#“Cool! But utterly useless for my work so I will be forgetting that immediately.”

[smoothriverrocksrock]

Papyrus is like Sherlock Holmes to me. He knows a bunch of random ass information and can put it all together for effective problem solving, but he also purposely forgets shit he considers useless. Papyrus was able to paint a whole rock formation so that it looked like a bridge, but didn’t know the word “Hotel”

[scandeniall]

love in argentina

pairing: oikawa x reader

summary/warnings: you went to study abroad in argentina, he went there to play volleyball. you meet and your love story starts in argentina./ um yeah a ton of spoilers including 402. oh and just implied sex for 2 seconds

wc: 3.2k

notes: in honor of both oikawa’s birthday and the manga officially being over. its been a ride and i’m glad hes getting the ending he truly deserves. 

You're not sure when it happened. Growing up, you never really thought too much about love. You didn’t live in this fantasy that one day you’d get your happily ever after with your prince. You just lived as usual, focusing on your own dreams and goals. Being present and if love happened then it happened.

Oikawa isn’t quite sure when it happened. Growing up it had been a battle between volleyball and his own insecurities as he was determined to be the best. Sure he dated around, but it never amounted to much. There were so many people in the world to prove wrong and love had been pushed off the agenda.

But somehow it happened. Love had found its way into both of your lives and you found it within one another. It came without warning and despite every logical thought in your brains to run you didn’t. Now as you look at your fiance enter the arena your heart is filled with joy. You got your happily ever after all thanks to your last minute decision to study abroad in Argentina. 

----

Another clap of thunder caused another groan to rip through your throat. Looking around your vision was minimal due to the downpour. The occasional shiver ran through your spine whenever the wind would pick up. The covering of the protruding building could only do so much, afterall.  You eyed the directions on your phone for the nth time and still came up useless. When you decided to study in Argentina you looked at the frequency of rain, pleased at its limited occurrence. It was just your luck that your first weekend there you’d gotten caught. 

A hoard of footsteps pounding against the rain soaked pavement caused you to look up from the device, and before you knew it a group of 5 men stood under the buildings canopy out of breath, soaking wet and laughing. Out of instinct you found yourself moving away from the group of strangers as you listened to them talk and laugh. You heard one of them mention the next nearest building they could run over to get towards their destination. 

You eyed the phone again trying to make sense of the tiny map when three of them had run off. Right before the remaining ones could go you found yourself speaking up. Either be lost in San Juan for who knows how long or take your chance asking strangers for help. “Excuse me, could you guys point me in the direction of the university. I’m lost and I really need to get back to campus.”

The words came out rushed and you apologized for disturbing their day when the brunette in the group just laughed. “It's no problem. I’m Tōru. Tōru Oikawa.” 

That was how you met. He’d offered to show you the way back, claiming that he knew what it was like to be new and lost in the city. He’d waved his teammate off, before telling you to keep up. In between running from building covering to building you found out he was a player on the club team originally from Japan. 

“So you went across the world for volleyball? That's kind of cool.” You huffed out as the two of you ran under another canopy. After each one you'd allow yourselves to stop for a moment to not only catch your breath but to chat. “You went across the world to study.” “Yeah, but I’m only here for a semester. It seems you plan on staying. Not nearly as cool.”

Once the two of you arrived at the campus you offered to let him come in and dry off for a bit. “It's the least I could do.” You acknowledged that he didn’t have to show me all the way here and that surely he had better things to do. After a reluctant agreement the two of you found yourselves just talking. Oikawa had given you several food recommendations even ordering the “best empanadas ever” to your place. You two just seemed to have clicked. There was a sense of familiarity just like talking to an old friend that was instant. 

“I have to get going. But it was great to meet you.” As the two of you said goodbye you contemplated for a moment about to offer your own number when he does the same. “In case you get lost again,” he insisted, handing you his phone with a laugh. “My first friend in Argentina,” you joke back. After thanking him again he bids you farewell with a light smile. “I’ll see you around.”

And the two of you saw each other again and again. In between your classes and his practices the two of you found yourselves texting quite often. In between teaching eachother new phrases in Spanish, you shared food recommendations, stories of your own childhoods within your respective countries and went on several adventures. 

“You know, I haven't actually been here,” Oikawa hummed out from beside you. You had an assignment that required you to go to the Museo Provincial de Bellas Artes Franklin Rawson, the fine arts museum. It’d been nearly two months since you met Oikawa and when you'd asked him if he knew where it was located. Having no clue, he just decided to tag along with you. “Is that why you got us lost like 5 times on the way here,” you questioned before walking ahead to the next exhibit. “Hey!”

“Apparently there are 945 pieces here,” Oikawa read off as the two weaved throughout the other visitors, who were likely tourists. “Oh really? That's a lot,” you’d said mindlessly searching for a less crowded place to stand. You were vaguely aware of the hand resting on your upper back, his attempt at not allowing you two to become separated while also not pushing too far. You shot him a kind smile as he opened the door to the next exhibit. 

Throughout the museum the two of you took pictures with your favorite works, a few selfies here and there that Oikawa forced you to send to him before you’d go home and forget. He’d invited you to his next game, one you gladly accepted. You’d seen him play only twice before and were utterly mesmerized by his poise, control, and how he seemed to command the court. After the two of you left he insisted the two of you go out for a few drinks. It was a Saturday night afterall. 

You never quite made it to a bar. The two of you found yourselves just sitting on a bench downtown sipping your local drinks and just talking. “I love coming out at night, it's always so pretty,” you noted before taking another sip of your drink. The athlete only nodded in agreement. You didn’t know it then but that was the first time he’d wanted to kiss you. 

From the constant chatter of people walking he’d tuned in soleyl on your voice. The way the mixture of street and shop lights illuminated your face caught him off guard. However he pushed that feeling away just to enjoy the present. Eventually you’d go back home and he’d be wherever. Still playing and still working towards his goals. “Hey, are you ok?”

He was immediately pulled out of his thoughts, sending you a genuine smile. “Yeah, just a bit sore.” He noticed the way you frowned and immediately regretted using that lie. Especially once you questioned him about his knee, a fact he’d let slip randomly one night over a late night text session. “I’m fine, besides the club would pull me so fast if I slipped into those habits again.” He’d also told you about how his friend would always have to drag him out of late night gym sessions. “Iwa gave me the nastiest bruise one time because I was in too late. It was an accident though, he was kinda shocked at just how hard the ball hit me too,” he laughed when he told you the memory. Then proceeded how he got to guilt trip his friend everyday until it healed. You only nodded but not before scolding him that somehow you’d go all the way to California to bring his friend back to kick his ass if needed. 

-----

“Told you it would be worth it.” The scold you had ready for Oikawa didn't make its way out as your mouth dropped. The mountains completely took your breath away. When you’d first agreed to let Oikawa take you out to see nature you didn’t anticipate the lowered temperatures nor the annoying hiking trails. When you’d seen the first steep path you looked at him in complete disbelief. “You're not serious right now. I don’t even have on the right shoes Tōru,” you complained eying the worn sneakers with very little traction. “It’ll be fine, I’ll help you. The view is worth it.” With that you reached for his outstretched hand and went with it.

“It's beautiful up here,” you said slowly taking in the view. “El Leoncito. Blanco took me here the first month I got to Argentina. It was a rough week and he said I needed to get away. Camp out for a weekend and regain my focus.” You felt yourself nodding along as he spoke. “I remember how much you complained about your last test grades and figured you could use the break too.”

You’d known Oikawa for four months now. Your first semester in Argentina was coming to an end soon, and suddenly you were glad you didn’t let homesickness take over and decided to stay for the academic year. That gave you another few months with who turned out to be your dearest friend in the country. “Thank you,” you replied softly. While he had been looking at the view you managed to sneak a few looks at his profile. He didn’t know it then but that was the first time you’d wanted to kiss him. 

The nights cooled down more than you could have imagined and you found yourself shaking despite the campfire around you. You mentally cursed Oikawa again for not informing you to be better prepared. The sound of a zipper shifted your attention as he emerged from the tent the two of you had set up earlier. “Looking a little cold over there,” he teased sitting next to you. “You suck.”

His laugh filled the air as a sudden warmth came over you. You look over to see he’d placed a pare blanket over you. You were filled with the urge to kiss him for the second time that night. “I’m not such a shitty guy now am I?” You only shook your head in amusement. “Yeah, I guess not.” 

The months came and went. The two of you grew closer as the time for you to go home neared. Neither of you remember quite when it happened. It had been spring break for you and you had been hanging around Oikawa’s place for the most part. Even while he wasn’t there, the two of you had become that comfortable in less than a year. One night he came back unusually agitated and touchy, and you found yourself walking on eggshells until he just blurted out his feelings. “I fucking like you. More than a friend and it's annoying because I kept getting distracted tonight because one of the guys pointed out that you’d be going home soon.” 

Your eyes widened as you watched him down his first shot of the night. A drink he’d insisted he needed after the night he had. After you hadn’t said anything for a few moments it seemed like his words dawned on him and his eyes widened. Before he could apologize you’d crossed the short space from his couch to the kitchen to press your lips against his. 

“It's annoying, but I like you too.”

After that the two of you essentially began dating. You’d never officially declared a title but it was clear as day that you were together. When the year ended you decided to stay in Argentina at least for the summer, moving in with him for the time. In doing so the two of you put off the impending goodbye for at least 3 months. 

That summer had flown by before either of you knew it. In between having more time to watch him play and your Argentinian adventures, they were the best months of your night. You’d spend many nights laughing and making out on the side of bar buildings on nights out. When time permitted, taking random day trips outside of San Juan and exploring together. You’d accumulated enough pictures together to fill out an entire photo album in that time alone. 

One of your favorite memories came after you’d gotten home from said day trip. During which you guys brought three different jars of dulce de leche from different shops. You two had decided to try your hand at determining which shop had the best by putting them in various deserts. 

