#or should I put her in the vault to use for something else...

[astoldbychae]

Girl, help!

Is She giving "I'm a Single mom who works too hard...who loves her kid(s) and never stops..." but make it Grown, Sexy, Earthy...and Soul Food? Are ya'll picking up what I'm puttin' down?! 😩

No but seriously, I'm tryna cook for the Soul Food Legacy Challenge but like, I feel like I suck at making Adult sims for real. Is she giving, I'm a 40-something educator with a teen daughter who is (but sorta kinda not really) looking for love again? Does she look like the "glue that holds her dysfunctional ass family togther"? Does she look like the coolest neighborhood auntie? Does she give, I come to you in the spirit of Tabitha Brown meets TheNotoriousKIA (with a dash of Tracee Ellis Ross)?...I envision her style to be Maximalist, Earthy-Afro-Boho. I feel like she's your favorite Social Studies Teacher. You know? The HBCU educated, lover of History (specifically African American Studies), teacher that wants the best for her students and community. Mama is in charge of ALL the block parties! YOU HEAR ME?

Is she giving that? or do I need to sit down and try again? 🥴

This is her with no g-shade.

Fun Fact: I'm not good at making a sims with a purpose like actually loading CAS with the intent to make a sim (for a specific challenge or etc.). All of my sims have been random townie makeovers that were just hideous and after a few hours of clicking random shit, I end up loving them (sometimes weeks or months later when I see them living their lives in the world...).

[g1rlken]

Last golden thoughts

Bucky Barnes x fem!exwife reader

*follows the original thunderbolts plot line and thunderbolts!Bucky

Warnings: minor spoilers, mild swearing, angst?

Word count: 4.7k+

summary: Congressman Barnes’ marriage did not end for the better only for his paths to cross again with his ‘wife’ in the most unpleasant fashion where he last expected her to be

an: you guys went crazy over this so I had to finish this in two days we are sooooooo back

—

​As red guardian’s fancy, gaudy and however bulletproof-ish limousine made a flip at Bucky’s detonator. The relieved group of delinquents inside were overcome with shock, bracing themselves for the fall, gripping handles tightly as the surprisingly present airbags opened in their faces. Ghost was the first one out evidently being more equipped to exit in the blink of an eye. Others fell with a thud a collective ache in everyone’s joints, groaning trying to find their way out ever so impatiently. Ghost broke the door open as Bucky was getting closer. In the front seat red guardian needed most strength to be extracted out of the vehicle.

By then Bucky had reached with a task at hand, Ava and Yelena focused more on trying to get red guardian out, “Not cool man” Alexei said in his heavy accent to the long haired who they’d assumed was here to help them.

With a swift tug with his metal arm Bucky pulled the backseat door right off its hinges, before he could lean John was already on his way out, the person following John out made his eyes widen. “You?!” He exclaimed putting his hands on her shoulders instinctively but she brushed him off and got out herself. “Have you lost your mind?! Don’t tell me you were in the goddamn vault with these-“

Standing up on her feet instantly, trying to regain balance given her vision was a bit dizzy after going through a flipping car. “You lunatic-“ she lunged at him but she was still evidently dizzy and had weak steps, he easily dodged. “You could have gotten us all killed!”

“Stop, stop!” Bucky’s hands were surprisingly of a gentle grip on her shoulders yet again, wanting her to find her footing again. “Are you alright?” He asked scanning for major injuries, if he had known she was in the car he would approached in a way less reckless way.

“Get off of me-!” Taken aback by his might to just downplay the weight of the situation, falling into old habits like they were getting reunited or something.

“Husband mode eh?” Alexei commented with a snicker, Bucky took it well, someone else didn’t.

“He’s not my husband!” She barked almost instantly and pushed Bucky even further, even after he’d let go off her shoulders.

Another truck circled around them, “With me” Bucky told them expecting them to follow without much resistance was really some heavy wishful thinking.

The red guardian was already walking, a lot of faith in the metal armed man when Yelana stoped him by his arm, “And why should we just follow you after you crashed us?”

“Bucky you do realise you could get years for attempted murder on captain America-“ Jon was stopped mid sentence by the others taking an offence at him calling himself captain America and less bothered by the attempted murder.

“You were all being chased by trucks with machine guns and I’m sure more are on the way. This is the middle of nowhere if you have better options than getting in the truck you’re all very welcome to do so” Bucky said crossing his arms, the truck driver probably one of bucky’s favour agents got on his bike and left the truck for him.

Red guardian was the first to pitch in to agree with him, Yelena and Ava had their suspicions. “It’s the worse of two I suppose” Ava said with a sigh.

“It’s not like you have anything on us and we outnumber you so there’s that.” Yelana started walking as the rest followed, no obvious threat so far.

“If it’s our help you need Bucky you know you can just ask.” Walker said with his ever high confidence in himself, it never fails to be less staggering.

“Are you people actually considering this?!” Y/n was the only one who stayed put in her place not trusting everyone’s and especially bucky’s instincts to follow him into god knows where, “We can’t trust this man-“

“‘This man’ honey? Really?” Bucky quoted her absolute disregard for their history like he was some stranger she detested so much. He wasn’t walking back to the truck either, well aware of stubborn she was he was ready to let this play out for a while and eventually take matters, her, quite literally into his own hands.

“Don’t call me that!” The disgust on her face was as though he had committed at atrocity, the others had already started accommodating themselves in the truck for her to get her point across.

“You know all this anger really isn’t good for your health.” He told her, leaning a bit forward and she stiffened.

“You know what would be good for you? Letting me be” she told him uncrossing her arms and the last of her ‘loser’fest team were already walking into the truck.

“Why would you get yourself into this mess? You know you are better than this and please don’t tell me you were in the vault” it felt so natural to fall back into old habits for Bucky. The soft scolding with an undertone of concern and frustration. He didn’t miss this feeling of dread that he was yet again so close to losing her but he was grasping at straws into conversations with her, after the divorce she had blocked his number, locked their old apartment just recently because he kept finding reasons to visit her over and over. Even stopped all streaming subscriptions he couldn’t even work through without her so if this was the conversation he could make he’d take what he can get.

“You are the last person I’m answerable to.” She clarified him losing his keeping tabs privileges on her as their marriage fell. It was the least pleasant feeling to be harsh against anyone, even him, despite of what he did. But if it she acted even a bit less colder it would give him hope to no end. So she kept it up and walked across him, he stayed unmoving from her way and her shoulder brushed his somewhat rudely she didn’t even account it. He felt good about her casually striding against him as if his touch didn’t repel her anymore. Idiot.

Before she could climb into the back of the truck with the rest of them he stopped her getting inside himself first and swiftly started cuffing everyone, “hey what the hell” Yelena said struggling against him but those high tech binds were so swift she couldn’t retaliate in enough time.

“Come on Bucky you know me is this really necessary?” John scoffed trying to break free of the cuffs but or was no use.

“She was right” Ava said nodding at the woman standing outside the truck unfazed Bucky would pull this, trying to make the run for it into ghost mode but the cuffs kept her hands in place so she couldn’t even move forward in her projecting form.

“You, in the front” Bucky said looking back at her and she obviously defied it.

“Why?” She scoffed not wanting to walk into his plan after he literally cuffed all her acquaintances. “We are not your little evidential gifts against Valentina”

“She did try to kill you all” Red guardian chimed in as Yelena nodded about the fact.

“It doesn’t align with our principles if he is the one who turns us in, we could do it ourselves” the fact that ‘Congressman Barnes’ would get all credit for brining Valentina’s assets in after they risked their lives to get out really didn’t sit right with her.

“Why would we turn ourselves in at all?” Ava questioned not really into the idea of getting under oath whatsoever.

“Exactly. It is up to us what we decide not him” So glad the others saw her point at least now, despite of walking into getting themselves tied up.

“It really isn’t” he shrugged and pointed to another one of automobiles from vault’s base at a far distance. “Say no and I’d leave you all here to fend for yourself.” No one but her would be ready to call his bluff. He knew that she knew that too well that he would rather fight off nearly everyone in that truck than put her in harm’s way but he had to convince the others somehow and it seemed to work well enough as he got out of the back container to get into the driver’s seat.

“Why doesn’t she get tied up?” John questioned as she had to walk to the passenger seat on Bucky’s uncalled for demand.

“She is the missus!” Red guardian said stating the obvious and a shrug, already under the cool influence of Bucky to question it.

“They’re divorced” John pointed out

“Doesn’t seem like it was mutual” Yelena commented gaining a snicker from Alexei.

-

In the front, looking out the window as Bucky pushed it on the accelerator, “Where are we going?”

“New York” he answered her without much debate or resistance, if he were to recall there was never a time he could lie to her. He would never want to.

She didn’t have much questions to ask because she didn’t want to give answers to the ones he would ask back, not without consulting the rest anyways. Besides she would rather turn herself in than to afford another conversation with him. With a heavy sigh she looked out the window crossing her arms.

He looked in her direction, eyes softening despite the gravity of the situation they were in. The exhaust on her face was evident, “There are some pain killers in the cabinet.” He told her.

No response for her equated to her disinterest in taking them, he knew she hated any sort of antibiotics or meds just to push through her pain but it was worth the shot, as stubborn as she was he hates her open wounds. He opened the cabinet and got out the patching kit, whilst his other hand was still on the steering wheel. He opened the pack between his teeth and applied antiseptic on the patches, without asking he put it on her forehead where she’s seemed to have taken a bad hit. “Ow” she grumbled in pain but needless to say it was a required patchwork for the bleeding. “I’ve got it” she said taking it from his hand on her forehead into her own.

Her palms against his arm…he hadn’t felt it in so long. His hand was much larger in her comparison he’d always noted that. Being reminded of that again made him want to intertwine his fingers in hers and hope she could undo every moment he had to be away from her.

Eventually he took his hand away and put it on the driving clutch, even though it wasn’t a manual drive, he just couldn’t contain the life coursing through him after her hands touched him against. It’s these minuscule of interactions with her that gave him so much purpose. At first when he saw her in the flipped car he felt awful she was here in the first place but now he has her right next to him on the road to New York and he feels bad for wishing the miles are longer than they usually are.

“Hey this is not a manual drive” she was quick to pick that up when he didn’t take his hand off the clutch for a while being lost in thought, unrecovered from her touch.

“Oh” he nodded taking his hand off and back to the steering, “I know” he had to shift the conversation “You practised on our old manual when you were renewing your license right?”

“Your old manual was a good car” she said emphasising on ‘your’ given the fall out.

“I wonder why we let it go.” He was left bemused trying to remember what was the reason to let it go given it wasn’t a bad car.

“You wanted to let it go because it was taking up too much space in the garage after the engine got way too old to be repaired” She reminded him thinking back to it now, it had become an old junk but the two of them held onto it for quite a while. Working on it on the weekends, basically he’d work on it and she would keep the conversation. She had a joke that Bucky was pursuing his abandoned mechanic dream every weekend on that car, that black sleeveless vest top laying his biceps all bare and as hot as he was working on the engine she hated the grime and the smell of automobile oil, he would purposely encage her between his arms and kiss her all over, then shower together later. Snap out of it.

“Had a good run with it, it even had a cassette player system” Bucky looked at her but she wasn’t looking back at him. Clearing her throat she shifted in her seat, they got rid of that car before they had a conversation of getting rid of their marriage but maybe the forthcoming was evident.

“It didn’t have that you modified it that way because we had a lot of cassettes between us” she corrected him as her lips curled into a small smile.

“Oh right” he nodded mirroring her smile, it just happened with him involuntarily every time she smiled and this was his first time in a while. “I think I lost some from my set, I maybe have 10-12 tapes left which is crazy given my set had about a 100”

“How would you lose them you never took them out of the house?” She asked with a faux confused look on her face.

“Exactly! It’s like they just vanished” he told her shaking his head, “I think the house needs a bit going over for me to find them”

Just humming in response she leaned back in the seat as the two fell into silence again, it wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t awkward either. Nostalgia was often ugly. Their minds were going through ugly sweet things, Bucky’s mind wasn’t going through nostalgia it was in its usual state: consistent reminiscing of their marriage. In his life he didn’t have much things to lose in the first place except for her, she was the last golden thoughts he could have before he’d sleep and the first before he’d wake up all day, everyday. He didn’t have much to think back to fondly but it changed when she walked out of his life.

As he drove through the terrains, glancing through both the side view mirrors then back at her, she had fallen asleep. Leaning against the window, her eyes closed with a completely serene expression on her face he hadn’t seen in so long. She had actually fallen asleep around him. The scene had a strange intimacy to him, the fact that her mind still considered him safe enough to fall asleep around. Even after all dodged calls and messages, all the get-outs, changing her ways to not come across him in the city, telling everyone her mistrust in ‘this man’ yet she could fall asleep with him at the wheel just like the old times.

When they reached the abandoned safe house Bucky didn’t deem it proper to wake her up when she was already so exhausted. The others tied up and over explaining the Bob situation did not let her absence go unnoticed “What did you do with her?!” Ava asked, high suspicions it wasn’t good.

“We should have listened when she told us to be careful about you, he probably left her back there” Yelena said with a scoff, such a decorated man stooping so low.

“Woah woah” Bucky was crazed at the fact that these people assumed that he would hurt her, of all people. “She is still in the truck, she was sleeping very soundly so I didn’t want to wake her up.”

The red guardian snickered, “A real lover!” He commented in a positive way.

“Grow a pair, Bucky” John scoffed leaning against his binds, the man was on the phone for a while and would’ve happily disregarded Walked’s comments anyways.

“Are you like the podcast men?” Alexei asked facing Walker.

“—What does that mean?”

“Toxic masculinity, not good, insecure—bad just bad, are you them?” Alexei listed off his

very accurate descriptions of men who run podcasts.

“Men who run podcasts aren’t all that” Walker said rolling his eyes at the man’s poor judgement of those guys. “Besides Bucky is not a real lover, he’s freshly divorced”

“Do you not see the wedding ring?” Alexei asked nudging in bucky’s direction, the thick gold band was hard to miss: by anyone.

“Probably just wears it because it’s real gold or something” which was a bit ironic because even as a separated husband he didn’t have one on.

“On his wedding finger?” Ava asked raising a brow as she indulged in the divorce too, tied up they had nothing better to talk about.

Before Yelena could pitch in her two cents too, Bucky got off the phone and started freeing the set of ‘thunderbolts’ out of their ties. Giving them a brief explanation of wanting to help Bob they were all on board, as they headed back down to the truck, it was empty. The back and the front, the highly trained ex assassin went full into visible panic mode with her out of sight. A specific drop of his heart only her absence could cause him to feel.

It was difficult trying to explain to the bunch of all-of-a-sudden-ride-or-dies god knows where she picked up from, that her husband of three years and counting with a small bump of divorce of four months would be the last person in this world to hurt her. However difficult it was he managed to get his point across and decided they were off to a detour before getting to Valentina’s HQs.

Once they loaded back in the truck he drove with determination to get where he had deduced he would find her. Their old apartment, she kept her original gear there. If there was one thing he knew about her she was to never back down from a fight, however big and impossible. That had been his biggest fright throughout their marriage, not a single bone in his body had moved on from.

Bucky thought he could fetch her back down himself but he thought wrong, apparently they did not trust him with her so all or thunderbolts went up the six story building. As expected the door was open, “How many times have I told you to keep this locked?” It really wasn’t difficult to fall back into old habits. Always leaving in a hurry, always forgetting to lock doors. He thought to himself but it wasn’t just about locking the door when he hoped the door was open.

“Again?!” She exclaimed walking out of the bedroom into the living fixing the belts around her gear, her old gear. The most trusted one. It was a superstition of hers really, Bucky knew it affected nothing no combat flexibility or space…it was just old. “How did you all not manage to lose him?”

“We didn’t know if you left or he did something” Ava filled her in about her doubting their capabilities to lose Bucky by choice.

“He wouldn’t.”

“—I wouldn’t!”

Both of them said at the same time.

To avert the sync she refocused on strapping her knives into her suit, in all places and possible belt gaps. “Hey, is that mine?” Bucky’s attention went to the set of two in her hands she was about to fixate.

“No it’s not.” Caught, she hurriedly tried to wrap it in her suit.

“Yes it is, those are mine!” He huffed; it had been a long while since he had to be in a position where he would need all his knives but he remembers and counts all the ones he’s had and he knew exactly which ones were missing, surprisingly right after the divorce. “That set is a wedding gift from Sam if I remember correctly!”

“Exactly! It was my wedding too I can keep them!” She stood her ground, well aware it was a set of two, one for him&her type but it was too beautiful to break the set and she wanted both those knives. He hadn’t noticed it this entire time.

“You don’t get to keep them both I get to keep one.” He argued, validly so. “I can’t believe you just took these both with you letting me know once”

“You never asked! All this time you kept coming at my place for the pillow covers, cushions-literally last month you knocked on my door because you thought I took the tv remote with me! You never asked about these” she pointed at the knives and somewhere along the lines both of them knew Bucky was just finding reasons to see her again and she was allowing it too.

“Wow” Yelena commented at the desperate measure. Given the time they were short on this bickering was too intresting to be stopped abruptly.

In the haste to keep the knives to herself in her suit dropped it, giving Bucky the leverage to pick it up and examine it. He bent down to get it and found stored cassettes in the coffee table. “You have got to be kidding me!” He exclaimed frustrated as he got out all the cassettes, he thought were missing. “You had these the whole time?!”

“—I must have packed them by mistake when I moved out” she shrugged trying to downplay how purposeful it was but he saw through it.

“These are all my classics, you didn’t even ask me before taking them in the settlement?!” Bucky huffed going through the tapes.

Cursing under her breath she face palmed herself, for some reason this day was getting way too long. “Look I know the divorce agreement never said-“

“I didn’t even read that” Bucky scoffed shuffling through the tapes he thought he had ‘lost.’

“You signed it without reading?” Surprised she raised her brows.

He put the box down on the coffee table and nodded with a shrug, making a mental note that he will come by at her place over and over for all the tapes and not just take them altogether. There were around 93 tapes in there which belonged to him. 93 excuses to see her. “It was you, I just trust you.”

