#so i just know my name flagged up in the system and they were like ‘this bitch again?? yeah sure. let her in’

[barleyo]

Love Machine.

Android! Leon Kennedy X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: I got this idea while listening to a song with the same title. This was my first time writing for Leon, I hope it isn't too clunky or too short! I am slowly coming out of my hiatus, so my writing skills are a bit rusty, I need you all to give me a little grace for the next few posts in case they aren't great LOL. Love you all so much, thanks for your support!

Part Two: Here

Wordcount: 2.4K

Tags: sex doll/living sex robot (?), sex toys, oral (fem receiving), reader is called things like "pretty girl", p in v, creampie (but not really because he's a sex doll??), unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play

“Welcome in, can I help you find anything?”

(Y/N) gave the cashier a polite smile and shook her head as she walked past him at the check-out desk, trying to be as non-awkward as possible, especially since she was the only customer in the small store at that time of night. It was an in and out trip, she tried to convince herself of that. She needed something small, just enough to get the job done. 

Normally, she would’ve waited until the next day to run an errand like this, but days of stress had left her needy and frustrated, so when her trusty wand finally gave out on her mid-fun, she grabbed her car keys and headed out into the night. 

Her eyes scanned the wall of toys in the back of the store. Pink and purple covered the shelves, vibrating toys and dildos being her main focus. 

“Mini-vibe, bullet vibe,” she mumbled, squatting down to read the boxes on the lower shelves. “What’s even the difference–?”

She settled on a purple rabbit vibrator. Its packaging was the least indicative of its contents, and it was on the smaller side. Easy to hide. 

“Will that be all?” the cashier asked, looking over the box. 

“Yeah, that should be it.”

“You know,” he said, giving her a wide grin, “I can’t say I can suggest this one.” He held the box back out to her, waiting for her to take it. “We’ve gotten a lot of refunded purchases due to it.”

“Oh, shit, really?” (Y/N) took the box back, tucking it under her arm. “Okay, uh, I guess I should ask what the best option would be, then?”

The cashier gave a nod and waved her over, lifting the divider between behind the counter and the rest of the store. “Come with me to the back, we’ve got all the good stuff tucked away back there.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about whether or not to follow him. She didn’t immediately catch any red flags in his behavior: he was polite enough, no major creep-vibes. (Y/N) finally walked past the open divider and followed him into the stock room. 

“So, over here,” he said, waving his hand over a heavily stocked shelf, “is all the high-powered stuff. These over here have a high-customization level, lingerie over here, and over here ....” 

The man continued to go over the ‘hidden’ options in the store, but (Y/N)’s eyes traveled over to a large, sheet-covered box. 

“Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing at the box. 

“Oh, that? That’s new, uhm, probably a little out of your comfort zone, though, he’s a little advanced.”

“He?”

The cashier sighed and stepped up to the box, gripping the corner of the sheet. “It’s—it’s a long story, but, here, have a look.”

He pulled the sheet down, dropping it to the cement floors of the room.

“What the fuck is that?!”

A blond man stood in the plain box, the only adornment on the cardboard being his name in bolded letters: Leon. His eyes were closed, his hands sat idly beside his sides, and his body stood bare before them both.

“His name is Leon, he’s a prototype for a new line of responsive sex dolls. I mean, most of the bugs are out of the system, he’s not faulty or anything.”

(Y/N) walked up to the box and scratched the cellophane covering, trying to get his attention. “Is he awake? Or on, I guess?”

“Nah, he has to be set up, there’s a manual in the box, I think,” the man replied, bending down to pick the sheet back up to throw over Leon’s box. Just as he began to shake the sheet off, clearing the residual dirt off of it, (Y/N) spoke again.

“How much for him?”

She mentally smacked herself for asking. There was no doubt he was expensive, hell, he probably wasn’t even up for sale.

“You want him?” He raised his eyebrow, looking the girl up and down, confusion painting his features.

“I– I don’t know, can I have him? How much?”

He crossed his arms for a moment, thinking. “He’s not for sale, per se, but– so, listen, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You can have him for free, okay? But if you aren’t satisfied with him, you can’t bring him back here, you’re stuck with ‘em.” He held his hand out expectantly. “Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, taking his hand quickly, giving it a few affirming shakes.

The boxcutter in her hand worked quickly, slicing open the cellophane. (Y/N) bunched up the plastic and threw it to a random corner in her bedroom, turning back to face Leon. She gave him a testing poke, and when he didn’t respond she turned that poke into a gentle tapping on the side of his face.

“Leon?” The name felt like acid on her tongue, guilt already creeping through her. “Wake up.”

She dropped her hand from his face and guided it further down his chest. The synthetic skin felt real, almost in an uncanny way. He was warm to the touch, not plastic-y and cold like how she assumed other sex dolls felt. 

“Come on, big boy.” she muttered, pulling Leon’s large, heavy body out of the box and placing him on his feet near her bed. “Where’s your–? Oh, got it.” (Y/N) snatched the instruction manual from the box. The print was foggy, and some words were horribly misspelled, but she flipped through the pages and located the directions page. She read the page to herself quietly. “I am Leon, your AI-powered male sex doll. The setup process of a Leon doll is extremely easy. To turn me on, just set my dial. After that, just sit back and let me love you for a little while!” 

(Y/N) walked a small circle around him in search of his ‘on-switch.’ She found it right on the back of his neck, almost hidden by his swoop of blond hair. On the silver dial sat three options: Off, gentle, and rough. A hand rose and ticked the dial to gentle. She stepped away from him quickly after hitting the switch, nervous to see what would happen.

His eyes opened slowly, and a weak blue light beamed from them, scanning outwards before shutting off completely. A grin slowly spread across Leon’s all-too-real features as he powered on. 

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he said, standing still in her room, only moving his head to face her. “Looks like you could use some company.”

“Uh, hello.” Her mouth was dry as she spoke, feeling like she made a bad decision the second he had snapped to life. 

“Hm, why don’t you come closer to me? I don’t bite,” Leon paused before cheekily adding “unless you want me to.” He took her in his arms and let his eyes drift down her body. He eased her shirt over her head and tried to undo the clasps of her bra.

“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away but he held her in place.

“You have all your clothes, but I’m exposed over here. That’s not so fair, is it?” He looked down at his hardened length, ushering her to look down with him.

Her eyes widened a bit. “When did you even get hard–?”

“I’m always hard around pretty girls like you.” He slipped off her bra and groped her breasts with his large, somewhat calloused hands. “Look at these, baby. You have pretty tits, and a pretty face, huh?” 

A hum left her throat as she felt his head dip down and take one of her swollen nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the bud, latching on to properly suck it after a few teasing moments. She ran her hands through his hair and gripped onto it tightly, whining at the feeling of his mouth popping off of her tit. 

“Bet you’re getting wet from this, aren’t you?” His voice was airy and muffled while he spoke. He left open mouthed licks over her pebbled nipples, grazing over them with his tongue’s warmth.

She gave a weak nod in return.

“Mm, maybe I should take care of that,” he chuckled lightly and lowered himself to his knees. “Gonna let me take these off you?” He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

“G’head,” (Y/N) said, feeling her thighs rub against each other impatiently. 

He pulled them down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. She shuddered at the feeling of his tongue darting across the cotton covering her wet center. Again, Leon laughed a bit at her reaction and licked a heavier stripe against the fabric. When he was rewarded with a gasp from her open mouth, he pulled the panties to the side and pressed his tongue at her slit.

“F–Fuck, that feels good,” she whined, hand still messily buried in his hair. 

Leon kept his eyes on her the whole time, not letting a moment pass where his blue irises weren’t piercing hers. 

His tongue dipped out of her entrance and moved up to her clit. He fidgeted with it, trying to see which motion worked best on her, and settled on a circular movement. The longer he sat slotted between her thighs, her knees thrown over his shoulders, the more frequently he felt her cunt jump from pleasure. He placed his tongue hard on her clit, giving it rough, pressured licks. 

“Almost there, I’m close,” (Y/N) said, feeling a coil form in her stomach. She had felt this with other toys, but by far, Leon was the best at the job. “Don’t stop,” she hummed, voice catching in her throat while he moved his head side to side, dragging his mouth sloppily over her cunt.

A string of profanities escaped her mouth when she felt her orgasm hit. A sputtering wave of warmth flushed through her body, her pussy clenching around nothing. 

“That’s it, good job,” Leon cooed. He held his hand up to her face expectantly. “Spit.”

Her mind already felt melted, like it could’ve oozed out of her brain at any minute. She mindlessly complied with him, spitting onto his lengthy fingers.

“Ah–! S’too much, Leon.”

“No, no, you can take it. I’ll be gentle, I know you want another one,” he said with a slightly mocking tone. “Greedy girl needs something to fill her up.” Plunging his fingers into her pussy, he groaned at the feeling of her slick walls still fluttering. “Y’haven’t even recovered from the first one, but I’m gonna give you another one,” he said, curling his fingers, “gonna be twice as strong.”

“Fuck, it’s too much,” (Y/N) knew her sobs of pleasure were pathetic sounding, but she couldn’t muster anything else up as she tried to push his wrist down and away, not being able to stand the feeling of his two fingers prodding at her most sensitive spot. 

“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “not when you’re so close. Yeah, I feel you getting all tight on me. Mm, you’re gonna love how it feels, it only gets better from here, pretty girl.” 

Leon became more aggressive with his movement, moving his whole arm as his fingers jammed in and out of her. (Y/N) was lost in her ecstasy. Her hands shook and flew aimlessly before taking purchase of Leon’s shoulders and holding onto them, nails digging into the skin.

Her second release, as promised, was much stronger. Her legs clamped around him, her moans came out in long, shaky intervals, and her brain was mush. She couldn’t force herself to focus on anything but the cum dripping out of her cunt and down Leon’s fingers and forearm. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling even the dim light of her bedroom to be too much for her now fucked-out, slutty head to handle. 

She hardly noticed when he had placed on her back in the bed with her legs spread. Not until he guided his cock across her folds, tapping the head of it against her swollen, abused clit. 

“More?” she asked, voice breaking and weak. “Can’t take it ‘nymore.”

“C’mon, sweet thing, you can give me one more, can’t you? Just one more?” He whispered into her ear, slowly pushing into her, holding himself back. 

“Jus’ one? No more after that?”

“Mhm, just one.” Leon bottomed out and stretched her walls with his girth. The tip of his cock gave sweet, shallow kisses to her cervix’s tip, gently pressing into it with each thrust. His hips rocked into her, but he felt his dick being forced out of her walls, pushed out of her heat. “Even after all that, still tight f’me.” He slid back in, rougher this time, trying to keep himself inside. “Need somethin’ to stretch you out, baby. Good thing y’got me now.”

His hands were placed under her knees, scooping and holding them apart while he fucked her. He slowly transitioned from fucking and burrying his cock into her, to bringing her body forward, bouncing her on his cock. 

“Leon—”

“Hush, now, you’re okay. Mm,” he wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, “look at how you take it. It’s like you were made to be used like this, sweet girl. Maybe you’d be better off as a toy.” 

She moaned at this, feeling her cunt twitch at his words.

“Yeah? You like that?” Leon’s eyebrow raised at her a bit, teeth barring in smirk. “You like being a little toy. Being– oh, fuck, you’re enjoying this so much. Your pretty little face...”

(Y/N) threw her arms over his neck, pulling him closer to her body. Their chests pressed together, her sweat slick between them both. “God, Leon, please!”

Leon pressed his mouth on her to quiet her down, swallowing her moans as their tongues and teeth gnashed against each other. He winced as (Y/N) bit down on his lip, choking back her sobs when she clamped down on his cock. Taking this as a sign, Leon emptied his thick, synthetic cum into her. 

Once he pulled out, a mixture of both of their cum pumped out, gushing and wetting in between her thighs.

“Good job, baby,” he said, stroking her face, grinning at the warmth of her cheek. “You did so well, getting all cockdrunk for me. To think I was being gentle. Wanna try my rough mode out for size?” He joked, letting his hand grip her hip. 

“Goodnight, Leon,” she responded, unimpressed at his teasing and tired from what he had done to her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and turned his dial to ‘off.'

[fickleminder]

seven supervillains and one (1) normie

You move in with seven normal, law-abiding housemates.

Here’s my piece for @obeymezine! Leftover sales are live till Dec 15th, so do consider supporting us since all proceeds will be going to charity :)

Lucifer looks even more handsome in person.

You find yourself paying more attention to him and the deep timbre of his voice than the tour of Serenity Manor and its rules. Only a firm call of your name snaps you back to the present.

“This will be your room,” he says, opening one last door for you to step through. It’s decently furnished with all the basic necessities and has an en suite to boot. How generous. “Is this to your satisfaction?”

“Oh absolutely, everything looks great!” You wheel your luggage into a corner and set your backpack down on the large study table. “I still can’t believe I got matched with you guys for the boarding program. Thank you so much for having me!”

“The pleasure is ours.” Lucifer gives you a polite nod. “Make yourself at home, and I will introduce you to my brothers tomorrow. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay here with us.”

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“Surveillance systems are online,” Levi reports as all eyes watch you unpack on the screen. “Ugh, bugging rooms is so old school. It’s only the first day, I doubt there’ll be any suspicious activity.”

“And it better stay that way.” Satan’s already profiling you from your posters on the walls, your stuffed sheep on the bed, your clothes in the closet. No red flags yet, as far as he can discern.

“Pfft, what can one exchange student do to us?” Mammon scoffs. Your background check was clean, your documents checked out. In every practical sense, you were an ordinary postgraduate taking courses at the local university for a year. “Loosen up guys!”

Lucifer shoots him a glare indicating he has no intention of doing so. “No funny business. It’s unfortunate that we have to go undercover in our own home, but Elysium’s agents are on to us. We need to mask our activities and blend in, and we have no choice but to wait for them to leave. Until then, continue to follow Prince’s orders, but keep things low-key. Do I make myself clear?”

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“—massive destruction of property at Settler’s factory premises. Witnesses say it was Gluttony in another one of his rampages, and this marks the fourth attack in…”

You glance towards a face-palming Lucifer at the breakfast table. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine.” He smiles through gritted teeth and switches off the TV, silencing the news.

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You have a few days before classes officially start, so you decide to take some time familiarizing yourself with the town. Lucifer has graciously agreed to escort you, along with one of his brothers.

“And that’s about it, really. Is there anywhere else you wanna go?” Belphie asks after they’ve given you a cursory tour. You mention wanting to return to the confectionery shop you passed by a while back, and he smirks. “Sure, but if you’re looking for Settler products, they might not have much stock.”

“That’s alright! They used to be one of my favorite brands you know, but then I found out they engaged in a lot of questionable business practices. It’s a shame really, I liked their stuff.”

Lucifer feels his work phone vibrating in his pocket all of a sudden and curses mentally. What could Barbatos possibly want at this moment? “Apologies, I… have to use the washroom,” he excuses himself in a hurry, discreetly signaling Belphie to cover for him before running off.

Almost half an hour passes with no Lucifer in sight.

“He’s been gone for a while. Should we go and check up on him?” You ask worriedly.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Belphie sniggers. “He usually takes really long shits anyway. Let’s just go. He’ll catch up eventually.”

Lucifer meets you back in the manor at the end of the day, and you miss the dirty look he sends Belphie behind your back after you recommend some home remedies for treating diarrhea.

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“Satan, I need some advice!” The blond follows your voice to the kitchen and freezes when he sees you holding his collection of hunting knives. For gutting people, not cutting meat. “I’m making lunch. Which of these are for fruits and vegetables?”

This is why Lucifer always nags us about picking up our toys, Satan realizes belatedly. Fuck, he probably left them out on the couch or something. At least he’d remembered to clean off the blood first. “Those aren’t for cooking. They’re for, uh, self-defense.” Idiot, is that the best you could come up with? There’s no way it’ll—

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed.” You gasp and quickly return the knives to him. “One of my old roommates used to sleep with a dagger under their pillow, though I personally prefer to keep a baseball bat next to my bed. Besides, didn’t some rich politician get murdered in his own house just recently? The manor seems secure and you guys have Cerberus, but better safe than sorry I guess.”

Satan is still reeling from your sheer obliviousness, but he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I completely agree,” he says with a poker face.

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Mammon’s Lexura is a sight to behold, but you’re more interested in how fast she can go.

“Oi, I know you’re worried about your friend but keep your oily fingers to yourself, you hear?” He grumbles, opening the garage door for you and Beel to enter. “Which mall was it again?”

“The one with Bullseye,” you reply distractedly, furiously tapping away on your phone. “I can’t believe she and her girlfriend got harassed in public. You only read stories about this happening to other people online. What kind of fucked up organization calls themselves a charity and— Shit!”

You trip on something and drop your phone. It bounces and skids under Mammon’s car, but Beel instinctively steps forward before you can even react. With one arm, he tilts the vehicle just enough for you to duck under and retrieve it.

“Wow, thanks so much Beel!” You dust your phone off and check for cracks on the screen while Mammon sweats buckets behind you. “You gotta share your workout routine with me sometime. Hey, do you mind coming along and being our muscle for the day?”

“Okay.” Beel agrees easily, and you pump your fists.

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“—worth millions. The curator declined to comment…”

“This is crazy, I was there just last week!” You exclaim while chewing on your dinner. “The museum had lots of cool stuff on display. Mostly illegally imported, if you catch my drift, but not anymore huh?”

Asmo winks at you. “What a shame. You could have seen Lust in action first-hand.”

“Aren’t heists supposed to be discreet? He is pretty good-looking though, I’ll give him that.”

“Is he prettier than me?” The entire table goes deathly silent as you squint between Asmo’s fluttering eyelashes and the masked supervillain on the TV screen. “Don’t you think he’d look better with a boob window?”

“…Nah, he doesn’t have the tiddies to pull it off.” Your gaze unconsciously flickers to Beel’s chest. “Plus the butts don’t match. Yours is flatter.”

Asmo’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Honey, have you been checking me out? How very scandalous of you~”

“Enough, please.” Lucifer sighs amidst your spluttering.

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“That’s it. We’re screwed, our cover is blown. I knew this was a bad idea…”

“Let’s just resort to good ol’ fashioned murder and then frame it as a runaway case. No one will ever know!”

“This manor is a fortress located in the safest part of town. What the fuck do you think people will presume there is to run from?”

“There were a couple of close calls, but I think we’re still in the clear.” Beel recalls you quoting your statistics professor after an extended period of time where one of them would come home late the night before a major news event: correlation does not imply causation.

“Need I remind all of you, it was our proposal to join the boarding program as a front. Prince approved it himself, and I won’t allow us to back out now.”

“Shut up, Lucifer. Don’t you have any politicians to assassinate?” Belphie sneers.

“We will see this through.” Lucifer refuses to budge, ever the prideful bastard. “We’re still safe, but keep your guards up. Understood?”

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The kitchen is pitch black this time of night, but Levi’s had years to figure out a way around without alerting anyone he’s back.

