#in computer engineering sometimes an engineer gets stuck on a line of code

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

every smart person should be required to have a Dumb Friend purely for the joy of teaching. if you only have Smart Friends they'll most likely already know the thing you're bursting at the seams to tell somebody about like it's new information. but Dumb Friends? Dumb Friends don't know any of this stuff, its all new information to them. and that's beautiful.

[hxltic]

Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

[sammy8d257]

Do you like the theory that the King's son died because he was playing in a hardcore world?

because like the stick figures are playing in Minecraft worlds used by other "real" players from their computers. The world that the King's son played in was a hardcore world that was played by someone, and that person died, which deleted the world. This is why the King's son got deleted with the world.

AYO?

HMM!!

I haven't heard about this theory yet! I think that's really interesting and I can certainly see why people would latch on to it!

If the 3 stick engineers were hacking into Minecraft worlds from "Player" accounts, then if the world is a Hardcore world that does give a reason why the Minecraft world suddenly got deleted. Since the "Player" died.

Granted, this maybe different because they're stick figures hacking into a Hardcore world, but Hardcore world's don't actually delete themselves when you die. Once you die, you're still able to visit the world as many times as you like via Spectator mode. Maybe when the "Player" died, Gold got sucked into the game and lost connection to the server and is now permanently stuck in Spectator Mode.

Though personally, I don't think that's what happened.

These guys are running a business. I don't believe they'd take the risk of the Minecraft World shutting down that is associated with Hardcore worlds.

Along with that, you may not know this about me, but I run a Minecraft server in my free time for a couple of my friends but I don't host it on my computer. I use a website called "Aternos" to host my Minecraft server. It's not the best Minecraft hosting site but it's free and mildly flexible when it comes to mods and plugins!

If I had to guess, I think the guys running the "Minecraft Experience Booth" were using a "shoddy" hosting site to host the Minecraft server and then something went wrong server side that corrupted the entire server.

I can tell you from experience, being the Admin of a Minecraft server can be little daunting. It's easy to mess the entire world up if you're not careful when updating the world from one version to another, adding in mods and plugins, checking through the player data, etc.

Sometimes things on the server won't work right if you have a mod pack that's out of date or isn't compatible with the version of Minecraft you're using for the server.

It's a lot of work and sometimes bugs and glitches still happen! In the episode itself, you can see the 2 Sticks manning the controls receive an error warnings first before the corruption kicks in. Although we can't read the screens, those lines of code look like "Error Logs" to me. Usually Hosting Services will have a place for you to look at the Server Logs.

Actually, looking back at the episode, the entire thing is called a "Minecraft Simulator". So maybe they aren't even using a real version of Minecraft. AND IT'S STILL IN EARLY ACCESS

alskdjglsgsd

ALSO HOLD UP

WHY ARE THEY USING 1.7.10 AS THE SERVER BASE???

HELLO??

THE TRAILER THEY WERE SHOWING OUTSIDE THE BOOTH CLEARLY SHOWS 1.19 SINCE IT INCLUDED THE CHEST BOAT

DAMN THIS REALLY IS "EARLY ACCESS"

King should sue them for false advertising /j

[EDIT: IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT IN THE AvM SEASON 3 COMPILATION THIS SCREEN ACTUALLY GETS CHANGED TO SAY "1.17.0"

King should still sue them alskdlgjslsdlkgj-]

[yourmcu]

Friday, I’m In Love

Pairings: Tony Stark x reader

Summary:

In which the reader is an Avenger and she just geeks out when she sees a bunch of musical instruments at the compound and Tony just fallsinlovewithherstraightaway because of her personality and music taste

Word count: 2,562

A/n: (moved to the end of the fic!)

Warnings: u have nothing to worry about :) fluff!

read it on ao3!

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

“I’ll drop this off at your room before I hit the hay, Tony mentioned about giving you a tour of the place first.” Clint patted you on the arm and walked pass you with your bags.

You nodded and smiled, really appreciating his help. You’ve been sorting things out at your apartment with Clint all day. “Alright, thanks. I owe you one.” You heard him say something along the lines of ‘buy me donuts’ before he was out of sight.

“Agent L/N, you’re finally able to join us,” Tony gave you a playful smile, finishing his drink to walk over to you.

You were officially one of the avengers, and now officially moving in. It’s been a few months since you assisted the team on a particularly huge mission. It was not planned of course, after that you started helping out when they needed it, and they thought you’d fit right in.

“Tony,” you gave him a small nod and a kind smile. “And please, call me Y/N.” The billionaire then offered you a drink but you declined.

“Good, didn’t think you’d be much of a drinker,” Tony stated and gave you one of those charming looks that would literally sweep any girl right off her feet. “Has anybody told you that you’ve got pretty eyes?”

The comment surprised you but then again, you remembered who you were talking to. “Stark, if we’re going to be working together you better cut the crap.” You laughed.

Tony raised an eyebrow, thinking that you probably ran into Pepper first before coming up. The small talk led to Tony’s said compound tour. He was making jokes here and there, even revealing secrets about the others that you didn’t need to know about.

After some time the both of you reached the last floor, the one that had your bedroom. Tony was still talking but your  gaze was glued to the black, shiny piano out in the balcony. Why was something so grand and probably expensive doing in plain sight where someone could just swoop in and steal it?

“Earth to Y/N,” Tony waved a hand in front of your face. He stopped when you came back from your trance. “There you are. That’s a secluded, little balcony. It’s a great place to let off some steam or just to take a break for a while.”

“That’s nice,” you murmured. “You... uh, you play?”

Tony spun around to look at you again. “Play?”

“Yeah. The piano, I mean. It’s a good looking piano.” You admitted.

“Oh. That’s what you were ogling? For a second I thought I was a bad and boring tour guide,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I do. It’s a specific model my mother used to own and...”

You waved him off and smiled lightly, not wanting him to explain further as you already understood. It might kill the mood. It’s been a while since you’ve run your fingers through a set of piano keys, you realized, but you were also shy to ask Tony if you could play it sometime.

“Alright, just call for Friday if you need anything, or call Friday to call me,” he joked when you finally reached your bedroom door. “After you settle maybe you could stop by the lab? I could really use your help for something - it’s in your area of expertise, you know?”

“Sure. Tomorrow’s good?”

“Sounds great.”

You nodded and thanked him for the tour, and he gave you a salute before walking away.

----

“Good morning, metal man.”

From inside the Iron Man suit, Tony turned around to see you leaning against the wall beside the door to the lab, a cheeky smile on your face, one cup of coffee in each hand. He was certain that he pulled another all nighter, not even realizing that it was morning until you greeted him.

Surprised by your presence, the iron helmet swiftly revealed his tired face, then he opened up the chest plate of his suit to get out of it completely. “Time?”

“It’s six. I didn’t think you’d be working this early,” but you noticed the circles around his eyes. “...or you didn’t stop since last night.”

“Nope.” Tony snatched one of the cups from your hand and gulped it down. His eyes slightly widened when he realized you snuck in some bourbon in there.

He also couldn’t help but look at your nightwear. Slightly shabby sweatpants and a large band shirt. Green Day, he noticed. They weren’t bad. Heck he could’ve sworn he heard one of their songs on the radio once.

“You said you needed me for something?” You recalled, walking over to his computer. You were an all in one package: you practiced a lot of fighting as a teenager, now you trained with Natasha or Steve, so you knew a decent amount of hand-to-hand combat. Originally you were supposed to major in arts, but switched to the science stuff, engineering, so you knew a thing or two about building things. You also took interest in coding. Plus, Fury admitted to like your wit, one of the reasons why he wasn’t against you joining the avengers.

Tony just wanted you to try and make the security systems around the compound more tight, more secure. He’d do it himself but he wanted to see what you can do. You were the newest part of the team, of course he’d be curious about you.

You pushed yourself away from his desk, humming at the green bar slowly filling up in the monitor. “That should take a while,” you crossed your legs and looked up at the genius billionaire. “You’re awfully quiet, Tony, I think you need some sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m getting back to work.”

“Hey no, I’m serious. You need to re-”

You cut yourself off when you saw a beautiful, six-stringed instrument that hung from the wall when you turned. Tony wondered why you abruptly stopped talking and looked at you.

You got up the chair and carefully removed the electric guitar from the wall. You cringed a bit when you felt the rusty strings on your fingertips. Clearly this hasn’t been played in a while.

But nonetheless, you thought it was beautiful.

“You’re looking at it like it’s the love of your life,” Tony pointed out.

“Do you not know what this is?” You gestured to the instrument. It was a Gibson, 1960 Les Paul - its color scheme being cherry red and black. It greatly reminded you of Brian May’s red special-

Anyway, you sat back down, running your hands through the fret board a couple times to get used to the rusty strings, also tuning some that were out of tune. Then you pulled out a small pick from your pocket.

“So you just carry around a plastic plectrum everywhere you go, huh?” Tony heaved himself up to sit on top of his desk in front of you.

Playing a few sets of chords made you reminisce about your high school years. You were the type that brought a guitar everyday to school back then. “It’s a habit,” you chuckled. “When did you start playing?”

“Oh, no. I just collect them. I know a chord or two but that’s it.”

You laughed. Of course, he was a billionaire. “I could teach you if you want.”

Tony crossed his arms and playfully raised an eyebrow. Is this your way of flirting with him, or was it just an innocent offer? “Why, you a professional or something?”

“No - well, if I stuck to my original career choice, I should be.” You shrugged.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Tony made a mental note to himself to ask you more about that specific topic later on.

“Fine,” you giggled. “Name a band and I’ll play a song.”

He pretended to think. “Dunno, AC/DC.”

You slid your fingers up a bit to the higher frets to play the intro to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. It’s your personal favorite from that band. The guitar doesn’t sound as exciting as it is when it’s plugged in, but you manage to pull it off. You then played the opening riff a couple times then skipped to the chorus.

Tony watched your hand as you hummed along the chorus. It was a great song, yet simple chords, simple until you get to the solo part. He thought you played it beautifully but he’d never admit it to your face.

“C’mon, it was just one song, am I that good?” You teased when you saw a glint of amazement in his eyes.

“Please, anyone can play that song.” Tony rolled his eyes, grinning. Then he pointed to your shirt. “Green Day.”

You repositioned your hand on the frets, playing the fingerstyle to the band’s song ‘Minority’. “I’d never wear a band shirt if I didn’t know the band. That’s downright embarrassing.

“What’s your genre, Stark? I’m guessing a lotta rock?” You stopped playing for a bit to look at him.

“You could say that. But if I think it’s catchy then it’s going on my playlist,” Tony responded. “You can keep that guitar, by the way.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “I can’t. This - this model is expensive. The brand’s expensive-”

“It’s three grand.” He told you like it didn’t matter to him.

“Exactly! It’s expensive!”

“Boss, Miss Romanoff is on her way down.” Friday’s voice rang throughout the room.

On cue, Natasha walked in wearing her usual sparring attire. “Y/N. You were supposed to meet me at the gym half an hour ago.”

You cursed, getting up and hanging the guitar back up the wall earning a glare from Tony. He really did want to give it to you. “Sorry, got caught up. Uh... I think it’s done, Tony,” you rambled and pointed at his computer, green bar already full. 

Natasha lingered at the door after you ran up to change. “I know you have a lot of those displayed around and I’m telling you, hide them.” She was referring to the guitar.

“Why?” Tony hopped off the desk and began working again.

“Mainly because she turns into a huge music geek, but I’m assuming you love it.”

----

Tony had a stressful time doing work one night. He’s in the middle of a suit upgrade and he just can’t seem to put it together right. Maybe he just needed a moment to breathe and relax.

So he went to the balcony, a glass of his preferred alcohol for the night in hand.

He wasn’t that surprised when he saw you in there too. After the first time you came over his lab you started coming over regularly, just to talk about random stuff, music and bands, assisting him with anything he needs assisting with. The both of you became close. You could catch and snap back whenever he made a smart remark, and when he would shamelessly flirt with you, you’d just play along, you don’t get insulted or take any of it too seriously. That’s probably why he likes you so much.

This time you sat in front of the piano, playing chords and doing random scales. Tony admired you quietly from the entrance of the balcony. You did look pretty peaceful humming along, he even found it adorable when your eyebrows furrowed when you accidentally hit a wrong note, sometimes you’d shake your head slightly.

You were definitely something else. As time passed, Tony realized his feelings for you only grew and grew. He even started listening to all the songs you recommended, which were all amazing, even though at first he wasn’t used to hearing songs without an electric guitar on full distortion.

“Sorry. It was just so tempting.” You giggled. You pat the vacant part of the piano seat next to you. Tony placed his drink on top of the piano before sitting down.

You began playing a new song and he was very much relaxed by it. He remembered that time he got to ask you why you didn’t grab the opportunity to play music professionally.

“Well why didn’t you?” Tony asked.

You shrugged, fiddling with his custom made Iron Man guitar. “People judged me. Told me I’d never make it as a musician, that it was just out of luck for the famous ones out there now. It’s fine honestly, I liked other stuff anyway. After that I started training, y’know, became a spy...”

“You know how The Cure’s ‘Friday I’m In Love’ is upbeat?” You asked as you transitioned to a new chord. Tony hummed. “I found a slow, piano version the other day and I... learned it. I think it’s pretty.”

“Let’s hear it.”

You smiled. You were always flattered when he wanted to hear you play songs.

Tony looked at your hands swiftly playing the piano keys, up to your face concentrating on what chord was next. You only learned it by ear, you were sure you’d mess up at some point.

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue,” you hummed. “Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too...”

You believed your singing voice was shit, so you just did this thing where you hummed- but also sung the lyrics as you played. Tony believed differently though. He thought your voice was beautiful.

“Thursday, I don’t care about you... it’s Friday, I’m in love,” You glanced at Tony for a moment and then returned your attention to the piano keys when you saw that he’d been fully listening to you.

“Monday you could fall apart,” you fell into your own little world again, high-fiving yourself in your mind when you nailed that chord progression.

Whereas Tony was sure that he was falling for you as moments passed.

“Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart...”

The way you sung that last part made him feel things. It was just so soft, warm, damn, he wanted to make a move now.

‘Do it! You won’t have a chance like this again.’ A voice inside his head told him.

“Thursday doesn’t even start, it’s-”

You did an entirely different chord, messing up the song. “Oh god, that was horrible.” You laughed, closing your eyes and putting your hands around your stomach to contain your laughter. “But it was a good version, don’t you th-”

When you went to look at Tony, you were immediately cut off by lips pressing to yours. He cupped both sides of your face to gently deepen the kiss. He didn’t want it to be forced but seeing as you weren’t pulling away and you started to kiss back, he didn’t stop.

You were shocked to say the least. It was so fucking cliche but it was happening. Tony Stark was kissing you, and you liked it. Well of course you did, who wouldn’t? Maybe because it felt like it had meaning, not because he’s just lusting for you. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest and there were actual butterflies inside you.

“Friday, I’m in love.” Tony finished the lyric for you after he pulled away.

“Are - are you-”

“I might have to kiss you again just to shut you up.”

But this time you beat him to it. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, and you felt those darn butterflies again.

“It’s about time, sir.” Friday spoke.

----

so this is just a pure music-related imagine and also I’m sorry if you don’t like the band(s) mentioned (bc it’s an x reader), or have a different guitar preference, or play a different instrument or have a drastically different fav genre, etc.

(AND YES I THOUGHT THE TITLE WAS PERFECT FOR THIS SINCE IT’S A SONG AND HE HAS AN A.I NAMED FRIDAY)

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Sweet Ride

For Suptober Day 10: Sweet Ride

“Did you see the awesome motorcycle parked in the staff parking lot in front of the astronomy building, the one with the solar system painted on it?” a student asked from the front row of Dean Winchester’s Advanced Mechanical Engineering class.

“Yeah, dude, it’s so fucking lifelike! The details are astounding, I mean the paint job is better than some of the satellite images we have of the planets,” another student replied.

The first student looked at Dean who was pulling up the PowerPoint for the day’s lecture. “Hey, Professor Winchester, it looks like you might not have the sweetest ride on campus anymore.”

Dean looked up and grinned as he thought about his precious car. He owned a 1967 black Chevy Impala and he treated her like the queen she was. “Well, Ms. Adams, I’d have to disagree with you. Ain’t no motorcycle going to be able to compete with my Baby.”

“I don’t know, have you seen this bike? It looks like it was custom built along with the custom paint job. Do you happen to know who it belongs to?” the other student asked.

Dean smirked. “Sorry, Ms. Davis but I don’t. I got here pretty early this morning because of a project I was working on. When I find out, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Dean finished pulling his lecture up before saying, “Alright, guys, hush up and sit your butts in a seat. Time to get started.”

Once Dean’s three morning lectures were over, he packed his bag and headed to his office. He worked on grading his classes’ latest rounds of projects and inputting grades into the computer. He was so caught up in his work, he didn’t realize how late it was until there was a knock on his door.

He looked up and called, “Come in.”

The door swung open and Dean smiled at seeing who was standing in the doorway. “Hey, baby. I lost track of time; Sorry for not meeting you after your lecture.”

Castiel Winchester shook his head as he walked into Dean’s office, shutting the door behind him. He walked right up to his husband and bent over to slide his lips against Dean’s in a short but tender kiss. “It’s ok. I got caught up with a student anyways. Did you still want to take the rest of the day off?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, pulling Cas into his lap. “Of course I do. It’s your birthday and I have every intention of making it the best birthday ever.”

Cas rubbed his nose against Dean’s as he whispered, “That’s code for we’re going home and having awesome sex aren’t we.”