“See!” Alexei cackled giving Walker a big pat on his back for being right about the lovers fact. “Very silver springs”

“Silver springs?” Yelena asked raising her brows at the refrence.

“Like the song.” Alexei spoke with his thick accent ‘Like zhe songh’ “Never get away from the sound of a woman that loved you” he even relayed the lyrics from the group, Ava nodding at the obvious relation.

“He still wears the wedding ring though” Yelena pointed out trying to frame the dynamics of who’s who for the song reference.

“He would be Stevie Nicks.” Ava clarified stating the obvious as Alexei smiled wide at her, nothing like someone getting the perfect reference.

“What the hell?” The ex wife in question did not take that insult lightly, she didn’t point it out all these months why he still kept wearing the wedding ring. “Real good manipulation tactics, Congressman Barnes.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Bucky exclaimed unsure how he got under the bus even though the Silver Springs refrence say very right with him. Eire how that refrence came up when no one knew he’s been having sessions of that song in his car ever since she left.

“You need to take off that wedding ring and the whole oh-she-left-me boo hoo theatrics like it wasn’t a mutual decision!” She let out unable to keep it in after these months of heartbroken yet preserving congressman Barnes, all the press issues.

“You know it wasn’t.” Bucky shot back, “I just didn’t want to you to work for Valentina and look what you’re gearing up for! The woman who tried to incinerate you!”

“It was a miscalculation of the job I took up and I got myself alive out of that” it was so frustrating trying to debate this again.

“You chose working for her over me! Over our marriage!” Bucky’s voice grew a bit louder than when he said before and the others just witnessed this break out awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t we let them have this conversation privately?” John muttered looking for the cue to exit this scene.

“No.” Alexei, regardless of his fanboy tendencies towards Barnes, he was somewhat interested in witnessing this, he was the least tensed person in the room. Ava and Yelena didn’t want to exit for the sake of interjecting just in case.

“No I chose a life you couldn’t dictate!” She cried out just as intensely as his voice. “And do not put this on me as if you don’t know what you did.”

“I saved your life that day. Just like today.” Bucky said in a lower voice flatly. Very unbothered and cold to the notion of saving her life, it was such a given to him. She would put herself in such situations and he would just have to make do. Reckless with not much thought but he could always rely on himself to keep that head over her shoulder.

“You put me in danger that day!” The agony in her voice was so evident, “You let me work on that assignment for months and on the final day—you leaked my coordinates on purpose so that Congressmen Barnes can have the best packet, you wanted to Valentina dragged to court and you got that at my expense.”

Putting his arms on his hips; taking in a deep breath. It was planned yes, he gave the feds her location for the OXE group mission she was put on, he could have told her to never take up the job but it had already led to so many countless fights. She had helped him through his electoral campaigns, supported him through it all but it just wasn’t the right fit for her. Combat was all she had known life to be so far, so her let her have her gigs. However he didn’t realise she could also work for Valentina without much thought and by the time he could pitch in she had already accepted the joke. He could have stopped it then too, but he didn’t. There was a bigger gig for him in it, exposing his wife’s secret assignment is how he got Valentina into impeachment proceedings.

Bucky wasn’t proud of keeping it a secret from her the entire time she was working on that assignment but it didn’t prove to be non fruitful, “I am the one who had to bear the expense of you leaving because you didn’t have it in yourself to stay, you just ran. Like a coward. Like always.”

That was a poke at a really old wound, she wasn’t a habitual leaver but at times when stuff got emotionally thick her fight or flight response was not fight. The first time, before they were even together…she always stayed away and distant and after their job was done, Sam upholding the shield. She just left. Leaving everything between Bucky and herself to be unsaid and be lost in fragments of season he just went after her, got the girl and the resr was history. Wretched, domestic, sad, far, a marriage in their history. However she couldn’t stomach that, “You piece of shit-!” She lunged at him full force and he barely held up his defence. More than happy for her to have at it.

“Woah woah woah” Walker spoke as chaos erupted in the small living room itself, not even out in the field yet.

Yelena got a hold of her however Ava wasn’t into the idea of not letting her get her frustration out, Alexei pulled back away, “We are the thunderbolts. Thunderbolts don’t fight ourselves. Not like this.” He said as the fight seemed to break.

“I am no teammates with any of you, especially that man!“ anger still coursing through her she pointed at Bucky as Yelena kept swaying her farther.

“Yeah yeah I think he gets it” Yelena tried to soothe her anger down so he could move on from this outburst.

“Can we just move on with the task at hand?” Before John could even finish that sentence Bucky was walking out the apartment broodingly, slamming the door open out of his way.

She stayed in her place taking in a few deep breaths in order to process it fast enough as everyone left, Yelena stayed with her, nodding off to red guardian in a small look that said ‘I’ve got her.’ “You okay?”

“-Yeah…let’s just get going.”

-

Please let me know if this story is a drag…for some reason it seemed better in my head than this! Regardless tune in for final two if you liked it! ;)

tags: @blowingbarnes @pattiemac1 @scrumptiousloser @suffragette-cities @toaster-fork @accoochtrement @forthelovelyheart @western-nightss @itsmeamysworld @taniamunson @dakota-rain666 @seventeen-x @bvckys-doll

[rhiannonsknife]

okay, i don't wanna give spoilers, since you said you hadn't finished it, so.. first episode feels safe ??

fucking your cousin's is normal. it's a vault, there's limited selection. nobody blames you. but fucking your best friend.. well, that's a little much for lucy. not because your a girl. no, that's not- that has nothing to do with it, she promises. she just doesn't want to change your bond, that's all.

or super convoluted way to say lucy has a crush on you and refuses to admit it. mayb ?? idk if this makes sense sorry

also first ask i've sent that's not just conversation, so.. should probably put a name to my claim.

- 🦴 ( if possible </3 )

── KISS ME ONCE, THEN KISS ME TWICE, THEN KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

— summary: you and lucy decide to ‘practice’.

— warnings: friends to lovers. mostly fluff with some nsfw-ish content. so mdni.

the hum of the vault’s fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, the sound so constant it’s easy to forget it’s there at all until everything else is silent.

you and lucy are sprawled on the bed in her quarters, your shoulders pressed together as you share the same faded book, its pages worn from years of careful reading. the vault’s limited library doesn’t get restocked, after all.

“you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask suddenly.

lucy doesn’t look up from the pages, though her grip tightens slightly, the paper under her thumb crumbling. “not really,” she lies.

“come on!” you press, nudging her with your elbow. “you’ve never wondered what it’s like? the open sky, fresh air…”

at that, she snorts. “fresh air? you know the stories! it’s nothing but radiation and monsters out there!” lucy flips the page, her eyes fixed on the paragraph in front of her.

you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at her. “you don’t think everyone out there is bad. you’re too nice for that!”

she finally glances at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “you think i’m nice?”

“well, of course,” you say, your tone teasing. “i mean, you could just tell me to shut it and read the book, but here we are!”

lucy laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and looks back down at the book. she doesn’t turn the page.

“okay, maybe i do think about it,” she admits after a moment.

it reminds you of childhood. of sitting in the quiet dark of the quarters, exchanging hushed secrets in the comfort of her presence.

“but not the way you do! you’ve got this whole…” she gestures vaguely, her eyes flicking back to yours. “…adventure thing in your head. like the outside world’s just waiting for you to show up and save it single-handed!”

“and you don’t?”

“nope.” she smiles. “i mean- eventually. once it is safe for all of us to return back. maybe our children will?” she clears her throat and nudges you with her shoulder. “anyway, why would i want to leave when I’ve got you around to drive me crazy?”

you grin, making a point of ignoring the way her words make your heart flutter. “lucky, lucky you!”

“don’t i know it?” she says, rolling her eyes, but her smile lingers, softer now.

the silence settles again, this time heavier with the book no longer her only focus. you don’t notice but lucy’s eyes keep darting your way, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper.

she’s fighting a battle in her head. one she’s been losing for weeks, maybe months.

lucy’s been told, more than once and by multiple sources, that making out with your cousin, for example, is normal. perhaps expected, even, just to have some sort experience secured.

but wanting you? her best friend ever since she can remember? that’s something different. something that makes her palms sweat and her stomach twist in ways she can’t explain whenever she tries to picture it.

“hey,” you say suddenly, pulling her out of her spiral. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” she says quickly, her voice too bright. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“you’re fidgeting,” you point out, reaching to still her hand.

the touch is light, casual even. something you’ve done a hundred times before. but it feels different now, with pictures of your lips on hers flashing through her mind. lucy knows it’s not your fault. it’s hers. it’s always hers.

“i’m fine,” she insists, pulling her hand away and crossing her arms. “just…tired, i suppose,”

you don’t look convinced, but you let it go, lying back down and turning your attention to the book. lucy stays sitting up, her eyes on you instead of the page.

she shifts awkwardly, trying not to fidget again. you've started having that effect on her, and it's driving her crazy.

“you know,” you say suddenly as if you'd been reading her mind. “people in the vault are always talking about how it's normal to…y'know, experiment?”

lucy's head jerks toward you so quickly it's a miracle she doesn't pull a muscle.

“experiment?”

“yeah," you hum. “like...with other people…everyone says it's no big deal. ‘limited options,' and all that!”

she swallows hard, her palms suddenly clammy again. “uh...sure,” she says, trying to sound disinterested. “i mean, that's just how it is, right? have to keep the gene pool going or whatever,”

now it’s your turn to snort. “i'm not talking about marriage and babies, lucy. i mean..." you trail off. “practice.”

“practice?” she echoes, her voice an octave too high, the words catching in her throat.

“for when we do get married someday,” you clarify, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. there's a pause before you quickly add: “not to each other, obviously,”

lucy feels like her brain is short-circuiting all over again. you can't just say things like that and expect her to function like a normal person. “right….gee, of course not to each other!” she parrots.

you sit up fully now, visibly excited. “but think about it! vault life does mean limited options, right? most people are already making out with their cousins to 'prepare for marriage!” you pull a face, the very idea making you wrinkle your nose in distaste.. “at least this way, we're...helping each other out. as friends!” “as friends,” lucy repeats, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “you…you’re serious?” her voice wavers, and it’s humiliating. god, why couldn’t she just sound normal?

“why not?” you shrug. “it's not like it has to mean anything!”

she wants to tell you it already does. that it's meant something to her for as long as she can remember. that it could never not, when it’s with you.

but instead, she stammers, “i- i don't think-“

“oh, come on!” you tease, your grin widening. “what? are you scared?”

that does it. lucy always had a stubborn streak, and you’ve learned exactly how to poke it.

“i'm not scared,” she insists, sitting up straighter.

“then prove it!”

lucy freezes. the air between you charged with something she doesn’t quite know how to name. every ounce of logic in her brain is screaming bad idea, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming desire to close the space between you. just this once. ust for the sake of practice.

“this is...for practice,” she says finally, the words shaky, as if she’s reminding herself more than you.

“exactly.” your voice is soft now, steady. reassuring.

she hesitates for a heartbeat longer, her eyes searching yours for any sign that this is some cruel joke, a trap, a mistake. but all she sees is you: familiar and warm and impossibly close. before she can talk herself out of it, lucy leans in.

the kiss is tentative at first, her lips brushing yours with a softness that surprises even her. it’s careful, until you don’t pull away. when you lean into her instead, it deepens. the warmth of your mouth sends a jolt through her entire body, a shiver that starts at the base of her spine and works its way up.

her hands hover uncertainly in the air before finding your shoulders and holding on for dear life. lucy senses you smiling against her lips, and feeling the curve of your mouth against her own sends her poor heart stumbling in her chest. stumbling, then falling. falling deeper than it ever has before.

your lips taste like the chapstick she applied on them earlier, reasoning that they’d been looking a little too dry when -in reality- all she wanted was an excuse to get to see you from up close.

now, that same gloss smears against lucy’s own, leaving the faint taste of cherry in her mouth. she wants to taste of cherry everywhere, overcome with an unexplainable urge to drown in the flavor altogether: a sweet trail drawn slowly along the zipper of her vault jumpsuit. perhaps even lower, after, so that when you’ll come back up to lucy’s mouth, you’ll taste of her instead of cherries and she’ll get a taste of that, too.

when you are the one to pull back first, heat rushes to her cheeks. you're both breathing a little harder, the space between you buzzing with something electric.

“well,” you begin, your tongue darting out to wet those lips. lucy finds herself watching, mesmerized. “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

her heart is pounding so loudly she's sure you can hear it from where you’re sitting. “uh...no. not bad!”

you grin, leaning back on your hands like nothing monumental just happened.

“we're definitely ready for marriage now,” you conclude, teasing.

later that night, after she’s made sure that the doors to her room are locked, lucy slumps down into the comfort of her bed.

her pillow is still crumpled where you sat earlier.

when lucy presses it between her legs, her face in the bedsheets to stifle her sighs, she smells cherries.

the door to lucy’s quarters hisses shut behind you.

lucy stumbles backward, her lips already pressed to yours, her hands fumbling against the curve of your waist to steady herself. the room feels smaller than usual, the bed barely a few feet away.

“just…practice…” she murmurs between kisses, her voice breathless and a little shaky.

“exactly,” you whisper back, your lips brushing hers again before moving to her jaw.

lucy hums in agreement, though the way her hands tighten on your waist as your lips find her neck suggests she’s not really thinking about marriage prep, potential husbands, or the repopulation anymore.

after that first kiss, something shifted between you. something neither of you could explain but could not resist either. what once was supposed to be casual, a vault-sanctioned form of bonding, a way to keep things ‘normal’ in an environment that was anything but had turned into something way more the moment your lips touched hers that night in her quarters. ‘normal’ went out the window then.

it’s become a familiar pattern over the last few weeks: a fleeting glance across the cafeteria, a brush of hands in the halls, a whispered promise to meet later when no one’s around.

not that you ever talked about it. with all the rules in vault 33, the unspoken one between you both was the most important of all: keep it light, keep it safe. you never pushed further than kisses, never ventured beyond the safety of your blue and yellow vault suits. anything else would be too much, too real.

still, it didn’t matter how many rules you set for yourselves; staying away wasn’t an option. not anymore.

lucy’s back hits the edge of the bed, and she lets out a quiet laugh, her cheeks flushed. “we’re getting really good at this,” she teases.

you grin, leaning down to press another kiss to her lips. “we’re dedicated to the craft,”

her laugh softens into a sigh as you pull back slightly and she can’t chase your mouth with hers, your foreheads touching.

“this isn’t weird, right?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now.

you tilt your head, brushing your nose against hers and drawing another chuckle from her. “weird?”

“yeah.” lucy swallows. “i mean, we’re best friends. and we’re…”

“practicing,” you finish for her.

“right,” she nods quickly. “practicing!”

you don’t say what you’re both thinking: that this doesn’t feel like what it was supposed to be. that it never did, to begin with.

instead, you kiss her again, slow and deliberate, letting the moment stretch. lucy’s hands finally settle on your waist, pulling you closer as her nerves melt away.

all these weeks of making out under the disguise of practicing for a hypothetical marriage neither of you had ever shown any interest in had been good already. great, even. better than anything else you’ve ever known. which truthfully isn’t that much, but it still counts for something that you’re more than willing for lucy to be your first.

the only inconvenience to your little escapades would come later, after sneaking out of her room: the shameful feeling of your arousal, a stubborn reminder that you could not truly be casual about any of this.

still, leaving lucy’s quarters with your wetness pooling between your legs uncomfortably would always be worth having the little of her that you'd been granted.

perhaps one day, it would actually feel like enough. until then, you'll continue with the familiar pattern you've both fallen into. you'll let her touch you through the way too restrictive fabric and say a little prayer that, one of these days, she will go straight for the zipper instead.

[prahelika]

let's get into it. the most incoherent and nonsensical rant of all time ig.

the symbolism of the Knife (™) in Mission Impossible

our first introduction to the knife comes all the way back in MI1. It's used to kill sarah - ethan finds it lodged in her body. It's interesting that sarah's body is the only one ethan ever sees with his own eyes - it makes the horrifying events of the night real. once confronted with the body of his friend, ethan can no longer consider this a bad dream or a delusion. it's real, his friends are dead, he has nowhere to go, the authorities are after him.

so the first role the knife plays signifies ethan's loss of innocence. (bear with me, this is going to make sense in a minute. or not.)

next time we see the knife, it's in the hands of franz krieger. he's a secondary antagonist; his role is to provide a clue to ethan as to which side he's on, and die messily at the end. it's here that ethan recognises the weapon in his hands, and starts to put the pieces together. (krieger has the knife that killed sarah + krieger was brought to the team by claire = something fishy is up.)

the most significant scene with the knife is, of course, when krieger tries to kill a person with it and ethan stops him. it should be noted that, upto this point, the audience doesn't really know shit about ethan's moral alignment. is he looking for revenge? is he looking for a way to clear his name, and nothing else? is he even a good person, worth rooting for beyond the fact that his friends are dead? who knows?

until this scene. "zero body count." it immediately establishes ethan as a person who is unwilling to sacrifice even a single life, no matter what. It may be argued that it would be justified for a spy to kill in this specific circumstance (1. ethan needs to clear his name 2. the NOC list needs to be taken for ethan to figure out what is going on) but he. doesn't. I don't think ethan directly kills a single person in the film.

the point here is that the knife, previously shown as something that is meant to destroy ethan's character, is then used to build his character up instead, showing him as somebody who's morally good even in the worst circumstances of his life.

now, we can fiiiiiinally come to MI8.

a role played by the knife in the first film was also to destroy the life of william donloe, the guy supposed to guard the NOC list. it gets him sent to a far-flung corner of the world for the rest of his life. wow, bet he's pretty pissed at ethan, right?

wrong. he's found a new life for himself with a wife he loves very much. he thanks ethan for giving him a life he's proud of. the knife that was supposed to be the end of his life was actually the beginning. (cheesy af but words not wording rn. sory.) he's a major player in the endgame, and he gets to survive along with his wife.

now! the last use of the knife. unless I'm very, very, very mistaken (in which case I will delete my entire blog), it is used by paris for the emergency surgery in the doomsday vault to save benji. and i. just. does anything really need to be said about that. the knife used to kill ethan's friend now being used to save ethan's friend.

the point of this whole post!!!! was to emphasise the fact that the knife always, always signifies turning a bad situation into a good one. it's a representation of ethan (mr. Impossible Mission) managing to flip the script everytime and make the absolute best of the suckiest situations he gets into.

tldr: the knife is a metaphor for the soul of mission impossible which describes how the man's greatest strengths stand out in his worst moments. "you use a scalpel, i prefer a hammer" wrong, angela basset, ma'am. they use a knife.

also if you made it to the end. you are now my friend without introduction. have a picture of peak eye candy ethan hunt and the unholy spirit that guides him.