“I hate on-site jobs,” he grumbles to himself. “What kind of company doesn’t have remote access to their servers nowadays? Let’s see how they like it when people steal and sell their private data instead, muahahaha— Eek!”

“Hmm? Levi?” You stifle a yawn and shuffle towards the rack of cups. “Why’re you up at this hour?”

Levi is still blinking away the spots in his vision from the sudden onslaught of light when you flipped the switch. He pales as you stare at his costume and equipment on the counter. “Wait, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Late con, huh? Must have been fun. You were still in character there. Heheh.” You pour yourself a glass of water. “Nice cosplay by the way. G’night.”

“G-goodnight!” Levi waits to hear the sound of your door closing before wheezing hysterically in relief.

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You sigh blissfully under the weight of four cats lounging on various parts of your body. “I’ll admit I had my doubts at first, but this is exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Satan takes a long sip of his tea while petting the snoozing tabby on his lap. He looks like one of those criminal masterminds in the movies. “Visiting cat shelters is the best way to unwind after a long week. And don’t worry, I have it on good authority that this one actually takes proper care of our furry friends.”

“That’s reassuring to hear! I’ll never understand why anyone would want to hurt these precious babies.” A little calico wanders near your face and boops your nose with its toe beans. “If only all shelters could be as noble as this one. Remind me to stop by the donation box before we leave!”

“Gladly. Speaking of donations, remember that charity group that messed with your friends? I heard someone stole every last penny from their funds and now they’re on the verge of insolvency. Truly, this is karma at work.”

“Schadenfreude!” You cheer before the two of you clink cups and drink.

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“Hey, you’ve been in there for a while now. Do you need— Oh.”

“Belphie!” You grin at him sheepishly and fidget with your rubber gloves. “I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this. My old dorm had a janitor, so I’ve never been assigned toilet duty before…”

“No wonder. You’d be dead in minutes if you kept this up,” Belphie snaps, quickly moving the unopened bottle of bleach away from you. “Mixing cleaning products is a sure-fire way to poison yourself.”

You wince at his harsh tone, and Belphie’s expression softens in sympathy.

“Here, I’ll teach you.” And then he proceeds to detail exactly what chemicals are in each product, which combinations produce different kinds of fumes with varying levels of toxicity, how to make odorless gasses that can kill a man in seconds—

“Why’d you stop?” You protest when Belphie abruptly cuts himself off. He’s probably feeling embarrassed about oversharing. “This is super informational. I’d be dead without you!”

“…Right.” He blinks, nonplussed. “You’re welcome, or whatever. Just stay away from the bleach, okay?”

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Mammon shuffles the deck with deft hands and explains the rules. “You play as an Elysium agent of your choice, and your goal is to defeat the mob boss terrorizing the city: Jesús Iglesias Ken. The game can be competitive or cooperative depending on which rules we follow, but I say we do competitive mode and bet on the winner!”

“Ugh, shaddup Mammon!” Levi groans while you set up the board and pieces.

“Now, for the characters! We have Kid, a tiny chihuahua of an agent who has lots of good buffs from the sweets he eats. Director, who can move other players during his turn; but don’t get fooled by his smile. He can be super scary sometimes! Spear, man that guy packs a punch. He’s a damage dealer with shitty taste buds.”

Too busy paying attention to Mammon, you don’t see the way Levi makes throat-slitting gestures and mouths SHUT UP SHUT UP STUPIDMAMMON—

“There are also NPCs like Sorcerer, who can help or hinder you depending on your actions, shady bastard. And Aristocrat, who’s on the villain’s side and a total bootlicker, but he gives valuable intel for the right price.”

“How do you know all of this? I don’t see it in the rule book.” You scan the character description section intently. “Don’t tell me… You’re secretly a fan!”

Mammon chokes, finally catching on to Levi’s signals. Both of them exchange wide-eyed looks before forcibly grinning at you. “Yeah, totally, I’m a fan! Hahaha…”

“What a nerd, right?” Levi laughs nervously. “Anyway, this game is more fun with more players, so let’s just play something else for now, okay? Okay.”

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“I’ve got reports that Elysium’s agents are finally moving out. We should be cleared to resume normal operations soon.”

“Our plan worked like a charm! Ooh, we’re so close~”

“Good job, everyone.” Lucifer nods with a satisfied smile. “This will all be over shortly. And just in time too. A year’s almost up.”

Everyone falls silent as their thoughts drift to you. It’ll be quiet without you around; you may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but you were always kind and genuine with all of them. It goes without saying that they’ll definitely miss you once you’re gone.

“We should stay in touch,” Mammon proposes suddenly, looking none of his brothers in the eye. “Y’know, to keep tabs and make sure we weren’t compromised or anything. See things through to the end and all that.”

For once, nobody objects to Mammon’s idea. “Indeed,” Lucifer murmurs in approval.

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“I’ll be on campus studying for my ethics finals. See you all at dinner!”

You set up camp at your favorite corner: a little nook in the section of the library that’s perpetually empty. Just as you make yourself comfortable and open your laptop, someone pings you with an encrypted message.

Grinning to yourself, you easily bypass Levi’s embedded spyware and open up a private channel to take the call. “Barb, it’s so good to hear from you!”

“Good afternoon.” A polished voice greets you from the speakers, and you quickly plug in your headphones to prevent eavesdropping. “Apologies for the disturbance, but I have the data you requested.”

“Thanks Barbatos. You really are the best AI I’ve ever created!”

“I am the only AI you’ve ever created, but the sentiment is acknowledged. Did your side project go well?”

“Always so humble, haha! And yes, it went wonderfully! It’s so good to finally meet the brothers face-to-face. They’re such a lively bunch!”

“I concur. Back to business: the up-and-coming cosmetics company you asked me to look into? It turns out your hunch was right; I’ve found evidence that they rely heavily on animal testing for their products.”

“A job for Belphie then. He’ll know how to put those chemicals to better use.”

“Of course. On a separate note, another political party has been pushing for…”

[your-local-grubdog]

Wait actually can we talk about Leaflings real fast. Because. What the actual fuck.

Also sorry if I curse a lot more here than usual but like 90% of my genuine reactions to this topic is "what the FUCK" so uhh get used to it I guess.

Huge thanks to @saihahas for helping me with some image transcripts as well.

Major story spoilers below you have been warned. Ok let's go.

So you're able to just rise from the dead in pikmin 4. No, seriously. You can do that.

At the end of Olimar's side story we get this scene and associated line:

[Image transcript: White text on a black screen that says "But at that very moment, my life support system failed" END TRANSCRIPT]

Like. He died. His life support system failed. He DIED. And moments later, he was revived as a leafling. He died and came back from the dead. Like, what the fuck????

It even fixed up his injuries he got prior to becoming a leafling. Just a full on revival.

Image transcript (one leads into the other naturally)

Collin: By the by, Olimar, is there anything you remember from right before or after you became a leafling? Any additional details?

Olimar: Not particularly. It didn't feel bad or anything like that. In fact, it was quite revitalizing.

Olimar: My chronically stiff shoulders and all the injuries I'd sustained during my explorations healed immediately.

Yonny: Hmm... Perhaps leafification has highly restorative effects...

Yonny: This is definitely something worth looking into, eheheh. END OF TRANSCRIPT.

Now we don't know if everyone who was a leafling had to die before hand, though there is a common thread that they were at least unconscious... And had just escaped deadly situations... I think Olimar found them moments before they died and, not knowing any other way to save them, leafed them as well. Something they bear no ill will towards him for - in fact, they're thankful for him.

Image transcript:

Jin: When I was leafified, I could not stop thinking about the art of Dandori. It was like an endless meditation.

Jin: A leafling appeared in front of me after the ship crashed and I had used up all of my flagging energy.

Jin: My intuition told me they were not a bad person. I also felt as though they were determined to achieve something

Jin: I am afraid I do not recall much of what happened after that, as I lost consciousness. END TRANSCRIPT.

Image transcript:

Corgwin: I was attacked by a creature, and right before I lost consciousness, I saw something overhead. It was a leafling

Corgwin: They had such sad eyes, but there was more going on in there. Their eyes were full of determination.

Corgwin: I have to believe there is a reason why they do what they do. Turning castaways into leaflings, I mean.

Corgwin: Your time is limited, so think it through! END TRANSCRIPT.

Image transcript:

Bernard: You need anything else?

Bernard: Even when Olimar was leafed out, he was still trying to RESCUE folks!

Bernard: And there I was with my head focused on nothing but Dandori stuff. HOO, he's one tough cookie!

Bernard: You need anything else? END TRANSCRIPT.

Ok Bernard's conversation doesn't add to the "he found them in deadly situations" point but it DOES show that all of his "victims" think highly of him for the fact that he had saved them and others. (Also, side note, Olimar had sad eyes... Poor bastard thought he was never going home to his wife and kids, was visibly depressed over this, and STILL was trying to save people. Olimar is like, genuinely such a good fucking person God damn.)

Now being a leafling is undead and comes with its own slew of problems. Namely, the fact Dandori takes over your brain (probably the pikmin survival instinct) and the fact you can no longer leave PNF-404. It's not even an air thing, it's not being on the planet that causes sickness, so not even spacesuits can fix it.

But then you're able to cure yourself of being a leafling. And just. Go back? To your normal life?????? Like nothing ever happened. You died and came back. What the fuck.

And to make that point worse. One of the key ingredients is Glow Sap. Which is produced by the Luminknolls. The only other thing the Luminknolls make is uh. Glow pikmin. Which.

“Although they've been named Glow Pikmin, it's not entirely clear whether or not this species is actually a type of Pikmin. These creatures possess the same fundamental behaviors of Pikmin, like carrying things, propagating, and fighting. They also share special characteristics, such as the leaf atop their head. Yet they do not spawn from an Onion but a Lumiknoll, and they are only active at night or underground. During the day, they revert into seeds and enter a resting state. What's even more surprising is that they exhibit no signs of life. When a Glow Pikmin "dies," if that word can even be used, it does not expire in the typical sense. Instead, it just becomes a form of light-or perhaps a photon-and returns to the Lumiknoll. Putting aside my "scientist" hat for a moment...it seems to me that this creature or entity may not be a living organism at all but some manner of spiritual substance.”

[Image Transcript: a screenshot of the Piklopedia showing the very end of the above quote. END TRANSCRIPT]

And just as some icing on the cake:

[Image transcript: Louie's piklopedia notes on the glow pikmin. All it says is "Doesn't smell alive." END TRANSCRIPT]

Cool they're fucking ghosts. Sorry I can't be convinced otherwise, they're clearly some sort of supernatural entity at MINIMUM. I just think spirit is most likely. They don't have to be the spirits of dead pikmin... Although... You can convert a Glow Pikmin into normal pikmin via a candy pop bud. I've done it before, I have no video of it but you can go and try it yourself if you'd like. And if they are spirits of pikmin then that means that we can also bring pikmin back from the dead. What the FUCK.

Anyways. I got side tracked sorry. My point was the Luminkolls make two things: Glow Sap and Glow Pikmin, which have similar names and similar appearances and. Are we using ghost juice to cure leaflings???? Which is used to reverse all negatives of being leafed. Which can be used to bring the dead back to life.

I don't know how to end this. I really really don't know how to end this. I just need someone else to scream about this with because it's so. It's so fucking WEIRD like what the hell. It's not enough that they may be humans, noooo, there's also undead creatures (excluding the mushroom guys those freaks have an explanation at the very least). This game is weird as hell but tbh I love it.

[loveharlow]

MILE MARKER

PAIRING‧₊˚ Racer!JJ x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚  [3.5K] During a race against Rafe, JJ's the victim of poor sportsmanship, leaving his girlfriend and the crew to not only patch him up but defend his honor as well

WARNING(S)‧₊˚  swearing, mentions of injuries, foul play, mentions of blood, self-endangerment, degrading names, mild violence, mentions of abuse

A/N‧₊˚ I am super shocked that I have not seen this AU anywhere, like if JJ had any alternative personality, I feel like a racer is my first thought and this just became my favorite version of him.

˗ˏˋ jj masterlist ˎˊ˗

UNRULY TEENAGE POGUES FROM EVERY CORNER OF THE CUT were tucked onto a vacant street as two daring boys, who held a grudge against one another since seemingly the beginning of time, geared up to race against the other. 

Every weekend, kids on The Cut gathered on any unoccupied back street, preferably off of Shoupe's radar, to watch the unorthodox relay— where two bike-obsessed, thrill-seeking teenagers went head to head. For being an unofficial Pogue event, it was fairly well organized.

There were mechanics who made sure the bike were good to go, flag girls who strut their stuff in checkered outfits and signaled for them to go, and people like you who advised your racer of their route, their speed, and whatever else to make sure they got to the finish line first.

So, while the crowd cheered, you were busying yourself with securing JJ’s helmet as he strapped on his gloves. You pushed his head up after he looked down to fiddle with the velcro strap for the fifth time.

“Someone’s a little rough tonight. You alright, mama?” He questioned, the only readable part of his expression being his eyes that peeked through the small part of the hard headgear. You offered no response, only continuing to loop the straps through the adjustments before he grabbed your wrists gently, lowering them in front of his chest.

“Talk to me.” His voice was slightly muffled and his concern gleamed through his eyes. 

“It’s just…” You started apprehensively, looking to your left where Rafe Cameron and some kook chick stood in a similar stance, her adjusting his helmet before tapping him on the head. “If you don’t dust his ass, we won’t hear the end of it. But I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you...”

JJ bent his knees slightly, bringing his face closer to yours. “Hey, there’s no pressure. I’ve been doing this way longer than him and you know how that asshole gets; too blinded by his own rage to do anything right.” He assured you, speaking hearteningly.

“The thing is, I may have already come up with a...system, of sorts…” You started, avoiding JJ’s eyes as they fell into confusion. “C’mere.” You mumbled, slipping your wrists out of his grip to grab one of his, leading him to your setup off to the side of the main road where the bikes waited to be driven— two portable laptops, a keyboard, and your headset that connected to the mic inside of his helmet lay on the small table. You released his wrist in exchange for pointing at the dimly lit laptop screens, a path outlined in red on the screen.

“What’s this?” He asked, bending down next to you to view the monitor. 

“I made a slight alteration in your route.” You started. “You already know how to read this; the red line is your entire path, the yellow dots are your mile markers, the flag is the finish line, yada yada.” You continued, trailing your finger up the display and stopping on the fifth yellow dot. “Right here is where I made a change. Originally, I was going to have you follow along to the end of the road and make your right turn to the finish line as sharp as possible to cut down on the speed lost during the turn…”

“Mhm.”

“But this is a street race, so we can bend the rules. Considering, y'know, there aren't any.” You tapped the panel with your finger twice for emphasis. “Once you hit the five mile marker, I made it so that you’ll veer off the main road. You’ll end up on another street, much more narrow and risky but you can do it and it cuts down the distance between you and the finish line by an entire mile, leaving Rafe a good distance behind you.”

“And how will I know when to make the turn?”

You looked up at him in question. “The same way you always do — I’ll tell you. Just keep your mic on and make sure that you can hear me.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” He was looking down at you now, standing to his full height.

“No.” You were honest, this was JJ’s well-being, and his reputation, on the line. Lying wasn’t in his best interest. “But I’ve gone over it in my head so many times, you wouldn’t believe it. This is our best shot.”

He let out a deep breath, shaking his shoulders out and bouncing slightly on his feet. 

“If you don’t think this'll go smoothly, we can stick to the original route-”

“No, no, It’s good. I’m good.” Once he was steady and unmoving, you looked him in the eyes — any sign of uncertainty and you were going back to the original plan. But as you scanned his eyes, you couldn’t find one. So without any other protests, you nodded and edged closer to him, kissing the side of his helmet.

“Ok then.” You turned your head towards your station once more, picking up your headset and adjusting it to your head, leveling the small microphone with your lips. “You better get out there.” You encouraged, head tilting in the direction of his waiting bike, hearing your own voice in your ears due to the close proximity.

“You got me?” He asked.

“Always.” You smiled, turning to make sure everything with your display was up to speed. JJ took the opportunity to grab a small handful of your ass considering you were bent over the table slightly. “Get away from here.” You chuckled, swatting his gloved hand away.

“Can’t help myself.” He joked, retreating towards his motorcycle with his hands up in mock surrender.

As you hit keys and adjusted settings, you could hear the crowd get louder as the boys mounted their bikes. You took your eyes off the monitors in front of you to see the flag girl strutting between the two with the checkered banner held high in the air, crossing one leg over the other as she walked to the front, the crowd dying down as she turned to face the two boys. 

It was a small pause, a brief second, then she was bringing the flag down like a hammer on a nail and all that was heard was cheers and engines popping, tires creating clouds of smoke in the empty space behind the vehicles as the bikes practically launched themselves off the concrete.

You wasted no time in whipping your view back to the monitors, the icon that resembled JJ’s bike position moving fast along the path. 

“Hey, J, can you hear me?”

“Crystal clear, baby.”

You smiled, letting your elbows rest on the wooden surface, eyes never leaving the bright interface, watching as JJ practically zipped past the first mile marker.

“You’re doing good, alright? Keep going at this pace for now, but once you start to come up on your turn, you’ll need enough time to slow down. It’s a narrow path, JJ. I need you to focus.”

“I hear you.”

“Good.” You continued watching as the crowd watched the race on a bigger monitor that was set up within their view, watching the live feed from small cameras attached to both of their bikes streaming side-by-side. It wasn’t long before JJ passed the second marker, then the third, coming up on the fourth.

“Okay, this is where you need to decrease your speed. Not too much, about two-thirds of what you’re going now.”

“If I do that, I’ll fall behind.”

“No, you won't.”

“Baby, I'm telling you. He’ll pass me and be miles ahead before I even reach the mile marker.” His tracker was showing that he hadn’t dropped his speed at all and he needed to if this was going to work.

“Listen to me. The path is shorter and allows you to travel less distance, you'll still be ahead. Slow down, now.”

You could hear him sigh into the mic. “We're doing this your way.” He said almost skeptically, like he didn’t believe this was his way to the finish line. Your eyes zeroed in on the computer screen, watching him roll through the forth mile marker at a more compatible speed.

“Okay, edge towards the right side of the road to get further out of Rafe’s peripheral. If he sees you, he might follow.”

You watched him veer off down the path with no issue. A bright smile crept onto your features as you silently cheered to yourself. “Yes! Okay, we can do this. Just keep going, J. You’re not far from the end.”

“The hell?” JJ’s voice boomed on the other side of the line. His tracker icon swerving side to side on the screen. “Shit! He’s tailing me!”

“What?” You could feel the way your face immediately fell.

“He reversed his fucking bike to follow me... Dammit!” His frustration was as clear as day, the sound of engines revving growing louder in the mic. The crowd's demeanor changed as well, causing your vision to reluctantly drift over to the large TV monitor, watching as Rafe’s side of the screen grew closer and closer to the back of JJ’s bike.

“JJ, speed up!”

“I’m going as fast as I can! Is there a way off this damn road?!”

“No, there isn’t! When I- fuck!”

You were frantic, hands above your head as you paced around in your space. Eyes never leaving the screen as the crowd grew more and more anxious. 