“You know it,” Dean said as he looked lovingly at Cas. He couldn’t help but grin at the man he loved. Cas was not what one would expect when then they thought of a college astronomy professor. The tips of his hair alternated between being dyed blue or green, he had piercings in his ears, and he had tattoos on both arms. Dean was unable to resist running his fingers along the bees and flowers on one arm and the constellations on the other. 

Dean wasn’t the most stereotypical professor either. While he didn’t dye his hair or pierce his ears, he did have a nose piercing and a lip ring. He also had tattoos on both his arms. One was a green dragon wrapping around from his wrist to his shoulder. The other, a bass guitar with the names of his favorite bands on it and musical notes swirling around it. Dean also never wore suits and ties, preferring his jeans, plaid shirts, and leather jacket.

The college Dean and Cas worked for had been hesitant when it first hired them, afraid of how their appearance would affect the fellow staff and students. By the end of their first semester teaching, the college begged them to pick up more classes as there were lines of students wanting to take their classes. They were now going on their tenth year of teaching.

“Dean, where’d you run off to sweetheart?” Cas asked, reaching up to cup his husband’s jaw.

Dean shook his head. “Sorry, baby, got lost in thoughts of you as usual. Happy birthday, Cas. I love you to the moon and back.”

Cas smiled as he leaned forward and kissed Dean. “I love you to the stars and back.”

After they shared a few more kisses, Dean pulled away. “So, I have your gift.”

Cas tilted his head. “I thought you said you didn’t buy me anything.”

Dean smirked. “I didn’t. I made it and painted it myself.” 

Dean loved being a college professor, but he had a few hobbies he was very passionate about just like Cas. Cas was obsessed with bees and gardening meaning their house and yard was an array of color all year round. Meanwhile, Dean worked on cars at his Uncle Bobby’s garage and painted in his freetime. He had actually sold a few of his pieces and sometimes did commissions for close friends and family.

“Is this the project you’ve been working on that’s been making you come into work so early for the past few weeks?” Cas asked with a grin.

“Maybe,” Dean said coyly.

Cas slid from his husband’s lap. “In that case, let’s go see. I already dropped my bag off in my car before I came over. I may have gotten a little distracted by this awesome motorcycle that was sitting in the parking lot. It’s custom built with the most amazing paint job of the planets and the solar system.”

Dean stacked his papers together and slid them in his bag before shutting his computer down. He hefted his bag on his shoulder and grabbed Cas’ hand as they walked out the office. “Sounds like an awesome bike. Whoever owns it is super lucky.”

Cas sighed. “I’d say. I wish I could afford a bike like that. I mean I love my jeep, but you know having a motorcycle has been a dream of mine.”

Dean pecked Cas on the cheek as they walked towards the staff parking lot. “I know baby. Hopefully, you’ll have your own bike someday.”

“It’s ok sweetheart. As long as I have you, that’s all that matters. Now, I thought you were going to show me my gift,” Cas said, confusion evident in his voice.

“I am,” Dean said with a grin.

Cas looked around. They had arrived at the parking lot and there was nothing but the usual cars and trucks. He could make out his Jeep parked next to Dean’s Impala and of course his eyes lingered on the motorcycle he was telling his husband about. Other than the bike, there was nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t see anything.”

Dean squeezed Cas’ hand and started walking towards their cars. He came to a stop right in front of the bike. “So, you like this bike, huh? I couldn’t imagine why Mr. Astronomy Geek.”

Cas shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “So, I love looking at the stars. It’s not like you don’t drool over some blueprints and three-D printers.”

“Do you want your present or not?” Dean asked with a laugh.

Cas chuckled. “I’m sorry. Yes, I would.”

Dean stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key ring with two keys hanging from it. He grabbed Cas’ hand and dropped the keys in it. He nodded towards the bike and said, “Happy birthday baby.”

Cas’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wait, the bike is mine? But how? We can’t afford something like this with the house payment and my jeep payment.”

Dean stuck his finger over Cas’ lips, effectively silencing him. “You can when your awesome husband built and painted it for you. I promised Chuck I’d pick up some extra classes over the summer and asked for an advance on the paychecks. When I explained why, he was happy to do so. She’s all yours Cas.”

Cas threw his arms around Dean’s neck and sealed their lips together. He slipped his tongue inside Dean’s mouth and deepened the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting. “Dean, this is the most awesome gift I’ve ever gotten! Thank you so much! I love you!”

“I love you too, Cas. Now we have the sweetest rides on campus although Baby is still better,” Dean said a little defensively.

“I might have to disagree with you on that one, but I’ll admit they are both sweet rides,” Cas said before once more sealing their mouths together. Best birthday ever!

[the-last-millenial-disaster]

hihi!! i hope you're having a nice day / evening!! are you alright with ship headcanons? if so, can i maybe request some cypher x killjoy headcanons? if not that's totally fine, thank you so much anyways!!

(a/n: Hello! Yes of course you can! I’ll do my best but since this is the first ship headcannon I’m putting out there, go easy on me. I hope you enjoy!)

I actually never heard about his ship before, but I’ll do my best!

There’s a pretty big age difference

Neither of them is bothered by it and other people can’t be bothered about it because there are like. Three people alive that know how old Cypher is

People often depict him as younger than he actually is, and so did Killjoy before Cypher told her when he was born

Their relationship was one of those agonising slow burn ones

Up to the point where even Viper wanted to scream OUT OF MY LAB AND KISS ALREADY

Cypher obviously has some trauma from his past - losing the people he loves is one of his biggest fears

So starting to care for someone again, become romatically attracted, even, proved a challenge

Killjoy had to learn to be patient

She liked him from the day they met

Not love. At least not right away

She just found him intriguing

Both of them are members of the engineer squad

And as I mentioned before, the engineer squad tends to...steal from eachother

So that’s how Killjoy baited interactions at first, trying to get his attention

Since they didn’t really have a good reason to talk otherways

Little did she know, she already had that attention

She’d get ‘caught’ on purpose and start a conversation

Cypher was mildly annoyed, but didn’t fuss since she never got in, plus, he didn’t keep anything that important in his room

He was researching every one of his coworkers, but he was looking into Killjoy intently

Cypher was waiting to meet someone who would match his memory and intellect for a long time

He didn’t expect it to be Killjoy, and at first, he felt a tad bit threatened

Both of them are skilled hackers and a match made in hell for anyone owning a computer since nothing digital is safe

They went from acquaintances to friends real quick and then

They were stuck

Cypher took a lot of time to justifiy his feelings with himself and not feel guilty for feeling that way

And Killjoy understood that he was trying

Jett, Phoenix & Breach were placing bets

Breach won

To the surprise of everyone, it was Cypher, who first introduced Killjoy as a girlfriend

Long story short, it happened on a mission. Cypher had a fake ID to get into the targeted event, but he needed another pair of hands to break the security alghoritms they found out about at the last minute. If he were to do that on his own, it would take him way too long so he had to take a plus one. Killjoy was literally pulled out of nowhere, with no cover story, so Cypher had to talk the bouncer down. The conversation was so, so awkward, and Cypher never lived it down.

The mission was a success though

Even later in their relatonship, Killjoy would tease him mercilessly

Since she’s. You know. The resident sass master

There is a bit of a height difference but it’s not drastic

I always headcanoned Cypher just a little above the average of Morocco (~177cm) and Killjoy around 166cm

This is completely up for interpretation but it would probably be a good idea for me to actually look at them side by side but anyway moving on

Cypher divides his closet into sections: mission/work clothes and casual wear

Killjoy loves to dig around it and steal his stuff

You’ll find her pulling all nighters wearing one of Cypher’s turtlenecks because its so big and comfy

When you look at her, Killjoy is actually really skinny, so I imagine anything of his would look huge on her

He generally doesn’t mind but damn is he sensitive about the hat

Cypher also wears a lot of fingerless gloves to protect his hands in the workshop and Killjoy picked that habit up

Their dynamic is definitely not based on synergy, but its full of affection and teasing

... mostly teasing though

From both sides

Lots of computer jokes

Cypher voices his affection, while Killjoy rather shows it

Cypher is the worried one on the missions

Like, okay. He generally doesn’t care that much if the others get hurt - he follows the procedure and all is well

But as soon as he hears Killjoy over the comms and there’s like a little bit of distress in her voice, he’ll start sweating

Oh crap she is not in my line of sight who has a visual??

He’s a complete hardass by the way

Will yell if she puts herself in danger or pulls some risky shit (that goes for every Cypher ship)

WhAt were you thinking setting up a bot while under heavy fire?!

And she bites back don’t worry

Killjoy is not exactly a person you boss around

Despite that, Cypher gets hurt more often since holding the most of information puts him on the top target list for the enemies

Cypher can also get jealous real quick

That was a major issue in their relationship, since Cypher couldn’t get over that overprotective reflex

So if they managed to work that out, the relationship would last

Killjoy builds him little bots sometimes that do seemingly unnecessary tasks but it’s so damn cute

Like this lil bot will staple your documents together!! And this one will play you music and podcasts if you ask it to!!

He named every single one, doesn’t let anyone touch them and keeps them on his desk at all times

When Killjoy gets too busy, she’ll send her alarm bot to Cypher to let him know she’s thinking of him

Also, Killjoy programs the turret to shoot shocks at Cypher when she’s mad at him

As revenge Cypher plants bad tripwires in the most inconvenient places in her lab

What I’m saying is, mock tech wars

Cypher likes some quiet time after a hard mission and Killjoy often comes with - their favourite activity is just. Being in the same room, both doing their own thing

I kind of imagine them both as extroverted introverts

Just imagine Cypher putting his gadgets together behind his desk, listening to the rythmic typing of Killjoy’s computer while she codes her ult on his bed

They were dating for a good amount of months before Cypher felt comfortable with taking off his mask

Killjoy is a heavy sleeper and talks in her sleep

And Cypher sometimes just lays there with closed eyes, awake and listening

They don’t often sleep in the same bed but when they do it’s usually not super close - they both like their breathing room, but are always touching somehow

No strong PDA, but there’s a lot of light touches and cheek kisses

(A/N: Okay that’s it for today! Let me know if you liked it, I’m actually really nervous about it haha

But seriously, thank you for all the support! I really aprecciate it.)

Thank you for reading!

[kinetic-elaboration]

July 28: 3x01 Spock’s Brain

Today’s ep was the infamous Spock’s Brain. I’d never seen it before and always insisted I didn’t want to but...this is a complete rewatch so I guess I kinda had to.

As predicted, it was bad. Utter nonsense for a premise and the actual execution shot through with sexism. There were some aspects that I did like but most of them have been done better by other eps--and in any case were not worth the ridiculous basis of the ep itself. Honestly, if I were watching all this live, and I waited months for this, I might have wondered if the show weren’t better off cancelled.

But I would have been wrong because the next ep is The Enterprise Incident so! Sometimes you just need to be patient.

This episode is starting out so strangely. Why is the bridge being shot from all these weird angles? And why do the colors seem...duller?

They really can spy on these other ships, huh?

“My name is Captain James Kirk.” Not breaking out the middle initial today, I see.

Chapel going for the drama as she falls down.

Kirk too, sprawled over his chair. (Makes me think of “The chair is, in fact, not bolted to the ground.”)

This honestly reads like a bad parody of Star Trek.

Ridiculous lines include: “His brain is gone.” “His incredible Vulcan physique.” “In search of his brain.” “Where are you going to look for his brain?” “It was taken out, it can be put back in.”

“Spock’s body is more dependent on his brain” than a human’s. Ummmm I feel like there’s something suspicious in there.

The only good thing about this ep is Kirk’s devotion to Spock.

Seriously why does the bridge look so different? Filming it from a different location changes everything.

When Kirk paces in front of the view screen, it really shows off how small it is.

“The spaceship that has Spock’s brain.”

I like these schematics and Chekov’s little presentation here. Also Kirk can automatically put years to all the planet evolution codes or whatever--like on the one hand, of course he can, that’s his job, but on another... what a nerd.

Honestly these people--obviously, they are underground on the ice planet. Obviously!!! I actually do appreciate this scene in general, with the bridge crew working out a problem on the bridge, which actually almost never happens--it’s definitely the best scene of the ep--but still. It’s obviously the ice planet.

Also, I like that Uhura gets to contribute. She thinks outside of the box, asks the good questions. Don’t just look at the outside evolution of the planet--ask about what the brain could be used for, and where it might be.

“Get there, find the brain.”

Oh no, he accidentally called Scotty Spock :(

“High of 40. Livable.” I realize this is a Russian joke but that’s really not that bad lol. Definitely not an ice age anymore.

“They give pain and delight.” So they’re dominatrixes?

“You are small.” Well no need to be mean about it.

Don’t you have a companion?? Love that that’s one of their synonyms for “spouse” or “partner.”

The alien men look like they’re wearing short jean skirts.

“A dead and buried city on a planet in a glacial age.” That’s a good idea. Could have done something better with that.

Chekov’s still stuck on the no women thing, I think.

Why did they dress Spock in a leftover outfit from This Side of Paradise?

McCoy and his stimulants again, waking up the alien lady after they stunned her. Multi-purpose.

“I know nothing about a brain.” Clearly.

So all the women live below ground, and all the men live above...

Ah-ha, they have found Spock’s voice.

“There is a definite pleasurable experience connected with the hearing of your voice.” This ep is almost worth it for that line.

Also Kirk’s face when he hears Spock’s voice.

I like that Spock is still funny. Honestly he’s probably funnier disembodied. This is a very humorous Spock characterization. “That is a practical idea. It seems unlikely that I shall be able to get to you.”

WHAT IS BRAIN.

They’re being quite sexist, aren’t they? “No engineering geniuses here. Only women. None of these women could ever have done surgery on Spock’s brain.” Like I know it’s that they’re obviously (or supposedly obviously) naive and childlike but like combining that with the sex segregated society and the actual phrasing of these lines (WOMEN?? Engineers?? Doctors??) plus Kirk assuming the Controller is a man (who says?) all creates this like definite sexist vibe while watching. Ugh make it stop.

How can Spock’s brain control everything? They’ve only had it for 5 minutes.

“Mistress.” I told you they were dominatrixes.

Oh yeah Captain Sulu!!

More sexist quotes: “What a way to maintain control over a man.” “I’ve certainly noticed their delightful aspects.” Please stop talking; you’re digging yourselves in a deeper hole.

(Seriously though--I feel like the unspoken world building fact here is that the women need the men for procreation specifically, which is why they capture the men, and then control them--using the “pain belts”--to have sex--the “pleasure.” They probably also use them for other labor, given the presence of the male guards and the line “they won’t help us if we don’t control them” or whatever it was. But surely the delightfulness of the women is more than their physical appearance, is what I’m saying.)

What is the commentary on gender here? Women = scary, dumb, and hot?

Yeah, how DOES Spock’s brain fit into this?

Lol at Spock’s empty body calmly watching them all fighting.

“Science will triumph.” A real lost opportunity in the AOS-verse to have Kirk say this after a bar brawl.

“You are a disembodied brain.” I feel like there’s a (McCoy) joke in here about how he’s reached his ideal state.

His body is the building. (I was right, I totally called this plot point as soon as Spock started talking about his incredibly large body and how his brain was still doing things like regulating oxygen. I must say... this is not a bad idea, except for the brain stealing part. Like there’s something in there, the idea of the complex as a body, powered by a brain. Idk.)

So basically Spock is taking another opportunity to insult Bones’ medical skills. Oh Spock, never change.

I feel like Bones is enjoying his Spock puppet, on some level.

“Pain bands.”

Use the Spock puppet, Kirk! Use it to fight the lady alien!

“The controller is young and powerful, perfect.” / “How very flattering.” LOL I can’t believe this is real.

“You took his brain. You will put it back.”

So the alien lady puts on the spiky helmet and now she’s suddenly smart. I hate thissssssssssss.

(I actually do think the idea of old knowledge stored outside of the... brains...of the current generation, for their own protection, as decided by the paternalist elders... is not itself a bad concept. Of course it’s also a concept that other eps did better, like The Apple or For the World is Hollow or even Return of the Archons. Again, combining it with all the gross things they said about women earlier just leaves a bad taste. Even though--even though!!--we don’t know who the elder people were. Like, was this a matriarchal society that saved the women in the underground because they were better? Or was it a patriarchal society that put the women in the underground because they were considered weak and in need of protection? I rather assumed the second, but I think there’s some evidence for the first, in particular, that the story reeks of Sexualized Male Fear. What’s a better combination of hot and scary than a matriarchy of women in short skirts?)

“Got your gun.” (But the other way around.)

“Our need for the Controller is more important than your need for your friend.” That sounds an awful lot like “The needs of the many outweigh needs of the one” and we all know what Kirk thinks about that. That said, he’s really not...engaging with her facially fair argument at all.

“No one may kill a man. Not for any purpose. It cannot be condoned.”

Love Scotty’s acting skills. Gotta get this gun back really fast--create a diversion by fainting! But not too much!

I do love McCoy. He’s an adventurer too. He pretends he’s not but he jumps at the chance to discover and learn. He will not hesitate to put himself in danger if it’s for the common good or to protect his friends.

“Put the teacher on.”

Now finally Kirk is engaging with the fate of the society he’s encountered lol. Like, again, he’s not wrong; they’ve stagnated under the computer/controller and it’s not moral to steal from someone else to keep your comfortable and boring life going when you could just do the work yourself, but coming this late, it feels like an afterthought. It’s also weird that she just like stood by and let them take Spock and his brain after all that to do about...not letting them have the brain. Like at the end of the day she was not so inept. Also, they never explained what happens to all the knowledge in the teacher. One would assume they’d have to access it--or not? They’re just to start from scratch? Also legit I guess. And finally... all I can really hear, in the emphasis on integrating with the men again, is “You’ll learn how to develop a society naturally and also about heterosexual sex wink wink.” (Except that as I said... I think they know about that.)