[catiuskaa]

𝐆𝐓𝐊: 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲.

sum. seungmin streams from time to time with the boys, and today, you wanted to join in… kind of. not like he’s going to complain!

wc. 1.0k

cw. fluff! swearing, they’re playing gta (guns and other weapons mentioned) sanrio characters, short references to seungin, minsung and hyunibini, and that’s all!

req! by annonie right here. girl i am so sorry it took me so long, i completely erased this from my mind ㅠㅠ hope you’re still around!

[♦️ ☆ 🎆 ☆ ♦️]

The lights flicker above him, and Seungmin blinks, waiting for something. It’s a pact you two made up for when he was busy gaming and you needed his attention.

“Yeobo?” He’s calling for you, and he moves the headset on his head, freeing one ear so as to hear you better. Weirdly enough, there’s no sound that answers to his voice.

“Seungmin-a, Jeongin-a isn’t going to help you,” Changbin teases through the headset, “you can put the explosives on the vault yourself.” He can hear Felix’s laugh, but there’s something else on his mind.

Well. And on his lap, as of now.

“Bubs, I’m on stream.” He whispers to the top of your head, hiding his smile from the camera behind your silhouette. But you only nod softly, smiling cheekily.

“It’s a pity I don’t care.” You snicker, getting comfortable on your new-found seat. “Tell Changbin I can hear him.” You joke softly.

“Huh? Is noona there?” Felix ponders, and he can notice the smile on the tone of his voice.

“Is she joining in?” Hyunjin asks. “I can add her on the call.”

“Nah, she’s just hanging out,” Seungmin mutters softly after feeling you shake your head against his chest. The sentence comes off almost absentmindedly, as if the action wasn’t mildly weird. You used to be camera shy, especially when he started, never wanting to show up on stream if you weren’t playing too, reason why he came up with the light thing. If you wanted or needed something, you could just turn it on and off, and he’d pause or hide his character in a corner to grant you his attention.

A shy part of him was worried because of all this, and how unusual it was, but as your warmth seeps into his body, he relaxes again, reeling the scent of your shampoo.

“Who are you playing with?” Your voice is soft when you speak, and he forces himself to remember that there’s a camera recording him so as to not coo at you teasingly, calling you adorable to make you blush and giggle like he so often does.

“Just the boys and the chat.” He replies, almost as soft as you, and he can notice the chat going wild in the corner of his eye. “Wanna say hi?” He smiles lightly, ignoring it for now.

Your smile turns cheeky again and you nod, taking his headset and putting it on, turning on his lap to face the camera.

“Heyaa,” you greet sheepishly, your hand fixing the mic to a comfortable distance.

He can hear the boys teasing him, something about you being better than him and how you should join in and team against your boyfriend, but his eyes are still on the chat, watching carefully as he keeps playing.

“What game is this?” You ask, giggling. “Why does Kuromi have a gun?”

“Oh. That’s Minho. Hannie found this mod that lets you use Sanrio skins on GTA.” Chan chimed back before Seungmin could.

“We’re trying to rob a bank,” Felix added with a sneaky laugh.

You snorted, turning back to Seungmin. “What skin are you using, Minnie?”

“Purin, of course.” He chuckles. “Felix and Sung are Kiki and Lala, Changbin is Hello Kitty, Jeongin is Pochacco, Hyunjin is MyMelody, and Chan is Badtemaru.”

“Damn bro, you said all the names right.” Jisung cackled, half surprised.

“Yo, someone in the chat said ‘That’s a weird way to ask for my hand in marriage’.” Jeongin laughed loudly.

“Oh my god,” Seungmin snickers, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

“Girl, they’re tryna steal your man,” Hyunjin bickers, knowing you’re still listening.

“Hyunjin, either kiss Changbin or get a girlfriend yourself dude, leave my girl alone.” Seungmin teases back, tenderly taking the headset back as so to not pull on your hair.

You turn back and cuddle into him, giggling as you watch the screen, seeing Hello Kitty chasing MyMelody with a machete, hearing Changbin faintly from the headset, something like ‘kiss me, Hyunjin-a~’ as the rest of the boys laugh.

The gameplay gets a bit boring as you watch them rob the bank, and slowly, your eyes trail toward the chat. It surprises you how most people weren’t talking about the play, but rather you two.

they’re so cute ㅠㅠ

couple goals fr!

así sí que creo en el amor <3

what’s their ship name lmaoo

omg pero si son mis padres!!!

On the other side of the screen, you could notice the number of views increasing by hundreds. You blush, hiding your face in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

He passes the controller in front of you, hugging you with his arms in a way that he can still keep playing. Seungmin curses when Minho stabs him and kills him again, watching Kuromi move side to side as the older man teases him meanly.

“Sure, sure, go kiss Ji about it,” He mutes his mic from the Discord group and from the stream, checking it twice before taking the headset off, hanging it on his neck, and turning to you. “You okay there?”

He smiles when he notices your blush, a bit confused. But you nod, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.

“I can turn off stream if you want to,” he offers.

“It’s okay.” You grin bashfully. “I like watching you play.”

He kisses the top of your forehead, and you cuddle back against him. Seungmin couldn’t care less if the boys are teasing him as soon as he pops his headset back on, turning the mic on again and killing Kiki and Lala in two swift headshots.

“Can we instead talk about how old Chan is?”

[♦️ ☆ 🎆 ☆ ♦️]

kats, who gave y’all a sanrio x straykids x gta collab before gta 6 lololol

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

PERMANENT TAGLIST! @stayconnecteed @lyramundana

[magicalqueennightmare]

Heroes

John Walker x Mutant Reader (nicknamed Nyx due to mutation being the ability to control shadows)

It's been years since you've seen John or Bucky. Can all of you become a team? (Continuation of Down the Road)

Mention of past trauma

The mission was rather easy. Just do a simple recon of Valentina’s vault, zero in on your target and if they were cleared of the information you had to extract you were free to eliminate. Of course, when was a mission ever as easy as it seemed on paper? 

You slipped your shadows around yourself, veiling with them to get into the vault unseen. Your biometrics had been added to the vault so you getting inside was no issue. You slipped around the perimeter of the large building in wait. You never expected that out of all people Natasha’s younger sister Yelena would walk into the vault. You groaned lightly, the noise muffled by the shadows around you.Why the hell was she here? She wasn’t your target.

You waited, watching. Then your heart fell again when she dodged a well aimed bullet. Of all fucking people, John Walker. God dammit. You tried to stay undetected, blocking them both from actually being able to apply much damage to each other, even if her hitting him with her widow’s bite was slightly amusing.

What were they doing here? Did they work for Valentina too? If so, who was the actual target for who? 

You stayed hidden, even once a target fell. Even when your target Ava Starr revealed herself. Even when a mystery man Bob was revealed. You stayed hidden. Hell you were stuck down here. Let them figure it out and you would go from there. 

You hadn’t expected John to freeze, staring at the exact spot you were standing in. No one should have been able to spot you. No one. He tilted his head to the side, like a dog trying to hear a far off whistle. “Walker, what the hell are you doing?” Yelena asked and he shook his head “I don’t know, something seems…familiar” 

When Ava tried to phase through the door however and a sound blasted overhead, you hit your knees. Shadows falling for just a second. John’s eyes widened when they landed on you. “Nyx?” 

Ava and Yelena both spun towards you, Bob just looked confused but John, he actually let his guard down. “What are you doing here?” he asked, walking towards you with a hand out. You put your hand in his “Same as the three of you. I got fucked over by Valentina” he eyed you for a moment, like he was looking you over for injuries. “You’ve been here the entire time”

You nodded, “I kept you and Yelena from killing each other” he laughed lightly “But not her from hitting me with those things?” you shrugged “Kind of wanted to see it happen?” and a grin split his lips “Good to see you too. Know a way out?” you shrugged “Kill the power source stopping Starr from phasing then get up and out?” “Sounds as close to a plan as any”

You stood between John and Yelena staring up a very long elevator shaft. “So, none of us fly? We just shoot and punch and this one has shadows?” you laughed at Yelena’s question “You sound so much like your sister” she gave you a small smile “Thank you? I think” you shrugged and when Bob suggested a plan, John and her both looked to you for your opinion. You nodded “Sounds good but I’m staying here. Once everyone gets up then we’ll get me up” 

“Why?” Ava questioned but John already knew the answer “If one of us falls, she can catch us. I’ve had her do it for me first hand” you waved a hand towards him “What he said” “Ok then, Nyx holds tight, the rest of us heads up” Yelena stated so you smiled and helped them all hook their arms and start the trek up the shaft.

It took a while. An hour or so maybe. You were pacing in a small circle and staring up at their asses felt slightly inappropriate but what else were you supposed to do? You could feel your shadows squirming across your body, like inky cats. Nervous little things. 

After what felt like forever a rope hit halfway down. You sighed and used your shadows to push yourself up the rest of the way so you could grab the rope. It didn’t take long and you were being pulled up and meeting John’s outstretched arm. When your hands connected your shadows swam over him, swirling along his skin, up his shoulder and down his back. He didn’t flinch like you expected. No, he seemed to almost calm down when it happened. He met your eyes and smiled slightly “It’s nice to see you Nyx, even under the circumstances”

A shocked laugh escaped you “Let’s get the hell out of here first then we’ll see if it’s good or not”

Somehow, thanks to Bob being willing to quite literally offer himself up on a silver platter. You, John, Yelena and Ava escaped. The truck you escaped in didn’t meet a very good fate but you were still clear of Valentina’s men. 

You trudged at the back of the ground, keeping shadows tucked firmly around them. If anyone drove right past they would never see them. John cut his eyes at you, a knowing smile on his face “You’ve gotten even stronger” he whispered and you shrugged “Been working at it” 

The two of you walked in silence until John asked if anyone was hungry then squatted down to cut up a cactus berry. He held you out a rather large piece. You raised an eyebrow and he motioned around you with the knife “I remember Sam saying something about the more you used them, the more fuel you’d need eventually and doesn’t look like you’re resting any time soon”

You smiled softly “Thanks John” he gave a slight nod. Yelena and Ava was asking about his family so you turned to watch the surrounding perimeter. That was still an old guilt, you kissed a married man, that once right after Lemar’s death. Nothing more had happened but you’d wanted it to, even standing this close to him was a reminder of the heat between your bodies, the way your powers responded to him for some reason. You hated it.

The four of you kept walking after a while. You were glad for the distraction. The sun was overhead when a car came blaring out of nowhere, headed straight for all of you. Turns out it was Alexei. Yelena and Nat’s father or the closest they had to one.

You squeezed into the backseat next to John. Alexei was talking to all of you. “Nyx, the shadow girl. Natasha spoke highly of you” you nodded “It’s an honor?” you cut your eyes at John and Ava. They both shrugged.

John clocked a convoy following all of you. Alexei swore he had “defensive maneuvers” however when he flipped a switch, Pony started playing along with fog and a light sequence. You busted out laughing because John looked down right confused, Yelena looked embarrassed and Ava looked disgusted. “I mean, if you weren’t married” you muttered, cutting your eyes at John. 

A light blush graced his cheeks so you laughed “Teasing you. Yelena, Ava. Let’s try to push em back? I’ll try to blind em” 

The turning point was Bucky taking out the convoy, unfortunately it meant he wanted all of you for himself.

Ava, John, Alexei and Yelena were tied up. Bucky just had his left arm around your waist however. “Why isn’t she tied?” Ava questioned. Bucky held you out like a rabid chihuahua “You tell me any means to hold this thing that her shadows can’t get her out of. Easier just to keep a hand on her” “With her tucked into your side like that?” John asked and Bucky scoffed “Easy Walker. Almost sounds like you’re trying to lay a claim. I know things haven’t been easy since Olivia left you and took your kid but you can’t just try to stake claim on Nyx, can you?”

Yours and John’s eyes met at Bucky’s words. John gave a slight tilt of his head. Damn, you’d just been teasing earlier. You knew how much he loved Olivia and his son. What in the hell happened? “So what now?” you asked Bucky who looked around then back at you “You trust them?”

You nodded “Yelena is Nat’s sister. John isn’t that bad. Ava is a damn good fighter. Alexei wants to be a hero. They can help” he sighed “Ok, let’s stop Bob and get Valentina” 

You stood in the street, watching as person after person disappeared leaving a blank void behind. “What the hell is this?” Alexei asked and you shook your head “It isn’t a shadow, not darkness. There’s just nothing there” 

Bob’s alter ego was doing this. You had to figure out a way to pull Bob out. Yelena was the first one to be brave enough to walk in. “I’m going in after her” Ava announced and Bucky shook his head “What if she’s dead?” “What if she’s not?” Ava argued. John grabbed your arm “Nyx, in the vault… I went somewhere.. Somewhere I can’t explain but I think that’s where those people are. We can get them back” 

“I trust you” you told him and he nodded, looking at Bucky who sighed “Let’s do it. Stay close, attempt to stick together” 

You were nearly shoulder to shoulder with John as the two of you stepped into the void. You didn’t realize at the last moment your shadows had extended themselves to tie the two of you together. 

You gasped when you realized you were in the middle of a war. In an active battle field. John moved on seemingly instinct alone. One moment you were standing, the next you were down on the ground with him blocking you. “John, what is this?” you asked and he took a staggering breath “The day I was awarded three medals of honor for” you could feel the slight shake in his hands no matter how strongly he held you. You gave his hands a squeeze. “Let’s keep moving. I’ll stay low but we can’t stay here. Don’t focus on the memory. Ok? Focus on now”

He nodded and the room slammed the two of you hard into the side of a humvee. When the humvee flipped the room was different. You were in a house. You could hear Olivia crying. You looked at John and his eyes dropped “Please, don’t hate me” you stayed with him through watching Olivia leave him for becoming distant and detached. You knew PTSD when you saw it. Even if he didn’t want to put a name on it, neither of them deserved the hand they’d been dealt.

One by one his worse memories flashed, worse regrets until you heard your voice “NO” and you recognized this one. “Lemar” you whispered. You and him stood together and you rewatched Lemar’s death. Your shadow’s slipped out, wrapping themselves around him. 

He watched in silence. Even after his past self left the room. He watched your past self go over to Lemar’s body and kneel before looking back at Sam and Bucky “Whatever he does, we helped cause it” 

John turned to look at you “Is that why you don’t hate me? You think you helped me be like this?” you shook your head “I don’t hate you because you’re not evil. I think I helped you become like this because I couldn’t help save Lemar. That’s why I’ve tried so damn hard to get stronger and faster with my powers” 

He gave your hand a squeeze. The room shifted again and you recognized your own memories started. “No no no. BOB” you screamed. John didn’t need to see yours. There was some stuff he didn’t need to know. Like how your powers manifested when an older teenager tried to hurt you and your shadows choked the life out of him, or how you terrified your entire family. How Clint’s family was the only people that never turned away for years until they did. How your body felt weird coming back after Thanos. How you beat yourself up for that kiss?

Finally the room shifted and you heard Ava’s voice. You grabbed John’s arm and snatched him behind you as you heard Donald’s scream, a part of your brain letting a satisfied smile slip onto your face even now as the two of you made it free of that room, following the voices of the others. 

Once everyone, including Bob was saved from Bob’s alter ego. You all found Valentina on the streets but she had one final ace up her sleeve. She ran, you all gave chase and walked right into her trap. You stood next to Bucky as she introduced you all as “The New Avengers” 

“What now?” Ava asked and you cut your eyes at her and shrugged “We become heroes?” she laughed lightly “Heroes? Us?” you looked over at John who was already staring at you “Stranger things have happened” 

“So, are we….friends now?” John asked once he made it to your side. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, holding a hand out. “Friends” he slipped his hand into yours and while the two of you shook you grinned “Since we are gonna be living together after all” and saw that light dusting of a blush color his cheeks. “What happened to that man that was so damn sure of himself?” you asked quietly and he shrugged “He lost everything. I think you’re the only person besides Lemar’s mother that hasn’t downright wanted me dead at one point or another”

“Olivia doesn’t want you dead John” you assured him before using your hand in his to let your shadows curl up his arm. He watched them with a small smile “We’ll figure this crap out together. Deal?” you offered and he nodded “Deal”

[comma-tose]

Something I noticed that I REALLY don't like is just how much current borderlands seems to be trying to diminish Rhys and Fiona's personalities and achievements.

It started out with Rhys in Borderlands 3, where Vaughn implied he was fake and that they haven't spoken in years for some reason??? Then it happened again in New Tales, where Rhys was written as incompetent, and an awful boss that fires his employees for having ONE bad idea.

It also essentially calls him a warmonger that's focused entirely on profits, and has no moral compass beyond "the almighty dollar". Going as far as to explicitly state that that is literally Atlas's motto.

Aside from all that it also says that Atlas is essentially failing and that Rhys has absolutely no idea what he's doing, which is especially weird considering how in Borderlands 3 it's stated that Promethea is finally starting to do well for itself again, and through Echo logs you hear that even Marcus is impressed with how well Rhys is doing.

So for Rhys we have him losing connection with his best friend and being called an idiot, fake, being mischaracterised as a terrible person that apparently learnt nothing and has regressed as a person to a borderline unrecognisable state.

----------------------------------------------

And now we get to Fiona. Since borderlands 3 treats the female protagonist of Tales as if she just doesn't exist, Fiona's story continues in Debt or Alive so...

SPOILER WARNING FOR DEBT OR ALIVE.

Not only is Fiona characterised VERY strangely in the book but they also just give Sasha credit for some of what Fiona does, and Fiona alone tends to be the target of blame in the book. Oh and she gets compared to Handsome Jack for good measure.