“Wait we have to try them plain first,” you exclaimed the second the two of you had made it back. Taking the bag you made your way to the kitchen pulling out the jars. “The one I picked is going to be the best,” Oikawa assured, taking a spoon from you. “What if we fed each other and I took pictures to send to Iwa to remind him that he’s single.” You laughed before responding. “Oh please, he’s kinda hot. I doubt he's that lonely.”

“(Y/N) you can’t call him hot. I’m supposed to be the hot one,” he jokingly complained, arms coming to lock around your waist. Leaning your lips towards his, you mumbled with a lazy smile. “You are the hottest. But you’re going down, Grand King.” You pulled away laughing as his distressed look at your use of the dumb nickname. “I should've never told you about that.”

“Too late now,” you hummed opening the jars to set them out. “You wanted to make your best friend jealous right,” you questioned as he made no move toward the treat. You smiled at the sparkle in his eyes. “Hell yes.” 

After you two couldn’t come to a consensus about whose pick was the best you two stared at the ingredients you'd also purchased to use the dulce de leche with. “Now what are we going to make,” he mused, tossing his arm around your shoulder. “Lets ask the internet.” You felt his lips press against your cheek before he agreed. 

By the end of the night you’d managed to make a successful pastry, some random cake where you had to substitute a few ingredients and hope for the best, and a sorry excuse for ice cream. “I told you this was a bad idea,” you laughed as you tried to keep mixing the failure. “It’s not thickening up at all.” You moved aside as your boyfriend took the bowl from you, muttering about letting the athlete stir before adding on. “Thick like me?”

“It's as flat as you,” you deadpan. 

“It’s a liquid!” 

-----

“Hey (Y/N). Are we going to make this work. You know when you go back home.” He’d asked you one night as you cuddled on the couch. Your time together was coming to an end and you were leaving in two days. It’d been something neither of you ever mentioned, even during the packing stage. You raised your head from his chest searching his eyes. “Do you want to?”

Another silence fell over you two as you both processed your question. Eventually he gave you a slow nod. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” At your nod Oikawa let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. “Good. So it's settled yeah,” he questioned. “Yeah it is.” You smiled as you maneuvered your way onto his lap. Settling your knees on each side of him, his hand your cheek pulling your lips towards his. “Good,” he repeated right before his tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands slid lower. 

That had been 5 years ago. In that time you'd gone back home to finish your degree and he stayed in Argentina. The following year his time in Brazil coincided with a school break of your own and you were able to meet him there. You’d gotten to meet the iconic Hinata and the two of you teased your boyfriend to death with Grand King. 

The distance was never easy. There were times where you both questioned if it were worth it. Stress from both of your lives outside of one another would pile up and you had to learn to work through it. Learn to comfort despite being thousands of miles away. Reassuring you that you were indeed the smartest person he’d ever met. Reassuring him that he didn’t want to quit. He was amazing and he found volleyball fun. You’d even been the one to propose going to Brazil trying to find the fun in the game. 

When he told you he was considering the possibility of naturalising you even encouraged it. And then he proposed to you. He had a small break and had flown out to surprise you insisting that it was now or never. He wanted you forever and knew if he didn’t just do it he’d keep thinking about it forever. Of course you’d briefly discussed marriage, stating that you wouldn't mind an engagement, even if it lasted for a few years while you both got your career, living and citizenship situations settled. So when he did it you made the decision to permanently move back to Argentina. 

“Are you sure-” he’d asked you shortly after proposing. The high of you saying yes had worn off and now the realization of what this really meant settled. You’d discussed marriage prior to him starting the naturalization process. The two of you had been sitting in your yard hand in hand watching the stars. “Of course. I was looking into moving back anyways. Wanted to surprise you.”

His hand tightened in yours as he eyed your face for any semblance of a joke. “Really?” You only nodded pressing a kiss on his clothed shoulder. “Of course. It's where it all started. Besides, I have no doubt that you’ll make the olympic team. Gotta be there in person for moral support right?”

Suddenly you were tackled back onto the blanket your now fiance was hovering about you. “God, I love you.” Fingers playing with his hair you returned the sentiment. “I love you too.”

Neither of you are sure how it happened. You’d met at 19 and nearly a decade later at 27 you'd both accepted your fairytale ending. You found love in Argentina and your heart swells at the announcement of your Fiance at the Olympics. You can imagine his scowl at the mention of him never making it to high school nationals and find yourself laughing. Eying the ring on your finger you think back to the promise he made you two years ago on the night of the engagement.

“I want to marry you and I want to keep playing. So if you don’t mind, can the wedding be after the olympics.” There's not a single part of you that regretted agreeing to those terms. As you watched him continue to train your pride for him continued to grow. As he entered the arena ready to play against his home country you found yourself yelling. 

“Beat them all Oikawa!”

a/n: i hope u enjoyed this. I’ve been in a slump and on vacation past week but i am back (i think) and better than ever. I have a 10k atsumu piece coming within the next few days so i hope u stay tuned for that. Both of that and this are me tapping into my creativity and im very passionate about 10k words esp.

also; if you enjoyed this I think you’d really like my sakusa piece no limit to you. it has a similar feel and to date is my fav thing ive written (and 5k words)

lastly: did yall enjoy my google argentina research LMAO. ngl after um i kinda wanna go there tf

[cavalierious-whim]

Felix sneaks into Sylvain's dorm for a nap because he misses him. Then he sees the shirt. Part 4 of 'Something, Something, Fate'.

#

Prior knowledge of the collected series isn't necessary but you should read them anyway. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

#

Felix hates how utterly predictable he’s become, pining for Sylvain literally every moment of his goddamned life.

Sylvain isn’t even far away; he’s just down the street taking a final. He’ll be back later on after his test. Still. It isn’t soon enough, not for a man who feels so heavily burdened by want. It’s like Felix is in a constant state of need, like he has to get his hands on Sylvain whenever he can.

His dreams have, truly, suffered.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” said Annette to him when he complained a few days back.

Fuck that nonsense, thought Felix, which is probably why he’s always the first to cave when they get busy like this. It turns out that Sylvain has surprising restraint when it comes down to it.

Felix has a key to Sylvain’s dorm. Uses it way more than he’d like to admit, sneaking in and under the covers to nap until Sylvain shows up tired and sleepy enough to join him. Those days are nice, the best, really. Lazy ones where all they do is cuddle with wandering hands and watch Netflix on Sylvain’s ancient television, the one where one-third of the LEDs are burnt out.

It hangs crookedly on the wall because Sylvain’s useless at being a handyman.

Felix sighs as he shucks off his jeans and falls into the mattress, a twin size that’s too small for the both of them. It kind of makes Felix love it more, not that he’d ever admit to it. There’s a lot that he refuses to publicly acknowledge, like how Sylvain’s entirely rebranded him inside and out, practically forged him anew.

Annette says that Felix has been kinder as of late, which he hates on principle. “Softer,” she’d said to him awhile back. “It’s nice, Felix. Seeing you happy.”

And he is happy, a strange little wonder that Felix never thought he’d experience again. He’d come to University to fence, get away from his father, and forget about his brother. He’d found something else entirely.

No complaints. Never , complaints. As dumb as Sylvain can be for someone so smart, Felix wouldn’t trade him for the world, because if he did, then Felix’s world would be gone.

“Ugh,” he murmurs, settling against Sylvain’s pillow, hating how simple he gets when it comes to just the thought of the man. His heart all soft and all mushy, the tell-tale lump that forms in his throat. This is why Felix never went looking for love; love turns people into dumb hormonal messes who can barely function. Like right now.

In the end, Felix loves it. How he gets lost in Sylvain, physically and emotionally, the way they can be so utterly connected through something as simple as feelings and want. And touch.

The bed smells like Sylvain and it calms Felix, lulls him into a soft moment of peace and relaxation. Felix hasn’t had much lately, with finals and tournaments. He and Sylvain spend what time they can together but--

Well, there’s a reason he’s snuck into Sylvain’s dorm and bedsheets. Felix fucking misses him. Misses Sylvain’s dumb puns and ill-timed innuendo. The way that his fingers comb through his hair and scratch at his scalp when they lay like bumps on a log in the sheets, watching reruns of Masterchef.

Felix sighs in dreamlike bliss, having softened around the edges as he sinks into the mattress.

And then he sees the shirt.

It’s an unassuming thing, a simple long-sleeved button-down, crumpled up and tossed to the corner. Sylvain wore it the other day for a formal function and then likely threw it aside, forgetting all about it.

Felix reaches out and pulls it closer, pressing his face into the soft cotton fabric. It’s lightly worn and rumpled. Smells like Sylvain, and the ridiculous pine and sandalwood soap he uses. Felix can get lost in it, eyes slipping closed as he breathes in.

He’s a fool for how he pines, but a welcome fool, he supposes. There are far worse things to be addicted to, like training until his hamstrings fall off. This is a far better alternative.

Felix sits up for a moment to pull his shirt off. Then he pulls Sylvain’s on. He’s swimming in it, the sleeve cuffs falling past his fingertips and the hemline near his thighs. Surrounded by Sylvain’s scent, practically drowning in it.

It has an immediate effect, Felix’s cock twitching with interest. He can’t find it within himself to be annoyed; he’s far too antsy and it’s been several days since they’ve seen each other proper.

Felix is practically starving. So, he lays back into the mattress, settling into the blanket, and thinks of Sylvain.

This shirt is a good cut that hugs Sylvain’s form nicely. Felix remembers well-- he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of him. Some dumb function for something aerospace-related. Sylvain had to go for department appearances, being the premier student on their scholarship.

And Felix had gone as his date. Spent the entire night watching him and the way that the shirt stretched tightly over Sylvain’s chest. His damn pecs, and how Sylvain always leaves the top few buttons undone to show off his collarbone.

Felix’s weakness, truly. The swell of muscle and the dusting of chest hair. How he likes to sweep his hand across the smooth and defined ridges of Sylvain’s front. His hand slips down and between his legs, squeezing at his clothed cock.