I see McCoy’s regretting that “child’s play” talk now.

“Give priority to reconnecting Spock’s vocal cords.” Yep that’s how the brain works for sure.

Wow Spock really does have to do everything himself. Including operate on himself.

“This Vulcan is telling me how to operate.”

How did he operate without...opening Spock’s skull... in any way??

Not to question the verisimilitude of Spock’s Brain lol.

Everyone’s being so rude--Spock is providing valuable last minute exposition/explanation about this weird-ass society!

It’s always odd when they don’t return to the bridge. Like, they’re not going to collect Chekov?

That was... something.

I liked a few things: any excuse for Kirk to be devoted to Spock; the humor Spock showed; I liked the bridge scene where they looked at the map of the planets; and I liked certain things about the premise of the episode, although, like I said, most of the general aspects (post-disaster society, reliance on computers, etc.) had been done better in other episodes. I liked the look into the Male Brain lol.

What I didn’t like was how outright ridiculous the basic catalyzing event was--Spock’s brain has been literally stolen like??? Are you kidding me? That led to a considerable amount of dialogue that read like a Star Trek parody. Did not like that. And of course, as I said... the sexism. I think I’ve unpacked that enough. It didn’t need to be sexist, and you can explain it in a way that’s not, but the vibe sure was. It was like... well a lot of TOS is like this imo. You can give it an A (or at least a B) for effort, but what comes out is so obviously tainted by the sexism of the creators. Like, for example, how they say they believe in women who are just as capable and professional as men, but struggle to show it. This ep wanted to show a matriarchal society but it wasn’t really a matriarchal society--it was a Freudian dream that was all about the male psyche and what it most fears and wants.

All that said.. the next ep is a D.C. Fontana creation featuring one of my favorite TOS Ladies, the Female Romulan Commander, so I will be receiving a consolation prize.

Also the AOS verse is still more sexist and doesn’t have an excuse I said what I said.

[lockedstuck]

and time goes quicker between the two of us

You’ve never met anyone on earth who takes such earnest joy in living as Ray, smiling beatifically as she drinks her tea, eats her snack of a toasted tennis roll, and sways along to the music coming from her headphones. She puts on another pot of tea, then stretches her arms toward the ceiling. 

You wish you looked forward to life as much as she does, but you don’t. Life is kind of like laundry, a minor inconvenience you have to engage in because the alternative is worse. Thanks to both Aradia and the ECT, you’ve reached a point where you no longer want to die, but you’re not the most keen on living.

You drink your morning tea and take your medication. She washes out her coffee cup in the sink, still singing, and dries it out. You go into the fridge and take inventory, intent on making some kind of edible breakfast food. On the lowest shelf, there’s a chicken you started marinating yesterday, but that’s definitely too much work for you to cook right now.

“Ray, what do you wanna eat?” you ask. She keeps jamming.

 You pull one of the earbuds out of her ear. She turns to face you.

“Yeah?”

“What do you want for breakfast? Besides that roll?”

“I don’t know. What’s around?”

You shrug. “I’m indecisive. Pick something.”

“Spinach and cheese omelette?” she asks. 

Yeah, you’re not super awake, but you can do that much.

Alone, you can’t be bothered to fix something more complicated for each meal than a cup of Cafe Bustelo and a bowl of Doritos. But since Aradia still eats your cooking like the novelty of someone preparing her meals for her daily - other than her mom, at least - hasn’t worn off yet, you kind of make it a point to cook when she’s around.

She told you that she used to invite herself over to your dorm room so often back in college because getting you to make food ffor her was a surefire way to make sure you ate something nutritious. At first, you were slightly affronted. Were you really so subpar at caring for yourself that she had to resort to that? Then you realized that the answer was “Yes” and got over it.

“Okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

You pull the gruyere, the baby spinach, and the eggs out of the fridge. Aradia jumps off the counter with a little shimmy that makes her nightgown ride up, and you nod appreciatively, earning a smirk from her. She takes the cutting board off the rack, and the ingredients from you, cutting them up without a word. You turn the stove on.

“How fine do you want the cheese and spinach?”

“They’re eggs. Who cares?”

This is how meals go in the Megido apartment. Whoever doesn’t cook does meal prep, another tradition dating back to your college days, where Aradia would opine that she felt awkward doing nothing in your kitchen. You’d point out that she reminded you to take your meds and make your appointments, along with occasionally acting as your therapist when you couldn’t afford one. Therefore, you two were even. 

Then she’d roll her eyes at you and insist on being handed something to work on.

Once she’s done, you melt butter in the frying pan and then put in the eggs. While you keep an eye on the pan, she starts to tell you about something one of her students did.

“He asked me if we could watch this meme video in class? And I was like… I have a lecture schedule to keep to, but maybe? I don’t know?”

“Which video?”

“The entire history of the world. It’s by Bill Wurtz. It made me laugh.”

You snort. You’re familiar with the video. She comes up and hugs you from behind while you  shake your head, and flip the eggs over, happy when they don’t stick to the pan. She puts her headphones back in and starts jamming out once more.

You, you, you’re thinking of the code you have to review and probably rewrite for this job. It’s pretty basic shit, below your pay-grade, but the pay is decent, so here you are. 

She told you yesterday that Geek Squad for the Best Buy in Astoria is hiring. May you’ll go apply there, see if you can land another regular nine to five like the one you had right after you left undergrad. You don’t know if it’ll work, but there aren’t many desirable positions for a guy like you. Most of the good shit relies on you actually having completed bachelor’s degree in computer engineering.

Ray actually offered to pay your tuition for your final semester at CCNY with some of the money her father left her in his will, but something stops you. Other than the fact that you don’t want to get stuck paying her back. She probably wouldn’t even mind if you didn’t, and that, in and of itself, rankles you. 

Besides. You won’t admit that to anyone, even her, but what if you’re not as smart as you used to be? When you were an undergraduate, you took a full scholarship and made your classes your bitch. You had a 3.83 GPA. It’s been a couple years since 2017, though. What if you’ve forgotten all you’ve learned? What if - even with her footing the bill - you can’t finish? You’d probably jump off her roof or something.

You think she may have caught onto the reason you won’t take her up on her offer, but she refrains from giving you any shit about it.

You flip the eggs again, pile them onto a plate and put out two forks.

While she eats, you dig your laptop out of its little alcove and start it up. You open your text editor software, and take a fresh look at this hell of repetitive code. Whoever wrote this needs to be shot, resurrected, and shot again.

She deposits the plate in front of you, after she’s finished eating her half of the omelet. “Food first, then work.”

Yes, okay, fine. You eat your food - the gruyere’s fucking delicious with the spinach. You stretch, then decide to go for a walk around the block, and have a cigarette while you’re at it. You’re outta smokes, so you go digging through Ray’s pack, pulling a Newport 100 out of it and putting it into your mouth.

She waves at you as you slip out the front door.

Her apartment building is nice enough that she has a doorman, a balding Trinidadian dude who nods at you when you pass his desk. He asks you how your girlfriend’s doing. Ray’s not your girlfriend, not even close, and you think he knows her mostly because she brings him guava candy and tennis rolls every so often. A taste of home.

You jog around the block, lit cigarette burning between your fingertips, mentally rewriting that fuckawful code as you go. You hand a five dollar bill to the tamale lady at the end of the block with her little pushcart, coming away with three tamales that you’ll eat over the next few hours, as you redo things. You bite into one; it tastes heavenly. 

Since Ray has to teach today, you’ll work either in her bedroom or in the Starbucks a couple avenues away. She’ll need to use the living room slash office to teach her three classes.

You should probably go home today, take the 7 train to Main Street and see how your dad’s doing. You spoke to him last night, and he seemed alright, if a little tired. He always seems alright, if a little tired. You wonder if his new prescription for Metformin is in yet, if he’ll want you to pick it up from Duane Reade on your way over. 

When you get back, Ray looks a little out of sorts, her dark, curly hair framing her face like a great load of cotton candy. 

“What happened?” you ask.

“Your mom called. She left a callback number. She says she’s in the hospital.”

Something sinks to the pit of your stomach, something akin to lead.

“Shit,” you reply. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You call the number, ask for Jun Captor, and someone on the other side of the line goes to get her. 

A minute passes.

“Sollux,” she finally says, matter of factly.

You feel as if you’ve travelled in a complete circle sometimes. Your earliest memory is of talking to your mother on the phone, while your dad cooks breakfast, during one of her twenty-one hospitalizations over the course of your lifetime. 

Is this so different?

“Mom?” you ask.

“You have to help sign me out of here. They picked me up last night.”

“Why? What happened?” you want to know. 

Ray takes your hand, squeezes it, and lets it drop, her chin on your shoulder as you sit in her kitchen, anxious and relieved both.

“The CIA is following me around,” she says. “Their agents were in the grocery store again. I tried to fight one of them, they called 911 on me, and now I’m here. Your dad knows, but he won’t sign me out.”

You sigh. Your mom’s damn lucky that whatever innocent and random person she decided to fight got her hospitalized instead of dragged to the 109th precinct on assault charges. 

“I’ll do what I can do, and bring you a couple changes of clothes, but - no offense, mom - I think you’re where you need to be for the moment,” you reply. 

She starts crying, curses you out, and hangs up on you. You can feel the concern emanating off Ray in waves as she gazes at you.

“Something on my face?” you half snap. She envelops you in one of her tight hugs, her hair tickling the area between your neck and clavicle.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. You sigh.

“I gotta go home and get some of my mom’s clothes together. She’s in trouble.” You can hear your heart hammering in your ears. “The timing on this is fucking annoying. I have shitty code to fix, and she’s in the fucking hospital. Again.”

“Do whatever you have to,” she replies. She glances at the bag in your arms. “Are those tamales?”

“Yep. Knock yourself out.” You toss the bag to her.

Even despite everything you have to do, you mentally quiet down sitting beside her, munching away on a tamale and listening to the birds sitting on her fire escape.

[blubberquark]

Making of Deep Sea Settler

Download any play Deep Sea Settler from itch.io.

Comment on the game jam entry for Deep Sea Settler LDJAM.com.

Deep Sea Settler is a puzzle-ish colony builder made for Ludum dare 48. It's loosely inspired by Reus, Dorfromantik, and Solar Settlers by tumblr's own @brickroaddx. Based on the theme "deeper and deeper", you have to slowly build out your underwater colony by placing buildings in a hostile environment - without destroying said environment.

Day 1

I came up with two main game ideas for this theme: The first was a game about a submarine navigating in complete darkness based on sonar and dead reckoning. The second was an under-water colony builder with an ecological theme.

The first would either have looked really boring, with no visible environments, only 2D submarine controls and instruments, or it would have been too much work to mode the interior of a submarine and interesting underwater environments.

I decided to work on the colony builder, and to set it on a hexagonal grid. You start out just below sea level, and as you go on, the sea bed gets deeper and deeper, sunlight becomes scarce and pressure increases, so the game gets more difficult. (The depth and difficulty mechanic did not make it into the final game, but tiles of varying depth did.)

I started by working on the art and rendering code.

I made a simple renderer for infinite hex tilemaps (stored in a hash table), and drew some tiles. They all had a "base" or "depth" to them, allowing me to raise or lower them a bit without "floating" over the playing field. After seeing the tiles arranged like that, I decided to re-work the tile shape to allow for a better perspective when drawing tile contents, and I drew a bunch of tiles based on an ecological and "humorous" theme:

A fishing submarine with a fishing rod and a fish farm with fish fenced in in a 2D enclosure felt like the peak of humour to me at the time.

Day 2

I drew some graphics for UI elements and cursors, and started making the map clickable and interactive. For this, I repurposed the drawing code and the hex marker that shows the selected tile. After a broad-phase collision check, the game checks if the mouse is inside the drawn tile by checking a collision mask at the positions of nearby tiles, preferring the tile nearer to the "camera" if two or more overlap. This was easier to code than convex hex shape collisions, and allowed me to stay a bit more flexible with depth and overlapping tiles. At this point I was still thinking about making depth a more prominent mechanic, but the interaction with the map and judging of distances got a bit too difficult when tiles were occluded too much.

Then I added the wavy underwater effect. It took me way too long to add it, and although everybody tells me it's a bit too distracting, without it it's not clear that you are underwater, which is an important thing to convey at all times, because of the theme.

I drew some sprites for resources and tile products, but I was still unsure which should become which.

After playing around with different configurations, I decided to focus on just building, without a way to destroy built structures, and without "turns". There were discrete actions, but no "turns" and no way to pass time. There was also no way to accumulate resources over time. The only action was clicking on a tile and building, with instantaneous effects: Left-click a tile, select what to build, repeat.

This gave the way a much more puzzle-ish feel, that I really liked, but it also meshed with the "ecological" theme: Every action is irreversible, every tile is a precious resource, every decision is meaningful. Using a tile for building can cost you food or oxygen production. Expanding can destroy synergies between tiles.

To make this more obvious, I added a UI that shows a tile's output when you hover your cursor over it.

Day 3

The game was "feature-complete" after the second day, but I felt a bit unhappy with the balancing and the UI. I took a third day and spent Monday evening adding mining tiles to make tile space more precious, and UI improvements like drawing the perimeter of the buildable area (instead of the range of the current habitant) when the cursor is outside of the buildable area.

The farms were too easy to build, and the power plants were too difficult, so I added power lines to distribute energy (at the expense of building over more tiles) and mining of rifts for science juice to build farms. This way, food, energy, and oxygen are more of a trade-off, and you can't just tile the world with farms, but you can upgrade some of your farms to undo your worst mistakes. If there are not enough volcanoes where you want to build, you can build power lines, but that will make habitat placement more difficult.

What Went Right

Scope: I am really happy with the tight focus of the game, but at the same time, this game mechanic has "legs". It would be easy enough to add more tile types, make the map bigger, and to increase the goal population in the future based on what I have now. But as it stands, it's an interesting game already. Adding more systems would have made it harder to balance, and I am glad I didn't add turns with actions per turn, or tiles that generate resources over time.

Art: For the most part, I stuck with the db32 palette, plus some transparent shades of those colours in the domes and bubbles. I don't think the tiles are as funny as I first intended, but they are distinctive and legible enough.

Balance: After playtesting the game for hours, it's really easy for me, but it's a decent challenge the first few times. Some of the difficulty stems from not knowing what tiles are available and the lack of undo, but it's replayable for some time without feeling "solved" even after you have internalised all the mechanics. None of the tiles is too abundant or too rare.

Game Design: The core loop is build habitat->connect food and energy->expand range->build habitat, but it's also possible to go back and increase the population of existing habitats by mining, upgrading farms and connecting more energy. In the endgame, the player can sometimes increase the population by densely packing the centre of the map with habitats after spreading on the map, and sometimes, it's the other way round. That gives this game a thinky, puzzle-ish feel.

Tile products follow the pattern [adjacent tiles->built tile->product->habitat], so that there are no loops. It goes kelp->fishing sub->food->habitat; rift->power plant (->power line optionally?)->energy->habitat; kelp forest->oxygen->habitat; farm->food->habitat. Evaluating the output of a tile is straightforward both for the computer and the player.

Theme: I tried to work in an ecological theme, where Oxygen is in short supply, built structures cannot be reverted into pristine nature, and tiles are an important resource. Players picked up on that.

What Went Wrong

Jam Theme: Unfortunately, the jam theme "deeper and deeper" got a bit lost in the process. The game was already difficult enough without making tile depth contribute to building costs, and complicated enough for a jam game without adding more mechanics. Making the terrain generation more extreme would have made tile adjacency hard to determine. I would have needed to use a 3D engine to make 3D game mechanics.

Tutorial: There is no in-game tutorial that introduces the tiles gradually. I added some text on the itch.io download page and the LDJAM submission, but that can easily be missed.

UI: The UI is too busy and the mechanics are not discoverable enough. Adding more things to the UI would make it busier, removing things would make it harder to see what's going on. The UI needs a complete overhaul if I add anything more.

Time: Looking back, I could have implemented all this and some more polish, animations, and sound effects within the time constraints of the compo, if I hadn't had anything else to do that weekend. I really wish I could have added some audio.

What I learned

Don't try making depth a mechanic thing in a 2D game if you can't rotate the camera and look behind things

Some users get annoyed by waves even if they don't get sea-sick

People call every visual effect a "shader", even if it doesn't use the GPU

Hexes are cool. Some games don't work on a square grid

My visual jokes are not as funny as I think they are

I can do LDJAM without feeling hungover and tired on Monday

Try not to accidentally take out the jam theme when cutting down the scope!

Download here: https://blubberquark.itch.io/deep-sea-settler

[thehandsomeasshole]

from X @starttheanarchy

It was at certain times a certain red head stuck on Pandora was struck with just how different the planet was from her old home Eden-5. Sure there was a lot of the big things, like the sheer amount of common place murder and madness. But there was also small things that were starting to get to her, like the difference in how the days went. Eden differently had a day cycle that was far closer in hours to that of earth then Pandora.  90 hours verse 30. A rather steep difference that ended up with her up at hours that others would rather be resting since it was either too bright for her brain to allow rest, or because her mind was saying it was daytime back on Eden.