To start off with, Fiona doesn't even get her wish from the Vault of the Traveller. She gives it to Sasha, and Sasha wishes for a rare Vaultlander figurine of Typhon DeLeon which is destroyed a couple of chapters later. So not only does Fiona not even get to use her wish but the product of the wish gets destroyed anyway so it's entirely pointless.

Fiona also just decides to not be a vault hunter. That conversation she can have with Rhys SECONDS before this happens, about how it suits her, about how she's sad the adventure is over? It's just ignored. She immediately gives it up because she doesn't want Sasha vault hunting and getting put in danger again. Sure she still likes vault hunting but it is immediately given up. (I could write a whole other post about why this bugs me and I probably will).

Fiona has flaws that are addressed in the books, as they should be, all characters have to have flaws, but she is the only one out of the sisters to have flaws addressed. Sasha's are treated as if they don't exist, even when they're very apparent. Fiona learns to not be overprotective, and that she can't stop Sasha from doing things she wants to BUT Sasha doesn't learn anything. She does impulsive things that endanger both her and Fiona, and her risking their safety for fun or on a whim is just never mentioned. (Again something else I'll definitely talk about in another post).

Fiona is also consistently the one who comes up with the plans in the book, while Sasha is either not doing anything or suggesting they take the easy way out. Fiona is the one to start removing the debt cuffs from people while Sasha stands there bewildered, asking what she's doing. Fiona is the one to come up with the plan to scam the billionaires so that they can use the money to free everyone from debt while Sasha suggests just funding Gaige's revenge scheme (and assumedly just abandoning the people in debt??). And Fiona is the one to figure out how to get into Holloway's panic room and save everyone.

Fiona having her moments to shine would be great if they consistently didn't end with her being called an idiot, getting badly hurt, failing, or at one point being compared to Handsome Jack of all people. (Additional point: Sasha doesn't even defend her when she's compared to Jack, which is weird and very out of character.)

This might be petty but the book also gives credit to Sasha for Fiona surviving Bossanova's murder rally in Tales. Which is really weird considering Sasha and Fiona were separated during the entirety of that event. So instead of mentioning a time where Sasha actually helped save Fiona, like in the bio-dome when she was caught by Finch and Kroger, I guess they're actively retconning an event to give Sasha the credit. For some reason.

Fiona also has to confront Sasha about how she's treating Rhys, but then like a chapter later she literally apologises for all that, despite having every right to call Sasha out for that. So again Sasha's flaws are not being recognised as actual flaws and instead it's Fiona who's somehow in the wrong and Sasha learns nothing. Sure by the end of the book she considers Rhys her boyfriend but she is never the one to tell him. Fiona is, because Sasha just doesn't bother to, because it never treats her as someone who has to grow as a person. Sasha is usually either just used as a plot device to progress things or just doing almost nothing while being given credit, instead of being developed like a proper character. I'd call her a shell of what Tales Sasha was but even that feels too generous.

I used to really want to see the Tales characters in other borderlands media, but at this point I just dread it. Because why would I want to see my favourite characters being wildly mischaracterised and mistreated by the franchise?

[ljlokijinx]

Another !information broker Peter au cause I'm in love with the idea.

Peter grew up in ugly streets, crime in the air, swarming like hornets. He saw things no child should see. He heard things no one was meant to hear.

At ten, he gets cornered by some gangster, recognized as a cops nephew.

"Why should I let you live, huh?"

And Peter recognizes the tattoo on the man's arm, knows what it means.

"Because you're going to be attacked by your rival next week and I know the details."

The next time he snitches, it's in exchange for money. The criminals realize he's valuable, he can sneak around and isn't paid much attention, they can spare a few dollars. Helping these people feels wrong, but if it means May and Ben can eat a little more tonight? He will gladly ignore the twisting in his gut.

He starts wearing a mask. He starts working with others, charging more. He learns how to put on disguises and pretend he belongs, how to fade into shadow, how to hack into the most secure databases, how to break into tight vaults and safes.

He learns how to fight dirty. To kick low, to break knees, throat punch, stab into eyes. He learns how to shoot a gun, how to do it in a way that won't kill people.

His connections grow, and he gains power, enough to refuse certain people things, he can ruin them with such ease-

bam.

The Police say it was a random mugger, but Peter knows. Knows his uncle was shot because of him.

He hangs up the mask.

He gets superpowers. He does not become a hero, it will only get more people hurt.

Two years later, there is a boy at SI. Tony, stressed from Natasha's recent injuries after her mission, laughingly tells the interns that if they figure out a patent to help in the field, he'll pay of their student loans (or pay for college) .

He gets called in by some lab manager a few days later. Sixteen-year-old Peter Parker with dreams of MIT created a bandage made of manufactured spiderwebs. He gets moved to 'Personal Intern' immediately.

Natasha notices him first, beyong the polite greetings and smiles. The steadiness in his movements, the rapid reaction time, the skill to pay attention to everything at once.

It's uncanny perfection, words all weighed carefully, steps calculated. Naturally, she gets suspicious. Is he working for someone?

She invites him to play 2 truths and a lie with the team. It goes well, until his turn.

"I don't lie. I recognize this is just a game and we're all having fun, but I don't. As a general rule."

"That's just stupid. You're Starks personal intern, you work with us. You're at risk. What happens if someone comes for you with questions?"

"I twist the truth. Make it mean something different entirely. Make it reassemble a metaphor for something else or hide it behind one. I say it sarcastically, plainly, fake tells to make it seem like a lie. I break it down into basic elements and build something different from it. If I genuinely had nothing else to do, I'd probably lie, yes."

"That's still stupid."

"Maybe to you it is. I think it's a difference in how we were raised. You had to lie to survive. And I would've been killed, had I ever been caught in a lie. And if there's one thing I learnt over the years-"

Ben bleeds out of the tile floor. The bang echoes in his ears. He thought he was safe, anonymous, he became careless, reckless-

"- the truth never stays buried. If no one digs it out, it will crawl through the dirt to haunt you itself."

[blackmoonowl]

alright prompt time, maccrready with prompt 12

"H-how long have you been standing there?"

Robert Joseph MacCready

Summary: MacCready can't get himself to confess, so he's taken to digging through your stuff for some sort of comfort.

Word count: 1,08K

MacCready didn't have the guts to tell you how he really felt.

Part of him was afraid of loving someone a second time only to lose them again, and he knew he wasn't the easier person to love either. The worst that could happen is losing you completely, and he couldn't bear that thought. The mercenary's eyes darted across your belongings tossed throughout your home in Sanctuary. Luckily for him, you were out to deal with the other settlers. He held back a curse as he gave into his urges.

"Dammit..."

Leaning down, he carefully opened the bag you always carried during your travels. It sounded loud in contrast with the silence of the home, and MacCready prayed you wouldn't walk in on this pathetic display. He'd just have to put everything back later; he doubted you would notice if he placed everything back after he was done. The mercenary's mind raced as he went through the stuff you had picked up on your travels. MacCready groaned as he pulled some junk out of your bag.

"Don't know why you bother with this crap, I wouldn't even use this junk to decorate my house," he grumbled, glancing back into your bag to see what other goodies you had taken with. His annoyance faded a whole lot quicker than it came, as his eyes landed on a stash of caps.

"Ohoho," he chuckled to himself, a grin showing his rotted teeth. "I see someone owes me a drink." He shook the metal box slightly, the ringing of the caps sounding like music to his ears. "Guess we're set for at least a while." With some hesitance, he put away the caps again. "Let's see what else you've been hauling around." That's what he convinced himself this was, anyway, just taking stock of your items. But deep inside, he was looking for something specific.

The smirk morphed into a softer look, almost a frown as he pulled out what he had been really looking for.

His fingers closed around your vault suit, his eyes gazing over the golden '111' etched into the back of it. The mercenary's calloused thumbs traced them, part of him wondering if he could try it on some time.

After some hesitation, he hugged the material close to him. He wasn't sure what had brought him to his point. You brought back feelings, feelings he thought died with his late wife. The fact that warm, comforting feeling crept back at the thought of you scared him. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he buried his face into the material. The familiar scent of you entered his nostrils. His cheek rubbed against the material as his eyes fluttered shut for a second before they opened again.

"I must look like some sort of idiot," he muttered to himself as lowered the vault suit in his arms. "I don't deserve you, like I never deserved her." With a deep sigh he brought the denim fabric back to his face, nuzzling it slightly. He may not ever get a second chance; he wasn't even sure how it would work as he missed Lucy still. Despite that his mind wandered, a possible future with the two of you. The mercenary got comfortable with the idea...

Until he heard you clear your throat right behind him. MacCready froze with his hands still clutching your clothes. His heart was in his throat as he cursed in his mind.

"I'm back... is... is everything alright?" you awkwardly spoke up as you saw your stuff strewn about and your mercenary friend getting comfortable with your old suit.

"Sh- crap!" MacCready dropped the article of clothing into his lap, a red color creeping up on his cheeks. He could practically feel your eyes bore into the back of his head. Mentally scolding himself, he turned to you. The mercenary couldn't believe he had been caught off guard like that, he should have been able to hear you coming. You just stood there for a moment, and he made no attempt to get up. There was a moment of tense silence before he spoke up again.

"H-how long have you been standing there?"

MacCready's voice almost cracked midway through the sentence. He was pretty sure no excuse was going to make this sight look remotely normal.

"Just a few minutes tops," you replied, closing the door behind you. Under your arm was a basket with some vegetables and mutfruit you had plucked from the settlement’s fields. "What are you doing?"

"I was just... looking for the...” MacCready couldn't think of anything, sighing He couldn't tell you he was looking for the figure, not when he was practically inhaling your scent from the vault suit. "Damn... this is awkward. Can... can we just forget this ever happened, please?" he hopefully pleaded, almost wincing at the desperate tone.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me if there's anything on your mind," you reassured your friend as you walked closer. MacCready pursed his lips, trapped in this situation with the person he trusted most in life.

"No... I'm fine, I just need more time is all," he muttered as he placed the vault suit away again. The former Lamplighter felt like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar, and he hated it.

"If you say so." You couldn't help but crack a small smile as you watched the man awkwardly sit on the floor, his brows furrowed, and eyes cast aside. "But if you wanted to try my vault suit on, all you had to do was ask." The joke left your lips, causing MacCready's face to run even hotter.

"Thanks... I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled in response, pulling himself to his feet. The young man knew he had to get himself together, and now you were even more suspicious than you probably already were. His eyes were shadowed under the cap of his hat as he watched you unpack your dinner for the night.

Damn... he had to get himself together.

[pleiades-7]

I knew which clips I wanted use for the middle of this edit, so I ended up going from there and working my way out.

I might’ve even gotten the quality to behave? We’ll see.

This isn’t a unique take, but I think a lot of the reason Tom Riddle went on to become Lord Voldemort, isn’t that he hated muggle-borns. I don’t think he hated half-bloods. Or rather, he hated them equally, and less than he grew to hate pure-bloods.

He’s far too intelligent to be blinded by the pure-blood inbred rhetoric. Perhaps before seeing the Gaunts, with the Black madness as the only example of the issues that inbreeding causes, he might’ve wanted to think himself the exception to the rule. He probably wanted to believe the evidence didn’t point to inbreeding being the cause of such drastic issues, in order to cling to some aspect of his heritage. To carry on the ideals of the only ancestor he could respect.

However, after seeing the Gaunts, and learning his father was a muggle, I can’t believe he would subscribe to the concept of blood purity. Especially as the first wizarding war came to be. Snape was a half-blood and he was the most talented, most valuable, death eater of the bunch.

I think it’s more likely that he was using pure-blood fanaticism to get what he wanted.

Which I’m going to assume, wasn’t just power. He could have always had power. He didn’t need any followers for that. It wasn’t influence he was after either. He could’ve been minister if he’d taken the long route as Tom Riddle, and he could’ve done it through brute force later in the second war. I think his real goal was to burn it all down. Everything. Everyone.

I think Tom Riddle was furious. He was orphaned, his mother too weak to survive long after giving birth to him. Something I’m sure he would go on to, in part, blame the Gaunts for. After realizing the reality they subjected her to. I think he felt robbed. Robbed of a mother, who might’ve survived if she was a little more talented. A little more beautiful. If she’d had the opportunity to learn a little more. If anyone had bothered to help her. I think he felt robbed of a heritage, absolutely disgusted with the Gaunts, and enraged with his muggle father. He believed he was superior to everyone else. For his magical ability, his magical reserves, his brilliant mind, his charm and finely honed manipulation tactics. And yet, he found himself surrounded by ruin.

Other pure-bloods, the Malfoys and the Blacks, had rich family histories. Vaults of books and knowledge and heirlooms and wealth, which the Gaunts had all squandered away. All these pure-blooded fools, less dedicated, less ambitious, less capable, less deserving, got what should have been his.

I think from the start it was always about tearing these families apart, one member at a time. I think he delighted in having them bow at his feet, the irony of his status as a half-blood is very in character for his unique sense of humor.

The families closest to him, the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Lestranges, suffer the worst consequences, continually. He had no qualms killing any pure-blood family, and so he gave them a war. He let his followers imagine they were soldiers. He could actively torture those with the mark, and kill those without. Either way, it was their destruction he was after.

He knew what a muggle war looked like. He had lived through one. The sound of bombs and the fear of everything exploding, actively drove him to create his first horcrux. And still, he never subjected the wizarding world to that. For many reasons. He didn’t need muggle weapons to get what he wanted, he was above the use of such indiscriminate methods of annihilation, and he didn’t want the whole magical community extinguished. He loved magic. He coveted magic.

Magic was the very first thing that ever brought him joy, and probably what brought him the most intense amount of joy. It was what solidified his belief in his sense of superiority. He traveled the world, to learn. To put spells and skills in his repertoire. He would’ve taught at Hogwarts if he’d been given the chance. Not because he’d enjoy teaching, but because he is a collector. Those with talent and ability, he could’ve encouraged, to his own means of course. He would’ve been surrounded by magic and potential, and he would’ve been home. The primary draw to obtaining a position as a professor, was to settle himself. To finally find that connection, if only to a place.

Hogwarts was the second thing that brought him joy. I think that using the founders heirlooms to create his horcruxes, was an action driven by the same desperation that drove an eleven year old Tom Riddle to hoard the other children’s toys. If he could not have any of his own, he would take what he imagined he was owed, what he deserved. He dug his claws into that school and had to be pried from it. After finding that he was related to a founder of the school, the belief that he had a right to it was cemented.

I think in the end, he was furious, and a lot of his actions were motivated by that rage. So many of his actions were governed by the fear he tried so hard to escape, to run from. So many of his actions came from the gnawing cavern in his chest, that demanded to be filled.

He had this need to be seen, to be unforgettable. Nothing would have ever enough.

He was seeking something he never got.

He’s so interesting. 🫠 I hope this doesn’t mischaracterize him, all discussion is welcome! Just be kind :)

[sabraeal]

The Man of Progress, Chapter 4

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex who has not only been very patiently been waiting nearly two weeks for this birthday fic, but beta read it TWICE in one week so I could turn this around within a week of Act 3 airing. Since I think we all could use...something else to think of right now 🤣

Pretty manners might keep any clansman in good standing from daring to venture the question, and a personal precedent to refuse answering any inquiry without compensation might keep her from giving it, but there’s no shame— in Mel’s mind, at least— in admitting that she is just shy of three decades. That might make her an old crone according to some of her more distant cousins; the kind that merely cling to Medarda’s coattails, only caring about investments and opportunities the clan makes when it affects the amount of money left in their pockets.

But to her, that is nearly twenty years of experience. The proof of a comprehensive education in keeping this clan afloat, even in its leanest years. A testament to her knowledge and skill, a record of competence—

And yet one step beneath these vaulted ceilings, and she might as well be that small girl child from Noxus once again, still smelling of blood and sand as they herded her into the master’s study. Even now she can picture their pinched smiles, worry and suspicion carving furrows at the corner of her cousins’ eyes.

“I wonder if you understand the scope of what you mean to do.” Master Jago does not so much speak as croak these days, his once sonorous voice interrupted by the pops and crackles of age; a victrola’s skipping needle on the record of time. “It was Medarda who cast the Sun Gates' first gears.”

Mel stifles a snort, pacing the length of a shelf, fingers tracing over the master’s trophies; a carved dunpor horn from Stonewall, the dried husk of a honeyfruit from Palclyff, two entwined statues from Demacia with wings spread wide. Ridiculous to think that she needed to be reminded of their contributions, as if her tutors hadn’t had her memorize those accounts down to the washer barely a week after Ambessa dropped her at their doorstep.

As if Jago hadn’t handpicked her himself to be their representative on the council, hadn’t called her ‘the most Medarda of all of them,’ as shrewd and sensible and relentlessly ruthless as any of the old cog-clutching misers that preceded her. The only difference between their service to the clan and hers was that she looked good doing it. “Isn’t it fitting, then, that we should be at the forefront of Piltover’s next great venture?”

“A more prudent one would have been to use this Hextech to strengthen our current investments.” Jago’s hands are parchment pale as they tremble over his desk, wrinkled as an bank note discarded in the bin, but when he takes up his pen, there’s not a bit of him that isn’t steady, as sharp as the nib he sets to page. “If the Sun Gates were able to pass ships through fifty percent higher than our current rate, then that would put us near Clan Ferros in terms of wealth generated per day—”

“And they would somehow find some way to pick at our profits, either through maintenance or manpower.” For a man who professed to have no interest in running his clan, Albus has a keen sense of how to wedge his elbow into every door, turning any opportunity for one clan into an unmitigated triumph for his. “Even if our current ventures vest as they should, we’ll still be left nipping at Ferros’ heels. But if we were to put our considerable assets behind something new, something bold, then we have a chance to not just pull ahead of the other families, but to set the pace entirely.”

Jago had been halfway to gray when she’d been dropped on Medarda’s doorstep, but the brows he furrows now are whitecap pale, one disappearing behind the golden frame of his monocle. “You present a compelling point, as always, Mel.”

It would be foolish to preen under the master’s praise— she’s no longer a child in the schoolroom, proving that she has sufficiently mastered her sums, after all— but Mel allows herself a moment to bask in the flush of her accomplishment. To even let her shoulders relax— no slumping, and never slouching, but not entirely square. A moment of repose, well earned.