He should’ve taken off his briefs earlier, should’ve slid into Sylvain’s bed butt-naked as a nice surprise but--

Well, Felix hadn’t thought that far.

Too late now, thinks Felix, his fingers ghosting along the tented edge of his dick. He sweeps his hand along his length, groaning softly. He shouldn’t do this. Sylvain will be home before he knows it, tired and wasted from his finals.

He thinks about waiting for Sylvain instead for about a moment. Forgets the idea nearly immediately because he’s too horny, and the shirt just smells too damn good.

Felix can make it work if he tries his damndest. He can be a fairly quick shot when he’s hot and bothered enough, much to his embarrassment. But, he’s got a short refractory period, something that haunts Felix’s dirtiest dreams. And Sylvain’s dreams too, if his complaints were to be believed.

So, the plan is simple: jerk himself off in record time, and then have a second go when Sylvain comes home. Sylvain’s a simple enough man; he finds Felix irresistible when he’s up to his neck in fencing gear. Half-naked in his bed and wearing his shirt will probably murder him.

It’s an idea that spurs Felix on, the way that Sylvain looks at him when Felix is in his bed, eyes half-lidded as he bites at his lip. There are few things better in the world. Like Sylvain’s mouth wrapped around his cock instead.

“Later,” murmurs Felix, hooking his thumbs into his briefs and yanking them down. He leaves them hooked around an ankle, too impatient to properly kick them off.

The air in the room is cool, but his hand is hot around his cock, his fingers calloused. He’s gotten used to the way that Sylvain touches him with his smooth and devout touch. How Sylvain whispers dirty things into his ear before biting at the soft skin of it.

Felix’s dick is already leaking pathetically, dribbling precome across his palm. Felix shoves his face into the collar of Sylvain’s shirt, whining into the cotton.

It isn’t enough. Never is. No amount of practiced strokes along his length can hold a candle to the way Sylvain touches him. Or the way that Felix imagines he’s there, pressed against his back, Sylvain rutting his cock between his thighs.

“Pathetic,” says Felix as he lets go of his cock and rummages around the bed. Sylvain’s dorm has a plethora of lube stashed around-- it takes seconds to find a half-empty bottle that will suffice.

Felix slicks up his fingers, looking at them severely. “Goddess, this is really what I’ve become,” he sighs, mildly annoyed by his inability to maintain a calm composure. It used to be so easy. Felix turns over before he can stop himself, pressing his chest into the soft covers of Sylvain’s bed. Hikes up the shirt to his waist before reaching behind him and--

Sylvain walks into his dorm room, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. Doesn’t see Felix as he drops his bag to the ground. Sylvain runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp before turning to his bed.

And then he sees Felix who’s prostrated on all fours, fingers slick with lube, just pressed against his hole.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” says Felix, voice slightly muffled from where his head’s turned to the side.

Sylvain’s mouth falls open as he stares. Then he regains his composure, crossing the room to kneel on the edge of the mattress. “It better be what it looks like,” he says, smoothing a hand over the soft curve of Felix’s asscheek.

Felix groans, burying his face into the blanket. He’s embarrassed, so fucking embarrassed, but it’s hard to think about it with Sylvain thumbing gently over the dip of his back, massaging the skin there.

He moves to pull his hand away, but Sylvain grabs his wrist and holds it there. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says.

Felix gawks, he can’t help it. “What?”

Sylvain looks back at him, his face endearing, but there’s an undercurrent of want there in the way that his eyes sparkle back, and how he licks his lips before answering. “You’re in my bed, Felix, touching yourself. And--” he pauses, pulling at the cotton of the oversized shirt wrapped around Felix’s frame. “Is this my shirt?”

“Yes, you idiot,” says Felix. “It certainly wasn’t the plan, I assure you. I only wanted a nap.”

Sylvain hums at that. “And what, you saw this and put it on? Thought of me and couldn’t stop yourself?”

Felix can’t refute it and feels the way that his cheeks turn pink.

“I want to watch,” says Sylvain, letting go of Felix’s wrist and turning his attention back to his ass. He squeezes at the taut muscle there before pulling apart Felix’s cheeks to look. “Want to see what you do when you’re thinking of me.”

Felix’s breath hitches at Sylvain’s tone; his voice is low and the words are fevered. Sylvain looks at him like a man ravenous. Because they both are, effectively. Touch-starved and nearly dying, bad enough for Felix to actually try and masturbate in Sylvain’s room.

But, two can play that game.

“Only if you do the same,” says Felix coolly, turning slightly to see Sylvain better. The angle is terrible and it hurts his back, but it’s worth it, to see Sylvain swallow around the lump in his throat. “Sit back in that chair and jerk yourself off to the sight of me.”

“Felix--”

“It’s only fair, I think,” says Felix. He pulls his hand back again to slick it up once more because the lube’s gone dry and tacky.

Sylvain doesn’t even hesitate. He leans forward to press a kiss against Felix’s asscheek, gets off the bed to drop his trousers, and then settles into the tiny computer chair. Sylvain rolls it into a better position, one where Felix can see him properly and he can still watch the show.

Felix’s gaze drops straight to Sylvain’s briefs. Watches the way that Sylvain casually squeezes his half-hard cock through the fabric.

It isn’t so much that he’s embarrassed to touch himself in front of Sylvain-- Goddess knows he’s done that enough. Impatient when it comes to figuring out what he likes in bed, eager to show Sylvain so he can wreck him thoroughly. Sylvain learns quickly when he’s shown exactly what to do.

It’s the idea that he was caught doing it alone that’s so awkward, that Sylvain walked in on him nearly fingers deep in his ass. Felix huffs slightly at the thought, as he circles his hole with a finger, spreading the lube around.

Too late to go back now. He’s already bargained with Sylvain, struck a deal that’s sure to please them both at least, turning a troublesome situation around. Hopefully.

And really, Sylvain looks so good, tucked into his chair, hand resting gently over the swell of his cock where it tents his briefs. Felix licks his lips and presses a finger into himself, sighing softly at the gentle sting.

He’s gotten used to it, enjoys it even. He’d enjoy it more were it Sylvain, of course. His fingers are smoother, larger, and longer. He can reach places that Felix can only dream of. And then, of course, there’s Sylvain’s cock. Pristine perfection, already hard and heavy at the mere sight of him.

Sometimes Felix wonders what he did in a past life to warrant such perfection in this age. The idea that he can call Sylvain his own, that he’s been blessed with someone that should be so far out of his reach. And the idea that Sylvain wants for him so deeply--

Well, he’s still getting used to it.

The stroke of his finger is a simple back-and-forth thing as he pulls at his rim gently, just enough to moan quietly. Sylvain watches, clutching the tip of his cock through his briefs as his other hand digs into the skin of his thigh.

Felix huffs at that. “You aren’t naked enough,” he says, a common complaint in their bedroom.

“Okay, okay,” says Sylvain with a soft chuckle. He raises his hips just enough to slide his smalls right off. Then his hand finds his dick proper, stroking it to full hardness.

Felix’s mouth goes dry at the sight, watching as Sylvain smoothes precome across the tip with his thumb. Then Sylvain decides it isn’t enough and spits into his hand instead to stroke at his cock lazily.

Sylvain’s cock needs to be in him sooner than later, thinks Felix as he pulls out his finger to press back in with two. It’s a tighter fit, his hole squeezing around them, but Felix works as methodically as he can.

Harder to do so than he’d initially thought because watching Sylvain touch himself is proving to be very distracting. Listening to Sylvain’s soft little moans as his gaze remains wholly trained on Felix and his ass, his eyes half-lidded as he bites at his lip.

“Dammit,” murmurs Felix, sighing into the blanket. Sylvain’s gaze, the soft cotton of his shirt against Felix’s skin and how the hem settles around his waist, being surrounded by the scent of sandalwood and pine in his bed-- Felix fucks into himself faster, spreading his fingers to stretch his hole wider.

A liquid moan bubbles up from his throat as his fingers brush his prostate, the touch electric as his sparks through his veins.

Sylvain notices, his mouth spreading wide into a smile. “Is it good?” he asks simply, his voice like honeyed wine. “Is that the right spot?”

“Fuck you,” says Felix, but it dissolves into a pitiful sound as his fingers press back in, hitting the same spot. “Goddess--”

Sylvain moves, the insufferable bastard that he is. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels on the corner of it, his hands immediately grabbing at Felix’s ass. Spreads Felix wide for a better look, and Felix’s hand stops.

“No,” says Sylvain, “don’t stop.”

“Sylvain--”

“Look at you.” Sylvain smoothes at the skin there, his thumb near where Felix’s fingers are knuckles deep in his own ass. “God, just the sight of you like this, it’s enough to end me. Show me more.”

That’s a new request. Usually, this kind of thing is only to show Sylvain what Felix wants and exactly how to give it to him. Sylvain’s often impatient as well, taking over when he can’t help it anymore. It’s what Felix expected this time around.

But this time, Sylvain shows no hint of hurry, sitting back as he just watches. His cock’s been left abandoned, hard and aching against his thigh, but he shows no sign of touching it. For now.

Felix gives in, scissoring his fingers wide to spread his hole. In and out as he presses them deeply. “The lube,” says Felix breathlessly. Sylvain grabs it to dribble more onto his ass. Uses his thumb to spread it around, sweeping the touch around Felix’s fingers and then down to the smooth expanse of skin above his balls to massage there.

“Shit.” Felix wants more, despite already being slightly overwhelmed. Pulls his fingers out to slick them back up in a fresh layer of the lube. Presses in one finger, then a second, and then a third, something that Sylvain’s never seen him do because Felix has never been that desperate.

In front of Sylvain, at least. Alone in his bed? Sure. But, here and now, Felix can’t help it, spurred on by Sylvain’s soft words whispered against him, and the soft touch of his hands. One pulling at Felix’s asscheek to stare, the other cradling his balls gently.

