#need for speed 2 se

[blogquantumreality]

[depression-napping]

Topics of Vincent

(Your resident translator was on a plane and had plenty of time to do some work so here we go with the second page of his profile ❤️)

This is long so content is under the cut

1) 身体に秘めたる魔獣の因子

The factor of the magical beasts hidden in his body

ヴィンセントはその体内に魔獣の因子を宿しており、ガリアンビーストに変身する能力を持つ。変身後は、俊敏さと力強さを兼ね備えた、文字どおり人間離れした動きが可能となる一方で、理性を失って暴走するため、肉体にはかなりの負荷がかかってしまう模様。ヴィンセントが睡眠に多くの時間を割くのは、特殊な体質のせいなのかもしれない。

Because of the factor that Vincent houses magical beasts within his body, he has the ability to transform into Galian Beast. After transforming, he gains the ability to move with both speed and strength that is literally superhuman. At the same time, his rational mind gives way to wild rampaging, and it seems to take quite a toll on his body. The fact that Vincent spares a lot of time sleeping may be due to the peculiar nature of his physical make-up.

2) 新しめの機械には弱い？

Is he bad with new technology?

ヴィンセントは、電源が入っていないカードリーダーを故障していると思い込み、起動させられずに四苦八苦*するなど、機械のあつかいには不慣れな様子を見せる。とはいえ、機械全般にわけではなく、タイニーブロンコに搭載された旧式の無線機は難なく使いこなしており、どちらかといえば古めの機械のほうがなじみがあるようだ。

Vincent has the mistaken impression that the card reader doesn’t work as it’s lacking a power source, and the device not activating seems to cause him all manner of distress*. [Please see the footnote this phrase is amazing] It seems he is inexperienced with handling such devices. Even so, it doesn’t mean he is generally bad with all technology per se, as he was able to easily handle the wireless radio on the Tiny Bronco. That is to say, he seems to be more familiar with older machines.

(*I just want to talk about this phrase 四苦八苦. It almost sent me into hysterics. It’s pronounced “shikuhakku” and it means great distress, but literally translates to “four and eight kinds of suffering.” It’s another idiomatic expression with Buddhist roots that refers to “birth, old age, disease, death, parting from loved ones, meeting disliked ones, not getting what one seeks,” and so on. Basically a summary of his life so far, minus the old age. But the fact that they used this term specifically to talk about his distress at newfangled technology just sent me. Literally you can read this as “modern technology causes him four and eight kinds of suffering.” Like the rest of what he’s gone through isn’t 四苦八苦? But the card reader not working is. I’m dead ya’ll. Like. Vincent needs this on a shirt. I need this on a shirt.)

3) Original VII Playback (Vincent Summary)

仲間に加えるかどうかを任意で選べるキャラクターながら、セフィロスや宝条と深い因縁があり、物語の背景を知るうえでは重要な役どころだった。関連作品のひとつ「Dirge of Cerberus -FFVII-」では主人公を務める。

The player can choose whether to befriend Vincent as he is an optional character. Since he has a deep connection to Sephiroth and Hojo, viewed in the context of the game’s background story, the role he plays is essential. He takes on the role of the main character in the related game, Dirge of Cerberus.

「フ… 悪夢にうなされる長き眠りこそ

私に与えられたつぐないの時間」

“Hmph… my long, nightmare-laden sleep has given me time to atone…”

(Picture captions)

追い詰められると、咆哮とともに赤黒いオーラをまとい、凶暴性さらに増す。

When pushed to the wall, with a loud roar, clad in a dark red aura, his savage nature increases further.

壊れた思ったものを叩いたり振ったりして直そうとするあたりは、どことなく前世代的。

When he tries to fix something he thought was broken by hitting and shaking it, somehow it seems like he’s from another generation.

[miss-musings]

When I say S3 Crosshair was speed-running Hunter’s Dad arc from S1-2, this is what I’m talking about:

They’re the only CF99 members Omega has a one-on-one conversation with in 1.01 "Aftermath"

Both help her escape danger at an evil cloning facility, thanks to unseen assistance from Nala Se (1.01 and 3.03)

Both make a choice to go back for her instead of securing their own freedom (1.01 and 3.04)

Both initially try to send her away, reasoning she'll be better off without them in her lives (1.02 and 1.15)

Both initially tell her to stay away from them for her own sake, but she persists and eventually wins them over (1.01 and 3.01)

Both are mistaken as her dad by other characters (2.13 and 3.04)

Due to Omega's influence/impact on their lives, both of them become open to trying new things. For Hunter, it's things like treasure-hunting and settling down on Pabu. (2.05 and 2.13) For Crosshair, it's things like bribing/hustling people instead of shooting them, and meditating for peace of mind. (3.04 and 3.08)

In S1, Hunter and Omega average one meaningful one-on-one conversation per episode. In S3, Crosshair and Omega average one meaningful one-on-one conversation per episode.

Parallel scenes of her copying their body language, facial expressions and personal quirks (1.01 and 3.06)

Parallel scenes of them checking on her physical and emotional well-being after she’s been in danger (1.09 and 3.07)

Parallel scenes of them watching helplessly as Omega is taken away by an Imperial ship (2.16 and 3.11)

Parallel scenes of Hemlock torturing them after they tried to protect Omega (2.14 and 3.15). FUN FACT: Hunter and Crosshair are the only two CF99 members Hemlock ever talks to.

Parallel scenes of Omega convincing them to let her endanger herself for the greater mission of finding Tantiss: “I need to do this, Hunter” (3.05) VS. “Focus on the bigger mission, Crosshair.” (3.11) In both cases, they are initially unwilling to go along with her plan bc they fear for her safety, but they both ultimately agree to support her brave and selfless decision.

Parallel scenes of Omega purposely endangering herself by attacking her captor, but she has complete confidence that Hunter and Crosshair will save her in 2.11 and 3.15, respectively.

Parallel scenes of Omega absolutely gagging them: “Why not? Isn’t that what soldiers do?” (1.12) VS. “I never gave up on you, did I?” (3.09) FUN FACT: Hunter and Crosshair are even sitting in the same seat on the Marauder in both scenes!!

(UPDATE:) As someone else pointed out here, parallel scenes/lines of them aiming their guns at someone threatening to take Omega away and saying, “Not happening.” (1.13 and 3.09)

Parallel lines like: “You’re wasting your time — they’ll never turn her over” VS. “Omega’s not going anywhere with you.” (2.14 and 2.16)

Hunter when he tries to send Omega with Cut and Suu: “You have to go, Omega. It’s for your own good.” VS. Crosshair when he tries to have her captured and sent off Kamino: “It’s for her own good, and yours.” (1.02 and 1.15)

Hunter when Cad Bane is after her: “Omega, get behind me.” (1.08) VS. Crosshair when CX-2 and Imperial troopers are after her: “Stick by my side and stay down.” (3.07)

Hunter telling the others to leave him on Daro and Omega protesting in 1.14 VS. Crosshair telling the others to leave while he fights CX-2 and Omega protesting in 3.07. (And, in both cases, she literally had to be pulled away by other “co-parent” in Echo and Hunter, respectively.)

Hunter made a “deal with the devil” in the Devaronian matriarch to try to find Omega in 3.02. Then Crosshair made a deal with a different type of devil in Rampart to find her in 3.12-3.13. (And they were both 1,000% done with their respective devils: “We heard your syndicate had the connections needed to find the Imperials’ base, and since we’ve upheld our end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.” VS “We got you off the planet, now tell us where Tantiss is.”)

The first time Hunter ever fully hugs Omega is in 3.04, after she escapes Tantiss the first time. (To clarify: she had hugged him a few times before, but he hadn't really hugged her back.) VS. The first time Crosshair ever hugs Omega is in 3.15 after she escapes Tantiss the second time.

Crosshair telling Hunter in 3.05, "You let Omega be taken to Tantiss. She went through what she did because you failed" ... only for Crosshair to be in the EXACT same situation himself later in S3.

Also, let’s never forget about the moment in 3.07 when Crosshair went full Helicopter Parent™️, and Omega said, “You’re as bad as Hunter!” Like, even Omega thought Crosshair was turning into a dad! 😂

Also, after he fully reintegrates into the family at the end of 3.05, Crosshair basically becomes Hunter's "co-parent."

There are several scenes where they are paired together to talk about Omega's safety or something, while Wrecker is elsewhere. (And even when Wrecker is there, the shots tend to focus more on Hunter and Crosshair, like when they find Batcher barking on the beach in 3.09.)

Of course, this all culminates in the final confrontation with Hemlock on the bridge. I don't think Hunter or Crosshair could've navigated that situation alone, especially given their injuries and how high-stakes it was. They HAD to do it together, which has been their approach since 3.05: "Not alone. We'll do it together."

(UPDATE: I go over some of these points more in my CrossDad Episode Rankings post. Give it a read, if you haven’t already!)

[gainahan]

naruto driving headcanons

Naruto - definitely not licensed. debatable whether he actually knows which one is the brake pedal. as long as Sakura is alive he will not be allowed behind the wheel of a car. unknowable/10

Sasuke - also not technically licensed, but all things considered a pretty decent driver. probably started driving well before he was legally old enough to. 7.5/10

Sakura - road rage extraordinaire. swears up and down she goes the speed limit but in truth goes at minimum 10 over. “speed limit is a suggestion” more like speed limit is a challenge. at the very least she gets them where they need to go. 5.5/10

Sai - never learned to drive until he met team 7. between Naruto and Sakura’s influences, he won’t be getting licensed for at least the next 6 years. good luck/10

Shikamaru - truly cannot be arsed. if asked to drive he claims to not have a license, but he definitely does. another unknowable/10 but I like to think in a pinch he’d be pretty good at it.

Choji - reliable driver but has a tendency to be late. gets stressed out when he has more than a few passengers. 6/10

Ino - wants to be a passenger princess soo badly. unfortunately for her, she’s the best on her team. being good at driving is her curse. woefully, 10/10

Kiba - team 8’s designated driver, believe it or not. he is…not good at it, per se, but better than the rest of them. having two sets of eyes on the road tends to help. 6.5/10

Hinata - gets so stressed out she forgets how to brake. she’ll be white knuckling the wheel going 50 in a residential while her passengers pray for their lives in the backseat. -2/10 her dad’s insurance is through the roof

Shino - morally opposed to driving. he hasn’t confirmed why but the running theory is that a swarm of his bugs faceplanted into the windshield once and traumatized him. unknowable/10

Neji - doesn’t believe in right-of-way. refuses to use his mirrors. whole heartedly believes he is god’s gift to the interstate. by some miracle has never gotten into a crash, but if any of his passengers are sensible people he is banned from the wheel. 0/10

Tenten - makes Sakura’s road rage look like divinely inspired patience. honestly she’s not even mad she just enjoys it. has to be actively talked down from brake checking people. banned from the wheel 0/10

Lee - while technically a perfect driver (obeys every speed limit, never makes an illegal turn, maneuvers like butter), having him in the front seat is such an intolerable experience he’s also banned from the wheel. those unfortunate enough to have witnessed it don’t speak of their experience, but rumors involve something along the lines of a custom-made Gai inspirational quotes driving playlist. 0/10

Temari - grew up driving her brothers around. Absolutely hates it. when she’s in a car she’s got her feet up on the dashboard and always has the aux. if she were to drive again, 9.5/10

Gaara - an…extremely calm, level headed driver? side effect of RBF is that everyone is always waiting for him to snap and run someone over. he never has. probably listens to calming classical music or something while in traffic jams. 10000/10

Kankuro - I find it funny to believe he’s the actual passenger princess. unknowable/10

[im-a-writer-sometimes]

Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Part 1/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Description: After being snagged from your own universe and put to work in the med bay in the midst of spider society, you catch the notice of one Miguel O’Hara.

Warnings: blood, probably language, ignoring the ATSV worldbuilding for the sake of my silly little plot

A/N: Are there plot holes? Yes. Do I care? Yes, so please don’t bring them up, I might cry. There’s an occasional Spanish interjection from Miguel, but I am not at all a fluent Spanish speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything if so inclined! Translations are at the end. Also, it includes a roundabout ode to my dearest love, Oscar Isaac. If you know, you know.

🕷

Not every anomaly was kept in a cage. Some, like yourself, had made use of your idle hands, hands that for one reason or another, could never again touch your own universe. It had taken some convincing, but after Lyla had heard enough of your requests from the neon red confines of your prison and carried them to whatever faceless spider person led this operation, you’d been let out. Your cage hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had widened a little. If your return to your own reality would cause its inevitable collapse—as you had repeatedly assured it would—then this was more than you could ask.

You made use of your figuratively-shackled hands in the med bay. You’d been a medical student when you’d been stolen from your universe, and you knew enough to patch up the wounds that came through your work station with ease most of the time—sometimes, after skimming a medical textbook and winging it. So far, no one had died on your watch, and you called that a success.

But your confidence, it seemed, may have been overinflated.

When a group of spiders rushed into the med bay with a large, tattered body strung between them, you felt profoundly out of your depth for the first time. But they couldn’t know that, lest you ended up caged once again.

“Put him on the bed,” you instructed. “Stomach down.” They heaved the body onto the bed, and you could make out the navy and red lines of a shredded suit, as well as a mess of brown hair, matted with blood you were hoping wasn’t his own. “Do you know exactly where he’s wounded?” you asked, running hands over the expanses of skin you could see, trying to make out where the various bloodstains were coming from.

“He was sliced along the back,” answered a breathless spider. “Stabbed twice in the abdomen as well.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” you said, to no one in particular, but there were suddenly several sets of hands helping you turn the man over. “You,” you continued, nodding to the spider standing across from you. “Grab a towel and keep pressure on the wounds on his abdomen.”

You conducted as thorough an examination as you could with your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your throat, so many eyes trained on your shaking hands. The man had a few other shallow cuts and bruises, but as the spider had said—the biggest concerns were the slice along his back and the two stab wounds in his stomach.

Several of the spiders lingered as you worked, offering tools and towels and anything you needed to speed up the process. And then, in a half hour that felt like a handful of seconds, your work was done. If you had been asked to recount your actions movement for movement, you’d only be able to offer up a breathless blur of adrenaline and then the sudden empty stillness in the room after you'd managed to stabilize him. 

He was laid face up on a bed, covered by a blanket since you’d had to cut portions of his suit off of him. He couldn’t quite put a pin on his age, but he was handsome. You’d done your best to wash the blood out of his hair, and it fell in half-dry curls over his forehead. The angles of his face were severe, but they were soft, even kind somehow. At least in his sleep.