That is, of course, until Master Jago says, “However…”

Her spine snaps straight, even as her steps remain languid, confident, as if she anticipated his doubt. “I have handled all the arrangements,” she assures him, circling behind his chair until only her voice and the steady staccato of her heels mark her. “Not only will the presentation be sure to impress even Hextech’s staunchest critics, but there will be no question as to which clan has chosen to back the venture. The Sun Gates ushered in a new age of progress for Piltover two hundred years ago, and the Hexgate will do the same now.”

“I have no doubt you have seen to all the details, my girl.” Her cousins might murmur that one day Master Jago will lose his edge, that senility will come for him the way it does every man and take Medarda with it, but the eyes that swing to her now are still sharp, wheels and cogs in the great machine of his mind still running with a young man’s ease. “But Medarda has long made its fortune on maritime trade routes. These are not seafaring vessels, but…”

“There is no reason to worry, Master.” His shoulder is thin beneath her hand, frailer than she remembers. Still, she keeps her grip firm, if gentle. “I don’t imagine you acquired that sky frigate a few years ago with no intent to use it, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t.” One absent hand reaches up to touch hers; an afterthought, if a fond one. “It doesn’t do to be beholden to only one form of trade. You only need to look at the Hollorans to see what happens when you allow yourself to fall beneath the wheel of progress.”

“Then Medarda is already poised to take advantage of the new avenues for trade that the Hexgate can open to us.” She steps past him, hand leaving his shoulder to trace along the contours of his desk. How large this thing had seemed as a girl— an entire other country, never to be traversed. And now she skirts around the perimeter of it with no more than a stretch of a leg or two. “Only a few families have bothered to buy into sky ships, and those are nearly all pleasure barges. Not a single one of them is fit for long distances with heavy cargo.”

“It will astound you how quickly those things can change.” He laughs— a heavy, rolling noise, more like thunder than humor— but the stare he fixes her with is stern, sober. If she were more given to drama, she might even call it dire. “Only this morning, the papers said Albus Ferros planned to finance a significant portion of Hextech research. How certain are you that he will not simply shut you out from your plans when they’ve advanced far enough and reap the benefits all on his own?”

It’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility, as uncomfortable as it is to admit. Talis plays the part of a man of the people, just one engineer out of the hundreds of genius inventors the Academy has put out, pulling himself up by the bootstraps to change the world— and he plays it well. But he’s not that humble engineer, no matter how well he swings a hammer; he’s the scion of one of Piltover’s merchant clans, even if their circumstances are much diminished, and as eager to prove himself among them as any master’s son. If she can sway him with a sashay and a smile, Ferros could just as easily with an open purse and a pat on the back. Even now she can see it, those two sets of broad shoulders— one natural, one entirely engineered— rubbing as they bend over some schematic, shaking hands as coins rattle one after the other on the workbench.

But then she pictures that constructed bit of posture turning around, glaring over his mustache at the curved spine in the corner, more grease than man, and laughs.

“Quite sure, my dear Master Jago,” she says, smile slanting over her lips. “But I must admit, I’d love to see him try.”

*

The morning still clings stubbornly to the horizon when Mel emerges from the Medarda manor, none the worse for wear. It’s too early; Master Jago might prefer to have his business done by tea, but it's hours yet before any councilman would dare to show their face at the office, the fog not even burnt off from the dawn’s chill. It sits thick on the cobbles, eddying around the sway of her skirt, leaving an unpleasant draft against her ankles.

“You’ll be off then, Councilor?” one of the grooms asks, pushing off from where he’d been leaning on the carriage’s cab, making time with what seemed to be a gardener.

“That I will.” She takes his offered hand— appropriately gloved, black, and sturdy for the purpose— and asks, “Is your mother feeling better, by the way?”

There’s a single moment of hesitation, a small hiccup between one blink and the next that leaves room for his cheeks to flush and his tongue to flop around like a loose cog before snapping right into smiling place. “Much, ma’am. And I’m supposed to pass on her thanks— for the tonic, she says. Got rid of the cough right away.”

“Think nothing of it.” Impossible, she knows, but humility assures more goodwill than lofty benevolence. And a squeeze of the hand— not too much; just shy of an invitation— wins more loyalty than words ever could. “It was the least I could do.”

The man’s too well-trained to gawp or gape— Medarda isn’t in the habit of hiring hayseeds fresh off the wagons, after all— but his wide eyes weigh on her as she ducks into the carriage, warm as a hand laid against her spine. There’s one less tongue to wag itself at the master the moment he glares its way; important, if she’s going to pull this snare tight without Jago’s long fingers tangling in the knots.

A sigh slips from her as she sits, fogging a sliver of the carriage’s glass. “I trust everything is set for the reception?”

“Yes, Councilor.” Engineers could use Elora’s spine as a slide-rule for how stiff she sits on the bench, collar and hemline pin-straight, perfect. Another flawless cog in Medarda’s great machine. “Your meeting went well?”

“As well as can be expected.” Better, but Mel’s hardly fool enough to admit it where it might work back to Jago’s ears. Elora may be her personal assistant, secretary, and the closest she comes to a confidant, but it’s not from her accounts that Medarda pulls the cogs to pay salary. “Do I have any other engagements today?”

Elora glances down at the notes in her lap, even the line of her jaw precise, if not the bend of her mouth, too worried to meet proper angles. “The atelier you requested is sending over samples this afternoon.”

“Really.” Mel leans back, frowning at where the Academy juts up from Piltover’s skyline, its towers far above the fog of the city below. “They’ll be acceptable this time, I assume.”

“They have been informed of your particular specifications.” A corner of Elora’s too-serious mouth lifts, almost a smirk. “No blue, no beige, no white. Something impressive.”

Mel snorts. “Let us hope that they pay attention this time. If I have to hear that man preach to me about visions or muses again just because he can’t envisage a color darker than cream…”

“Any other modiste in the city would trip over themselves to dress you,” Elora assures her, quick as reflex. But it’s not simply comforting patter, oh no; she’s already flipping through her notes, finding names. “It would be short notice, but it’s not as if we can’t afford to pay them for the rush. If they even thought to ask.”

“We would pay them for their hard work whether they asked for it or not.” The other clansmen might clutch to cogs and account for every nut down to the washer, but Mel prefers to deal in a more valuable currency. “But hopefully our dear modiste does not get it into his head that he knows my preferences better than I do, and we are saved the trouble of finding out.”

Elora’s mouth rumples, unconvinced, but her fingers cease to flip pages. “As long as you’re sure. We could start contacting a few of the more fashionable houses to see if they could promise a complete product, just in case—”

Mel holds up a hand. Better to beg for a dress at the eleventh hour than to be seen undermining one of their fellow dressmakers the day before. “Let us believe that he can at least put out one sample that meets our expectations. At least for now.”

Modistes might have a reputation for nipping at each other’s backs, having as many petty quarrels as the council itself with just as disastrous consequences, but all it would take is one perceived insult to turn them all into dear colleagues— and leave her quite in the lurch.

A lone sky ship putters through the clouds; a heavy, ungainly thing that wobbles as the wind eddies around its bulk. There’s another slouching over the horizon, propellers struggling to keep the whole of it aloft instead of fumbling toward the sea. Pleasure barges; one more and it would be as many as she’s ever seen floating at once. The merchant clans might tout progress as their business and innovation as their creed, but when they envisioned the future of Piltover, this was still what they saw— a city dominated by the Academy.

Mel squints at its peaked roofs, clouds catching the thrust of its golden spires, and asks, “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Elora confirms, hands folding over paper and ink. “They’re not supposed to be by until later this afternoon, so if you wanted to head to the Council Building before—?”

“Hardly.” She leans forward, drawing down the trumpet that leads up to the driver’s box. “To the Academy, if you would, Mr Gallow. I would be most appreciative.”

The carriage lurches to the left, hurtling down the familiar cobbles, and Elora’s frown furrows deeper into her cheeks. “The Academy? What business do you have there?”

“Why, to check up on my favorite investment, of course.” Mel leans her arm on the rest, letting her gaze drift back to those ivory towers, considering. “If we’re having all of Piltover out to see this little bit of theater, I’d like to know we have an actual show to put on.”

*

“The presentation is only two days away,” Elora reminds her as she chases her heels up the academy steps, practically bleeding paper on the marble. “Nearly all our guests have RSVP’d.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” The Academy has always been an impressive edifice, a marvel of modern engineering— and hell on the legs, if one didn’t navigate stairways poro-back. Still, she mounts each one with the ease of habit, hand only just brushing over the rail rather than Elora’s life-line clutch. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Her assistant blinks up at the labs looming before them, just as stately as the lecture halls— and certainly far nicer than the warehouse in Midtown, only suited to contain occasional explosions of genius. “You don’t think it’s done?”

A laugh spills right off her lips, as airy as it is wry. “You don’t know many engineers, do you?”

The question catches Elora by surprise; she lags behind a step, then two, before she scurries to keep pace. “It’s just…Mr Talis’s presentations are so polished. I can’t imagine him leaving anything to the last minute— not something so important, at least.”

So one might be tempted to think, so long as they had not witnessed Talis more than ten minutes pre-symposium. The Master of Ceremonies could be cutting his teeth on the glowing words of their introduction, and both those Academy boys would be on their knees backstage with wrench in hand, tightening bolts until the curtains rose.

Knowing Viktor, he’d still insist they were one last tweak from perfection, sending Talis to beg for five more minutes— ten, twenty, just an hour, surely she could give them one more day?— to work. Just one last distraction before the masses got to take their peek behind the curtain.

Mel snorts. “It’s not Mr Talis that I’m worried about.”

Elora’s brow furrows. “Then who—?”

The lab’s glass facade does not so much open as burst; at one moment a long, endless bank of mirrored windows, and the next, hinges squeal their protest as the atrium doors fly open, disgorging an entire entourage of trousers and waists, open-cut coats fluttering in the breeze of their brisk pace.

“Reginald.” The voice is as bold— brassy, one might even say— as the cogs capping Ferros’s shoulders, ringing out across the pavilion with all the pomp of a man used to being heard. “I want results, not numbers. Make it happen.”

The man scurries off on Ferros’s business, but he could be bowing and scraping and crawling on his belly still for all that Ferros notices, swaggering down the steps with the confidence of kings. Piltover prided itself on its meritocracy, boasting that without lords and peers, any man may make himself into a master if only he worked hard enough. But it was men like Ferros— born clansmen, ones who had enough hexes to be patrons rather than the patronized— who seemed to succeed, standing on the backs of brighter minds and pretending to more talents than simply sussing con from coup.

“Councilor Medarda.” The man smiles with all the warmth of a shark in chummed waters. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Albus.” She inclines her head, letting him take her hand between his two over-large ones, swallowing her up to the wrist. Thankfully he refrains from doing anything so crass as pressing his lips to it. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“I doubt it.” His mustache twitches at a corner, threatening to lift, to smirk. “You must be here to take a gander at what my boys have been up to.”

His boys. Her smile nearly creaks. “I just came by to make sure that everything was prepared for the presentation. Only a few days left, after all, and Medarda has put quite a bit behind this technology of theirs. We’re quite invested in making sure there’s no…surprises before the curtain rises.”

Such as not having a functioning prototype. Clan Cadwalder had never quite recovered from their last little slip up— fifteen years ago, by her count— and Mel had no intention of making Medarda suffer the same shame. She hasn’t clawed them this far up Piltover’s wheel of progress to be shoved back down by trusting engineers to meet a deadline. Especially not these engineers.

“Of course, of course.” There’s a smoothness to the way Ferros speaks, leaving the gravel of his voice to catch on it like a callus on silk. “Mr Talis’s project would be quite the boon for Medarda and its investments, should it pay off. One you must sorely need, since those summer storms off Demacia have made your foreign ones…slow to mature.”

Sunk to the bottom of the Conqueror’s Sea, he means— or at least, his shark-smile implies, eager to feast upon misfortune. He’d gotten their taste not long ago, and oh, it seems he’s ravenous for more. Pity she’ll have to disappoint him.

“Your concern is touching, Albus,” she drawls, brushing her fingers just beneath his cogs. “But Medarda has been sailing their ships down that strait since before the Sun Gates’ first cog was a sparkle in our eye. A few summer squalls won’t scuttle our ships or our investments— we know better than to count our coins before they cross our palms, or ships before they come into harbor.”

That mustache twitches again, grin stretching to grimace before finding good humor again, and pride pulls those bronze cogs even broader. “Excellent to hear. Medarda has always had a history of…over-reliance on its foreign connections. A pity when there is so much profit to be made relying on good old Piltoverian stock.”

“When it comes to innovation, I suppose, we can hardly disagree.” Her hand presses against the fine wool of his coat, patting the sloped shoulders he’s trying so hard to conceal. That was ever Ferros’s way— covering weakness with a show of strength, whether it be a poorly worded trade agreement with a display of wealth, or a weak upper lip with a ridiculous mustache. “Progress Day would hardly be much of a celebration of Piltover’s prowess if Medarda hadn’t commissioned every gear to be made in our own forges.”

“Well said,” he drawls, like a man marinating more than a few arguments of his own. “I must admit, I didn’t think you would be so appreciative of Piltover’s place in history. Few are, outside of these walls.”

Mel blinks, fingers flinching back from where they rest. They hang in the air for a bare moment, tension coiled down to the knuckles, before she lets them fall. A controlled descent, poised, like a skipping needle set back on its groove.

An amateur might stretch a smile across their teeth, making bone act as a buttress, as if more structure would solve the need for motivation. But Mel is an expert in insincerity, letting her lips lilt instead, humor implied by angle rather than earnestness by length. “And we’re all the poorer for it. Just think what our engineers might achieve if only they had competition to compel them.”

There’s a sharp jerk that of that mustache, a spasm that resembles a furred creature’s death throes more than a facial twitch, before it settles into one of his patronizing smirks. Or at least the shadow of one; Ferros barely able to hold its shape as he drawls, “Now wouldn’t that be something to behold.”

“If you would excuse me.” She rises one more step, the gap between them shortening. “Business conspires to keep me moving. No rest for the wicked and all that.”

“There certainly isn’t.” It’s said pleasantly enough, polite smile clutched in his mustache’s talons, but when she moves to pass him, his eyes fix on her with a predator’s purpose. “The presentation is only a few days away, isn’t it, Councilor? And with Medarda hosting the reception, it must keep you busy.”

He might well put a paw to her neck for how thoroughly his stare gives her pause, mounting only one last step to draw them shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Talis’s technology— it’s quite impressive, isn’t it? Magic for the masses.” He huffs out a laugh, but for all his bluster, his eyes never move an inch, keeping her pinned perfectly in place. “It could go a long way in paying back Medarda’s debts. If it works.”

Spoken like the man who holds them. “I suppose,” she allows, careful of the purse strings that could choke her. “Though one might think that being informed of such an opportunity might be its own payment.”

“One might,” he remarks, as if it were nothing.

Clan Ferros never concedes, never compromises— and yet here’s a foot in the door; the wedge she needs to keep it open, if only so that one day she might get out. Desperation makes strange bedfellows, her mother would laugh, watching clans and countries scramble for allies under her encroaching shadow. If only Mel had known she meant necessity breeds mistakes, she might have thought better of crawling into bed with them in the first place.

“Have a good day, Lord Albus,” she says, putting one sole on the step above her, shifting her weight to rise—

Only for Ferros to reach out, fingers banding around her arm, folding over where metal bites into flesh. It warms beneath his touch, a warning and a promise, just like the way he leans toward her, shoulders so broad they cast her in shadow.

“Impress me, Mel.” It’s not a growl— Ferros is far too mannerly for that— but it grates nonetheless. “Give me progress, and then we’ll see just how much such a helpful hint was worth.”

He releases her— just a simple jerk of his fingers and he’s gone, as if manhandling her was as natural and unremarkable as picking up a handkerchief. And yet, here she is, standing on the pavilion steps with every nerve left raw and sparking, like some half-finished project strewn across Viktor’s bench.

“Mel.” It’s more gulp than gasp, Elora lurching forward, concern scrawled across the tight furrow of her brow—

But Mel holds up a hand, halting her in place. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d like to see some blue after all.”

“Blue?” Elora steps back, blinking. “You mean...the dress? But didn’t you say—?”

“I know what I said,” she says coolly. “But I think a few people need to be reminded.”

Her head tilts. “Reminded? Of what?”

Mel pointedly lifts her gaze, right up to the top of the Academy’s ivory towers, where the blue and gold of Piltover waves. “Of who I am.”

*

Much as Talis might have prided himself on Hextech’s humble origins, there is nothing of that Midtown warehouse left in the lab now. Every surface is polishing to gleaming in the showroom, even the podium for reception sleek and buffed until stone shines like chrome. Which is where Talis stumbles out from, notes fumbling across the desk as she makes her entrance, guilt leaking out of him like a faulty faucet.

“Councilor!” he calls out, surreptitiously shoving papers on top of other papers, every line of him screaming unready. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Her eyebrow arches, one corner of her mouth following. “Clearly.”

“What do I—? Er, I mean, we, what do we, ah…” He clears his throat, one large hand tugging at the knot of his tie, as if a little air might make his conscience cleaner. “Elora isn’t with you?”

“She was.” Mel paces past him, touring the tables with all the interest of a tutor overlooking a student’s drill work. They’re cunning pieces, useful things in a pretty package— even the mining gloves have an elegance to them, though she doubts it would be appreciated by the folk down in the fissures— but with the instability of the crystals themselves, ultimately decoration; a future Talis could design but not manufacture. “However, it seems that I overlooked a small detail for the reception. I sent her to handle it.”

“Really?” She has to hand it to Talis; when he turns those wide eyes on her, all concern, she believes it. “Not anything too important, I hope. Be a shame for things to go sideways this late in the game, you know.”

“Nothing that would keep you two from getting up on that stage, I’m sure.” Though she wouldn’t put it past Viktor to try. What’s the point, he would drawl from the bowels of his creation, if the Councilor isn’t looking her best? We might as well move the whole thing to, oh, let’s see…never?