“Goddess,” curses Sylvain, watching Felix as he thrusts his fingers in and out of himself, relishing in the delicious stretch of his hole. “You--”

Sylvain doesn’t finish his sentence, the hand that’d been holding Felix’s sac dropping to grip at his cock instead. It’s hard and leaking, nearly purple at the tip because it’s been left alone for too long. Felix nearly wrenches his neck to watch as Sylvain strokes his dick, his shoulder burning with the strain of fucking himself on his fingers.

“This is what it’s like,” says Felix, “when I’m alone and lonely, trying to remember what your cock feels like. Tucked into your shirt, hot and bothered, fucking myself on my fingers like they might be enough.”

They never are.

Sylvain moves then, kneeling on the bed properly behind Felix. Grabs him by the ass as Felix removes his fingers. He immediately regrets the loss, but not the look on Sylvain’s face, the way that his throat bobs as his mouth falls open.

He thumbs at Felix’s rim. “For fuck’s sake, Felix,” he murmurs, slipping his thumb in as if to test Felix’s handiwork. Felix presses back against his hand, making his need as apparent as possible without outright begging.

Not that he’s above it.

Sylvain takes pity on him though, lining up his cock quickly and without requesting anything in return. “You ready?” asks Sylvain, smoothing a hand across the small of Felix’s back, rucking up the shirt he wears.

“Yesterday,” says Felix, raising his hips slightly. “Last fucking week.”

There’s nothing quite like Sylvain’s cock, thick and heavy as it slides home. Blazingly hot as it fills Felix to the brim. Felix keens, his voice muffled by the sheets as his back arches. Sylvain’s careful as he presses in, despite the preparation. Always reverent in the way that he touches Felix; the way that he holds him gently, the slow glide of his cock as he lets Felix adjust.

It’s too kind most of the time, offset by the way that Sylvain moans when he’s settled deep in Felix’s ass, thighs trembling with strain. “Fuck,” murmurs Sylvain as he leans over, pressing his forehead against the nape of Felix’s neck. He presses a kiss there as he tries to ground himself.

Felix has other plans, of course. “Too slow,” he says, lifting his hips to grind back against him. It’s been too long and he’s too horny for Sylvain to be so loving in a moment like this. Later, thinks Felix. Later, when they’re laying in bed, blissed out by the afterglow in their lovemaking; that’s when Sylvain can be as tender as he wants.

And maybe Felix will be too.

Sylvain lets out a punched groan, his fingers tightening around Felix’s hips, nails digging into the skin there. Sylvain might leave little bruises, soft imprints of his worship. Felix doesn’t hate the idea.

“Felix,” warns Sylvain, his voice a little bit tinny, pitched high. “I definitely won’t last if you do that.”

“Don’t care,” says Felix, rolling his hips forwards and then snapping them back. He’s on all fours, chest pressed to the bed so it isn’t the easiest, but he makes it work. Felix can feel the way that Sylvain’s dick twitches inside of him, responding eagerly to his efforts.

Sylvain gets the hint. Leans back slightly as he anchors his hold on Felix’s waist before pulling out and thrusting right back in. Hits the perfect spot with practiced ease, and Felix sees stars, moaning into the covers.

They set a steady rhythm; Sylvain fucks into him with moderate thrusts that pack power, and Felix grinds back against him, eager to get as much fiction as possible. The angle is perfect. Felix watches Sylvain from where his head’s turned to the side in the sheets; watches as Sylvain stares at how his cock slips in and out of him effortlessly.

The pressure coils deep in Felix’s gut. One hand tightens against the bedsheets as the other tightens in the collar of Sylvain’s shirt. Felix brings it closer to his face, pressing it near his nose to breathe in the scent of Sylvian’s soap. Almost perfection. Divine, really. Makes Felix think there might actually be a higher power.

“Goddess, I’ve missed this,” says Sylvain, “How you’re so perfect for me.” Polished words of praise that compliment the way that Sylvain fucks into him.

Felix whimpers slightly at them, at the way that Sylvain’s cock fills him so well, over and over again. Sweat-slicked skin, Sylvain’s hands on his ass as he spreads his cheeks wide to look, the way he thumbs around where they’re connected-- it’s nearly too much.

And still not enough.

Felix licks his hand and grabs at his cock. Jerks it roughly enough in a way that makes him clench tightly around Sylvain. The resulting moan is the stuff of dreams, the kind of thing that Felix imagines when he tips over the edge.

Sylvain does first. He fucks into Felix with deep, punctuated strokes right into the perfect spot, and the moment that Felix tightens as he touches himself, Sylvain comes. Fills him up, his hips flesh with Felix’s ass, his cock as pressed deep as it can go.

“Sylvain,” says Felix in a terse and frustrated whisper, moaning as he strokes himself furiously. The heat in his gut coils tighter and tighter, but he’s just not there yet. Close, so close, but--

Another hand joins his own, warm and wide as Sylvain bats Felix’s hand away. Sylvain leans forward, mouth near Felix’s ear. “Come on, darling,” says Sylvain, his voice low and lost to passion. His hand slides over Felix’s cock perfectly, palming over the tip.

Felix fucks into the grip, hips moving as he tries to get more. Sylvain chuckles against his neck before biting at the skin there softly. “You’re close,” he says. “I can feel it, the way you’re so tight around me.”

Of all the times for dirty talk. But it’s working. Sylvain lavishes praise in the form of words and the way that his hand is wrapped tightly around Felix’s length. He can lose himself in how Sylvain sounds so debauched, at how badly he wants Felix to come.

Still, Felix has a front to uphold. “Idiot,” he says, but it comes out more like a cursed cry, his voice keening right as Sylvain slides his cock out of his ass and slips two fingers back in instead. “Oh, oh-- Fuck--”

Sylvain’s so good with his fingers and the way that he fucks Felix with them. How he’s draped across his back, one hand on Felix’s cock and the other knuckles deep in his ass. “You took three earlier,” whispers Sylvain against his skin. “Think you can do it again?”

Three fingers aren’t nearly as big as Sylvain’s cock, but the idea of it is no less dirty, and Felix clamps tight at the thought. Sylvain slides a third finger into him, the way eased by his come. It’s salacious in the most carnal of ways, thinks Felix, and he can’t help the way that he ruts against Sylvain’s touch desperately.

He comes right after that, lost entirely to the feel of it, face red and ruddy, and slightly tear-stained as he presses it into the sheets. He lets out a string of curses when that tight coil of pleasure snaps, and Sylvain soothes him through his orgasm by praising him right through it.

Felix is left loose-legged and boneless in the aftermath. “I’m not moving,” he says, surrendering to the mattress. He’s hot and sweaty, entirely fucked out, and the shirt’s nearly too hot. Felix doesn’t give a shit. Sylvain cleans him up without complaint and then settles into the tiny twin bed beside him.

They rearrange themselves the best they can in the cramped space. Sylvain never even took his shirt off, the fabric soft underneath Felix’s cheek. He sighs content, sinking into the feel of what he’s really missed-- Sylvain by his side.

“What was that all about?” asks Sylvain, combing through Felix’s matted hair.

“Must it be about something?”

Sylvain pauses, no doubt trying to find a delicate way to say whatever he’s about it. “I don’t normally come home to find you masturbating in my bed.”

Felix scowls. “It wasn’t-- it wasn’t about something.” Felix lets loose a long breath. “I just… I missed you. And you were right, you insufferable asshole. I saw your shirt and put it on, and it only made it worse.”

Sylvain laughs, a deep rumble spreading underneath Felix’s ear. It lulls him slightly as sleep slowly tugs at him.

“I honestly, only meant to take a nap,” says Felix quietly. “I was planning on fucking you later.”

A soft kiss is pressed against Felix’s forehead, Sylvain’s lips lingering. “I love you,” he says. “Nearly as much as I love you wearing my clothing. That’s what did it for me, you know. The sight of you hot and bothered in my shirt.”

Felix grunts at that, not even bothering with a response. Sylvain’s mostly joking, of course. Felix finds that he doesn’t care. Instead, he just takes comfort in the fact that he’s been utterly smothered by the presence of Sylvain.

Perfect way to end the night, really.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

You will be mine - Chapter 10. Last warning! [Park Jimin x Reader]

Title: You will be mine - Chapter 10. Last warning! ➔ Chapter 11. Here! Pairing: Park Jimin x Female!Reader Published: 25 June, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore

You will be mine Masterlist | Masterlists

The next few days, the girls followed up with prank calls and carvings in Yojin's table. I was slowly losing my patients. I felt the suspicious gazes on us, throughout the days, even making eye contact on occasions, but I tried to keep myself calm as much as I could. At some point I started asking questions and snooping around, searching for details about the three girls. I did manage to get their names and classes, but I didn't want to get involved further than we already were. I didn't want to trigger them more than necessary as I knew how badly it would affect Yojin.

However when I walked into school and got to my locker, a surprise was waiting for me. There was a white envelope on the top of my books, without any writing on it. I gently ripped off the top of the sealing and pulled out a letter which was honestly ridiculous. The letters were cut out of a newspapers and glued to the blank page, while the content was rather childish and least threatening.

"We know you went to the principal and honestly, that was the worst decision you could have made. We are not your average people. We are not on your level and it seems you have not realised that. Out of kindness, we will give you a last warning. Do not dare to get close to the boys, or your little friend will regret it!"

I rolled my eyes at the letter and shoved it back into my locker, after taking out my necessary books. I couldn't care less about their threats. The whole scene, the letter, the calls, the rat, they seemed to be like a low-budget drama. I knew Yojin was shaken up and I stood by her, but their games seemed so amateur, I was unable to take it seriously anymore.

I turned around after closing my locker and my eyes met the three girls, looking at me with eager eyes. I knew they expected some kind of a reaction, whether it'd be worry, fear or anger, but I didn't even plan on wasting any more of my time on them. It was useless.

"Really?" My eyebrows rose as I asked. A very confused look formed on their face. I shook my head, but didn't even give them the pleasure to know what I meant. I thought they were plain ridiculous and I didn't plan on playing along in this stupid little game of theirs. They were lacking creativity and originality in every possible way. Although you don't have to be smart if daddy pays for whatever you want.

