second look. No one ever remembered them more than a few minutes after an encounter—and they certainly wouldn’t have been able to describe them.

It was an art form, and a well-paying one, at that.

Completely unconscious in one of the other rooms in the office was their newest target, a man reportedly high in the rankings of Monarch. Mark Russell: divorced—the ex was dead—father of two children—one of whom was also dead—and living with his young daughter out in the middle of nowhere. Important enough to his peers to be worth a ransom, but not so important to have a bodyguard.

They couldn’t have asked for a better setup.

With the target secured and unable to cause any problems, it was just a matter of waiting. Four of his associates had broken out a pack of cards and were coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to cheat at their game. Alice, his cousin, was reading Pride and Prejudice by the window, sipping at some fruity drink she’d made for herself.

Ryan was napping on the couch, his hat covering his face, and good ole Winnie, the leader of their group, was typing away at her laptop.

Blake sighed, content, and leaned back in his comfortable office chair. He took a drag of his cigarette and let his eyes drift half-closed. The toe of his shoe absently slid along the ground, lazily spinning him back and forth.

A faint tremble went through his chair.

Off to his side, Alice made a dreamy noise. A burst of laughter rose up from the card players.

Another tremble, slightly stronger than the first, had him peeking his eyes open. An earthquake, perhaps? They didn’t have any neighbors in the building—they’d made sure of that—but no one else seemed to be noticing the shudders passing through the structure.

They began to increase in intensity, and the time between them grew shorter.

Snorting awake when a mug rattled on the coffee table, Ryan pushed his hat up and raised his head. “What’s doin’ that?” he asked groggily.

Alice and Winnie looked over at him. Blake stood, keeping his stance wide as the tremors grew worse.

“I don’t think this is how earthquakes work,” Alice said, sliding a ribbon into her well-worn book.

The four playing cards, who Blake now saw were sharing a couple bottles of alcohol between them, set their game aside, still giggling.

“A train?” Blake suggested. “Helicopters?”

The windows rattled, and outside, someone screamed.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Omar said, stumbling up from his seat. He took a swig from one of the bottles. “I rem’ber this scene.” He stared into the narrow opening with one eye squinted shut.

“What are you doing?” Eli asked, less drunk-looking than the other three.

“Lookin’ for ripples. That’s how you know a t-rex is coming.”

“It won’t work if you’re holding the bottle, moron,” Dennis, which was wonderfully ironic, said. Blake didn’t pay them any attention, though, as he went over to one of the windows.

He could hear more people screaming, and despite a poor vantage point, he was just able to make out a number of people running frantically down the road. A car swerved wildly around the fleeing populace, crashing into a light pole. The driver climbed out, appearing to be muttering in a panic to himself, and took off at a sprint.

“Something’s happening out there,” he said to Alice as she joined him.

Sandy chuckled. “Maybe it’s a monster attack.” She stood and cracked her back.

An enormous crash jolted the building so badly, everyone standing found themselves grasping desperately for something to hold on to. Ryan tumbled off the couch with a yelp. Omar lost his footing entirely and fell with a strained chuckle. The glass bottle hit the edge of the table and shattered.

While Omar complained about getting bits of glass in his hands, Blake, closely followed by Alice and Winnie, ran to the roof access the office space came with.

“Maybe something crashed,” he huffed out. “A plane, or a huge pile-up—”

“If only we could be so lucky,” Winnie said, and then they were bursting out onto the roof.

He heard his cousin whisper a curse in another language, his own jaw going slack as his mind went blank with an instinctual fear.

Not a few blocks away, Godzilla stood between high-rises. He moved slowly, almost carefully—if you were willing to personify such a monster—but every few footfalls, he seemed to step particularly hard, shaking the earth.

The three of them remained frozen, watching with wide eyes, as Godzilla growled, periodically swinging his head around. Like he’s looking for something, Blake thought.

He—like most of the world—had seen footage from at least one of the past incidents involving the Titans. Godzilla in San Francisco had been all anyone could talk about for a few weeks, and the clip of him leaving the city always seemed to be playing on one news channel or another. A sensational tragedy.

It didn’t do the real thing justice. Such a massive creature—he hadn’t comprehended before now just how large Godzilla truly was. And it was different to see him with his own two eyes, where the possibility of an internet hoax couldn’t explain a thing.

“Whatever he’s doing here can’t be good,” Winnie finally said. “We should leave before any other Titans show up.”

She vanished back into the office, leaving Blake and his cousin to stare at the monster towering over them.

A disbelieving huff left Alice. “That’s not something you see everyday, huh?”

“Are we supposed to run away?” Blake asked. “Or is it like a tornado drill?”

“If Winnie says we’re leaving, then we’re leaving.” She paused as Godzilla leaned forward to sniff at a skyscraper. A few more steps, and he’d be walking entirely away from them. As it was, Blake figured someone with a better throwing arm could probably hit the Titan from where they were standing. Alice shook her head and turned toward the roof access. “C’mon, we gotta grab Russell. We’ll have to figure something else out if the drop-off gets changed.”

Since her back was facing Godzilla, Blake was the only one who say the way the monster’s head turned in their direction. His spines pulsed blue, sending a shock of fear down Blake’s own spine, and he took two thunderous steps closer to their high rise.

Blake stumbled back, suddenly unable to breath. His focus narrowed down to those inhuman, burning eyes, suddenly centered on him. His reaction must have caught Alice’s attention, because he distantly heard her scream out behind him.

For some reason, hearing her scream like that was what made Blake snap out of his daze, just in time to see Godzilla’s claw-tipped hand-paw thing closing in on their roof.

The building shook when he made contact, a web of cracks spiraling out from Godzilla’s palm. Blake lost his balance entirely, landing painfully on his tailbone. Even then, he couldn’t completely shake himself out of his stupor enough to stand, much less run.

After sniffing again, Godzilla started growling, low and dangerous. The sound of it nearly paralyzed Blake.

He managed to pull himself backward in an awkward crab-walk until his back hit the short raised ledge surrounding the roof. Through it all, he couldn’t look away from Godzilla’s eyes.

Could an animal really feel as much fury as Blake thought he could see in them?

A commotion below finally ripped away his attention. Ryan had emerged, stumbling for the soccer-mom-style van they had parked across the street. He was emitting a constant stream of panicked gibberish. Sandy was standing at the base of the building, hollering at him to hurry up and stop tripping over himself.

“Hey!”

Blake whipped around. Dennis was standing in the doorway with an impatient look on his face. “Didn’t you hear Winnie? We’re leaving!”

An odd buzzing interrupted his attempt to answer, and both men looked up in surprise. Godzilla, was above them, leaning on the roof. He had blue eyes now, Blake realized.

Dennis made a strangled sound. “What the hell—”

Godzilla’s mouth opened as the buzzing seemed to reach its peak, and a bright blue beam of light shot out from between his razor sharp teeth. Blake cried out and curled up into a ball. The heat from being so close to the beam was painfully intense.

Dennis was huddled in the stairwell when Blake managed to look over at him, ears ringing and spots popping in his vision. His jeans were darker on the insides of his thighs. Blake couldn’t even blame him.

As his hearing returned after a few seconds, he became aware of a terrible shrieking. Leaning up to look over the ledge at the ground, he stared uncomprehending for a moment before the reality of what he was seeing hit him. He turned and heaved, throwing up his lunch beside him.

He caught sight of Dennis rushing over, but he wasn’t able to warn him away fast enough, and after a moment, his colleague was vomiting over the edge of the roof.

The road below was nothing more than a scorched crater, their van reduced to a smoldering mound of metal. Ryan was completely gone, just vaporized in the heat of the laser-like beam Godzilla had shot.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Having been close to the beam himself, Blake’s skin felt tight, like after getting a bad sunburn. What little of his skin he could see was reddened, but not blistering.

Sandy, who’d been down there with Ryan, hadn’t been as lucky.

She must have just ventured away from the building when Godzilla fired, not close enough to share Ryan’s fate, but closer than Blake.

What he’d seen would haunt his nightmares for years to come, he suspected. The writhing mass of flesh, with bubbling sores, all melted in on herself, was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The roof was too high for him to have seen details, but he’d gotten the impression that Sandy’s face was nothing more than a smooth plane, her open mouth the only remaining orifice.

Dennis was babbling as he remained hunched against the ledge, but Blake couldn’t make himself understand any of the words.

Gagging over the sour taste lingering on his tongue, Blake shrunk back as he looked up at Godzilla, just in time to see the monster huff with his eyes half-lidded. It was an expression of satisfaction if he’d ever seen one.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Blake heard Omar say.

Godzilla’s hand lifted from the roof, just as the man drunkenly stumbled through the door.

“Someone’s screamin’ down there,” he told them, rather pointlessly. “Winnie’s all worked up ’bout it.” He kept walking, apparently somehow missing the giant lizard monster looming right over them.

Blake saw it coming a moment too late. “Omar—!” he cried, reaching out as if he could shove the man to safety.

But he couldn’t, so he watched helplessly as Omar squinted in confusion as Godzilla’s hand slammed back down, squishing the man with disturbing ease.

He'd seen a snake, once, flattened on the roadside. Like a flat drawing. Omar was reduced to that, to a thin, bloody pile of viscera. His jeans were still visible, bunched up on themselves. Empty. Leaking.

Dennis groaned and threw up again, this time, on their side of the ledge. While he was distracted, Godzilla’s blood-dripping hand swept upward, on a collision course for the both of them. Blake yelled wordlessly and dove forward, ducking.

With a meaty thwack, Dennis was swatted up into the air. He shrieked as he fell, and the abrupt silence made Blake gasp out a terrified sob.

Why is this happening? he wondered hysterically, scrabbling at the rough concrete to try and put some distance between himself and the monster. But there was no safety to be found.

Godzilla once more returned his bloody hand to the rooftop, and Blake heard the way the building began to crumbled beneath the pressure. A large hole broke through the top floor’s ceiling with a grating crash, Godzilla’s hand mercilessly sinking into the building.

It was then that Blake heard the Alice’s screams.

(a few more deaths that I never wrote happen here. Blake is the only one left alive)

For a second, Blake thought he was about to witness Godzilla swallow a man down whole. That Mark Russell—who should be glad to still be unconscious—would disappear behind those teeth and never be seen again.

Instead, Godzilla made a rumbling noise so very different from his growls, and turned his back on the building. There was a mind-boggling gentleness in that blood-stained jaw, holding a human as if he were aware of how delicate the man’s body was.

It scared him, the possibility that Godzilla could be aware like that. Intelligent.

Blake slumped bonelessly against the rooftop beside the large hole and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The blue sky was suddenly blocked by something gray, casting him in a shadow, and his last thought was of realization—that Godzilla’s tail was about two seconds away from demolishing the building and him with it.

He didn’t even have time to close his eyes.

• • •

Only a few hours after Maddie’s brief interaction with Godzilla, reports of the King entering a decently sized city reached Castle Bravo. He didn’t seem to be moving with aggression, or in response to a threat, so G-team was left largely on standby.

Everything changed quickly. There were suddenly alarms going off, people shouting, and panic spread like wildfire through the halls.

Maddie watched with a dull sense of bewilderment as Castle Bravo employees ran in and out of the control room, frantic and jittery. Having grown tired of sitting numbly on the floor, Maddie pushed to her feet and carefully wandered through the chaos.

Unwilling to interrupt anyone, she merely listened in, and through her unsubtle eavesdropping, learned Godzilla had apparently gone berserk on some humans in an office building. Just straight up murdered eight people.

No one seemed to know why—whether he’d been provoked somehow, or whether he’d simply gone into a city with the intent to kill.

Griffin suddenly appeared at Maddie’s shoulder, startling her. “C’mon, kid, we’re getting you out of here, all right?” She gently but firmly wrapped her fingers around Maddie’s upper arm and smoothly guided her out of the room.

“You’re not going after him?” she asked, hurrying to keep up.

“We will, but only after we get the handful of civilians back to the mainland.” She cast Maddie an apologetic glance. “Emergency protocols, kid. Ilene’ll join you soon to stay with you until we get things figured out.”

An Osprey being piloted by Griffin and another G-teamer took off a few minutes later, carrying seven civilians who had all been at Castle Bravo for different reasons. Maddie recognized two of them from the investigators for her dad’s kidnapping, and she tightly gripped the edge of her seat. If Godzilla’s totally uncharacteristic attack got her dad killed or something because Monarch had to set the case aside, she’d be having words with him.

Even with aircraft as fast as the Ospreys, the flight still took over an hour. Long enough for Maddie to slip in and out of a doze, never quite falling all the way asleep. It left her feeling even more tired by the time they landed.

They literally couldn’t have made the journey shorter, since the Osprey dropped them off within throwing distance of the ocean. A Monarch warehouse sat in a large industrial park, complete with an impressive pier jutting out into the water.

While the other civilians went inside, Maddie wandered out to the end of the enormous dock, where she sat down and dangled her feet off the side. It was high enough up that she couldn’t have touched the water even if she hung off the edge completely.

She lowered herself to her back and tried to keep her mind nice and empty. No thoughts were better than bad ones.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, though it couldn’t have been too long, when she heard the splashing of something moving through the water.

Maddie sat up, instantly surprised to see Godzilla approaching the pier, his head held oddly above the surface. She’d never seen him swim like that.

He rumbled at her as he got closer. Squinting, Maddie saw that he had something in his mouth, held careful between his teeth. She couldn’t tell what it was.

An animal of some sort, maybe? Regardless, she quickly stood and backed up, since Godzilla seemed to be aiming to deposit his cargo where she’d been sitting. He leaned up, the rumble only growing in strength, and carefully spit out the thing in his mouth. She had only a moment to appreciate how hilariously smug he looked with himself as he sank back to a comfortable depth, and then she was looking at the creature he’d presented her with.

She couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d been hit by a bolt of lightning. Maddie darted forward and collapsed painfully to her knees with a strangled little yelp.

“Dad!” she cried, frantically tugging and pushing at him. “Dad, please!

He was definitely breathing, which almost made her burst into tears on its own, but then his eyes sluggishly opened at her call, and Maddie gracelessly collapsed against him. Hugging someone who was half-unconscious and entirely restrained was awkward at best, but it was still one of the top five hugs she’d ever participated in in her life.

She heard him slur something back, quiet and raspy and still very out of it, but she was pretty sure it was her name.

“I should go get someone,” Maddie realized. It felt like she’d been dropped into a world that moved twice as fast as she did, or like she’d been trapped in slow motion since her dad had been kidnapped.

Luckily—because she wasn’t sure she could have pried herself away from her dad—someone seemed to have taken notice of Godzilla’s appearance, and a crew of people were already running out to them.