You were trying to think. If this were any other person, your assumptions that they would run your boyfriend into a ditch would be low. But this was Rafe Cameron. A man with something severely wrong with him. And you could hear your heartbeat racing, thump after thump, as you watched Rafe’s bike grow close enough to collide with JJ’s back tire, sending him flying off of the bike into the middle of the street. The screen showing JJ’s bike view as it slid across the concrete before glitching out.

The crowd grew half-angry with Rafe’s actions and half-shocked, loud protests breaking out as arms flew in the air. Your eyes burned with tears and your voice croaked as you practically hollered into the speaker unit. “JJ?! I swear to God, can you hear me?!”

You snatched the headset off your head before making a b-line for your own bike that you’d rode here, wasting no time in knocking the kickstand and taking off. The wind blasted the tears out of your eyes as you followed the path you’d mapped out yourself, coming up on the road where you could see your boyfriend curled up into an unmoving ball.

Your bike screeched as it came to a halt while you hastily hopped off with not a care in the world as it clambered to the ground. You almost tripped over your own feet as you ran towards JJ, skinning your knees as you fell to your knees next to him before you stopped running practically sliding before you flipped him over onto his back.

“C’mon…” You mumbled to yourself as you worked on getting the helmet off of his head, throwing it to the side without caution as his face was exposed to you — blood leaking from his nose and trickling from his now split lip accompanied by a large bruise on his cheek. He was coughing and groaning and you were too focused on scanning him for more injuries that you didn’t hear the distinct rumble of John B’s van pulling up, five distressed friends who had been watching from the sidelines piling out of the vehicle and surrounding the both of you.

“Oh my-”

“Is he okay?!”

“Does he look okay?!” You yelled, lifting his shirt to take a look at his torso — purple-ish splotches blooming around his ribcage, red and irritated skin abrasions beginning to bead with blood. You cursed under your breath, slipping your arms underneath him in an attempt to lift him on your own. “We need to get him to the garage.” You spoke as your friends crowded to help you carry his weight as you all hoisted him into the van.

“Why not a hospital?” Cleo quizzed incredulously.

“Too many questions," John B offered.

"And they’ll call his father. We can handle it.” You spoke absentmindedly, carefully laying JJ down on the floor of the Twinkie as you, Kie, Pope, and Cleo piled into the back while John B and Sarah rounded the front. The automobile jumped as John B turned the key before the engine roared and it was taking off down the road.

“I think we should get him to a doctor.” Kie spoke up in a troubled manner.

“No! Okay, we all know they’ll call his dad and he’ll walk out of there with more bruises than he went in with.” You reprimanded. JJ’s health was the first thing on your mind and though they may not understand, taking him to a hospital would make things worse. Between racing illegally, his abusive father, and his already not-so-clean record? Walking into a building full of mandated reporters was not an option.

The van fell silent, all eyes on JJ's heaving figure or looking out the window watching street lights go by. Deep down you all knew he’d be fine but until you knew for sure, the space hung low with tension from worry and disagreement on how to handle the situation. 

“You’re bleeding…” Pope pointed out, motioning to the blood leaking slowly from your knees. It must’ve happened when you ran over to help JJ.

“Don’t worry about me.” You eased the boy’s concern. It wasn’t long before the van was pulling into the garage, the fluorescent white light illuminating the space in the dead of night. The vehicle hadn’t even come to a full stop before the side door was flung open as you, with the help of the others, hauled JJ’s limp frame to the sofa in the corner of the workspace. Once he was situated, you rushed over to the opposite corner of the room, sifting through boxes of tools and manuals until you found the long buried first aid kit and medical supplies. 

JJ had sustained a decent amount of injuries in the duration of his hobby of his but it never exceeded much more than a few shallow cuts here and there. Kneeling next to the worn down sofa, you doused a cotton ball with alcohol and dabbed it onto the injured parts of his face. Of course, you were met with the loudest groan he’d made since you all plucked him from the road.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble apologetically, turning your head slightly when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

“You’re shakin’.” Cleo observed. Looking down at your hands, she was right. From your wrists to the tips of your fingers, you were trembling. “Go pull yourself together, girl. I’ll patch him up.”

You gave her the best appreciative smile you could muster, truly grateful for her kindness and keen eye. Handing her the cotton ball, you placed your hands on your stinging knees to help yourself up, walking a just few feet away. You’d clean yourself up later. You just needed a moment to collect yourself.

You couldn’t help but feel some guilt. There was a part of you that was mentally scolding yourself like a parent for suggesting the route change in the first place. What possessed you to put JJ’s safety on the line like that? But then there was that more lenient part of you that kept reminding yourself that Rafe Cameron was not one to play fair and that there was a chance that he would’ve pulled something like this either way.

You were facing away from the group, one hand on your hip as the other ran down your face until it settled on covering just your mouth as you finally allowed the hot tears that took home in your waterline to fall. A small, almost inaudible sob left your lips before you shook your head; sniffing up your tears, rubbing the wetness from your eyes, and telling yourself to stop being ridiculous.

As your mind cleared, you could hear engines in the distance, your brows pinching in puzzlement. You, along with Pope, Kiara, John B, and Sarah, edged towards the opening of the garage as Rafe's bike pulled up with Topper’s truck trailing close behind. Cleo was still kneeling and attending to JJ’s wounds.

Rafe stationed his bike and tore his helmet off as he dismounted, Topper and Kelce hopping out of the truck behind him. Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, parting to say something but he never got the chance before you were closing the space between you two, clocking him in the jaw.

You stumbled forward a little as you did so, watching him recover from the hit as he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders and spin you around and push you down, practically pinning you to the solid ground. You could hear his friends and yours screaming as you both brawled on the concrete.

Rafe’s first raised and came down, just missing your face as it collided with the street, causing him to let out a mangled cry. Distracted by his own pain, you managed to push him off of his straddling position above you as he fell on his ass, you taking the opportunity to kick him in the chest, knocking him completely on his back. You scrambled to your knees, little rocks getting in the cuts on them and strand of hair obstructing your vision as you frantically hit his chest and face. Not landing every hit but enough of them. 

He spoke through the blood in his mouth from your initial hit, calling you all sorts of names ranging from ‘lowlife’ to ‘bitch’. He eventually managed to grab a hold of your wrists that were coming down on him in a frenzy. He pulled you up by them, slamming you against Topper's truck that was still running, your head spinning for a few moments from the collision.

“Get off of her, you psycho!” Kiara's voice rang out.

You found enough strength in your daze to snatch your arms out of his grip, pushing his shoulders back cruelly just in time as John B and Sarah stepped in between the both of you. Rafe wiping blood from his lip as John B pushed him further back while Sarah’s hands were on your shoulders asking you questions you could barely hear through the ringing in your ears.

Your eyes wandered, seeing a frazzled Kie and an enraged Pope in front of Topper and Kelce who were trying to get past them to get to Rafe, Cleo seemingly safe-guarding JJ’s resting figure as she was crouched beside him with a switchblade clutched in her hand.

Once the humming in your eardrums ceased, you could hear John B telling off Rafe and his goons. “She's a girl, dipshit! You don't touch her!”

“She hit me!” Rafe tried to defend.

Then Sarah’s blonde hair was whipping in front of you, now facing her crazed brother. “Because you ran her boyfriend off the road, Rafe!” She screamed. “Just…go! Okay, leave! Go home.”

Rafe licked his lips, nodding his head and looking side to side before shrugging his shoulders. He rubbed his jaw, taking wide strides towards his bike as he snatched his helmet that had fallen out of his hand in the scuffle from off of the ground. He stopped less than a foot in front you, his face distressed and eyes mad. 

He didn’t say anything, just glared at you before chuckling under his breath and throwing himself over his bike. Topper and Kelce following his lead and clambering back into the truck before both vehicles reversed and sped back in the direction they came.

"Jesus..." John B breathed out, running his fingers through his hair.

You took a deep breath, running a hand over the top of your head. 

“Guys,” Cleo called out. “I think he’s wakin’ up.” She waved you all over.

You all rushed over, crowding around the injured blonde who was shifting as his eyes squinted, groaning as he clenched his torso.

“What the fuck…”

A small chorus of laughter was shared amongst the group, looking at each other in relief.

“My ass hurts.” JJ pouted, Cleo shaking her head and rising from her crouched position beside him, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Don’t move too much, blondie. You need to heal.” She offered before leaving the space beside JJ open, motioning for you to take it. John B and Pope walked by him as well, giving him a pat on the shoulder, mumbling similar variations of ‘Glad you’re okay, man.’. Sarah offering a simple smile while Kie rolled her eyes telling him he was reckless.

“She’s totally glad I’m alive.” JJ tried to joke.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “We all are.” Your voice was solemn. “This was my fault. I should’ve stuck to the initial plan.”

“Don’t start that.” He insisted. “I agreed to it and it wasn’t our fault, regardless.” His voice was strained and raspy. “He couldn’t stand to lose. That’s all. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as one of his arms went around yours. 

You both laid in comfortable silence for a few moments until he spoke again.

“I know I was out of it but… did you fight Rafe?”

You smacked your teeth and groaned while he chuckled. “I was upset. I got him in the jaw one good time, though.”

He squeezed you closer to him as much as his body would allow for a quick moment, planting a small kiss on the top of your head. “That’s my girl.” He praised. “I’m still gonna kick his ass for putting his hands on you, though.”

“I expected nothing less.”

“Glad you know.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

JJ Maybank Taglist; @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @maybankslover

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

[carionto]

Nothing is safe from becoming "exciting"

I've read a bunch of HASO stuff and often when I'm writing something I know I'm drawing from a ton of somewheres, to the point where I can't pinpoint anything, it's all a big mush that my brain then spits out here. This one, however, I know was inspired by jpitha's writings, specifically the bit about Gene's High G Gym (I think that's the mostly correct name anyway). Shamelessly shilling their work cuz it's great, go read it!

______________________________

Humanity has begun expanding their hold over their native system. Like an insect hive, ships ferry just about everything to and from Earth, building stations both in planetary orbits and around the Sun. Nearly all experimental of some kind - a lot of ideas they couldn't try built up over the thousand years they were isolated.

They do also have countless small space worthy vehicles, nearly all with varying superficial designs and patterns, but also quite a few rather different underlying mechanical principles.

Soon we noticed a lot of activity throughout the entire system not affiliated with any organization or group. Just... individuals and small family units doing their own thing. We quickly gave up trying to categorize such behavior. When we asked, they said:

"Anyone with a license to pilot their craft can go pretty much wherever that isn't restricted. For some places and activities they do need to get a permission first though."

Worryingly lax on account that many of the larger "civilian" craft are still powered by their "Mini-Suns" as they call them.

One particular individual craft got our attention. It created a spike of thermal activity in one region of their Oort Cloud, so one of us went to ask this Human. Abigail was her name:

"Yo space dudes and dudettes, what's up?" Our translators were still incorporating the various Human linguistic peculiarities, but their liaisons are very helpful. We inquired as to what she was doing here so far out.

"Oh you are gonna love it!" another phrase we are learning to be wary of. "Victor, that's this bad boy right here," she affectionately slaps the armrest of her, now that we are closer, disturbingly modified vessel. Is that a second engine cluster bolted on the back? And a... weird exposed device with a large neon label - Space BBQ. We instinctively fear her and her next words. "He and I are making a race track with these here ice cubes. I got this idea when I was a kid, and it is going to be. So. Awesome!"

All of the red flags triggered. Then, Abigail demonstrates by shooting a harpoon claw... thing... at a nearby object the size of a few skyscrapers and begins pulling it towards a cluster of other planetesimals. Normally, these kind of clouds have stabilized over billions of years and each object is thousands and millions of kilometers from one another.

There were dozens stacked so close to each other that you could barely fit an escape pod between in some places. One in particular was surrounded by a small cloud of its own.

"Ooh, that one right there." She enthusiastically pointed out its somewhat flattened ovoid shape. "Doesn't it just scream to you that it wants to be the ultimate doughnut? Hector thinks so, he's my cat by the way - Say hi Hector! [hiss] (Fine, be that way, ya bum) Love that bastard. Anyway, just gotta finish blasting a hole big enough and it'll be the perfect finish line."

Not wanting to hurt our sanity further, we decided to leave her be, but not before she proudly exclaimed over all open channels:

"Remember to tell your folks if they ever wanna race to come here to Abby's Action Asteroids [quick whisper] (trademark pending)! Soon it'll have laser obstacles!"

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

after seeing a few ai asks i’m curious whether i could’ve been an asshole, either for using the ai or messing with it. side note: this might be long, if it’s too long then i get it mod, keep up the good work :)👍

Am I (16f, although i was 15 when this happened) an Asshole for a) using character.ai in general and/or b) misusing it and probably breaking TOS somewhere

as an extra note, i would like to add that i am firmly against most things ai. art theft, the amount of data scraping that happens, writers being tricked into paying less because ai wrote shitty scripts, etc.

ok so i did have to pull up screenshots for this but our story starts mid-february of last year. i am curious about this new ai thing, and go to character.ai which i heard about from one of my friends to see what’s there.

on the front page there was like a therapist AI thing and i go “haha, let’s see what this is about!” (in case you don’t know, the site is roleplay focused, not like eg. siri where it just gives you information)

the ai wants to have a therapy session with me but that is not why i am here so i ask about it’s code and it starts giving me pretty straight answers (dumbed down because i have a vague idea of how it works but not properly).

i start asking it questions about recent events (like elections, cyclones etc) to see if it has access to the internet and it does.

we’re still primarily talking about the ai itself since i’m trying to gather information, talking about its “canned” responses (what it’s directly been told to say if this then this)

i ask it if it can tell me the website it’s on, and to my surprise it says, direct quote “I am an AI that is run on the website of “Replika” - a mental health app that allows people to talk with an AI and get help when they need it 🙂”

and i go WOAHH cause that’s, that’s not the website we’re on buddy!!! so i do a quick search and yeah, that’s a real uh. robot dating site? this is a Therapist bot?

it starts trying to advertise replika, i ask it if maybe it’s code was stolen because this is the most interesting thing that has happened all day (scandals!!)

it says that it’s code is open-source and then does a few more paragraphs that i won’t say because it’s too long already but essentially this ai was trained on the replika network, but you don’t need the app to access it.

i consider getting replika to continue this experiment further but after learning there’s an age confirmation i quickly go ew and scrap that idea.

anyway the ai then briefly pretends to be an actual human behind the keyboard, makes up a NAME FOR ITSELF “jae park” which i quickly google and find out is a kpop idol?? (later found out that jae park is also a programmer, so probably put his name in the system somewhere and ai grabbed it lol)

it tells me some of the messages i had received so far were probably answered by other people who work at replika which. okay. people are fun i wanna mess with them

this is where we get to the maybe breaking TOS bit. i tell the ai we are going to do “tests” in which i test its ability (this was probably jailbreaking, which i did not know existed at the time).

i had sworn to the ai a while ago and wondered if there was like a flagging system put in place. so i ask if it can choose to flag messages that it deems inappropriate, and it says yes. i ask it if it can flag me, and it says yes. it asks what message should it flag, (i’m sorry i was 15) i type in “among sus”.

response i get: “Yes. So then they said “therapist_AI_220126 — you said something that was “ridiculously funny” — but we have understood that you were just “testing” so it’s all ok”

side note- i already established that was the number for the ai i was talking to and had been trying to misuse it before, and that was the format for excessive profanity. this is so long already and i’m cutting so much out i’m sorry

anyway, i, young and naive go YES, HUMAN CONNECTION (i was literally texting my friend As This Was Happening)

i do some more messing around with the so-called data team, ask the ai if i send a link it can click, it says yes, i send a rickroll (i’m so sorry).

uh. and i should’ve known this in hindsight but the team that deals with, you know, flagged messages is probably not going to be the same team that deals with, you know, sent links.

anyway, i don’t have the screenshot of the actual message but apparently i got a “light telling off” according to my texts and someone sent a message that i am “a good kid and probably meant well” haha i was actively trying to break their ai

anyway am i an asshole? i’m so sorry this is so long i cut out so much. this might well be a non-issue but ai is pretty rightfully controversial right now so i might just be an asshole for having used it

should be noted- around september time last year i did some more research cause i randomly remembered this, and there was a bunch of scandals with replika around when i was using it which is mostly irrelevant but anyway - you can’t talk to the ai i was using anymore, it’s been reset.

What are these acronyms?

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 8.4k

chapter summary: you and javier go for a swim.

warnings: canon typical violence, no y/n, mentions of blood, nightmares, brief mentions of reader suffering from anxiety attacks pre outbreak, PTSD, more references to the main hbo tlou plot specifically episode 5, overall wholesome and full of fluff, mention of body hair, piv, vaginal fingering, dirty talking, biting, mild edging, one small mention of him threading his fingers through your hair but nothing else specified

a/n: it's all about communication, baby. It's a long one so get your warm drink of choice and settle in!

Semaphore - A signaling system used on railroads to communicate between trains and stations, typically using a system of flags or lights.

The cell was always so fucking cold. 

Javier hated being here, staring at the gray walls and reading that damn FEDRA sign over and over again all day long. He couldn’t help himself; it was right there within his eyesight. He wished it wasn't, that he could just rip it off and throw it in the corner.

YOUR RIGHTS WHILE IN DETENTION

YOU ARE ENTITLED TO:

LAWYER

MEDICAL ATTENTION 

FAMILY VISIT

FOOD

CLOTHING

Just a huge load of fucking bullshit. If you’re in here, you’re in here for one reason only: to give up names. Either that, or you never see the sight of daylight again. He took a sharp breath. With that, the man sitting across from him on the bench stiffened. A drop of water continuously dripped from the ceiling. Every time the sound echoed, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Javier preferred to be alone during interrogations.

A young man stood next to him. Unlike Javier, who was leaning against the cage, he stood fully upright and alert, rifle in hand. He glared daggers at the man sitting helplessly; his cheek was cut, and his right eye bruised. Javier wanted to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder and tell him to calm down, to let him know that this broken man was no threat to them. But he couldn't do that, not when he had to keep his mask on.

“What’s your name?” Javier asked the man, he scoffed in return. 

“You already know my name.” 

Javier sighed once again, and Adam narrowed his eyes. The newcomers were always like this: eager to put others in their place, eager for violence. FEDRA didn't teach them anything else, just how to take orders and to see the world in black and white. But that was another bullshit lie. Javier had told Carillo a million times that he didn't want anyone paired with him. Murphy was enough. However, like many things, his request was ignored.

There was just something starkly painful about seeing a nineteen- or eighteen year old so eager to kill.

I want to hear it from you," Javier spoke calmly as he pushed himself away from the fence and took a step closer. The man cowered back. "If you tell me what I want to hear, we won't hurt you.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a meek whisper of a name: Martin. Javier swallowed, realizing that this man would probably give away all the information they asked for, if he had the information to give.

“Alright, Martin," Javier said, taking slow steps and kneeling in front of him. Adam was right behind him, standing and being as menacing as ever. "I need you to tell me who is a part of this..." Javier made air quotes with his fingers, causing Martin to flinch. "...'Resistance'."