Which lead to her current situation, alone in Ellie's scrap yard half way in one of the many vehicles looking for some halfway decent scrap. Yet another difference between the planets that the mechromancer was starting to find becoming quickly annoying. So with the distraction of trying to find some spare bits to upgrade her arm, she really didn't see exactly who was calling her echo. It was a thoughtless action to tap the side of the com-unit in her ear so that way her echo unit didn't begin screeching loudly in the area attracting anything deadly.

Gaige's head slammed against the hood the technical at the sound of Jack's voice ruining her sleep deprived peaceful scavenging hunt, her headache now worsening from multiple factors. One hand went to rub the already forming bump while the other slowly pushed her out of the engine bay to the ground below, swears muttered under her breath at the little stupid accident and at the pain. The brain numbing annoyance that was Jack droned on about a story she was only partly listening to, at the mention of someone holding their own arm brought out a small mutter of 'mood'.

Once the worst of her headache subsided, she finally gave her actual attention to the nuisance in her ear beginning to ask her questions.

"Honestly, could you try to make higher quality robots. The scrap is actually somehow worse then Tediore, send something with halfway decent sensors. And I'm amazed that the coding change actually upped the supposed spawn odds instead of making them explode or become anymore faulty of an AI." The first part was truly her honest critic, the later part was just dripping with sarcasm. It was almost a joke at this point to walk through Hyperion bases and hear one of the many announcements trying to prevent the robotic workforce from  accidentally become self aware.

“And don’t call me buddy, pal.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow, "Mood?" he mumbled quietly to himself while she was still speaking. Mood. She did know he just said someone's arm got torn off, right? God, bandits were weird.

Jack brows furrowed and, for some reason unknown to himself, the vault hunter's words stung more than he thought they would.

"Hey, m- my robots are completely fine!" he objected, perhaps a little louder than he needed to into the comms, "If you think it's worse than Tediore, you clearly haven't seen their new gun lines. Embarrassing, really. They used to make guns that just- regenerated your ammo! I mean, how cool was that? Now, you hold a damn Tediore gun too long after firing the last shot and you're gonna lose a hand, my friend."

Jack went quiet for a moment as he scribbled something down onto one of the, probably important, documents on his desk.

He slammed the pen back down, and decided to continue.

"Yeah, my bots have fantastic sensors, not my fault that the idiots down on that shithole of a planet that you idiots love so much decide to always shoot for the eye." he shrugged slightly, letting out a disheartened sigh, "Poor things don't even see it comin'..."

Again, Jack fell silent again as his mind wandered off. It was only a few seconds before he reached over to his computer and decided to pull up what information they had on who he was speaking to.

"Hah! You're givin' me shit about my bots while you're dragging around that hunk of scrap?" he laughed loudly, stretching slightly as he sat forward, "Listen, I'm gonna put this as nice as I can: the reason you can't find a good enough sensor is because you're an idiot. I mean, honestly, who tries running a Grade A Hyperion optical sensor on something stuck together with gum and duct tape? An idiot, that's who."

He would never admit it to her, but her mech was very impressive. Though, in Jack's mind, anything that wasn't a claptrap unit was.  

"Well, don't call me pal, buddy." Jack laughed sharply into the echo, kicking his feet back up onto his desk, "Nah, the reason the bots aren't trying to kill us right now or explode directly in your face is cause I was the one who programmed them. You would not believe how often we have to lockdown the station because of rouge AIs someone didn't bother to double-check before setting off. As I said before: I'm surrounded by idiots. I swear, sometimes you all forget I'm super smart, I'm not just incredibly handsome."

[programmingbeast]

11 Beginner tips for learning Python Programming

Personal recommendation: If you are looking for learning python with your mobile phone, I recommend you to download this unique ‘Programming Hero’ app and start learning as a beginner in a fun way.

Here is the download link: https://onelink.to/proghero2

Tip #1: Code Everyday 

Consistency is very important when you are learning a new language. We recommend making a commitment to code every day. It may be hard to believe, but muscle memory plays a large part in programming. Committing to coding everyday will really help develop that muscle memory. Though it may seem daunting at first, consider starting small with 25 minutes everyday and working your way up from there.

Tip #2: Write It Out

As you progress on your journey as a new programmer, you may wonder if you should be taking notes. Yes, you should! In fact, research suggests that taking notes by hand is most beneficial for long-term retention. This will be especially beneficial for those working towards the goal of becoming a full-time developer, as many interviews will involve writing code on a whiteboard.

Once you start working on small projects and programs, writing by hand can also help you plan your code before you move to the computer. You can save a lot of time if you write out which functions and classes you will need, as well as how they will interact.

Tip #3: Go Interactive! 

Whether you are learning about basic Python data structures (strings, lists, dictionaries, etc.) for the first time, or you are debugging an application, the interactive Python shell will be one of your best learning tools. We use it a lot on this site too!

To use the interactive Python shell (also sometimes called a “Python REPL”), first make sure Python is installed on your computer. We’ve got a step-by-step tutorial to help you do that. To activate the interactive Python shell, simply open your terminal and run python or python3 depending on your installation. You can find more specific directions here.

Now that you know how to start the shell, here are a few examples of how you can use the shell when you are learning:

Learn what operations can be performed on an element by using dir():

>>>

>>> my_string = 'I am a string'

>>> dir(my_string)

['__add__', ..., 'upper', 'zfill']  # Truncated for readability

The elements returned from dir() are all of the methods (i.e. actions) that you can apply to the element. For example:

>>>

>>> my_string.upper()

>>> 'I AM A STRING'

Notice that we called the upper() method. Can you see what it does? It makes all of the letters in the string uppercase! Learn more about these built-in methods under “Manipulating strings” in this tutorial.

Learn the type of an element:

>>>

>>> type(my_string)

>>> str

Use the built-in help system to get full documentation:

>>>

>>> help(str)

Import libraries and play with them:

>>>

>>> from datetime import datetime

>>> dir(datetime)

['__add__', ..., 'weekday', 'year']  # Truncated for readability

>>> datetime.now()

datetime.datetime(2018, 3, 14, 23, 44, 50, 851904)

Run shell commands:

>>>

>>> import os

>>> os.system('ls')

python_hw1.py python_hw2.py README.txt

Tip #4: Take Breaks

When you are learning, it is important to step away and absorb the concepts. The Pomodoro Technique is widely used and can help: you work for 25 minutes, take a short break, and then repeat the process. Taking breaks is critical to having an effective study session, particularly when you are taking in a lot of new information.

Breaks are especially important when you are debugging. If you hit a bug and can’t quite figure out what is going wrong, take a break. Step away from your computer, go for a walk, or chat with a friend.

In programming, your code must follow the rules of a language and logic exactly, so even missing a quotation mark will break everything. Fresh eyes make a big difference.

Tip #5: Become a Bug Bounty Hunter

Speaking of hitting a bug, it is inevitable once you start writing complex programs that you will run into bugs in your code. It happens to all of us! Don’t let bugs frustrate you. Instead, embrace these moments with pride and think of yourself as a bug bounty hunter.

When debugging, it is important to have a methodological approach to help you find where things are breaking down. Going through your code in the order in which it is executed and making sure each part works is a great way to do this.

Once you have an idea of where things might be breaking down, insert the following line of code into your script import pdb; pdb.set_trace() and run it. This is the Python debugger and will drop you into interactive mode. The debugger can also be run from the command line with python -m pdb <my_file.py>.

Make It Collaborative

Once things start to stick, expedite your learning through collaboration. Here are some strategies to help you get the most out of working with others.

Tip #6: Surround Yourself With Others Who Are Learning

Though coding may seem like a solitary activity, it actually works best when you work together. It is extremely important when you are learning to code in Python that you surround yourself with other people who are learning as well. This will allow you to share the tips and tricks you learn along the way.

Don’t worry if you don’t know anyone. There are plenty of ways to meet others who are passionate about learning Python! Find local events or Meetups or join PythonistaCafe, a peer-to-peer learning community for Python enthusiasts like you!

Tip #7: Teach

It is said that the best way to learn something is to teach it. This is true when you are learning Python. There are many ways to do this: whiteboarding with other Python lovers, writing blog posts explaining newly learned concepts, recording videos in which you explain something you learned, or simply talking to yourself at your computer. Each of these strategies will solidify your understanding as well as expose any gaps in your understanding.

Tip #8: Pair Program

Pair programming is a technique that involves two developers working at one workstation to complete a task. The two developers switch between being the “driver” and the “navigator.” The “driver” writes the code, while the “navigator” helps guide the problem solving and reviews the code as it is written. Switch frequently to get the benefit of both sides.

Pair programming has many benefits: it gives you a chance to not only have someone review your code, but also see how someone else might be thinking about a problem. Being exposed to multiple ideas and ways of thinking will help you in problem solving when you get back to coding on your own.

Tip #9: Ask “GOOD” Questions

People always say there is no such thing as a bad question, but when it comes to programming, it is possible to ask a question badly. When you are asking for help from someone who has little or no context on the problem you are trying to solve, its best to ask GOOD questions by following this acronym:

G: Give context on what you are trying to do, clearly describing the problem.

O: Outline the things you have already tried to fix the issue.

O: Offer your best guess as to what the problem might be. This helps the person who is helping you to not only know what you are thinking, but also know that you have done some thinking on your own.

D: Demo what is happening. Include the code, a traceback error message, and an explanation of the steps you executed that resulted in the error. This way, the person helping does not have to try to recreate the issue.

Good questions can save a lot of time. Skipping any of these steps can result in back-and-forth conversations that can cause conflict. As a beginner, you want to make sure you ask good questions so that you practice communicating your thought process, and so that people who help you will be happy to continue helping you.

Make Something

Most, if not all, Python developers you speak to will tell you that in order to learn Python, you must learn by doing. Doing exercises can only take you so far: you learn the most by building.

Tip #10: Build Something, Anything

For beginners, there are many small exercises that will really help you become confident with Python, as well as develop the muscle memory that we spoke about above. Once you have a solid grasp on basic data structures (strings, lists, dictionaries, sets), object-oriented programming, and writing classes, it’s time to start building!

What you build is not as important as how you build it. The journey of building is truly what will teach you the most. You can only learn so much from reading Real Python articles and courses. Most of your learning will come from using Python to build something. The problems you will solve will teach you a lot.

There are many lists out there with ideas for beginner Python projects. Here are some ideas to get you started:

Number guessing game

Simple calculator app

Dice roll simulator

Bitcoin Price Notification Service

Tip #11: Contribute to Open Source

If you find it difficult to come up with Python practice projects to work on, watch this video. It lays out a strategy you can use to generate thousands of project ideas whenever you feel stuck.

In the open-source model, software source code is available publicly, and anyone can collaborate. There are many Python libraries that are open-source projects and take contributions. Additionally, many companies publish open-source projects. This means you can work with code written and produced by the engineers working in these companies.

Contributing to an open-source Python project is a great way to create extremely valuable learning experiences. Let’s say you decide to submit a bug fix request: you submit a “pull request” for your fix to be patched into the code.

Next, the project managers will review your work, providing comments and suggestions. This will enable you to learn best practices for Python programming, as well as practice communicating with other developers.

[takadasaiko]

Second Chances: Chapter Sixteen

FFN II AO3

Summary: Nick Fury pays a surprise visit to the Stark cabin.

Chapter Sixteen

Peggy toyed with the ring on her left hand as she made her way out to Tony Stark's workshop. An Irish woman's voice - a computer system, she had been told - announced her presence the moment she crossed the threshold and into the space.

"Back here, Peg!" Howard shouted from much further in.

In true Stark fashion, the workshop was huge and filled with gadgets of all shapes and sizes. There were notes on some, small slips of colourful paper stuck to the inventions and a few seemed to be a very vivid reminder that Howard wasn't allowed near them. Peggy found herself chuckling at that as she wound around and found both Stark men bent over the engine of a t-bird. "You boys look like you're having fun."

Howard popped up at the sound of her voice, covered in motor oil and grinning like a loon. "You didn't mention you were coming out today, Peg. Finally figure out you're gonna miss me when I'm gone?"

Tony snorted a laugh, still half buried in the engine.

"That was never in question," Peggy answered softly. "And there's no we two today. Just me."

"Cap let you drive his truck?" Tony asked as he finally surfaced, wiping at stained fingers.

"Oh no. He's apparently still sharing that with Mr Wilson and Sergeant Barnes. His bike's not too unlike the ones from our time though."

"You drove his motorcycle all the way out here?" Tony asked, and she wasn't sure if he sounded impressed or horrified. "I could have sent a car or the chopper if you—"

"There was no need. I needed the time to think."

She didn't miss the way Howard's gaze locked in her, those clever brown eyes searching out answers. She smiled sweetly at him, effectively shutting him out of her thought process. The difference between Howard and most other men was that he knew exactly what she was doing while others might have just seen a pretty smile they didn't bother to try and look past. She watched him purse his lips, thinking his words over before his jaw dropped to speak, but she beat him to it. "Are these your suits?" she asked her friend's son, motioning to the collection at the far side of the room. "They look much smaller here than they did on display at the expo."

"Lifesize," Tony answered and moved to join her as she made her way over to them. "The fit has to be pretty snug or you'd rattle around inside with every blow."

"Would have, isn't it?"

He pushed a long breath out through his nose, one dark eyebrow lifting. "Exactly what were you here for, Peggy?"

"I was curious if you'd begun creating the serum needed to send Howard back yet."

"Scratch that. Apparently you can't wait to get rid of me," her friend popped off from his place leaning against the car and drinking that awful looking green goop she had seen Tony drink before.

Tony shot Howard a withering look before turning back to her again. "Yeah. It started last night. We have about thirty-six hours left to it."

She steeled herself. "Would it cause too much trouble to add more to it?"

"More what?"

"Particles."

"You second guessing things, Peggy?" Howard asked, his voice strangely distraught in the question. "You just got him back. Everything you wanted. You —"

"Not everything is about getting what we want, Howard," she snapped, her tone icier than she'd meant for it to be. A twinge of guilt tightened her chest as she saw him flinch back at it like she'd physically struck him.

"I know it's not," he said with soft conviction and she saw him glance towards the son he had managed to start building a relationship with and that he would soon have to leave.

Peggy's lips parted to try to ease the sting of the statement, but Tony's computer cut her off. "Boss, you've got a… vis...i….tor…."

Tony was immediately on alert with the way that the voice wound down and cut out and Peggy followed to where his gaze snapped to the door. A tall man filled it, broad and intimidating with his dark expression and patched eye. Peggy had seen him very briefly and at a great distance when SHIELD had arrived at the expo. She hadn't gotten a name, but he worked for them. For the organization she was supposed to help Howard form.

"Fury. What the hell are you doing here?" Tony asked tightly.

"I'm here for your answer," the older man said, his voice gravelly and dangerous as he strode into the space like he wasn't trespassing.

"I told you I'd get back to you on it. It's a big call. Pep and I need time to —"

"Cut the bullshit, Stark." He stopped, glancing past Tony to Howard who looked ready to jump into the fray if the situation arose. What he hoped to do was another matter entirely, but the determination was there. Fury's single eye focused on Tony again. "You knew your answer at the expo. Now I need it."

"It's not just my call. I need time —"

"We don't have time. I told Parker and I told you that the day would come when the ones we haven't been able to find would pose a threat. The day is here." He handed Tony a thin slab of what looked like plastic. A tablet, Peggy realized. A flat computer capable of holding a tremendous amount of data.

Tony took it and she couldn't make the images out from where she stood. He could though, that much was obvious by the way he paled. He slid his finger across the screen as he read, worry deepening the lines in his face as he did. "He's dead. Coulson said you recovered the body."

"Coulson told you what you needed to hear."

"He lied to me and now he's on the loose," Tony snarled, his expression darkening and sharpening as his gaze snapped to meet Fury's. "And now you want me to clean up your mess."

"It is what it is, Stark. You don't have to clean it up, but if you don't put a team together, I will, and you know my first choice."

"Stay the hell away from the kid."

"Then you'll put one together?"

"Don't really have a choice, so I?"

"Everyone's got a choice. You just have to decide where your line is." He nodded at Howard. "Howard -" then at Peggy - "Ms Carter -" before turning on heel and leaving them alone with a seething Tony Stark.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Howard demanded.

"Nick Fury. Director of SHIELD," the man's son answered tightly.

"Is the threat real?" Peggy asked, hoping to pull him off whatever emotional ride he was on.

"Yes."

"Then we'll do whatever we can to help you. Why don't I go call Steve and we can start forming a plan?"

Tony blinked, looking startled by that. "This isn't your fight, Peggy."

"It is now."

"We're with you, kid," Howard offered. "Anything you need."

Tony looked between them both and drew a slightly unsteady breath. "Okay. Call Cap. We've gotta move fast."

                                                  ________________

He had wondered when Tony's conversation with Nick Fury would come into play. Steve didn't know the details of the "deal" the SHIELD director had put on the table, only that he hadn't been approached for it and Tony wasn't happy. From the sounds of it, Fury wasn't going to give Tony time to find a way to wriggle free and enjoy his retirement that he'd earned. Hell, that they had all earned after the battles with Thanos.

The call from Peggy had been limited, but Steve hadn't wasted any time getting out to the Stark cabin. Retired or not, no Avenger left another to face the fight alone. Nat had been right. They were a family. Bizarre and squabbling half the time, but a family nonetheless.

He found it busy when he got there, Tony on the phone, Pepper and Peggy speaking lowly with each other in a somewhat conspiratorial manner, and Howard was perched on the arm of the couch with a tablet in hand. Steve's old friend looked up as he entered. "You made good time."

"It's important. What's going on?"