I walked past them and started towards my class, where Yojin was already seated at her table.

"Morning sunshine." I smiled, but her face showed no happiness. She has been pale and tired, lacking any sleep. She was shattered and I didn't know how to help.

"Hey." She replied weakly.

"Did they do something to you again?" I asked, but she just shook her head.

"Not yet, but the wait, the feeling that it could come any time, makes me go mental." She heaved a deep sigh. Looking at her fragile state, I decided to keep the letter a secret. She didn't need to feel any more miserable than she already did.

"It will be okay. Everything will be just fine, Yojin." I put my hand on her arm, caressing it soothingly.

As lunch break arrived, I was called into the teacher's office. I asked Yojin to pick up our lunch and wait for me at the basketball court. I couldn't have been away for more than ten minutes tops. I walked out of the building, towards the court, when I saw a couple of guys surrounding Yojin. I recognised them almost immediately. Hoseok and Jimin were sitting on each side of Yojin, while Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi were standing in front of her. I wasn't sure what was happening until I got closer and recognised the sobbing form of my best friends, as she was hiding her tears away in her palms. I stopped for a second, thinking of the worst scenarios. Many thoughts ran through my mind, but none were of positive nature. I shook my head and hurried over to Yojin, crouching down in front of her, massaging her knees to calm her down.

"Yojin, what is going on?" I asked as softly as I could manage, not to scare her anymore than she already was.

"The girls came after her.' Hoseok spoke instead. I started searching for injuries on her, but I couldn't find any. "They didn't hurt her. When we saw what was happening, we rushed over, but it just angered them even more. Namjoon and Seokjin took them away somewhere to calm them down." I heard each and every word, but I stopped listening halfway. My blood was boiling, I wanted revenge. This was getting out of hand and I didn't plan on stepping aside. Prank calls, a dead rat, stupid little letters? I could have dealt with that. But hurting my friend? That was more than enough to push me over the edge.

I started nudging Yojin to look up at me and after a couple of tries, she finally lifted her head. Her cheeks were stained of rapidly flowing tears, her eyes were bloodshot, her gaze miserable. I pulled her closer to me and hugged her reassuringly, patting her back gently. I unwrapped my arms and stood up with determination across my face.

"Where are they?" I asked looking around, waiting for one of the boys to talk, but they all kept silent. "Where are they?" I asked in a firm tone, but I got no reply. They didn't even look at me. "You do realise that I have to find just one person who leads me to Namjoon or Seokjin, right?" Finally Jimin heaved a sigh and opened his mouth.

"What about waiting a little? Let's just calm down." I rolled my eyes with a disgusted look on my face.

"I didn't asked for advice, Jimin. I asked where they were." I spoke again.

"If you go there now, while everyone is worked up, it will just cause more issues." He tried to convince me and he was not wrong, but I was way too angry to listen to him.

"More issues, Jimin? Dead animals, prank calls, obscene writings on her table, threatening letters, what else do I need to finally confront them? I waited enough and here is your answer." I pointed at Yojin trying to get my point across. "I am asking you for the last time. Where are they?" I hissed with anger at their utterly useless behaviour, but noone seemed to want to help. I nodded, more to myself than to them and turned around, looking for any student. Their fame preceded them, people were always aware of their whereabouts.

"What are you planning to do?" Jimin ran after me. I wasn't in the mood to listen to his hypocritical behaviour.

"I'm going to sit down with them and have a cup of tea, while discussing the weather." I spit, while searching for someone who could be helpful enough.

"You are not going to solve the problem. You will just fuel it even more." He ignored my reply. I stopped abruptly and turned to look at him.

"You are the one to talk? I have heard stories, you know? About fights and suspensions and even the police getting involved." I grimaced at his cowardly behaviour. "You are the last person who should be giving a lecture or advice." I scoffed and started walking again.

"You do realise not everything you hear is true, right?" He asked with a rather firm tone.

"I do and I didn't say I believed them all. But every rumour has a basis and whether you deny it or not, I am sure that you didn't just get involved with the police because you were an angel." I heaved a frustrated sigh. People were already in class, making my search rather difficult.

"I am not looking for excuses. I am not saying, I am innocent, nor am I saying that you should just sit tight and do nothing. But you are way too worked up to keep your cool, which is not helpful." I stopped and looked down on the ground. I knew how right he was, but I felt the need, the pull to just go and do something... anything. I lifted my head, looking into his dark eyes. A gentle smile spread across his face, which somehow made me feel calmer, or at least less aggravated.

"Tell me where they are and I promise to keep my cool. Please, I need to confront them, Jimin." I spoke softly, trying to make him understand, that it was important to me. He let out a heavy sigh, but slowly nodded.

"Fine, but I'm going with you." He spoke and in a way I felt relieved. He seemed to have a calming affect on me, which was quite necessary in such situation.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like the chapter. Thank you :)

[taintjisung]

[14:51] 2min

kinks: eye contact, embarrassment, sir, slight degradation and teasing, slight overstim

words: 2256

top: minho

the two eldest members always seemed to be the only ones capable of scolding seungmin. to the rest of the six boys, he was so cute this, he was so cute that, but frankly, with the dirty jokes and annoying mocking coming from that “baby boy” when they weren’t around, minho was starting to get sick of it. someone needed to put that damn kid in his place.

especially now that with felix and jisung on the floor laughing at his jokes, seungmin was preoccupied calling minho a bottom. so maybe it was partially true,... okay, maybe it was completely true, but it was still embarrassing, and minho was ready to break character completely to shut him up.

minho rolled his eyes and opened his book, ignoring the three, pretending to read as he listened, waiting for the conversation to die down. patience. he had to have patience.

after what seemed like decades, jisung’s phone alarm went off, and both he and felix sat up with a start, sharing a look as they looked at each other.

“the new episode is up. like right now.” felix whispered, and the two grabbed their things and ran to the other room to assumably watch that episode.

minho closed his book softly, turning to seungmin.

“a bottom, huh? that’s what you think i am?”

seungmin’s cheeks dusted pink softly, not a very noticeable blush but certainly present. for a moment he had no idea what to say, so minho spoke for him.

“you want me to prove you wrong? is that it? a see-to-believe ordeal?”

“wh-what?”

a cheeky grin grew on minho’s face, and seungmin already saw where this was going as he opened his mouth again.

“you had to be really thinking to be so solid in your theory,” minho said dramatically, squinting at air for effect. “what’s going on in your head, hm? care to show me?”

“they’re in the other room,” seungmin shyed softly, trying to hide how flustered he was. minho was practically asking for sex.

“if you’re gonna act like that i hope to hell they hear you,” minho snapped. “you make fun of me? i punish you. easy.” he put his book down on the end table, then walked himself over to sit down beside seungmin, his hand on his knee and slowly sliding up his thigh. “you don’t think you should get away with it, do you?”

“n-no, sir,” seungmin breathed, and minho caught the slightest movement of the boy tilting his head away from him.

“sir?” minho repeated. “is that what you like? sir?”

seungmin was a deep shade of red now, but it was both from embarrassment and the way minho’s touch was turning him on. without thinking he grabbed minho’s wrist, pulling his hand closer to his crotch, but the elder pulled away.

“why should i satisfy you when you keep making fun of me?” he tsked. “if anything, i should make you get on your knees for me.”

minho snapped his fingers and pointed to the hallway. “bedroom. now.”

“make me.”

minho grabbed seungmin’s wrist and dragged him to their room, shoving him onto the bed and kicking the door closed behind them. immediately he pinned his wrists above either side of his head, his breath heavy as he stared down at the younger with lust in his eyes.

seungmin’s eyes were wild on minho’s, and subconsciously he rolled his lips over his tongue, making the boy’s gaze drop straight to his mouth at the movement.

“are you gonna keep staring or just kiss me?” seungmin breathed nervously, attentive to minho’s every move as he chuckled softly, then did as he was told. a little too obedient as his lips roughly pushed with and against seungmin’s, minho’s eager tongue slipped along where his mouth parted softly for air, impatiently searching for the boy’s taste. he still tasted of the fruit salad he’d had for lunch. cool and sweet.

shyly seungmin tugged on minho’s shirt, but didn’t make any efforts to remove it. he was still embarrassed. maybe it was so easy to kiss back because his eyes were closed.

minho pulled away, now straddling seungmin as he smirked.

“go on,” he teased. “take it off of me.”

face a warm shade of cherry red, seungmin gulped, eyes drifting down to the hem as he reached out. minho grabbed his chin, forcing his face up; “look at me when you do it.”

seungmin wanted to do it quickly, get the embarrassment over with, but minho put his hands over his, making him do it slowly, his hands close on his skin as he lifted the fabric away, locking their gaze just as he was told to.

“just like that,” minho chuckled, then once his shirt was on the floor he pushed seungmin back down, starting to remove his without breaking eye contact.

minho’s movements were so painstakingly slow, he was trying so hard to embarrass seungmin. and it was definitely working; the boy’s face grew redder by the moment, but every time he tried to look away minho grabbed him by the chin and made him look at him.

the only time minho let them break eye contact, was when seungmin was finally naked underneath him, and he was busy taking in the sight, hands exploring the boy’s sides.

with the touches minho was giving seungmin, the latter was visibly growing harder, making the elder laugh. he was so easy.

seungmin grabbed minho’s hips, pulling him closer, and minho readjusted himself to sit over seungmin’s left thigh rather than his waist so he was lower on his body. he grabbed the back of his left and pulled his knee up, starting to touch him as he craved.

seungmin hummed in satisfaction, letting his eyes close and leaning into the touch, but minho pushed his hips down and demanded, “look at me,” as he put his finger in his mouth a moment before pushing it into seungmin.

the boy let out a moan as he grabbed onto minho’s forearm, eyes darkening as he stared back at him with lust in his irises. minho’s touch was slow yet hard, giving the illusion that he was gentle but with each thrust he pushed as hard as he could. he was searching for seungmin’s sweet spot and, upon finding it, hit it the hardest, making the boy cry out.