And then, to your great misfortune, he woke up.

At first it was a fluttering of eyelids, and you stood sharply from your chair, trying to look busy, as if you hadn’t just been sitting there staring at him. And then it was a few quiet groans as he tried to readjust himself. 

“Don’t sit up,” you said at the sight of him trying to push himself into a seated position. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

He just blinked at you. “Who are you?”

“The person who saved your life,” you said, bristled by the gruff, mumbled annoyance in his tone.

He shook his head. “I have enhanced healing, I don’t need anyone to—” He was cut off by his own sharp gasp as he tried to haul himself off the bed. He went still and then avoided your eyes as he slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

“You were saying?” you said, a smile curling your lips. You turned to the counter behind you, pulling a roll of gauze and medical tape from one of the cabinets. “You had a severe laceration on your back. You’re lucky it missed your spinal cord.” You turned towards him, gauze in hand, as you sat and scooted your stool towards the edge of your bed. “And that’s not even mentioning the two stab wounds.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, scooting away at your sudden closeness. 

“Your stab wounds were still bleeding when I finished, so the gauze likely needs changed,” you said. He lifted the blanket from his torso, peeling aside what was left of his suit to find two bandaged wounds, with—as you’d predicted—red-drenched gauze. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t protest as you reached out and began to peel back the tape. After a minute or so of quietly working, he finally spoke again.

“You’re human,” he said.

You smiled down at his abdomen, not pausing your work. “Are enhanced deduction skills part of the wide cache of spider abilities? Because you are remarkably observant.”

You could feel his eyes on your profile, but you didn’t turn to face him, not even when he quietly finished his thought. “You’re the anomaly.”

“I was under the impression there were more than one,” you said, pressing down the last stretch of tape and pulling the blankets back over him.

“You’re the anomaly I let out,” he clarified.

“Ah,” you said, standing and walking to the sink to wash your hands. “So you must be the big man in charge. The one who ordered me to be stolen from my bed.”

“There is much more—”

“I know,” you said, turning back towards him, hands braced behind you on the counter. “It has been explained to me plenty. My father was from another dimension and never should have jumped into mine and knocked up my mom, and I never should have been born.” He watched you as you spoke, scanning your face for any sort of malice, but you merely shrugged. “Wish I could have told my mom that’s why he flaked.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked.

“And who would I be upset at besides him? You?”

The man simply blinked at you, hand mindlessly reaching to brush his abdomen, the expanse of skin you’d just bandaged. The carefully stitched wounds answered the question of any lingering resentment towards your captors.

“It would be natural to hate—your circumstances,” he said eventually.

You turned back towards the counter, quietly putting away your supplies. “You should rest until the end of the week.”

“That’s not—”

“In bed for the next two days, and no missions until the stitches come out.”

“But I have en—”

“Enhanced healing. Believe me, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” you said, finally tuning to face him. “But like it or not, you’re still just as human as I am.”

“I’m only half as human as you are,” he said, and it was the clearest he’d spoken since he’d woken up. At the slight flash of fangs with the lift of his lips, you understood why.

🕷

The next morning, you found him fast asleep where you’d left him. It was more instinct than choice, your gut churning with curiosity, that led you to slowly reach out your hand and pull up the right side of his lip, confirming you hadn’t in fact been hallucinating. He had fangs. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up and caged your wrist before his face as his eyes waned open.

“I have to ask,” you started.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” he said, keeping your wrist in his grip, his voice deadpan, as if he’d answered this question a million times before.

“What are you then?” you asked, pulling your hand from his.

“Half spider.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “A spider bite made you half spider?” you asked, but he simply stared. You could tell by the low drop of his brow that he’d already told you more than he would have liked, so you simply turned away, prepping your space for whatever spiders might come through your station that day.

It turned out to be a slow day. Only two spiders came through, both needing minimal attention, and you sent them on their way about as quickly as they’d turned up. And the whole time, you felt a set of red, half-lidded eyes watching you. You would occasionally slip over to his bed to redress his wounds, answering negative to his questions of leaving. “Bed rest until the end of the day,” you said after the second spider had left. “And then I’ll fit you with some crutches and help you to your room.”

“I don’t need crutches.”

“What you don’t need is that attitude,” you said, lifting your eyes to his. “Or else I’ll send you home without a sucker.”

He tilted his head, entertaining your humor but never cracking a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

He blinked at you as if he was familiar with the name, but all he said was, “Not Doctor Y/n Y/l/n?”

You clicked your tongue. “I was two years from being Dr. Y/l/n.”

He nodded down at his bandaged abdomen. “You seem like a doctor to me.”

“And you don’t seem half spider,” you said. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mister…”

“O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara.”

You nodded and turned back towards your station, beginning to slowly clean up for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you go still. “That you can’t be in your own universe.”

You turned back to look at him, offering a wry tilt of your lips. Not quite a smile. “That’s alright. I imagine you're similarly displaced for the sake of your noble mission. You just had the luxury of choice.”

“Would you have chosen to stay?” he asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice that made his fangs flash from behind his lips. “Knowing your universe was collapsing?”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, eyes narrowing at the sudden malice. You turned back towards your station, tucking supplies back into cabinets. “I guess I should thank you for letting me work in the med bay. I was losing my mind in that cell.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he said. “Just makes me feel worse.”

You turned back towards him with a smile and a sucker held between your fingers. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

🕷

An hour or so later, when a spider with basic first aid training—a.k.a. the only kind of medic they’d had before you—came to relieve your shift, you helped Miguel out of bed and onto a set of crutches, carrying an armful of medical supplies behind him as he trudged to his room. If people stared at the sight of him limping, sucker in his mouth, they received a look from the man. You couldn’t see said look from behind him, but you could see the way it had people turning—occasionally running—away. 

Once you got to his room, he seemed annoyed at the way you slipped in behind him, but he said nothing as you laid out medical supplies on his nightstand. 

“You’ll want one of these in the morning and one with dinner for the pain,” you said, jingling the orange bottle you set down.

“Don’t need it,” he gruffed out.

“Alright, well then I imagine you don’t need help getting into bed,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He leaned the crutches against the wall. “Now you’re catching on.”

You gestured to the bed beside you, stepping away so he had enough room to climb up onto it. It was slow, sliced up by the occasional grunt or half-swallowed gasp of pain, but he got up there, tugging the covers over himself.

“Bet you’re regretting that decision,” you said, and he only huffed. You took that moment of silence to look around the room. It was all black and gray angles, not a touch of personality anywhere. Not a picture frame or flower vase, no posters or art.

“You know, having some kind of general joy or cheer in your room might speed up your recovery,” you said, walking over to the window to peer out at the street below.

“Now you’re giving interior design advice?” he said, face half buried in the pillow. He was likely still groggy from the pain medicine you’d given him before.

“I’m just saying, maybe try getting a hobby or two,” you said, pulling the curtains on his window closed.

“My hobby is saving the multiverse,” he huffed out. You turned slowly from the window, eyebrows raised as you met his eyes.

“Was that—a joke?”

He huffed, turning over onto his side. “Good night.”

You started towards the door. “Oh, of course, you’re welcome, Mr. O’Hara. I was so happy to patch up your bloody wounds and gently tug you from the precipice of death. Saving such grateful spider people like yourself is truly my calling in life.”

You stopped before the door, hand lingering on the knob as you glanced back at his figure, curled away from you on the bed. He gruffed out something inaudible and you stepped closer.

“What was that?”

“Mujer implacable,¹” he cursed, before turning over just enough to meet your eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Now get out of my room.”

You smiled and reached for the door. “Good night to you too, Miguel.”

🕷

It was midnight when Miguel woke up again. The dull buzz of the pain meds had worn off, and the sharp ache of his limbs pulled him sharply from sleep. And then, shortly after, the rumbling of his stomach had his feet hitting the floor.

He told himself he’d simply go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, but it proved to be easier said than done. With a few curses muttered in Spanish, he sunk against the set of crutches you’d provided, letting out a breath at the sudden lack of pressure on his wounds.

When he made it to the cafeteria, he found it not empty, as he had been hoping. A singular figure was sitting in the corner of the room, the tray before her stacked neatly with various food. Of course. Of all the people to witness his shameful hobble into the cafeteria, it had to be you.

You glanced up as he entered, eyes going wide for a moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t take their pain meds,” you said, lips curling into a smile at the grunt he offered in response. You watched him fumbling with a vending machine around the awkward angle of his crutches and stood, crossing the room to come up beside him.

You didn’t wait for him to ask for help, you simply gestured before you, silently asking what he was trying to reach. He stared at you for a moment before nodding towards a pack of flamin’ hot cheetos. You fetched it for him with ease, before carrying it away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you sat back down at your seat and set his cheetos at the spot across from you. You didn’t respond, you simply watched him with raised brows, waiting. Eventually, he grunted out something in Spanish and joined you, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“What does mujer implacable mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.”

He ripped open his cheetos and sat back in his chair, watching you as he took the first bite. “Relentless woman.”

“Hm,” you said, smiling. He watched as you stood up and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the counter, eyes narrowing as you sat back down and offered them to him.

“What are those for?”

“They keep you from getting cheeto dust on your fingers,” you said, smile growing as his eyes widened.

“Mujer brillante,²” he breathed, taking the chopsticks and ripping them open. Something adjacent to a pleased smile overtook his features as he sat back, chopsticks in hand. And then he seemed to remember who was talking to, and his smile flattened out.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just crushed by the weight of endless, multiversal knowledge trying to fit within a mind only equipped to handle the existence of one, pondering the meaning of my birth without a clear place in a singular universe and a purpose only carved out by my own inability to accept my multiversal irrelevance.”

He blinked.

“Also, I’m an insomniac,” you said, and he shoveled another cheeto into his mouth. 

“I don’t think anomaly equals irrelevance,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. You didn’t seem irrelevant though, and he was going off of that.

“Then what does it mean?” you asked, and there was no humor in your voice. No malice either. Just a sharp curiosity.

“It means that the universe is delicately balanced, and you, mujer implacable, are a wrecking ball.”

“So I’m relevant, just not in any of the good ways.”

He shook his head. “In your old life, maybe. But you can be whatever you like here. Relevant. Irrelevant. Whatever suits you.”

“I think I’d like a healthy middle,” you said.

“Midrelevant,” he said, almost smiling.

“Exactly.”

The conversation was sparse as you both ate, but something soft opened up before you within Miguel. You’d already seen him at his weakest, so he had no reason to hide from you. And as you helped him back to his room, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

🕷

Part 2

(1) “Relentless woman”

(2) “Brilliant woman”

[my-own-walker]

Hiya!!!! I was wondering if you do peter maximoff smut? 😅😅😅 If you do, I have a request-but if you don't maybe you could make it like Tate or Kyle? <3

I was wondering if you could do something like Peter (if you can) like using his vibrations and going down on the reader(fem!) while making her read her smutty diary entries about him after he read what was in it? :) THANK YOU BESTIE MWAHHH

I Warned You

note: forgive me if this sucks. my emotions have been all over the past few days and i burned the FUCK out of my hand last night.

warnings: sm*t, oral f receiving, peter being a slut, etc

+++

It was a rather oppressive day, heat-wise. One of those sticky hot, thighs chafing, greasy bangs days. The sun shined down in a hazy way on the neighborhood I lived in. As I sat there in my denim shorts and big t-shirt, I reminisced on the days of summer as a child. How I'd spend them with my best friend, Peter.

He was the first person I met when I moved here. I was two, to be fair, so I don't remember much of it all. He's always been a permanent fixture in my life. Someone who was just...always there.

He lived next door. Just like a cliche movie. We would ride bikes and draw on the ground with sidewalk chalk together. He was my second-grade boyfriend. He decided to ‘ask me out’ on the last day of school. He learned in school how to say 'I love you,' in sign language just before he asked to hold my hand on the playground on that day in June. He signed it any chance he could. When his mom drove us home in her minivan that day, he held up the sign. Our little secret.

That summer was pure childhood bliss. Innocence. We really didn't 'break up,' per se. When we entered the third grade that September it was just mutual that we had crushes on other kids. We still stayed friends. I'd hang out at his house after school every day until my parents got home. When the weather was warm, I'd sit outside on my porch waiting for him after dinner. Then, like clockwork, we'd find something to do.

As we got older our activities changed. He taught me how to skateboard. I taught him how to trespass on the baseball fields that were tucked down a back street in our neighborhood. We'd swing on this old tire swing over the stream that ran through our backyards.

In our sophomore year of high school, he bought an old car with dreams to fix it up. A 1965 Ford Mustang. It was rusty, beat up, and had no engine. The windshield was shattered and the inside wasn't upholstered. The only working part of it was its radio. When I walked out of my front door on the day he brought it home, he slapped it on its hood, proudly declaring, 'I'm gonna take you to prom in this thing, baby!' We sat in the old thing all afternoon listening to the radio.

I had known about his abilities the whole time. I never got into foot races with him as a kid for that reason. He would beat me every time. Peter had it under control, for the most part, but only when he wanted to. He started getting brazen with it as a teenager. He'd take me on these wild adventures where he'd steal things. The first time it was just some candy from a convenience store. By the time he got that damned car, he was stealing entire carburetors. These trips took all of 2 minutes. Just the two of us speeding off to create havoc.

Somewhere along the way I fell in love with him. Or maybe it wasn't even that. I can't remember a time when I didn't love him. It changed, though. I started to feel things toward him I'd never felt before. When he'd hold my head to prevent me from getting whiplash as we were making our hasty escapes from his escapades, I'd find chills would run up my spine.

Our beautiful little romance blossomed once he finally got his Mustang up and running. Not that he needed it, really. He was leagues faster than any car. He just wanted to be able to transport more things. And his new girlfriend. We started dating in junior year. He had just gotten his license and took me on a ride one night. We parked down a backstreet in our town and our lips finally met. At long last, his fast fingers were allowed to explore my body in a way I had never allowed him to before. It was wonderful, awkward, and hungry. Everything a teenage love affair should be.

He ended up taking me to the prom in that car, just as he'd promised. He looked so smart in his little tux. We spent that entire summer simply enraptured with each other. Our hangouts transformed from outdoor antics to being tangled in my bed, fan on max speed, windows open to hear the mourning doves sing outside. I can still smell the fresh summer air and the smell of him combining to make something all-encompassing and intoxicating.