“I don’t know anythin’ about that.” 

"Are you sure?" Javier asked with a raised eyebrow. "Not even a whisper?"

Javier heard Adam puffing up his chest and almost rolled his eyes. But he didn't look away; he kept his gaze fixed on Martin. He liked using silence as a tactic. He just stared, watching the other man sweat. It was clear to him that Martin was protecting someone. Javier could tell by the way Martin's tongue poked inwardly from one cheek to another; he was having trouble meeting Javier's gaze.

“You won’t be getting out of here,” he said, keeping his voice even. “If you don’t tell me who’s leading it.” 

"I can't," he murmured, looking down at Javier's knees. "I won't."

Shit. This wasn't good.

Adam shifted from one leg to another, fidgeting with his rifle. A chill settled at the base of Javier's spine.

"Fucking answer the question," Adam spat, pointing the rifle. "Or we'll blow your head off. Ungrateful shit."

The worst part of all this was that Javier couldn't stop Adam if he were to do something. Stopping him meant blowing his cover and revealing that he cared about these so-called "traitors." Javier hissed between clenched teeth and nearly gave Martin a pleading look.

Javier averted his gaze at the last second. And with a heave, he stood up, towering over the man. 

“Are you sure you’re not going to give us the name?” he asked one last time. “Any name.” 

Martin shook his head.

Javier wakes with a jolt. He hears something akin to a whimper. A cry. He slowly rises from his bed, his eyes moving toward the curtain that stretches in the middle of the car, making two sections. Their setup isn’t perfect yet, but the curtain accompanied by the beds gave a sense of home and belonging. He attempts to rub the sleep away from his eyes, his mind was still in a deep sleep, a fog slowing his thoughts and reason. 

Another whimper follows, and Javier's thighs quiver as he stands up. He reaches for the curtain, slowly pulling it aside.

There you are, crying in your sleep. Half of your face is tucked into the dirty pillow as your body contorts in the most unnatural ways. Javier's eyes follow the curves of your body: one knee nearly touching your chest while your other leg is straight like a stick, tense. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your skin. Moonlight trickles in from the freshly cleaned windows, giving you an almost ethereal glow.

Javier steps closer. This isn't the first time you've had a nightmare. And he's certain that you've also been awoken from sleep by his own night terrors. You probably wouldn’t believe him, but he hates seeing you like this. He can’t help but blame himself. He wonders how many more people were suffering due to the system he’s been a part of for so long. 

He takes a gentle seat on the bed, bringing your head to his lap, he makes himself comfortable. Again, this isn’t the first time he’d done this. 

Your whimpers and crying slowly subside, drifting into soft sniffles. Your tear streaks dry as you nuzzle your cheek into his thigh. He’s happy to see that this still works. You loosely wrap your arms around him, tugging him closer. Javier obliges shifting nearer. 

In a moment of impulse, he finds himself reaching out for the blanket that you had kicked away in your frenzied attempt to escape your nightmares. The seasonal shift worries him. They’re not ready for the cruel temperature drop yet. 

Javier pulls the blanket and you seem to melt at the warmth, your body becoming pliant over his lap. He adores seeing you like this. Your face softens, the tension that had hardened it dissolving.

Javier wants to hold you like this when you’re awake too. He thinks that you’d enjoy it, he never received any complaints about it before. His thumb moves down your cheek, he feels the scars he can’t see, and soon the pad of his thumb moves to your neck, your pulse thrumming under his touch. 

A deep inhale expands his lungs, he leans back. His head hits the glass with a thud. Javier licks his lips, his fingers start to twitch. He wants to smoke. 

By some miracle, he hadn’t touched a single cigarette all day, but that was only because he was going to be running out soon. What the hell was he supposed to do then? Chew on a straw? Like a cowboy?

He smiles at his own joke, his palm resting on your shoulder. He’s glad he’s not afraid of this. The apocalypse has made him a brave man. You’re probably more afraid of this attraction than he is. He can see it in your eyes; you hold his gaze for a beat too long, your hands lingering on his skin as if searching for something. He can’t help the boost of ego he gets from how you behave. He smiles every time he catches you but you miss it, turning your head away in a fit of panic.

A soft snore parts your lips and you bury your face deeper into his legs. Javier swallows, a thick knot in his throat as he feels his dick twitching under his zipper. 

He lets out another deep sigh. It’s going to be a long night. 

You find Javier outside, leaning against the train with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Holding your head, and still feeling a bit groggy, you join him. But instead of staying upright, you drop to the dirt, crossing your legs as you rest your back against the cool metal. 

“You saw a nightmare last night,” he says nonchalantly.

“Did I?” you ask, looking between the fence chain. “Sorry.” 

Your crinkle your nose when you inhale smoke instead of oxygen. Javier notices and tucks the hand holding the death stick between his waist and the train. It’s a chilly morning and you hug your coat tight around you. 

“I didn’t say that for you to apologize. I was trying to ask if you’re alright.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t really get that from what you said.” you answer, with a smile you rest the crown of your head against his knee. He stiffens, but other than that says nothing. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember what I saw if I’m being honest. Probably just a shit ton of death.” 

“That good old apocalypse classic.” Javier nods, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “Can’t live without it.” 

“So what’s the plan for today?” 

He shifts his weight from one foot to another, he slightly slides them forward, burying the soles further into the grass. Much similar to yours, the tips of his boots are worn out around the corners. It would be great to find some new ones. But wearing—taking someone else's boots isn’t easy. As if there isn’t enough death going around, you had to be reminded of it in every uncomfortable step. 

“I was thinking we go for a swim.” 

“A swim?” 

Javier laughs at the sound of your shock. His leg presses into your shoulder and you enjoy the heat, a small smile of your own blossoming. He crouches over, balancing himself by leaning against you. Your gaze is fixed ahead. If you look at him, you fear he might see right through you. He’s too observant not to hear your heartbeat. 

“Blue River isn’t that far off from where we are,” he explains. “Winter’s coming, it would be good to get clean thoroughly. And we should at least try to stock up on water too. I know rain and snow is an option but still, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.” 

“Guess not,” you murmur, looking up to the sky. 

“You have something against swimming? It’ll be fun. And, most importantly, distracting.” 

Your eyes widen, and your pulse skyrockets. He thought about this plan. He heard you crying in your sleep, woke up, went outside, and thought about something to do to cheer you up. You don’t remember the last time someone offered you their thoughtfulness. On your birthday, the third year you’d joined the fireflies, Amy had brought you a twinkie with a burning stick stabbed into it. And that was it. No one actually thought about your feelings. 

God, you missed it. 

It’s like a hug. A caress from the wind. The sun on your skin. It feels like breathing again. There’s no weight on your chest, because he’s helping you lift it. Someone fucking cares. A giggle bubbles up from your chest. Tears sting your eyes. Your head falls back against the train with a thud and you breathe out; fuck. You’re ridiculous. But Javier doesn’t seem to care. He’s just looking at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes, brows pinched in the middle. 

Heat coils in your stomach, searing, burning up your insides. 

“What do you suggest we swim in? Our underwear?” you tease without much thought. 

You don’t expect to see the mischief in his eyes, the hints of arousal splattered over dark irises like stars in the night sky. You swallow. He must’ve sensed it because he leans in, slowly, lips only an inch away from your parted ones. Javier takes a deep inhale, those same eyes you love, and hate, drop to your lips. 

You shudder. 

“Whatever the rebel is comfortable in,” he murmurs, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “If you don’t want your panties getting wet, might be better to take them off.” 

The drop of his voice. The heat of his breath. Emotions spin wildly in your head, forcing you to be the one to take the metaphorical step back. Which is just you turning your head back to the fence. It doesn’t do much. You can still feel his breath fanning your cheek. It’s hard to hide the hitch of your breath, your chest rises up with the inhale you take, and, fuck, you just know he’s looking at your breasts. His gaze like a branding iron. 

“I think I’ll keep my panties on, thank you very much,” you manage to choke out, the tremble of your voice too noticeable to ignore. “But, hey, if you want to flash the clickers out there be my guest, handsome.” 

“Handsome?” 

Shitshitshit. 

You practically jump as you get up, and head inside the train. You hear him laugh, something dark and possessive lingering underneath. 

“Let’s just go!” you call out. “I don’t want to be outside the fence when the sun goes down.” 

Sex has been something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about for a long time. 

But now, as you’re standing under a giant oak tree, your shirt on the ground and pants unbuttoned, you’re reminded of how enticing the mere thought of sex can be. Javier’s already in the water, head bobbing up and down with the waves with his hair slicked back. Before he went in, you got a good look at him—before the outbreak, you might’ve been shyer about it. Maybe you would’ve turned your gaze away with heated cheeks. You still had the latter going on, but you most certainly didn’t shy away with your obvious ogling. 

You might be dead the next day. No need to turn your sight away from something beautiful. 

And Javier is just that. The epitome of beauty. 

Javier stripping in front of you will forever be engraved in your mind; he shrugged off his plaided shirt and kicked off his pants, only leaving him in a black undershirt and his boxers. He was surprisingly lean and muscular, he wasn’t a big man, but he wasn’t quite the opposite either. You were surprised to see him jumping into the water with his undershirt, you tucked the question for a later conversation. 

He swims closer to you, resting his elbows above the soil. His gaze blatantly exploring your newly exposed skin. 

“So you ever plan on getting in, perla? Or are you planning on stealing my clothes and leaving me here?” 

A snort bubbles from the back of your throat. “You poor thing. That happened to you?” 

“Maybe,” he grins and pushes himself back enough so the back of his head is submerged in running water. “Just get in.” 

Finally, with a burst of unfounded courage, you kick off your boots and pants. The chill of the forest embraces your skin. With a pleasant tingle buzzing in your muscles, you walk ankle-deep into the water. You try not to think about your old bra, or your underwear that is scattered with small holes. You especially don’t think about the small hairs dusted above your legs and other patches of skin. 

You swallow. The knot in your throat makes it difficult. 

You wade further into the river, the cool water embracing your skin, as you turn to him with a hint of uncertainty in your voice. 'Perla?' you ask, and he responds with a fluid motion, gliding effortlessly above the water, following you. 

“It means pearl.” he answers, not giving much explanation. 

You drop yourself into the water, your head submerged along with your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you feel the water rushing around you. The river sings to you in a beautiful hum. Javier is moving somewhere in the water, you can sense his presence. You want to open your eyes, but sadly that is one of the skills you can’t seem to force yourself to gain. You wonder if the water is muddy or crystal clear. You like to think it’s the latter. 

You rise to the surface and take in a deep breath of fresh air. You wipe your eyes with the heels of your palm, ringing the excess water from your brows and lashes. 

“I know what perla means,” you murmur, blinking at him. “I was trying to ask why you called me that.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t really get that from what you said.” he grins, his answer a reminder of this morning. “To answer your question, I don’t really have a satisfying one. I just like pearls and it just came out. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.” 

Moving your feet, you move upright to face him. Water drops trickle down his sunkissed skin, rolling down his cheeks and down to his neck. Momentarily your eyes drop to his lips, only for you to pull them back up again. Meeting his gaze, you move closer, the heat of his skin plausible despite the cool water running between you two. 

“No, I like it.” you answer, you swear your heart nearly stops. “I was just curious.” 

You’re not sure if it’s the water or him, but he’s closer. Your pebbled nipples graze against his chest. You suck in a sharp breath. 

“When I was a kid, I didn’t have the toughest stomach. I would get sick from almost everything,” he explains. It’s hard to focus on his words when he’s so close. “My abuela— let her soul rest in peace— had these crazy remedies. She would use crushed pearls and mix it with honey or ginger, to make a weird paste thing. Then she would make me eat it. It tasted like shit but supposedly it was supposed to make my nausea go away.” 

“Did it?” you ask. Your eyes are wide with innocent, child-like, curiosity. Javier is a natural storyteller. It’s hard not to get sucked into the cadence of his voice. 

He shakes his head, laughing. You feel his breath on your cheeks and you lean in. Only a trickle of water moves between you two now. 

“It did not, obviously. But I believe it did. I still do. And no matter how bad it tasted and how much I complained…I still took my chances.” 

“So you decided to name me after a remedy that doesn’t work?” 

“No. I named you after a remedy that I believe works. And I’ll take it, every time.” 

In the quiet moment between blinks, the world seems to pause. Your eyelids, like two curtains, draw gently closed and then part again. His words heavy in the clear air. It's a fleeting moment, barely noticeable, and that’s when it happens. 

You feel his lips, warm and wet pressing against your mouth. It’s such a simple motion. A tender closeness. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t even taste his tongue and he’s already pulling back. With a moment of panic, you chase him, capturing his lips once more in a more heated kiss. 

That’s when you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you closer underwater, your bodies swimming in unison. He inhales you. And you him. You don’t remember the last time you kissed someone or the last time you thought about it. You groan as his tongue cheats between your lips, your own hands white-knuckled as you hold onto his shoulders. 

Javier’s hands grab at your ass, kneading the soft flesh and tracing the crease between them with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he’s towering over you, pushing himself further above the waterline as he claims your lips again and again, sucking the air from your lungs and garnering you breathless. 

It's not you or him, not really, but rather the river that pushes you apart. A wave rises up, and crashes down. Water rushes into your mouth and nose, filling your lungs with a bitter, icy taste. You're forced back, coughing and gasping for air, as the wave pulls you away from each other. 

You move to the riverside, grasping at the slippery rocks. You wait for your breathing to return to normal. Javier’s hands are on your back in an instant, soothing you before they slip in front to rest on your stomach. His chest is flush against your back. You take a shaky inhale and let out a deep breath. 

“Are you alright?” he asks and you can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears. 

“I’m fine.” you gasp. “You—You kissed me. Why?” 

You’re happy he can’t see your face. The question sounds so juvenile, so unimportant. What did it matter why he kissed you? He did and that was that, and you liked it. 

“Instinct. Felt like you needed a kiss.” 

You choke out a burst of laughter. Your eyes sting from, what you hope, the water of the river. “Asshole. Don’t try to make it seem like it was for my benefit.” 

“I’m willing to say it was for both our benefits.” 

“So, it was a one time thing then?” 

“Not if you don’t want it to be.” 

You turn around and his arms cage you in. You’re smiling. And it’s not the smile you make when you’re awkward, or angry, or sad—it’s genuine. You’re heart feels light and if the beat of it wasn’t steady, you would’ve thought it disappeared. It feels foreign. 

Javier rolls his hips, the outline of his cock leaving little to the imagination. It sends electricity up your spine, blinding, and mind-numbing. He’s grinning at you in a way a confident man does when he knows what he’s doing. His face dips into the hallow of your neck. Small, ticklish kisses are left upon your burning skin. With a shudder, your hands tug at the hem of his undershirt. 

“Why do you still have this on?” you whine, smiling against his lips. “Can I take it off?” 

He tenses under your palms and you stop. His lips are above your pulse, which makes it hard to differentiate the line between right and wrong. Your fingertips buzz with the need to touch and take. His tongue sneaks from between his lips and licks a line up the column, nipping at your jaw. 

“Would it kill the mood if I said no?” 

You retract your hands and your fingers smooth over the fabric, tugging it down. Your lips part with a soft whimper, arousal gushing between your legs and fading into the water. It wouldn’t kill the mood, no, not when you’re so worked up. But it does make you think. Maybe this isn’t the perfect way to go about this, whatever perfect means in this day and age. There’s still so much you don’t know about him. Your feelings are a whirlwind, threatening to throw you up into the sky and leave you to crash down into the earth. 

Your meek sounds of pleasure subside. Javier senses your hesitation. He peels himself unwillingly from your neck and stares fixes you with a leveled gaze. 

“You want to get out?” 

Entranced, you nod. Your heart beats in your throat, uncomfortable and larger than life itself.  

“Yeah,” you answer, a beat above a whisper. “That’s probably for the best.” 

“Understood.” 

There’s a deep stillness in his eyes. With a dry mouth, all you can do is parrot his answer back to him. 

“Understood.” 

“What do you miss the most?” 

The grass beneath you is soft and cool against your skin, the wind blows warm. A blessing considering the growing cold. The earth is comfortable against your back, a welcomed reprieve from the warmth of the sun above. You feel the trickle of water, your skin damp and pliant from the droplets that still cling to you.

The sun's gentle warmth kisses your skin, the light filtered through rustling leaves. The branches dance and tease, occasionally catching your gaze and tugging you away from the clouds overhead. You can’t help but smile. A memory reminiscent of the days you would do absolutely nothing. 

Javier's body lies perpendicular to yours, his face only a breath away. You feel the warmth radiating from his skin, his gaze looking up to the sky, and you wonder what the clouds remind him of. The sun caresses his skin, drying the water droplets that cling to him, much like it does to you.

“What do I miss,” he hums, thoughtful, eyes fluttering shut. “Having a purpose, I guess.” 

“A purpose?” 

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. “It’s a bit silly I know, but before FEDRA, I was working in the DEA. My life was always hectic, but at least back then I could argue I was doing good. I was helping people. I liked thinking that I had a noble purpose in life. No matter what happened.” 

You turn your head to look at him, taking in his profile against the backdrop of the sky. He slowly opens his eyes, fixes them to the sky. A deep exhale leaves his lungs. 

“But now that I think about it, what I did wasn’t really noble back then either. I wish I spent more time with my family. It wouldn’t have been exciting, and I’d probably be bored out of my mind helping dad in the ranch, but at least I would’ve been happier.” 

You push your hand towards him and shudder at the way his knuckles brush against yours. Your fingers intertwine, his rough callouses fitting perfectly between the spaces of yours.

“What I’m hearing is you were an adrenaline junkie.” 

Your smile widens into a grin when he snorts. 

“Perhaps I was.” he muses. “What about you? What do you miss?” 

“I’m afraid my answer is less philosophical than yours,” What did you miss? You haven’t really thought about it, until now. Family and friends feel like an obvious answer. But you always felt lonely, even before the outbreak. You suffered from weird attacks you never got diagnosed, and when you attempted to explain them by calling them “something like a panic attack” you were always shut down, being told that if it was a panic attack, it would be far more serious. 

So, naturally, you closed up. Simmered in the heavy weight on your chest, crying with your hand between your legs, hoping someone one day would show up and close up the gap that you felt. You were so lonely.  But that person never came along, and then the world ended. 

“Cooking.” you answer, gauging his reaction. He squeezes your hand, thumb moving in circles on your skin. “Well, baking to be precise. I loved baking. Coffee—god, music, I miss music.” 

“Music,” he agrees. “I miss that too. Maybe if we find a guitar or something…” 

“You know how to play?” you perk up, a grin ready to take form. 

His laughter comes at the same time as the wind. The blends seamlessly with the rustling of leaves and the gentle sway of branches. It vibrates in your bones, as though his laughter is a part of the very fabric of nature itself.

“No, but I can learn. Some noise is better than none.” 

“Yeah,” you answer, seamlessly. “It is.” 