“shh,” he cooed, hitting it again as he put his hand over seungmin’s mouth. “do you want them to hear? i wouldn’t care, but you would, wouldn’t you?”

“ugh, please,” seungmin breathed, already too braindead to make a proper sentence.

“please what? hm?”

“p-please, sir,” seungmin grabbed at minho’s lower back needily.

“aw, do you want me to fuck you? is that it? is that what you want?”

he nodded in response, but it wasn’t enough for minho. he needed to hear it. “speak,” he demanded. “tell me what you want.”

“w-want you t-to..” seungmin trailed off, rolling his lips between his teeth.

“want me to what? come on, min.”

“want you to fuck me, sir,” he managed, closing his eyes as he said it.

“look at me when you’re talking to me.”

“i want you to fuck me!”

“‘atta boy,” minho was finally satisfied, hopping off the bed to get to his nightstand, where he had a bottle of lube waiting for them.

“wh-why do you have that?”

minho chuckled at how utterly helpless seungmin was. the smallest things made him so nervous, and yet here he was naked in front of his hyung? what a miracle.

“how do you want to do this?” minho cooed, already knowing he was going to make seungmin do all the work, just to embarrass him more, but he wanted to give him the option to speak for himself. just as he hoped, seungmin got nervous yet again, pretending to think to mask that he was trying to find a way to say it.

“wanna... on my stomach,” he finally said, and minho laughed.

“your stomach? why? so i can’t make you look at me?” he scoffed. “get up.”

seungmin sat up, and minho laid down beside him, propping himself up on his elbows. he snapped and pointed to his lap, and seungmin nodded softly, climbing over him and straddling him, their positions swapped from just a moment ago. minho decided to spare the younger, prepping them for him, but that mercy was gone as he pulled his hands away. they pinned seungmin’s to the bed, and he waited expectantly with a cheeky smile for seungmin to take over.

“go on,” he teased, and seungmin nodded, looking down; again, minho grabbed his chin and turned it back up.

“you’re going to look at me this entire time. don’t look anywhere but my eyes, or i’m gonna have to punish you.”

yeah, the eye contact made seungmin unbelievably nervous. but something about how strong and unfaltering minho’s stare was turned him on even more, so much so that precum was already leaking from his twitching tip, eager for him to get minho completely inside of him. that he did, sinking down partially but scared to take the whole thing.

well, minho grabbed his sides and forced him to. seungmin let out a loud moan, the pleasure moving up his body as he caught himself against the mattress that left the two of their faces inches apart.

“aw, you like how deep it is? does that feel good?”

“y-yessir.”

seungmin nodded as his eyes fluttered closed, encouraging the kiss minho gave. so maybe the bottom in minho came out again as his hands roamed seungmin’s back needily, rocking softly into his body as he kissed him gently, forgetting he was supposed to be teasing him, embarrassing him. that is, until he put his hand on seungmin’s chest, pushing him back.

“i want you to use your hips on me. just like you do when you dance. you know how to do that, don’t you?”

with minho’s guiding hands on his hips, seungmin licked his lips as he rolled back onto him, a hand on his chest to keep himself steady. his eyes fluttered closed as he let out a loud moan, an almost delicate sound that went straight to minho’s dick and rendered him feeling utterly useless underneath him, trying so hard not to control him, not to fuck him himself too hard.

his hands pulled seungmin back down faster, picking up the speed little by little and making the two of them louder by the moment.

after some time, minho was growing impatient, and grabbing seungmin’s hips he bucked up into him hard, hitting the right spot to make him cry out and fall forward, panting.

“there?” minho hit it again. and again, and again. seungmin’s nails dug into his shoulders, and as he tightened around him he did the same to his lower back. god, he couldn’t control himself anymore; minho held seungmin’s hips in place as he fucked him as hard as he could, the two of them forgetting they weren’t home alone as melodically sinful sounds spilt from their lips, mixing between their heat that grew hotter by the second.

“you like that, huh?” minho growled. “you like how deep i am? how hard i’m going? you’re such a whore for me.”

seungmin was crying from the pleasure, the teasing making him grow redder, his skin grow hotter, his heat grow harder.

“you really like being teased, don’t you? but you’re all embarrassed? tell me how good my cock feels.”

“s-so good, s-sir,” seungmin cried, trying to hold back his chasing finish, and minho could tell by the way he grew tenser, his eyes rolling back. he didn’t spare him the mercy, quickly spinning them around and pinning the boy to the bed, pounding into him as hard as he could. seungmin grabbed at anything he could; his hands slipped from the sheets and blindly reached out for minho’s arm, and the elder grabbed them and pinned them back above his head, dipping their bodies closer together.

“hyung, hyung, hyung,” seungmin pleaded, but he couldn’t get much farther than the honourific, letting minho just understand as he practically screamed, nails digging into his palms.

“cum for me, baby,” minho growled as hot cum spilt all over seungmin’s chest. he wasn’t quite done and he didn’t intend to stop until he was, but the sight of seungmin all fucked out and covered in his own cum, the sound of him crying from the overstimulation, he couldn’t control himself.

“where can i cum,” he panted, and seungmin grabbed him by the hips, “here. h-here, sir.”

a devilish smile coated minho’s face as he pulled seungmin closer, burying himself as deep as he could to let his release out, and in doing so shoved the boy’s prostate so far back he screamed out in pleasure.

“god, you’re so fucking loud,” minho hissed as he slowly pulled out, watching himself spill all over seungmin’s thighs and the blanket beneath them.

“but you like it.”

“oh, god, i love it.” he breathed. “it’s so fucking hot.”

“are you done?” a pissed jisung called from outside the door. “we’re trying to watch our fucking show.”

“oh, god,” a mortified seungmin groaned, covering his reddened face.

“yes, go watch your fucking show,” minho snapped, before turning his attention back to seungmin, taking his hands away from his face to admire him a while longer. all sleepy and fucked out, he could get used to this if he let him.

[writing-freak]

Useless pt. 1

Hank McCoy x Reader

A/N: My first series!! Also my first x-men story (coincidence???)! Honestly, I was writing a one-shot, and I got to the end and it was over 11 pages so..... I figured it’d be easier to read split up into a few parts?? Let me know how you like it!

Word Count: 1,844

Masterlist

You loved X-Mansion, and you loved everyone in it. You loved having a place in which you finally belonged, a place that you could call home, people you could call a family. You looked forward to each sunrise, each day filled with classes with the other students, who you had fit in with almost immediately.

You loved all of them, your little family. You loved Jean, with her kind smiles and warm hugs, and Ororo, with her tough shell but soft inside. You loved Scott, who cared for Jean much more than he liked to admit, and Peter, who cared about all of you more than he liked to admit. You loved Kurt, who was kind to everyone, expecting coldness in return, and Jubilee, who was always ready to have fun. You even loved your older friends, like Raven and Hank, who were so much fun to hang out with, each in their separate ways. And you loved Charles, who gave you this amazing opportunity to be a part of something.

But you hated your powers.

You knew you were supposed to accept your gifts, and learn how to embrace them, but you couldn’t help but wish they didn’t exist. While you got to go to classes with the bold and brave X-Men, you knew you could never be one yourself.

It wasn’t that you were jealous; you knew all of the hardships your friends had gone through in the development of their gifts. You didn’t even feel left out; that they were a part of something you weren’t. In all honesty, you felt completely and utterly useless, and every time they went on a mission, all you could do was lie in bed, filled with worry and guilt, guilt that you couldn’t do anything to help them.

“C’mon, y/n,” Jean pleaded. “Try it with us. Just this once.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me. Go, finish your training. I’d only get in your way.”

Jean sighed, knowing already that you wouldn’t give in. Kurt wasn’t so observant.

“I’ll teleport you on top of the enemies, and then you can make them fall asleep,” he said, a hopeful grin on his face. You smiled lightly, appreciative of his attempts to help.

“It’s alright, Kurt. Thanks anyway.” You forced a big smile, and the rest of the group left reluctantly. Kurt’s grin turned into a frown.

“We’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

It went like this every time the team did their simulation practices. But no matter how many times they nagged you to join them, you knew that while Scott could fire lasers from his eyes, and Jean could control things with her mind, you had much less useful abilities in combat.

Most people that heard you were an empath were immediately intrigued. It sounded really cool, in theory. You could read emotions, and even control them, pretty well, after years of training. But in order to use your ability, you needed physical contact, and enough time to work your “magic”. In a fight, these were two things that were hard to come by. Even if you managed to get your hands on someone, you doubted being able to make someone sad or angry would do you much good.

You began to wander the halls, trying to put off doing your homework as long as you could. You found yourself heading towards the library, one of your favorite places in the entire mansion. It was easy to forget the world while reading. It was just the distraction you needed.

No one ever used the library and its vast collection of novels, journals, encyclopedias and more. And so when you entered the library, you were not surprised to find your favorite seat, the one in the corner by the glass window, empty.

You had just sat down, pulling your book from your back, when you heard some commotion from around the corner of one of the many shelves. You jumped to your feet, setting your stuff down as you followed the noise. When you turned the corner, you let out a laugh as you found your friend, Hank, doubled over a pile of books, scattered across the floor.

“Here, let me help you,” you send, kneeling down to help gather his stack.

“Thanks,” Hank said quietly, getting flustered as he scrambled to get his books together.

“This is a lot of books,” you commented, picking one up. “What’s this for?”

“N-nothing. Just some research I’m doing.” Hank grabbed the book from your hands quickly, but not before you got a glance at its title. Empathy, it read.

You laughed. “I know a bit about that.” But Hank wasn’t smiling. He was avoiding your gaze. “Is there something wrong, Hank?” He usually was more than excited to share his research with the rest of the mutants. But he was silent as you questioned him. Grabbing some of the other books from his hands, you saw the rest of the titles. There was a variety in the selection, but they all shared one common term: empathy. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Hank continued to look at the ground.

“Hank!”