It was the next summer on this very hot day. Peter and I had been dating for a year. He was away, hanging out with his friends or something. I was home alone. I sat there on my porch, diary resting lazily on my lap, staring off at the hanging 'FOR SALE,' sign on my yard in front of me . I switched between twirling my pen in my hands and chewing the end of it, deep in thought.

It was always the deal in my house. As soon as I graduated, as the youngest kid in my family, we'd move away again. My parents weren't happy with the town. They knew I had made my life there, but a deal was a deal. I couldn't imagine a life without Peter.

When the sign went up on my front lawn, I began a diary. I was never a writer. I was horrible at keeping up with writing entries in a tiny book. But knowing my life was about to change, I began scratching down every small detail about my life. My time in this house. My childhood. My life with Peter. It was a passion project. I wanted to document everything so I'd never forget.

Peter interrupted my deep inner turmoil. Well, not exactly him. His loud-ass car pulled up, parking in the driveway next door. He stepped out of the car singing, keys jingling in his hands. Like clockwork, his head turned to see if I was on my porch. Our routine since we were kids. In a flash, he was sitting next to me.

'Hey pretty,' he breathed, kissing me gently on my cheek.

'Hey Peter,' I smiled, looking up at him. Whenever he was near me I couldn't help but get wrapped up in him. Swept away in his deep brown eyes and sea of silver hair. There was a palpable feeling between the two of us. Dancing around the topic of me moving away, even though the signs were all around us, literally. It was a tension that colored every moment of our time together, yet we tried in earnest to ignore it.

'Whatcha got there?' he asked, half-taunting, as he usually did.

'Oh, haha,' I blushed, clapping the book shut and tucking the pen inside. 'It's nothing, just a planner.'

'A planner? Y/L/N, when have you ever been the type to schedule things?' he scoffed. 'Gimme that.' He lunged for the diary. I curled my body up tight into a ball, the book nestled safely between my lap and chest. My arms secured it even further.

'Peter! Stop it! I gotta get my shit together,' I whined. 'Like, plan out packing!'

'Packing for what?' he asked sarcastically, still trying in vain to pry the diary from my grasp. In his desperation, he attempted the only trick he had left to get me to let go. He started tickling my sides. It was a surefire way to piss me off, but also to get me to let go. The diary clattered to the ground as I stood up quickly to get away from his hands tickling me at light speed. He paused for a moment to grab the diary off the ground.

'Hey, thanks!' he exclaimed, taking off in a flash inside my house, leaving only the wind behind to prove he was there.

I clamored inside behind him, calling after him as I stumbled up the stairs. He was already laying on my bed, on his side, reading my diary entries when I got to my room.

‘DON’T read those!’ I panted in vain. ‘They’re so bad!’

‘Oh, these little stories?’ he smirked, looking up only with his eyes. ‘I think they’re pretty good.’

My cheeks burned hot. I stepped into the room and slammed the door shut. He held the book up closer to his face and squinted. ‘Peter, please, I’m warning you,’ I pleaded.

‘His tongue slid into me. All of my insides felt warm and tingly…’ he read out.

‘OH MY GOD NO!’ I rushed over to him, trying to pry my diary out of his hands. I was on the bed on my knees doing what I could to get my embarrassing writing back. He and his super speed, though, had other plans. I gave up after minutes of trying, tired of grabbing at a person that wasn’t even there by the time my hands reached him. He stopped his motion and was right back where he started on my bed.

‘I think I got what I needed,’ he smirked. ‘Let me review the highlights with you…’

He moved quickly, without using his super speed, to lay me down my my back. I didn’t object. He was always gentle with me, careful not to use his speed unless I asked him to. Peter hated anything that took a long time, but with me he always had patience. Well, unless it was taking my clothes off.

Peter worked quickly to get every inch of fabric off my body. His smooth hands rubbed all over my skin as he kissed me passionately. He stopped to pick up the diary that had been discarded to the side on my bed.

‘Let’s see…’ he muttered, pinning my shoulder down with one hand, his legs straddling my lap. ‘He spread my legs slowly…okay I can do that.’

The diary was once again dropped so he could part my thighs. His hot breath hovered over my weeping cunt.

‘Right, right, then the tongue part,’ he reminded himself. He kissed all along the insides of my thighs, eventually making contact with my middle. My toes curled and my breath hitched. I was ready for what he was about to do. He slipped his tongue into me and my eyes rolled back. He flicked his tongue over my clit, making me yelp out.

He separated himself from me to grab my diary again.

‘You’re gonna have to read this next part, Y/N, I’m a little preoccupied here,’ he instructed. He passed the book into my shaking hands. I didn’t even have the energy to protest. I just wanted to feel his warmth within me again. His mouth reconnected with my pussy.

‘H-his abilities came in handy when giving me head,’ I panted. ‘He can do this thing- thi- this thing where he vibrates.’ I could only choke out so much in my pleasure.

I felt him take a few deep breaths before beginning to vibrate at sonic speed. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The first time he did it, I thought I would just about die. He pulled away for a moment.

‘Keep reading,’ he breathed. I whimpered, shaking hands once again opening the diary. He reconnected with my middle again and I let out a loud moan.

‘He kn-knows how to make m-me purr like a kitten. There’s n-nothing like it,’ I sputtered out.

I didn’t have much left in me. He, acting as my own personal vibrator, brought me to my limit. I came with a loud yelp, laughing immediately after. Peter stopped vibrating and laid on top of me, his face meeting mine.

‘You are SUCH a dick, Maximoff,’ I giggled.

‘I thought it was sexy, how you write about me and all,’ Peter shrugged. He peppered kisses all over my face and neck as we both caught our breath. For a fleeting moment, nothing in the world mattered. All we cared about was each other. For a moment, I wasn’t moving away. It was us and us only. ‘You’re a million miles away, beautiful. What’s wrong?’

Snapping out of my trance, I planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Nothing at all, Peter. Just really ready for round two,’ I smirked.

+++

I really enjoyed this one. Thank you so much for this request! I promise I’ll write more this week. It’s been cray cray on my end.

[ittybluebell]

Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 2

AO3

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Finch didn't consider how they survived ‘stealing’. It was borrowing - they only took what they needed; what wouldn't be missed. Finch didn't borrow with malevolence. Well, not much, anyway - it was easy to resent the humans that had so much while borrowers struggled. And there were definitely things a borrower didn't need to survive, per se, but dammit, couldn't a person want nice things? The beans wouldn't miss a strip of fabric or the odd bauble. It would go to good use, anyway!

It was laughably easy to borrow from this bean. Finch was reasonably cautious in the beginning, but they quickly learned that they could get away with a lot. Borrowing food in the same room? Easy squeezy, done and did. The only threat was making too much noise, but Finch padded the soles of their boots so that was a great big non-issue.

Was Finch balancing too close to the proverbial ledge? Oh, yeah.

Were they gonna keep doing it? Oh, yeah. The adrenaline rush was crazy.

What reason had they to stop? The bean wasn't aware of them and got rid of the traps - Finch must've been doing something right. They were on the hottest borrowing streak in their life. Now, obviously, they didn't take too much, but Finch wasn't worried about their next meal and that was every borrower's goal. An honest-to-dirt stock of food. Finch got so lucky with this place.

The tell-tale guilt came back. Faces flooded their mind: faces they were supposed to protect and cowardly abandoned. The grating snarl of grinding metal, of brick and wood falling and the screams-

Finch snatched up their thimble bucket. Shower, they decided. It was time for a shower.

Later when Finch went out, there were strawberries on the counter. Fucking strawberries. How could they resist? Sure, the human was right there, but when would Finch get another opportunity like this?

The human's name was Matt. Finch overheard it from a phone call with another man. 'Froggy', they believed that one was called. A bean with a proper name.

Finch crept into the open, not bothering with that time-consuming ducking and hiding nonsense. His back was turned. Voices from the radio filled the apartment. Finch had the advantage. It was fine. It was fine. Hairs on the back of their neck stood on end and their nape vaguely prickled. A borrower's warning system, triggered by a bean's proximity, and just another sense to bombard their brain with information.

Was the man's head twitching their imagination?

Finch reached the countertop and grabbed a strawberry. They backpedaled. For such a large being, he moved with such ease and speed. It was easy to forget how big a human was till they were in the same room. Finch stuffed the strawberry in their bag and climbed down. They took a final peek at the bean before slipping into the crack behind the fridge.

Finch was learning how much they could get away with. They were testing the waters. Taking food right out from under his nose? Oh-ho, no other borrower would dare. But Finch did. They froze, statuesque, when he moved around the apartment. A dangerous but thrilling game of lights on-lights out. He lumbered and stomped like one of those gigantic movie monsters that terrorized cities. His steps shook the floor, even when Finch was safe in their shack under it. And when Finch was above... they could feel their bones rattle with each thundering impact. The random smirks he sometimes wore were unsettling. Like he was sharing a private joke with himself. Finch tried not to think about it.

Matt was making tea.

Matt. It felt odd not referring to him as simply 'the bean'. A name was personal; it was a connection. It was unsettling.

Matt was making tea. Finch wanted one of those sugar cubes, normally sealed in a jar with a lid too heavy to even consider lifting. They peeked out from behind the fridge. The bea- Ma- he was standing there with a kettle, pouring water into a tall mug. Finch swallowed. If they were human, he would be one of those skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

He turned around. Finch jogged to the discrete handholds they'd made in the side of the counter. Even a sighted bean wouldn't notice the indents - they made sure of that. Finch had yet to make the same accessibility for the island, but it was top of the to-do list. They climbed, unable to see the bean. They heard crinkling.

When Finch peeked over the countertop, a sleeve of cookies was in the bean's grasp. Finch's vision tunneled. Damn. Fresh cookies…

No, stop, bad! Get the cube, get out. You have food at home.

Finch pulled themself up and over the edge. They watched the bean closely, looking out for sudden movements or changes on his face. The open jar stood between themself and Matt.

Easy. No problem. Just don't make a sound and everything will be fine.

The bean in question was fighting to contain his astonishment.

Matt's intrigue piqued. Tiny was getting braver. With every moment spent in his presence, they grew more confident. It nearly drew a chuckle out of him. Tiny was cocky - cocky that they were getting away with all this, and that he remained ignorant during their escapades. That's why he could only sense a bare trace of fear on them: they were underestimating him. They were assuming a blind man couldn't possibly know when someone was stealing food and office supplies right under his nose, even making a ladder in his furniture. That was vandalism. Matt tracked Tiny's soft steps on the countertop, closer and closer, as he placed a few cookies on a plate. Did they think he was that oblivious? Matt was honestly a little offended.

He wondered how far they would go if he kept up the act.

He walked away - suddenly, he needed something from the fridge - and they took the opportunity to scale the jar and snatch a sugar cube. He heard shuffling fabric as they stored it somewhere - it seemed to be a mini duffel bag. They paused next to the plate of cookies and walked away with a sharp exhale. Tempted, but deciding they didn't want to risk it. Priorities.

Matt returned to fish out the teabag. Tiny froze. A fawn response. Matt was familiar with it. It never worked. This time, though… he let it slide. He felt bad scaring the little guy. Then again, they had the audacity to steal right in his face. A little surprise would be good for that ego they were sporting.

Tiny snuck away, down their makeshift ladder and into the floor once more. He heard the release of breath followed by a relieved giggle. Alright, it was kind of endearing, letting them get away with shit. Matt would never deny his soft spot for those in need. Matt allowed himself a secret smile. He broke a piece off a cookie and dropped it next to the fridge. He didn't know there were so many weak points in his apartment. He should probably get that checked out.

Despite cleaning up the glue traps, there was one the bean forgot about. Maybe there were others. Maybe it was intentional - awfully convenient that it was in a spot Finch rarely traveled by, and also very conveniently below a drop with poor visibility.

How did Finch know this?

They were stuck in the damn thing, that's how.

"No, no, fuck," they hissed, lifting either leg. The glue was unfairly strong and the edge too far. They didn't have any rope to throw. The nails that Finch climbed with were useless, and the rubber bands tied around those too pliant for any length.

Regardless, Finch detached the rubber bands from their belt. Clutching them tight, Finch threw a bent nail at the edge of the trap. The metal recoiled and dragged straight into the glue. Finch swore a vehement streak. They tugged, but the elastic had zero resistance. It was stuck just the same as Finch. Their single remaining nail burned like a rod of fire in their clammy palm. They desperately searched for some kind of ledge. Furious tears shone in their eyes.

When they'd dropped down and felt the floor squish under their feet, they were merely annoyed. Then they heaved and pried and pulled till sweat coated their face and the severity of the situation dawned on them. They were stuck. They hadn't felt so helpless since that building came down. That fucking building. Anger rolled in their gut for being so careless and stupid and not trying hard enough.

The glue was like one of those tar pits they'd heard about: the ones that trapped mammoths and dinosaurs and preserved their remains. Finch had never seen a fossil. To humans, dinosaurs were the titans that walked the earth. Finch would've liked to see a skeleton of a creature to earn that title.

Finch was going to die here. The human had doomed them. Really, how long would it be until he remembered the trap existed? If he remembered it existed. Finch always pictured a brave or exciting end: eaten by a bird, in battle against a rat or spider, run over by a car. Here, slowly wasting away... hm. Acceptance washed over them.

Time passed. Not once did their grip on that nail loosen. They could do nothing but think and wait and wait and think. Every choice and regret hit them in succession. Was their life flashing before their eyes? It felt far longer than a flash.

Finch was replaying their biggest regret on loop when the front door shutting knocked them out of it. Oh, goodie, the orchestrator of their demise was home from work. Abruptly, Finch realized they never got to try one of those cookies.

Something was different when Matt got home.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He put his cane away and shrugged off his jacket. There had been a tangible shift in the atmosphere. Wary, Matt walked around and scanned his apartment. No new scents - nobody had broken in. Matt tried to ignore it and spread out the papers from their case on the table. He was trying to take his dedication to his job seriously this time - letting Karen and Foggy down again wasn't something he could stomach. Foggy, especially, had hurt too much to bear.

Matt was too distracted. Finally, he realized what was wrong.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department. Nothing worrying.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were... quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange noise under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "You know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

...He should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was... shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess... you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," they blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and got up from his prone position.