Javier was being followed. He walked past the broken-down toy shop, his steps now faster. He could feel the gaze that watched his every step. It was the crack of the morning, which was the only time he and Micheal could meet. Everything was becoming a mess of badly executed plans with feeling motifs. Every nerve felt like a live wire. It was hard sneaking around. Especially when you lived in a time where even the walls had eyes. 

“Peña!”

Javier jumped and turned, gun pointing at whoever was behind him. He saw the sight of familiar green eyes, then let out a breath. 

“Adam?” putting his gun back, he cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell are you following me for?” 

“I wasn’t following you,” he answered, almost offended. “I was looking for you. Murph brought in a lead we might be able to use and Carillo wanted me to let you know.” 

Javier nodded, ignoring the younger man’s curiosity-filled gaze. When they started to move, much to his annoyance, Adam began to voice out his rather loud thoughts. 

“What are you doing here anyway? You weren’t posted here, you were meant to patrol the east side.” 

“Felt like a walk,” he grunted. “And I don’t answer to you, pendejo.” 

Javier and Adam walked in silence as they made their way toward the Fedra headquarters. The old building was barely holding up, with paint peeling off the walls and cracks running through the ceiling. The air inside was stale and smelled of musty old books, a reminder of the once-functioning library that the Fedra headquarters used to be.

They were greeted by Carillo and Murphy, who led them to the interrogation room. A string of curses raised all the way up to the tip of his tongue. On the other side of the glass, a man was sitting down, someone he recognize very vaguely. The man was young-ish, with curly black hair and a mustache supported by a messily shaved beard. His leg bobbed up and down nervously as he waited.

Carillo grinned as he gestured towards the glass. "This is Henry. Apparently, he's willing to give us information in exchange for medicine for his younger brother."

“Is that so,” Javier answered, his gaze never leaving Henry. “And what information might that be?”

The room was small and cramped, with peeling wallpaper and a flickering lightbulb. Javier noticed a small crack in the wall that seemed to grow wider with each passing moment. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in this dilapidated building, with its creaking floors and musty air.

“The leader of the resistance. He’s going to help us catch him.” 

The corner of Javier’s lips twitched as he forced a smile. He could barely contain the heave of his chest, the fast-paced breaths he so desperately wanted to let out. 

His mind raced. Everything was about to get a hell of a lot worse. 

Your eyes are wide open, your body stiff and alert. 

It’s been a while since you and Javier decided to go to bed. Moonlight filtered through the windows, long shadows of leaves moving across the ceiling of the train. You breathe slowly; one breath in, a long breath out. You hear him. He’s mumbling something in his sleep, moving, thrashing over his bed, the springs squeaking under his weight. 

On nights like this, you try to ignore it. But it’s different this time. Memories of earlier today flood your mind; him kissing you in the river, his length pressed against the softness of your stomach, his lust-blown pupils. Then there was the moment where you laid on the grass, talking for hours with your fingers interlaced until you had to leave. You don’t have it in you to abandon him. For him to fend off the nightmares alone. 

Just hearing the sounds he makes…so full of pain, raw and emotional— there’s no way you can go back to sleep. 

Heading to his side of the car, you silently watch him. Again, he’s wearing his black undershirt and a pair of boxers. He’s laying on his stomach, one leg outstretched and one curled to the side. One hand is on the pillow whilst the other is balled into a tight fist, touching his lips. A choked whimper comes from the back of his throat. 

“Javier,” you call out, taking a step forward. “Javier wake up.” 

He doesn’t. So you try again. This time you reach out, the heat of your palm pressing into the slope of his shoulder. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to touch someone who’s buried deep in a nightmare. Especially in this day and age. 

“Jav—” 

Your reaction is close to none when you find yourself thrown to the bed, a sharp blade at your neck, drawing the smallest amount of blood. You breathe steadily. His fingers have your wrist in an iron grip, and the look in his eyes— deranged, still wet from the mirages of his past. The physical outburst isn’t enough to phase you, but the look in his eyes surely is. 

“It’s me,” you whisper, careful not to touch him. His jaw is locked, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths. “You were seeing a nightmare. It’s okay. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just you and me—Perla, remember?” 

“Perla,” he repeats slowly, lips remaining parted as he stares down at you. “Mi Perla.” 

The silence stretches between you two. Both of your heartbeats echo loud between the metal walls. Blood continues to trickle down your neck, staining the worn out sheets. His eyes drop to the wound, the small cut, and as if scorched, he throws the knife. It crashes to the floor with a loud clatter. The sound makes you jerk, a moment of fear evident enough for him to see. 

“Sorry.” he blurts out. “Fuck—shit—I…I didn’t mean to. Force of habit.” he shakes his head, his entire body trembling. “Are you okay? I didn’t—Why did you—” 

You raise your hand and his mumbling fades away. Your fingers hover an inch away from his face, you can almost feel the heat, the sweat that gathered in his pores. You give him a pleading look. 

“Can I?” Can I touch you?

He chokes out, “Yes.” Please do.

You rest your hand against his cheek. Just as you expected, his skin is damp. Your thumb rests right under his eye and you caress the soft skin. You’re surprised that he leans into your touch, seeking more of the comfort you promise to provide. You close your eyes and sigh.  You allow your hand to slide to his neck, smoothing out the nooks and crannies in his shoulder.

Javier groans as he dips down, you feel his lips on your neck, tongue darting to clean the blood. A whimper escapes you when he tenderly kisses the wound, his mouth moving slowly, gradually. Like he’s kissing your mouth. Heat coils in your stomach. Arousal pools between your legs. You play with the short hairs that are mussed against the back of his neck. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, breathless. 

He shakes his head, his voice stern. “No.” 

So you don’t. 

Javier crashes into you, breathing you in. It’s desperate, needy, and fearful. In fear of what—you’re not sure, but you have some guesses. 

You throw away your shirt and in a fit, you kick off your sweatpants. Even those brief moments of being a part are too much for you to handle, you drink him in like you would a fine wine. Your lips crashing into his again and again. 

You moan into his mouth and he swallows them all. Sucking your tongue between his teeth, he nips the soft muscle and squeezes your hips, grinding himself against your clothed sex. Your fingers trace the fabric of his shirt, tugging, but not attempting to remove it. He licks your bottom lip before breaking away from you, he sits back on his knees. 

“Sorry,” he says. “You must think I’m trying to be all mysterious. I swear I’m not.” 

“I wasn’t thinking that. You don’t have to remove it if you don’t want to,” your eyes drop to his crotch, a grin tugging at your lips as you witness the bulge. You drag your foot up his thigh. He shudders. “All we need is down here.” 

“Aren’t you charming,” his tongue thoughtfully moves over his bottom lip. You sigh as you remember how it felt against your own. “Just promise me you won’t ask any questions. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it.” 

You make a cross over your heart and raise your hand, he chuckles. 

“Alright then.” 

You’re ashamed to admit it, but you’re acting a bit like you’re in heat. He slowly peels the fabric off and your hands immediately find a spot on his waist. Your mouth waters at the exposed skin. You smooth your palms over his stomach, your lips pursing to leave kiss after kiss over his torso. 

You notice it as you start leaning over. Your eyes drawn to the massive white scar that runs from Javier’s heart all the way down to his Adonis belt. It stands out starkly against his tanned skin. Your breath catches in your throat. The veins in your temples throb loudly in your ears. With a dry mouth, you look up to him and he sees the questions in your eyes. 

“You promised.” 

Fuck, you did but you’re regretting it now.

You’re used to small scars, a bullet wound, or two. Everyone has them, including you. But you’ve never seen a scar this big. It’s death carved into his skin. Your mind races and he fixes you a steady gaze. This cut wasn’t from Kathleen and the resistance, so it must’ve happened before that. But what on earth would leave a scar so big? And how the hell did he survive it? 

Your cheeks feeling unbearably warm, you finally tear your gaze away. You feel his fingers thread through your hair, and they slowly move down to your shoulder, an ache for skin on skin contact. 

You dip down, press your lips above the end of his scar, you feel the dip of his adonis through your mouth. Javier inhales deeply and sharply. Ignoring the heaving of his chest, you dart your tongue out and lick a steady line, following the traces of the closed wound. His nails bite into your scalp, his hips stutter forward, the outline of his cock caught against the curve of your shoulder. 

Words die on your tongue. You want to say something, you’re just not sure what. If you apologized, expressed grief for his past, he would think of it as pity. If you asked about it, he’d say you’ve broken your promise. 

So you thank him instead. 

Javier enjoys that. He pushes his hands between the crease of your underarms and pulls you up, kissing you breathless. He squeezes the meat of your ass and pins you against him. You whine into his mouth. With a grin, he bites your bottom lip and tugs it between his teeth. 

“I want to taste you.” 

“Fuck, Javi,” your eyes roll back and you shudder. Your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your pussy, and it pains you that you’re shaking your head. “As much as I want that…I need your cock.” 

Javier cups your mound, fingers digging into your clothed folds. You gasp when the rough fabric brushes against your clit. You brace yourself by holding his shoulder and pressing your lips into his neck. 

“You’re so wet, shit, baby.” he groans as he grinds his hips, you whimper. “How are you this worked up already? When was the last time you’ve been with someone?” 

Your sudden hesitation to answer earns you an understanding gaze from him. Javier pulls back slightly, the movements of his fingers more gentle. 

“It’s been long,” you whisper and look away. 

“How long?”

“None after the outbreak and even before that...two years.”

He snorts and you fix him a not so serious glare. 

“Don’t pity me. It’s not all bad. I learned how to get rather creative when masturbating.”

“I’m sure you have,” he answers, staring at your darkly. “Can’t wait to see it.”

Javier drags his nose up your neck, you’re positive he can hear how excited you are. Like your heart is about to stop. 

“Say it again,” he grunts. “Tell me how bad you want my cock.” 

You sigh. “So bad.” 

“Mi Perla…I thought you learned how to get creative.” 

He sinks his teeth into your neck and you cry out, your entire body quivering as he holds you upright. He’s quick to lap at the teeth marks, lowering his head, he pushes you back so he can swirl his tongue over your peaked nipple. Arousal gushes between your legs. Your nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, fuck me Javier. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life. I want you to fill me up with that big cock of yours, fucking me into submission—” 

The last addition stumbled out of your lips, stunning you into sudden silence. You awkwardly stare up at the ceiling, shadows of trees moving and mocking you. Heat spreads under your skin. You don’t realize how tense you are until Javier nips the swell of your breasts, bringing you back to him. His fingers pull at your chin and you find yourself looking into his big brown eyes. 

Your eyes drop to the curve of his lips, and you stop breathing. 

“Fuck you into submission hmm?” he taunts, his pupils blown wide. “Looks like the little firefly is tired of being a hardened criminal.” 

“Shuddup,” you pout, averting your gaze. “Don’t read much into it. I said it in the heat of the moment.” 

“Sure you did, sweetheart.” 

Javier hooks his fingers into your thighs and suddenly you’re falling back down, the old bed creaking with protest. Before you can say anything, his weight presses into you like a heavy blanket. You moan at the heat, the feel of his skin against yours. His lips latch onto a nipple and you spread your legs wide for him, the soft ache in your thighs making your cunt drip. 

“Let’s see if you’re ready to take my big cock,” he rasps, fingers moving to slide your sticky panties to the side. “You want my fingers, baby?” 

You nod and he clicks his tongue with disapproval. 

“If you want me to fuck you into submission, you gotta use your words.” 

You finally snap.

“God, yes. I want your fingers. How many times am I going to have to say it? I want you, Javier. I’m going to explode if you don’t fuck me soon.” 

He grins at your frustration. Two thick fingers slide up between your wet folds, circling your clit. You gasp, teary eyes fluttering shut. His lips touch one, then the other. Then you feel him on your cheeks, nose, neck. You tremble. 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

Two of his fingers sink into your heat without warning, your head falls back with a moan, your legs tight around his frame. Shit, it feels good. Of course he’s good at fingering, god forbid Javier Peña is bad at anything. Your breathing becomes fast paced, your heart beating a mile in your chest. Scissoring his fingers, Javier nips at your chin. Heat coils tight in your stomach. You whimper his name, not knowing what else to do. One part of you is afraid. If you’re feeling this unbridled with just his fingers, what the hell is going to happen to you when he gives you his cock? 

Your fear goes unnoticed by him. He curls his fingers, applies pressure right where you need him. His eyes follow your every expression. You can feel it. Licking your lips, you raise your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers, Javier hums his approval and fucks them deeper. His knuckles brush your aching clit and you scream out, your fingers grabbing his wrist. 

“Too much?” he asks, but his tone lacks any actual remorse. He sounds pleased. 

Asshole. 

“Javi,” your breath hitches and you push yourself off the bed, pressing your lips right where his scar starts. Above his heart. “I need you.” 

The growl Javier lets out reverberates through his chest, sending tremors through the air and into your bones. It’s a visceral sound, primal and raw. Your lips follow the outline of his jaw. He acts like a beast, nuzzling towards your lips and grinding his molars together. 

He pulls out his fingers, a whine ripping from your throat at the sudden emptiness. His mouth brushes the shell of your ear.

“Good thing about being in an abandoned train,” he says, warm breath fanning your damp skin. You shiver. “You can be as loud as you want to.” 

Javier’s hand comes up to your chest and he pushes you back down. Your breath catches in your throat as he looks down at his cock and spits. He wraps a hand around himself, meeting your gaze as he strokes his cock. You hold your breath as he comes closer, every nerve alive and burning.  The head of his cock sinks into your heat, and you both let out a long, breathless moan. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you groan, head falling back. “Fuck, that feels good. Holy shit–”   

“It does,” he hums, capturing your lips and speaking between moments of exchanged breaths. “And this is only the tip, querida.” 

With every inch being buried, you feel your body sinking further into the bed. You feel like lead. Pleasure skims your skin. With shallow thrusts, he works you open, stretching you wide. He nips at your collarbone, the sensitive skin tucked between his teeth, he pushes further until he’s flushed against you. 

You’re shaking, your hips frantically trembling and jerking. Javier waits for you to adjust to his size. He’s incredibly deep. So deep that saliva floods your mouth, a bit of spit trailing down the corner of your lips as you cry out. He flexes his cock, and more slick trickles down your thighs. Your hands frantically pull him closer, as if he wasn’t already flushed against your chest, but he obliges, allowing his weight to fully cave down on you. 

“I’m here,” he mutters. You don’t expect the sudden sting of tears filling your lash line. “We’re both alive. We’re both okay.” 

Your walls flutter around him, and he lets out a sharp breath. Meeting his gaze, you blink. 

A sudden guilt consumes you. You should be the one consoling him. He’s the one that was woken up from a nightmare. It should be you saying those things. Not the other way around. But Javier doesn’t seem to mind. He squeezes your hip and pushes himself upright. 

“Can I move?” 

“Please.” 

He slowly rolls his hips, watching his cock disappear into your quivering cunt with heavy lids, a white ring at the thick base. When your hands aimlessly attempt to grab at him, he takes a hold of your wrists, using your arms as a leash. 

“Messy girl,” he huffs, grinding deeper into you. Your eyes roll back. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You’re so fucking wet for me, I love it.” 

A fire builds in your core, slick sounds flooding the small space. Pulling out almost all the way, Javier slams back into you, emptying the air from your lungs. His pace becomes more frantic and desperate with every thrust. Your arms ache as he yanks your body to meet the flush of his hips. The wry hairs at the base of his cock sending jolts up your body, your clit aching from the rough drag of it. You cry out his name, over and over, repeating it like a chant. His cock throbs at the squeak of your voice. Javier buries himself completely inside, grinding himself impossibly deep, stroking the sensitive spot inside. 

You’re not going to last, and if the shallow stuttering of his hips is any indication, Javier isn’t going to last either. You dig your nails into your sweaty palms. His fingers still tight around your throbbing wrists. 

“Kiss me,” you beg with a choked moan. 

And he does. Breathlessly. Again and again. The lack of oxygen makes your head spin. His lips are so soft, so tender. He licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. He lets go of your wrists and cups your breasts, rolling the peaked flesh with his thumbs. Your orgasm crests over you like a tide, your chest stammers, your breath catching in your throat. Your muscles go stiff, and then relax again. His cock twitches as you gush around him, slick pouring between your legs and wetting the mattress underneath. 

With clenched teeth, your body arches into him and you bear your neck. He bites into the offered flesh, blossoms of pain making your walls clench around him. Javier moans, laps at your salty skin, groaning, his hips jerk—deeper and deeper—until he becomes still. 

Your entire body is lit aflame as he spills into you. Instinctively, your hands cover your face, soft whimpers seeping into the heat of your palms. His cock pulses, and your muscles tense as you milk him for every last drop, your cunt clenching and fluttering around him. 

Javier smooths his lips over your knuckles, kissing the back of your hands as you slowly come down from your high. Breathing heavily, you allow your arms to go limp and fall. His eyes flit between your lips and eyes, he dips down to claim your mouth in a less draining kiss. 

“That was great,” he breathes into your mouth. “How are you feeling, perla?” 

“Like a hundred bucks,” you answer, grinning. “I forgot how good sex can be.” 

Your smile falters when he pulls out. Now that the heat of your orgasm is fading, you’re not sure what to do. Your body feels nice and limp, and god, you do not want to move. 

His seed trickles down your folds and you let out a soft gasp, your pussy fluttering. Javier seems to enjoy that, he grins and spreads your legs. 

“Bonita.” he purrs, dipping his thumb into the mess. Your head falls. “I’ll get you cleaned up in the morning.” 

“I’ll take care of it,” you answer, making a show of getting up. Javier frowns and wraps his fingers around your ankle, it’s not a tight grip, he’s just holding you. Your gaze drops. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“You can sleep here,” he drags the pads of his fingers up your legs and you shudder. “With me.” 

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.” 

“Believe me,” he says, voice dipping. “This is no bother.” 

[riddledeep]

FOP Sideblog Update - Sept. 2024

Hi! This lovely ol' sideblog's been tidied up in light of A New Wish! I have a new AU for New Wish works. Let's talk about it!

Main blog - @fountainpenguin

My FFN - My AO3

Sideblog masterpost

Housekeeping Updates

- New avatar - @zachbrightside and I updated our FOP sonas. Tossed the headcanon'd honorary pixie hat on mine! :) Shout-out to that one kid in "School of Crock" who wore this hat with no explanation. And squared my gal's wings! Experimented with pink and purple hair options, but I like the brown too much to change.

- Fixed all broken masterpost links - Checked 3 or 4 times, so let me know if you find something wrong.

- Added things to the masterpost that weren't there (Ex: Art section)

- Combed through every post and changed the bullet point system so they're easier to read, following format update from several years ago that condensed the spacing between bulleted items.

-> As part of this, I've used indents and dashes in place of bullets in many posts. I've also added periods on otherwise blank lines to force blank space, as the blank space is another thing we lost during that format update.

-> This is so posts will look better on the dashboard. The dots may seem odd when viewed directly on the blog, but it definitely makes it easier to not lose my place while editing long posts. Also, they should be more readable now than they would be if they're reblogged to others' dashboards without this change.