Howard loosed a long breath, shoulders sagging a little as he did. "Man showed up and overrode Tony's computer system."

"Fury. Peggy mentioned he dropped by. He has a habit of doing that."

The dark haired man nodded. "He wants Tony to put together some sort of team to get this guy."

Steve reached forward and took the tablet. There was a lot of information, but large portions of it had been redacted. One name, a code name for the villain, was clear: Iron Monger. It was accompanied by what looked like a suit of armor copied from one of Tony's early designs. "So SHIELD wants us to go after this guy on limited information. Great."

"Tony did that," Howard said, his voice tight. "Apparently it's someone he knew and someone I'm going to know."

Blond brows drew together. He knew the name, but he couldn't place it. It must have been someone from before he came out of the ice and that affected Tony's path in a way that he didn't want Howard messing with. Nothing was ever simple around them.

"Great. Happy'll get them all set up at HQ in midtown. Anything they need moved I'll have a team transport over." Tony ended the call and looked over. "Hey Cap. You made better time than I expected."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Steve huffed. "I don't drive that slow."

"Compared to other hundred-year-old men or...?" He flashed a grin, knowing full well how irritating he was sometimes.

"I'm sorry, Tony. Did you want my help?"

"I told him what was going on," Peggy said from her place.

"So who's this Iron Monger?"

Tony's grin finally lapsed. "A threat. One that they told me was dead, but apparently just hidden away in some SHIELD bunker somewhere until the Snap."

"And when everyone was brought back…"

"Exactly."

"So why didn't Fury come to me directly? Out of the two of us, I can still fight."

"Not everything's about brawn, Cap," Tony said with an exaggerated cheer. "Some of us are brought in for our minds."

"And?"

The dark haired man feigned insult before shrugging. "And he thinks you're distracted these days. I know that if you're on board, you're onboard all the way."

"What exactly would I be getting onboard for?"

"The Avengers."

"Tony -"

"His methods leave a great deal to be desired, but Director Fury isn't wrong when he says we're facing a threat," Peggy said as she made her way over to Tony's holotable and motioned. "Here?"

"And flip it up," he instructed.

Peggy did so and Steve watched multiple files spring into existence. He stared, hating what he knew they meant.

"Fury sent these over right after he left to make his point," Tony said softly. "A team is coming together to handle the Iron Monger threat, and if it works out, we'll make it permanent. You can say no, and you'd have every right. I can do this without you, Cap, but I'd prefer not to."

Steve glanced back at Pepper who was sitting very quietly at the table. "And you're okay with this?"

The ginger woman purses her lips together as if she were weighing each word before letting it go. "Fury put us in a difficult position by dragging Peter into it. At least this way Tony can have his back from behind the scenes." She gave him a pointed look and Steve could feel the unspoken words.

"And I'll have his," he promised, risking a glance over to Howard, the promise he'd made some nights before to protect his son and do what he could to keep Tony out of trouble pushing its way to the front of his mind. He let his gaze slip back around to the Stark he'd fought beside more recently. "Who all are we thinking?"

"Well, I can't suit up. The expo proved that, and there's only so much I can do from behind the scenes when the fighting breaks out. Would your buddy Falcon be down for it?"

"I bet I could convince him. Bucky too."

Tony groaned loudly, but waved it off. "Rhodey'll be onboard."

"What about Parker? I know you didn't want him working directly for Fury, but-"

"Honestly, I don't want the kid anywhere near Fury if I can help it."

Steve caught his friend's darting gaze and held it. "He's part of this, if you want him to be or not."

"Kid's sixteen, Rogers."

"You should have thought about that before you recruited him."

Tony looked like he wanted to argue, but instead his shoulders sagged and he held his hands up, palms outward in surrender. "Toché."

"And the kid's good," Howard offered from his place. "Both in a fight and in the lab."

"Hey." Steve waited for Tony to look over to him again and he did his best to keep his voice even. The last thing he wanted at this moment was to jump off on the wrong foot, but Tony was already barreling towards a world of hurt. "Parker went behind your back with Fury. If you go behind his back here, you two are going to get caught in a loop."

He watched the emotions play out on Tony's face and finally the dark haired man sighed. "Fine. I'll call the kid, but we need to move. We don't have a lot of time on this."

                                                 ________________

The world had changed a great deal in the last few years. Half the universe had been snapped out of existence by a deranged alien and then snapped back in five years later. In many ways it had helped society heal, but it had also caused problems that an already struggling world couldn't cope with. And those problems fell to them. They fell to him.

If Fury had his way, he'd have let Rogers and Stark have their retirements. Let Captain America settle down with the woman he'd been pining over since he woke up from the ice and let Tony Stark live out the rest of his days in peace with his wife and his child. Maybe even his father pulled out of time, if he changed his mind. If anyone deserved a break, those two did, but the world wasn't having it. Obadiah Stane coming out of the woodworks was proof of that. He'd been useful enough when they had him in a deep, dark cell, but the Snap had changed that. Loose on society he had popped up the day before and taken off with SHIELD weapons that were still untested to their full extent. They could do a lot of damage as it stood. In Stane's hands, he could alter them to level a building in a single shot. He needed to be handled and handled quickly. Tony knew him better than anyone else, and while he couldn't physically go head to head with his former mentor anymore, Fury was confident he could pull together a team that could.

There was a shift in the wheel under his hands and Fury's good eye narrowed as he watched the readouts on his SUV glitch, a sure sign of an override. Which should have been impossible. After the fiasco of Hydra he'd made sure to upgrade everything to tech he trusted.

That was it. He'd upgraded it to Stark Tech. Dammit. He loosed a frustrated breath. Apparently Tony wasn't complying quite as amiably as he'd hoped in the end.

The SUV pulled into the next lane and then the next, just fast enough that if he were somehow able to override the locked doors he would have trouble getting out anyway. Fury reached into the glove compartment for his gun. Just in case it wasn't Stark at the other end of this merry-go-round.

One dark eye watched as the vehicle slowed and he heard the locks pop up. He shoved the driver's door open, finding himself seemingly alone in an alley. He tightened his grip on his sidearm. "Okay, Stark. You've had your fun."

"I'm not here for fun," a crisp, decidedly feminine voice said from behind him and Fury schooled the impressed smirk that threatened to tilt his lips as he turned.

The CEO of Stark Industries looked anything but impressed as she stood in her designer pumps, chin tilted up and shoulders squared to bring herself up to her full height. Those blue eyes of her were ice. "Director Fury, we've never formally met."

"I know who you are, Ms Stark. I'll admit, you're not the one I expected to pull a stunt like that."

"I needed your attention and I didn't have time to jump through all the security you'd put in my way."

"Well now you have it. What can I do for you?"

"We need to have a talk about my husband."

                                                 ________________

TBC

Notes: I've toyed with the idea that SHIELD saved Stane's life and held him for intel for a while now, but I've been going back and forth on if this was the story I wanted to introduce the idea into. I've been dragging my feet a little on this chapter because I had to make a choice: to wrap it up and simply send him home (something that just felt too easy for the world that they work in) or lean into one more arc before the close. The more I looked at it, the more Obadiah just made sense with his connection to Howard and the fact that it's going to dredge up a number of painful memories for Tony that many of the main cast of this story don't know a great deal about. Also, it finally gave me the scene I've been wanting to write between Pepper and Fury since the expo XD

I'm really looking forward to these last few chapters.

[bateman74haslund-blog]

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[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // ZOSIA DILLON

district 3 → trainer → jade tailor fc (she/her)

positive traits: resourceful, witty, insightful negative traits: detached, finicky, boastful specialty: traps/snares

tw: death mention, tw: weapons

what made your character decide to become a trainer?

It was offered to her and she felt like a trip to the capitol. It came at a good time for her as she was still in her rebellious phase, even though she was twenty three years old. It meant she could escape her family once every year and do, what she considers, easy work.

biography:

Abbott Dillon was a scatterbrain. That’s what his parents had always referred to him as. He’d forget his own name if it wasn’t sewed into his clothes. His train of thoughts often sped past him. And even on the day his daughter was born, he’d forgotten the name he’d wanted to call her. Zosia, his wife Irys suggested. Who could forget a name like that? It was supposed to stand for wisdom. Being the daughter of Abbott, an esteemed programmer and Irys, a competent analyst, meant Zosia was destined to be intelligent. She didn’t disappoint. Words formed in her lips before most children, she was walking quickly, reading at the age of four. She would do great things, Abbott ensured his wife on her first day of school, after a quick dash in the morning because he’d forgotten to wake her. However, they both waved goodbye to her on time, hoping that she wouldn’t disappoint.

It quickly became apparent to Zosia that she learnt more at home than she ever did at school. So, she didn’t pay much attention and quickly became scatterbrain junior. She was just so bored learning about capitol propaganda and how to spell words. She didn’t care about that stuff. So, after a while Abbott started deliberately forgetting to take her to school, so she could stay at home and learn with him. His workshop was situated in the basement of their house. Full to the brim with computer screens and various technologies. AI software, security systems. Abbott’s job was to debug them, create them and occasionally weaponize them.  He left that last part out when he’d explained it to Zosia. Even without that titbit of information, she was excited to get started. She was a kinetic learner who liked to touch things. After a while her father had to draw a line by the dangerous machines that she wasn’t allowed to touch. Tape didn’t stop her. Curiosity would take her down to the basement in the middle of the night. She’d tap away on the keys, copying what her father had done. She learned quickly that she was good at seeing and spotting problems. First it was in her father’s coding. A wrong bracket, missing periods. Then it was in the actual technologies. Wires were in the wrong place, preventing the thing from working. It took her about a year to muster the courage to start changing things without her father’s knowledge. Abbott started coming down to things that were working much better than they had been before. He may not have been the most blessed man when It came to common sense, but he wasn’t a total idiot. He didn’t think it was elves that did it. So, he started testing her, passing her things, asking her questions that she shouldn’t know the answers to, but did. Abbott knew his daughter couldn’t pretend to not know the answers. He caught her out. Face full of pride.

They became more of a team when the years went on. Which was a blessing for the older man who was about to receive the workload of his life. Zosia was thirteen when Abbott was given the task to create and programme traps to be used in the hunger games. Afraid of telling Zosia their real purpose he led her to believe they were for animals in the outer lying woods. So, she naturally went and read up on all sorts of snares and traps to prepare. With her new knowledge she helped him design motion sensors that shot out poison darts, human sized technological bear traps with cloaking devices, facial recognition software that would kill a recognised criminal with a bullet to the head. Zosia took over when it came to the mechanics of everything, her father did the programming. She got older, understanding what the things they were designing could do but not batting an eyelid until they started working on a computer chip that was designed to be implanted in every citizens head. Something that would explode and kill someone as soon as the capitol pushed a button. She knew that the chip was messed up. She knew that it was probably ordered by the capitol. However, she turned a blind eye until her father explicitly said it.

‘You let me help you with this murder machine?’ help meaning do most of the work. She’d snapped at him in an attempt to protect her own conscious. Put it all on him, that’s what her brain told her to do. She trashed their workshop, throwing his designs in the fire, including the chip. Or so she led him to believe. Something in her brain told her she couldn’t. All that work, that genius. So, she pretended to burn it with the rest, later hiding it in in the back of a silver necklace she’d taken from her mother.

After that she decided to become a selfish person. Working with other people was so hard. She had to look out for number one. Deciding to rebel and pick up a job engineering. Which she was good at but got bored quickly. So, she then rebelled by dating women, which is where her passions had always lied romantically. She went through them pretty quickly as well. Once she got bored there she fretted in and out of projects and hobbies like nobody’s business.

It wasn’t until she was twenty two that she returned to trap making. After an accident in her fathers basement had blown both his legs off and all their old traps had resurfaces. A woman had been speaking about a rat problem she was having. So Zosia offered to make some traps that would kill them instantly. Originally, she’d offered to do it for free but mid-creation she’d stuck a price tag on her services. Which didn’t make the woman very happy. However, after threatening to ‘forget’ to set the traps the woman agreed. Next, she was asked to set up a security system in an elderly man’s home. Then the peacekeepers came knocking, requesting her services to set traps behind the fence of District three to prevent people escaping. She did as she was paid to do.  But the peacekeepers didn’t stop at one job. Another, then another. Then came the job of a lifetime. ‘Help train the tributes for the games.’ They’d offered her. Which she’d found bizarre. She wasn’t the best trap setter in panem. There were probably other people better suited for the job. Zosia had never been a people person. Yet the capitol had ulterior motives, she knew that. Her father had told them years ago that Zosia had come up with the weapon designs, she had destroyed the chip. If they had her in their hands, they could try get her to recreate it.

Truthfully, Zosia didn’t care about the chip. She cared about going to the capitol. The bright lights and big city was a drug to her. She’d arrived and been given a fancy apartment. Nicer than anything she’d ever lived in. The work was easy. Her detachment from the tributes made watching them die easier. However, she knew she didn’t really fit in with the victors and stylists. She was a tomboy-ish engineer who was there out of circumstance. So, she simply stopped trying to fit in. She had and still has a marmite personality. Her lackadaisical attitude sometimes rubs tributes and mentors the wrong way. She makes inappropriate jokes more times than not and she has such a neutral stance on things that some people get annoyed. A rebellion? Capitol massacre? Zosia’s mentality had been herself first for years. If it wasn’t, she would’ve thrown away the mind-blowing device that she continues to wear around her neck years ago, to save the lives of innocent civilians.  As long as it wasn’t her being targeted, she was cool.

PLAYED BY // JO 

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 10

at the surface of the earth

SUMMARY: [FLUFF TIME]

“Just...stay with me. That’s all I want…” A tear rolls free from her eye. “I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry I yelled. I was just so afraid I was going to lose you--”

And suddenly he pulls her fully against him, burying his head in her shoulder, his whole body shaking and warm. His arms wrap tightly around her lower back, pulling her until she’s nearly on her tip-toes leaning against him. She presses her face into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck.

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3. master post.

A/N: 9,715 words oof. IM SO SORRY MOBILES. REALLY. I WONT DO THIS TO YOU EVER AGAIN.

Ryker is owned by @antisilverstorm! Thank you for indulging us.

---

The church doors open with a thunderous creak. A crowd of people storms in as the first peek of a wintry dawn shines weakly through the stained glass.

Somehow the glass has been preserved, through time and war and the elements. Emma remembers the strange feeling in her heart, seeing the light through the green-blue windows while she sized the place up for reconstruction back in February. Seeing the beauty of the past mixed with the vicious graffiti of an angry present.

The place has a roof now, at least. A roof and a clean floor free of leaks and dirt and better pews in proper places and back offices set up for android repair. It smells like cold stone and incense. It almost feels consecrated; only the graffiti shouting messages of freedom remain as a sign of what it once had been..

Rushing androids -- and at least two on-alert Corps android mechanics -- prepare a barely functioning Connor for emergency repair.

Is the thirium drip ready?

Get him on the gurney, on 3!

1...2...3!

Someone start up the biocomponent terminal.

Emma can’t look. She stops before the altar, something reconstructed after the fact -- a circling tower of candles, glittering and smoky and warm. They say it’s the spot where Markus decided to demonstrate for peace. It’s full of prayers to someone or something. Hope. Faith. Questions and wondering.

She falls to her knees and waits. Because that’s all that’s left now.

---

[TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:3:59]

Snow, everywhere. On his cheeks, in his eyes.

[TIME BEFORE SHUTDOWN: -00:2:01]

Will he reach the magic stone in time? Will he...will... please don’t push me out. Please don’t end it all.

The telltale silver hair of Hank. Two eye colors -- Markus.

A flash of red hair by candlelight…

He reaches out...but someone pushes his arm down.

[MIND PALACE INACCESSIBLE. ENERGY SAVING MODE ACTIVATED.]

“Okay, Connor, are you with us?” Simon? “We’re going to plug you into the terminal. This may not feel great.”

His body jerks.

[*)*)^$&#UNKNOWN ATTACHMENT]

[REPAIR TERMINAL ONBOARD]

[...]

[SYSTEMS ON STANDBY]

---

Emma lays her cheek on the top of her knees as she curls up inside one of the pews.

She thinks about calling Ryker, to talk about nothing. How long has it been since she could do that? Think about something normal. Hear her friend the gardener android -- one of the first androids she helped rebuild their house, one of the first to accept her into their home and ask after her and make her feel like coming to Detroit wasn’t a mistake -- go on about plants.

Or perhaps Anjali. Ask after her new house, her sculptures, her family she’s been looking for.

Or maybe her aunt and uncle. Her aunt would be happy to fill the silence with chatter. Maybe Emma could tell her the truth.

Even Valerie...

But she feels an exhaustion down to her very bones, even as the sky outside turns a brighter blue, because a part of her knows this is how she’s always dealt with problems.

A part of her wonders if they both saw a little bit too much truth in each other.

His wild eyes...the mission first, only the mission, go after Abel, get away from me…

She ran.

A soft hand lays on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay here,” North says. “You can go home.”

But she wouldn’t be going home. She’s not sure, in this moment, exactly where that is.

“No,” Emma says, voice hard. “I want to be here.”

North leaves her hand for a long moment. Considering something.

“You’re angry. I know that. But don’t be stupid about this.” Despite her harsh words, there is a softness to this comment that shakes Emma awake. “Don’t tune everyone out.”

Emma presses her eyes into her knees.

“I know you care about him,” North says, almost begrudgingly. “Don’t punish him for that. Or yourself.”

---

CYBERLIFE INC.