He was holding a tiny person. He could hardly believe it, but feeling was believing. All of his focus lasered in on the small being. How their chest rapidly expanded and fell, the thrum of their terrified heart against his thumb and ears. How delicate their bones were as his fingers closed around them, thin as a bird's. A bag was slung diagonally across their back, the items inside pressing into his palm. Their clothes were handmade, stitched together with large thread - thankfully with textures that didn't make him gag. Were those overalls? Or maybe a jumpsuit. Buttons on their flat front dug into his thumb - small, yet still bigger than their hands. And their hands... they were miniscule. Teeny fingers pushed at his own, digging into the creases of his skin and their prints indecipherable. Shoes scraped the underside of Matt's fist, sharp points on the toe of each boot threatening to scrape him up like the furniture they were fashioned to dig into.

Everything about them was fascinating. But he couldn't help noticing how pronounced their ribs were.

Finch remained tense as Matt carried them to the kitchen. Trapped in his clutches, they could do nothing but let him. What happened now? The cautionary tales never got this far. Being caught was the ultimate end for all those stories, with the killing and torture reserved for the footnotes and overactive imaginations of listeners. Finch weakly struggled, knowing they couldn't possibly escape but not wanting to just sit and take it.

"Here. I'm putting you down," Matt said. He lowered his hand and released Finch before walking away. "Just a second."

Finch tried to book it. Their shoes peeled off the countertop like prickly burs and they cringed at the sound and sensation. Taking a single step was a harsh, sticky ordeal. "Damn," they muttered under their breath.

"Going somewhere?" asked Matt, more lighthearted than he had any right to be.

Finch shot a glare at him over their shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it. All the better, actually: they could show as much vitriol as they liked without repercussion. "Yeah, chuckle it up, twelve stories. I wouldn't be here if you didn't set that shit up."

Matt disposed of the trap and sought out a roll of paper towel, which he ripped and ran under the tap. "You're right. I'm sorry." He placed the damp paper towel near them. "For the glue."

Finch accepted it and glowered the whole time. The warm water rubbed the glue off their soles. A train of curses filled their brain that were one lapse in self-control away from becoming external. One thing had been itching at them; they decided to voice that instead.

"How'd you know where I was? How did you even know I was stuck?" Realization struck. "Or how I even exist. I didn't think of that. Fuck."

Finch watched his features wrinkle and strain before relaxing. Matt said, "That's on you for assuming a blind man won't notice someone stealing right in front of him. Really, it's insulting."

"Stealing? Heh, no, no, it's called borrowing. We borrow things. There's a clear distinction. Beans steal, borrowers borrow." Their eyes widened.We. I just revealed our name. They played up the aggression, rising to their full, diminutive height. "So I got a little carried away. And what about it? You gonna put me in a jar, huh? Oh, no, I borrowed some food. You got plenty! You gonna miss some crumbs? Some string? A bottle cap here or there?" They scoffed and planted their hands on their hips. "You try to survive and suddenly you're stealing. Yeah, lemme go get a human job real quick in your human economy to pay my human bills for my human house. I'll get right on that."

Matt, who was prepared to argue the definition of stealing vs borrowing, was left sufficiently gobsmacked. The lawyer in him wanted to correct their language; the empathy in him knew that they were right. He'd concluded on his own that Tiny had no other options. Many people rarely did. Hearing it made the legal voice pipe down, and also make the connection that Tiny wasn't the same species as him. Which... yeah, should have been obvious. Were they a fairy?

"I'm not mad about the stealing," he said. "Sorry, 'borrowing'. Which isn't the right- anyway. I'm annoyed about the sock but- but that's it. I even left some crumbs around for you. Once I figured out you weren't a mouse. I really don't have a problem with you living here. Well, there's- no, nevermind. You probably don't care about that." He frowned in thought. Would a tiny person living in the walls even know about Daredevil?

Finch's whole face furrowed. "Oh... kaay. That's- wait, actually? Like, actually? You're not lying?"

Matt huffed. "Again, why would I be lying?"

Finch threw their hands in the air, giving them a frustrated shake and gesturing wildly. "I don't know! You could still switch up on me! I can't trust you. Avoiding beans is how I made it this far. I'd be dead or imprisoned or dead if I didn't. I can't trust you. How am I supposed to believe you?" They ruffled their hair and growled. They pulled their bandana down around their neck and played with the smooth fabric, pacing. "I thought I'd be some kind of pet or- or- or experiment. Or dead. I'm so confused. I'm so confused. It's all so confusing."

Matt didn't respond at first. He let their confession sit in the air, giving it the room it deserved as he thought it over. A pet. Something distinctly sub-human; lower than personhood, undeserving of self-determination. Or an experiment - even lower. That was how the world perceived Tiny. That was how Tiny believed he perceived them.

Matt loved nothing more than proving expectations wrong.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Finch scowled up at him, then exhaled harshly. "Goldfinch. I go by Finch."

"Hello, Finch. I'm Matt. Would you like something to drink?"

"...what do you have?"

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AO3

[chrissturniolosbitch]

WORK

a/n- this is a cute short lil smut!

summary- y/n has a bad day at work, then comes home to a messy house and shit goes down.

another a/n- most my shit is short and straight to the point... get used to it!! and ily 🎀

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Today has been a stressful day. All day at work people were being such assholes to me, even my co-workers, and boss. i just wanted to cry.

I knew i couldnt just leave, so i had to go a whole shift listening to everyone bitch and complain about how much i suck.

I just wanted to go home and be with my boyfriend.

When i got off work, i sped home. I knew i just needed Chris. But, nothing today was going good for me.

I pulled into the driveway, and went to the front porch. As soon as i unlocked the door i saw chris, he was just sitting there playing fortnite while the house was still a mess. He had all day to clean up for me, and i even asked him to, 'Why.. Just why.' i think to myself as i started to crazy clean,

"y/n? Hey baby!" I ignored him and continued to clean, "What wrong? Are you okay?" He said trying his best to put 2 and 2 together. I lost it in that moment everything today just sucked.

"Christopher i fucking asked you to clean before i got home. Is this all you do? all fucking day while i slave away at work you just play fortnite?" I said holding back the tears that wanted to spill out of my eyes.

Chris frowned.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a spray bottle so i could wipe down the counters when chris decided to speak again, "Im really sorry baby.. i know youre frustrated and im seriously really, really sorry y/n"

He said a he slowly opened his arms, and started walking twards me, "No! chris dont fucking touch me im not in the mood right now!" I warned him, but he still walked twards me with his arms out.

When he finally got to me he wrapped his arms around me tightly, no matter how much a tried to get out he always knew how to calm me down, "Its okay baby, im here for you. Ill always be here for you." He said petting my head, squeezing me tight.

In that moment i bursted into tears. I cried, and cried, and cried.

"Please chris im sorry, today has been such a stressful day, everyone just hates me, and acts like im a lazy peice of shit, im so sorry chris pl-" I said sobbing into his chest leaving his shirt wet, when chris suddenly cut me off, "Its okay y/n. And i dont know what there talking about, you are the most hardworking, independent woman i know!" Chris said trying to make me feel better.

For the rest of the day chris, and i
cuddled, watched movies, ate dinner, and showered.

After we got out of the shower chris took off my robe leaving me bare, i shivered at the cold touch of the air hitting my skin, "Wow. You are so beautiful ma" Chris said scanning my body, "I think youre petty handsome myself!" I said pulling chris in for a kiss, the kiss started of slow, when suddenly chris gabbed my waist, and slipped his tongue into my mouth.

I tried my hardest to fight for dominance, but Chris obviously won.

Chris pulled away and suddenly pushed me onto the bed, "chris." I said giving him doe eyes, "I know baby." He said pulling his towel off his waist, his dick was already hard with precum dripping out off his tip, and down the sides.

I scotted back on the bed opening my legs to let chris know im ready. He looked me in my eyes for approval and i just nodded, "Words baby, speak up" He said innocently, "Yes fuck chris, plea-" Before i could even finish my sentence chris punded his dick into me, I moaned at this sensation, and started to cried from pain, and pleasure, "fuck christopher" i practically screamed grabbing onto his biceps.

Chris kept on slamming into me at an ungodly speed, "ngh. ughh" I said unable to get my words out, "Do you like this baby? huh? do i make you feel that good you cant even speak?" Chris said chuckling, "Yes chris you make m-me fuck.. fell s-s-so good ugh" i said barley able to get my simple sentence out.

I felt a familiar knot start to for in my stomach when chris suddenly started to slam directly into my g-spot, "FUCK! please chris dont stop im so close" I said about to release, "I wont stop baby, i got you. Always" He said as he started pound even faster and harder into me.

I felt my legs start to shake, when suddenly i released all over chris, "fuck baby can i cum in you?" Chris asked looking you in the eyes, "yes please fill me with your babys" His eyes widened as he grunted out my name and busted a whole load inside of me.

i let chris stay inside of me untill he softened up.

"thank you chris, for always making me feel good" I said pulling him in for another kiss, while he started to pull out.

"always mama" he said kissing my back.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5707

Jalsa, Mumbai Oct 2, 2023 Mon 9:31 PM

At last the blast from the past has past and the timings and the Blog be in the time of the time .. 🙃 .. pheww .. !!

So greetings to all on this timely post and wishes that the delays that have been happening do not occur again ..

We have been talking about 'change' on the KBC show and have done a few of them .. some quite effective, especially the Super Sandook where many have gone past the 50, 000 mark and revived an important Lifeline ..

So in keeping with that a few personal changes have occured ..

And they seem different , but will see how they last and what the results prove to be .. and kindly do not ask me what they are because they may seem rather silly to you .. 🤣

There is a fervent desire to learn .. learn better speech words .. learn the language that I have been wanting to .. learn the music in vocals and instruments .. and generally learn administration and organising skills ..

The immediate response from those that hear this, feel that there are several avenues where all this can be accomplished .. and have volunteered help as well .. thank you so much but nothing like doing it yourself ..

In these times of speed and pace, the mind and body too requires certain accomplishments to achieve what is needed .. the body and mind is saturated with information and things to do and remember ..

The obvious suggestion is that modern technology has invented all these performances and can be induced into your personal system, in order to make your life easier .. great, lovely beautiful ..

BUT ..

Inducements are also a technology .. which is a challenge for me .. so we are or rather I am back to page 1 ..

However never say die .. and we shall overcome this as soon as possible ..

It is time now for my change activation .. so se ya ..

I mean see you soon by the morrow ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[mrchiipchrome]

W.C.- 3,2 k

People have always asked you why you’re so incredibly fast, is it because of your above average hamstrings or is it because of plyometrics?

To answer this question would be a pain in the ass, you could say that it was a little bit of everything. All throughout your life you’ve worked on strengthening your hamstrings and now it’s like they were made of steel. This was so that you could reduce the possibility of hamstring tears and other injuries to your legs. Plyometrics helped you with that explosive movement needed to drive forward and to be able to keep at that same speed throughout a longer period of time, though you only started using them later in life. Some people even thought that you were doping, but that was quickly debunked.

Though after you broke into the senior national team at the age of 16 the footballing community soon accepted that you were just speedy, especially for a youngster. Coming up through the youth groups along the likes of Jessie Fleming and Jordyn Huitema, you’d always been able to beat them in a footrace. 

When Jessie went off to college, you thought the decision was perfect for her and that she could learn and evolve her game to adapt to the brutality of football in America. But, even though she wanted you to follow in her footsteps, having become almost like sisters after spending so much time together, with the college route that was not what happened. Instead of committing to play college ball, you declared for the NWSL draft as soon as you turned 18 where you were selected first overall to the Washington Spirits. It wasn’t that you were bad in school per se, you weren’t interested in playing at college level.

You played football during the days while you took online classes in the evenings, classes in sports science where you found out about plyometrics. Those exercises became a daily occurrence and you soon found yourself even faster than before along with having a better technique while running and jumping.

After 2 years with the club, a rookie of the year award, two consecutive NWSL MVP’s and two golden boots under your belt your contract with the club ended. You had two options, resign with the club that drafted you or take your talents to Europe who had top clubs in bidding wars for you. Rejecting clubs like PSG and Eintracht Frankfurt, you settled for following your former teammate Rose Lavelle and national teammate Janine Beckie to Manchester City, signing a record contract with the massive club.

And while it was seen as an escape from the lockdown in the U.S. for players like Rose, the club had won your heart like no other, or rather one person in it had. A certain English forward, speedy like hell, blonde hair, 163 cm tall.

Lauren Hemp had stolen your heart with her subtle stares and quick feet that danced across the pitch in a way that had you entranced.

Moving in with Janine Beckie after signing the contract in the summer of ‘20, you met the English forward exactly 2 days 8 hours 34 minutes and 28 seconds after you had stepped on that plane heading from Dulles to Manchester airport, not that you were keeping track. It was like you were in one of those rom-coms Rose liked so much, your eyes met hers across the field and it was like everything suddenly made sense.

You had only been broken out of the moment by a barreling Janine Beckie, heading straight for you with no apparent need to stop. You had let out a loud groan the second she made contact with you, bringing you both down to the ground with her momentum. Greeting her, you hear scattered laughs from all around the pitch and as you had gotten up your eyes drifted in an effort to meet her enticing ones again.

After that, you and Lauren had become the tightest knit pair in women's football, even tighter than the ones that had known each other way longer than the two of you had. You know exactly what the other will think before they think it, it’s like you can hear each other's thoughts because you can make each other roll on the floor in laughter with just one singular look. You were known as City’s dynamic duo and one of Manchester’s two dynamic duo’s along with Alessia Russo and Ella Toone all while dominating the league.

Now having been at City for 3 years you’re constantly reminded on how you made the right choice, getting to play with your favorite girls and continuing to win awards. One of those being an olympic gold with your national team, one of the best moments of your current international career. Lauren had decided not to return with the rest of the national team when they were knocked out of the tournament, choosing to come and support you instead as you played for the final. 

She was the first one you ran to when you were let go to celebrate with your families, you didn’t have anyone else there as they were disapproving of having football as a job and deciding to freeze you out of family events while not going to any games. Although, Lauren and your national teammates were more than happy to fill that hole their absence left in your heart.

When Janine left for Portland in 2022 you felt quite lost for a while, your roommate and the person who had become more like a family member to you left. You felt betrayed for a while before coming to the realization that the move had nothing to do with you or the team, just that she had to leave for a situation that was better for her. 

But still the formerly shared apartment felt too empty and eerie without another presence accompanying it. One morning, while walking into the training grounds with your favorite person she gives you an offer you just can’t refuse.