He sighed. “I heard some of the younger mutants saying you don’t participate in the training sessions. I’ve been working with making your power more useful in battle.”

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected that. “That’s...that’s very nice, Hank, but you don’t have to do that for me, really. I’m fine without being one of the X-Men.”

“No!” Hank said, shaking his head. His face had lit up, as it often did when discussing his research. “It started out like that, yes, but I find your powers fascinating, y/n.”

“You...you do?”

“Of course! I think I’m working towards a way in which we can make your powers reach further distances than your touch.”

Unable to control your interest, you asked, “Really? That’s possible?”

Hank bit his lip. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on it. I’m pretty sure your powers deal with a chemical transfer, and if I can replicate that transfer outside of you, I think I might be able to harness it.”

You didn’t want to make Hank go out of his way to help you, but you couldn’t help but get excited at his idea. What if you could help them? What if the next time the X-Men go on a mission, you didn’t have to lie awake in bed, out of your mind with worry? What if you could be with them, fighting alongside them? What if your powers could be useful?

“Would you like to see what I’ve done so far?” Hank asked, his books finally collected into one pile that nearly reached his nose. “Maybe you could help me.”

You smiled slightly, a little hesitant but mostly intrigued by his idea. “You’re going to need help carrying all these books back to the lab. Let me grab my bag real quick first,” you told Hank, hopping to your feet to collect your things. You threw all your books in your bag quickly and returned to find Hank attempting to carry all the books himself. He looked on the verge of toppling over once more, the books tilting at a concerning angle. “Hank!”

“Sorry,” Hank muttered as the top two books of his stack fell to his feet.

“I told you I’d help you with these!” You grinned at his flustered face as he struggled to keep a grip on the remaining books. You picked up the two books from the ground, and grabbed the top half of his stack.

“You really didn’t have to,” Hank said as you’d begun walking back towards the library’s exit.

“You really didn’t have to come up with a way for me to be a part of the X-Men,” you said without looking at him.

“I’m really interested in your power, y/n, honest.” Hank said, readjusting his stack so he could push up his glasses. “And it’s sort of my job. I use my technology in the lab to help out the X-Men, and your abilities could be useful to them, I’m just working out how.”

“Well thank you anyway,” you said, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to be one of the X-Men.”

Hank looked at you, angling his head to the side. “Can I ask why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would feel lost without the X-Men. But the X-Men came before X-Mansion for me, and it was my only option to be around people like myself. With you, you can go to school here, and be around other mutants, without the constant danger of having to fight for your life.”

You let the question hang there for awhile, the only sound the quiet tap of your feet on the wood floors. You knew he was right, you could have everything without the danger your friends went through every time they had a mission. “I know,” you said finally, and tried to ignore Hank’s heavy gaze.

“I didn’t mean to judge,” he said, looking apologetic as he straightened his stack of books. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, not necessarily.”

“No,” you interrupted. “You’re right. It’s just...yes, I am safe, and I do have lots of friends that are just like me. But all of those friends, they aren’t safe like I am.”

“And you wish you could help them?” Hank asked. You nodded.

“I feel so useless, every time they go away.”

Hank nodded understandingly. “I used to feel that way, before I learned to control my powers. But Charles helped me, and maybe I can do the same for you.”

You had reached the entrance to Hank’s lab, and the door opened, the boy stepping aside for you to enter first.

“So I’ve been researching a lot about how your powers work.” Hank made his way over to a metal table in the middle of the room, setting his books down as he took a seat, pulling out a beat up notebook. “That’s what these books are for,” he said, smiling sheepishly. You sat down beside him, adding your stack to his.

Hank flipped through his notebook as you looked around. Each time you came to the lab, it looked different than before. Besides the library, Hank’s lab was one of you favorite locations inside the mansion. Hank was always coming up with amazing ideas that you had no idea how he managed to get working.

“I’ve been working on this device,” Hank said, referring to a drawing in his notebook. It was a gun, or looked like one, that fired discs the size of walnuts. “It should be able to channel the chemical reaction you create with your mutation into these discs, that will imbed themselves into an enemy. As long as you’re using your powers, you should be able to make long-distance adjustments to someone’s mood or behavior.”

“I can change their emotions without touching them,” you translated. Hank nodded.

“Exactly.”

“So how can I help?”

pt. 2

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Eight - Bad Things Come in Threes

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone, and happy (almost) holidays! I’ll just leave this week’s chapter right here, but don’t forget to check my profile on Tuesday for a new holiday fic! Warning: this chapter contains mention of serious violence and descriptions of blood.

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Eight - Bad Things Come in Threes

ROY'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0347 HOURS, APRIL 15

The ringing of the telephone jolted him awake from an already uneasy sleep. For a moment, he lay frozen in disorientation – his eyes were open, he knew, but everything was utterly black. Gradually, memory of where he was and why he couldn't see returned, and he rolled onto his side, fumbling cautiously for the phone.

He caught it on the fifth ring, swallowing hard as he brought it to his ear to hide the sleep in his voice. "Hello?"

"Sorry to wake you, sir. I've got news."

Dropping onto his back, Roy breathed a long sigh, his free hand reaching up to massage tired eyes. "Go ahead, Fuery. What have you heard? And what time is it?"

"It's nearly oh-four-hundred, sir. I had a call from the military police earlier tonight." The young man's voice was calm on the surface, but the quick way he spoke and the clipped sound of the words belied his anxiety. "They say they've found a body that might be that missing hospital administration clerk."

Roy lay still, processing the information even as it brought him more fully awake. "What description did they give of it?"

"They've been working from her hospital I.D., but the body's torn up pretty badly." Fuery explained. "They were able to match height, approximate weight, eye colour… but that's about it. They have a request in for her dental records, but those could take a day or two. Dr. Knox says he's still swamped with all the casualties from the battle."

Doubt was beginning to percolate through the earlier interest. "And do they have a suspect?" He felt his stomach clench involuntarily. "Please don't tell me they think it's the Jameson and Walston killer."

"Sorry, sir. This has all the hallmarks of our guy and then some. The body was found by the river, in that little wooded area off of Tenth Street? She must have already been worked over, but in the day or two since she went missing… well, let's say that this serial killer isn't the only animal in the city."

"…I see." Roy bit thoughtfully at the inside of his lower lip, trying to puzzle out how to proceed. "I don't suppose we have any witnesses either. Anyone who had seen her would have come forward when they heard she was missing."

"No, sir. Just the man who found the body, and she's been here long enough that the killer is long gone."

He tried not to let his exhale sound too much like a sigh of defeat. "All right. Let the MPs know that Hawkeye and I will be there inside of an hour. And, Fuery?" He paused a moment, making sure he had the younger man's attention. "Good work with this. You've had a lot thrown at you in the last couple of weeks, and you're handling it well."

There was no mistaking the note of happy pride. "Thank you, sir!"

Hanging up, Roy stayed flat on his back for another minute, processing it all again. What had been intended as a quiet, restful night was once again curtailed by business. The familiar deep cushions of the couch were almost achingly comfortable, nudging him back toward sleep… but there was a job to do.

Turning onto his stomach, he picked up the phone once again, careful fingers counting over the holes in the dial until the tenth. A single spin later, the operator came on the line. Giving her the number he wanted, Roy folded his arms over the end of the couch, listening for the telltale rings.

There was a single one before she picked up, her voice even and calm without a single trace of the weariness that accompanied being woken. "Hello?'

Feeling taken aback, he hesitated for a bare second before he could marshal himself to speak. "Hey. Good morning, sunshine."

She laughed quietly. "The sun isn't even up yet, Roy."

"I didn't think you would be either, but here we are," he retorted. "I just had a call from Fuery. There's been some movement on the case, and we're needed over on Tenth. Could I impose on you to swing by and pick me up?"

Her reply was immediate, dropping into her usual business-like fashion in the space of a blink. "Of course. Did he say what we've got?"

"Probable new victim. The admin clerk that went missing the night before we checked out of the hospital." He hesitated, then added, "I can find my own way there, if you want to try and get some sleep. No offense, but you picked up awfully fast for four o'clock in the morning."

There was a long stretch of silence on the line, and the normal crackle of static sounded uncomfortably like forming ice crystals in the coldness of it. "…I'm fine, sir," she answered at last. "Hayate woke me up and I hadn't fallen back to sleep yet. Don't worry."

Had he been able to see, he would have been glaring daggers at the wall. "Strike one, Riza. Try again."

Another long silence, but her voice was softer when she finally spoke. "You of all people know insomnia is nothing new to me. Especially during high-stakes circumstances like this." She paused, waiting for him to interject, then continued when he didn't. "Let's not waste time worrying about it now. I'll be there in fifteen minutes; do you need me to walk up and get you?"

Reluctantly turning from the subject of her disrupted sleep cycle, he sat upright, running a hand back through his hair. "I'll meet you downstairs. Just try not to hit me if I end up in the middle of the street."

"I'll try," she promised, smiling, and hung up.

He dropped the receiver back into the cradle, but didn't stand. Frowning, he played over what had happened. Riza was right; it wasn't unusual for her to lose some sleep in high-stress circumstances or even after major events had concluded. But that was always during or immediately after, never almost two weeks.

This was new. Different. And when he couldn't see to confront the problem, Roy liked it even less than he usually did.

Well, he reasoned, I can always press her for more information on the drive. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he stood carefully and felt his way to where he had discarded his clothes on a nearby chair. It was back to business.

RIZA'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0401 HOURS, APRIL 15

She hung up the telephone, and turned back to where she had left her half-full mug of tea on the kitchen counter. Though normally an early riser, she was more accustomed to five a.m. than the three-thirty she had woken up at. Despite only four hours of sleep or so, she had felt energized and ready to go, no matter what was in the offing. She had dressed, made her customary morning cup of tea, and been going over yesterday's copy of the Central Times when the phone rang.