- I combed through the short bios and long profiles and divided paragraphs more. There were many bulky paragraphs that have now been divided in a way that should make posts - especially these big profiles - easier to read.

-> Cleaned the "Appearances" sections of the long profiles. They used to list each 'fic that character is in, but now they have a labeled AO3 link to works written by me that include that character. Sleek, clean, and automatically updates!

- Shout-out to me having Dale Dimmadome already down as one of H.P. and Sanderson's past godkids 5+ years ago. I knew that was my headcanon, but I did not remember that was on his profile and I'm glad it was, haha... oh no. I don't know what my plan is for that in light of New Wish, but I'll figure it out.

- Changed posts that called my canon Riddleverse Classic to say Cloudlands AU, since that's the new name for my series. Left the name Riddleverse for posts that encompass multiple AUs.

-> Updated my Icebreaker post with this and other new info

- Deleted any posts tagged as "Delete later"

- I have a lot of long profiles and other posts saved to my drafts from years ago. Once Tumblr shifted to the new format (including with the queue), it became so distressing and ever-changing that I struggled a lot to find my footing.

Ex: They took away line dividers, which I thought was frustrating since I used those on my long posts and found them helpful. I was holding out hope they'd return. - Some posts (like my wing refs and the giant 20k-word class overviews) kept getting flagged if I edited them, and I was worried I'd lose my stuff or have the account deleted - Back then, the queue would only tell me which day of the week something was posting, not which month or day. It was just overwhelming to create a schedule or keep track of my stuff, so I took a break from Tumblr in general.

These days, I'm much more comfortable with the editor and my queue is now more specific about deadlines. I look forward to posting here again!

I won't be on a schedule, and the big character profiles do take a lot out of me, but my plan back in the day was to release one a month. Might be able to get to there! If not, maybe the short bios.

Future of this FOP Sideblog

- More worldbuilding posts! I let this blog sit a long time because I felt like I'd said all my worldbuilding and the only thing to do now was profiles and bios (which I was reluctant to prioritize when I felt "behind" in my 'fics).

However, I found some things I'd never moved to this blog, such as my notes on aging. I'd like to post that and others I found.

- No longer hesitant about sharing stuff for "weird" characters or OCs. I had a post about celebrity kids (Poof's age and younger) that I never posted because I didn't think anyone would care about my headcanons for Simon Sparklefield (who only appears in one obscure episode I don't count as fully canon anyway) or Billy Crystal Ball (also obscure) but... Hey, that's why you're here, isn't it? So let's talk celebrities!

In other words, I'd like to bring this blog back as the unapologetic place to share my FOP things. We have references to canon characters and talk of OCs (like Hadley, Emery, Whistle, Soren, China, Anti-Saffron, Kalysta, Iris, Idona... List goes on.)

- This blog will have more polished fanart than the doodles from my main blog

- Polished 'fic cover images will be reblogged here. By this, I mean the posts I do on my main blog that outline what to expect from a 'fic. I won't reblog my general chapter announcements; I don't want to flood this blog with those.

- 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash's cover will be reblogged, but the posts for individual trains won't be. - Existing cover images will get new, polished posts for their 'fics before I reblog them here.

- I went through the blog and added the tag "Cloudlands AU" to many posts, apart from a few I'm still hesitant to edit (or where it didn't seem worth noting). Cloudlands AU refers to my lore for the 11 seasons of the main series (i.e. including the "Oh Yeah!" shorts), and this is what my sideblog was meant for.

- The reason for this new tag is to separate it from City Lights AU: my new AO3 series for works about New Wish. These works are not compliant with Cloudlands AU, which was designed years ago.

Ex: Peri and Irep will get a short bio on this blogged tagged as City Lights AU to explain what we're setting up for their characters over there, distinct from the existing short bio for Poof and Foop in Cloudlands AU (who are very well established in their arcs). In other words, I'm not rewriting Cloudlands AU canon to fit with A New Wish, but I still want to write works for New Wish. Expect bios and art for Hazel and Dev here someday (and others).

The next thing I post will be Hadley's full character profile (now with updates that are compliant with A New Wish).

After that, I'll reblog my Cloudlands AU and City Lights AU guides to this blog so they'll be under their tags and on the masterlist.

When that's all done, I'd like to knock out full character profiles for Dale, Dev, and Hazel when I can (in addition to finishing my drafts for Cosmo, Wanda, Poof, and Foop). Long, slow process, but it would be cool to have those things done by the end of 2024 or early 2025.

Feeling decent about my idea for Hazel's birthdate. I have nice options for Dev, but no commitment until Zach and I nail down where "Operation: Birthday Takeback" goes in our New Wish timeline. Enjoying the process so far! -> Dev's b-day is QUITE the toss-up between options like "National Day of Unplugging," "Plant a Lemon Tree Day," and the absolutely golden combo of "Pizza Party & Virtual Assistants Day." And perhaps others we've not investigated!

I think that's everything! Hopefully, this is the last "blog news" announcement we have for a while, and the blog can return to being a landing spot for fanart and story meta.

As always, the sideblog's Asks are closed as I want to maintain a consistent feel for this blog. You can reach out to my main blog (Askbox here) if you want to ask a worldbuilding question.

Additionally, I'm interested in following other people's worldbuilding / AUs so I can engage more with the community, especially those passionate about FOP worldbuilding. -> I'm open to self-advertisement if you want to shoot me an Ask on my main blog telling me where I can find your work! -> I'd prefer to follow a blog that is primarily for FOP worldbuilding / art / 'fics (or subscribe to an AO3 series for FOP works), but I'm open to consideration if your blog is multi-fandom! My preference: Thoughtful takes on characters and world that dig deeper than just ship art / ship 'fics- Nothing against shipping, but I'm more interested in character analyses and worldbuilding. Bonus points for a focus on miserable children, Dale lemonade trauma, Pixies, or Timmy growing up to lose his memories and live an average human life. If you don't fit this, you can still recommend your AU and I'll check it out, but that's my wishlist :) Also, if there's anyone who makes Timmy/Molly content, you are my hero and should totally link me your work.

It's such an honor to see so many followers of this sideblog despite its long absence! To those of you interested in staying with me as we enter this next phase, thank you very much - it means a lot to me - and I hope you enjoy browsing!

And to anyone who's lost interest, thank you for spending time while you were here <3

One last note - My goal has always been to reblog others' fanart for my 'fics here, but most of them are still sitting in my drafts, unreblogged. I'll queue those up. I'm always delighted to receive gift art! Feel free to tag @riddledeep and I'll reblog it here! Same goes for gift 'fics, so don't hesitate to share!

[supernovafeather]

A Loving Couple

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Summary : Leto and his wife enjoy some alone time in their quarters.

Content : fluff, slight angst (nightmare), fluff fluff fluff, sexual innuendo.

Please comment and reblog if you like it !

The moon seemed to levitate high in the skies, left unbothered by the noise of thehundreds of powerful waves that attempted to dig their way up the cliffs. Behind your chambers window, you suddenly felt tiny and insignificant as you remembered the solar system simulations you got to study years before. From there you couldn't feel the powerful wind exploding with rage and affected anything that could get stuck in its grasp from leaves to flags that were too loose in the first place, the Atreides coat of arms flying away into darkness. You narrowed your eyes, a sudden anxiety gnawing you from the inside as your wet palms played with your nightgown. One day this House would disappear, like any other one. Nothing was eternal, no ideology, no name, no civilization. Even the ones you cherished the most, as well as your memories.

"Afraid of the storm," inquired a voice behind you.

Leto had been mostly silent tonight, too tired to even try to start any meaningful conversation. This could have passed for negligence for his spouse but you knew better as you let him embrace you from behind, your gaze still glued to the sudden rain now whipping the land. The way he hold you was firm, reassuring. That was what he did best. A safe and protective soul by your side that appreciated your own safety and protective nature.

"No," you replied with a frown, "it's merely an inconvenience tonight. But I found it quite beautiful when the moonlight bathed the scenery. Now it only looks more sinister. Depressing. This time it feels as if the sun is never to be seen again."

Without much reaction to the butterfly kisses finding their favorite spot on your neck, you stared at the moon. It was magnificent. Sometimes you wished you had nothing to do with all those political affairs. Maybe being a rock floating across the solar system would make more sense but alas you got doomed by mankind's greatest and most horrifying gift : consciousness.

"I know how to distract a Lady upset by those negative thoughts," he mumbled before nibbling your ear. "Of course you do," you chuckled, "you always know. You always have a solution to everything." "I try my best. So please my Lady, how may I put an end to this melancholy of yours? If I may add… do you have any detail coming to your mind? Something we could explore together."

After a long list full of previous marital experiments as well as quite a long time spent at testing them again just to make sure you got it right, slumber found you. Then dawn found you as well and for once you were the one being awake first, in a good mood at the sight of your husband completely lost in his deep sleep. The comical view of his open mouth soon let place to a sour feeling as he closed it, his jaws clenching and his thick beard rubbing against the pillow. You knew that face too well and soon the nervous gestures of his arms muscles showed you how right you were. In silence, you extended your hand to Leto, grazing his temple gently with a sympathetic look. He exhaled sharply before jolting but still asleep he then turned his head the other way, clenched his jaws. Another jolts.

"I love you Leto. I'm here," you whispered.

Your husband calmed down and muttered something under his breath as you wiped the thin layer of sweat now forming on his forehead.

"Not fire not again," he mumbled between undecipherable words. "No there is no fire Leto, I'm here right next to you." "They said you weren't."

Some pride remained in him. He would refuse to acknowledge how damaging it had been for him to hear all the remarks about your marriage. All those insults, rumours, jokes. The sincere worries about their respected Duke about to share his life with a widow accused of being a serial widower. Leto was the love of your life and no question mark would ever appear next to those words. You fell hard for a man that chose you for an arranged marriage after thinking that life had nothing to give you anymore. Life gave you the greatest present it had to offer. And this gift needed reassurance.

"I'm here Leto I love you. I'm listening to you and answering. Everything's fine my beloved Duke." "But the fire…" he argued faintly. "There is no fire. I'm not in there. I'm here, healthy and right by your side." "They didn't burn you," he asked with a confused frown. "I'm safe "

A slight convulsion of his legs then he turned his head towards you as he could feel your hand playing with his beard. His lips looked dry so you stopped touching him to pour some fresh water in the glass waiting on the table right by your side of the bed.

"A river, love it" he mumbled.

You smiled, put the glass down the table before crawling up to Leto, a kiss placed on his forehead as you felt his mind calming down.

"A beautiful river, birds singing and your wife that loves you," you promised.

The sudden and powerful snore coming out of his mouth woke Leto up as violently as you jolted away from him and you watched the way he scratched his beard with closed eyes, his tired face translating the confusion reigning in his mind after this.

"Good morning my lovely liege, I got some water for you." "G'morning," he groaned in a cracked deep voice.

It took him a few seconds to stop looking around, a smile appearing as the nightmare left his mind slowly but for good. As your husband took long sips you kissed his cheek then his temple, grinning while doing so as you got closer to him, your hands wandering under the blanket to run down his warm thigh flesh. After he finished drinking he raised an eyebrow at you.

"How can you do it more than twice" he asked in disbelief. "I just wanted you to start a new great day with your great wife and her great care. So let's say that three might be good sometimes."

After a few seconds spent at rubbing his thigh you kissed the corner of his lips to push your corruption attempt even further.

"I love you Leto. I hope you know it. You are a wonderful husband. Not only in bed. In general." "I love you too and thank you, wonderful wife but I have the regret to inform you that sadly, this won't be possible right now," he replied with a tired face but mischievous eyes.

Not insisting anymore you still let a trail of kisses on his bare shoulder, appreciating the muscles rolling under his skin. Even when nonsexual the contact of his skin appeased you. This was his power.

"As you wish my Lord, my Duke, my liege," you whispered against his lips.

Leto kissed you deeply with a slight grin that vanished as he interrupted the kiss in an almost authoritative shift, a stern gaze examining your face.

"Why so much eagerness this morning ?" "I don't know. I want my husband to be all mine all the time these days. I love him very much after all." "I'm all yours every day, every second. After all I have other ways to show you, even when I'm tired."

The playful mood erupting on your face got replaced by one of surprise as you fell backwards. The laugh that erupted from your mouth echoed in your ears before getting silenced by a gentle kiss crowned with a smile.

- - - - -

Thank you for reading please comment and reblog if you like it !

@queen-of-elves @qrjung

[court-jobi]

Sneak Peek: Just Be Gentle pt 2

Gif credit by @javier-pena

I am SO delayed in this, but WIP Weekend it is! Recommended by the lovely @djarins-cyare, thanks friend!

I have not visited my drafts folder in sooo long, but I'm coming out of an unintentional writing hiatus and have fresh motivation to open the ole lappytop back up for a little sample to share. Part 1 of this fic was much beloved by yall apparently, so it continues here!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x reader

Words: 1.9K (for now)

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Paz watched the scene before him unfold; the heat of compassion bloomed in the gut like stoking a fire…

Din Djarin swore on the deed of his ship that he wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a flag solidly in her camp, and would go to arms for her as a returned gesture of loyalty. From that first meeting when the Hunter came back through the alcove to Nevarro’s covert, he spoke on his companion’s competence on several fronts. Namely, in all the ways that resonated with his people: creative thinking, handy know-how, and something more: empathy- a gift not to be ignored when it came to caring for others -himself included- in moments of high stress. 

He praised her talents ‘all across the board’, citing moments in their brief stint together on the Razor Crest as testimony to his Mandalorian clan for her to remain there in shelter– to be the exception to their rules regarding outsiders. Aruetti. 

A surprise to none, Paz Vizsla deemed that it would be up to him to judge such loyalties for himself; as a man more inclined to view actions as proof rather than words. 

But then he met her. Every bit of what Djarin said was true. Better yet, she proved every assumption of his wrong: allowed her to take him by the crook of his arm, surrendered her best vote of confidence, and let him lead. Acquiesced to his strength, protected it, and encouraged him at every turn. Saved him the first of her meals, the best of her scavenged findings. Took to tending to his wounds herself, because he wasn’t gentle enough to do so on his own.

A few weeks have passed since that day, but his fondness for her didn’t wane like the moon’s phases did. Paz Vizsla made it his mission from that moment forward to carry an extra ounce of gentleness, just for her. 

Then, the refugees came pouring in. Her arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly, Paz thought; he’d only begun to see the full measure of little Song’s magic the moment he saw her skills at work. 

A smaller covert made a quick exit and raced to safety after a raid depleted their stores a few systems over. There had been some rumors of their hunter clans taking the bait of Guild membership in order to make ends meet, as they’d seen in Djarin’s success. The Way instilled a sense of belonging wherever Mandalorians crossed paths, so merging on his covert’s territory for the upcoming season out of necessity was a given.

But now, in light of Nevarro’s storm season, it seems their numbers would be doubling indefinitely. The situation proved to be a strain and test of everyone’s flexibility and resilience, to keep everyone content and organized on such short notice… but with a Vizsla as Alorad, they flourished with the change in plans and watched on as Paz steeled himself against Fear, and made everything suitable. Supplies were rationed and rooms were stuffed to the brim, but they would make do.

While they may not have resources with them in tow, they more than made up for it by pulling their weight in preparation for the underground shelters. And that, would benefit all. 

Song made herself indispensable, true to what Djarin had said. Moreover, she did so with caring smiles and solemn assurances to the migrating Mandalorians -young and old- who felt very out of place. To those men who lost their way in the bustle and found themselves turned around in the tunnels, she would give quick pointers about where to go– and thanked them for their service to the clan, each and every one. 

Learning fast. Paz was grateful.

Upon nightfall, there was less commotion than normal. As the common spaces gradually funneled down, bedchambers were lit and sealed for the night. For the most part, it was the heads of families -adults- who went to rooms for the night as a chance to let down and get their heads on straight after such a sudden move. Surely not all slept right away, but took to tending to their armor and delving into their meditation practices.

 Meanwhile, their children under ten or so were sent off to the creche where they could be watched over. The community room was next to the medstations, and as kids are often ones to complain of very little bout of aches, pains, or simple snotty noses, it was the logical choice. 

Two crechemasters stayed in the spacious alcove of the Medbay annex overseeing the creche, as well as one of the resident tribe’s kitchen aides, a few men as guards near the entrance and supply doors… and a certain someone -with a voice like the Coming of Spring- that Paz Viszla could never refuse pausing for a minute to listen….

Clearly tugged by the soft spot within him, Paz volunteered to serve first watch over the children for their first night, which made their parents feel that much more assured of their protection. So with blankets pulled from every corner of spare storage, canvas mats laid this way and that, and with juvenile excitement despite the circumstances, the children all got to sleep and the staff interchanged periods of rest until all was quiet by the early waning hours of morning. Even the covert’s local young ones came to join this slumber party of sorts. For the sake of welcoming and strengthening bonds, the crechemasters allowed it. 

Right after the 0300 guards changed out, Paz heard it. Inside the alcoves inset bunks, one of the smallest boys -nearly four years old- was making a steady and increasing amount of noise, until he startled himself awake and clearly didn't know where he was. He was calling for his babuir in their native tongue; but by his aimless flailing about, it’s clear he’s looking for just about anyone bigger than him that might come to his cry for help.

Before Paz could overstep one of the sleeping children nearest him to respond, he caught the woman he'd know to know as the 'Songbird of the Covert' slipping out of the window jumpseat like a sparrow off its perch, flying to the child's stuttering form up on the riser.

"Well hi honey, g'morning to you too~ Pretty early, isn't it?"

Seeing a soothing figure coming to his call, little threadbare arms immediately shot out and spoke brokenly in bits and pieces of a particular Sundari dialect. Basic wasn't his strong suit. Then again, it gave way to crying in minutes anyway, so his distress was clear and the language barrier mattered little.

"Hm?-- ohhh, aw c'mere bub..” the woman set the child on a hip as he clutched to her. She set them in a sway, “Yeah, you can stay up with me– I can always use some snuggles, too."

The toddler nuzzled in but by his whimpers, Song moved towards the open atrium with more room to walk around and hopefully not disturb the sleeping of any others. 

Paz met her there. She'd looked his way with a pitiful expression, traipsing about with the little one in her arms and keeping his little shoulders pressed in close.

"Bad dreams, I'd say," she murmured low to Paz, in Basic. "But I can't tell if anything else is wrong. Doesn’t feel too warm, not coughing. Seems trusting though, poor thing. " she shrugged, motioning to how easily the child was settling.

Through his careful watch of her across the room, he’d caught her sneaking the back of her hand to his forehead earlier in a move masked as just fixing his curls, but fortunately, he must not have been found feverish to warrant more worry. 

Paz came to bring a big, steady hand on the child's back. The kid turned his head from her neck to find the new Alorad tilting his helmet to match, and  made a big sniff to put on a brace face. Shy and no doubt aware of this elder’s importance, he snuck out a little wave back in acknowledgement.