“I could always move in with you, you know. I mean if you want to, my lease expires in like 2 months and you’ve been complaining about the apartment being empty ever since Janine left and I know I won’t fill the space that she left-”

“I’d love for you to move in with me Tempo.” And that was the start of an even deeper understanding of each other, even more inside jokes than before and an inexplicable amount of protectiveness directed towards the shorter girl. You had already had little to no tolerance towards players going in for tackles that were more aggressive than needed or players targeting her, but when you moved in together that tripled.

The amount of yellow cards your mouth and subsequent protectiveness had earned you made Georgia look like an angel in comparison.

When the 21/22-season ended and you had signed another long term contract with the Manchester based club, you decided to go home to Canada for a bit as you were given some time off. You had promised to get back in time for the start of the Euros, and you were never one to break a promise.

So after a vacation where you had eventually went and visited your former roommate, you made your way back to England to watch your best girl and her national team hopefully lift the trophy at the end of July. 

And like you had done the year prior, Lauren makes her merry way right into your arms with you being the first one she greets. And there you stand with her in your arms, just muttering reassurances and words of praise before releasing her to her parents. Now both of your medals hang together in your living room, right above your tv.

—-

Parting ways with Lauren has been hard ever since you met her, even if it only was for a week. But as you stand in her arms at the Manchester airport, you contemplate on not even taking the plane to France for the international friendly. She lets her grip on you go, letting her arms hang limp at her side from where they were just placed around your waist. But your grip doesn’t lessen, not wanting to leave her. The voice over the speakers calls out the number of your flight and the gate which you should find yourself in during the next few minutes. Giggling softly into your ear, she gives you a nudge to indicate that you should let go but you just do the opposite.

“You have to let go sweets. I love you and we’ll see each other after the break.” Her revelation has your heart beating out of your chest despite how many times it's been said between the two of you, never in the way you want to though.

“Love you too, so much my Hempo Tempo. I promise to sneak away to watch the Brazil game, maybe I can convince Jessie to watch it with me.” Your own confession has her heart beating restlessly in her chest as you finally let her go with a kiss to her temple. Hearing the last warning for your boarding ring out between the walls of the airport, you take your hand baggage and walk towards the gate. You don’t turn around, knowing that  you wouldn’t be able to board the plane.

The nearly 2 hour flight was incredibly boring and you spent most of your time restlessly sitting in your window seat, tapping rhythmically on the food board. When you finally arrive in France you’re ready to crash in your bed, having flown late at night, but you had promised to call your roomie to call her when you arrived in the star-shaped country.

You stay on the call until you’re laying in your hotel bed, under the covers and in your favorite hoodie of hers. It was oversized though for her, but the length fit you perfectly. And like usual you were roomed with Jessie, the older forward seemed to have a special power for getting you to calm from your hyper activeness. 

As you’re dozing off you hear Lauren mutter out a quiet ‘I’m in love with you’, but your brain is way too tired to process the sentence before she hangs up the phone.

You nearly convince yourself that the confession was made up by your mind in a moment of vulnerability, especially when your flatmate acts like nothing happened the next day, texting her normal good morning. You stand your ground though, sure of what you heard her say over the phone.

Jessie can tell how distracted you are when you sit down with her for breakfast, your mind at a million places at the same time. She doesn’t push you to talk, contently sitting in the comfortable silence just waiting for you to crack up like you usually do when you have too much  on your mind and need someone to vent to.

“I think Lauren’s in love with me”, your whispered confession has Jessie looking towards you, a soft smile playing at her lips.

“What makes you think that?”, she replicates your tone, curious but not invasive, as she whispers back to you.

“Well, I’m pretty sure she confessed last night when I was on the brink of sleep. It’s also the way she acts around me, I haven’t really noticed it before but she’s always been more…”

“Affectionate?” The older Canadian finds the exact word you were searching for and you send her a quick grateful smile before continuing,

“Yeah, affectionate. My City teammates have pointed it out to me for a while now, but I’ve never really given it much thought, now after I heard what I heard I’ve been thinking a lot about our interactions.” Nodding in thought, Jessie asks the crucial question that you know has been at the tip of her tongue since you started the conversation.

“And how do you feel about it?” The question is one you have to think over long and hard, thousands of emotions swirling around in your head making your judgment clouded. It seems like everyone knows exactly what you’re feeling, except you.

“I don’t know, I mean my head is saying one thing and my heart a completely different thing. Everything’s so divided and I don’t know what I feel at the end of the day.” The words are spoken through short breaths and quick movements, indicating your stress.

“What is it that your heart is saying?”

You reply without thinking as your heart clearly takes the reins of your body before your mind takes over again. 

“That I’m completely and utterly in love with her”

“And your mind?”

“That I’m in love with her but that she doesn’t love me back and that I have no chance with her.”

“You should know that letting your heart take over every once in a while isn’t a bad thing. Everyone can see how much you love each other, your mind is always going to make up insecurities and lies just so that you don’t step out of your comfort zone. But your heart” She puts her index finger right above where your heart is beating steadily, “is always going to tell you the truth. And now it’s telling you that you love her, so just listen for once.”

“When did you become so wise?”, you’re back to your joking ways, retreating back into yourself as things become real all of a sudden but you take Jessie’s advice to heart.

“I always have been, you’ve just always been too slow to understand. Come on now we’ve gotta go to training.”

—-

A few days later you find yourself sitting in your hotel room sending Lauren a good luck text, all your teammates sitting at various points around the room waiting for the game to start. Somehow they had all overheard you when you were asking Jessie about the game, which led to them inviting themselves into your hotel room to watch the game with you.

You pay extra attention to the small rapid forward of the England squad, watching as her feet carry her all over the pitch. Small exclamations are let out as the Brazil players are more rough than necessary, not just towards your best friend.

Your cheers bounce around the small room as Lucy assists Ella for the first goal of the match, your usual rival playing for Lauren’s team which means that she’s in your good book for the night. When the whistle for half-time blows you sigh a quick sigh of relief, not having to see anyone get battered even more. 

As the second half starts you’re at the edge of your seat, Brazil coming out blazing while England just manage to stop their attempts. What happens in the 88th minute of the game completely takes your attention from everything else.

As Lauren’s going in for a header, the Brazilian player's body is in the way and her elbow smacks right into her nose. You can see how the blood is gushing from her nose as she goes down, and your breath hitches in worry. Frozen in your place, the camera zooms in on her face as blood rushes from her nose and down into her mouth and you can feel how the bile is rising in your throat.

This wasn’t the reaction your teammates were expecting, just sitting there completely zoned out, they were expecting a furious Y/n storming around the room shouting in all directions. But they leave you be after a stern look from Jessie, the girl having moved beside you for comfort. You can’t focus for the rest of the game, not as Brazil equalizes or during the pens. 

Getting the ‘i’m okay’ text did little to assure you, but ultimately you had to believe her as you couldn’t fly out to check if she was actually okay. During the nightly facetime call you observed how she seemed to be in a bit of pain, even though she was slightly loopy from the painkillers she had been given to combat the obvious source of hurt.

The rest of the international break goes by fast, Canada drawing 2-2 with France off a brace from yours truly and England losing for the first time in 30 games with a 2-0 loss to Australia. And if you’re being honest, you were waiting for the chance to go home now.

Packing your bags, you’re off to the airport towards Manchester, and this time the flight felt like 18 hours instead of 2. But you make it to Manchester and the only thing you want to do now is to embrace Lauren and do as Jessie told you.

Luckily enough for you, Lauren had promptly told you that she would pick you up from the airport, no argument from you there. Now the only thing you need to do is find her in the sea of bodies.

A familiar squeal sounds behind you and you turn around just in time to catch a sprinting Lauren in your arms, careful to not bump her nose in the process. You lift her in a tight hug, just cherishing her company that you’ve missed oh so much. Eventually, you put her back onto the floor before making a split second decision.

Taking her face in your hands, you let your heart take over as you pull her into a sweet kiss, the kiss being everything it’s supposed to be. When you don’t feel her reciprocate you start to pull away, thinking that maybe Jessie had been wrong anyways and that Lauren didn’t like you back. It seems like Lauren comes to her senses at the last second though as she pulls you closer by putting her hands on your waist, tilting her head up slightly so that you don't have to lean down as much and pressing her lips more firmly into yours.

Pulling away from her has a whine escaping her lips as she goes up on her tippy toes to press a few quick pecks against your lips. This whole situation taints your lips with a permanent smile and as the girl opposite you asks a question you can’t help but tell her the truth.

“What was that for, bubs? Not that I didn’t enjoy it…”

“Well my dear Hempo, I followed my heart and it led me to you. You’re the reason why my heart beats a little faster and why my palms get sweaty, you’re the reason why I sometimes stumble over my words and why I can’t seem to focus when we’re in the same room. I am completely and utterly in love with you, and if I heard you right then I think you feel the same way.”

“You heard that?” Only giving a nod in response, you clasp her hand in yours as you stroll to the exits of the large airport. Out of nowhere, you let out a hum before speaking up,

“You know what they say Tempo, ‘the airport has seen more genuine kisses than a wedding hall’, I think we just proved that my love.”

Y'all better pray for me, I finished writing this instead of studying for my test tomorrow, but I hope you all like it as much as I do :) also gif is hilarious

[soylent-crocodile]

Plague Spitter (Monster)

(Plague Spitter by Chippy)

(The plague spitter is meant to be closer to an environmental hazard than a creature per se; designed to sit upwind of a town and poison everyone. Personally I think it's cool and incredibly nasty of original phyrexia to have creatures designed specifically to blight an entire region. That is hardcore evil.

Also, if it's not clear, people catching smoke plague outside the 100ft radius would be an Act Of GM; get a few townsfolk infected and let the PCs not be exposed until they're in combat range.)

CR6 N Huge Aberration (Phyrexian)

Plague spitters are massive reservoirs of an engineered disease known as the smoke plague, designed to blight and destroy population centers so they can be rebuilt in phyrexia's glory.

The spitters themselves are mindless beasts, guided by an engineered instinct to stand firm wherever a phyrexian places them and respire their noxious disease, defending themselves by ramming with their armored face if any threat comes near. Despite their great bulk, spitters are capable of short sprints when stirred into action, something which surprises many adversaries of Phyrexia. Spitters are often placed near cliffs, both so that their airborn plague can travel, and so that spitters can use their weight to shove enemies off the cliff if need be.

A bloated, tick-like monster clings tightly to its perch, spewing black smoke from holes in its swollen back.

Misc- CR6 N Huge Aberration (Phyrexian) HD10 Init:-2 Senses: Perception:+10 Aura: 

Stats- Str:24(+7) Dex:6(-2) Con:20(+5) Int:1(-5) Wis:14(+2) Cha:4(-3) BAB:+7/+6 Space:15ft Reach:10ft

Defense- HP:95(10d8+50) AC:16 (-2 Dex, -2 Size, +10 Natural) Fort:+8 Ref:+3 Will:+9 CMD: Resist: Cold 10, Fire 10, Electricity 10 Immunity: Acid, Curse, Disease, Poison

Offense- Slam +11(1d8+7 plus 1d3 Con damage) CMB:+14 Speed:30ft

Feats- Lightning Reflexes, Power Attack (-2/+4), Greater Bull Rush, Vital Strike, Awesome Blow

Skills- Climb +12, Perception +10

Special Qualities- Smoke Plague (100ft)

Ecology- Environment- Plains, Mountains (Any) Languages- None Organization- Host (3-5) Treasure- None

Special Abilities- Smoke Plague (Ex)- A plague spitter, as its name suggests, is constantly producing and spewing a black smoke of viral disease. This smoke remains virulent when dispersed by wind, and may travel up to a mile before the disease is neutralized. Creatures starting their turn within 100ft of a plague spewer are exposed to the smoke plague; Type: Disease, Inhaled Save: Fort DC16 Onset: Instantaneous Effect: 1d3 Con and Str damage, victim is exhaling black smoke in a 10ft radius that exposes all creature within it to smoke plague Cure: two consecutive saves.

[levi-venn]

Cross and Tech and Omega and Egg

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final) Available also on AO3

When CT-9904, the clone that would one day become "Crosshair", was first pulled from his birthing tank, he did not cry.  

This was by design.

Engineered to become a “stealth soldier”, 04's vocal cords were shaped so that he could not raise his voice above a frustrated rasp. It was often muted by his incubator.

CT-9903, who would one day adopt the moniker "Tech", was also silent, but this was always a cause for concern. When 03 was quiet, he was most likely attempting his next escape. He had kicked the latch off his first incubator. He had poked the hinges off his second. By the third, Nala Se had nowhere to put the baby escape artist.

Putting 03 in 04's incubator was supposed to be a temporary solution.

A week later, when the new, reinforced incubator arrived, she picked up 03, and found his hand locked with 04's with an iron grip. 

CT-9903 cried. 

CT-9904 hissed.

And so, the ever patient Nala Se left 03 where he was there.  There were no more escape attempts after that.

One day, CT-9903 began to cry.

Nala Se was in the middle of calming 05 who was trying to wreck the changing table with tiny, but mighty fists.

"Omega, see to 03, please, he needs to be changed."

Omega slid off her stool and without looking up from her datapad she said. "It's 04 who needs changing."

"How do you know?" Nala Se asked.

"03 cries louder when 04 needs help."

***

Too bright. Too loud. Deafening silence. Sudden isolation. Stimuli deprived and overloaded. Nothing. Everything. Relentless. Overwhelming.

Even if Crosshair did have the capability to scream, he'd never give the science officers the satisfaction. Let them wonder the limits of his body and the sanity of his mind. 

He lost count of how many experiments they put him through, but one thing always remained the same: He gave them no data to work with.

Until today.

Omega didn't see him. The stormtroopers were moving her and Nala Se towards the lifts, and the glass chamber he was kept in was too far from the main hall, and there were too many other cells and test subjects between them. But there she was, shooting defiant looks at the troopers as they shoved her along.

It broke Crosshair in a way these scientists couldn't.

He tried to call out to her, but his throat was dry, his vocal chords ached, and his very DNA denied him. All he could do was let out a raspy growl.

The scientists took note of the sounds. It was the first reaction they had received from him. They congratulated themselves on their findings.

Omega disappeared into the elevator. She never looked back.

A science officer turned a dial. There was a lightning strike of agony. And Crosshair passed out.

***

It was dusk when Crosshair woke up in his cell. An obsidian eye gazed unblinkingly at him. Egg's caw was subdued. It usually was on lab days.

He shakily rose to the window with his plate to share his corn and bits of unidentifiable meat, when he saw something that wasn't there for him this morning: a travel biscuit.