Before they could reach her, Maddie turned to Godzilla with a lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she said, trying to inject every ounce of her sincerity, and then some, into those two, utterly inadequate words.

[fandomwriterstuff]

Science Rules!

ShieldShock! 3,000+ words, Rated G, AO3 link under the cut

Bucky was a science nerd. He loved going to Stark Expo back in the day, and he loved walking around the labs and asking the various scientists what they were doing in their respective fields. And where Bucky went, Steve went.

That was how Darcy came to be more acquainted with the two of them when she started working in Stark’s fancy tower with Jane. She was working on her PhD in astrophysics at the time, interning with Jane again. However this time she was a paid intern, her paychecks being signed by the one and only Pepper Potts.

So when Bucky came in for the third time, Darcy asked what his deal was.

“I love science, but I don’t have the brains to do it. So I like to ask about it,” he smiled so genuinely at her that she couldn’t be annoyed anymore about being interrupted. Steve walked in five minutes later and spotted his best friend bent over a duct taped machine being schooled by a tiny brunette about the Einstein-Rosen Bridge.

“Steve, you’ve got to hear this,” Darcy turned at Bucky’s voice towards the door.

“Captain Rogers, what brings you up to the lab floor?” Darcy asked, straightening herself and cocking her head.

“Just looking for this punk,” he smiled at her. “And please, call me Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you Steve,” Darcy walked over and shook his hand. “I’m Darcy, but in a few weeks I’ll be the proud owner of a doctorate, so I may ask everyone to start calling me Doctor Lewis,” she winked and pulled her hand back.

“Nice to meet you too, almost-Doctor Darcy Lewis,” he replied and followed her over to the rickety machine. “Anything sciencey will draw this one’s attention,” he nodded to Bucky who was eagerly waiting for more information.

“Explaining my work to him is good practice for my school work, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to other than Jane,” Darcy shrugged. “Care to learn a little more about all the gibberish Thor blubbers about all the time?” She smiled at Steve’s raised eyebrows.

“Would I ever!”

It became a habit for Bucky to come up to Jane and Darcy’s lab space. Tony was always playing loud music so Bucky couldn’t ask questions, and Bruce wasn’t a huge fan of visitors while he was in the zone. There were other labs, but they didn’t have the security clearance to deal with the former Winter Soldier and his golden retriever best friend.

“How are you a level six again?” Bucky asked one day while Steve was sitting in a rolling chair at Darcy’s desk munching on some pretzels. Darcy was tinkering on a machine while Bucky occasionally gave her tools. Steve perked up, he was wondering the same thing.

“Well Jane and I were there when Thor first touched down,” Darcy started while she screwed something in with a tiny screwdriver. “I tased him, SHIELD descended on us like harpies, and now I know a lot more than they want me to, so they gave me a high security clearance and a lot of NDAs. I had to do some typical training exercises. I know how to use a gun and basic hand to hand combat,” she held the screwdriver out and Bucky replaced it with a wrench.

“You tased Thor?” Steve sputtered from his seat five feet away and Darcy chuckled.

“Yup! I bested the god of thunder with a tiny lightning machine as he calls it. Now he refers to me as his lightning sister.”

“Ooooh,” Steve drew the word out. “He’s talked about you before but I never put it together.”

“I hope only good things,” she chuckled from under the machine and Steve smiled softly at the swipe of grease on her cheek.

“Like Thor would ever say anything bad about his lightning sister,” Steve scoffed. “He only regales us with glorious tales of the taser, your adventures in New Mexico and in London, and how much you mean to him. It’s actually very sweet.”

“He’s a big softie,” she chuckled but Steve caught the blush on her cheeks.

“Plus I’m technically the Avengers’ manager so I have to have at least the same clearance as y’all,” she shrugged and Bucky cocked his head.

“The Avengers have a manager?”

Darcy nodded, tucking her tools back into their box.

“Who do you think files all of your paperwork and schedules movie night? Y’all need some serious team bonding and it’s my job to make sure you work as a unit. I just do it all from behind the scenes,” she looked up at Steve with a raised eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’ve never seen your paperwork signed off by D. Lewis?” He bit his lip bashfully.

“I just assumed it was being done by someone in PR or in the lower levels. It didn’t occur to me that it needed to be someone with a high security clearance,” but then he frowned and it made Darcy frown questioningly back at him. “How do you juggle being the Avengers’ manager, being Jane’s lab assistant, and getting your degree?”

“A lot of coffee,” Darcy smirked, and when she got closer Steve took note of the dark circles under her eyes, the veins popped next to her irises, her slightly shaking fingers. He frowned. That wasn’t good.

It was three weeks later, and eleven trips to Darcy and Jane’s lab later when Steve actually saw her outside the lab. It was like she lived there. He was heading towards the exit for his morning run at five when he looked into the mess hall and saw a solitary brunette sitting at a table. Darcy.

“What brings you here this early, Darce?” Steve sat down next to her, not taking note of what was in front of her. He was entranced by her beauty, even this early in the morning. This was the first time he’d seen her without her signature red lip, and he was drawn in by her lips’ natural pink hue. The ever-present dark circles were more pronounced, even with her eyes closed, and the fluorescent lights did nothing for her, but he thought she looked radiant.

“We’ve been working for sixty hours. Jane is in the middle of a breakthrough. I need caffeine,” she mumbled before looking over at him. Her bloodshot eyes were startling, but Steve didn’t flinch.

“Coffee then?” He asked, finally looking at what she had in front of her. A large ice cold can of something called ‘Monster,’ and one of the biggest cups of coffee Steve had ever seen. “What’s Monster?” He asked as Darcy pulled a large travel mug out of her tote bag.

“It’s an energy drink. They’re usually fruity and low in calories. They’ll make a normal person bounce off the walls for hours,” she mumbled as she popped the tab on it. She then did something so strange that Steve couldn’t look away. It was like a train wreck.

She kept eye contact with him while she poured the coffee into the travel mug. The prolonged eye contact wasn’t even strange. What was strange was how she then poured the entirety of the energy drink in with the coffee.

“I’m going to die,” she spoke with eyes that had seen some strange things, voice quiet as she stirred the cup with her finger. Steve could only watch in horror as she popped the top of the travel mug on and took a very long swig of her concoction.

“Uh…” He paused as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Come check on me around lunch. I’ll let you know then,” and with that she stood, taking her caffeinated potion with her, and left him alone.

He did go to check on her at noon, but there was a note tacked onto the locked lab door:

Steve and Bucky,

Janey and I have found some strange readings coming from Midtown. We’ll be back later.

-D. Lewis

Steve raised an eyebrow at the scribbled words as Bucky came walking over.

“What’s that?” He asked as he walked up.

“Darcy and Jane are out of office,” Steve relayed and Bucky nodded. “You gonna miss her while she’s gone?” He asked with a smirk and Steve reddened.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled and Bucky let out a laugh.

“You can say you like to follow me all you like, but we both know you’re in the labs to see Darcy,” Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve sputtered and turned around. “Don’t deny it, I know you better than you do,” he called over his shoulder at a frozen Steve. The man with a plan was stuck standing there for another minute before he regained his senses and left for the gym. Sure, Darcy was just… effervescent. She was ethereally beautiful, glowing while she worked. Her lips were always pulled into a red grin. Her hair was shiny under the fluorescent lights. She was so kind to his best friend, even when it would have made sense to be afraid of him. And she had really taken to Steve, she’d gotten used to his presence and engaged with him. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to her.

He shook his head as he made his way to the punching bag. Time to sort out his feelings.

When Steve saw Bucky walking towards the labs the next morning, he joined him.

“You should really seek Darcy out on your own instead of always coming with me,” Bucky stated, looking straight ahead.

“Shut up, punk,” Steve grumbled, but perked up when he saw Jane in the lab. That meant Darcy was back. But the tiny scientist wasn’t working on her usual whiteboard, she was typing slowly at Darcy’s laptop.

“What’s up, Jane?” Bucky sat down in Jane’s usual chair and the woman turned tired eyes on him.

“Typing up my notes.”

“Isn’t that what Darcy usually does?” Steve pondered, looking around for his favorite brunette.

“She’s still in medical,” Jane frowned, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. Steve made concerned eye contact with Bucky.

“Why is she in medical?” Steve asked hesitantly, sort of not wanting to know.

“There was an incident with the equipment. It wasn’t wired well and she got an electric shock from my interdimensional radar sensor,” she muttered distractedly, but Steve was already headed to medical before she could explain what that meant.

Steve became more worried the longer it took him to reach her. A normal electric shock wouldn’t have landed her in medical overnight.

He looked all over medical for her, not finding her. He ran into a doctor coming out of the restricted section.

“Captain Rogers,” the smaller man greeted him, writing notes on a pad.

“Can you help me, Doctor…” He looked at the man’s badge. “McCoy?” At his name, the other man looked over at Steve.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Miss Darcy Lewis,” he stated, looking nervously at the restricted area.

“You’re lucky, I just came from her room. She’s allowed to have visitors so you can go on in,” and with that, Steve was dismissed. He entered into the sterile hallways of the restricted area and found his way to the first door. Through the window in the door he could see Darcy sleeping peacefully with an IV hooked up to her arm. Well, he had time. He walked in and sat down on the hard plastic chair next to her bed, and he waited.

She awoke half an hour later, looking dazed and confused. “Steve?” She asked, rubbing at her eyes with her free arm and yawning.

“Hey, Darce,” he whispered, not wanting to ruin the calm.

“What’s up?” She blinked over at him and he smiled bashfully.

“I was worried, Jane said you got an electric shock from some… interdimensional thing,” he looked her over. She looked alright. The circles under her eyes were somewhat lessened.

“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad. For a minute I was stuck between realms and I was like a non corporeal ghost, but Jane fixed that pretty quick,” she said the last part quickly when she noticed Steve’s alarmed look. “I’m still here because they wanted to make sure I wouldn’t disappear. I should have gone home last night, but McCoy told me I need sleep and fluids since I’ve been living off of caffeine for two weeks,” she finished and Steve nodded. He was liking Doctor McCoy more and more.

“You shouldn’t replace sleep with coffee,” Steve responded, smirking at her. “It’s like with Voldemort and the unicorn blood. You’d be living a cursed life, a half life,” he smiled when Darcy let out a little chuckle. He liked making her laugh.

“Good to know you showed up for movie night when I had y’all marathon Harry Potter,” she smiled and leaned back with her eyes closed. “God I am so sore and tired. I didn’t realize that I was running on fumes until I had time to sit down and relax.”

Steve frowned, going unnoticed past the veil of Darcy’s eyelids. He wished he could help take care of her, she clearly was so entranced with her work that she found it difficult to do herself.

“Well I’m glad you’re okay. And not a ghost. Even if you’re exhausted,” he replied before leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. When he was panicking on his way over to medical, he came to the abrupt and unnerving realization that he did have feelings for Darcy Lewis. He wasn’t sure what to do about that, but he didn’t want to waste any time.

“Darce?” He asked, and she hummed questioningly, opening her eyes. “I guess I started coming to the lab to hang out more with Buck, but I find myself seeking you out now,” he looked down at his lap, unsure how to continue. “I think you’re real swell,” he smiled up from under his lashes to find Darcy with her mouth slightly parted and a flush high on her cheeks. “And I’d like to take you out on a date after you’re out of medical, if you’d like.”

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts, but her face was suddenly filled with a beaming smile.

“I would love to, Steve,” she whispered, and reached her free hand out to intertwine her fingers with Steve’s. It was nice, they sat there in silence for a while just holding hands.

They didn’t get to go on their date. Because the day Darcy got out of medical, Steve had to go on a mission with the Avengers. He was off the grid for over a week, so she couldn’t even text him. When he got back, bloodied and bruised, but forgoing medical to find his way to the labs to kiss Darcy (nothing like a near-death experience to make you want to make a move on a beautiful dame), there was another note taped to the door.

Steve,

Impossible readings in Manila. Be back in a week or so.

Darcy.

He frowned and ground his teeth together. He would just have to wait to see her.

He only had to wait two and a half weeks before he was notified by the AI that Jane and Darcy were returning via quinjet. Which was alarming in itself because they usually traveled commercial and the quinjet was only for missions and emergencies.

He waited at the door to the landing pad on top of the tower, and emerged when the quinjet touched down and the ramp lowered.

Steve didn’t like being afraid. In the past, he was always scared for himself. Would he die of the influenza? The flu? TB? Would he get beaten to death? Die in the war? He didn’t have to worry about Bucky, the man could take care of himself. But he was scared for Darcy. He didn’t know what was going to come out of the jet.

“We had to pull them out of their lab in Manila,” Tony had crept up behind Steve. “Darcy was mugged at gunpoint and then their lab was ransacked and set on fire. Somebody doesn’t want Jane’s research getting out.” Steve felt a shot of panic erupt in his chest. Robbed at gunpoint?

When the ramp was fully lowered, Jane walked down next to Darcy and Steve scanned the two women from head to toe. Jane looked normal, if a little rumpled and grumpy. Steve would be too if his work went up in flames. He gave Darcy a once-over. Her left arm was in a sling, but otherwise she looked just fine. What was the sling about?

“Steve!” Darcy called and smiled brightly, hurrying over to stand in front of him. “I’m sorry I missed your return,” she panted one she’d arrived in front of him. Tony must have left because she didn’t address the other man.

“It’s alright, Darcy,” Steve looked at her arm again. “What happened there?”

“This guy was trying to rob me but I had sensitive information on me so I tased him, but he shot me first. Hence the sling,” she cocked her head.

“You were shot, and then had the mental wherewithal to incapacitate him?” Steve raised his eyebrows, impressed. He was trying not to be stuck on the part where Darcy was shot and could have died.

“I’m more than meets the eye, Steve Rogers,” she held out her right hand and he took it. “Now, where are we going on this date? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since that day in medical.”

Steve smiled softly and stopped walking, using her hand to tug her in front of him.

“I almost died on my mission,” he stated matter-of-factly, and Darcy’s eyes widened. “And you got shot. Which is pretty close to dying,” he added with raised eyebrows. “I would be a total schmuck if I didn’t kiss you right now after two near-death experiences,” he finished and Darcy’s cheeks heated up.

“I think you’re right,” she smirked and in a moment Steve’s lips were pressing against hers, his hands gently placed on her waist. Hen didn’t want to disturb her bad arm. The kiss was sweet and soft, though when Darcy licked across the seam of his lips, he deepened it. It was everything he’d ever thought it would be, and when they parted, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Darcy let out a little huff of a laugh.

“That was nice,” she whispered. “Now you really have to take me on a date. I need more reasons to kiss you.”