MODEL RK800

SERIAL#: #313 248 317 - 51

BIOS 8.0 REVISION 0501

REBOOT…

MEMORY RECOVERED

LOADING OS…

SYSTEM INITIALIZATION

CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS……..ERRORS DETECTED

DIAGNOSTIC……...REBOOT ACCEPTABLE. CODE: 85740

INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS...OK

INITIALIZING AI ENGINE...OK

ALL SYSTEMS...OK

READY.

…

He opens his eyes to a blaring white light. His systems are still resetting. Static undulates across his system.

He closes his eyes again.

A whisper from elsewhere.

Out of the blizzard again.

And yet...

---

Hank takes a moment to observe. The operation room is an old office backroom with a single, tiny window filled now with mid-morning sun. Connor lies on a clean metal gurney, still as stone. His head rests on a small pillow. His mouth is turned downward, his brows are furrowed, his jaw is clenched, his eyes are closed.

The mechanics say he’s gone through diagnostic successfully and sufficiently rebooted. He just needs time to recalibrate to his new internal biocomponents before they finish repairs. But he still lies there like a dead log.

He looks...miserable. And Hank can’t stay silent any longer.

“Connor.”

In an instant, the android is sitting up, eyes wide with concern, head swiveling until his gaze lands on Hank.

“Hank!”

He nearly flies off the table-bed-thing before Hank shoves him back down with his palms. So much work is left to be done and though, logically, he knows Connor is made of stronger stuff than flesh and blood, stuff that won’t tear in a single instant (except it did, didn’t it?), it’s Hank that needs him to stay still. It’s Hank that needs to recalibrate.

At least that computer isn’t plugged into the back of his head anymore.

“Hank,” Connor says again. Connor’s hands slide over Hank’s as if confirming that it’s him before the man pulls them back. And then: “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Of course his first question is about Emma, which would break Hank’s heart all over again if it had room to crack. No ‘where am I?’ or ‘what happened?’

“She’s fine,” Hank mutters. “You almost bled to death.”

Connor normally would have sassed him back. But he says nothing, as if stuck in the mud somewhere in his head, and that shakes Hank more than seeing him like this: shirtless, stained with blue blood, part of him shimmering Cyberlife white.

“She’s furious, I’m furious. What the fuck were you thinking, going off like that?”

But Hank knows the answer. He just wants to hear him goddamn say it -- wants to hear him, for once, be honest with himself so that Hank can fulfill their bargain and be honest, too. That’s the agreement. That’s how they get by.

It’s still almost too much. Connor’s breath hitches, all too-naturally, and Hank grabs his shoulder to support the boy and himself.

“In many of the probabilities…I had nothing left to hold on to,” Connor says, voice flattened by whatever emotion he was suppressing. “I was going to lose everything. My job. My place. My…”

Connor struggles, as if he cannot find the proper word. His eyes dart away.

It’s striking, sometimes, how much Connor reminds him of Cole. And at first that was a disastrous thing; Connor is, also, too dangerously different. But these days it feels, in some respects, like another chance.

“Listen to me.” Hank leans down to try and catch his gaze again. “Listen.” Connor finally looks at him. “You nearly fucked this up as bad as you possibly could have. But if you can’t be honest with yourself about why you did this, then you deserve what you got. Because it’s just going to happen again.”

It’s harsh. It’s tough. It’s what Connor needs to know. He takes Connor by both shoulders and squeezes hard so that he knows the android feels it, somewhere.

Connor squints, looking at something in the middle distance.

“I’m sorry to make you worry, Hank. I’m sorry if it makes you feel like you don’t matter. That is not the truth.”

“Shut up,” Hank says softly, batting down all those old emotions. Connor needs him right now. Not the other way around. Not here. “I know that. I’m not the one getting chased by some freak across the whole of Detroit.” He shakes Connor by the shoulders lightly. “Tell her the truth, Connor.”

Hank knows he’s onto something because Connor does not even ask which one.

“I’m sorry that I failed,” Connor says, voice small.

“Stop that. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

---

The repairs are exhausting -- he can think of no better word to describe the gnawing daze ribbing at his processors from sitting still for many hours at a time. Old programming demands he make progress on his mission. [FIND ABEL. WHERE IS EMMA?]

Some of the biocomponents have to be fine-tuned to account for the fact that few things matched him exactly, being a prototype, and that takes a while. And many of the connecting lines in his abdomen have to be manually refastened. Every time someone makes an error -- which is very few times, but still -- welt-red ERROR messages fire in his vision, and some of his musculature twitches uncontrollably.

Memories appear without request: Knives sending white-cold interference throughout his body. Gunshots, rattling his equilibrium. The slow fuzz that sets in as thirium leaks out of his wounds...the metallic shrieking from his own vocoder...

The face Emma made. Or perhaps a nightmare version of her...staring at him in bright-faced fear. In fear of him.

“Connor?” Simon has to softly prod more than once. “Come back. It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

“Where is--”

“Everyone is waiting for you just outside. I promise.”

The sun passes its apex in the sky before he is considered in full working order. Connor slips into a pair of jeans, a heavy jacket and a soft, grey sweater that Hank had brought over earlier and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror.

Free of blemishes. No signs of the struggle that had taken place hours before except in his memory bank and somewhere deep back in his eyes.

He feels different. The incongruence does not compute with any sort of simplicity.

But he steps out, finally, into the old sanctum and one aspect of his program stops itching.

The stained glass bathes the room in cool blue-green light. Emma is taking up an entire pew to herself, lying on her back pondering what looks to be a half-eaten turkey and swiss sandwich held above her face, cascading her in crumbs as she holds it aloft into a light beam. She’s only half watching it, it seems, chewing mildly as she stares at the ceiling.

His walking cycle stutters for a moment. The warm feeling that wracks his sensors nearly turns him back around for recalibration at its strength. Surely something was not fastened correctly?

But seeing her there, in this moment outside time...

Her head turns toward him and she bolts upright, sandwich forgotten on the seat. She stares at him, and he very pointedly resists scanning her, knowing she would feel it, fearing she would reject him for it, but he sees her shoulders relax and the way her forehead loses some of its wrinkling and he knows, surely, she must feel the same relief that he does in this moment.

But then, in another instant, she’s standing on her feet, fists at her sides, glaring.

“Fuck you,” she says, voice shaky. She is trying to joke, but her posture betrays it. “You just stepped out of a fuckin’ salon or something.”

He smiles. He smiles despite knowing it makes no sense. He doesn’t care. She waited here for him and that fact makes all his sensors ring out in feelings he can’t quite process.

But she doesn't smile back.

Only now does he see tear streaks on her face glittering fiercely in the fading light. Only now does he see a faint bruised welt on her cheek in the exact size and dimension of one of North’s hands.

He steps toward her. She steps back, against the pew.

A fizzing spark jolts behind his eyes.

Is she afraid?

“I--” she starts. “Can’t.”

He tries to go to her.

She whirls on her boot heel and walks straight back out the double doors of the sanctuary and into the snow.

---

Emma sits in one of the UN black cars and sets her forehead pointedly against the window so that she doesn’t have to look at anyone. She feels the seat sink in as someone sits next to her, but she doesn’t look at them. A pressing exhaustion keens loudly behind her eyes, but sleep feels years away.

Connor goes with Hank to his car. She watches outside her window and catches Connor swiveling his head as if looking for something, and her heart fucking squeezes.

She hasn’t felt so much shit in so long and there’s nowhere for it to go. She’s running out of space and she can’t break down here in the car, here in front of strangers who can watch and question and dig deep inside where even she doesn’t want to go.

She shuts her eyes, and does not open them again until they make it back to the Speaker’s house.

No one asks after her when she wordlessly goes up the stairs. Perhaps they can see it, the electricity building just under her skin. She shuts the door to her spare room, slips to the floor and curls into a ball to think.

She’s being a little shit, she knows that, she should just let this go, she should just let the anger die, but she can’t. She’ll lose whatever’s been keeping her alive if she lets it all go.

But goddammit, she can’t fucking do this anymore.

She pulls open her door, ready to find wherever she had thrown her coat and boots, ready to stomp over to Hank’s house if she must, ready to let him have it because she really might die if--

And Connor is standing right there, hand up, ready to knock.

Connor in that damn grey sweater.

“You--”

“There you are,” he says.

It's so heartbreaking, the way he says it, like he's coming up for air. It sends tears straight to her eyes and the words right out her lungs.

"Do you have any idea how fucking bad that could have gone? If i hadn't woken up? If i hadn't found North? If..."

She’s momentarily stunned. So much could have gone wrong...

He takes advantage and pushes into the room. He closes the door behind him with a click, looking down at her unreadably.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she snaps before he can say anything.

“I knew we had to move quickly, and no one else seemed to feel the same way.”

“So you lied to me, you lied to everyone -- just to make a point?” she says. “You have no idea what it’s like to be awake waiting for you and then, and then, only because of a gut feeling, watch my worst fucking nightmare come to life. Do you--”

He tries to gain advantage. “I can be easily repaired. You cannot. And it is my upmost priority to--”

“Just shut up for five seconds about your stupid goddamn priority!” She is full on shouting now, unafraid of who could be listening. “You could have died! Do you understand? You could have bled to death alone in a goddamn office building because you thought you knew better!”

He leans backward a moment, eyes scanning her as if trying to re-find his balance. “I could not just wait for him to strike--”

“Well, why not!” She takes in a hot breath. “Everyone else could!”

"Because!" he says, raising his voice for the first time. "Because my death doesn’t matter!”

She takes a step back. His eyes are hard as coals.

"Stop that.”

“If it meant you would be safe, I would do whatever it takes!” he near shouts, like he’s started off on something that he’s unable to reel back in, desperate and winding. “A thousand more times, the exact same way. If it would guarantee you would never be hurt again...I...I would rather be dead, Emma, than let him take you away from me!”

Tears stream out of his eyes. His LED is blood red.

She feels punched in the chest.

This was too dangerous.

Too far.

“No.” She takes a step forward. “Stop.”

“You’re so much more alive,” he says through tears, like he’s falling into somewhere else.

No.

She has to conquer her anger, her frustration. She has to shove it away, dig down underneath pride where it hurts, where the truth lives, and be an adult about this, be someone who loves him.

She puts her hands, slowly, against his chest, and he takes in a breath loud enough that even she can hear it. “No, Connor. That’s not true.”

His eyes are wide. His face is wet. A world without his inquisitive stares, the quiet way he laughs, the way he waits just by her door, his deeply real loveliness...impossible. But it all blurs in her own vision.

She moves her hands to his cheeks.

Her Connor.

“You’re the reason I’ve made it through these weeks at all.”

She pulls him slightly toward her until their foreheads touch, holding his gaze, and he lets her. She’s diving off into the unknown now. She’s doing the stupid thing. The only thing.

“So you can’t throw yourself away. Be-because you mean...the whole world...”

He’s blinking down into her gaze as her words choke off. His mouth opens in shock. She presses on.

“Just...stay with me. That’s all I want…” A tear rolls free from her eye. “I’m sorry I got mad. I’m sorry I yelled. I was just so afraid I was going to lose you--”

And suddenly he pulls her fully against him, burying his head in her shoulder, his whole body shaking and warm. His arms wrap tightly around her lower back, pulling her until she’s nearly on her tip-toes leaning against him. She presses her face into his chest, throwing her arms around his neck.

Her body heaves with sobs torn from somewhere dark and lonely. One of his hands reaches up to cradle the back of her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice tight with his own tears. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I...didn’t think, I just wanted him to fail...”

Something deep within her rumbles. It feels like letting go.

It isn’t supposed to go like this, but it was going like this for such a long time. Everything is tilting. She's falling off the face of the earth.

At the DPD, at Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, looking for Hank Anderson. Scan his desk. Find out.

She reaches a hand out but its not her hand...

She leans back with a small gasp, searching his face. She blinks away the fire behind her eyes, finding it hard to focus, but then he places a hand on her cheek, so soft and careful, and everything sharpens.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks softly. He stares right into her eyes. His other hand rests lightly at her waist.

A high-pitched keening sound starts in her head. She can barely nod.

“I’ve tried to pretend that it is otherwise,” he says, struggling with words in a way she’d never heard before. “That you aren’t here, with me,” he says, touching his forehead for a moment, “always. That I can do this job and not be distracted. But I…”

She sees stars flashing.

“I can't pretend anymore…” He rubs her cheek with his thumb. “That I don't want to be with you, more than anything else.”

At first, she worries her own thoughts just came out of her mouth, but her heartbeat rises when she realizes he’s the one that said it. She tries to find the words. “Are...are you...do you know how I…I want...”

The words die in her throat. He leans forward until their foreheads touch, their noses cross, and his lips are nearly against hers. His interruption feels a part of her. “Tell me,” he whispers against her, desperate. “Tell me what you want. Anything. Please.”

Everything breaks.

“I’m in love with you,” she says. “I love you. I���m sorry, if that’s--”

She’s cut off as he takes in a sharp breath, so close against her skin. Something in the air cracks.

But then words stop making sense.

He finally closes the distance.

Their lips meet in a moment of warmth so blessedly high all thought leaves her body. His arms wrap around her back, pulling her tightly against his chest as her hands touch his cheeks, his neck, run through his hair. She feels each of his fingers as they spread across her back, prompting her to sigh. He presses the advantage, deepening the kiss with a low sound in the back of his throat, heat building so intently she's afraid she'll melt right then and there.

She breaks away to take a single shaky breath and his mouth lingers on her cheekbones, kissing all of her old tears away.

--

Connor can’t get close enough. He wants to hear all her thoughts, breathe in all her memories. He wants to be housed in her gaze, forever.

The snow down a Detroit street...boots he had never worn, clearly on his feet...

In his arms, he can feel her legs near give out from exhaustion, and his processors click forward. He picks her up, one arm under her knees and one across her upper back.

She gasps as they break away. “What are you--”

“You were going to fall.”

He sets her on the bed, moving to kneel next to her on the floor so that she has proper space -- but she grabs him fiercely by the shoulders.

“Don’t you dare leave me now,” she says, a laugh behind her voice. And that does it -- that bubble of joy that colors his whole life. He leans in and kisses her until he presses her into the mattress, processors flashing white as she sighs into his mouth. He climbs effortlessly onto the bed, careful not to lay his entire weight against her.

She loves you.

She loves you…

She pulls away to breathe and a part of him, a vague part not intended to be made, nearly cries out for her return. His fingers slip just beneath her shirt, pressing into the warm skin just above her hip bones, trying to remember all of it.

“Your injuries…” she gasps.

“They’re alright,” he whispers. He leans down toward her, nose in her hair, mouth close to her ear. “There’s nothing for you to hurt.”

She leans up and kisses the spot where he had been shot through his shirt. Where a patch had been resealed to his shoulder. She lays her hand there.

“But are you okay?” she asks quietly. “I can’t imagine...”

He moves so his arms frame her face in his hands, protecting her from the fading day. Her cheeks are that beautiful orange-pink beneath her constellation of freckles, her lips thick and shining, slightly open. Her hair is everywhere, everywhere. He could never have preconstructed any sight lovelier than this.

He stores it to memory, over and over again. Writing, rewriting…

“I will be,” he says. “Soon the memory will be put into the context of this moment.”

She watches him doubtfully. “But I know how your memory works,” she says. “You can’t just buffer things away.”

“Is it not much the same for you?” he asks. “Where you let the bad that you recall outweigh the good of a single moment?”

Her gaze darkens at that and he feels pressed to kiss the corner of her eye to bring the light back -- and yet he does not want to release her from his stare just yet. “...yeah,” she mutters.

“I’m okay,” he says, and it is mostly the truth. “I’ll be okay. Because I know that you are with me.”

She wraps her arms around his neck, watching him quizzically.

“I don't want you to ever do anything you don't…” She swallows, resetting. “Do you...is this even...like, do you like this? Is it boring?”

He laughs; he can’t help it. Does she not understand? How deeply entrenched in his systems she is?

“It’s not boring. I do have sensors,” he says, smiling, teasing. “I do not have the same...drives as humans do, maybe. But that’s not…” He begins tracing the freckles with his finger. “That’s not what this is about.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What’s it about?”

He traces his finger to the corner of her lips. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Pretend I’m a complete idiot.”

He smiles. “That I love you.” His smile falters at the strength of the feeling behind it.

She’s grinning that bright grin of hers now, the light he follows through the storm. “Oh, thank god,” she says. “I was going to feel really stupid.”

---

She lies next to him sleepily as the evening catches up to this perfect moment in time. Her skin is warm and her lips feel swollen and she could never get enough, ever, of being right here, lying against Connor, despite all the terribleness going on around them.

But she can feel the anxiety climb up her throat, slowly, slowly, looking for an advantage, even as his warm arms hold her tightly to him. Even as one hand slowly brushes her hair out of her face. Even as something she’d only dreamed of continues to happen, like she was allowed.

“Why don’t you get your sleep clothes on?” he says quietly to her, as if reading her thoughts. He begins to sit up, taking her with him, holding her against his shoulder. The anxiety spikes hard as the cool air in the bedroom reaches her skin. He presses his lips to her temple and her breathing stutters.

He’s too beautiful. To her. Specifically.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His breath brushes her cheek.

“Nothing,” she says, and it is a half-truth. Nothing, objectively, was wrong in this moment. “I’m...I’ll go change.” She turns to him, leaning her forehead on his cheek a moment. “Will you...be here?”

“Where would I go?” he asks seriously.

“I don’t know,” she admits, and she gets up before he can press her further on thoughts that are spilled everywhere, dropped out of a picnic basket in her head.

You let the bad that you recall outweigh the good of a single moment.

Did he have any idea how true that was?