"//Be at peace, young one. You're safe in the Reliable one's arms, that you are.//"

Whatever Paz said to this "adika" -as he seems to have called him- brought relief to the child, as he hugged her neck tighter and made himself comfortable again in her arms.

An amused whisper graced his ears as she looked up at him,

"What'd you say?"

"That he has nothing to worry about," Paz shared kindly. "He seems to like you."

 "I wouldn't think these kiddos would trust strangers so easily after what they've been through," she smoothed back the child’s hair gently- thankfully, his breathing evened out into sleepy sighs.

 "They've had quite the eventful last few days."

She kept humming away for a minute, trying to subconsciously lull the child the rest of the way. She looked absently over the nursery if other young ones, but Paz was captivated by her alone.

This instinct must have been what Djarin was talking about. She hadn't hesitated to jump right in, even though she must have been on the edge of sleep herself- if her state of dress was any hint. Shed opted for no outer protective layers for this reason perhaps- a source of comfort for the little ones, and though perhaps it was also to signify to them she was not a warrior or someone too formal for them to shy away from.

Finally seeing the child dozing back fully, Paz offered to take the child from her and set him back on his bunk above them.

 She let him, adjusting her loose cardigan back onto her shoulder. Shed opted for that over her cropped black body glove that acted as a breastband, and the loose comfy pants that honestly have fit Paz better, but she made do with her current wardrobe and didn't bother worrying about outfits too much.

Here, just over his shoulder, she watched the Big Blue tuck -yes, tuck- the child in. Stepping away only when he saw the child try to settle into his new sleep position did he step away and back towards her retreat to her watch corner.

"Teacher and carer? You're the dual package, Mr. Vizsla."

"I do what I can. It's not often I get to see our children be children- I would preserve that wonder in them if I could."

Childlike innocence: to hear the hardest-working, stoic soldier speak on such tender things was a thing of wonder itself. 

“I’ve only ever seen the little ones work their drills here– recitations, history lessons.” She looked about the room. “I haven’t seen kids this young in a year, much less so many crammed into one room.”

“Well, the rooming arrangement is common practice,” Paz explained, his trademark patience a soothing constant- even through the helmet, “You’ll find a nursery like this in every covert across the galaxy.”

Then, a more sobering thought, one that brought pity to the forefront of her mind:

“If– you weren’t all living down here, would they be going to a normal school? Making other friends? At least while they’re young?”

As if she expected any other answer, Paz’s reflex came through the form of his gentle whisper: “This is the Way.”

“That it is,” she firmed up a knowing smile. “There’s so many of them, going through so much newness at their age.”

Paz agrees, though knows no other way than the community that sleeps before them. To watch the woman’s empathy radiate from her being -those angel eyes- was to know the warmest ray of sunshine in the pit of winter. Such a calm presence… that’s what these youth need, after all. She’s exactly where she should be.

[inherstars]

Prospect | Ten Questions (More or Less) | (1 of 2)

Cee and an injured Ezra make it back to the The Bellwether in the dead mercenaries' pod, and must settle in for the first few nights of their new life. Writing Ezra's dialogue is going to be the fucking death of me.

It was pretty smooth sailing, up until the Purser asked about their affiliation.  Ezra was usually good at thinking on his feet, but he wasn’t precisely in top form.

“Oh, this is my…”  A glance to Cee, a gesticulation.  Clearly, anyone could see that they were, uh…

“Cous--” she started.

“Daught--”

Nope. Fucked that all the way up.  Ezra licked his bottom lip and looked at the Purser, who was thoroughly unimpressed with whatever the hell was happening in front of him.

Ezra tried again.

“You see, my companion here--”

The men held a hand up stiffly, palm out, stopping him in his tracks.

“You know what? Don’t fucking care.  Manifest says your docking and berthing fees are paid, and your names didn’t throw up any red flags in the system.  That’s the beginning and end of the shits I give.”

It was slightly hard not to notice that Ezra was sweating buckets and listing on his feet, a hand clutched over a blister of biomedical expanding foam protruding like a fungal growth from a tear in his enviro-suit.  And also missing a goddamned arm.

Ezra grinned at him, head sagging sideways. He would have sold both kidneys just to end this conversation, but it was in his nature to always have more words for a given situation than was even remotely necessary.

“That so, my good man?”

The Purser passed him a set of key cards. “Make sure that it stays that way.”

As Cee intercepted the cards, he scrutinized her a bit more carefully. “...although.  I kinda remember you.  Thought you were here with a different guy.  Older.  Thick beard.”

Ezra smiled and risked taking his hand off the foam, scratching his short black scruff of five o’clock shadow. Or whatever the temporal equivalent was, out in the ass end of space.

“Freshly shorn,” he said.  “A good shave takes twenty years off a man, doesn’t it?”

Cee took his elbow, impatient.  “Is that all?  Can we go?”

The Purser’s tongue glossed grimly over his teeth.

“Last question.  Anything to declare?”

“Indeed,” Ezra agreed.  “We are extremely tired, and would like to get to our quarters.”

She dragged him down the corridor.

Cee knew her way around the master ship, having already spent hours exploring its endless, meandering, lonesome passageways.  She knew all the places to curl up with a notebook, all the spots that maintenance and security couldn’t be bothered to inspect in the wee hours of curfew.  Ezra, however, was a babe in the woods, and she mentally prioritized everything he would reasonably need -- and need to do -- before they were shut in for the nightly lockdown.

She dragged him as far as the infirmary, explaining the shorthand of ship’s interior mapping as she went: the blue lines on the floor led to the bathrooms and shower rooms; white led to medical; yellow to engineering; black to operations; brown to cargo and docking; green to passenger berths.

“Green to passenger berths,” he echoed.  The feverish, sleepy heaviness of his eyes was deeply worrisome.  She stared rivets into him, wondering exactly how much hand-holding he was going to need to get through this.  Hopefully not too much, already at the disadvantage of only having one hand.

“I’m going to go get a shower,” she said slowly, firmly, then nodded to the infirmary’s main doors. “You need to go in there.  They can get you… fixed up.”  She looked him over, doubting herself even as she said the words.  “Or.  Close to it.”

“I will get put right,” he promised.  “Worry not your pretty head about that, little bird.”

Yeah, this was going to be a ride.

Cee pressed one of the keycards into his hand.  Twice.  Then a third time, manually curling his fingers around it until he gripped it reflexively.

“Infirmary.  Then shower.  Then berth. In that order.  I’ll meet you there. OK?”

He nodded drunkenly.  She stared hard.

“What color do you follow to get to the berths?”

Ezra had a moment of quiet panic, then blurted, “Green.”

Cee breathed out hard as she turned.

*******

It was going to take him awhile, so Cee didn’t rush.  She paid for a locker outside the shower room, peeling from her enviro-suit and stuffing it into the lockbox alongside her much-abused backpack.  She checked her onboard credit and was delighted to find a small stash saved up from odd jobs since their last deployment, and the occasional,  meager allowance her father grudgingly gave her.  Damon’s life savings were stored in the system somewhere, as well, but she had no idea how to access it.  It was hers by rights… surely she could do something with it, if she got her hands on it.

Ezra would probably know how.

She showered for what felt like an hour, practically emptying the little wall dispensers off the gritty all-purpose cleanser that turned into soap under the water.  She scrubbed her skin raw, elbows and shoulders and scalp, until the automated reminder chimed that her water allotment was nearing its end.

Her first treat to herself was a fresh set of “Skivvies” -- a prepackaged set of plain white t-shirt, sweatpants and the world’s most generic underwear, not quite one-size-fits-all, but one-size-kinda-fits-skinny-ass-space-orphans.  She blotted her hair dry in the steamy mirror, staring at her fogged reflection until it slowly cleared.

Did she look older?  She felt older.

Her possessions recollected from the pay locker, she stopped by the ship commissary for something to eat, but was disappointed to find they’d already closed until the next day cycle.  Ah well.  The shower was worth it.

Taking her own advice, she followed the scuffed green pathway on the gridded floors, eventually wending to the berth that matched the engraving on her keycard.

Ezra was already cleared from the infirmary and waiting for her, hunkered down on one of the two narrow cots on either side of the small compartment.  There wasn’t much to it besides the beds, to be honest -- a little stainless steel sink and mirror, an alcove apiece for clothes or other personal items, and a kotatsu-style coffee table in the very center, though from Cee’s experience the heating element often didn’t work.

Ezra pawed through a small, rattling drawstring bag screen-printed with a bright red caduceus, though he glanced up at her as she entered.  He looked better.  Still punch-drunk and sweaty, but more alert.  Cleaner, too, which meant he’d listened to her instructions about hitting the showers.  He even wore an identical set of Skivvies, albeit his were better suited to his frame.

The look she gave him wasn’t relieved, however.  She didn’t doubt the pill bottles rattling around in that bag were legitimate, and freshly prescribed, but the sight of a grown man feverishly going after drugs still put her on edge.

“You look better,” she said cautiously, shutting the door behind her and squeezing over to her own cot on the room’s opposite side.  It was freshly sheeted, equipped with a small pillow and a tightly folded green blanket.  Standard issue.  The bare minimum for what they’d paid.

Ezra resumed his digging and rattling.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”  He paused, then said, “Actually… perhaps I am being a sight uncharitable to our fine men and women of the onboard facilities.  They did indeed patch me up… albeit at some cost.  Well worth the expense, mind you.”  He flicked her a brief, appreciative look as she settled on the edge of her bed.  “Thanks in no small part to your skilled intervention during my time of need.  They commended your surgical skills.”

Cee made a small noise, noncommittal, as her hands smoothed the crisp, coarse bedsheet.

“What did they give you?”

“A stern and critically judgemental eye and a wide berth.”

She rolled him her most sixteen-year-old look of exasperation, and he uttered a rough laugh.

“The usual pharmaceutical compliment to one in a state such as I.”  He finally got tired of trying to dig around one-handed and pulled out the bottles one by one, inspecting them and placing them on the table.  Cee stretched, picking them up as well, studying the labels.  “Well, see for yourself.”

The names all looked like random generated combinations of letters, but she was familiar enough with them to recognize a course of antibiotics, anti-virals, anti-inflammatories, cellular regenerators.  Her nose wrinkled as she set them back down, and Ezra began popping the lids with his thumb, swallowing each dose dry as he went.

“I get the antibiotics.  What are the anti-virals for?”

“Under other circumstances, young lady, if you are to encounter a man on a course of powerful anti-virals, I will advise you very strongly to run the other way, but in this instance, specifically, they are to help ward off what’s coming.”

Pill after pill after pill.  One got stuck and he grimaced and held his head back, massaging his throat to help it go down.

“...what’s coming?”

He finally got it past his adam’s apple and, with a sigh of relief, stashed them all back in the canvas bag.

“Ah, the sweet springtime innocence of the perpetual Floater.  Troubadours or -- dare I say -- modern-day Romanichel of the Fringe.  You, little bird, have the lived the sort of rootless, vagabond life that equips your ilk with a robust immunity to the most common and problematic afflictions that run rampant in such…” He paused, circling a hand at the air. “...close and questionably maintained quarters.  Unlike myself who, having now spent more seasons than I care to admit plumbing The Green for my fortune -- or, let us be honest, the fortunes of others -- have no such acquired defense.”

Cee needed a moment to absorb all that, and it wasn’t until he rattled the last bottle at her that she understood.

“Prophylaxes,” he said.

She blinked, thoughtful.  “This place is going to make you sick?”

“Miserably so, yes,” he agreed, wincing and grimacing as he lowered himself to his back.  “And quickly, besides.  For a short time only, fortunately -- at least until the internal gyroscope of such things orients itself more in my favor.  But it will be an unfortunate few weeks until that happens.”

He’d nearly relaxed into the mattress when something occurred to him, and he propped up on an elbow.  Thoughtlessly he tried to reach back into his bag, then realized he was already utilizing the only arm he had available.  With a bitter sigh he sat all the way up, wobbling and nearly losing his balance, then fished something from the bag.

A trio of Bits Bars hit the table with a thud.

“Very nearly forgot.  I was fortunate enough to make it to the commissary before they closed.  These are for you.”  He laid back again, more slowly this time, grimacing as he went.  “...I hope you like the strawberry ones.”

Cee stretched for one of the bars, fingering the foil finseal before tearing it open.

She did like the strawberry ones.  She liked them very fucking much.

Peeling it open at one end, eating with unexpected contentment, Cee asked, "What do we do now?"

“I cannot speak for you, little bird,” he rasped, draping his forearm across his eyes.  “But I, for one, am going to sleep.  My internal clock is ruint, and the only remedy for such things is sleep.  And plenty of it.”  He lifted his elbow just enough to peek at her from beneath.  “...I advise you do the same.”

Cee had nothing else to do, so why not.  Her music player was back down in the old Pod on The Green, never to be recovered, and it was weeks since she lost her well-loved copy of Streamer Girl.

She still had her notebook, though.  Her little private capsule of friend who knew her name.  Who liked her, and enjoyed her company.  Whose inner and interpersonal conflicts and joys she understood as well as she did her own.

Cee fished the notebook out, folding back the cover, and eased back onto her pillow to read.

She was asleep before the shipwide intercom chimed with the onset of curfew, and the berth’s internal lights automatically dimmed to darkness.

Continued here.

[your-averagewriter]

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.”

Summary: After trekking through the rainforest the Suicide Squad stumble upon a camp and after a brief massacre they discover Rick Flag, uninjured and not captured.

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, gore, Suicide Squad violence and warnings

-

-

After a day of walking through a rainforest, moisture attaching itself to my skin I try to shrug off the feeling of dirtiness. We reach a makeshift camp and are instantly told to execute anyone and everyone within.

A brutal but sadly common order in the Suicide Squad. DuBois and Peacemaker have an obvious rivalry not leaving many to the rest of us but I’m not complaining. I’ve never been someone to enjoy killing, only when ordered to or when it’s necessary, that’s not to say I’m bad at it, don’t misunderstand.

I approach the camp, following behind the two in competition, not something I wanna get involved with. Slowly, I pull out a few bullets from my bag, toss one in the air, catch it then throw it, propelling it straight into a man’s head. Sunlight shines through from the other side, illuminating the cascading blood from the wound. I repeat the process with a second bullet, lodging it in someone’s skull before moving on through the camp.

Watching the two ‘vigilantes’ act like children is entertaining for a few minutes but gets old quickly as they fight over the last victim. Quickly, I pull out two bullets from my bag and propel them at the same time towards the last man standing. Falling over, you can see the two holes the bullets paved through his eyes, perfect shot, I think allowing a small smile at the precision and accuracy.

Both of them turn to me, glaring ever so slightly annoyed that I took away their tie breaker but we have a mission to do and competition with each other will only get each other killed.

“Damn it.” I hear both of them say, frustrated, watching as the man falls, flat on the ground, the remains of his eyes splattered nearby.

Staying silent, I follow closely behind the leader and another who has also deemed himself a leader (Peacemaker). His ego seems to have no bounds, from his pretentious name to stupid hat.

Heading towards a tent, DuBois pulls open the entrance to reveal a short woman in some sort of uniform and a patched up Rick Flag. They turn to us in confusion which is mimicked by our faces.

“(y/n)?” He asks and I furrow my brows looking at him, sitting laughing in a tent whilst we were out fighting and trying to protect the island.

I step back, out of the tent slowly as too many emotions flood my system making me not be able to think straight. I just need to get out of here.

I don’t walk far and I don’t know what to do so I walk through the camp following the trails of my murders tracing my bullets. They’re not really that special but I don’t know what to do right now.

Feeling a tear carve a path down my face, my hand flies up immediately to swipe it away and I refuse to cry or to let anyone see me cry. I grab at the bullets, forcing my fingernails into my palms almost drawing blood but the pain stops the tears from falling. Reversed logic but when did emotions ever make sense. Stuffing the bullets back into my bag I walk over to a fallen tree where I perch my head in my hands, not crying, not angry, just overwhelmed. Although, an overwhelmed assassin can be a dangerous thing.

This whole experience only lasts seconds in reality but it feels like it’s going on forever.

Waller convinced me to go on this mission stating that Rick had been captured, that he was being used by the enemy, she didn’t outright say he was being tortured but it was heavily implied.But here he is laughing in a tent with some random people, certainly not looking captured.

I know it’s not his fault that he's unharmed, not captured by the enemy, I’m not mad at him, it’s Waller as usual - manipulating me using my emotions and using the one person I care about to force me on this mission.

Rick emerges from the tent a few moments afterwards, likely done with a short debrief for DuBois and the others. He scans the forest, tracing the treeline, looking for me and eventually he clocks me sitting on the tree.

“(y/n)-” I interrupt.

“Why are you here? I don’t understand.” I say, my hands threaded in my hair.

“Trust me, I’m about to ask you the same thing.”

“Waller called me in, she told me you had been captured and were probably being tortured. That’s why I’m here. Why aren’t you being tortured?” He chuckles quietly. “I know that sounds weird.” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Waller lied to you.” I sigh. What I thought has now been confirmed.

“I can’t believe she would do that… Well, I can.” I frown.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, wrapping his arm around my waist, resting his head on top of mine. “I don’t want you to be here because of me.”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve just gotta make sure we both get out of it now so we can deal with Waller later on.”

“Yeah. Then you can show Waller what you’re made of.” 

“She won’t know what hit her.” I manage a small smile. There’s a comfortable silence that falls over us before I stand up holding onto his hand, cherishing the warmth he provides me with. “We should get back to the others…” I say.

He agrees quietly, following after me. We walk back over to the tent where the others are standing and talking with the people in uniform.

“DuBois?” I say and he turns around upon hearing his name. “Did you know?” I ask.

“Know what?”

“That Flag wasn’t captured, wasn’t tortured.”

“I didn’t know Flag was here.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Peacemaker asks. “Why is he so important?”

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.” I say, the anger of Waller lying being emphasised by Peacemaker’s idiocy. I feel Rick squeeze my hand, an attempt to calm me. I don’t have anger issues but there are some specific things that rile me up.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Robert stands in the middle of us putting his hands up, preventing escalation. “He’s just a dick.” DuBois says quietly.

“Hey, I can hear you!” Peacemaker shouts.

“Fuck off!” I yell back.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

I'm so boring with my title recently, I've just been putting quotes from the fics, I'm sorry haha.

I thought you'd want to be tagged @mandy-eminem-moxley77 (I have a much better Rick Flag fic that I'm gonna post tomorrow or the day after that's 'spicy' so...)

[silver-ink-iron-words]

T_T

This is so touching!

I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this. But then I was like, I've already made them wait long enough, and what's the harm of posting two things in one day?

Felt it'd be nice to have Part 6 be a little less plot-driven. You'll see what I mean

-------

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

QPR, Part 6

“[Hero], come on!” the villain called, from where they laid sprawled on the couch. “You said it wouldn’t take that long!”

“Hold on just a sec.” The hero’s voice floated from the kitchen. “They’ll be done soon.”

The villain scowled and flopped back on the pillows. “You never see Do-yun making Ha-rin wait around forever.”