“You don’t need a reason. You can kiss me whenever,” he responded and Darcy grinned.

“Good answer, soldier,” she replied and kissed him again.

[whimsywispsblog]

RED

A/N: Hello Wispies! Here's chapter 4!

This chapter was a little difficult to write and personally, I found it pretty dry. But I promise you, the next chapter will be a better read!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

"Holy shit! I overslept, damn it!" Rei whined, running towards the safehouse after almost getting into a collision accident with a car. Cheeks flushed from the chilly air, heavy unsteady breaths and beads of sweat on her forehead- she was a complete mess. Or so she thought. But just as she reached for the door of the safehouse, another figure walked out and there, the two of them collided. Rei fell on her butt with a small whine while the stranger hardly moved an inch.

"Woah there doll, you hurt?" The stranger extended an arm to the girl. Rei blinked a few times, trying to reorient herself after the unexpected fall. She looked up to see the ruggedly charming stranger with a friendly grin on his face. She studied his face for a second. I know him...

"Thank you and sorry abo-."

"Don't worry about it." Rei took his arm, while he pulled her up with ease and chuckled at her flustered state. Rei observed the man's rugged face. Despite his rough exterior, she could sense a certain emotional intensity and gentleness behind his aggressive facade.

"Name's Woods." Rei jerked lightly at his sudden boisterous introduction, as she was pulled out of her thoughts. Oh, he's Frank Woods! A playful smile danced on her lips as she extended her hand.

"I am Rei!" The girl shook his arm excitedly, making the other man chuckled.

"If you two are done giggling like high school idiots," Rei turned towards the source of the sound. It was none other than her beloved grumpy ice-cube mentor, Hudson. He definitely looks unimpressed. But he didn't even look at her, he was busy glaring at Woods. And Woods returned the glare with an equal intensity of hate and contempt. What's going on?

"Uhm... I think I'll go over Aach's evidence." The younger girl awkwardly danced on her tiptoes, squirming between the staring competition going on between the two men.

"Of course. Also tonight, you go with Adler." Hudson grumbled, glancing at Rei briefly. Oh bloody hell, not another grumpy-shades! Rei excused herself stomping into the safehouse. "Not again, not again ahahah." She kept muttering gibberish, unknowingly attracting a lot of attention from the others in the safehouse, including Adler's, at her sudden agitated entry.

"What's up with her? She was all smiles and cheery last couple of days." Sims chuckled.

"Probably needs her morning coffee." Baker snorted, bringing his attention back to his weapon. Adler sighed lightly, grabbing his cup of coffee and walked towards Rei's office.

"Keep it professional Adler." Park chimed, trying to stifle down her uncontrollable giggles.

"You're becoming brave, Park," Adler muttered exasperatedly. He barged open the door, startling the girl for the nth time.

"Knocking exists." Rei puffed her cheeks in irritation. Adler ignored the girl as he grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, placing his mug on her table. He took a moment to observe her workspace. It had a lot of pinks. He studied the girl carefully while she wasn't looking at him: Impeccable makeup, long dark hair with honey highlights tied up in a neat ponytail, comfortable yet elegant clothing. And everything had a pink element. 'So put together yet so chaotic. A peculiar one indeed.'

"If you're done trying to scrutinise me, Mr Adler," She finally put the file away, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "What are we doing tonight?" Her eyes widened slightly with curiosity or it was her method of trying to seem more awake and interested- Adler couldn't tell which. But with the tilt of her face towards the left, he assumed it was curiosity.

"Yes, I need a little bit of assistance. Nothing big actually, just go to a cafe and plant the hearing device. Get the intel and get out." Adler stopped briefly, inhaling his cigarette.

"That's it?" Rei asked, her eyes searching for answers in Adler's eyes covered by his shades.

"Yes. Sims will stay for back up if things go haywire," Rei looked down, her stomach churning as anxiety started consuming her mind. She unconsciously pressed her fingernails to her nailbed- an act not gone noticed by Adler. "As soon as I drop you at the cafe, go directly towards the man I point to and plant the device whenever you think is safe."

"Who is the man?" Adler stubbed his cigarette and pushed a file towards her. Rei took the file carefully and started going through its contents.

"How good is your Russian?"

"Decent," Rei replied not looking up from the file.

"German?"

"Rusty, but not bad." She finally looked up at Adler. He nodded, getting up from his chair.

"A colleague of mine, Grigori Weaver will be there." Adler pushed a tattered file of Weaver towards the girl. Rei admired the picture of the one-eyed enigmatic looking operative. "He will stay till you plant the device after which he will leave to help me out if needed." Rei gave out a soft 'uhum', her eyes glued to Weaver's file. "5 hours to prepare."

-

"Thank you." Rei smiled sweetly at the waitress as she placed her coffee in front of her. I am glad my German doesn't sound too off. Rei looked across the café towards Weaver who had his intent gaze on the girl the entire time. She had planted the device as soon as she entered the Café and luckily no one noticed except for Weaver. She slowly set up the device in front of her, bending a little forward towards it, while covering it with a humongous book that she had bought on the way. The device was as small as a matchbox, easy to hide. Finally, time to use my fancy toys!

"Adler, the girl has finished setting up." Rei gave out a small sigh of relief while Weaver updated Adler and walked out of the Café, giving her a small nod.

"Alright. Rei, if you suspect anything dangerous or suspicious, get out."

"Understood," Rei whispered, listening to her device. She quickly jotted down whatever she could make out from the conversation on the book she had brought, writing down everything in riddles. 'Perseus has got someone in the CIA. Stitch will get them. She was a clever one- she got another ignorant one to take the bullet for her...Not careful who they hire' Rei looked tense for a moment. Stitch, bloody Stitch! Who the hell is he?! And who is the ignorant girl?

"Adler, he's leaving," Rei whispered.

"Get out whenever you're done. Meet me near the bar. I'll be there." Rei started packing up her belongings and paid the waitress with a generous tip. The anxiety started to bubble within Rei as she bit the soft skin of her inner lip, unconsciously drawing blood. Clever girl? Took the bullet? As she walked towards the park, the girl kept overanalysing and repeating whatever happened at the meeting. He knows something. Suddenly, the girl tripped over her foot, but the fall never came. Instead, two strong arms held her waist.

"You should be careful." Rei looked up to her saviour. Weaver. A small wry smile formed on her lips.

"Yea...Thank you." Weaver nodded, walking towards his car. Adler dumped a loaded body bag, closing the door. The two men exchanged words, parting with a nod and Weaver left the duo on the street.

"Get in, let's go." Adler walked towards his car, while Rei walked soullessly towards it.

"You are too careless and distracted." Rei glanced at Adler.

"I need water." Adler nodded, grabbing a bottle from the side. Rei muttered a thank you, taking the bottle and chugging it down hastily. And then she choked on it, earning an amused, yet judgemental look from Adler.

"Who chokes on water." He chuckled lightly, intent on irritating the girl.

"People die from choking." Rei tried to speak between the coughs. She looked up for some time and breathed in deeply, trying to calm her epiglottis reflexes down. Once she had gotten rid of the coughs, she glared at Adler. "And you ran over that speed bump when I was drinking."

"Then you should have looked ahead, kid." This man...

"I am not a kid, I'm bloody 30." Rei huffed and puffed her cheeks again, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But you act like one," Adler smirked lightly, knowing that the girl was clearly irritated with him.

"Well, I'm not the one who strutted in and accused someone of a traitor."

"I never called you a traitor, kid." Adler was calm, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"But you did imply with the little interrogation."

"That's my privilege."

"Privilege to be rude, cynical and apathetic towards me?" Adler looked at the girl with an unreadable expression. She could see his eyes through the shades- not clearly, but he was definitely looking deep into hers. It wasn't intimidating, it was just a serious expression.

"No. I am cautious. Unlike your 'empathetic heart', I prefer to stick to realism and rationality." Rei raised an eyebrow. Adler turned back to the road, letting the girl process his words.

"Wha- I am not an idiot!" The girl growled lightly, but her face could hardly daunt the man. Adler looked at her widened doe-eyes and pouted lips and puffed cheeks with an amused but a hint of endearment at the girl's attempt to overpower him.

"Is that what you took from it, Rei?" This man's cockiness...

"No, I just want you to know that just because I am empathetic, doesn't mean that I am an idiot. Nor am I controlled by my emotions." Rei stated calmly, a little bit of anger still lingering in her tone. Adler glanced for a second at the girl. His eyes caught the upper lobe and conch piercing that gleamed under the traffic lights. A small smile danced on his lips, one that was hard to observe.

"You're naive, kid."

"I am not naive and don't kid me." With that, the two of them continued the ride in silence. Except for occasional deep sighs and breaths, Adler's lighter and the gear bring shifted, the ride was a comfortably silent one. Rei rested her head against the window, the cold air lulling her eyes to sleep and the scent of smoke from Adler giving her a sense of safety. Adler turned to look at a fast asleep Rei. He could hear a soft snore escaping from her mouth. With extreme caution and gentleness, he slowly took the big book from Rei that was hanging at the edge of her lap, ready to fall onto her feet. The girl shifted a little, curling her body a little towards the side, while Adler threw the book in the backseat and continued the ride.

Rei groggily woke up to a soft tap on her arm. She stretched and yawned a little, reminding Adler of his cat back home. He suppressed a smile and got out of the car first, grabbing the book from the back. Rei got out a few seconds later, sleep spell still in her eyes.

"Give the intel to Hudson, I will join you in a bit." Adler handed the book to Rei. The girl nodded, walking into the safehouse.

-

"'Not careful who they hire'. That's what he kept repeating, according to the girl and the intel." Adler nodded, listening to Weaver.

He looked around the safehouse. Everyone except Rei was present. He looked outside and she wasn't there too. He concluded that she must be inside her room, analysing the rest of the evidence.

"Rei seems to fit in all the checkboxes. But the girl isn't even aware- or she's good at acting."

"Adler, no matter how good a person is at acting naive, there will be a moment of wavering. And that moment cannot go unnoticed, especially from the two of us."

Adler had to agree with Weaver. She was too consistent- almost inhumanely possible to keep the facade on even during both their breaking points.

"True."

"Hudson's not going to be happy if we suspect Rei." Adler stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, leaving the Russian.

"It's none of his business."

-

In her room, Rei held her necklace- a broken one. Tears started stinging her eyes as she stared at the broken piece of the remnant that her Dada had left for her. I should have stopped pulling it. Fuck. Maybe someone out there can help me fix this.

She started to walk out when she smashed her face against a hard body and dropped her necklace and the pendant. "Fuck! Dada!" The girl bent down, frantically looking for the broken necklace and the red-star pendant. She ignored the person who stood by the door, studying the scene in front of him.

"Here." Rei looked up, a hand reached out to her. The pendant. with a sigh of relief and happiness, Rei grabbed the pendant and clutched it tightly, looking up to thank the person. And it was none other than Grigori Weaver.

"Thank you." The girl smiled with a respectful nod, standing up and dusting herself.

"Dada? That belonged to your father?" Rei froze. Shit, he must have heard it.

"That's what the woman at the orphanage told me. I always kept it close." Please please don't ask me any more questions.

"Mhm...You knew him?" The girl shook her head, a sad expression on her face. Weaver gave a small sympathetic smile. The girl's eyes started tearing up and Weaver had caught it.

"I wish I did." She replied with a sad smile. With that, she walked out of her room.

Rei hadn't noticed that she had kept one of her Gulag papers open. Once she was far, Weaver walked towards her table, going through the papers.

'Names of Gulags' 'Possibility of Survival' 'Ask Mason'

But nothing had anything relating to Stitch or Perseus or the Union. "She's looking for her father," Weaver whispered. He immediately walked out of the room, looking for Adler.

A/N: Also, I didn't give the name of the person they were supposed to spy on because... I couldn't come up with one and they weren't really important- just a tool to convey a certain piece of info.

TAGLIST:

@sophtheunlikelybakeryfestival

@quizzyisdone

@lovinggooppalacebanana

@nikkibell1937

@russelladlergirl22

@smokeywhalee

@pookolokon

@lucky-comfortzone-world

[diavolodigitale]

L’appel Du Vide: 01 What a Way to Start

Not that anybody is really reading it here, but I decided to follow through with this story no matter what.

All chapters: 00 - 01 - All stories in PDF

Rhys is the CEO of Atlas and Jack’s AI is back, surprise, surprise! Now Rhys is dismayed, Jack doesn’t care much, and the events of Borderlands 3 are just beginning to unravel. Is there any way to fix the plot of this game? Would it be any better if Rhys had to cooperate with Jack this whole time? Well, this is your chance to find out!

Spoiler: yes, dammit, it would. Everything’s better with a bit of Handsome Jack in it.

Genres: Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Alternate Canon, POV Third Person, Humor, Drama, Plot-driven (kind of? well, it has plot)

Pairing: Handsome Jack’s AI/Rhys (they’re still just talking, dammit)

Characters: Handsome Jack’s AI, Rhys

Rating: M for Mature but not in this chapter lol

Size: around 3000 words (chapter 2/11)

Sun set and rose, another day began. Rhys shaved off his moustache.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” said Jack, who was sitting in Rhys’ chair when the latter one entered his office wearing only red bathrobe and home slippers.

“Morning,” replied Rhys, eying Jack wearily. Jack almost expected him to be surprised by his presence all over again, but it seemed like Rhys did not, after all, convince himself that the events of the previous day were just a dream, which, depending on how one looks at it, might even be considered personal growth. “Let me say how much I appreciate you not stalking me while I sleep. Just so you knew,” he said, painfully aware of Jack’s realness and determination to stay.

“Actually,” began Jack, idly following Rhys’s movements around the room with his gaze, “I watched you for some time, but your face looked so stupid that I started having these fits of hysterical laughter, so I left not to wake you up accidentally. I care for you so much, after all, and… Hey!”–he suddenly sat upright in the chair and pointed at Rhys’s hunched miserable figure–“that thing from your face disappeared! I could’ve sworn I saw it yesterday...”

“And now it’s gone,” concluded Rhys with a sigh.

“Phew, great job, pal. It was so awful, I cannot even begin to describe.”

“What? I thought you liked it,” said Rhys, nonplussed.

“Yeah, about that… I lied. Didn’t want to tell you this, but with that moustache, I wouldn’t let my kids anywhere near you,” said Jack and cackled.

Rhys scowled. He got rid of his moustache precisely because Jack told him he liked it, even despite the fact that it was particularly hard for him, considering the meaning it supposedly held. Since the day before he had this strange desire to do everything in opposition to Jack. Perhaps, it was deeply rooted in his former traumatic experience with the AI. Or in the fact that he had always been kind of mischievous, either one of those two.