He nearly bled to death from multiple stab wounds and a couple gunshots, and he’s asking her if something’s wrong?

She won’t get used to someone giving a shit like that. She never could. And she’s not going to let go of the fact that he had been stabbed, that he was a complete idiot about finding danger, that he would throw himself in the fire for her, that this could all be taken away from her in an instant, just like--

Suddenly she’s breathing heavily in front of the sink in the adjacent bathroom, bracing her hands on the cool ceramic and trying not to cry again. Eventually she takes off her heavy jeans, her raglan shirt, and pulls on sleep shorts and a tank top, vision blurring. She wraps her hair up in an old t-shirt. Half ashamed, half out of her mind with worry about things that won’t happen tonight, she stumbles back into the bedroom.

He sees her face and he’s crossing the room to her in an instant.

“Listen,” she says, voice shaking. “You have to swear. You can’t throw your life away or do something that will hurt you because of me, I fucking mean that. I will break up with you over it,” she says, tasting the words break up like a sour dust. “I’m not kidding. I’m not more important than your life or your happiness or whatever.”

He cups her face for a moment, looking down into her eyes.

And then he wordlessly pulls her toward the bed by her waist, moving the sheets aside so that she can lie down. He pulls her down beside him, his back to the wall. Their noses nearly touch in closeness. His arm rests over her waist.

He’s silent for a long moment, but she can see in the way he shifts his eyes about that he’s thinking.

“I’m not going to let what happened yesterday happen again,” he says softly. “I...made a miscalculation.”

She pats his chest, still anxious but not so chokingly so. “That’s one way of putting it.”

His mouth flickers with uncertainty. She knows because she is very, very close to it now. “I’ve recalibrated since then.”

She laughs despite herself. “Wow. Hot. Is that what you call it?”

He settles on a smile finally. He pulls her closer. “I mean it. I refuse to put you through such fear again. I...underestimated...the value of my life in the equation of what we are.”

Of what we are.

She is filled with golden light.

“Yeah. You did.” She swallows the bubble that forms in her throat.

“But do you understand what you mean to me?” he asks, voice serious. “I don’t want to break up with you at all” -- a slight, teasing smile -- “but you need to avoid stomping right into a dangerous police situation on a whim, for example. For me, if no one else.”

He lays his chin on top of her head.

“Without you, I’m not sure I would like my new life so much,” he says.

Love is dumb as hell, Emma thinks. All it does is make me want to cry every five minutes.

“Okay,” she says instead of crying. “So is it a deal? We both try really hard to live so the other doesn’t wanna throw themselves off a cliff?”

She means it partly as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh -- and frankly, she’s not joking that much. He’s silent for a long moment before he speaks again.

“It was your voice that pushed me through it,” he says quietly. She can feel his voice through his chest, even if it is just from a complex vocoder box. “Because I did promise you to be safe. You, telling me not to give up…” He sighs, which she always finds charming because he doesn’t need to do it. It means he’s feeling something, deep down in his heart. “You’ve given me so much. How could I dare to let you down?”

She curls into him in the bed, laying her head next to where his heart would be, listening to all the mechanics within whir gently. He’s got it backwards. She doesn’t deserve him at all, but she’s weak in the face of him. Weak before his love, freely given. “You’ll be here?” she asks, voice finally breaking. Pride, finally setting her free. “In the morning?”

“Emma,” he whispers into her hair, pressing and concerned. “Where do you keep thinking I’m going to go?”

“Away.” A throttling moment of weakness.

“Seeing as I nearly got myself killed trying to prevent that outcome…” He presses his lips to the top of her head. “That would be very stupid.”

She laughs against his chest, which makes him laugh, and eventually she falls asleep like that, curled in against him, safe.

---

It is like breaking down the wall of programming all over again -- making real what he had known in his heart from the beginning.

Her pajama shorts are hiked up. His hand lays on her hip like it was molded to fit her bones. Her hand is on his chest, fingers spread, and her head is tucked into the space between his collarbone and his neck, breath slow against his skin in sleep.

His other arm snakes around her bare lower back, anchoring her against him. She twitches in her sleep and he pulls her tight until he feels her muscles uncoil.

“Shh,” he whispers into her hair, words quiet as breathing. “I’m here.”

She sighs so softly he feels his system reboot and reset in a single moment. His eyes burn as his thirium pump cauterizes over.

He feels completely unmade. But the leak in his heart silences for the first time since he can remember.

---

“Good morning, Emma.”

She leans her head up to see his bright smile, as genuine as she’d ever seen it. If he was a fae, she was goddamn doomed now (there were pretty explicit rules about not kissing them), and the worst part was that she was perfectly okay with that.

She mumbles something in return, rolling onto her back, pinning his arm under her for a moment. She rubs her face free of drool spots, blinking against the white light coming in through the icy window. Detroit is a veritable winter wonderland, now.

“Did you sleep alright?” he asks pleasantly, and she just nods, thinking of it. She’s no wordsmith on a good day, much less right when she wakes up. She tries not to blush as she sits up and he follows suit, snaking an arm around her middle like he can’t bear to be separated.

“Did you?” she asks.

He ‘hmm’s in the affirmative, placing his head on her shoulder.

“You’re very cute,” she says. “But I’m gross.”

“You are not ‘gross’. But I am not one-hundred percent convinced you are ready to be awake.” He presses his lips into her bare shoulder.

Warmth shoots through her whole body like a wave of adrenaline. “People are gonna talk if we don’t get out of bed today.”

He looks like he’s seriously weighing the variables for a few moments. She gently presses against his arm with her hands, smiling. As much as she wants to stay here, the thought of people wondering seriously gives her anxiety -- on top of the fact that she has a life to rearrange once again. “Don’t you got reports to do or something?”

“I suppose,” he mutters. She snorts out a laugh; he’s never sounded so annoyed by that fact.

He steps out of the room to prepare himself for work. After changing and brushing her teeth in the adjoining bathroom, she steps out of the room, half-expecting everyone to have noticed them both leaving the same place at some point. Connor waits for her by the door in his usual blazer and button-up.

But no one spots them. Step 1 complete.

“Things are quiet,” Connor comments, seemingly in agreement with her observations. “Everyone seems to be recovering.”

They move through the house together and then downstairs past a few faceless UN guards. But her attempts to keep things largely on the downlow are immediately dashed when she and Connor enter the kitchen, rather obviously laughing about a picture of Sumo that Connor had pulled up on his hand. His arm is around her shoulders for a ghost of a moment, relishing the closeness, clearly not caring if anyone saw.

And Markus, North and Simon are all present.

“Good morning!” Markus near booms, smiling his megawatt smile as he leans against the kitchen island.

“Sleep well?” Simon asks, smiling just as brightly -- and genuinely.

Emma’s heart flops low in her ribs with mortification.

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird.

“We were just leaving,” North says, cementing her as Emma’s favorite among the bunch, but even she is smiling. The android wifi chatter must be sizzling with gossip right now. She’s glaring at the very thought -- something she only realizes because Connor tightens his arm around her shoulder.

“Slept fine,” Emma says, many moments too late. “Thankyou.” It all pours out as one word.

“There’s some left over eggs and bacon on the stove and some coffee in the pot,” Markus says.

“It was for the officers,” Simon says in explanation. “They had to pull long shifts last night. Hank asked after you.” A meaningful eyebrow raise at Connor. “I told him you were in rest mode.”

Her face is burning.

“Enjoy,” Markus says, a little too sincerely.

Emma tries to offer up a smile as they all begin to file out, herded by North. She gives Emma a nod as she passes, though she doesn’t miss the meaningful look shot Connor’s way either.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

She piles a plate with food and sits at the kitchen island, trying not to think about how everyone else can flutter in and out but that she won’t be going anywhere else today.

Connor brings over two black coffees.

He sits right next to her. Their arms touch.

It is fine.

He observes her for a few moments as she begins to shovel down food -- a familiar tradition. She is more hungry than she expects. “May I ask a few perhaps stupid questions?”

“Please do,” she says around a mouthful of bacon. “I’m tired of embarrassing myself.”

“First...why are you embarrassed?” His voice is straightforward, but his forehead creases in thought. She can see his hands tighten around his mug. “I’ve noticed you’ve been slightly on edge since you’ve woken up and it got worse when we saw Markus and the others. Do you not want people to know about us?”

“What? No! It’s not that,” she says quickly, looking to him in concern. “I’m--”

She taps the plate a few times with her fork, sorting through the thoughts. “...I’m not...I haven’t…” She sighs, cursing her fucking brain. “I’m bad at letting people see the...inside me. You know. And you walking around, it feels like a part of my heart is suddenly right there where everyone can see it.”

God, talking about this...what would people think? Would they think she was a freak? Someone who was taking advantage of him?

Explaining this to her aunt and uncle was gonna be a...thing.

“I understand your metaphor,” he says. “You are much more fragile than me and...I have not enjoyed our separations for some time.” He tilts his head, watching her. “You fear the...vulnerability as well?”

She looks at her plate. “Something like that.” She pokes an egg around with the fork. “It’s inside business. You know? It hurts bad enough dealing with shit on your own. I don’t need everyone else to be looking...and judging…”

He lays a gentle hand on her wrist. “The thoughts of others have no impact on your value to me, and I know that it's the same for you, underneath all that frowning.” A smile.

His faith in her makes her insides itch. She can practically hear Ryker saying it. Stop being such a little burr. “You’re my Con,” she says quietly. He squeezes her wrist, thumb against the back of her hand. “What’s your other question?”

“Will this...” He gestures between them. “...relationship move at a proper speed for you?”

She squints at him, setting her fork down with a clank. “What does that mean?”

He purses his lips together a moment. “I have...seen enough ‘rom coms’ to know that often the next step in this sort of thing is something that I am not...equipped...for. I can’t even eat a proper meal with you, much less...”

His eyes dance askance in implication and her whole insides flip in place. She leans wholly against him, earlier discomfort forgotten. "I don't want that from you, darlin’. I mean. Not if you aren’t ready or interested in that. I just want..." Her eyes can't settle. "I just want to be with you. Whatever that means."

He looks at her...

“Call me that again,” he says.

She blinks, feeling her face flush. She hadn’t even thought! He struggled so much with Con...

“Darling?”

He sits there with a dumb smile on his face for a good five seconds, looking at the table.

Fuck. She was so doomed.

--

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: ryker im alive

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im sorry. Really. I know...i’m like the worst friend of all time.

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: but everything is both awful and the best at the same time all at once and its crazy, life is crazy, what are emotions and also im dying.

[10:32 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im...a little confused actually!

[10:33 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: i hope you’re okay. I hope everyone’s okay.

[10:33 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Where are you? You don't exactly sound the most sane right now.

[10:34 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Too late. I’m already calling a cab. Tell me or you’re paying.

[10:34 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: Ryker!!!! The snow!? That wasn’t a request to come over!!

[10:36 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: oh my god, frick you, i just got the taxi notification. Sending location

[10:36 a.m.] lil.lion.lady74: insane, blondie. Insane. Guess i better tell north

[10:37 a.m.] RYKER.WR600: Nice try. But you can’t stop me now.

--

Connor catches Hank out at the Chicken Feed. Even with the snow shining blinding white on the streets, the place is still open (having only re-opened to business recently) and Hank still makes the trek.

It is a charming bit of normalcy in a series of very un-normal days.

Hank waves to him as he steps out of the taxi.

“You’re not on duty today, I goddamn asked,” Hank says as he approaches. “And before you ask, no, there’s been no sign of him anywhere yet.”

“I am functional, Hank. I already checked the reports.” Connor smiles.

Hank just shakes his head. He does not say fucking androids but the thought seems implied nonetheless -- even if Connor catches the way relief eases some of the man’s wrinkles.

“No hospitals...nothing,” Hank says in disbelief. “I kind of hope we find him dead on the street.”

“It is deeply unlikely that we will be that lucky.” Connor looks at the small metal table. “Call it a hunch.”

Hank observes him over his hamburger.

“You ever think of quitting this gig, Con? Nice boy like you.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “What would you do without me?”

“You have evolved into a bit of a snarky asshole, but I don’t think that’s entirely your fault.” A flicker of a smirk. “I mean...I dunno. I guess I’m still...” Hank looks down at his meal and sighs deeply. “I hated seeing you like that.”

Connor looks at the table. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Hank nods slowly, taking him in with a long, analyzing stare. “Your girl talking to you again yet?”

Connor narrows his eyes at the moniker. “We...yes…I suppose she is ‘my girl.’ Though I still don’t like that term.”

Hank puts his burger down. Connor watches realization dawn on Hank’s face. “Holy shit.”

Connor raises both eyebrows this time.

“Goddamnit,” Hank cusses, but he’s smiling. “You couldn’t have waited to get mortally wounded for another month? Now I owe Chris $20.”

Connor tilts his head. “...you what, Lieutenant?”

“We had a bet going--you know what, nevermind, you’re not gonna like it.”

“You told me to tell her the truth!”

“When do you ever actually listen to me?” Hank says. But he’s laughing. Connor realizes: He might even be proud.

---

Hank settles into his car with a huff before he turns fully to Connor in the passenger’s seat. Bald-faced concern flashed in the man’s eyes. “You’re really doing alright? Most officers I know need a couple days after nearly getting killed on the job.”

“What is it you once said? It is a process?”

“I mighta said that.”

“It is a process. And working is mine.”

Hank nods, looking at the road, starting up the car. “It’ll be nice to have you around the house for a few minutes, anyway. Sumo misses you like crazy.”

Connor stares out the windshield. That was Hank for ‘I also miss you, dumbass.’

They drive down the road in companionable silence.

“There is one detail I can’t shake,” Connor says.

“The picture.”

Of course Hank knows. “Yes. It was in a file that did not even match her name.”

“Yeah. That messed me up, too.”

“And the way he acted like...he knows her.”

“I read your report.” A pause. “Did you ask her about it?”

Connor looks down. “I don’t think she remembers what it is that he wants. I did not want to burden her with that.”

“I hate to say it,” Hank says, sighing, “but you might have to. Maybe her family. She’s got an aunt and uncle out here, doesn’t she?”

“She does. They have been purposefully kept out of the loop. For their sake...and for Emma’s.”

Hank looks at him. “I know, Con. But we’re kind of past the point of niceties, here.” A flicker of some strange amusement. “Knowing you, she’s kind of my girl now, too.”

---

Emma stares at her friend, rolling into the house in their wheelchair completely bundled up and shining with melting snow. A dark blue scarf conceals their pale hair and face so that only their light blue eyes peek out. Their hands are thickly gloved and multiple blankets are wrapped around their lap and remaining leg. She wants to be mad about it. North stands by, arms crossed, face stony.

“Hey,” Ryker says, muffled by the scarf, clearly shaking from the cold.

And then she remembers androids don’t feel the cold. And taxis were no longer allowed to casually move up and down this street, meaning they probably had to roll all the way down the street...

“Fuck you,” she says weakly before pulling them into a tight, tight hug. “You idiot. You hate the snow so much, I wouldn’t ask this of you.”

“You haven’t called in weeks. I know you weren’t really allowed to, but still.”

Emma pulls back. Ryker begins peeling off the many layers of scarf and it strikes her -- they look near tears. Perhaps from the windburn, but perhaps...

“You didn’t have to come out to the Speaker’s House.”

“Nope, I had to,” they say, seemingly trying to talk over the scary reminder that this is the house of the Speaker for the Androids. “You look exhausted,” they press instead. “What’s going on?”

“A lot, Blondie! And now you’re in the middle of it.” She sighs, absentmindedly rearranging the blankets on their lap. “Come on. Let’s get you a warm mug.”

North stands by, watching unreadably as Emma directs Ryker toward the kitchen. They wheel off with shaking fingers.

“Sorry,” Emma whispers. “I didn’t think they--”

“It’s fine,” North says, casting her gaze away. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” A pause. “Who are they?”

Emma looks after them into the kitchen. “Another stupid idiot that let me into their life,” she mutters.

And that’s how she ends up on a couch, hands wrapped around a hot cocoa mug as she gets completely owned by her best friend.

Ryker brings the cocoa mug up to their nose, inspecting it as if they wish they could take a sip of it.  “So you finally admitted it,” they say, a weary sort of relief in their voice.

Emma squints. “Just say what you wanna say.”

Ryker makes a snorty-laugh sound. “Like I haven’t from the beginning!” They shake their head. “You’ve been dancing around him like an idiot for months. A well meaning idiot, but still.” Emma can’t help but smirk a little at this call-out, and Ryker continues unabashed. “You asked him to dinner, multiple times, and he said yes, multiple times. Even though he’s an android and can’t, you know, eat.And then you both show up at my house…” They pause for a moment, considering. “Don’t get me wrong, he was still very much the ex-hunter, current cop-slash-bodyguard of rumor. But sometimes, when he looked at you … I mean, even Chase could see it, and you know that he’s not necessarily the most observant.”

Emma sips her drink, looking away at this mention of Ryker’s roommate/another friend. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Ryker leans forward. “I did. Multiple times.”

“Yeah.” Emma sets her mug down and stares out one of the beautiful windows of the Manfred Mansion. “Sounds about right.”

She watches the snow lightly fall from the trees in the garden and thinks about what it means to feel rooted somewhere. What it means to stay. What it means to belong.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ryker asks, for maybe the fifth time.

She closes her eyes against the brightness of the light. “There’s just...there’s been a lot. All at once. These past weeks, I’ve felt so stupidly alone but...I’m just...awful at remembering how to not be that way.”