“That’s good.” His waistcoat doesn’t leave much room for slumping, but, ever the over-achiever, Talis manages it, relief slackening that chiseled jaw. “So this is just a…er…personal visit?”

“Hardly. I was out handling some last-minute plans for the presentation, I thought I might see how you boys were coming along.” She brushes past him— not close enough to touch, but close enough to imply, which, by the sharp breath he draws in, is more than enough for an engineer wound as tight as Talis. “Or at least make sure there’s an actual, working prototype.”

“Aw, come on, Councilor, can’t you give us a little credit?” One of those large palms scrapes over the short hairs at the back of his head, and ha, no one else could make humility so appealing. “We’ve never come up empty-handed, have we?”

She lifts her chin with a playful sniff. “Try that on someone who hasn’t seen you spend every last second before an exhibition tightening bolts.”

“Well, you got me there.” Talis rests one hip against the receptionist’s podium, hands lifted in a very aesthetically pleasing surrender. He always did have the sort of face that Noxian artists would clamor to paint on its knees. “But I promise, Councilor, I don’t have any intention of letting you down.”

“I’m hoping neither of you will,” she warns with a warmth that leaves Talis grinning rather than grimacing. “Though I suppose if Lord Albus’s mood was any indication, I won’t be unsatisfied with your progress.”

“Ah…” Talis has the grace to look chagrined, at least. “So you did see him.”

She cocks a hip, crossing her arms beneath her chest for best effect. “We ran into each other on the stairs.”

“Ah, right, right. Makes sense.” Little as he seems to like it. Clearly crossing patrons hadn’t been part of his afternoon plans. “It’s just— he only wanted a look around. Not in the lab, though. You know how Viktor doesn’t like, er” — gawkers is the politest way he’s ever put it in her hearing, and she doubts he’s stretched himself to search for another— “visitors while he’s working.”

“Really?” She arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Albus Ferros never struck me as the sort to leave any sleeping dog to lie.”

At least, not as long as he had money in it. The finer details of Hextech might fly right over his well-oiled head, but he does know what it will cost right down to the washer.

“Well…” Talis grimaces, guilty. “He might have peeked his head in. Just for a minute.”

Ah. Gawker. “And I suppose Viktor’s in fine feather after such a pleasant visit from his patron?”

“To put it mildly,” Talis mutters, arms crossed over that wide expanse of waistcoat. “He’s in the lab, if you’re looking to get scowled at. I’m letting him make some last minute tweaks to blow off some steam.”

She doubts that Talis had much of a say in the matter, but she magnanimously refrains from saying so; no, instead she drawls, “Tweaks? Is there some problem I should be aware of, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that, Councilor.” He’s all good humor and graciousness now, hands waving in the air between them. “He just— well, you know Viktor. He had some ideas about optimization and performance, and well…as long as the gate gets on stage in working order in time for my presentation, he can do whatever he likes.”

“Your presentation?” The muscles in her cheek twitch, one side of her smile slanting into a smirk. Teasing, of course; playful, even. Enough to take the sting out of, “Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t even stand next to it when there was a cage?”

“Well, that’s before we got the field stable,” he protests, shoulders a little too square for nonchalance. “Now there’s no worries at all. Smooth sailing. Like riding one of those steam cabs downhill.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. The masses do seem to find their fun where they can get it. “I can’t say I would know.”

“In any case, I think we’ve all earned a rest on our laurels, haven’t we?” He leans over the podium with his most charming smile, heedless of the pages crinkling beneath his sleeves. A little ink smudges on his cuff, still wet, and she can’t help dropping her gaze to trace the angle of it, making out strange corners and hastily scribbled letters. “Speaking of a little rest and relaxation…I’ve heard there’s a new restaurant that’s opened up on Sidereal Avenue, just down the street from the treasury.  Some little Shuriman fusion place, I thought maybe you might—”

“What is this?” She bypasses those big dog eyes of his with a tap of her finger, drawing his attention down to his elbow. “Runes, I suppose?”

“Oh, that?” A laugh blows right out of him, more dismissive than a wave of his hand. “This is just a theory Viktor’s got me working on. It’s…well, it’s kind of technical” —meaning, she presumes, that there’s no possibility she might understand it— “but he’s got some ideas about the formation of runes. You know, how they talk to each other.”

“Oh? Because of how you two constructed the gate, correct?” The nitty-gritty of Hextech’s inner workings has never been her forte; she saw little point learning a science poorly when she already had two experts at her beck and call. But even she can see these aren’t the sharp lines and pointed corners she’d seen etched into metal from the day she first elbowed her way into the lab. “You’ve been toying with that gravity rune for ages, but the beam needed—”

“Something to focus it, and another to aim, yeah.” Talis scratches at the back of his head, no longer from boyish charm, but single-minded focus. “Took more than a couple, and the whole time it felt like I was trying to reach an itch I couldn’t scratch. I thought I was, you know, remembering, but Viktor…”

A thick finger traces over a delicate curve of ink, four trembling tines disappearing beneath it. As if the strokes themselves were uncertain— or the hand that made them. “He’s wondering if we just sort of find them. You know, when we need to. Like when we reach for the arcane, it’s just….”

Talis shakes his head, suddenly all square jaw and smiles once again. “Anyway, it’s all just a theory. Something we’ve been scratching away at in our spare time.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. “I imagine you don’t have much of that, right now.”

“We don’t,” he agrees, a shade too quickly for sincerity. “But I’ve been pecking away at it when I’ve got a minute. It’ll all be worth it if a little bit of forethought now keeps us from burning the midnight oil for months, hoping the lack of sleep will give us a breakthrough later.”

“Is that so?” she hummed, resting a hip against the podium. “And here I thought Viktor loved staying up to all hours.”

Talis laughs, shaking that pretty head of his. “That’s what I said. And you know what Viktor told me? I’d like to be doing it alone.”

“Now that sounds like him.” She can see it now— his already curved spine bent to all angles, making one last tweak, taking one last measurement, peeking out from beneath his monumental work to say, get out. “I suppose since I’m here, I best pay my respects to the genius inventor. I’d hate for him to think I’m playing favorites.”

“I doubt he’d mind,” Talis huffs out, all humor until she sweeps past him, making her way to the lab door. “Hey, you aren’t really going to go in there, are you? I told you he…?”

She slows to a sashay, each click of her heels lingering before she makes the next. “Would be happy to see his favorite patron?”

His outstretched hand curls, falling back down to his side. “Not exactly what I was going to say, no.”

“Oh, please.” It’s a struggle not to roll her eyes, but she blunts her impatience down to a cock of her hip and a cross of her arms. “If you think I can’t weather a man’s poor temperament, Mr Talis, I’d invite you to spend a day on the council. Then you’ll really see the sort of tantrum a grown man can throw.”

Talis snorts, shaking his head. “Hey, it’s your— er, choice. Just thought I’d give you fair warning.”

“And miss Viktor’s undoubtedly stimulating conversation?” Her mouth hooks into her slyest smirk. “Perish the thought.”

“Try blistering,” he mutters, so soft he must think she cannot hear. “Ah, but about the restaurant—”

“It sounds lovely,” she replies absently, the first set of doors opening before her. “I do hope you have a good time.”

*

If there is one compliment Mel can lay at the Revered Professor’s feet, it is this: his penchant for high ideals never stumbles. Every building of the academy is designed with his lofty goals in mind, every wall stretching up to vaulted ceilings, supported by square columns meant to draw the eye up, inviting every body that views it to dream beyond their earthly goals.

What purpose that might serve in what was, essentially, a service corridor, she could never quite say, but the acoustics were superb. The harsh click of her heels amplifies with every step, echoing down the tunnel like her own personal set of heralding trumpets. A pity there’s a set of doors at the end of it, heavy and metal; the academy’s answer to Talis’s blast door— what she wouldn’t give to see the face of her favorite investment as she swept into the lab, a veritable angel choir announcing her arrival.

Knowing him, he’d start researching an automatic door. Or at least a way to sound-proof the corridor.

Not that either of them would be terrible ideas. Especially if this presentation impresses the way she’s certain it will. Going forward with gate technology would take all this from academic to proprietary; an investment Medarda will have to see to protecting. More doors would be a start, and security that did not simply start and stop at the reception desk. Heimerdinger would never consent to private consultants on academy soil, but maybe a more responsive team of Piltover’s best—or at least someone with a bit more ambition than a grandfather more eager to show off family pictures than arrest trespassers.

He’ll have his concerns, of course— too much power in one person’s hands, he’d bluster, and anyone could become a tyrant— but she knows all too well that most of his protests are meant to act as a dialogue; a mentor posing questions in order to lead a student along the proper path. To teach how to think, rather than provide answers. An irritating little habit of his, but one Mel is happy to play along with so long as it helps him put pen to paper. Or wrench to bolt, as it were.

The sticking point will be whose pockets the washers come from— Medarda eager to stake its claim, and the Good Professor just as keen to keep the academy from being sullied by the grasping hands of Piltover’s clans, but—

“—Much as I would usually love to debate over the wisdom of that particular phrasing.” Viktor’s voice rings clearly into the corridor, just as strident and harassed as she expected from a man who spent the morning with Albus Ferros. “I do not particularly have the time for the theoreticals right now. Not when the practicals are going to knock down my door if this isn’t ready to ship out by tomorrow.”

It’s not until the much softer, more uncertain, “I appreciate that, I really do,” that follows— from the assistant, she presumes, considering the heavy dose of hero worship weighing it down— that Mel notices the doors stand open, the full breadth of the lab on display before she even gets to the stairs.

“It’s just…” The girl hovers at Viktor’s shoulder— or where his shoulder would be, if the whole of his body wasn’t eclipsed by the dome bubbling out of the floor tiles— fretting the way Hoskel does over his horses. As if by worrying, he might make them cross over the finish line faster. “I’m concerned with how much power the beam might need to be focused. Doesn’t it have to be grounded somehow? I thought that if we moved a couple of these antecedents, we might be able to displace—”

“Sky.” He sighs at the precise pitch of the pinnacle of his patience. “That is a conversation almost certainly worth having…at another time. Right now I have to concern myself with—”

“Making it work?” Mel offers, letting her heels clack a little more sharply as she descends the small set of steps down to the lab floor. “And after Mr Talis spent so long assuring me that you actually finished something on time.”

“Councilor.” The title rolls around between his teeth, taking scores out of it before he lets it loose in his lab. Viktor doesn’t bother to stand— where he’s crouched, she hardly thinks he could manage it without a crutch and a decent dose of cussing, both of which he’s loath to use in front of her— but he also doesn’t bother to look up, not until she orbits around one side of his lonely star to meet him in the middle. “To what do we owe the”— he hesitates— “honor?”

Sky watches her closely, skittish, almost. Those clever eyes dart between them with the same fervor as children counting between thunder and lightning strike, trying to divine just how close the next might come to their doorstep.

Mel smiles, but not at her. “Do I need a reason to visit my favorite investment?”

“No.” His teeth bite around the word, just shy of something like a smile. “I was under the impression you didn’t do anything for less than three.”

He looks at her now, hair askew and brows lifted to meet it, entirely too cocky to abide. She wraps her mouth around her next volley, already calculating his return, when—

“Viktor.” The Sky girl elbows her way between them, tall enough for the puff of her hair to disrupt line of sight. “What I was saying, about the rune phrasing—”

“We will talk about that at a later date.” It’s a rare occurrence to see Viktor acting as a mentor rather than recalcitrant employee; what would have been a rousing row if Mel stood between the man and his machine is blunted down to a gentle correction, his impatience only apparent in the way he puts his back to the girl, focus narrowed down to the single point where he works. “Now is hardly the time to start talking about…grammar refinement.”

“But the arcane power demanded by the current construction is—”

“Miss Young." His hands still, his dismissal all the more stark in the silence. “Later.”

Her shoulders shift beneath the white of her lab coat, sitting straight enough a yardstick would turn green with envy. A defensive maneuver, like a kitten puffing up its fur or hedgehog quivering its spines. As if she makes herself big enough, his disinterest can’t hurt her.

It’s a child’s game, one destined not to last. Puffed up as she is, there’s nothing left to do but deflate, her chest rounding over the books she has clutched to them. The girl spares Viktor one last lingering glance— hoping, perhaps, that he’ll notice the blow he’s dealt— before scurrying toward the door. Mel’s half-tempted to pity her; it’s the same sort of scene she’s seen played out in schoolyards and soirées and soldier encampments alike, one of the abiding embarrassments of growing up—

But the clever little assistant stops at the top of the stairs. Has her hand on the door and hesitates even still, as if just one more moment, one last look might change everything. But this time, she doesn’t pitch puppy dog eyes toward Viktor, oh no— this is a wary glare, aimed squarely at where Mel stands. Accusatory, almost. As if she is the interloper in the sanctum sanctorum that is this lab.

Perhaps she’s right, at that. But Mel’s hardly going to apologize for it. Business, as always, comes before feelings, no matter how tender some may be.

“Don’t you think you might have been a little harsh?” Most of their conversations flow best with a level playing field, but it would be a cold day in Sai Faraj before Mel would lower herself to a crouch. Not in these shoes, and certainly not in this dress. “The girl only wanted to impress you.”

“What’s the point? I’m already impressed.” He leans back, hands flush against the marble floors, leaving dark streaks of grease over its artful veins. “What would be the point of having her here if we didn’t think she could lend any insight into this project?”

It’s at the tip of her tongue, a reflex rather than a conscious thought— have you thought to tell Ms Young any of that?

Were this merely the lapse of a mentor in regards to his student, a failure in encouraging professional confidence to thrive, she might have let it fall. She’s hardly an expert on the shaping of young minds; not nearly old enough to take on anything like a successor, at least according to the Medarda, and not inclined to tutor any of her younger cousins, lest they’re encouraged to compete for her place. But she had, not long ago, been an apprenta herself, and Master Jago— well, he had never had a reputation for being effusive in his praise, not even for a young girl desperate to prove her place among a family more eager to see her stumble than succeed, but Mel never questioned his respect for her skills or her talent.

But this— this is not that. Simple professional jealousy would hardly leave her back burning this long after that girl’s glare gouged it; no, this is something infinitely more personal—

“Besides.” A tuft of dark hair slips down the furrowed expanse of Viktor’s forehead, and he spares a breath to blow it back. “She’s right about the grammar. This design draws too much power to be supported by so short a phrase. We either have to elongate the chamber, or we’ll have to swap the antecedents etched on every piece of the mechanism, from top to bottom—“

And equally unlikely to be noticed. The object of Ms Young’s admiration was already in a committed, mutually-beneficial relationship: with his work.

Sweet though, to see someone so interested in a man made more of math than muscle. Refreshing, even, to know that there were some who were drawn to intelligence over aesthetic. Little as the man in question would ever see his way around to appreciating it.

“So you mean to tell me that when you flip your switch tomorrow, the machine won’t work?” Hard to believe when every surface of this dome is carved with runes, channels for the arcane shaped like fissures around them; somewhere between an art installation one might find in the Council Building’s atrium and a brain.

“Ah, what? No. No no.” His hand waves sharply between them, not to ward off her question, but to redirect his mind to answer it.

“This” —his palms open, the whole of this great machine encompassed between them— “will turn on. And not only will it turn on, it will work. It will work so well that all our esteemed patrons will see fit to empty their pockets and give us five more years funding. And that is where Miss Young’s theory on antecedent order will matter, since then we will either reconstruct the whole thing to use the more efficient grammar, or we’ll have to…I don’t know. Build a tunnel long enough to contain the runic phrasing done the wrong way.”

Mel has never been a slouch at mental calculations, but even her mental faculties fail her as she tries to consider the scope. “And just how long would that be?”

“Well, let me put it this way: it wouldn’t do the Council any favors with your relationship with the Undercity.”  A laugh scrapes up from the recesses of his chest, less like draining the dregs at the bottom of the barrel, and more like cleaners shoveling up carriage-crushed carcasses from the streets. “Not that any of our Betters have lost sleep over that sort of thing before. But I would like to consider it a last resort. Greatness does not come from taking shortcuts.”

That little adage still has so much of the Great Professor in it, it squeaks, but Mel hardly finds that the most noteworthy part.

“Betters?” Her fingers reach out to trace the dome’s joints, pacing its perimeter with all the curiosity of a child approaching pristine plate glass. “Esteemed patrons? I never thought I’d live to see the day when you called me that.”

“It goes over better than purse strings.” There’s a strain in his voice, a snap, before Viktor settles back on his heels, nodding at his success. “Jayce has informed me that if I liked the…academic lassitude that comes from our funding, I cannot bite the hands that feeds. Or at least”— his mouth curls at a corner, teasing the barest hint of teeth— “learn to nibble a little more pleasantly.”

“Oh my,” she hums, drawing the words out to their flattest notes. “What dire straits Hextech’s funds must be in if you consent to being civilized. Whatever will Mr Talis do should his project fail before he even takes the stage?”

Ah, now that gets a glare slanted her way, Viktor’s mouth pursing in the very picture of academic affront. “I’ll thank you to remember that this is our project, Councilor.”

“Is it?” She lets a brow arch, inquisitive, skeptical. “With the way Mr Talis was talking out in the showroom, I assumed you had stepped down from being a partner to a”—pet, she’s not quite unkind enough to say— “employee.”

Four years of handling Piltover’s prickliest engineer has made Mel a connoisseur of grunts and snorts, and this newest one— a huff, bare inches away from a cluck— is dismissive. Dubious, even. “Then I’m afraid you’ve quite misunderstood. I am just a much as founder as I was the day—”

“I found you fiddling with Heimerdinger’s keys outside his office door?” Her mouth tilts, the fold of her arms following a similar cant. “Or maybe you mean later, when you blew out the Revered Professor’s—?”

“That’s all water under the bridge,” he assures her with a lazy wave of his hand. “He can hardly complain about his star pupils, now can he?”

“I suppose not.” The fissures thread along the bottom of her fingers, the chaotic network of channels falling into a half-familiar pattern, one she almost anticipates as one etching leads into the next. Like a half-forgotten childhood lullaby; she knows the tune by heart but stumbles through the words, phrases rising from her memory only fall to pieces beneath the weight of her tongue. “I have to admit, despite all the…extralegal skulduggery, you seemed like more of a partner then. Now you stay here in the lab, working on the future you and he were so keen on creating, while Mr Talis makes himself a household name.”