“I see you’re in a good mood today,” said Rhys, making himself a morning coffee. He couldn’t say the same thing about himself – half of the night he spent persuading himself not to bang his head on the wall until Jack left for good. As a temporary means, it was as good as anything, but certainly wouldn’t be a reliable way to get rid of the AI forever. In any case, it seems not to have worked for Rhys previously, so he had to come up with something else. Changing the prosthetics took time, and he didn’t have that precious resource at his disposal in the needed amount.

In the end, when he finally managed to fall asleep, it was at the thought that he was actually a little sorry for what happened with Jack’s hologram during their last confrontation. Despite all the evil Jack had done, he used to be a significant part of Rhys’s life and helped shape him into what he was now. Most importantly, he taught him not to trust anybody and to always swing for the fences. Now, being the CEO of Atlas, Rhys could clearly see that this strategy worked perfectly.

“Oh, by the by, I took some time to look through your files and check out this Kawatagi guy we talked about yesterday. Must say, he’s a very promising candidate. Maybe, I should’ve chosen him as my successor instead of you-know-who,” said Jack in a conspiratorial tone, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Instead of you, I’m talking about you,” he added in a normal voice.

Rhys sighed, gently lowering two sugar cubes into his coffee. Here we go again.

“First, why the heck did you rummage in my computers without my permission? Second, his name’s Katagawa, more precisely – Katagawa Junior. And a candidate for what? Wait, don’t say anything, I don’t even want to know. Now get out of my chair,” said Rhys and proceeded to try and shoo Jack away with a few careless waves of his hand.

“It’s not like you can’t sit here. I’m just a hologram, you know.”

Jack was grinning, of course. Rhys looked down at him with his tired sleepless eyes and sighed the fortieth time this morning.

“Remember when we first met, you called me weird? Now you’re the one being weird, congratulations.”

“Oh, come o-o-on, don’t be so bo-o-oring.” Jack disappeared from the chair and reappeared on the sofa, lying on his side with his head resting on his hand. “You know, I think I’ve now seen enough of you to bet with confidence that you don’t have any friends. I bet I was your closest friend (and don’t forget that I was your imaginary closest friend), ‘cause I don’t see how someone can tolerate that attitude for long.”

Don’t worry, Rhys, he won’t get to you, you’re thick-skinned now, you know that, thought Rhys and put his mug on the table. He sunk into his chair and turned on the ECHO device to check for any new messages.

“Actually, I do have friends,” he said in his best I-am-not-offended tone.

“Yeah? Anybody in particular?”

“Zer0, for example. I am proud to call him my friend and I’m sure he’s proud to be called mine.”

“Zer0, yeah… wait, who’s that again?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. Some things just never changed.

“One of the vault hunters who… took part in your elimination, so to put it,” he answered carefully.

“Oh, yeah, that filthy bandit, I remember him! Well, not him killing me, of course, but I think I saw him somewhere. Didn’t he have that mental condition? I remember him saying some gibberish instead of speaking like normal people do. Yeah, right,”–Jack laughed–“I can see you two dorks being friends.”

“How could I have survived this long without you trying to offend me all the time? Unbelievable.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! Or was that still your thought? I always forget I’m in your head. Anyway, to summarize our conversation so far, we’ve established that you’re a pathetic loner with only one creature in the whole world you can call a friend of sorts. You never seize to amaze me, Rhys.”

“There’s also Vaughn,” said Rhys through his teeth, beginning to lose his patience.

“And that is…?”

“You remember Vaughn, don’t you?”

“If I’m asking who that is, then, apparently, I don’t,” answered Jack, making the irritation in his voice sound as blatant as possible. “Why do you carry around that thing people call a head, huh?”

“He used to work for Hyperion with me.” Rhys threw a quick glance at Jack, looking for any sign of recognition on his face, but there was none. “Is short, wears glasses?” Still no signs. “Has a six-pack?” he said in his last desperate attempt to make Jack’s memory serve its purpose.

To his surprise, it actually worked. Jack snapped his fingers and rolled over on the sofa.

“Oh, that ne-erd, yeah, I remember him. Where’s he now?” he asked, not even trying to pretend that he really cared about the answer.

“He’s on Pandora, doing some bandit stuff. Guess he is working for the…” Rhys suddenly stopped, hastily thinking about what he had almost let out.

“For whom?” asked Jack indifferently. The answer still didn’t matter much to him, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of Rhys keeping something hidden from him.

“For the… err… for, well, you know… coughmson coughders,” replied Rhys, sounding like he was choking on something, and started loudly typing on the table, pretending that he was incredibly busy with his emails.

“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Rimzon raide-ez,” indistinctly said Rhys into his fist and cleared his throat.”

“God dammit, Rhys, what the fuck are you saying there?” shouted Jack with annoyance and jerked up from the sofa. “Should I stand right behind you all the time to know what comes out of your mouth? Even your thoughts are more distinct than that.”

Perhaps, scared by the prospect of Jack constantly following him closely, even closer than he already did, Rhys gave in.

“It’s the Crimson Raiders, for god’s sake!” he yelled and landed his fist heavily on the table. He then took a deep breath to calm down and added, “He works for the Crimson Raiders. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“O-oh. O-o-o-oh, I see how it is. He’s with team idiots now, isn’t he? Well, good to know. Now we’ve proven that all your friends are either stupid or nonexistent. Great.”

Rhys’s left eye was glowing as he was interfacing with the devices in his office. He took a sip of his coffee, scrolled down the list of new casualties reports and tried not to take what he had heard close to his heart.

“Now that I got my daily dose of humiliating you, let’s talk business,” said Jack and laced his fingers together as if he had a very profitable offer for his interlocutor. “I think we can squeeze something out of this Katamaga,” he began, and Rhys immediately exerted himself. He did not like the sound of that. “I think there’s more to him than you see. He doesn’t just want Atlas, you see, he very obviously wants you to work with him. What a fool! That’s a perfect opportunity for us to rob him of everything he has, including his pathetic corporation. I mean, I never liked Maliwan, but if it’s a gift horse… Who am I not to take it on your behalf, right?”

“I appreciate the thought you put into it, but I already have another plan, and it definitely isn’t allying with Katagawa Jr. He’s an obsessed psychopath and I don’t want anything to do with him,” replied Rhys confidently. He shivered even at the possibility of having another Jack-like associate.

“Enlighten me then. What genius idea has your corporate mind produced?”

“First, you have to promise not to yell at me. My head aches and I won’t endure any more than you already being here and talking to me,” said Rhys patiently, already predicting Jack’s reaction to what he intended to share. There was no way to keep it a secret, so he wanted to at least soften the blow.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jack and yawned.

Rhys braced himself. Discussing this would surely be no easy matter.

“I want to make a deal with Lilith. She helps me defeat maliwans, and I give her something she wants in return.”

There was silence. Then there was a snarl and a nondescript squeal.

“WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! MM, RHYSIE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?” Jack appeared standing on Rhys’s table right before him. The sight made Rhys spit out a bunch of his coffee. “You’re joking, right?” Jack squatted down to see Rhys’s face when he spoke. “Out of a-a-all people in these 6 goddamn galaxies you choose her? I see you’ve been a very bad boy in daddy’s absence, completely out of your mind!”

Rhys raised his index finger and burbled, “You told me you won’t yell. I specifically asked you not to yell, Jack.”

“What am I supposed to do then, huh?!” Jack disappeared and in the next second was already standing at the window with his arms crossed, thoughtfully observing the Atlas soldiers running around outside. “I thought you can’t disappoint me more than you already have, but it seems like you always manage to conquer new heights.”

“Look, there’s really no point in talking about this. I’m my own boss now and this is my decision. I was the one to rebuild Atlas from ruins, so I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of it. Please, Jack, I’m tired and sick and I don’t want all this.” Rhys sighed wearily and rubbed a coffee stain on the table with the sleeve of his bathrobe.

“Okay. Okay-okay-okay-okay, hear me out. Just this one time, just once, let me tell you something.” Jack turned to Rhys and Rhys gave him a little nod after considering for a few seconds. It’s not like he really had a choice, he just liked to think he had a firm grip on the situation. “Tell me, do you remember Lilith doing something, anything for the sake of somebody else?”

“Um, yeah, she killed you, actually,” replied Rhys confidently.

“No-no-no, honey, she didn’t do it for somebody, she just wanted to have her revenge on me,” said Jack, stressing what he viewed as essential pieces of information to make sure Rhys REALLY got what he wanted to say. Were he not a hologram, he would probably be shaking with rage as he did it. “She wanted to destroy me, because I destroyed her boyfriend who just wouldn’t let me wipe those bandit asses, which, by the way, included his, off my planet. She couldn’t care less about all those people that died, about Crimson Raiders, about her other “friends”. She is a murderer, just like you, me, like any other person on that goddamn planet. The only difference is that she, unlike us, didn’t have ANY good will.”

Jack’s intense stare made Rhys turn away. AI’s words made him consider what he knew of Lilith, but he felt almost wrong when doing so. He shook his head, trying to scare the thoughts away.

“You just hate her, that’s all. She may not be the best option, but when choosing between her and Maliwan, I believe, the choice is obvious.

“Is it? Is it, though?” asked Jack furiously with his eyes almost bulging out. “Let me tell you one thing. Two things, actually. Despite how surprising it might sound to you, I’m actually happy that she killed me. You know why? Of course, you don’t, otherwise we wouldn’t have this conversation now, dummy. So, I’ll be kind enough to explain. Even after her betrayal, I didn’t finish her off, which means I am better than her. “What is the second thing, Jack?” you might ask. Well, here goes: she is a stinking bandit. A bandit, and the only thing you should do with bandits is kill them, but I’m sure this much you should know by now.” After finishing his rant, Jack exhaled loudly and adjusted his unmoving hair with a swift motion of his hand. To top his speech off, he asked, “Still better than Katagawa?”

Rhys, however, still remained unimpressed.

“Jack, he killed his entire family to become the CEO of Maliwan. I imagine you would think it’s a reasonable thing to do when you want to run the corporation so bad, but I’m sure you know I disagree with that.”

“And what do YOU know about his family?” asked Jack, clearly upset by the lack of expected reaction. “Do you even know anything about the way he runs Maliwan? The only thing I know is that now they are more successful than ever (even though I hate to say it). Use your brains, kid, and you’ll go further than you could’ve hoped. One of these two alliances will bestow endless opportunities upon you while the other one will almost certainly get you stabbed in the back.”

“I hear you. I hear you and I disagree. I’m sorry, Jack,” said Rhys and shook his head apologetically. He was already imagining what would such a start of his day lead to.

“Oh my god, how can you not see that you have more in common with him than a skag and a grinder! He sees something in you, and that something makes him crave for your favor with such persistence. Just imagine how much you can squeeze out of him if you give him the tiniest thing in return. It’s simply a gold mine!”

“He wants us to merge, that’s enough of a reason for me to refuse him,” said Rhys with utter disgust.  

“So what? Don’t worry about that, cupcake, you’ve got me, and I’m here to help. Who says we’re gonna merge?” Noticing how Rhys was shaking his head again, Jack leaned closer, trying to make the atmosphere more… companionable, and continued in a calmer voice.  “Believe me, I know that Atlas is your child and you would never sacrifice it. We’re gonna… adjust the conditions a little, little tiny bit. No merge, only the alliance. How does that sound?”

Rhys thought that Jack was once again confirming what a masterful negotiator he was. No matter what objections Rhys had, he always did his homework and learned his weaknesses. The long-forgotten feeling of a threat sitting right at his side returned to Rhys as he caught himself thinking over the possibility of allying with Maliwan. Don’t budge, Rhys, don’t let him see that you have second thoughts, he’ll eat you alive.

“Completely unachievable,” he was only able to utter.

“Come on, stop screwing around, will you? You’re wasting time with your fidelity to stupid principles. Have I ever given you any bad advice?”

Rhys chose not to say anything. It was as good an answer as any other. The leftover coffee in his mug already went cold and he frowned in disgust when sipping on it.

“Okay then, I’m beginning to grow real tired of this, so you better listen here, you little dipshit, and listen carefully…” Jack’s tone was once again peremptory and his eyes were drilling into Rhys’s soul. “I’m tryna help here, so stop pretending you’re a princess who lives in a tower filled with her little cute ponies and chooses to believe there’s no filth around her. Just do what I say and you’ll be on your road trip to success. And you’ll thank me later, believe me. If you choose not to do this, however, I’ll follow you around all the time, saying what a sore loser you are. All day, all night, Rhysie. You know me, I’m restless, and I can come up with millions of ways to make you hate your life. You won’t sleep, you won’t talk to anybody, you won’t eat your fucking lunch without me standing one centimeter away from your ear, whispering how much you suck. Now let that sink in. Once it has, give me your final answer.”

Jack’s eyes were glowing. His whole body was glowing because he was a hologram, that’s just what holograms do. Yet even though it was his permanent state, an unchangeable condition, his eyes looked different.

He really is serious, thought Rhys to himself. Well then, guess I’m going to die of starvation, sleep deprivation, and lack of human contact.

“Fuck you, Jack. Fuck. You.”

“Is that a yes?”

[k-writer1998]

Hidden Meanings

Prompt fic: cafe owner! lee know x barista! y/n

fluff

w.c: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So hear me out. What if we blew him up? Poisoned him? Maimed him a little?”

“For fuck’s sake, no? He’s our boss.”

“Not even one punch? Come on Jisung, you can’t tell me he isn’t a vexing person.”

“He’s… peculiar but he still pays us so we, as in you, cannot assault him. Plus I thought you were happy with the job.”

“I am. It’s just… he’s so confusing! Sometimes he just pleasantly minds his business ordering whatever here and there and other days he has me all over the place ordering ungodly amounts then having me help him finish them!”

“... He’s just like that y/n. After working for him for 6 months I thought you figured that out.”

“I’ve long figured that out, doesn’t mean I like it though. I’m just getting some serious whiplash from his constant back and forth and taking him out would give me one less headache with my thesis coming up. You’re his friend Jisung, do you know how to keep him in a good mood?”

      As I let out a frustrated sigh, Jisung gave me a smile which made me narrow my eyes at him. Why does he look like he knows something I don’t?

“I think Minho’s been in quite a good mood for a while though.”

“In what world do you call him randomly screaming in the middle of closing a “good mood”? It made one of the new part-timers drop a mug at how terrified he was.”

“Like I said, he’s peculiar plus we’re a cafe. We have tons of mugs. You’re bright y/n, you’ll figure things out… eventually.”