She looks to her friend, one of the few in her life, one of the few she could damn count on even though she probably didn’t deserve them, either. She barged into their life (like she did many of the androids in this city). She thought they’d been attacked and that she’d have to call the police on whoever tore their leg off but it was an older wound from a different time, even in March.

She offered to walk them home because she felt adrift and Ryker offered to help with a few jobs by providing company and minor support. And maybe they did it all out of fear at first, fear of this blustering human who stomped down streets in big boots. Maybe they didn’t understand at the time. But now…

They watch her intently, in that clear-eyed way only androids can, and she knows they can see parts of her that even she tries not to look at.

And that’s when it hits her: She’s not leaving Detroit anytime soon.

“You know I love you, right?” she asks, voice quiet. She has to be honest. There’s no more room for hiding things. “Even though I’m an idiot who never calls and who yells all the time...you know…”

They reach out and touch Emma’s hand. “Yeah, I do,” they say, voice even and measured. “And you know that I love you and that I would really prefer it if you kept me in the loop on what’s going on in your life. Beyond but also including world-ending events like your boyfriend almost dying. I want to help, Emma. But you have to talk to me. Or if not me, then someone, anyone. Stop trying to do it by yourself.”

Emma has to lean back a little bit, looking away.

“Okay, alright. Yeah. The universe is yelling at full force.”

“We met in the spring,” Ryker says, straightforward and true as the steel of a trowel. “You came to Detroit in the spring. You know, hope, rebirth, renewal, all that great stuff?” A slight smile, off center but honest. “It’s been yelling at you since the beginning.”

---

[9:36 p.m.] CONNOR.RK800.ANDERSON: Where are you?

[9:37 p.m.] lil.lion.lady74: I Have Run Away, Goodbye Fool

[9:37 p.m.] lil.lion.lady74: im in the library, get over here

In the next instant, she hears the door chime: Welcome, Connor Anderson.

It takes quite literally all of her willpower but she does not leave to greet him at the door. She stands up and brushes her old flannel down, but she has standards. She is gonna hold herself to them and not run to greet him like a puppy.

“Did you know,” she says, as soon as Connor enters the room, smiling with a tenderness that almost embarasses her, “that we are apparently the last people to know we’re a thing?”

“Apparently so” he says, brushing her hair away and placing his hands along her shoulders and neck as soon as he reaches her. His voice softens. “I’m glad to see you.”

“It was only one day.” But she grins, leaning lightly into one of his hands. “I spent most of mine getting my ass handed back to me by Ryker.”

He tilts his head, watching her face in that open way he did, though his chin twitches. “I went through something similar with Hank. Sumo says hello.”

He frowns ever so slightly. Unusual following comments regarding Sumo. She knocks her knuckles lightly against his chest. “You okay?”

His eyes dart away. He stands straight and crosses his arms in thought. They stand close enough that his forearms brush her middle.

“Do you aunt or uncle know much about your youth?” he asks, eyes shifting back to her face.

She blinks. “Nothing I don’t know, probably. We didn’t visit a whole bunch when I was young. Why?”

But she knows why. There’s only ever one thing on his mind these days.

She steps back to give him some space to work through whatever it is he needs to work through before he can really let go of this tonight.

“Abel had a picture of you,” he says before she can get back to the sofa. “As a young girl. No older than six, as if from an old file or passport. Very simple.”

She blanches. That old feeling. Like something’s catching up.

“You looked sad,” he says.

She turns back to look at him. His brow furrows in that old, concerned way.

“He...probably just had something from my foster care program,” she says in comfort. To him and herself. “You said he was really good at hacking, right?”

Connor looks at the floor.

“We haven’t really talked about what happened,” she says, fully turning toward him, watching him carefully. “Did you want to?”

He’s really struggling to work through this, she realizes. It’s taking him much longer than usual to form responses.

“He said...strange things.” He starts toward her at this, though his eyes don’t quite reach her face. “He acted like he knows everything about you. But he doesn’t.”

He reaches for her arms, laying his hands gently on her wrists.

“I know you,” he says.

She scans his expression -- the way his jaw tightens, even as his eyes turn soft and dark. She reaches a thumb up to touch the single line of wrinkles forming just above the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck that guy,” she says quietly. She presses and smooths the lines of tension away. “I’ve literally never seen him before in my life. Before now. He doesn’t know shit about me. You…” She pokes him on the nose. “...know more than you should.”

She smiles at him and finally tension begins to seep out of his body. He leans forward and kisses her forehead, then her nose, and then her mouth. He pulls her in by her hands, lacing his fingers through hers, stifling a growly sigh. Her whole body near spasms at his welcome warmth returning to her once again. But she pulls back with a laugh, not quite ready to shamelessly make out in Markus’ library, even if the idea doesn’t sound so bad...

“That is my job,” he says against her lips. He squeezes her fingers.

“And now you are off work.” Her voice is remarkably stable all things considered. “Grab a book or something. Let’s relax.”

“Actually…” He looks off as if remembering something. “Please sit, if you don’t mind. I’ll be right back.”

So she flops down on the sofa to wait a few moments before he returns bearing one of Hank’s old books. Ender’s Game.

“Oh, you read my mind,” she says, laughing a little, though she feels a strange pang of sadness. That they had the same idea is charming -- but that it likely spawned from his distress is not. She pats the sofa next to her.

He sits, but not without a light tug on her right arm. “Come closer,” he whispers.

She grins through the thrill that warps through her. He sits with his back on the far arm and pulls her in between his legs so her back is against his chest and his head can lay on her shoulder. His arms wrap around her middle.

“I like when you're close to me like this,” he says. “I feel...grounded.”

“Grounded,” she ponders, settling against him. He kisses her temple. “Yeah. Me, too.”

It’s wild to think that this is how her vagabond days end: sitting with a being who was barely a thought in someone’s head little over a year ago, reading a book that was older than them both combined, in a house that’s seen more change in its strange life than she could even imagine. But she starts to read, exactly like that, holding herself against him so he doesn’t feel like he’s flying off the face of the earth -- and so that she could remember what roots feel like after so many dry years.

They were nearing the final third when they last left off. A young boy, suffering in isolation, playing ruthless games set to test his mettle, called to push his friends and himself to their breaking points for what seems to be no reason. He wants nothing more than to break free and he decides he will sacrifice everything to make that happen. He aims his missile at the planet of his enemy, and he fires, hoping the people testing him will find him too crazy to continue.

But then, it turns out, the game is real -- and the young boy has done exactly what everyone wanted. Their enemy is dead. Destroyed in a single, fell swoop.

Connor tenses up around her when she finishes that chapter. “We have to finish it now,” he says.

He has to know…

And so they read, about freedom and what it means, in the house of the Speaker of the Androids. She doesn’t realize she’s whispering until her voice chokes up around the words said by Ender’s sister, the beloved Valentine, as they seek to leave Earth forever.

"Welcome to the human race. Nobody controls his own life, Ender. The best you can do is choose to fill the roles given you by good people -- by people who love you."

[curedeity]

 Gasher's Repose

Summary: Madoka does not battle, she has many other ways to pass the time though. And sometimes, she passes the time together.

   Madoka wouldn’t call her engineering a hobby. At this point, it was more a prospective career. She still enjoyed doing it, but she could have fun doing more than a singular thing. And having a wide range of talents and interests was quite important.

    Everyone wanted to participate in Battle Bladers. It was no surprise, they were all very competitive, and given the danger of the Dark Nebula organization, they’d want as many people they knew competing in the tournament as possible.

    But that didn’t mean Madoka didn’t have objections to it.

    Well, not objections so much as stipulations.

    “Does this look good?” Kenta frowned as he flipped over the piece of chicken he was grilling under Madoka’s watchful eye. If Kenta was going to be traveling alone (because he was too stubborn to have Gingka babysit him) she sure as hell wasn’t going to be letting him eat dogshit the entire time.

    “Hm…” Madoka inspected the piece of meat. “5 more minutes and we’ll check it again. It should be lighter.”

    Kenta sighed and slipped the piece back over letting it sizzle in the pan. He had agreed enthusiastically to the lessons, as Kenta was prone to do. His eagerness was always welcome, but Madoka could tell that the amount of time she had kept him cooking was starting to grate on even him.

    It had started with her teaching him a simple recipe for pancakes, then how to properly prepare veggies, and now onto how to cook meat. 

    “When’d you learn to cook Madoka?” Kenta asked absent-mindedly as he kept his eyes on the chicken.

    Madoka paused, the memory coming to her with frightening yet relieving ease. “Well my grandma showed me a few recipes, she really loved to cook,” Madoka reminisced, rustling through her shelves. “But I was pretty young so I didn’t learn much, it was only later that- Aha!-” Madoka pulled a book out of the mess. “-She gave me this family recipe book and I learned a lot from following the instructions in it.”

    She passed the book to Kenta, who paged through it carefully. It was decorated with simple illustrations, and a few photos that Madoka believed her grandmother had taken. The pages were worn down from the constant use Madoka put it through, and the pages yellowed with age.

    “Hey, you’ve made us this before!” Kenta said, his voice rising excitedly into an almost yell as he pointed at a cake recipe. Madoka leaned over his shoulder, nodding. 

    “That’s one of my favorite sweets to make.” Grandma had used to make it on her birthday, chocolate peanut butter cake topped with caramel coated nuts. That cake was the reason Madoka thanked biology every day for not giving her a peanut allergy.

    “It’s one of my favorites to eat,” Kenta mumbled, and Madoka hid her giggle as a clearing of the throat.

    “All the recipes in there are very good, tried and tested through my family for generations,” Madoka winked. “You can use the book any time if you want to try cooking something new, even I haven’t gone through everything yet.”

    “There’s just so much, how am I going to learn to cook this all?” Kenta continued to flip through the book, only this time with a mounting horror.

    Madoka hummed, quickly trying to think of words to dispel her young friend’s fears. “Well, most of it is just about learning the basics. Like most things, baking is just a combination of elements. I’m hoping to teach you some simple elements so you can apply them while you travel.”

    Kenta nodded. Madoka could remember as a child how daunting that same cookbook had seemed, but that was so distant now. 

    Madoka laid her hand on Kenta’s shoulder, smiling down at him. “You’re doing great,” She praised. Kenta reacted well to compliments, and it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve some. He had patiently done what Madoka asked, and he was learning well.

    Kenta immediately smiled. “Thanks Madoka!” He chirped.

    Cooking was one of Madoka’s passions. A survival skill, but also a way to connect with others. She had learned so much about her family from this cookbook and now… well now she had shared it with Gingka and Kenta.

    It was really fun.

    Madoka sniffed, staving off happy tears. Her kitchen smelled of spice… and smoke.

    “Fuc-dge!” Madoka swore, spinning around as she and Kenta frantically turned off the stove and tried to salvage the chicken.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    She cleaned everyone’s beys. Scanned them once more and updated the files she’d had on them. Cleaned her tools. Had her leftover pieces ready to be swapped in if a worse scenario happened during their next tournament battle. 

    Was there really nothing left to do?

    Her eyes roved over the supply case once again, and another time. Maybe she should make them shine, just a bit more.

    “No, bad Madoka,” She admonished her workaholic self, slapping the back of her palm lightly. “Just relax.” There was no more work left to do, and at this point all she’d be doing would be stressing herself out more. 

    Pulling out her computer, she hovered the cursor around, chewing her lip. There was still a while before night would truly set in, it was too early to sleep with the last rays of the sun still casting light. She didn’t really want to play a visual novel right now, too much reading. Finally, she decided upon a racing game, opening it up to the quiet sound effect of an engine revving.

    Madoka smirked as she joined a group. The race track was slowly decided, a beginner’s course. Shame, she had voted for the speed track, it had some rather unique mechanics she had learned to abuse.

    Coding was a skill that would take people years to learn. It was a slow process of building up equations and scripts until something came of it. Madoka was not a coder. Madoka had, however, gone into the files of some of her favorite games and maybe messed around with them a bit, just to find out exactly how the games worked.

    Needless to say, she knew how to play.

    Winning the first round was easy, as was the second and third. It felt cheap, in a way, to be playing against people who likely weren’t as experienced as her. But she didn’t have anyone else to challenge, and it’s not like losing should rob the game of its fun.

    Besides, they seemed to be enjoying ganging up on her.

    It felt like so long ago that she had met her new friends, when in reality it was only a year. In that year, however, she had become quite used to being startled. That’s why she didn’t even blink when Yu barged into her room, pulling Masamune behind, and flopped down on the bed beside her.

    “Madoka,” Yu whined, tugging at her arm. “I’m bored,”

    Yu was a very talented blader, Madoka had nothing but respect for his skill, her brain still echoing the time he had beaten Gingka. Yu was also a small brat.

    “And?” Madoka hummed, lapping one of the players that had gotten stuck in a sticky trap.

    “Masamune won’t play with me, he keeps saying he’s too busy.” Madoka could hear the pout in Yu’s words. She had been spending too much damn time with this kid to be able to recognize it this easily.

    “Well, when you’re the world’s number one blader, you have to keep practicing all the time,” Masamune scoffed. Oh, to have an ego that large, Madoka wished she knew the feeling.

    “Hm, you didn’t seem that busy yesterday when you were crying over a romcom, surely you can spend some time entertaining Yu,” Madoka pointed out. 

    Masamune spluttered, Yu yelled, “I wasn’t crying!” “I don’t need to be babysitted!”

    Madoka passed the finish line and logged out of the server, watching the tourney she had just destroyed get added to her ever increasing win rate, Then she leveled the two with the driest glare she, tiredly, could muster. Masamune reeled backwards, realizing his mistake, and Yu slammed his mouth shut.

    Really, this wasn’t abnormal or even a shock. They were all teenagers, with small attention spans and easily bruised egos. It was almost every day that an argument would break out over what to spend the day doing. Honestly, it seemed like the only thing they could agree on most of the time was beybattles.

    “How about this, I teach you both to play a racing game?” Madoka offered, pulling out some extra controllers she had and passing them off.

    Yu brightened immediately. “Oh yippee! Masamune, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

    “Language,” Madoka chastised as she synced the controllers in.

    “I’m number one, there’s absolutely no way I’m losing!”

    Madoka would never beat either of these two in a beybattle. This was not a problem for her, and she had no issues admitting it. Both were talented in their sport, and she respected that.

    But it did feel good to lap them in every single game they played.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Madoka didn’t take up new hobbies often. This was more from a lack of time to continue even her old ones than lack of interest. Now, stuck travelling so often, she ended up having more time on her hands than she even knew what to do with.

    She had to say, she never would’ve imagined herself learning to knit, yet here she was with a tutorial video opened in front of her.

    “I think you’re casting them on wrong,” Tsubasa frowned as he glanced between her tangled mess and the instructions. He was having his own problems, but had luckily made it through the casting stage.

    That didn’t mean he knew how to explain how he’d done it, Madoka was frustratingly coming to realize.

    “What are sides even? What are directions?” She mourned as she unknotted her abomination.

    Tsubasa shrugged, getting started on his second, lumpy and uneven row.

    It had been agreed upon by the entire time that they’d switch seats every time they traveled. As well as some of them could get along, if any of them spent too much time around the same single other person, blood would be shed.

    This time, it was Tsubasa’s and Madoka’s turn to hang out, while the other three snored away across the aisle. 

    “Maybe crochet is easier,” Madoka grouched.

    “I would fear trying to do anything like this with only a single needle,” Tsubasa replied gravely, his gaze full of fear as he pulled through another stitch.

    Madoka frowned, “I’m pretty sure crochet is more complicated than that.” It would have to be, wouldn’t it?

    Tsubasa shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.” And Madoka couldn’t disagree with that statement.

    They had both decided to start easily. Madoka would be making a new scarf for Gingka. While in Russia, she had learned that his normal scarf, with all it’s length, had no volume or actual protection against the cold. It was an insult to scarves that she intended to rectify. Tsubasa was planning a small pouch to replace the old one on his belt, though she suspected he’d be better off buying a new one until he got the hang of knitting.

    Not that she could say any better for herself…

    “I’m going to be giving Gingka the lumpiest, most lopsided scarf in existence,” Madoka announced, finally finishing casting on. Yes her yarn had begun to fray, but at least it was on the needle now!

    “If it truly looks that awful, you could always give it to Director Ryo,” Tsubasa deadpanned.

    Madoka saw her opportunity and swooped in for the kill. “Unlike you, Director Ryo hasn’t practically adopted me yet, so the gift really would be coming out of nowhere.” Madoka… honestly didn’t know that much about Tsubasa, or many of her friends. It was always nice in moments like these to tease them about what she did know.

    Tsubasa spluttered and Madoka set down her knitting so she could cover up her laughs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Being a mechanic for beys, Madoka really should’ve known more about astrology. It was always strange to remember that even Gingka knew more about constellations than she did. She wasn’t completely ignorant, but comparatively she was lacking.

    Yuki had lived his whole life revolved around the stars, learning to draw lines from brilliant dot to bright light every night. He was an actual expert among their group, and on the nights they camped out he proved it unintentionally.

    It didn’t take much to convince him to set-up a telescope at the hotel they’d be staying at for a few days.

    “So, the fall constellations should be out right now, do you know which ones those are Ms. Madoka?” Yuki asked, fiddling with the telescope as he tried to angle it just right. 

    “Yep, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a refresher,” Madoka smiled at the younger boy. 

    Yuki nodded, launching into an explanation Madoka only understood half of, because at some point he’d decided to go into the science behind the expansion of stars. It was quite interesting though, listening with one half of her brain, and looking up towards the tapestry of the sky with the other.

    He was so excited, and Madoka let herself get swallowed in that enjoyment.