Tech came by. Crosshair told him not to, but he still-

Suddenly, Tech popped up in the window. "You're back!"

Crosshair was mid-bite into the biscuit and choked, turning away to cough. "Tech, dank farrik!"

"A human cough,” Tech declared, “has the estimated speed of a hundred and sixty kilometers per hour. A wookiee cough averages two hundred kilometers an hour."

"I told you to stay away."

“You did,” Tech said simply, breaking his own biscuit in half to offer to Egg. “But I disregarded your request. Consider this revenge for ignoring my wish for solitude when my legs were being reset."

“You carry grudges that long?" Crosshair asked, his amusement outweighing his exhaustion. "I just wanted your dinner roll."

“I see…” Tech said, then reached into the cell to snatch the biscuit out of Crosshair’s, hand. He took a bite, then handed it back. “Now we’re even.”

"Tech…Omega is here,” Crosshair murmured.

Tech’s face fell for a fraction of a moment, before it gave way to an analytical frown. “How long has she been here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Were they experimenting on her?”

“Not that I could see.”

Tech was quiet for a moment. “When our brothers-”

Crosshair slammed his hand against the bars. Egg ruffled his feathers and let out a craah of protest. “I swear on the kriffing stars if you finish that sentence I’ll-” he stopped himself, not because he physically couldn’t do anything, but because the devastation in Tech’s eyes obliterated the empty threat. "If they do come, let it be for her. Let me rot here. I made my choice. I deserve-.”

"Give me your hand." Tech said, evenly.

“What? Why?”

Tech removed his glove and slipped his bare hand through the bars. “Because you need it.”

Crosshair stared at the hand, his memories drifting to the first record-shattering storm on Kamino he had ever experienced.

“When will it be over?” Crosshair had snarled, curling around his cadet rifle on his bunk while the storm raged outside.

“By my calculations," Tech said, laying in the bunk below him, "another three hours and then the winds will carry it Southward.”

“I hate your calculationsss,” Crosshair hissed, pressing his cheek against the cool metal surface of the rifle barrel.

“You can’t hate calculations,” Tech said, climbing onto Crosshair’s bunk. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

Crosshair said nothing, hiding his face in his pillow.

“Give me your hand.” Tech said, laying down on the other side of the rifle. 

Crosshair wanted to say no, but just then thunder shattered the sky outside as if trying to get into their room and pull them all into the sea. Crosshair’s hand shot out and clasped his brothers.

“The fear of thunder and lightning," Tech said, "is called Astraphobia. It isn't an irrational fear as an ocean storm is the most vast and dangerous sort of storm. We, however, are in a structure designed to withstand a storm twice this size,” Tech said. "It is safe." 

It is safe…

Crosshair looked at his brother's hand extended to him through the bars. Scarred and callused like his, familiar and different, but always safe.

“We aren’t leaving without you both," Tech said, his hand suspended patiently. "I’m not leaving without you. You have my word."

Crosshair clutched Tech's hand and Tech pulled him forward slightly, giving Crosshair's hand a sturdy jerk as if to shake loose any resistance to his words. "Do you trust me?" Tech asked.

Crosshair tried to summon a biting reply, something to chase away the comforting relief this simple contact created. 

Instead he pressed his head against the cell bars and squeezed Tech’s hand tightly. “I trust you.”

***

A week later, when Tech woke up, he didn't know the Marauder was coming to Weyland the following morning.

Even if he did know, it wouldn't have changed his plans for the day. Egg still would still screech in his face, urging him to get up. He still would make the trek back to the facility. 

The last few days Crosshair seemed to be in better spirits all things considered. Today was lab day, Tech was determined to make it back to Crosshair's window before then, travel biscuits stocked on the window sill, hand ready to hold.

Until then, Tech and Egg were on a mission.

There were other windows to look into. Tech had looked into most of them searching for his sister without success. Today, he was down to his last four windows.

The first two were empty, the last one had a pair of Devronian hands clutching the bars. The third, however, a tuft of blonde hair could be seen and little else, as if a very small humanoid was gazing up at the cloudy blue sky.

It was then that Tech executed his three-phase mission:

Phase One: Establish that he is alive and well.

Phase Two: Inform Omega that Crosshair is also in the facility. 

Phase Three: An ongoing phase. Tech would do his best to split his time between Crosshair and Omega. This may prove difficult, both in travel times…and the length of time away from his brother. 

Even now, Tech found himself wishing he was at Crosshair's window, waiting for him to return. Waiting to be reassured his brother had survived whatever the science officers put him through that day. But Omega may need him, too. He would do whatever he could for his siblings, with his limited resources of travel biscuits and various informational tidbits.

Phase one began similarly to how he presented himself to Crosshair: A neatly carved message on a piece of wood light enough for Egg to carry. 

Egg made himself comfortable on Tech's shoulder, sometimes watching with keen interest and other times preening Tech's unruly hair.

The message read [Tech Lives]. 

Seemed direct enough.

Egg flew up to the window and Tech could hear his sister's startled gasp followed by an inquisitive voice. "Oh hello! Are you a crow? Where'd you come from? What do you have there?"

Tech used to ask questions like this to every single person and animal he met. He wondered if they both received this inquisitiveness from Jango Fett or perhaps Omega picked this up from Tech.

Oddly enough, he hoped for the latter.

"What?" Omega exclaimed, evidently reading the message. "Who gave you this?"

Tech raised a finger. "That would be me."

The whole point of this gently revealed plot twist was to avoid any loud outburst that may rouse a guard.

It didn't work.

"Tech!!!" Omega shouted.

Tech grimaced, but he waved. "We should keep our voices at a reasonable volume."

"I knew you were alive! I knew it! I kept saying 'we never saw a body. He's still out there!"

Tech touched the side of his temple, missing his goggles immensely. "The 'No Body, No Death' Theory is not an exact science, Omega."

"It is for us," Omega said, stubbornly.

Tech smiled. "Are you alright?"

Omega shrugged. "They brought me here to push Nala Se into working on a project. I've been assisting her. Don't know exactly what we're doing yet, but it involves clone science and advanced genetic manipulation."

"It may or may not have something to do with whatever they are doing to Crosshair here."

"Crosshair is here?!" Omega bounced up and down, presumably on a bed. "Is he okay?"

"No."

Omega's pained expression made Tech wish he could have presented that answer gently. "But he will be," he added.

"Is this crow a friend of yours?" Omega asked, stroking Egg's chest feathers.

"More precisely Crosshair's friend. His name is Egg."

"Because he likes eggs?"

"Evidently."

"I've missed you, Tech." Omega hoisted herself up to get a better look at him. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm also glad you're well. My advice is continuing your work with Nala Se. Don't raise a ruckus and-"

"And our brothers will find us! Soon!" Omega said with far more confidence than Tech felt at this point.

"My thoughts exactly."

"There's something else you should know." Omega said, stroking Egg's feathered chest. "There's a scientist here. She's a clone, too…I don't think she was made on Kamino, though. She might have been born here."

"That's unsettling. Jango's genetic code has been depleted as far as I know. She would be a very distant relation to us."

"She's not one of us," Omega said, venomous. "If she was, she wouldn't be hurting our brother."

Tech wished he had his goggles, more importantly the camera attached to it. He could have provided Crosshair proof that his siblings care about him, indisputably.

"I'm inclined to agree."

"If Crosshair's not okay, Tech, you should go back to him."

"You don't need me to stay with you?" Tech asked.

"I'm with Nala Se. I'll be fine. Go back to Crosshair."

Tech nearly left immediately, but his concern for his sister lingered. "Are you sure, Omega?"

"He needs you," she said, with a knowing smile. "And you need him too. It's always been that way."

Tech frowned at the pointed statement…and frowned further at the truth of it. 

He didn't have time to ponder, he needed to get back to Crosshair. 

He needs me. My need to know he's alright is purely a coincidence. 

Tech climbed up to Crosshair's window, ducking out of sight just as the droids dumped his brother onto the metal floor of his cell. Tech wasn't prone to anger, his logic cooled his temper before it could boil, but he felt the light crunch in his hand before realizing he had crushed one of the travel biscuits in his trembling fist. 

He waited for the sound of marching droids to fade away, then he sat up and set the biscuit on the sill. Then he waited.

Egg cawed. Incessantly at first. Then mournfully. Then sat quietly and waited, too.

Dusk turned to night. 

Tech felt a knot in his gut as he gazed at the stars. There was a time when he and his brothers would lay out on the roof of Kaminoan science center, watching for the clouds to part just long enough to see stars. 

Tech would try to identify as many planets as he could before they disappeared again. 

Crosshair would make up planets to annoy Tech and they'd get into a slap fight. 

Wrecker insisted they were just dumb little lights. 

Hunter swore he'd visit every single planet before the war was done with him.

It wasn't so long ago, but it was several lifetimes ago. They were different. The galaxy was different. Tech knew it was useless to grieve for the past. Life is ever changing and evolving. He did wish he had spent more time cherishing those moments, however. 

They are over too quickly to quantify.

Egg flapped and let out a soft craah. 

"Tech…"

Tech's glove was already removed when he sat up, reaching into the cell to clutch Crosshair's hand. "I'm here."

"You're late," Crosshair sneered, tiredly. 

"So are you."

"Omega?"

"She's fine. They aren't hurting her. I believe she's leverage to press Nala Se into the Imperial service. She asked about you."

"Course she did," Crosshair said, dryly.

"Believe it or not, Crosshair, I'm not the only one who mourned your loss to the Empire."

Crosshair grunted in response. 

He fell quiet. His grip on Tech's hand was weakening. When he spoke again, his voice sounded hollow…distant… "I'm tired, Tech. I don't know how much more I can take."

Tech tightened his hold on Crosshair's hand. "Think of it as a sunk cost fallacy. You've come this far. You've endured this much. You might as well keep going until-"

Crosshair's hand slipped suddenly from his. 

"Crosshair?"

He heard Crosshair collapse on the bed. 

"Cross?!"

Tech pressed his face against the bars, but could only see a blurry darkness. 

Egg tapped the bars insistently, letting out a distressed chitter. 

Then they both fell quiet.

And listened.

Faintly…Tech heard a very light snore. 

Logic did nothing to soothe Tech's nerves at this moment. He was tired too. He was also hungry. Starving actually. Travel biscuits didn't have enough nutritional value for a full day's energy and he saved most of the biscuits for Crosshair.

They were both on borrowed time.

Tech leaned against the wall beside Crosshair's window, then slowly slumped over, curling up as best he could.

In addition to being uncomfortable sleeping on the concrete slab it was also dangerous to fall asleep on a high ledge. He didn't care. Tonight, just for tonight, he needed to be near his brother.

***

Crosshair awoke to what sounded like a sarcastic rooster mocking the morning sun.

It was Egg. Of course it was Egg. And it was most definitely sarcastic.

When Crosshair slowly rose from his cot, still sore from the previous days experiments, he didn't see Egg's scrutinizing gaze, however, he saw his tail feathers.

"Egg," he wheezed, holding his aching side as he struggled to stand on the cot. "What're you looking at?"

Tech was curled up on the ledge. His brother slept here all night. 

Crosshair didn't remember much when he came back to his cell, his mind foggy from the drugs and his body pushed to a limit he didn't expect. 

He must have passed out. And it must have scared the dank out of Tech.

He sighed and picked up the half eaten biscuit left on the sill. There were a few peck marks but it seemed Egg left most of it for him..He threw it at Tech, which bounced off his cheek.

Tech didn't move. Crosshair rolled his eyes. 

In their cadet days, Crosshair often had to  physically roll Tech off his bunk to get him up. Tech didn't just sleep, he'd pass out. There was no such thing as a steady sleep schedule for him and every few days his body would crash. 

Crosshair had been so wrapped up in his own situation it didn't occur to him that Tech was more alone than he. 

…and what else has he eaten besides travel biscuits? 

The droids had already dropped off his stale hash brown and eggs this morning. Crosshair took two bites, gave a little egg to his crow and set the rest aside for Tech to wake up. That would be their routine from now on, he decided. Crosshair could live on very little food, he'd give the rest to his brother. 

His brother who needed him.

Something distant in the cloudy sky caught Crosshair's gaze. At first he thought it was another crow, though he hadn't seen another since Egg showed up.

It wasn't a freighter either. Not an imperial one. And it was coming in at an odd, off-kilter angle, something Hunter often did when flying covertly under radar, though not nearly as gracefully as Tech.

Hunter…

"Tech!" Crosshair wheezed. "Tech, get up!"

Tech shot up, hair sticking up every which way, his cheek creased from laying on the rough ledge. "CT-9903 reporting for…duty…." 

He blinked and looked up at Crosshair. "What happened?"

Crosshair smirked. "G'morning, sunshine." He nodded to the horizon. "You were right."

Tech followed his gaze, shielding his eyes from the sun. "They found us?"

Crosshair couldn't stop smiling if he tried. It was a thin smile, almost a sneer, and it made his cheeks ache. It felt good. "You sound surprised."

Tech whipped his head back at Crosshair, squinting and smiling. "Not surprised, just…shocked…that it took so long."

"Uh huh…Hunter and Wrecker aren't exactly the brains of our operation. You and I were always the smarter ones."

"I would never say that."

"You always say that."

Tech adjusted his non-existent goggles. "Perhaps…occasionally." He stretched and winced. "I better go meet them and give them the intel."

Crosshair dryly. "I'll stay here and watch the place."

Tech smirked. "Rest. Eat. We'll be together again soon."

Crosshair's jaw tightened, trying to summon the pessimism that kept his sanity stable, but he was tired, and in pain, and full of kriffing hope.

"Fine," Crosshair said, quietly.

Tech started to leave, legs swung over the edge of the platform. He paused. "Cross…?"

Tech rarely called him that. Just as Crosshair rarely called him "Techie". The names were reserved only for the rare moments fear and rarer moments of sentimentality. The last time he was called Cross, Wrecker had blown himself up with his own damn grenade. 

When they left behind cadet training and dove head first into combat missions neither of them could afford childish fear or vulnerabilities. They left the nicknames behind with their childhoods.

"After you're free, Tech said, "we will drop you off wherever you want to go…" Tech's eyes seemed bigger even without the goggles magnifying them. "But I hope you stay with us."

Egg clicked indignantly at Tech.

"Egg, too?" Crosshair asked.

"Of course."

"I'll let Egg decide. He's the real brains of this operation."

"While I can't argue with that as he was the reason I found you, how do we know what he will-"

Egg flapped noisily with a shrill squawk and landed on top of Techs head, seating himself and screeching pointedly at Crosshair.