“Excuse you, just cause you're the manager doesn't mean you can talk condescendingly to me you’re still a year younger than me.”

      I rolled my eyes when suddenly the front bell jingled. I got up from the seat I had taken on the edge of his desk, and made my way to the front.

“Oh no I got this, Manager Han,” I mocked as he didn't even bother to get up.

“Yeah yeah yeah. It's around the time Minho comes, don’t keep him waiting.”

      He gave me a wink which I returned with the finger as I headed out, to make it worse of course Jisung just had to be right. Minho stood at the register with a smile which turned teasing the moment his eyes landed on me. All I could do was give a polite one in return.

“Afternoon boss. Do you want your usual or do you want to change it up again?”

"Let’s change it up, you should know my tastes by now right? Surprise me." He smirked and if this were an anime you would see the little anger symbol on my head.

"Will you drink it still if I get it wrong?"

"Hmmmm, maybe?"

      With a sigh I turned my back to him as I moved around to make him a drink, rolling my eyes when my face was safely out of sight. Or so I thought.

"I see that y/n," he chuckled before walking away.

      He took his usual seat at the table with the most sunlight by the window. Maybe because I'm like a cat and get sleepy with direct sunlight like that, I don't know how he can sit there unfazed. Mentally cursing at myself for getting caught, I went to actually make his drink this time. Thinking back I've noticed he's tried most of our strawberry flavored items, both drinks and treats. Please don't let this flop. I placed the drink in front of him with a slice of strawberry shortcake, in case he didn’t like the drink.

"Hmmm, strawberry?" He thought aloud after taking a sip before a smirk pulled at his lips, "So you have been paying attention to me."

      I prayed that my face felt warm because of the sun and not because of the blush that totally isn't burning my face right about now… come on y/n don't let him get to you, pull yourself together!

"Of course sir, you're a regular. It's hard not to when you come so often."

"So you remember all of the regulars' tastes?"

"The ones I've ran into often enough, yes."

       For a moment his smile twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something but didn't. That's odd. Minho usually says what he wants, literally. He's said gibberish to me before without batting an eye. Silence passed between us as the air began to feel uneasy, back to my station at the cash register it is. As time passed he just continued to sit there with his order quietly… Once the new part-timer Jeongin came for his shift, and Jisung came out to supervise, I went to take my break after casting my god-knows-what-number concerned look at Minho who just stayed in his daze. Going out the back door, I went up the side alley towards the front of the cafe but made sure I was still out of sight as I took my rightful place on an old crate that has been deemed my break time spot for months now. That is because of a certain black furry four-legged reason who’s familiar meow echoed down the alley as soon as I took out my food, his blue eyes looked at me as he approached.

"There you are Siren. You only come when you smell my food you little bugger," I smiled.

      I pulled some cat food from my lunch and placed the opened can in front of him. For a moment we ate in peaceful silence Minho’s behavior kept floating in the back of my mind until I could no longer focus on eating. Putting my half-eaten sandwich down triggered Siren to look up from his food curiously.

"You know my boss came in again. He didn't quite seem himself today, even more so after I made him a personalized drink. He acted like I got it right but maybe I got it wrong?"

"Meow!"

"Why are you getting mad? It’s not like you know his tastes either. Okay, if he isn't upset over that then what could it be? He started acting like that after I mentioned he's like other regulars-"

"Meow."

"Don't use that flat tone with me. What was I supposed to say? "Hey you're kinda cute so I can't help it"? He's also annoying and misleading, remember?"

"Hssssss."

"Wow okay. Fine, I'll  go talk to him and maybe make things clear, MAYBE, okay? Happy?"

      At that Siren purs before going back to his meal. With a shake of my head I went back to eating my sandwich. I mean it wasn't the most conventional conversation, and if anyone saw or heard they would think I'm crazy, but hey it cleared my head.

"See you tomorrow, One day we won't be having these conversations in public, got it? Just a bit more saving and then you're coming home with me buddy."

      I gave Siren a little love as I rubbed his head before going back inside and back to my shift. After washing my hands Jisung ushered me back to the front cause we got busy and it wasn’t until things slowed down that Minho motioned for me to come over and he ordered two more drinks. Nothing else said. Setting the two drinks in front of him I assumed he wanted to be left alone again since he seemed to be in a bad mood today but at the small tug at my wrist I stopped. My eyes trailed down to catch his hand firmly around my wrist.

"Sit with me."

"But I'm on the clock and-"

"And I'm the boss. Jisung and Jeongin will be fine for now so sit with me."

      This new serious and charismatic side of his threw me off and I could do nothing but oblige to his wishes. Sitting in the chair across from him, he pushed one of the drinks to me and I realized it was one of my favorites. Not really complaining, although a bit unsettled with this weird air around us, I eagerly took the drink. His question was abrupt and blunt that my immediate response may not have been the best.

"Do you know why I come here so often?"

"Just to torture me?"

      I had intended it to be a joke, thinking my sarcasm was evident, but the slight hurt look on his face cut my heart. He's being so serious about this, I feel shitty for trying to joke around… I'm just not used to interactions like these between us.

"Hehe... I was joking… well you come here a lot cause you own the place right?"

"That's not the only reason… Then do you know why I always sit here?"

"Because you like the warmth from the sun?"

"No, it's because I like the view from here."

"The view of other buildings? Minho what’s going on, why are you asking all these questions?"

      At my responses he just smiled at me and shook his head. This smile wasn't like the playful ones he often gave me, this was different, there's something softer about this one.

"Okay fine, last question. Have you realized that you're the only one who services me?"

"Huh? I may be here more often cause I have more availability but-"

      As I spoke this my mind raced through my past time at this job. Every time Minho came in I helped him and when I asked others when I came after a day off they never mentioned Minho coming in… 

"Wait, why is that then? Did someone mess up your order before so you stick to one server?"

"You know y/n for a student working on your grad thesis you aren't bright in other areas."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

      My temper started to flare but the minute the words fell from his lips any fire was immediately put out, the warm smile didn't help my beating heart either.

"Let me take you on a date, preferably not a coffee one."

"Wait so you…"

      All he did was nod. The pieces began to fall into place in my brain but one didn't seem to fit. I snapped my head and scanned his general view from this spot and was confused why this was his favorite until I noticed a flick of a black tail. Looking closer, from this angle you would be able to see into the alleyway. My head whipped back to the boy in front of me.

"Have you been-"

"You never answered my question," he cut me off.

      Remembering my short conversation with Siren at lunch, I nodded my head. His smile grew bigger and I had to look away before my stupid blush reflex acted up again, his smile is quite the trigger. This was definitely not the direction I thought this conversation would go but I'm kind of not complaining.

"Good. Then on the date I can tell you about how I fell for a girl in an alley who fed a stray cat."

[purpleandgreen13]

Stardew Valley Inktober 2021

Inspired by @buttonso 's SDV Inktober list, I'm writing a one shot every day for October. I have done 4 already (the fifth will be later today) but thought I would post them here too.

October 1st Junimo

Inspired by the Star Trek original series 'The Trouble with Tribbles'

Dammit Lewis, I’m a doctor not a vet.” Grumbled Doctor Harvey at his clinic where he, Marnie and Mayor Lewis are stood looking the five tiny figures laying in a large cardboard box on the examination table. They are covered in scratches and making distressed cooing noises.

“Please Dr Harvey?” Pleads Marnie, her eyes filling with tears, “I found them in the barn, the cows didn’t mean to rough them up, they were just curious.”

“What are you doing with these creatures anyway Marnie? Junimo’s import to Ferngill is strictly controlled.” Doctor Harvey peers over his glasses.

Marnie looks shifty all of a sudden and Mayor Lewis shuffles uncomfortably, “Lewis got me a special license!” Marnie protests a little too loudly, “We’re breeding them as pets. Look how cute they are! People are going to love them!”

“You are aware of their other reputation?” Harvey asks, “They’re prodigious breeders. They can have up to seven litters a week and they’re banned in some places. In the wild they have plenty of predators but in domestic situations you can easily get overrun."

“Please Doc. We can make it worth your while.” Lewis wheedles.

“Lewis. I don’t want your money, except for the medical bills. I don’t like seeing any creature in pain. Leave them with me, I’ll make sure they’re well looked after and I’ll patch up their wounds, give them a course of antibiotics and they should be right as rain in about four days.”

“Thank you so very, very much, Doctor Harvey.” Marnie gushes with relief as she clutches Harvey’s hand. Harvey frowns. This is very much against his better judgement, but the animals need care and he WAS the closest thing this town had to a vet, he supposed.

Once Marnie and Lewis left, Harvey lifted the blanket covering the box.

“Oh Yoba.” He muttered quickly lowering the blanket again. Already the junimos, which he had to grudgingly admit were cute, were In flagrante delicto, busy at work in the cardboard box creating the next generation of apple-like creatures.

Harvey mused that the small animals were getting more action than most people in the valley, including him.

He fetched his medical equipment and carefully lifted each Junimo out of the box, whenever one was free from its activities. Each one squeaked in protest as Harvey checked it over, applied antiseptics to cuts and grazes, then administered antibiotic in a small pipette to each of the five Junimos. They’d need a few days care, but they were mostly badly shaken up. They would all be fine, he was confident.

He supposed he should separate them into males and females, but honestly, Harvey had absolutely no way of telling them apart, so he left the blanket on the box after giving them some guinea pig food provided by Abigail and a bowl of water, and retired for the night.

Maru was first in the clinic the next morning and when Harvey entered the reception area, still a little bleary-eyed from sleep, she looked furious.

“What- what’s up Maru?” Harvey asked nervously.

“Why are you keeping so many animals in such a tiny space Doc? It’s downright cruel!”

“What are you talking about?”

There are almost 50 Junimos squished into a cardboard box in the hospital section! I can’t believe you left them like that? You do know it’s illegal to keep them without a license?” “Fif-FIFTY? Harvey suddenly felt a bit faint. “There were only 5 yesterday!”

Well, there’s about 50 of them now. We’ll need to find them better housing.”

After searching through the clinic for boxes big enough to house 50 Junimos, Maru makes a decision, that Harvey mutely agrees with.

They let the Junimos loose in the hospital wing of the clinic, leaving them food and water. At the end of the day locking the door behind him, Harvey couldn’t help but feel he’d made a terrible mistake.

‘Junimos reach sexual maturity within 24 hours of birth’, he read in one of his encyclopaedias, ‘as beings who derive their bright coat colouring from magic in the air around them, they live relatively short lives and breed as much as they can to ensure survival of the species. The magic that sustains them, makes them attractive to female junimos also kills them. Their twin purposes in life are to procreate and eat.’

In the morning there were more than 500 Junimos on the hospital wing. Maru could barely open the door and then could not close it. There were junimos everywhere, in the pharmacy cupboards, under every chair in the waiting room. Maru found two in the drawer of the till.

Harvey was going spare. His beautiful clean, sterile clinic had turned into a zoo. He coped as well as he could, but that evening, he called Lewis in a panic. His first attempt to pick up his phone he picked up a Junimo instead, he swept 7 of them off his chair in his office. Several of them piled on his warm lap once he sat down. There were several of them sleeping on the examination table. The noise of Junimo mating was cacophonous.

“Hello!” He bellowed into the phone when Mayor Lewis picked up. “LEWIS! It’s Harvey here! You’re going to have to do something about these Junimos! There’s hundreds of them!” “Sorry Doc! I can’t hear you! Are you having a party? I will come and pick up those Junimos from you on Friday! You said 4 days for the antibiotics to work didn’t you? I’ll see you then!” and with that the line goes dead.

Harvey has had enough. He wades through the Junimos lining the stairs to his apartment, grabs his jacket from the hook behind the door, empties the pockets of Junimos that have settled there, and makes his way gingerly out of the clinic and to the saloon. He stays far later than he should and he dreams in junimos the entire night.

Wednesday is hell. Exponential Junimo growth means that every surface is covered with squeaking, breeding and pooping animals with no regard for Harvey’s cleaning routines. He opens his kitchen cupboard for his coffee mug and is rewarded by e seemingly never-ending shower of small apple like creatures bouncing off his head and scurrying away. He tries to count them but here are far too many. That night he goes hungry because there is not a crumb of food in the house. When he climbs into his bed, he is surrounded by the creatures, cocooned in a kind of living Junimo blanket. The sleeping creatures start snoring. By itself a junimo snoring is a sweet sound, like sighing, but by the thousand, the noise is deafening.

When Maru arrives on Thursday morning, Doctor Harvey is a broken man. She pushes the door of the clinic open with some difficulty, the sheer weight of the creatures holding back the door.

Harvey is seated behind the counter, asleep, head in arms, dishevelled and unshaven. Junimos on his lap, his shoulders, in every one of his pockets. The squeaking and chirruping is so loud that Maru has to cover her ears as she approaches the sleeping man covered in the apple creatures.

“Doc!” She shouts above the row. “Doc!”

Harvey jolts awake. The junimos on his lap fall off, but are replaced with many more, jostling for a place on the doctor’s warm knees.

“I’ve brought someone who might help!”

Through the mounds of apple shaped bodies Harvey can just about make out a large cowboy hat and a purple beard. He scoffed to himself, the crazy guy from the tower? What was he going do here? Set traps? Give them all contraceptives. (Harvey had already considered it, but he calculated that the cost would be more than he made in a year).

With some difficulty the self-proclaimed wizard moved to the wall of the waiting room and in chalk drew a large circle with undecipherable symbols within its parameters. He yelled one word “Quiet!” Which made Harvey and Maru both jump. Surprisingly, the Junimos still and there is peace in the clinic for the first time in days.

He grinned at the medical staff, “Couldn’t hear myself think in here.”

Harvey has to keep himself from rolling his eyes when the wizard gets out a wand. Seriously? He’s muttering something that Harvey can’t quite catch and is sure is gibberish. He almost wants to laugh when the man turns around and makes an extravagant gesture with his arm. Harvey takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, feeling overwhelmingly tired. When he opens his eyes again, the Junimos are gone.

He blinks. Not a single Junimo remains.

The place is a mess however. Chairs are overturned, the plants have all been eaten. Magazines shredded. Harvey dared not look at the damage in his neat pharmacy and sterile hospital room.

“Where did they go?” He stammers, his entire belief system shaken.

The Wizard smiles enigmatically, “Somewhere I think they should be.” With a dramatic swirl of his cape, he exits, leaving Harvey and Maru to clean up the mess. Harvey thinks he can smell sulphur, but blames his overtired fevered brain.

**~~**~~**

In the Mayoral Manor, Lewis is doing his weekly book work for the town finances. A little bit off the top here and a little added to his own bank account. No-one ever asks to check the books. The amounts would not be missed.