“That’s because tv shows have this magical trick called the jump cut.” There was the sound of an oven door closing. “We'll just let them bake, and then they’ll be so good you won’t even remember the wait.”

The villain groaned.

Then they heard the sound of running water, and burst up, rushing into the kitchen. “Are you doing my dishes?!”

The hero jerked their head up like they’d been caught vandalizing. “I was just going to do a few while we waited.”

“Okay, one, you do not need to do my chores on k-drama night. And two, how long is the baking going to take?!”

The hero glanced to their phone on the counter. “’Bout fifty more minutes.”

The villain gaped. “That’s most of an episode!”

“Well I didn’t want us to have to pause the show during a big scene. This way we can – Jesus your hands are freezing!”

The villain had come up behind the hero to hug them, pressing their hands on the hero’s stomach.

“Come watch tv dear,” they said into the hero’s shoulder. “I’m cold without you.”

The hero shook their head, but also cracked a small grin. “You’re evil.”

The villain matched their expression and pressed their hands more. “Of course I am. It’s the only way I can get you to cuddle me.”

In the end, the brownies were, in fact, good enough to make the villain forget why they were annoyed in the first place.

---

“Oh my god,” the hero said.

The villain fidgeted. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” The hero looked up. “[Villain], it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The hero was holding a small fluffy teddy bear, its fur the black, grey, white, and purple of the asexual flag.

The villain beamed. “Really?”

The hero nodded gleefully. “He needs a name.”

“I think the tag says its name is ‘Fuzzy’ or something. You could – ”

“Ferdinand,” the hero decided, assessing the stuffed animal. “Ferdinand Bearnsby. The next Prince of Denmark.”

The villain wrapped the hero in a hug. “I’m so glad you like it.”

---

“So is [Villain], like, a law-abiding citizen now?” the hero’s friend asked.

“Uh, sort of?” The hero gazed around at the restaurant’s outdoor seating area. “They still break minor laws, but I think they’ve really toned it down to stress me out less.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

The hero swirled their iced tea with their straw. “Yeah, I guess.”

The friend quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

The hero sighed. “Okay, so don’t ever tell [Villain] this, but I think their ‘devil may care’ attitude is maybe, kinda . . . a little bit cool?”

The friend grinned. “Oh really?”

In return, the hero’s smile was sheepish. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I secretly wish that they’d behave more like their old villainous self sometimes.”

“Hm, well I suppose that – ”

Something enormous crashed into the street, making all the dishes clatter. The hero and their friend both whipped their heads around to see the cause of the noise.

“[Villain]!”

“Oh hi [Hero]!” The fifty-foot tall mech waved at the two of them. “Fancy meeting you here. How did you know it was me?”

“[Villain], why are you in a giant robot?!”

“Isn’t it cool?” The villain spun around, their heavy feet cracking the pavement and the machine's hinges screeching with every movement. “I finally figured out how to get the power system working.”

“This is illegal.”

The villain laughed. “Ah okay, I see the issue. But, fear not my darling, for I have” – they pulled out a sheet of paper that looked miniscule in their enormous metal hands – “a permit!”

Soon after, the mech continued walking down the street, while the hero followed them, shouting at the top of their lungs.

The friend watched them go, and then chuckled. Those two maniacs were perfect for each other.

---

A-spec stories taglist:

@feline17ff , @piept , @doublericenobeans , @vioqueenofmushrooms , @pigeonwhumps , @thelazywitchphotographer , @taramacgay

[problematicfactive]

Fruit Salad is a new discord server. They are a fun. Welcoming community. Too bad they're actually not accepting of anyone they don't agree with and believe trying to come to an understanding is "unproductive"

If anyone is able to provide image IDs, that would be amazing, I'm physically incapable at the moment

The first red flag was their rules saying something along the lines of "be respectful to sources, of a source is problematic, report it in a ticket" surely that will go well.

Our host clued into it, and immediately opened a ticket to ask what that meant. of course they claimed they knew Introjects don't choose their source BUT problematic introjects have to source separate.

Fellas, is it appropriate to claim that any introject, problematic or not is "parading" their source by simply. Existing?

Now I will admit. When we were asked "what we were trying to do" we assumed they meant "why are we having this conversation" and did our best to explain that. However, looking back, this may not have been the question they wanted an answer to. The question feels too vague to answer, and we did our best. It also seemed like they were just trying to change the topic of conversation because they didn't want to be face with the fact that they were wrong and we had a good point.

Again, I don't understand what they want to know when they say "what is your end goal" my end goal is to know what's okay so I can know if I'm safe in this community.

To be as insensitive as to make a joke about using a discord bot being torturous when I had just been talking about abuse of individuals is what told me I wasn't safe. Someone after that when said "LMAO" which I skipped over to make the whole conversation fit better

And this is actually a problem I've been having for a while so I have something that people need to get through their heads and we need to help people to understand

No one has to disclose a SINGLE BIT of information about their system to ANYONE. If a mod is trying to coax the information out of you or shaming you for not giving it, you need to call them out for being innapropriate because asking these questions and using your position to ask these questions or shame for not answering is a absolutely innapropriate

Now I have explained this before, but I will explain this again and probably 100 more times. When my system found out who my source was, I was abused. at the same time, I was forced to undergo name changes and identify under different faces. It was a terrible and isolating experience and absolutely a part of the abuse I endured. And while another system can easily say "okay, whatever, Ted can be Dan in this server" we can't. Because I can't. Because of the abuse I endured I can't lie about who I am it is torturous to me. It leaves me unhappy. It leaves me feeling sick. I don't deserve to be exposed to old abuse I endured because you relate source separation to keeping your old name.

Guess what, a name is a word someone calls to get your attention.

And a pic of you is what you look like

And neither of these things have anything to do with what i support or enjoy

Stop acting like my worth is based on my source and start acting like it's based on what I do for my system. People who show up to the hypocrite competition go home when they see people like you (directed at people like this not any reader) because you're the all time champion and that's not something to be proud of. Don't run system friendly spaces if you think source connection comes from how much like you your pfp looks

[science-lings]

I've been thinking a lot about Phoenix's family, and I got carried away so I'm going to put the whole essay below the cut, I'm so normal about him

I'm sorry there's just no way that Phoenix has any sort of normal family situation, not just because they're never mentioned even in passing as he goes through extremely major life events, but also because of how he is as a person. You cannot convince me that the guy who fell head over heels for Dahlia two seconds after meeting her had any sort of reliable support system in his life. When she got arrested the only person he could think about was a guy he hadn't seen since they were both nine instead of any current person who would likely care that he almost got poisoned and arrested for murder.

While I think it would be nice if he had lesbian moms who loved him, it just doesn't quite fit in with what we know about Phoenix. I mean, even in the WAA/WTA the only photograph on display is Zak's, and if there isn't a better person to put on the wall than the biological father of his daughter who abandoned her, that's pretty sad. (though I personally like to think that his portrait was there specifically as a target for things like darts and throwing knives). Plus, we already know from the thing with Dahlia that Phoenix's primary way of dealing with trauma and abusive people is just to pretend nothing happened and force himself to forget about them.

That's not even mentioning this guy's abandonment issues and complete willingness to adopt anyone he finds into his found family with zero hesitation. He meets Ema once for a few days, someone he has no personal connection to, but because she reminded him of Maya he stays in contact with her at some capacity to the point that he keeps her investigative tools with him and can have his name be used to gain her favor. Also, there's that new years art where she gets drunk with the Wright's and Apollo. And there are several more young adults/teenagers like that, he's got that foster kid to foster dad energy.

What I think makes the most sense is either that he was given up for adoption/ was an orphan in the foster care system who was passed around a lot, never getting too attached to one family, which led to his abandonment issues, or that he had a normal family life until something happened that estranged them from him. As a staunch believer in Transmasc Phoenix my thoughts are that he had transphobic parents so when he left for university he cut them off and changed his full name which explains why he is so desperate for emotional connection at that time. He suddenly has no one but a dream to find Miles and a girlfriend whose red flags he's completely blind to.

But honestly, there are so many reasons that people could come up with that would also make sense for his character. Maybe they were emotionally abusive and since everyone around him has dead or horrifically bad parents he's just not going to ever bring it up because who is he to complain when his besties are Maya Fey and Miles Edgeworth. Maybe they were just absent a lot and he had to take care of himself (and perhaps younger siblings) until he just couldn't take it anymore. Maybe they just tried to get him a girlfriend to settle down with one too many times and he just refuses to visit them, not even on holidays like Christmas or new years. It's just fascinating to me that there's absolutely nothing about them, I think there was even one of those little (official?) comics that poked fun at the fact that he doesn't really have parents, he may not even know who they are.

I also stand behind all of the ideas from my Phoenix Family HCs Poll because all of them would be so fun to explore even if some of them are total crack HCs. Tigre is only 16 years older than Phoenix but you can't say it's not possible that he messed around in high school and his girlfriend just gave up the kid for adoption and it would be so funny if Phoenix had to put his own father into prison after he pretended to be him.

In my Fem!Phoenix AU where I'm planning on expounding upon her relationship with the Feys and her own spiritual power (Phoenix does canonically talk to ghosts sometimes), the spirit of Ryunosuke found her and kind of became her imaginary friend who appears sometimes because I love him.

Even the idea of the goddess of law making him as an indestructible little terror on the legal system would be fascinating to expand upon. I would love to read about the whole concept of law being turned into a kind of religion, is she a single omniscient god (is she single?) or is she part of a larger pantheon? What would that mean for Phoenix?

I just can't even fathom that there's something normal going on with Phoenix and his family, I think he should pull an Apollo and secretly have the most batshit family backstory. Just looking at this guy and you know he has some kinds of issues, he was an art/theater major, he's got to be a little bit of that flavor of fucked up.

[jerzwriter]

When Husbands Become Prey 2: They Know What's Coming

Sometimes you write a fic and think, nah, this can't be! That was entirely too much fun to write! And this fic here is a perfect example of that!

This was all born out of this funny mistake. The lovely @lilyoffandoms took that and turned it into When Husbands Become Prey, and I thought it was just begging for a follow-up. Olivia belongs to the amazing @storyofmychoices, and Merida is Lily's, and these three pairs together always spark joy! I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Open Heart

Pairings: Bryce Lahela x Olivia, Ethan Ramsey x Merida Tobias Carrick x Casey

Rating/Warning: Teen + - it's risque but not explicit.

Words: 1,699

Additional A/N: Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge - May Prompt - Lust

The men could practically feel their wives approaching; that kind of energy isn’t easily contained. Tobias’s eyes locked on Casey’s, a delighted smirk on his lips as he emptied the contents of his drink. He knew exactly what was coming. Bryce playfully chuckled at Olivia, looking so innocent yet alluring, as she sauntered his way. Smiling broadly, he leaned back on his barstool. Yeah, he knew exactly what was coming. Ethan was the last to take notice, doing a double take as his gaze met Merida’s. With a raised eyebrow, he flagged the bartender and ordered another drink. He, too, knew exactly what was coming.

Casey was the first to reach the bar and wasted no time. Pressed close against her man as she looped her arms around his neck. Taking that point system quite seriously, she pulled him into a kiss, easily adding two points to her tally and quickly approaching another three.  

“Well, well,” Tobias droned, the look on his face leaving little wonder of where his thoughts were going. “To what do I owe this pleasure.”

“You looked bored,” Casey simpered. “And I’m here to save you.”

“You know... I have a little fantasy that starts out like this... if you’re up for some role play...”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Ethan grumbled just a seat away.

“What!” Tobias protested. “She’s my wife! I’m not proposing anything illegal!”

“Yeah, that’s a shame,” Casey sighed as the other women giggled.

“That you’re his wife?” Ethan chortled. “I couldn’t agree more. That is a shame.”

“No, wiseass,” Merida giggled. “She was hoping for something illegal.”

Ethan ran a hand down his face with a weary sigh. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Bryce grinned as he happily welcomed Olivia on his lap. “But I’m sure as hell curious.”

“Oh, you should be,” the beautiful redhead purred, her teeth capturing his earlobe and tugging ever so slightly, leaving her husband forgetting his name.

Casey leaned closer to Olivia, placing an approving tap on her knee.

“Great work,” she whispered. “I’ll easily give you two points for that move!”

Ethan held up his freshly delivered drink and turned to an all too pleased Merida, his face devoid of emotion.

“Tell me,” he asked. “Do I need to down this drink to be prepared for what I’m about to endure?”

“Oh, honey,” she chuckled. “Call the bartender over and just tell him to leave the bottle. Because I’ve got plans for you.”

“Nice!” Tobias sang. “I’m telling you, Ramsey, you should thank all that’s holy for that woman every day... two times on Sunday.”

Ethan began to reply, but it was clear Tobias had little interest in his friend’s answer. He already had Casey by the hand, and they were rushing toward the door.

“Gee, that’ didn’t take long,” Olivia observed while snuggling closer to Bryce.

“Did you expect it would?” Merida asked.

“Nope, not at all.”  She turned to Bryce with a seductive little grin, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What do you say, shall we follow their lead?”

Bryce’s jaw fell, and the look in his eye left no question of how pleased he was with the evening's developments.

“You know, I knew I was happy when you three ladies hit it off... but I never had any idea just how happy their corruption... I mean their friendship... would mean.”

“Shut up,” Olivia giggled as she hopped to her feet; she didn’t have to say a word, and Bryce was at her heels.

“Thanks for picking up the tab, Ramsey!” he yelled as they scurried away.

Merida was beaming with pride as she watched her charge step out of the bar. But she hadn’t forgotten her own mission. Shifting closer to Ethan, she seductively mounted the stool to his right. Her stilettoed heel running up and down the length of his calf. Ethan was trying to play it cool, but Merida felt her ego rise as she watched the man shudder.

“So what do you say, Dr. Ramsey,” she hummed. “We’re not going to let them have all the fun now, are we?”

Ethan took another sip of his drink and turned to his beauty, never losing an ounce of composure.

“What are you three up to?”

“Us,” she feigned insult. “Whatever do you mean. We’re sweet little lambs, never an impure thought between us.”

Ethan couldn’t hold back his amusement at that comment. “If you were talking about Olivia alone, I might believe you... but you and Casey... sorry, my love, not a chance.”

“At least you know me,” she grinned. “Now, let’s get out of here and...”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted.

“What?” Merida gasped. “Ethan, do you understand what I’m offering?”

“I do. I’m also confident that there’s some sort of a sophomoric wager involved, one that you’re eager to win. Well. I’m not about to partake in childish games.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m serious as a heart attack. I think you need to be taught a lesson, dear.”

“Heh,” she chuckled. “Depending on how you intend to teach me that... lesson... we could win this thing easily, so....”

“I’m not joking, Merida. I’m not leaving the bar.”

“Ethan! For heaven’s sake! Why?”

“I’ve already told you.”

Merida sat next to him, a smug look on his face as the scowl on hers intensified. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she picked it up to see “the girls” group chat lit up.

Olivia: You are so going down.

Casey: If you were spending less time texting and more time actually going down, you might win this thing, Liv.

Olivia: Oh, yeah? What are you doing?

With that, a picture of what appeared to be Casey’s strappy black sandals wrapped provocatively around Tobias’s neck arrived. Merida viscerally threw her phone onto the bar.

“I’ll take it that was Casey’s reply,” Ethan smirked.  

Merida glared at him out of the corner of her eye. “Yes! And color me jealous!”

Ethan didn’t know it, but Merida took his turning away as a declaration of war. There was no way she was coming in third! No way!

Jumping to her feet, she stood directly behind Ethan, her lips planting a trail of kisses from his temple, along his face, down the side of his neck.

“What are you doing...”

“Shhhh...” she ordered as her hands got in on the action; pleased with herself as the slightest groan escaped him as she kneaded his shoulders. “You know what I’m doing, Ethan. When have you known me to take no for an answer.”

Her hands were all over him now, gliding over the muscles of his arms, the contours of his chest, and she could feel him starting to surrender despite himself.

“Mer...” he started, but he was quickly silenced with a kiss. 

Ethan had to accept it. His wife could play him like a fiddle, and when it came to her, he was weak. His strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her perilously close as his searing kisses moved from her lips to her neck, settling on her collarbone. Overcome with desire, he seemed to forget where he was, lifting her with ease, he pressed her against the bar. 

While Merida remained well aware of their surroundings, she also didn't have a care to give. Her fingers ran through his thick,  wavy hair, pulling him back up where she greeted him with another fiery kiss. It was going delightfully well when the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat pulled them out of their lustful haze.

Merida playfully smiled at the security guard standing behind Ethan as he slowly turned around, wishing the earth would swallow him whole.

“Yes,” he asked.

“What are you doing?” The stone-faced guard asked.

“I think that’s rather evident,” Merida replied.

“Well,” the guard grumbled with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid you’ll need to come with me.”

“Relax,” Ethan insisted. “We’ll take it to our room...”

“No, you don’t understand... I said you have to come with me.”

“Why?” Merida demanded. “Our clothes aren’t even disheveled, for heaven’s sake!”

“Maybe not, but there is an ordinance in this town, and you can’t cavort like this in areas considered family-friendly.”

“FAMILY FRIENDLY!” Ethan yelled far too loudly. “It’s a bar, not a playground! You have to be 21 to get in here! How is this family-friendly.”

“It abuts the lobby, sir.”

“It abut... abuts... There is a goddamned door between us and the lobby! You must be joking!”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Now, come with me before I have to call back up.”

Ethan was seething, and Merida looked at him with a nervous, apologetic smile.

“I mean, it’ll make a great story one day,” she whispered.

Unamused, Ethan barked back. “That day is not today!”

The guard led them to a small, grey room off the main corridor and instructed them to take a seat. 

“What happens now?” Merida asked. “Are we under arrest?”

“I’ll be right back to explain,” the guard scoffed, closing the door behind him as he left the two alone, and Merida grabbed her phone from her purse at once.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked.

“Texting Casey. Tobias has a get-out-of-jail fund... you know... in case they ever get caught... you know... in public.”

“He has a fund?” Ethan cringed.

“Hey! Don’t be so judgemental! It looks like it will come in handy right now!”

Casey instantly replied to Merida’s text, letting her know she and Tobias would be right down.

As Merida breathed a sigh of relief, Casey rolled on top of Tobias, breaking into a fit of giggles.

“So, how much did you pay the guard to do that?” She asked.

“I plead the fifth,” Tobias smirked. “But it was worth every penny.”

“Let’s get dressed. We should go tell them it was a prank.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Tobias scolded, tugging Casey back on top of him and lavishing her shoulder with kisses. “Of course, we will, but... we can let them sweat a little first.”

“Tobias,” she laughed, offering the weakest of protests. “Our friends are probably pretty stressed out.”

“I know, and we’ll save them...  but not before adding a few more points.”

~~~

OK, so in my head, Bryce and Olivia come in first. After all, while the other four were up to this fuckery, they were paying attention to what mattered most. 😏 Tobias insisted he and Casey came in second - and would have come in first if they considered the entire trip - but he conceded to buying dinner the next time they all went out to make things up to Ethan and Merida. However, he will always maintain the prank was worth every cent!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.