Tech grimaced, careful not to move. "Well….that seemed evident to me. Do you concur, Cross?"

"I concur…Techie," Crosshair smirked. "Now get me the hell out of here."

---

Thank you so much for reading. I’m grateful for the kind words, memes, and I loved the fanart of Egg!

If you enjoyed my writing, please consider checking out my book “Error: Detective Not Found (A Cake Pop Noir)”. You can find more info on it on my main tumblr account @blueberryhelper

[utapri-translations-uuuu]

First Time - Lyrics + Translation

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

Kanji:

聴こえるか? 2人へのファンファーレ

(Bless you)

選ぶより奇想天外に

身を委ねてみても

見据えた先欲しいと願うものは

変わることなどありえない

放つ光だけじゃ叶えられないもの

(いつでも) 揺るぎない希望へ

(共に) 奏で合いたい

ダンゼン NEED!

(ゾクゾク) させてやろう

(The first time) 想像以上天国へ連れて行く

(ゾクゾク) させてほしい

(My first time) 心地よいシゲキ

その背に受けた (L) 翼は愛を (O) 象り

(VE) 飛び立つ (Angel wing)

新しい (世界) その地に立つ (ときは)

傍に Premium roost

時と場合問題ではない

この手が離れない

奇跡だけがあればそれでいい

俺が最高を創る

闇に迷ったなら歌を導にして

(いつでも) 約束の果てまで

(共に) 解き放ち合おう

トウゼン LEAD!

(ジンジン) 痺れるハート

(The first time) 秒速超えた高鳴りを生み出して

(ジンジン) 伝播していく

( My first time) 共鳴するジカン

鼓動をたたき (L) スピードにのり (I) 羽ばたけ

(VE) ここまで (Angel wing)

この腕の (中は) たったひとりへ (捧ぐ)

Special seat

寂しさを運ぶ熱風の残滓に煽られて

くすぶる想いを愛しさへ

ダンゼン NEED!

(クラクラ)させてやろう

(The first time) 禁断の一口を分け合って

(クラクラ) 甘く広がり

(My first time) 恍惚のソラへ

その背に受けた (L) 翼は愛を (O) 象り

(VE) 飛び立つ (Angel wing)

新しい (世界) その地に立つ (ときは )

傍に Premium roost

Rōmaji:

Kikoeru ka? Futari e no fanfāre

(Bless you)

Erabu yori kisōtengai ni

Mi o yudanete mite mo

Misueta saki hoshī to negau mono wa

Kawaru koto nado arienai

Hanatsu hikari dake ja kanaerarenai mono

(Itsu demo) yuruginai kibō e

(Tomoni) kanade aitai

Danzen NEED!

(Zokuzoku) sasete yarou

(The first time) sōzō ijō tengoku e tsureteiku

(Zokuzoku) sasete hoshī

(My first time) kokochiyoi shigeki

Sono se ni uketa (L) tsubasa wa ai o (O) katadori

(VE) tobitatsu (Angel wing)

Atarashī (sekai) sono chi ni tatsu (toki wa)

Katawara ni Premium roost

Toki to baai mondai dewa nai

Kono te ga hanarenai

Kiseki dake ga areba sore de ī

Ore ga saikō o tsukuru

Yami ni mayottanara uta o shirube ni shite

(Itsu demo) yakusoku no hate made

(Tomoni) tokihanachiaou

Touzen LEAD!

(Jin Jin) shibireru hāto

(The first time) byōsoku koeta takanari o umidashite

(Jin Jin) denpa shite iku

(My first time) kyōmei suru jikan

Kodō o tataki (L ) supīdo ni nori (I ) habatake

(VE) koko made (Angel wing)

Kono ude no (naka wa) tatta hitori e (sasagu)

Special seat

Sabishisa o hakobu neppū no zanshi ni aorarete

Kusuburu omoi o itoshisa e

Danzen NEED!

(Kurakura) sa sete yarou

(The first time) kindan no hitokuchi o wakeatte

(Kurakura) amaku hirogari

(My first time) kōkotsu no sora e

Sono se ni uketa (L) tsubasa wa ai o (O) katadori

(VE) tobitatsu (Angel wing)

Atarashī (sekai) sono chi ni tatsu (toki wa)

Katawara ni Premium roost

Translation:

Can you hear it? This fanfare for us two.

(Bless you)

Even if you surrender yourself to

Imaginating rather than making a choice

What you have your eyes set on for the future

Is unlikely to change

I want to play (together)

Towards an unshakeable hope (always)

That cannot be achieved with just the light that shines forth

Absolutely NEED!

Let me make you (shiver)

(The first time) I will take you to heaven beyond what you can imagine

I want to make you (shiver)

(My first time) A pleasant stimulus

The wings (L) on your back (O) embody love

(VE) and fly away (Angel wing)

(When) you step on a new (world) by my side,

It’ll be a Premium roost

No matter the time or situation,

I can't let go of your hand

We only need a miracle

And I’ll create the best

If you're lost in the dark, let the song be your guide

(Always) Let’s drift freely together

(Together) Until the end of our promise

Naturally LEAD!

(Throbbing) A numb heart

(The first time) Starts pounding faster

(Throbbing) Than the speed of a second

(My first time) Time to resonate

With a pounding heart, (L) ride the speed (I) and

(VE) fly to here (Angel wing)

The special seat (in) my arms is (dedicated to)

Just one person

Fueled by the remnants of the hot wind that carries loneliness,

My smoldering feelings turn to love

Absolutely NEED!

Let me make you (dizzy)

(The first time) We share a forbidden taste

(In a whirl) which spreads sweetly

(My first time) to the sky of ecstasy

The wings (L) on your back (O) embody love

(VE) and fly away (Angel wing)

(When) you step on a new (world) by my side,

It’ll be a Premium roost

[feelkindadizzy]

[English ID (the dialogue has been loosely translated from french to english): A gifset of a Kaeloo episode. 1. Badka yelling "Hello friends!". 2. Stumpy, Quack-Quack and Mr Cat are blow away by his yelling and are shouting in fear. Once it’s over, Mr Cat says "Oh yeah…" while Badka is bashful. 3. Kaeloo transforms back, then says "Friends, today we’re gonna play...". 4. Mr Cat is sulking afar and says : "Oh no…". Kaeloo brings up a picture of Badka and says "With Badka!". Mr Cat gets close to her in an instant and says "Ah! Very well.". 5.Kaeloo: "Me and Badka are trying to get along better. It’s not easy, but a good game can help out." 6. Mr Cat, while putting on a black bow tie: "Absolutely." 7. Kaeloo, very seriously: "Finally, Mr Cat… You are obviously forbidden from hurting Quack Quack!" 8.Mr Chat does a vocal warm-up, then asks : "And our guest, when does he play?". 9.Badka calls out Kaeloo: "Huh?". Kaeloo answers : "We agreed I would go first. Be patient, your time will come." 10. Mr Chat, waving a flower bouquet : "I’m skipping my turn. I’m waiting for the toad." Stumpy and uQack-Quack look at him with eyes wide open. Gay flags and questions marks have been added on top of them. 11. Kaeloo’s arms become long and soft, she yells. Stumpy takes up one of her arms and shouts : "Ah ! Gross !" 12. Mr Cat : "We’re loosing time there! If we want the toad to play, we need to speed things up." He runs up to the wall and counts : "One..."13. Quack-Quack blown up to the ground, and touching the wall with his finger. Mr Cat : "Alright! The duck won. Time to bring the toad in." 14. Badka, to Kaeloo: "Hey ! It’s my time to play!". Kaeloo : "Yes, I know! It was supposed to be your turn but now is not the time !"15. Mr Cat, to the Rules : "Thinggumabob! Froggy said she would trade places with the toad. She’s not doing it! It deserves a forfeit, right ?" The Rules has a gay flag and an interrogation point on top of her. 16. Mr Cat jumps towards Badka whith his flower bouquet in his hand. Kaeloo transforms back and shouts "Red light!", and instead of touching Badka, Mr Cat crash into the wall. Kaeloo and Badka laugh. / END ID]

[Description d'image: Une série de gif de la série Kaeloo. 1. Badka criant "Bonjour les amis!". 2. Moignon, Coin-Coin et Mr Chat sont dans un canapé et se prennent la violence du cri dans la tête et crient. Mr Chat est tout content, et une fois que c’est fini il dit "Oh ouais…" pendant que Badka est tout timide. 3. Kaeloo se détransforme, puis dit "Les amis, aujourd’hui nous allons jouer…". 4. Mr Chat boude au loin et dit : "Oh non…". Kaeloo prend un panneau avec une photo de Badka dessus et dit "Avec Badka!". Mr Chat s’approche immédiatement et dit "Ah! Très bien.". 5.Kaeloo: "Nous essayons de mieux nous entendre Badka et moi. C’est pas facile, mais un bon jeu peut faciliter les choses." 6. Mr Chat, en mettant un noeud papillon noir: "Absolument." 7. Kaeloo, très sérieuse: "Enfin, Mr Chat… Il vous est évidemment interdit de faire bobo à Coin-Coin ! 8.Mr Chat vocalise, puis demande : "Et notre invité, il joue quand?". 9.Badka interpelle Kaeloo: "Huh?". Kaeloo lui répond : "On a dit que je commençais. Un peu de patience, ton tour viendra." 10. Mr Chat, brandissant un bouquet de fleurs : "Moi, je passe mon tour. J’attends le crapaud." Moignon et Coin-Coin le regardent avec des grand yeux. Des drapeaux gays et des points d’interrogation ont été rajouté au dessus de leurs têtes. 11. Les bras de Kaeloo deviennent tous longs et mous, elle crie. Moignon prend un de ses bras et crie : "Ah ! Dégueu !" 12. Mr Chat : "On perd du temps là! Si on veut que le crapaud joue, faut passer la seconde." Il se met à un mur et commence : "Un..."13. Coin-Coin explosé au sol qui touche le mur du bout du doigt. Mr Chat : "Bon ! Le canard à gagné. C’est le moment de faire rentrer le crapaud !" 14. Badka, a Kaeloo: "Hé ! A moi de jouer !". Kaeloo : "Oui, je sais ! Ça devrait être ton tour mais c’est pas le moment ! 15. Mr Chat, à la Règle : "Le bidule ! La grenouille a dit qu’elle laisserait sa place au crapaud. Elle le fait pas ! Ca vaut bien un gage ça non ?" La règle a un drapeau gay et un point d’interrogation au dessus d’elle. 16. Mr Chat s’élance vers Badka bouquet à la main. Kaeloo se transforme et crie "Soleil !", et au lieu de toucher Badka, Mr Chat s’excrase au mur. Kaeloo et Badka rigolent. / Fin de la description]

[ID: A green line divider /END ID]

[english] mr cat really said "alright this season i'm CLASSY about my crush, i will stop barking and drooling and i WILL impress him by wearing a fruity lil bow tie and bringing nice flowers just for him"

...so somehow they managed to make mr cat gayer than before??? impressive feat, kaeloo season 5 we're not even 7 minutes in and you're already so damn great 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[french] mr chat a vraiment fait "ok dans cette saison je suis CLASSE a propos de mon crush, je vais arrêter de lui aboyer et lui baver dessus et je vais l'IMPRESSIONER en portant un ptit nœud pap' et en lui apportant des jolies fleurs rien que pour lui"

...contre toute attente iels ont réussi à rendre mr chat encore plus gay qu'avant??? très impressionant, kaeloo saison 5 ça fait même pas 7 minutes que tu as commencé et tu es déjà incroyable 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[sukunasun]

i actually think about professor nanami so much.. i think as someone who is also a little awkward i really love the idea of nanami having to go through a lot of trial and error when it comes to his romantic life (especially when most everything in life comes naturally to him). he's just.. not a very flirty or suave person, kinda tense and awkward, but still so deserving of love, and has so much of it to give. i think (i hope!) at some point he meets someone who he just clicks with naturally (which is so foreign and unusual to him). and yes! the quiet ones seem to be the freakiest lmao when you visit him in the office, he can't help but whisper, right in your ear, the nastiest things but anyways

i love this concept so much. as always, your writing is astounding!!

it's why professor Nanami, K. PhD. is everyone's favourite jaded scholar. with his awkwardness and yearning. contrary to popular belief, there's a lot to the surface actually. he's got nothing to hide, no rubbing shoulders or ruffling feathers. a man of his work, honest, thorough, and that tiny bit meticulous—okay maybe a lot meticulous. but never difficult per se...exactly why the space on his ring finger lays barren after all these years is a topic taking academia by storm.

the problem is—he has no game. no charms or chances with beautiful women all around. brains and beauty so beyond him. kinda like how he takes up polo in his freshman year because he's not big enough, fast enough, a league he can never be a part of. who even cares about football teams and rugby tournaments anyway.

but oh would you look at that gorgeous horse. there's something about the way he mounts a stallion, golden hair glinting under an afternoon sun and a pretty black helmet. feet perched in leather boots. oohs and ahhs ringing for the lean rookie who sports a perfect pair of trousers and wins a charity game inclusive of a shiny new rolex he doesn't care for. a popping cork resounds and champagne glistens on his eyelashes when they celebrate, sparkling rivulets down a heated cheek. there's a picture of it hanging in a glass cabinet down the hall. he passes it by and it never occurs to him that he is anything more than a loser who can't get a girlfriend. a paradox if you may.

he has to start somewhere, yet his methodology is flawed. meeting people has never been his strong suit, all shaky fingers and not knowing what to say. there are only so many seconds to stay silent before things get uncomfortable. no, he's not joining a speed-dating event or an app despite the countless attestations. he can't trust plain statements. which is why he spends the rest of the night cooped up in his dorm reading user statistics instead.