There is a flash and suddenly Lewis is surrounded by small apple shaped creatures. They’re everywhere. A heaving mass of Junimos covers the floor and already some of the creatures are getting into his food cupboards, locust-like they start to methodically eat everything they come across.

Over in the clinic, broom in hand, Harvey swears he can hear screaming coming from Lewis’s house.

[imacrowcawcaw]

Treasure Ch. 2 (Penntin)

(Ch. 1 on Tumblr)  (AO3)

Summary: 

Quentin fucks up a spell (Penny may or may not have also helped/hindered).

Quentin is the reason why everything smells like the Bog of Eternal Stench and Penny can't see.

Quentin’s run-amuck brain brings all sorts of problems to the table.

Quentin is starting to make Penny feel funny in his chest (and his pants).

Fuck Quentin, man.

Notes: Okay so I have been binge-watching like a crazy lady and gotten up to the middle of season 3 (which is FAST for me) so this is almost hard to write, knowing things that have happened… but also fun to take it back to a simpler time, in a way. I’m putting this roughly at episode 10 era, I think? Some stuff has happened, but they’re not on any time-entrenched quest right now. 

Also, the spell they did? Google translate (eek). I tried my best, but I couldn’t find something that seemed fitting in any online spell books so I made my own to suit my purposes. So sorry if you speak Azerbaijani and this is wrong, I just kinda picked a language.

One last thing: I am still not sure about updates. I know I posted this chapter about a week after the first, but that’s because I’m on spring break and am, as I have said, OBSESSED. The next chapter might be tomorrow, it might be two weeks from now, I don’t know. But I’ll try not to let it hang too long!

@penntin

-----

“Uh, should we go to the infirmary?”

Penny sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Q, we should not. Let’s just go through the rest of life blind and unable to smell anything other than that god awful-”

“Okay!” Quentin snapped, surprising him a little, and looked up from where he was kneeling at Penny’s feet. “Look, I’m sorry that we somehow messed up. I don’t know what it was. But whatever the hell happened, clearly we need to stick together. So can we just, I don’t know, get along for a bit?”

“Hmm…. No.”

Quentin huffed but shakily stood up anyways, keeping a hand on Penny’s body the whole time; Penny thought about knocking him in the jaw when he felt fingers running from his knee all the way up to his ribs. Instead, he let Quentin do it - he liked breathing clean even more than personal space - and tried to ignore the odd shiver that ran up his spine. 

They grudgingly maintained contact, by arm or back and once by Penny yanking Quentin’s stupid hair, as they gathered up their belongings. Quentin was still a nervous, confused mess as he babbled mentally about what could have gone wrong. Penny grit his teeth at the panicked monologue and answered each suggestion that popped up in his head with a terse “no”, “maybe”, “don’t be dumb”, or “better not be”.

----------

The girl at the infirmary sighed when she saw them. Penny couldn’t say he blamed her; both of them had been in here. A lot. Together, usually. Because they either got hurt by each other or on the other’s behalf.

“What is it this time? I don’t see any blood…”

Penny grunted. What a fucking day. At least there wasn’t any blood, he had to concede (though, if he had to spend another minute with Quentin…). He followed her along to the room he usually ended up in, dragging Q by the wrist until they reached the bed. 

She busied herself with something on a clipboard while Penny stood with a death grip on Quentin’s hand. Any looser and the guy would start pacing like a madman, he could feel the desire in his head. And wasn’t this just fucking annoying? It was over, they weren’t gonna lose each other, could he put his goddamn wards back up?!

“So, what’s the problem, then?”

She blinked expectantly, and Penny had the brief thought that she was very beautiful. Tilted eyes, dark hair, a pointed, pale face and very pink lips.

Quentin gave him an odd, almost alarmed look - like he was worried about something Penny had said - but he ignored it. He hadn’t said anything at all; Coldwater must have hit his head hard when he tripped like an idiot.

“This one fucked up a locator spell,” he said, jerking Quentin’s wrist in his grasp so the guy lurched forward a bit. “We’re fine if we’re touching, but the moment we let go there’s this smelly, blinding fog. Also, I think he hit his head cause he won’t stop looking at me.”

He didn’t like how she was looking at him -- like he had just started speaking Tagalog instead of English. Were those really such weird symptoms? But he knew he hadn’t been speaking gibberish, at least, because Quentin nodded in shameful agreement. Though, he had heard a ‘your fault, too’ somewhere in his head. 

“Shut it, asswipe,” he hissed. Then he turned to address the confused lady again. “Look, can you just get Lispon. Please?”

Since when do you say please. 

Penny glared at Quentin and sat back on the bed, not bothering to hide his smirk as Coldwater stumbled and landed half on top of him. They both half-heartedly shoved at each other and settled onto the hospital bed, legs pressed together. He reached for a glass of water that had materialized on the bedside table and accidentally ceased contact, the smell hitting so sudden he could barely contain the bile in his throat. 

Quentin squealed - fucking squealed - and Penny looked back at him with a start -- he was completely clear. Every greasy strand of hair, every zit on his ugly mug, the shocked look in his watering eyes. They stared at each other and the smell stopped and the fog melted away, like a shitty adventure movie at the peak of it’s quest; treasure located. 

He scowled and knocked their knees together, bringing the rest of the room back into light. Lipson came hurrying around the corner, heels clicking, and Penny sighed. He didn’t feel good about this. 

----------

“Interesting. Very interesting.”

Penny wanted to murder Dean Fogg. He wanted to murder everyone. He especially wanted to murder Quentin, but that wasn’t really new. Right now, though, Dean Fogg in particular could go fuck a hornet’s nest along with his loathed “roomie”.

He grit his teeth against what was very clearly a bad steal of cinema doctors’ lines and shifted in the wooden chair. It creaked in the most irritating way - purposefully tortuous, awkwardly long and broken up, never quite coming to an end - and he was ready to murder the entire faculty right now.

The only thing that kept him from leaping up and snatching the tumbler of whiskey out of the Dean’s hands, if nothing else, was the fucking magical chain wound around his and Quentin’s wrists. Cause that was just the icing on this foggy, shit-scented cake. 

“So you don’t know what you did?” the Dean asked them.

Penny bristled. “Man, if we did, do you think we’d fucking be in here?”

Fogg shrugged and raised his hands in a placating gesture -- Penny hated that. He hated people trying to make him forget his anger when he was justifiably upset. Hated it. Especially when it was people with more power trying to tell him to be satisfied with the little they gave him.

Answers. For once at this fucking school I just want a straight answer. 

Yup, agreed. I wouldn’t have asked like Penny but, man, we just want answers. What did we do?

Had… had Q just responded to him? To his thoughts? That had never happened -- it wasn’t supposed to happen. Sure, Quentin’s thought diarrhea leaked all the time but HIS was not supposed to. He was the tightest warded psychic on this fucking campus! Loose-lips over there shouldn’t be able to break into him. 

Oh shit, really? Sorry dude, I’m not trying to. 

He had thought that it was just Quentin’s shitty wards, but if they were having a mental conversation here, as in a two way street where he was fucking exposed, this was not good. At all. It was also very annoying -- like, seriously, universe? Of all the people to be chained up to and mentally communicating with, it was Quentin? 

“Ahem, Penny?”

He blinked back to concentration as the Dean leaned forward and stared at him through those kinda-creepy-kinda-cool glasses. Why the fuck was everyone staring at him? He was not at fault here!

Well, I mean… you messed up too. But I don’t know. Did they say something?

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Quentin!”

The Dean sat back in his seat. “Glad you’re back with us, Penny. As I was saying, do you recall which spell you were trying to cast?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. “It was some locator, I can’t really pronounce the name. We were trying to find a lost item? We chose one of my scarfs that’s probably hidden somewhere in the Physical Cottage. Eliot keeps stealing my shit.”

“I think I know what it was.”

Suddenly, heels clicked, and the voice of a certain sexy, blonde professor spoke up behind him. She laid a hand on Penny’s shoulder and he settled into it, privately happy to have her there. Sure, she was still a professor, but she was cool and helped him out (and she really was beautiful. He would sleep with her even if it wasn’t for school.)

Oh Jesus, dude, seriously? Sunderland?

Quentin-

“Spell for revealing the truth. Həqiqəti üzə çıxarmaq üçün yazın. It’s in Azerbaijani, and they had to translate it themselves if I’m not mistaken.”

Quentin nodded his head and his ridiculous fucking hair swung with it like a car wash. Penny grit his teeth. This whole situation was fucking fucked! Even the sight of Quentin sitting next to him, having to hear his thoughts, feel his hand chained to Penny’s -- it was driving him insane. The guy’s very existence could grate on his nerves, sometimes (especially when he was being an idiot and ruining life for Penny).

“Well, let’s go over your notes and see if we can find the problem that way.”

His wrist was roughly yanked as Quentin shuffled around in his bag and got the notebook they - 80% Penny - had been doing the work out of. There were pages of scribbled symbols, diagrams, and translations; hours and hours of work sent down the drain by an idiot. 

Might I remind you that, if you did eighty percent of the work, you’re eighty percent at fault here?

You know what? If this little dude wanted to talk back to Penny in his own fucking head then fine.

Might I remind you, I can make your miserable life even worse with a snap of my fingers? 

Quentin huffed and turned his head. Coward. Penny could feel thoughts from Quentin’s mind inside of his own, but he decided to ignore them for now; there were more important things to do. Like removing the leech on his arm.

“Oh,” Professor Sunderland gasped, and Penny looked up.

That didn’t sound like a good oh. If this was permanent - or if the cure cost him even a hair off of his ass - Penny was going to kill Quentin. 

You keep saying you’re going to kill everyone. Can you just hurry up and do it already, then?

Keep talking smart-ass, I’ll get you when you least expect it.

Blah blah blah. I know what you’re thinking! You can’t get the one up on me now. 

Penny scowled and turned back to Sunderland. He could feel Quentin gloating in his head but he ignored it, again, for the sake of maturity and his sanity. The notebook was propped up against a globe on the Dean’s desk and they all peered at it, reading first the original spell pasted in and then the scribbled translation next to it. 

İtirilmiş şeyi tapın. 

Gözlərimi bağlayın. 

Düşüncələrimi istiqamətləndirin. 

Məni uydurmalardan müəyyənləşdir. 

İtirilmiş şeyi tapın.

Find the one that was lost. 

Unblind my eyes. 

Guide my thoughts. 

Deter me from falsities.

Find the one that was lost.

“The one?” Sunderland’s voice came, next to Penny’s right ear, and he looked up at her. 

She looked nervous, which caused some anxiety to roll in his own gut; Quentin was feeling the same. Ten times as intense, of course, cause he was Quentin, but… the look on her face was bad. The whole situation was fucking bad. Quentin was so dead. 

“What’s wrong with it?”

She looked at Quentin. Fogg came around the desk and poured two fingers of brandy into two cups, handing one to each of them. They looked at each other as the chain around their wrists - keeping them together, per Lipson’s assistance - rattled. 

This is bad if he’s giving us alcohol to cut the news with.

“Your translation was off by one word, but it was a big one,” Sunderland began, her hand tightening on Penny’s shoulder. Somehow, it was no longer comforting -- he shrugged her off. She continued slowly. 

“The spell was used by ancient explorers to find lost items, usually in cursed areas. The goal was to set their sight on the one thing, and the one thing only, so they wouldn’t get distracted by sirens or other treasure or anything like that. What you did… instead of sending yourself on a hunt for a scarf, you sent yourself on a quest for “the one that was lost”. Somehow, you set each other up as the objects, and now the spell will try and deter you from anything that separates you.”’

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Well I’d love a ... gloomy, maybe a little sexy(?) first kiss/ making out one shot with Loki😀 I’m just picturing them alone while the other avengers are sleeping, room dark and only lit by the lights outside. Idk if you know what I mean 😄him towering over the reader, making them nervous. Please do your magic 😄💓🤟🏻 There were a lot of people to meet Pom and only 30 Minutes 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

Little Mouse

Sleep is lost on you tonight.

However dramatic you might want it to seem but you know it's because of the espresso shot you had before your workout with Natasha in the evening.

Didn't even workout as much as you had that ugly poison go down your throat. Blech!

Turning over your bed only accumulates the frustration inside you before you sit up and grit your teeth at your own stupidity and punch your pillow.

"I'm never having that tasteless poison again," you grunt, your feet landing on the cold floor and walking across the space to open the door and walk out the room to find something that can take your mind off this self-inflicted madness.

The resident wing of the Avengers facility is silent at night with Friday guiding the dry-throats and sleep-walking souls with dim corridor lights to their destination while the soothing compound lights outside marked for the different pets everyone hides from Tony mark the green belt, walking strip and the driveway.

The lounge is barely lit in one corner when you cross it to the kitchenette to get yourself some orange juice and a bag of microwave-popcorn.

Might as well watch a movie I guess. Gosh! How does Mr Stark do it all the time?

"Y/N?"

Now as much as you love horror movies, you have openly admitted time and again about how easily you get scared and just like the monkey brains all humans are, they keep repeating the part of calling out your name through the eerie silence in the dead of the night with your back turned to them.

"Holy shh-irt balls! Peter how many TIMES!"

You turn around and watch him sitting on the dining table at the opposite end right where you'd come from. He responds with a guilt-ridden face while apologising.

"It's-" he looks down at his watch- "one-thirty. Shouldn't you be asleep by now?"

Pouring out the juice in your Brooklyn Nine-Nine themed mug instead of glass gets a raised brow form Peter before he sighs and mutters 'mood'.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He snorts his tiredness.

"I've been studying for my terms. It's all too much and my brain is turning to goo. If I don't get a good grade aunt May won't let me do the nightly neighborhood rounds anymore and Mr Stark will-"

"Definitely find out you went on the Blueberry mission," you both speak in unison.

Picking up the bowl and mug you walk over to the lounge and set them down on the coffee table.

"Come on, take a break. Watch a movie with me or take a nap. Worrying about it won't solve anyth-"

With the purpose of just diving into the fluffy sofa you let your butt free fall and feel it make impact with something cold and nothing like the material your butt is used to.

"What in the nine Kingdoms-"

The inner reflex forces you to stand back up- quite clumsily- watch the unfamiliarly Godlike figure of Loki sprawled on the sofa with a book in his hand, his eyes looking up at you with hot showers of pure judgement while his face does not bother to hide the disgruntled look on seeing you.

"Are you kidding me?" You spew flat in the God's face. "You do know there are colours other than black in this world, Loki. So that people don't mistake you for a couch."

The frustration increases tenfold inside your fully awake brain when Loki chooses to completely ignore you and go back to his book.