There’s scuffling as he gets his foot beneath him, one hand grasping at the crutch leaning on the console to deftly lever himself to his feet with only the barest squeal of his brace. The man might be doused in lubricant, the stretch between wrist and rolled up sleeve more grease than skin, but even still he can’t keep the thing properly oiled. For all his flaws, Talis must have the patience of a saint; even now she’s half tempted to hold him down and care for the joints herself, if only to save her from the clanking and whining she’s subject to as he hobbles his way across the workshop. Away from her, she takes care to note.

“You may not know this, Councilor,” he drawls, leaning over a sprawl of schematics. “But long-term partnerships require compromise.”

“Is that so?” She approaches with all the patience of a predator, skirt swaying around her legs like tall grass before a sand cat strikes. He watches her the way prey doesn’t, wary but aware as her hip props up beside his, fingers brushing over the topmost sheet— a sky ship, it looks like, though its shape has more in common with a sloop rather than a galley— until they trace over the single signature sweeping across the corner: Jayce Talis. “Including who gets credit for your inventions?”

He scowls, scooping up the schematics and rolling them into a tight tube. “That is for patenting purposes. We both invented these. Jayce knows that better than anyone.”

Reality rarely keeps an ambitious man from claiming credit, in her experience. “And I suppose it’s the both of you who will make sure the gate is in proper working order before the presentation? With no chance of explosion, if you don’t mind.”

“Councilor, please.” He presses a hand to his chest, the slant on his smile far too steep for sincerity. “When has one of my projects ever exploded?”

She barely has time to roll her eyes toward the window before he adds, “Recently.”

“I’m being unfair,” she admits, after a heavy pause to consider. “Your inventions don’t explode.”

“Thank you for n—”

“You merely throw yourself through them, untested, and hope for the best.”

“The gate wasn’t untested.” Most men would puff themselves up for this amount of protest; stretching their spines to loom, hoping the breadth of their shoulders might quell any question. Viktor, however, sits. “Its effects were just largely unknown on living objects larger than…oh, let’s say a cat.”

It’s Mel who stretches now, lifting her chin to its most imperious height. “So you thought the first person to test those effects should be you?”

Viktor shrugs, mouth pulling into one of his ridiculous grimaces. “Someone had to do it.”

“And what about me, then?” Positioned at all her best, most forbidding angles, Mel favors him with a glare. “Was there some reason I had to be the one to witness it? Without warning, might I add! Just called across the city with no explanation, only to have you disappear right before my eyes—”

“Not disappear, really,” he muses, one long finger tapping at his chin. “More like a relocation. The gate merely opens a point of entry in reality, and the vacuum pulls you through, almost like a pneumatic tube—”

“You were gone.” Mel prides herself on control, on her precise grasp of the way her voice rises and falls, always doing just as it ought. As she wills it to. But that last word leaves her mouth and collapses, folding in on itself, unable to bear the weight.

Viktor glances at her. Not the kind she’s used to from men; that surreptitious pass from one end of her to another, taking her measurements as thoroughly as a modiste— only it’s not the fit of a dress they’re concerned about. No, this one lifts to meet hers, not falling to any more familiar anatomy, but lingering. His brow furrows, the subtle movements of his eyes searching.

It’s…embarrassing, really. This…vulnerability. Mother always said it would kill her, caring too much. If only she had known it could lead to things worse than death, maybe she might have listened.

It’s a relief when his attention finally drops away, fixed to where his hands rest on the desk. His fingers flutter, his mouth works, and after one terrible, too-long moment, he shrugs. “I came back, too.”

She clears her throat, the pitch of her voice concertedly casual as she says, “Yes, well, you might have given me some warning. I’m sure Mr Talis might have had some idea of what to do should your…experiment go wrong, but I was quite in the dark.”

“Well, if I’d done it in front of Jayce, he would have stopped me.” He rolls his eyes, hands lifting to wrap quotes around, “For ‘safety reasons.’”

“I see,” she hums, deceptively light even as her temper lashes behind the golden cage of her civility. “So you chose me because you thought I’d be too stupid to understand what you were up to.”

“You wouldn’t be aware of the precise nature of my intentions, no.” The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to sound even slightly apologetic. Typical of him, really. “Or the risks of putting myself through what essentially amounts to a hole in reality.”

“Oh?” There’s no point in hiding the edge of her tone, not when he could have a real, actual knife held to his throat and still go on about his precise criteria for what constituted a ‘calculated risk.’ “For example?”

“Well…” His head tilts, sending that tuft skittering across his brow again. “There’s no air in a vacuum, traditionally.”

“Oh, honestly—!”

“I lived,” he tells her, as if that is his only metric for success. Considering the few times she’s seen Viktor testing his creations, there’s a reasonable possibility it might be. “And you were suitably impressed with my efforts, if I recall.”

“I was suitably impressed when you managed to move a pencil.” Had she only known that would not be his only magic trick that day, she might have spared herself no small amount of fright. “It has always been Medarda’s policy to allow our apprenta be the experts of their field of study with little oversight, however”— she slanted a pointed stare toward him— “perhaps in the interest of our continued support, I should become more familiar with the basis of your work.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself out on our account, Councilor,” Viktor assures her with his best don’t-get-in-my-way smile. “The naive mind is a wonderful thing. A layman’s perspective often gives more insight into a problem than—”

“I’m not trying to help you with your work, Viktor,” she grates out, every syllable strained through her teeth. “I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself with it.”

“Oh.” His mouth wraps around the sound slowly, as if testing to see if it might hold his weight, brow furrowed. “Well, that doesn’t seem necessary. It’s not as if I’ve died.”

“Yet,” she stresses wearily. And yet, even so, her own mouth begins to curve, hands coming to rest against the cool metal of the tabletop. “I do have to admit, that’s the first time in a long while that someone’s dared to call me naive.”

“Well then.” Viktor makes to stand, the mole beneath his eye wrinkling with the first inkling of a smirk. “I’m glad I could get away with it.”

It’s just chance that makes his glance flick to hers, a trick of the light that turns amber to gold and the strain of straightening his spine that drops his voice just so, that makes him lean in, entirely too close. And yet—

And yet the effect is undeniable. A strange itch that settles beneath her skin, an odd twist to her stomach. The sort of things that a nice pair of shoulders might make her feel, at least on the right man.

Which this certainly is not. It’s just…Viktor.

He rights himself, cursing as he gets the splinted leg beneath him, chin dropping to inspect the brace— it may not be squealing now, but misbehaving certainly seems to be on the menu— and that ridiculous tuft drops over him again, obscuring his eyes, in the way—

Her hand reaches out, the lightest brush pushing the errant tuft back to where it belongs. Or at least, where it will consent to stay. She knows better than to expect anything about Viktor to be tamed, least of all by her. “You will get cleaned up, won’t you?”

He stares at her, his gloved hand half-raised— to knock hers away, she realizes. A reflex, perhaps, abandoned after a thought. Or by the look in his eyes, a lack of one. “Pardon?”

“For the reception,” she says, stilted in a way she can’t quite account for. “I thought you might try and look presentable, for once.”

“Reception?” He snorts, hand dropping back to his crutch. “Why do you want me to go to one of those things? So they can all talk over me like I’m furniture?” His weight shifts, turning his back to her. “I think I’ll pass.”

“So that they can see it’s not just Jayce who is the mind behind Hextech,” she presses. “But the both of you.”

He hesitates, knee joint squeaking in protest. “I think they might rather it that way. It’s certainly simpler. I don’t think any of them would enjoy having to owe something to a man from the Undercity.”

Mel crosses her arms, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. “I didn’t realize you wanted to make things simple for these people.”

His hand flexes on his crutch. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” she says, and knows better than to add, for now.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Wait for your love.

Content Warnings: mentions of drinking, drug use,

↳ currently playing ;

“Slut!” - 1977

0:56 ——•———————— 3:24

↺       <<          ll          >>     ⋮≡

Y/N: “Let me explain something about the whole….‘America’s Sweetest Girl’ bullshit”

“The only reason people called me that was because how I dressed and how my voice sounded.”

“It’s stupid but…it stuck.”

“Teddy said it was a good way to brand myself, that it would make me more…appealing to people.”

“Guess he didn’t want me having the same reputation that the band did. Unfortunately for him, that image of ‘America’s Sweetest Girl’ was out of the window.”

Daisy: “The pictures of y/n from that night were in every tabloid the next day.”

“Everyone saw how ‘America’s Sweetheart’ was drunk and high out of her mind.”

“Honestly….I was proud of her.”

“I was so sick of her pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”

“But not many people liked that”

Y/N: “It felt so…so freeing. I always had to keep this image up of being a ‘good girl’ and that just— wasn’t me.”

“I mean, I thought it wasn’t me. I didn’t want it to be me.”

“I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to party and not worry about being photographed.”

“And it’s not like I didn’t party, I did. But when I did, Teddy would lecture me as if I was a child.”

She sighs. “I mean…he wasn’t completely wrong for treating me like one.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It had been two days since the New Year’s Eve scandal.

You and Billy are both sitting at a table across from Teddy In front of them is a magazine with the picture of you hanging out of a window with Billy standing above you with a guitar. Both of you look high and drunk out of your minds.

“Well, one of you better speak up now and explain this.” Teddy says, leaning back in his chair, glaring at both of you.

You cross your arms and huff. “Should I explain or you?”

Billy sighs, running a hand over his face. “I will, you were the one hanging out a window looking like a fool.” he mumbles, glancing at you.

You scoffs and roll your eyes. “You’re the one who was smoking a blunt and had a guitar slung around his shoulders asshat…” you mumble.

Billy glances at you, rolling his eyes. He puts a cigarette between his lips, lighting it. “Watch your damn mouth, doll..”

Teddy sighed, clearly becoming frustrated with both of you arguing. “For gods sake, you two. Just explain to me how you both end up in front of a damn window practically making out for everyone to see?”

You huff again, leaning back in your chair. “We got in a fight, got high, got drunk, and then…” you motion to the magazine. “That happened”

Billy laughs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth before he leans back in his chair as he looks at you. “You got pretty damn high that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve seen you that high in my life, doll..” He says, putting special emphasis on the nickname.

Teddy groans, rubbing his forehead as if you two were giving him a headache, but you were 100% sure you were. “And you two just decided to forget cameras exist?”

You shrug in response, not entirely sure with what to say.

Billy sighs, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Oh, come on, Teddy. What’s the big deal? So what if we got on the cover page of a tabloid, who cares?”

Teddy scoffs.”Who cares? Who- who cares?” he says, going into his drawer and grabbing 4 more

magazines.

“Y/N is who should care.” he says slamming all the magazines on the desk.

You grab two of the magazines and read the headlines.

‘America’s Sweetheart or an All-American Bitch?’

‘America’s Golden Girl Gone Wild!”

“Are people really saying this stuff about me?”

Billy sighs and grabs one of the magazines, staring at the headline that’s on the cover with the photo.

He groans, running a hand over his face.“God damnit..” He mumbles under his breath before looking at you. “It’s just a couple magazines, doll. I’m sure it’s not that bad..”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one they’re antagonizing!”

Billy laughs, shaking his head at your yelling. “Calm down, princess. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Besides, you knew what you were doing when you got high and practically threw yourself on me.” He retorted, rolling his eyes at you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing asshole, you got me high out of my fucking mind!”

“And how is that my fault, princess? I didn’t force the joint in your mouth and make you take a hit.” Billy retorted, leaning back in his chair as he put the cigarette back in his mouth.

Teddy groaned, rubbing his forehead as you two continued arguing. “Oh, Jesus Christ, you two..”

“No…maybe you didn’t…but you are the one that pulled out a bag of coke, asshole”

Billy laughs dryly, shaking his head again. “Again, Princess. I didn’t force that damn cocaine up your nose. You did that yourself, not that I cared. You looked damn gorgeous doing it, might I add.” He mumbled that last part under his breath.

You groan in frustration, putting your hands over your head.

“Teddy, how bad is the damage”

Teddy sighs, rubbing his forehead once more. “There’s been quite a bit of backlash from these articles. People are calling you a slut and saying how you used to be so much better.” He mumbles.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “Everyone was calling me a slut. They were calling me names but they didn’t say shit about Billy.”

“I wish I had done things different, but during that time, I couldn’t. My whole brand was being this sweetheart that everyone loved. And the minute I fucked up, everyone started calling me a slut.”

“If I wanted to keep my career, I had to rebrand. I had literally no choice.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

“What do we— what do I do? I need…like damage control right?”

“We’re gonna have to do some kind of damage control. I’m getting calls left and right. The band’s PR team are currently working on everything. It’s just a matter of time ‘til it blows over.”

You shake your head. “No…no but that’s for the band. I’m not apart of the band. I’m categorized as my own artist. What do I do?”

Teddy sighs, running a hand over his forehead again. “We’re working on damage control for you too. The PR team for you is working on the same plan. It’s gonna be alright. Again, it might just take a bit of time, but hopefully it’ll blow over in a matter of weeks..”

“And what if it doesn’t? What happens then? I just…lose everything I’ve worked for?”

Teddy sighed, he hated having to be the bearer of bad news sometimes.

“Well, if it doesn’t blow over, there’s a possibility that your career will be badly affected. The backlash might also become worse at that point. Hopefully it won’t, but we need to be prepared if that outcome comes to light.”

You put your head in your hands, you kept thinking of how stupid you had to be to mess up this bad.

Then you had an idea.

“Rebrand…What about a rebrand?” you say, picking your head up.

Teddy seemed somewhat confused at your idea, but interested to see where you were going with this.

“What do you mean by a ‘rebrand’? Like an image change?”

You nod your head. “We play into what they’re saying, just like how we played into the ‘America’s Sweetheart’ bullshit. I’ll write a new album, a rock one, for real this time.”

“You know what this means right? You have to write and produce one as fast as you can.”

“I can do it. Please Teddy, trust me on this.”

Teddy ponders for a moment.

“You think this will work?”

“It has to. Please Teddy.”

Teddy sighs, he could never say no to you. “Alright fine, but you’ll have to be working around the clock. Can you handle that?”

You nod your head. “I won’t let you down.”

Teddy huffs before nodding. “Alright, I’m putting my faith into you. But be aware, there’s no room for error with this. One screw up and it’s all down the drain.”

“I understand.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “I definitely struggled writing a few songs on the album. I mean…I was trying to write, compose, and produce a single album in under 3 weeks.”

“But it was fun to write some of the songs.”

“There was this one in particular…”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

You were in your apartment, for once. Billy was with you too.

Sitting at your piano, you were attempting to write one of the songs for the new album. But you just couldn’t. You groaned and slammed your hands and head on the piano.

Billy looked up from where he had been sitting on the couch, he’d been there for hours already as he watched you try and work on your songs. He sighs, standing up and walking over to you.

“What’re you stuck on now, doll?”

You groan. “This song…it’s stupid.”

Billy laughs, coming from behind and resting his head on your shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not the song that’s stupid, maybe it’s the songwriter who’s trying to finish in like 3 damn weeks.” He teased.

“Why can‘t songs write themselves…”

Billy rolled his eyes playfully as he rested his hands on your shoulders and started massaging them, hoping to help you relax a bit.

“It would make life a hell of a lot easier, I’ll give you that.” He mumbled.

You rest your head on his hand and look up at him. “Aren’t you a gentleman”

Billy laughs and leans down, kissing your forehead. “Only for you, doll.” He mumbled in your ear, continuing to massage your shoulders.

“Mm…I know…” you say, gazing down at the piano keys.

And almost like magic, your hands begin to play, and you start to hum a tune.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “Billy and I definitely had our moments…but when we weren’t fighting, everything seemed right. He was just…perfect.”

She chuckles.

“I mean…I wrote “Slut!” is less than an hour. I don’t think I could’ve done it without him…”

the long awaited new chapter is done!! honestly i can’t believe it’s done, but hey, the minute i put on the right song the chapter basically writes itself! thank you so so so much for being patient with this part, i haven’t been in the best mental state, but writing is definitely helping me :) hope u guys enjoyed this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 (especially the little bit of billy fluff at the end :))

[interstellar-wanderer]

Theory about The Ghoul/Cooper: Highly influenced and vulnerable to dishonesty.

Cooper Howard trusts deeply in the people he loves and the idea of the American Dream that was sold to him during the Sino-American war. He fought for those ideals, his country and the people he loved, and before the Great War and drop of the bombs he can't stand any other perspective for his own sanity.

The problem is, he is not a very good actor you see. He usually creates the character of a highly dignified cowboy because it is a projection of what he wants for himself, an ideal version of a man, openly criticizing the choice of the character not doing what he would do in real life (shooting someone), and in his other movie, he plays a role of a man with a dog, with the help of his own dog and not another random dog, I believe because he wanted to portray his own relationship with his loved pet rather than a random role.

He lives his characters and roles, to the point of turning one of them when becoming the Ghoul, this lone cowboy and bounty hunter hurt by his past and tired of the cruelty and dishonesty around the Wasterland.

He uses his emotions and all his heart for his roles and forgets everything else because through his roles he is showing a part of himself in the process, but with the consequence of leaving nothing to protect himself, because he has never created a facade around his person, he is honest and true, th same way we see The Ghoul as he is, no lies nor attempts at dishonesty; he is clear with his intentions to the very end.

But because of this, Cooper is vulnerable and ignorant to true deep dishonesty, to someone who would straight up lie to his face, to someone living two parallel life at the same time. He prides himself on knowing his wife's true motivations and never thinking bad about her, he also sees Lucy and believes her just as transparent but never thought of her surviving SnipSnip.

When Barb showed her real colors during the Vault-Tec meeting, declaring they should drop the bombs themselves, he broke in such a way he went into shock. One would believe he is in fact a good actor, and would try to be good in hiding it, but I would say Barb was a better one by playing two roles at the same time God knows how long and Cooper suspecting nothing of such. This happens when:

1) she convinces him to pose as Vault boy and be part of their promotional campaign

2) then when she invites everyone to the wrap party to their house without telling him, subsequently not showing remorse at him being abandoned by his Hollywood friends

3) then gatekeeping him regarding her status as worried housewife during the war in Anchorade and how stupid his idea of a ranch was

4) ultimately convincing him to accept his dog should go (something we all know made him suspect of Vault-tec and her), for the sake of their security.