"make them laugh, say something cute, ask them about their hobbies," gojo suggests . like it's so easy. "worst comes to worst you could always beg," he adds. the smile on his face tells nanami (1) he's done it before and (2) nothing is too beneath satoru. here, he notes that gojo is as desperate as he is demanding of it. searches for love like a missing child picks at breadcrumbs in the middle of a forest, finding his way back to warmth and comfort when it's been missing for so long.

while geto offers a more tactical approach, "what's your type?" because suguru loves breaking down psyches and personalities. categorising, compartmentalizing. he'll only give in so much for what it's worth, for what he deems enough before he cuts them loose. or as gojo puts it, "guru-chan only thinks about love." the countless hearts he's broken shall be a testament to his boredom and non-committal tendencies. no one blames him, suguru's been writing about desire and the death of romance for years. call it an occupational hazard.

kento decides he'll need time. he's got a shit ton of things to do anyway. carves out an hour each day to peruse the courtyard and library in hopes of a meeting that's innate...fated. maybe it'll happen if it's meant to be. he's so tired of it all. god, he sounds like such a sap. it's unlike him, so unbecoming and unsightly. but these are good locations to meet, he's also aware that it's prime time, not too sunny or windy or so cold the tip of his nose gets red. he hates when people point it out. low hanging fruit duh. plus, the most important factor is contribution. what is he prepared to give. he's observant and curious but never too much as to feign interest. it gives him the chance to be—he thinks of the word—authentic.

as it goes, the results are lacklustre. no one is crazy enough to talk to a random stranger on a tuesday. it's no wonder why they've resorted to hookups and 'wyd's. maybe it's the sex he's missing. a new branch in the mindmap. "am i sexy?" he blurts out while haibara is busy with his daily reading, currently an article entitled 'Rice, Rice, Baby: The Complex History of the Domestication of Rice.' he looks kento from head to mid-torso, blinking twice, then tilts his head, nodding as if to say, 'hm, not bad', "i think you could pass as sexy."

nanami groans, "i think i'm done for," is a hypothesis bordering on conclusion. he goes back to tapping away at his keyboard, what else is he to do but write about it. this is how he makes sense of things, to be in control of them. he comes up blank by the ten thousandth word and all that's left are three ellipses on a new blank page. he sighs heavily, shuts his laptop, and goes back to the drawing board. although, he's got much to encourage him, he makes a nice cup of tea, some freshly baked bread, and that sweater he's bought at a summit in scotland has been running through the dryer for thirty seconds. his worries and loneliness shall be set aside the moment he puts it on.

...

[balbigalum]

Of War & Men

pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Reader

chapter summary: Aemond’s wound is getting better but not at the speed Cole and the war needs it, reader find herself between men that don’t trust her judgment, the Maester think she is poisoning the Prince and it seems like keeping herself alive it’s not an easy task. Aemond begins to look at her.

summary: You knew war was ravishing your lands and when Targaryen soldiers came into your village demanding every healer to come with them and help the cause you knew that this war was something to be scared of. (In which reader is rumored to be a witch and prince Aemond needs her help after being deeply wounded.)

tags: war, witch!reader, ser criston cole is here, enemies to lovers kinda, prisoner of war to lovers kinda, i think reader is older than aemond because he is like 20 but is not mentioned so far, +18, word count: 2.6K  

READ ON AO3

a/n:   Hey, as always any feedback is welcomed, if anything is phrased weirdly or you see any mistake let me know and i'll se what i can do to fix it, this chapter is from aemond’s pov don’t worry we’re going back to the other format in the next, if u want to be added or removed from the tag-list let me know :P

Chapter 2 (<<previous chapter | next chapter>>)

His chest felt sunken, like his heart was being weighed down by everything dark and ugly. Guilt. Shame. Pain. He felt sorrow and a need to apologize. Why was he sorry? He couldn't remember. He felt his own mouth scream, filled with hurt, but he didn't hear it. He couldn't move his arms, and his legs felt weak. The only place where he could feel his heartbeat was his left eye, behind it, beating away, making his whole head ache, the sapphire digging painful in its place. He knew the sapphire caused him pain, that's why he had stuck it there in the first place. A reminder. But now, it felt unbearable. Everything felt clouded with a thick mist, he couldn't see any light around him.

And then, a woman.

He couldn't make out her figure clearly, but he wanted her closer, anything to not feel as alone. Her dress seemed worn out and dyed a dark color, her eyes looked at him, alert and focused, and in her hand a dagger. She was coming closer, the dagger was bright. Was that his father's dagger? Who was she? Why did she have it? Was she coming for him? Fear overtook him again. When had he become so frightened? He felt like a child. The look on her face reminded him of his mother the night he had lost his eye. With the same dagger she had demanded Lucerys Velaryon to pay his debt, everybody in court had said his mother lost her mind that night, lost her composure, even his own grandfather. But no, she was right. He had lost his eye and nobody had cared. Was this woman coming to take his other eye? Had he not suffered enough? 

He smelled burning flesh now, that was his fault. He had burned half of the riverlands, any sword that dared to stand against him, against his family. Something had hit him at some point, it was barely a scratch, at least at first. And then the fever started, he could handle the heat but it got worse, his head got a little more dizzy everyday, confusion was taking over him and he couldn't keep food down. The woman was gone now and Vaghar stood in front of him. He tried to reach out for her but she opened her mouth, rising from her throat he could see the flames. He could feel the heat. For the first time in his life the heat was too much. He tried to speak. To tell Vaghar to be calm, to obey, but he no longer had a voice. Behind the fire stood the same woman from earlier, long braid over her shoulder, and in her hands his own heart, burning from the inside out, copper and red, and still beating.

Prince Aemond Targaryen woke up with a loud gasp, his hands reaching out trying to hold onto something. He was alive. His heart was in his chest, even if the pain coming from it made it hard to believe.

He was in the master chamber of the Watch Tower he had adopted as headquarters. He could barely sit up, he tried to piece together what he was seeing. It was morning, he could hear a loud shriek coming from Vaghar, she was crying out for him. He looked around the room, the light coming from the open window felt blinding in his eye. He saw a woman sitting in the corner, long braid over her shoulder, her hands bound by irons. She was awake. How long had she been looking at him? She looked alert. Did Vaghar’s roar scare her? He tried to move again.

"Bring me Ser Criston," He said, but his voice was barely there. He needed water and a bath, and then he needed to mount Vaghar and get his army to Harrenhal. She lifted her hands, still bound. Right. He thought, She can’t. "Bring me–" He repeated, and gave up. Somebody must have been guarding the door, listening, because Ser Criston and a Maester bursted through it a second later. 

"Prince," Ser Criston said. "You're alive." The Maester made his way towards him, touching his forehead and checking how conscious he was. "My Prince," The old man said. "How do you feel?" He tried to sit up again but he was too weak to do so, the Knight rushed to help him lay against the pillows in a more comfortable position. "I feel fine." That was partially a lie, he felt… Better, but he was sure he couldn't stand up if he tried. The Maester’s eyes turned suspicious.

"What did you do?" He demanded, his voice laced with disgust as he peeled the bandage from Aemond’s chest, he was talking to the woman. He wasn't looking at her, Aemond could tell the Maester was furious for some reason. He watched as the old man touched the greenish paste he had lathered on his chest. The woman did not say a word. Maester Olwyn dug his fingers in the paste and brought them up to his nose, he gasped loudly. 

“What did you do?” He repeated loudly. “This is Red Mouth, this is poison. You poisoned him.” He was screaming at this point, yet the woman remained unfaced. Ser Criston Cole yanked her by her arm, forcing her to stand up. “What did you do?” Ser Criston asked this time, she looked at him, her eyes were deep and calm. “I did what you asked me to. I saved your prince.” She spoke and her voice sounded venomous. Olwyn was trying to find a cloth, something, anything to clean Prince Aemond’s wound. “Is not poison.” She said. “He won’t die. He will recover.” 

“No.” The Maester said. “I’ll bring boiling water and clean the wound, I will heal it in the way I was taught, none of this nonsense.” She disagreed with Olwyn, Aemond could tell in the way she was pursing her lips and staring at him. “If you break the protective layer, infection will set in.” She said, simple, making her point clear. “Free me now, he is alive.” She was talking to Ser Criston now and he looked back at Aemond. “No. No until the Prince can walk again.” She huffed. “You made a promise, have you got no honour, Ser?” She asked him mocking.

Ser Criston Cole grabbed her by the hair making her hiss. “You will attend to the Prince until he is healed. I don’t care what you do, you’ll wash his clothes or scrub his floors, but you won’t leave until he is back to his former strength.” He dropped her. Maester Olwyn was coming closer to Aemond now, he had a wet cloth in his hand. “No,” Aemond said. “Don’t.” “My Prince, I need to clean the wound.” He shook his head at how dense the Maester could be, he didn’t like the Maester, he didn’t like the advice he gave him in the council and he didn’t like his old and clammy hands touching him. “Let her do what she bids.” Aemond said, Olwyn tried to protest but turned his head down once he made eye contact with the Prince. Aemond was tired, he didn’t need to waste the little strength he had left in convincing the old man, the Maester knew better than to question him. 

“Ser Criston,” He called. “Bring me food and water, don’t let anyone but you and the woman into this room.” His voice sounded strangled, even for his own ears. He closed his eye after that. His head hurt, he thought about how many of his men had seen him in this state. He could recall landing on Vaghar, finding his way into the Watch Tower, black spots clouding his view. He couldn’t allow them to see him this way. Bare and weak. Wounded. Mortal. He wasn’t such thing, he couldn’t let them know. He was the one-eye prince, the kinslayer, he was no common man, he did not bleed.

He laid there motionless. Breathing felt easier, but nothing else did.

He was in and out of sleep after that, he figured out someone must have given him water and some food during the small periods of clarity he got, it must have been Criston or maybe Olwyn, not the woman. She was still there. They had unchained her but still made her wear the irons on her wrists, a sign, he supposed, she was not to be freed until Aemond could ride Vaghar again. He looked at her, the room was impregnated with the smell of whatever herb she was grinding on a mortar, the smell was soft… Maybe it was braavossi jasmine, the same one that grew in King’s Landing. It probably wasn’t, his home was too far for it to be the same flower, still he wanted to believe it was. He knew she wasn’t the one that had tended to him between dreams, she was no maid, he could tell that at least. 

“How long–” He began asking and felt his throat burn a little. “How long until I’m better?” He asked, she didn’t look up from her concoction, the smell was becoming stronger, he let it soak him, he could pretend to be at King’s Landing for just a second. “You are better,” She said. “You were dying and now you no longer are.” She stood up and brought him a cup of what she had been preparing. “Here, it will help you feel less sore. I know Maester Olwyn should be coming in soon, he said you need a bath and to get out of bed a little.” She didn’t sound like she agreed with Olwyn’s judgment, she put the tea next to him and didn’t try to help him sit up. 

The tea did soothe him, he asked the woman her name while she drew the curtains around the bed to keep the servants from seeing him while they prepared the tub for his bath. Her name had something foreign to it, it wasn’t fully westerosi, then again the common folk from the east coast of westeros often adopted names from the former valyrian freehold, things and words they’d heard during trading. One of his ship masters always told the tale about a young boy named Daor, the valyrian word for “Thank you”, the kid had been part of the common folk of dragonstone, his parents probably had met traders from Volantis or Pentos and the word had stuck out to them. Aemond always thought it was a foolish story, but he had to admit he liked her name, or maybe it was the tea.

The copper tub sat in the middle of his chamber, Olwyn helped him in. His muscles were sore and he felt weak, the water reached only to the middle of his chest to not touch the bandage and what she had put over the wound. The water was warm, just warm. “Wash him.” Olwyn demanded her, a resentful look painted her features. “I-” She said, and stopped herself, she looked at Aemond and then at the Maester, she was calculating her options. Aemond kept his gaze on her, she was thinking her next step carefully, she was smart. 

She kneeled down next to the tub, unhappy, and put her hand into the water. “This is not hot enough,” She said. “It is.” The Maester replied exasperated, he had found an arm chair to sit, he was too old to kneel on the floor. “It’s not.” She said coldly. “Isn’t he a Targaryen? This should be boiling if you want to bring him back to health.” “Those are nothing but gossip and tales from wet nurses who believed Visenya Targaryen bathed herself in scalding water.”

Aemond closed his eye and laid back. “She is right.” He said, his voice finally sounded like himself after so long. Hot water always made them feel better, when they were kids and got a runny nose, or when Aegon broke his hand training, or when Halaena was pregnant, they always craved the comfort of hot water, he had needed it himself when he lost his eye. His mother, raised a Hightower, never understood it, time after time they had to convince her to not listen to the Maesters about the subject. 

After some bickering she managed to shut the Maester up and boiled a small vessel over the fireplace of the room. He didn’t pay much attention after that, she changed her bandages and Cole entered the room a little while after, he brought news of their campaign. They discussed what they could but Cole was still worried, he needed the Prince to be able to march with the army as soon as possible.

So Cole asked her… again. “When is he going to leave the room? When will he be cured?” She sighed. “Twenty days and twenty nights.” “Twenty days? You’re mad, we don’t have twenty days.” She shrugged. “He is wounded, not the whole army… I don’t see why you can’t keep fighting the war.” Aemond sized her up, she knew why. Criston Cole was growing more and more irritated by the second. “We don’t have twenty days.” He repeated. “You must do something.” ”You must do something or we will feed you to starving hounds” “You must do something or we will break all of your bones and leave you to die.” He knew Cole’s commands were always held under the shadow of a threat and by the looks of her, she knew it too. 

Aemond had a growing desire to be left alone, or at least to no longer hear people quarrel. If it truly took three weeks for him to recover he needed time to think, to move the pieces on his board. Maybe he could do it in only a fortnight. Still, it was too much time to lose.

“There is another way,” She said. “But it might kill me.” “No, we won’t accept any dark ritual done to the Prince.” Olwyn was yelling now, Aemond sat there considering, maybe he needed wichcraft. “It is not a dark ritual.” She looked at Aemond in the eye, she was talking directly to him, Aemond wondered if she had ever looked at him directly all this time she had been held here. “Can we speak without interruptions?” Her shoulders tensed a little. “... My prince.” It sounded so unnatural on her voice, Aemond liked it, she was pleading for his attention. “Olwyn, the evening is getting dark, shouldn't you attend to the crows?” Aemond asked him, a small smile wanting to break through. “Ser Criston, please see him out and guard the door to this room.” 

She explained to him she needed to leave the Tower, that she wouldn’t run away but it needed to be done during the night and she needed his cloak, more specifically the cloak he was wearing when they brought him in wounded and almost unconscious. She looked agitated, maybe her life was truly at risk. “It has my blood in it.” He commented. “I know.” She replied. He found it amusing, he agreed under one condition. She was to take Cole with her, according to her she could fully cure him basically overnight but he had to let her out of the Tower, he was no fool, this might as well be a trick to gain her freedom. Cole would make sure she kept her word.

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She got the cloak and he called Ser Criston into the room, after explaining to him his duty Aemond dismissed them, he was tired and needed some sleep. “Go now,” He said and then looked at her. “Your Prince commands you.” It made her shudder.

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