And you being the alleged daughter of the most stubborn person you've known, still decide to sit down right there.

"Scooch, black adder," you mutter as you wiggle your butt to dominate the space and bury yourself in the comfort of the sofa, finding your body's heat being siphoned off my Loki's a bit nice.

"Now," you hear Loki speak with a soft husk in his voice, "would you really like to sit so close to a snake?"

A slam of a book and Peter is standing up from the table. "Yup, I'm out. Off to sleep," he announces, walking away as he mutters, "I have read too many Merlin fanfics to know exactly where this is going."

Taking one cooked kernel and popping it in your mouth, you turn to face Loki. "I've been sleeping in the bedroom next to this snake every night, darling," you coo, this time taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it into your mouth as nearly half of them miss the target, "I thnnk hss fnngss rrr ffkk."

You know he has understood what gibberish just poured out of your mouth as you feel the surprisingly hard body shift behind you and sit up.

Ooh, I think I just poked the snake.

"This snake," his breathe right next to your ear plays the chords inside you with the tunes that are a bit too ethereal for your body to contemplate, "can slither through crevices you cannot even imagine, my sweet one."

Sweet mother of all things named pleasure.

Your teeth dig into your cheek to compose yourself as you dare to turn towards the shockingly magnificent green eyes looking at you with a vast of void in the middle.

"If by cervices," you whisper, your eyes looking up in some deep thought, "you mean the vents that you still don't know how to maneuver like Clint, I'd say yes, you're right. I cannot imagine. Ever."

The chuckle originating from your throat makes you throw your head back victoriously, never realising how the God sits there, stunned by the innocence dripping so shamelessly into the air. He wants you to be more careful around him, and yet he does not realise the lines he keeps crossing whenever he watches you so carefree in his company.

With one resolute thought in his mind, Loki moves quickly from behind you, forcing you down on the sofa while his own body towers over you as he his arms have now made a temporary lock on your either side while his wild hair teases your cheeks, reminding you with every passing second who you're dealing with.

"You're clearly forgetting snakes do not let their prey go away that easily."

The mischief glints in his eyes as it does on his lips which have risen from their favourite corner.

What this powerful being does not realise in time is that glimmer in your eyes as they land on his lips, the voids surrounded by the galactic y/e/c grow darker the further they take in his face.

"Well," he hears you sigh while feeling a twitch as your heated finger raises his chin, "as long as the prey isn't left disappointed..." You leave the words hanging in the air with a shrug and a smirk.

Now the lines between his furrowed brows look at you with a suspicious glare as you bite down your lip, raising his urge to simply wash away the lines holding him back.

"So..." He speaks slowly and softly as he balances his weight on his arms to let himself a little close to you, "will the prey like it if I...do this?"

All the giddy mischief bubbling inside you turns to rock and blows away in the wind the moment you feel his head dip down, his breath raising the sleeping tiny hairs on your exposed collar while his nose teases the nook between your shoulder and neck, wringing every muscle inside your body into one big ball of unexpected mush, never bring aware of the tiniest squeak of whimper that leaves your lips, catching the ears of the beasts quicker than wind.

"Did you say something?" Loki asks, masking his victory with plainness.

"Ahem-hm? N-no. Nothing."

"Really?" He mutters, his nose driving further up your neck, killing you slowly as every cell lit up in path, sending the reverberations down to your core, his breaths not helping at all when your leg is halfway to wrapping itself around Loki's thigh.

"You both do realise you have a room."

The third voice out of nowhere freezes the both of you.

Bucky, half asleep, brows furrowed, hair a mess, tired as he is, looking at the duo with utter confusion in his eyes. "You have two rooms."

Loki gets up, giving you room to sit up and let him plant himself next to you. He gives Bucky a 'you wanted something?' look, driving him to the kitchenette for a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

You sit there, playing with your fingers and hair, your heated face not knowing how to face Bucky- or Loki, for that matter.

Just as Bucky disappears around the corner, you pat away some invisible dust from your thighs. "I...I should go sleep."

You don't know why you sit there for the next five seconds till you feel coldness erupt like little flowers of the night blooming on your cheek.

"Goodnight, little mouse."

You don't face him.

You can't.

The unspeakable joy at what just happened shuts everything down, only letting you get up, walk down the corridor, open the door to your room, close it behind you, walk to the bed and throw your yourself over the bed, grabbing every single pillow on your bed to bring them all near your face as you bury yourself in them to scream something inaudible to the ears across the walls who want to know everything, making them chuckle with unadulterated joy.

[snows-labcoat]

Observations and Realizations || Part Two

Summary: Team Flash watched you and Caitlin Snow fall in love. Your story, from their perspective.

Pairing: Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost x reader

Read: Part One

~~

Okay okay, yes. Barry Allen can be oblivious, but it didn’t go over his head that Caitlin was biting her lip like she always does if something is bugging her; the one thing he seems to pick up on, sometimes. He noticed that during the struggle of losing her father, you were always next to her.

Not that that was particularly abnormal for you two— but he caught how you always seemed to be lightly intertwining your fingers. He watched one night, when he was coming back to grab Iris’s laptop as Caitlin had stayed late—  as she had broken down in her lab. This was when Killer Frost was still missing in action. Her whiteboard had been covered in notes upon notes.

Barry could not disregard the fact that you were the first person she called. The notion that she called somebody in the first place— was highly unusual.

He heard you arrive in record time and immediately sped off, forgetting about Iris’s laptop. When he came back about two hours later, it was now almost 1 in the morning, you two were still together.

You were holding her so close in the lounge, a mug of (no longer) hot chocolate was on the coffee table in front of you two. You had been humming softly, lips just grazing her temple as she leaned into you,  essentially nuzzling into your side as one of your arms wrapped around her back.

He stood out of view when he caught glimpse of you whispering something in the distraught woman’s ear. Standing up and releasing your hold on her hands before taking the cold mug out of the room.

But then— the tall speedster watched as Caitlin moved some of her hair out of her face, lightly brushing where your lips had grazed her temple as you sang.

He saw her stare at her hands while she traced where your thumb had been drawing patterns.

The speedster minded how Caitlin bit on her bottom lip just like she did that night they went to karaoke together, something was bothering her.

The next day, he picked up on how you were quieter. It wasn’t in a bad way— but you looked just a bit more attentive. Always casting what looked like worried glances at Caitlin. She’d look back at you, assuring that she was okay.

When the meta caught the woman of science, anxiously gnawing at her lip once more, he called her out.

She merely shrugged him off, telling him that she was fine. It was just the stress of losing Killer Frost. (He knew she was lying).

When he tried to prod more, Caitlin became snappy. (He should’ve learned after he elicited the same reaction when Ronnie died, back when he first started to bug Caitlin about not smiling during his first year).

Iris motioned for him to back off a bit, so he did. But not before he saw how she was ghosting her fingertips along her temple, once again.

Barry Allen watched you keep Caitlin grounded.

Ralph Dibny and Caitlin Snow had formed an unusual friendship. This mutual understanding of each other often had them sitting and chatting together when they could.

The last time they talked, he made a note on how often Caitlin seemed to mention you. When he saw her next, he placed the “Book of Ralph” in front of her and she crinkled her nose at him.

“Caity!—“

“Not my name”

“Why does she get to call you that?” He pouted, purposely bringing you up, causing Caitlin to just smirk.

She gave him a pointed look and he clapped his hands together.

Ralph had a plan. A plan that didn’t involve his book, per say. Or— better worded, it didn’t involve what was actually inside the book.

See, it caught his eye how your eyebrows furrowed when he brought out the all too familiar book and set it in front of Caitlin, how you left the room but not without brushing your hand against hers,, how it lingered longer than normal. You were jealous.

“I think it’s time we find you somebody new! Bear with me but, it has been awhile”

He noticed the way she glanced around the room, searching for something, or rather— someone.

The tall man continued his lesson, flipping pages and mainly talking gibberish, but always making certain parts extra loud.

He saw Caitlin shift awkwardly in her seat as he continued to speak about how sometimes, you can’t just wait for the next unconscious meta Barry brings in to crush on you and expect them to have soulmate written across their forehead. Which— by the way, is what happened with you. (Except the soulmate part. But,, that might as well be true too). That sometimes you gotta “go find love and grab it by the balls.”

His crude imagery aside, he knew his plan was working when he heard footsteps and saw you come in, holding a drink for Caitlin.

You gently pushed his book away from Caitlin and gave an uncomfortable smile.

Ralph smirked as soon as you began to speak about how he should leave Caitlin alone, and let her find love in her own time (you just really wanted her to love you).

He pouted a bit before pushing the book back at them, asking Caitlin to give it a shot when Killer Frost came out, shooting the book across the room and freezing it to the wall opposite from the three team mates.

The brown eyed man made an exasperated sound before raising his hands in fake surrender, leaving the room. Once his back turned though, he lips curled up in a smile as he confirmed his original notions.

Ralph Dibny watched Killer Frost warm up.

Now, don’t be mistaken. Cisco Ramon noticed things pretty early on. He actually bet money with Nora on who would confess first.

He and Nora were discussing the Jaws franchise when you had walked into the room, immediately wrapped into the conversation because of your love for Steven Spielberg, raving about how it was one of the best films released during the 1970s.

When he heard what sounded like a snort come from the other side of the room, he caught how Caitlin was snickering to herself in the med lab, cleaning her Erlenmeyer flasks.

After that, he felt Caitlin’s eyes watching. Granted, she was watching you, not him. But he still felt it.

He noticed how she smiled whenever you talked, she’d laugh to herself at your jokes, and how she’d sometimes just walk by and brush your hand with hers to say hello.

The dark haired man noticed how you’d show Caitlin puppy photos first instead of him, and how she’d always listen about whatever you were going on about, even if she had no idea what you were discussing because seeing you excited about anything made her smile.

After  analyzing the best romance tropes in films, he and Nora had placed bets on who would confess their feelings first; the closed off, but secretly a cinnamon roll one— or the loving puppy who brings the closed off one out of their shell?

One morning, when he and Caitlin were working together, he saw the slightly larger blue flannel she donned, looking awfully similar to the one you wore a few days ago. He brushed his hand on the sleeve, immediately vibing what looked to be late last night. Caitlin had thrown on a sweater from your closet before jumping into your bed as you both just laid together, small smiles decorating your faces, lost in your own little world.

She raised a brow, Cisco’s lingering gaze not being discounted and he smirked, stating that the clothing change just seemed interesting. The doe eyed bio-engineer just narrowed her eyes playfully before tilting her head.

All Caitlin said was your name for explanation— confirming Cisco’s vibe that she spent the night at your place and took your flannel.

When he asked his best friend if she liked you, she looked confused at first, asking what exactly he meant before he gave a cheeky smile in her direction, saying nothing more. Caitlin shrugged it off but not without blush creeping onto her face.

Cisco Ramon watched Caitlin finally love again.

When Nora reversed time, (53 times, to be exact) she wrote down everything.

Key word; everything.

Including how no matter what changed— the one thing that didn’t was you two.

Most times, Ralph would always ask if Cisco’s left for his date unless Nora were to cut him off again. Cisco would typically say “not the book of Ralph, again!” followed suit by Ralph explaining “you successfully completed my 27 steps to getting over the love of your life. Gypsy is in the past. You have a new siren, so now it's time for "The Art of Love.” “

Cisco always turns to Caitlin before she says “I’ve gotta finish working on the device to inject the cure” and then she always takes a hold of your hand before pulling you with her towards the med bay.

No matter what, Caitlin always glances at you, she always holds your hand, and she always keeps you close by.

Over and over again. The variations on the dialogue were there, different people bringing up the “cyber-stalking” Kamilla, Iris’s work location changing— Nora changed things every time before team flash got their perfect trial. You and Caitlin, were a constant. Are a constant.

Nora wouldn’t be surprised if she were to travel and on every earth— discover that you two are together in some way.

(She most definitely did not test this theory out).

Nora watched the stars align.

Doctor Caitlin Snow. Everyone would agree that she's loyal. Everyone would agree that she's compassionate. Everyone would also agree that she has no idea how to properly handle her own emotions. Sometimes. (Most of the time).

It came as no surprise that it took a while for everything to come to fruition.

When Barry first rushed into Star Labs, your limp body in his arms— Caitlin wasted no time. The blood staining your shirt was coating her gloves as she ushered everyone out of the med lab, knowing that she was going to have to undress you in order to treat the large cut on your back.

She stayed overnight to monitor you, and when you finally woke the next morning, the sound of your voice caught her off guard, but it’s safe to say she immediately was enraptured by you.

It took time for her to realize it, though. She looks back and bites her tongue at how in denial she was. She always knew, in a sense. Caitlin’s intuition would scream at her. The way seeing you in her sweater made her feel was more than platonic, how every time you brushed your hand against hers, she wanted to tangle her fingers in yours. She thinks back to every time you would dance with her, when a practically never ending smile would spread. The rough days and long nights made easier to shoulder as long as you were by her side. “It’s not a burden if we shoulder it together”

There were so many times when you’d hold her tight as the world got to be a little too much. Caitlin Snow didn’t cry very much, but she knew that when she did— you’d always be there.

Killer Frost didn’t really do “love” — at least, romantically. Which is why when she found herself making more appearances, she chalked it up to mere intrigue. Definitely not any upset over the way Ralph had tried to “set her up” with somebody else, or that time some person from the bar Ralph dragged Team Flash to got a little too friendly with you. (In Frost’s defense, the dude was definitely trying to corner you).

Killer Frost protected you, as you protected Caitlin.

Now— don’t be mistaken, the bio-engineer was always by your side. She still protected you. When it felt like weights were shackled to your ankles, Caitlin managed to get you to dance again. When your never-ending smile became too much to bear, Caitlin could always get one out of you— even for a single moment.

If she could freeze time whenever you’d smile, she would take that opportunity. There was exactly one moment when Barry had taken her into Flash Time. You were sat in the lounge with Iris and Nora, a guitar resting on your thigh and a laugh painted across the scene. She wished she could’ve stayed, just a little longer.

Dr. Caitlin Snow watched you make the world a better place.

The two of you fell in love, and for those who were lucky enough to witness, fell in love too.

[hermannsthumb]

sorry to add to your mountain of asks but pls listen to this concept: newt feeling like he is most intellectually ~inspired~ when he's getting fucked so he drafts all his letters to hermann while riding a dildo and then has to edit them afterwards bc they always turn out ridiculously amorous.