But this caused a drift between them, him starting to suspect something was up when she told him they wouldn't be safe if they buy a bunker themselves because it wouldn't work, then trying hard to "put everyone in one of the GOOD vaults, one which would oversee all others".

This is when his world started to crumble. Not only her lying, but she not trusting him enough with the real truth of their situation, manipulating him instead with a dishonest facade.

The worst part is that it is very likely she knows this about him, his soul is rooter in honesty, fairness, and dignity, do the right thing the same way Lucy envisioned before coming out of Vault 33. He doesn't expect his wife to lie to him or represent a version of the world he fought against, he doesn't expect his country to betray him regarding their safety.

We can understand now why he became such a bitter man, and why he seems to avoid the old version of himself.

Maybe he thinks, if he had known, if he hadn't trusted so damn much, if he hasn't been so vulnerable and hasn't opened his heart expecting the same back, maybe he could have done something to stop it all.

Now every time he looks back, he seems to hate the man he was so very much.

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 8: Toys with Charon.

Pairing: Charon X Fem!Reader Word Count: 1444 Warnings: Daddy Kink, Baby Girl Kink, F using Vibrator, Voyeurism, F and M masturbation, Dirty talk, Dom/Sub dynamics, Making out, Reader is the LW but it's not alluded to.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

“Moira wants us to what?” Charon’s tone was utterly incredulous as he looked down at you.

“She wants us to test out a device she made.” You answered as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

The little metal tube sat on the bed next where you both stood, wrapped in fabric to keep it from getting scuffed, which would be less than ideal given its purpose.

“What is it?” He asked, blue eyes shifting down to the suspicious package.

“Well…That’s why she asked us to test it…” You answered, face going hot as a flush creeped up your next, similar to the one that had followed the same path when Moira had made her request.

The bare spot where Charon’s brow would be lifted as he crossed his arms, waiting impatiently for you to elaborate.

“She said it’s a type of er…Toy?” You started hesitantly.

The tall ghouls’ brows furrowed in confusion for a moment as he thought over all the, very little, context he now had before realization made them shoot up as his eyes went wide.

“She made a fucking sex toy?” He didn’t sound angry, more just incredibly shocked and a little scandalized that Moira of all people had both made the toy and asked them to test it for her.

“W-well when you put it like that it sounds dirty.” You stammered, mistaking his tone for rejection of the idea. “She found some old books and magazines and something kinda like this was in one of them and she said it seemed interesting.”

Charon let you ramble for a moment as he stared down at the little package, it was decently sized, about a foot long and it looked like the wrappings currently made up most of width, though there seemed to be things protruding from both ends, one squared and the other bulbous.

“And we’re the only couple she knows that’s nearby that still…Ya know…” You’d been chattering on this whole time, trying to sell Charon on an idea that he had already decided was going to happen whether you reported back to Moira or not.

“Take your clothes off.” He ordered without acknowledging anything else you’d said.

Your eyes, which had wandered off in thought looking for more reasons why you should use the toy, snapped back to him. “Huh?” You said dumbly.

“I said. Take your pants off, Baby Girl. Now.” And just like that Charon turned into Daddy, and your brain turned into scrambled eggs.

“Um, yeah! Right. Yup. On it.” You stuttered as you started unzipping your Vault suit till you could push it down your legs to pool around your feet, leaving you in your dirty white tank top and panties, cleaner and also white.

You half expected him to order you on the bed, but instead he closed the distance between you in a step and a half before bending down to pull you into a kiss, at first it was soft and sweet, but as quickly as it started it turned filthy.

You were the one to make that shift, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer as your tongue darted out to swipe teasingly at his lips.

He took it from there.

Strong hands dropped down to the backs of your thighs to scoop you up, wrapping your legs around his hips to keep yourself stable, he walked you both to the bed as tongues twisted, your soft sighs fanning warmly on his slowly reddening lips.

He held you there for a few more moments, in his arms at the edge of the bed. Taking the time to just enjoy tasting your lips for a second longer before tossing you on the bed like a ragdoll.

Apparently subverting your expectations was on the agenda for the evening, as rather than undress himself or make any move for the toy, he pulled the chair from the corner and sat down, his half-hard cock already starting to strain at his zipper.

“Unwrap it.” He ordered, voice slightly breathless from all the kissing and rougher from arousal.

Your fingers trembled from excitement as you rolled to your knees to grab the package.

It was a simple clean rag wrapped around with some twine to keep it all together, so with a simple pull at the end of the small bow it fell away to reveal the cause of all this.

As stated before, it was about a foot long, mostly handle with a little twitch near the square end, which turned out to be a small fusion battery in a casing. The bulbous end was some kind of stuffing in a kind of flesh-like plastic, it was smooth to the touch and a little squishy.

“Um…How does it…” You murmured as you examined it for a moment before looking to Charon for guidance and finding him staring directly at it with the darkest, hottest, most turned on expression you think you’ve ever seen on his face.

His chin was tilted down, eyes half lidded and practically glowing with the blazing heat of his gaze, face otherwise stony but the way his breathing had sped up just a little told you everything you needed to know.

He knew exactly what that was. He’d seen toys like it before the war, and wondered what magazine the crazy store owner had found if one of these was in it.

“It’s a vibrator. Turn it on.” He instructed, voice all gravel and pebbles at this point.

Flipping the little switch brought it to life, the whole thing shaking in your hand, sending shocks up you arm for a moment.

Out of surprise you dropped it on the bed, feeling almost like it had shocked you.

Charon reached out and flipped it off before holding out to you. “Show me your pretty pussy, Baby Girl.”

A few moments later your panties had found their new home on the floor, and your ass found its home on the mattress, legs spread as you use your fingers to circle your clit, slowly working yourself up while Charon watched with the slightest of smirks on his scarred lips, enjoying the show.

After a, very short, bit the room filled with the wet sound of your ministrations, and only then did Charon tell you to pick up the toy again.

“Turn it on.” His hand drifted down to the front of his pants, where he was clearly at full mast, and palmed himself for a moment before undoing the fastenings to pull his cock free. The switch clicked and the soft buzz of the vibrator sounded. “Now, put it on your clit.”

Your hand hesitated as you brought it closer, letting out a high gasp at the slightest of touches, not having expected to sudden jolt of wonderful sensation.

“Holy shit…” You whimpered, eyes slamming shut.

“Language.” Charon said with a lifted brow.

“Sorry, Daddy.” You murmured, looking back up at him.

He nodded and turned his gaze back to where your hand held the toy hovering near your dripping pussy.

Taking in a deep breath you brought it back to your clit, forcing your hand to stay still as your whole body lurched forward, knees trying to close around the toy, and a shamelessly loud moan launched from your lips.

Charon’s smirk widened as he watched. “Legs open, Baby. I can’t see the toy to make sure it’s working.” He patronized with a slight tilt of his head, as if trying to get a better view.

“D-Daddy…” You whimpered shakily as your whole body shivered, legs slowly falling open once more, though your knees continued to shake.

“That’s it, Baby Girl. Keep going…” He urged, large hand wrapped around his thick cock, jacking himself off to the sight of his pretty baby getting her world rocked like never before.

The orgasm hit you out of nowhere, smacking into you like a frag mine.

Pleasure rocked your whole body, wave after wave rolling up and down your spine, your eyes rolling as breathless cries flowed like water from parted lips.

You tried to will your hand away, but your body had locked up, thighs clamping together around your arm, holding the head of the toy in place.

Before you knew it another orgasm was building and crashing on you, this time sending a rush of fluid from your body to darken the mattress under you.

Your fingers gave out and let the toy tumble into the small puddle and you managed to open your eyes to find Charon panting, his hand painted white, and a wicked grin on his face.

This was going to be a long night.

[justafoxhound]

OC in fifteen

I saw a tag game- to share 15 lines or less of dialogue that showcases your OC's personality

For my Lone Wanderer Talia:

1. “I think there’s a term for what I’m feeling, though it’s bound to be much more pant-orientated than ‘anxious’.”

2. “Geez, Burke, these deliveries just keep getting bigger. Do I look like I have a second head? ‘Cause I’m actually not a pack brahmin you know.”

3. “Holy shit.”

4.  “Oh no, don’t give me all the credit. I put a thing inside another thing and pushed a button. You’re the one who engineered all this. I wouldn’t want to take away from what you did. Which is almost everything. I barely even featured if we’re being honest.” 

5. “You’d tell me if I did something wrong, right? If I needed to be better? You’d give me a chance to fix it?”

6. "Fine. Throw me out. You’d miss me.”

7. She looked at him darkly. “Work is very important, Burke. In the Vault anyone who wouldn’t or couldn’t work was mulched for crop fertilizer." [........sike]

8. “I was saying thank you. Though fuck knows if I should. But you’re not all judgmental or crazy. You’re just here to- hic- get drunk, and I appreciate that.”

9. "But today, you are lucky. Today, I’m here. I crawled out of a hole in the ground too. Many things, many people have tried to kill me already. And some of them got real close… but do you just lie down and cry about how bad things are? No you do not. You ask yourself, ‘am I really going out like this?’ And you say, ‘am I fuck.’"

10. "Listen I know you hate me because of, you know, being a dick to my dad or Megaton or whatever, but-"

11. [“After all I’ve done for you, you dare throw it back in my face?”] “I’ll throw whatever I want, I don’t owe you every person that ever looked at Megaton."

12. "No,” Talia corrected, “you have to invent vodkaponics."

13. “I can see the truth in that. Well I’m no genius… I guess I’m just mad.”

14. "Don’t make a fucking sound,” she threatened, encouraging him into a side room with a little 10mm incentive. “I was letting you fuck off you fucking mutfruit,” she chastised...

15. Talia rolled her eyes. “I just want some gossip Sarah. We’ve been walking for days with mutants and an army after us. We got drinks, thank you by the way, but we’re surrounded by this depressing cave of orphans. Did you know they have to leave when they turn sixteen? I saw a boy being kicked out earlier. It was his birthday today. Just tell me something normal or fun, please.”

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @jentucker @chennnington @lucien-lachance @skyrim-forever and anyone else who wants to share!!

[perfectfangirl]

notes after rewatching fallout s1 ep2

• dogmeat's introduction 🥺 • the enclave being shown as supremely evil because how could you incinerate live puppies 😭 • i want more backstory on siggi because i am curious if this is change of heart or like a mole • the super mutant hand needs to go from easter egg to reality next season forreal • i noticed siggi was drinking whiskey? to numb the pain of putting that cold fusion chip in his head--- i also wonder if he was drinking because he knew he wasn't going to make it • saw on reddit someone asking so it's the enclave who has cold fusion? and i'm still a bit confused about that because... i was thinking moldaver had something to do with its creation but then siggi knew exactly who lucy was... if the enclave is supposed to be a continuation of the pre war us government, then it feels like there's more tying the enclave and vault tec together than i thought

• in the escape scene, it seems like the other scientist knew siggi was betraying the enclave, but how? if they have cold fusion, was it obvious he was "stealing" it and trying to give it to someone else? maybe i have gaps in my knowledge here • siggi genuinely does seem like he's trying to do the right thing though 🥲 • dogmeat seeing that guy try to harm siggi and dogmeat fuckin' him up ❤️ • game dogmeat being referred sometimes as a boy and show dogmeat being a girl lol [love the gender doesn't matterism here gldfgld]

• the people who are enslaved work at the enclave being held there and escape meaning death • if these are namibia scenes where lucy is trekking, they are breathtaking, wonderful worldbuilding • lucy seeing a tumbleweed for the first time and going "the heck?" but then i like, remember she doesn't really know what "wind" is 😭 [and this also subverts the "tumbleweed blowing in the wind through a desert or desolate place" trope, i'm sorry but this a masterclass in comedy lmao] • her coming across some bodies but this time skeletons at a dinner table, a family of four i believe, all having taken poison, vault tech brand [a chilling scene but fallout is known for their hilariously placed skeletions so there's one with a cup of dirt in front of it] • probably the first time lucy is being confronted by hank and/or vault tec's lies, depending • lucy setting a [camp] fire, and me recognizing immediately it was a bad move [i watch too much stuff 💀] • i honestly' can't believe she took off her pip boy • dogmeat finding lucy 🥺 • it was destiny in so many ways because dogmeat is tearing that radroach the fuck up • siggi giving like a monologue in the most unsettling voice ever was so funny to me • siggi trying to tell her these animals [if you can call them that] up there are insane and genuinely in the nicest way possible trying to tell her she should go home • "question is, will you still want the same things when you have become a different animal altogether?" is some crazy foreshadowing • the cold fusion capsule glowing as he walks away • lord titus being an asshole and maximus doing the same to thaddeus lmao • lord titus "wanting to shoot something" and his stupidity leading to his own demise • [i like neither lord titus or the actor that plays him so dkfsdkgd] • dogmeat going into the yao guai den and coming back with a hand like it was sharing it with them 😭 • maximus being continuously disrespected and knocked down a peg, he doesn't deserve this 😞 • insane how close and somehow inadvertently hot on the trail lord titus and maximus was for siggi and dogmeat • learning squires appears to be a dime a dozen and that's one reason lord titus sent maximus deeper into the cave, the other is that he was scared • maximus seemed to be both disillusioned and struck with fear watching the yao guai attack lord titus--- so it was almost breathtakingly offensive when lord titus decided to blame maximus for everything and wanting him like, court martialed almost for this incident, despite maximus being small of gun and armourless, despite them both being scared, lord titus blames maximus for lord titus' own failings • "this wasteland fucking sucks!" love that running motif • anyways glad that guy died, next! • lmao this very disgusting man in a diaper or something being thankful lucy didn't shoot him but also drinking all her water 😭 • lucy getting a taste of wasteland selfishness and desperation gdfgdgfd • maximus belongs in a power suit • this chicken fucking man having the elixir to immortality or regeneration or whatever it is 😭 • and the chicken farmer, in a cameo, is a makeup designer and props department person 🙂 • in a beautiful shot, it looks like lucy is in the famous car forest or a replica of it • her trying to be convivial and people just not having it 😢 • filly is very fallout and i assume gamers enjoyed this scene because • everyone is in bizarre and comical mad max style outfits, iguana meat, giving metaton vibes • so i just read filly was named because it's a landfill but also there's the fact it was filmed in an airplane and automobile graveyard outside new jersey [close to philadelphia] and that there is a fillmore, california • also saw where it's modeled to look a lot like megaton and i thought this on first viewing • i didn't even realize cooper was already shown sitting and waiting, the crossing of paths was crazy • lucy seeing degeneracy first hand 💀 • lucy seeing weird shit and smiling because she, too, is weird

• cooper mysteriously and sexily watching from afar after cornering his bounty • "barv get in here" not ma june calling her friend to come and point and laugh at lucy • moldaver being ma june's client and that's why she shuts lucy down so fast after she asks about that pip boy • ma june saying lucy got all ten fingers, damn the writers were so • "i know that it can't have been easy for you up here, what with all the murder and the dirt" lmao lucy please • lucy realising vault tec's demonic saviour complex is very hard to preach about to wastelanders, people who have survived for centuries and without the help of the vaulties • lucy really is from the rich part of town because ma june was so insulted by her lies, she took her gun out • cooper, siggi, lucy intersecting was so crazy though • kind of wondering why siggi didn't wear a disguise as a wanted man • siggi trying to be nice and warning lucy to leave versus ma june harshly reminding cooper him and his ghoul kind aren't wanted in filly • getting chills that siggi is explaining to lucy what her vault experiment basically was as i didn't see it as that on first watch • siggi was telling her to go home because if someone smart realized who she was or where she came from, all hell would break loose • ok so cooper says the bounty went out from all six agencies but i could only think of three, wondering who they all are • ma june mentions she was given caps for siggi's safe transport out of filly, cooper mentioning a bidding war, is that why he shot siggi's leg clean off [probably did because bounty was dead or alive] • ma june getting people clipped by putting caps on whoever can take cooper down first 😭 • cooper smiling as all them people descend on him because this is the "the love of the game" shit he was talkin' bout 😭💀 • "all this murder makin' me hungry" cooper essentially • him eating those cherry tomatoes and then paying for them 🥲 • almost forgot cooper actually did get shot multiple times and kept goin', ghouls are somethin' else • noticing cooper gave ma june a nonlethal leg shot versus basically sending siggi to his demise with his • cooper stabbing not shooting dogmeat • cooper was about to shoot but lucy's candor and morality was a breath of fresh air, he was so shook lmao • he was so charmed, he kept walking, leaving him open to her shooting him in quite literally his heart [ok symbolism] 😭, smiling and everything • "well now that is a very small drop in a very, very large bucket of drugs" lmaooo they created ultrajet for ghouls because jet isn't strong enough for them • lucy being immediately impressed with the t60 • i hate maximus had to lie because this was so "knight in shining armour" but why did he reveal his face to lucy knowing if the brotherhood of steel had found out this early about what he did, he'd be dead meat like • cooper almost shot that girl like three times ldgld • i genuinely think the tranquilizer effected him but just a teensy bit • siggi saying he could still make the trip and ma june saying he'd be lucky to make it to breakfast ☹️ • jim's limbs has be cracking up every time • them installing that robo leg onto siggi is the most gory and disgusting scene to me and i hope it gets worse • something oddly sweet about siggi saying lucy can take him to moldaver after nearly begging lucy to go back home for her own safety, she put her life on the line to save him 😞 • cooper getting mopped by maximus in that power suit sends • i didn't realize after maximus made cooper fall, cooper says "goddamn, that hurt" 😭 • "you drive that thing like a fucking shopping cart" and it's a power suit gldgfld • that snake oil salesman really was telling the truth, he maybe could've healed siggi • cooper petting dogmeat while giving them a stimpak, cooper showing a genuine smile while doing so • siggi really lost too much blood and i thought this back in filly • siggi saying the cynanide pill from vault tec was the most humane thing they produced, pre war was a dark time