OK THIS LIKE. SENT ME ON A LITTLE BIT OF A SPIRAL AND GAVE ME A FIC IDEA. its like. tangentially related to ur ask. youll see what i mean. anyway 18+ below cut

------------------------------------------

Hermann’s in pajamas when he answers the door, full on, blue-and-white striped pajamas with a dressing gown thrown over, not the boxers and holey t-shirts Newt usually goes for on the rare occasions he decides to not just pass out nude. They’re pretty cute. Newt always imagined Hermann as a nightshirt and nightcap guy, like something from illustrated Dickens, so it’s a nice surprise. A nice, cute surprise. (The dressing gown is not a surprise.) Maybe he should tell Hermann he looks cute. Might butter him up a little bit. He’s scowling and glaring at Newt in a way that screams I’m going to beat you to death with my cane if you don’t leave right now, so he could definitely use a little buttering up.

“It’s two in the morning,” Hermann says.

“You look cute,” Newt says. “New haircut? 

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“Here’s the thing,” Newt says. His face grows warm, instinctively, for what he’s about to ask. “Okay. Hermann. Dude. Dr. Gottlieb. Herr Doktor. I need a favor.”

“At two in the morning?” Hermann says.

“You know me,” Newt says. “Can’t sleep ‘til I’ve worked out every last problem. And I’m stumped, buddy. This one’s really got me. And usually I--well--usually I have a method, but it’s just not working tonight.”

“I don’t have any drugs,” Hermann says, “if that’s what you’re referring to. Goodnight, Newton.”

He makes to close the door. “No!” Newt shouts, flinging his hand out and stopping him. Hermann narrows his eyes. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Hermann says. “You’re being awfully cryptic.”

“Can I ride your dick?” Newt says.

The door slams right in Newt’s face.

Newt knocks eleven more times. “Hermann. Hermann. Come onnnnnn.”

Hermann is red-faced and twice as furious as before when the door swings open this time. “I don’t appreciate being mocked, Newton, so if you’d kindly just--”

“Hermann,” Newt says. “Honestly. I’m serious. Not mocking you. I usually use dildos, but tonight, it’s just--” He sighs in frustration. And in mild embarrassment. This is Hermann, after all, that he’s spilling his most intimate secrets to. Technically Hermann counts as his best friend, which should make it less weird, but that’s only because he’s Newt’s only friend, so Newt’s pretty sure that goes right back to making it weird, and that’s not even considering the fact that Newt wants to do disgusting romantic things with the guy. But Newt’s stumped. He really is. He’s never been this stumped. Usually he’s good to go after working a dildo into himself (suction cup base, works great on the shitty plastic desk chairs they have in the lab, PPDC won’t even relent and get them adjustable ones) and riding it for a bit, maybe one of the bigger or more--well--out there ones for tougher problems, and it’s always worked, tried and true for over a decade, but he’s tried everything from the tentacle to his favorite vibe tonight and he’s still got a hunk of kaiju stomach on his workbench and half a fucking report to fill out and no inspiration.

Who else was he supposed to go to, really? 

Besides. Win-win. Newt gets inspired, Hermann gets laid. And he knows Hermann doesn’t get laid enough to turn down the offer. Even now, Hermann’s eyes are widening, his angry flush receding, his posture shifting ever-so-slightly to lean towards Newt. He’s interested. Newt knows he is. (No guy who spends that much time staring at Newt’s ass in a work environment wouldn’t be.)

"It’ll be fast,” Newt promises. “You’d really be helping me out.”

Hermann’s tongue darts out across his lower lip. “Helping you out,” he echoes faintly. For a moment, Newt’s worried he might keel over in shock. He parts the door wider instead. "I suppose,” he says, “ah, I suppose--all in the name of, er, scientific progress. Research partners. It’d be remiss of me--to--”

“Not fuck me,” Newt offers, helpfully.

“Jolly good,” Hermann says, as faintly as before. “Right-o. In you come, then, Newton.”

Newt flashes him a broad smile, already shucking off his button-up. 

“Is there any particular reason you’re recording this?” Hermann says.

“I can’t really write it down, can I?” Newt says. “Be kinda fucking hard. Nn. Ah. Ah! That’s good. Tissue isn’t decaying at all. Not like it should.”

“Pardon?”

“Hermann, please,” Newt says, “I’m working.”

He lifts his leg up just a bit higher, propping it up on Hermann’s headboard, and sinks down just a bit lower. Hermann’s got a nice dick, it turns out, and it’s working spectacularly, even if he’s not doing much besides knead at Newt’s pecs and occasionally grunt. He looks a little overwhelmed, actually. “This is nice,” Newt says. As an afterthought, he clenches around Hermann.

Hermann lets out a funny-sounding moan. 

“You know,” Newt gasps, “this is how I used to write letters to you. Dildo up my ass, I mean. More inspiration. God, I wanted to impress you so fucking bad.” He wanted flat-out wanted Hermann so fucking bad, in all honestly, and a lot of that would spill over into his drafts. You’re so smart, Hermann, you’re so good at math, look at this thing I did, Hermann, tell me I’m good, I want you to screw my brains out, Hermann, I want you to shove your tongue down my throat and your fingers up my ass while you recite lines of jaeger code, yours truly, your pal Newt. Made for some embarrassing proofreading.

Hermann’s eyes widen. He likes that idea, Newt guesses. Of course he does. “Ah. By Jove--”

“By Jove,” Newt echoes in a wheeze of laughter, forgetting all about the stupid kaiju stomach. (How can he be expected to care about that when he’s got Hermann Gottlieb naked and blushing and saying things like by Jove! beneath him?) “Goddamn, Hermann, you’re cute.” In a fit of cloudy, horny affection, he reaches out and boops the end of Hermann’s nose. Hermann wrinkles it. “Splendid work, old sport. Absolutely spiffing.”

“Don’t,” Hermann pants, thrusting his hips up sharply, “ah, don’t call me that.”

“Old sport?” Newt says. “Would you prefer good sir?”

“Aren’t you meant to be working?” Hermann says.

Newt hums in thought. “I am,” he says. “Huh.” Maybe he needs a little more. Another tiny little boost. Hermann’s (thankfully) not a dildo, after all, and he can do things that dildos can’t do, like squeeze Newt and kiss Newt. Newt’s not taking full advantage. “Can you kneel?”

Hermann can kneel. They switch positions: Newt on all fours, ass up high, face smashed into Hermann’s pillow, Hermann draped over his back and plowing him from behind. He’s really into it. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann breathes in his ear, tweaking his nipples, taking handfuls of the chub at his sides and pulling and squeezing, “you feel lovely, you feel--” The rest of the sentence is swallowed up in a deep, guttural moan.

“Mmph?” Newt says. He manages to lift his head a little and spit the pillow out of his mouth. “Can you spank me?”

Hermann’s hips stutter to a halt; his fingers fall from Newt’s nipple. “Can I what?”

Newt clears his throat so he can properly mock Hermann’s accent. “Would you be so inclined to spank me, my good sir?” He thinks it might be the little boost he needs--Hermann’s big hands coming down, hard, on his ass, turning the cheeks red, until it’s stinging and Newt’s eyes are watering and he can hardly handle it. “Punish me for not washing my mug yesterday or something, I don’t know, man, I’m not--”

Hermann’s hand lands, hard and cold, on Newt’s left asscheek, and Newt startles. “Okay! Wow!” Another on his right. Hermann resumes fucking him.

“You masturbate in our laboratory when I’ve gone to bed?” Hermann says. He hitches Newt’s ass up a little higher and smacks it again. Newt yelps. Hermann’s hand retreats. “Oh, Newton, this doesn’t--did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” Newt says, “and no.”

“It does hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” Newt says. His recorder is lying, uselessly, next to his head, where his glasses are also resting after having slipped off some time ago. The most he’s managed to get out is gibberish. Honestly, Newt doesn’t give a shit at this point. “Hermann, I’m fine, okay?”

“But you do masturbate in--?”

“It’s kinda hot,” Newt admits, “knowing that you could just, I don’t know, walk in at any second. ‘N like I said. It’s. Uh.” Hermann’s grabbed a handful of his ass, this time, and is kneading at it as enthusiastically as he had Newt’s love handles. “It’s inspirational. Guh.”

Hermann’s chest pressing against the length of his back, his mouth at Newt’s ear. Newt shivers. For a guy as dorky and dweeby as Hermann, he sure does know how to be unfathomably sexy--Newt might be falling a little bit more in love with him. “If this is the sort of thing you’d need a lot,” Hermann says, “you know, Newton--we are, er, research partners. I wouldn’t be adverse to--to helping. So to speak.”

“How selfless of you.” Newt grins into the mattress. 

[robbyrobinson]

President Election

"Coming to you live with the latest news on the presidential election is Dan Clancy. To my right is Republican Zachary Clark. To my left, this fine gentleman actually implored me to not refer to him by any name in particular backstage. He also isn't aligned with any of our major parties. In other words, he's in a league all to himself."

The man sitting on the couch adjacent to Dan was an exceptionally tall man with a dark complexion. He was of Middle Eastern descent resembling one of the old Pharaohs of Ancient Egypt. He had a short-pointed mustache and beard. He was dressed in a black outfit and tie with sharp-toed cowboy boots on his feet. From a slight glance, he seemed completely normal. And yet, he had an aura that suggested he was not completely human. He nevertheless charmed the audience appointed to hearing the campaigns. Zachary had a more relaxed composure. To his right on the couch was a notebook that documented everything that he was intending to say during his interview. It was just on the typical issues such as illegal immigration, cutting funds to government programs, the usual. His opponent seemed to be bereft of any notes, which made him think that it would work in his favor.

"Alright," Dan said clearing his throat, "let's get started. Clark, do us the honors and state your views about raising taxes."

Zachary chuckled on cue. "Well Dan," he began, "you would already know I am against it."

The man in black snickered at Zachary's simple answer. Zachary himself tried to play it off as unimportant, but eventually, he became annoyed with the guest's poking fun at him. "What you think what I said was humorous or something, punk?"

The man grinned. "I seem to recall that you own a megacompany, Zachary, do you not?"

"It's none of your business," Zachary responded.

The opponent further laughed. "Remember that one man that you let go? About how he is now struggling to make ends meet." He leaned forward on the couch with his hands arched. "Wouldn't that fall on you?" Zachary remained speechless at the man's accusation. The man lifted his eyes with a smirk spread across his face. "It's always amusing to see how you mortals always take the easy way out rather than actually contribute anything to your society; how you big cats glut yourselves on all the luxuries life has while damning your fellow man to pick up after you."

Zachary's face fumed a deep red. "That is not my view, and you should know that!"

He continued to argue with the nameless candidate whose response was to further laugh at his expense. This further earned Zachary's ire. Dan managed to regain control over his talk show, this time turning the debate in the stranger's favor. "Alright, sir," he said, "what are your views on raising taxes?"

The man perked up in his seat. His eyes were a deep emerald color. "Actually, Dan, I'd like to ask you a question."

Dan shook his head vehemently. "Sir, that's not how this works," he attempted to say. However, the oddest feeling manifested within him. He couldn't speak or scream. Almost as though an invisible hand was keeping his lips sealed. The man stood up from the couch and walked in front of the live audience. Ignoring Dan's squealing for relief, he continued to speak.

"How does it feel to know that everything you've valued is worthless?"

Zachary stood up from his seat. "What the hell are you suggesting?" Without as much as a word, the stranger grabbed Dan's coffee mug and smashed it against his desk. He then took one of the shards and stabbed Zachary in the eye before slitting his throat. The audience screamed as they saw Zachary's body crumpled on the floor. The stranger looked at the shard in deep contemplation and tossed it across the set. He spoke again in the midst of the chaos. "See how life can easily be taken away with little rhyme nor reason?"

He snapped his fingers causing a wave of insanity to wash over the audience. A majority of their eyes became glazed over and they spoke an intelligible gibberish. The stage itself shifted with alien geometric shapes resembling no shape that mankind knew. Several were reduced to babbling idiots unaware of the fate that had befallen them. The stranger scanned the room seeing a few people that were not rendered insane hollow shells of their former selves. Two were a man and a woman desperately trying to pry open the doors of the studio.

"It won't budge!" shouted the woman.

They were too invested with their fixation on escape they failed to notice the stranger was quietly walking towards them. He grabbed the panicking woman's arms and forcibly pinned them against the door. "I'm afraid those doors are bolted shut."

"Please don't hurt me," she begged.

His smile returned wider than before, nearly taking up his entire face. "I'm not going to hurt you, my dear," he said in a reassuring fashion. He held his index finger in front of the woman's face and placed it squarely on her forehead. The woman's struggling against his grip subsided  with her eyes getting plunged in the back of her head. Within seconds, her screaming returned, more pronounced.

"Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head!"

She madly repeated this over and over even when her body collapsed on the ground spasming. He had shown her visions, visions of ancient guards invading the Earth subjugating and destroying human civilization. But that all paled to the vision of one of the gods awakening from their deep slumber spelling absolute destruction of everything there was and would ever be. It was the type of knowledge that would drive anyone to sheer madness. The man was cowering in fear.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The stranger did not answer wrapping his fingers around the man's neck and snapping it with ease. The man's corpse fell on top of the woman's throbbing body. The man started to change form becoming larger in scale and his body burst open. Waves of tentacles erupted from every orifice. His head transformed into a slender, hood-like shape with razor-sharp teeth adorning it. Four fleshy arms ripped through the sides of his abdomen.

The transformation and ensuing chaos were being broadcasted through different stations. More people were exposed to the man's true form and were being overtaken by madness. Fires began to spread throughout the streets engulfing civilians and causing massive accidents. Cars collided into each other and planes crashed into buildings. Soon nothing left of the city will become a reality. The stranger observed all of the destruction letting out a guttural chuckle.

"In the end, none of your pathetic lives matter to the likes of an Outer God."

Dan found himself alone in the studio the grip on his lips subsiding. Around him were the corpses of the audience members that were driven into ravage episodes of madness. The Outer God towered over him and glared at him with his many eyes. "Another city is washed in utter chaos, and soon the entire country will be driven mad as well."

Dan was on his knees. "Please, I'll do anything you want; just please don't kill me."

Another venomous laugh bellowed from the Outer God. "Why would I kill you? I can destroy your world right now as a matter of fact." He started to slither away, turning to look at the talk show host again. "I'll let you live but only so you could remember all of the nightmares that happened this night. I shall let that knowledge fester deep inside you until you've nothing left but an insane husk screaming night after night. It is then that I shall awaken my father Azathoth to turn your pathetic world into dust. Until then..."

The creature disappeared leaving Dan completely alone with his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one left with the full knowledge over what transpired in his studio. And yet, he could already feel that his sanity was eroding ever so slowly. In time, he'll be back and the world will be destroyed. And there wasn't anything he could do aside from coming to terms with what he was told.