She tossed back the last of the tea in a trio of quick swallows before leaving the cup in the sink and heading toward the bathroom. Hayate — still sleepy at this early hour — opened one eye to watch her from the bed, then closed it again. His mistress's odd hours never seemed to faze him; so long as he had a spot to nap and food in his bowl, he was content.

A quick brush through her hair and another on her teeth later, she turned off the lights, dropped a swift pat on Hayate's head, and pulled on her boots before slipping out the door.

She loved the quiet of the early morning, this time before the world itself even thought of waking up. Such calm, such peace…. After the last few weeks, that was all she wanted. Peace, quiet… preferably with Roy…. Distractedly, she reached up to run a hand through her hair, her memory calling up images of his hands on her skin, his lips on hers, those sightless eyes distant in concentration as he -

She emerged from the door at the bottom of the stairwell in the cool spring predawn, the fresh air yanking her back to the present. Shaking her head to clear it, she started for the small parking lot where she had left their borrowed car. It bothered her, on some quiet level, that she was lately so preoccupied with getting him into bed at every opportunity that presented itself, no matter how slim. It had never been that way before, though she supposed the forcible six-month separation played a role in it. Even so, she had to have more control than this. There was work to do, and she refused to let her work and personal lives mix too closely.

Settling herself into the old familiar mental space of soldier/bodyguard, she took a deep breath. She would ask Roy about the… about their recent uptick in bedroom activities, get his opinions on it. A smile tugged at her mouth as she realized what he would have to say if she phrased the question in that exact way.

Three hundred cenz words, Riza. Not fair.

And there she was, thinking about getting him into bed again. She paused, the key in the car's door lock, trying to get her thoughts under control. It didn't come so easily this time, and what calm she managed felt frayed around the edges by concern. Had the events of the Promised Day and the months leading up to it really changed her that much, that she no longer had control over her own thoughts and emotions?

Out of nowhere, as she slid behind the wheel, the anger flared. Anger at herself, at the nebulous concept of feelings. It was so… so useless, all of it! She had a job to do, and that job required her to keep her emotions in check while at work. She couldn't afford to be distracted by feelings when she was needed for other things. So why did she suddenly have so much trouble controlling herself when it came to whatever the current configuration of brain chemicals was?

As suddenly as it had arrived, the anger faded back into the general turmoil inside. Taking another deep breath, Riza started the vehicle, flipped on the headlights, and put it in gear. She eased onto the street, starting east toward Roy's apartment through the near-deserted streets of Central.

"Nothing to worry about," she murmured to herself, watching the street lamps and pavement move smoothly past. "Still in control. Still all right."

Perhaps, she thought, she was merely experiencing something she had only ever heard of. There had been reports — not widely published ones, but reports all the same — of men returning from Ishval that displayed irregularities and high emotions after the trauma they had seen. Riza had suffered nightmares and loss of sleep over her time there, had refused to speak of it for months, but nothing truly… detrimental.

If anything was going to traumatize her worse than Ishval, it would have been the feeling of her own blood seeping through her fingers. She felt herself beginning to relax into the seat. Yes, that had to be it — the Promised Day had scared her in a way she hadn't thought possible before, and these were the consequences. Both needing to feel something and feeling too much, all at once.

Making a right turn, she smiled, the light from the streetlamps illuminating the expression. Well, now that that was settled, she would be able to focus more on the task at hand. And if she needed someone to talk to about this… this emotional imbalance, for lack of a better term, she would call Major Armstrong. His own emotional breakdown had led to his refusal to comply and subsequent dismissal from the Ishvalan front; if anyone knew what it was like, it would be him.

Feeling calmer, she drove on. When her stomach flipped like a lovesick schoolgirl's at the sight of him waiting for her on the sidewalk, she didn't question the emotion.

RIVERSIDE DRIVE AND TENTH STREET, CENTRAL CITY

0451 HOURS, APRIL 15

They emerged from the car into light tendrils of mist curling off the slow-moving river. Headlights from military police vehicles and an ambulance lit the vapour as it swirled in a light breeze that rustled the crime scene tape and the coats of the men closest to the vehicles.

With his hand in the crook of Riza's elbow, Roy listened to the voices grow louder as they approached. When he heard them die away, he judged that he must have their attention. "Good morning, everyone," he said grimly. "I understand there's been some excitement." When no one answered, he turned in the direction of the one voice he had recognized. "Breda? Fill us in."

Footsteps approached, and papers rustled as a file was passed; he felt the movement as Riza reached out to take it. "Nothing new to report, Boss," the redheaded man said. "If it's the administration clerk, she's in civilian clothes instead of her hospital uniform, and she doesn't seem to have any ID on her."

"Would you mind if I had a look?" Riza said quietly. "If it's who we suspect, I may have spoken with her before she disappeared. If I did, I might recognize her."

"Lieutenant, there's… not much left to recognize." Breda sounded uncomfortable, as though he were grimacing as he spoke. Given the man's preference for game boards over battlefields, Roy could certainly understand. "You remember what Mr. Walston looked like? Take that, but there's also damage to the face and… chest area."

Something churned sickeningly in Roy's stomach at that thought, and he felt Riza's arm tense beneath his hand. "I understand," she said calmly, still quiet. "But if we're going to consult productively on this, we still need to see the crime scene itself."

With a sigh that sounded distinctly resigned, Breda's footsteps turned away and changed from gritting gravel to swishing grass. "Okay, sir, you win. She's down by the pedestrian bridge to the left there. Go slow, though; the ground's kind of muddy and I don't think the Colonel wants to go ass over teakettle into the river."

"I do hate swimming," Roy remarked offhandedly.

The descent of the riverbank was somewhat steep, slow, and felt probably twice as precarious as it actually was. Riza went in front of him, murmuring soft direction back to him, and one point turning to hold him by both hands as he negotiated a slight drop in the riverside rocks. Her fingers, Roy noted, were icy cold; the cool spring dawn would have her shivering lightly before long.

More voices floated up from the near distance, Fuery's distinct among them along with Armstrong's bass rumble. Both of them approached at Breda's call, joining the little party just inside the crime scene proper, as Riza told him.

"Doctor Knox has indicated that dental identification will have to wait until she arrives at the coroner's office," Armstrong informed them, after perfunctory greetings. "Until his transport arrives, we're just trying to gather what evidence we can."

"The hospital wanted to send the senior administrator to try and identify her," Fuery added in, sounding subdued. "But we dissuaded him to wait until we get the dental records and see if they match." His voice grew slightly muffled, and Roy surmised he was looking back over his shoulder at the body. "No need to expose people to this if we can avoid it."

Roy grimaced. "That bad, is it?" When neither man answered, it confirmed the fact. "I see. Well, let's not waste time."

He followed Riza forward, waiting for the quiet intake of breath that would be her involuntary gasp of surprise… and was surprised himself when it didn't come. Instead, she spoke in a detached kind of voice, articulating the scene. "Female victim, probably about five-foot-six, maybe one hundred thirty pounds." He felt the motion of neck and shoulder muscles as her head turned, scanning the area. "She's out in the open, as much as she can be under a bridge like this. The ground is partly rocks, partly sandy dirt, hardly any grass or weeds. The river is a fair distance away — maybe twenty feet."

Frowning in concentration, letting his imagination paint the scenery he couldn't see, Roy waited a moment before speaking. "Does she look like she's been in the water at all?"

A pause. "No, sir. Her hair and clothes are both dry. Rumpled, dirty, and covered with her blood, but not mussed in a way that suggests they were soaked and then dried on her."

The grimace was coming on again, but he held it back. "You said she's covered in blood?"

An edge of distaste filtered into Riza's otherwise clinical tone. "Yes, sir. The body is in much the same condition as Walston's was. Blood everywhere, and the throat torn out." Her head turned, the words taking on a slight fade as she directed her next question elsewhere. "Has anyone checked the lividity of the body? To see if it's similar to what we discovered at the Walston scene?"

"I told them not to so much as touch the body before I could get here," a new voice said, from just behind. A moment later, Knox clapped Roy on the shoulder as he passed, a rattle sounding from the direction he'd come as more newcomers set up what Roy could only guess was a gurney to transport the body. "Bad enough that I'm already overworked with cases from the battle two weeks ago," the older man grumbled. "Now I can't even sleep through the night without getting a call."

"High demand is the price of being too good at your job," Roy commented, deciding not to mention that they had all been pulled from bed as well. "I'm glad you could make it out, though."

"That makes one of us," the other shot back. His voice, forward from Roy's position, sounded from low down, presumably as he crouched beside the body. "What time was she found?"

"Approximately three a.m.," Fuery answered. "Or at least, that's when the MPs received the call. Give or take ten minutes for the discovery to be called in from the nearest public phone."

Roy could hear Knox muttering indistinctly to himself as he worked, the sound of a clasped bag being open, metal tools clinking against other metal tools, and Breda's choked-off noise of disgust at some coroner's field procedure all hanging in the damp night air. Finally, Knox spoke audibly.

"Whatever finished this young lady, it did so over twenty-four hours ago," he said grimly. "Tell me something: have there been recent reports of animal attacks in this area?

"Not to our knowledge," Breda replied. His voice sounded slightly thick to Roy, as though the redheaded man were struggling with some kind of lump in his throat. He began to suspect that perhaps the crime scene was in danger of being contaminated. "But it does fit in with our working theory on the recent serial killer attacks."

There was a long moment of silence before Knox's low voice came again. "…You think a human did this? Human teeth and jaws?"

Riza stirred minutely. "That's the theory we've been operating under," she confirmed. "Do you believe differently?"

Boots shifted on dirt as Knox changed position, followed by more silence. "Well… I'm not an expert on dentition, but I'm not a complete novice either," he said at last. "Without proper light to see by… I can see where you would get the impression that a human did this. But there are similarities to a large animal as well, something like a wolf or some kind of big cat."

"We weren't going on teeth marks as a sign of human involvement," Riza commented, her tone dark. "At the Walston house, there was a scrap of human tissue found in the sink. The same sink where the killer is thought to have cleaned himself up." The brief pause was heavy with grim meaning. "It's our thought that if he cleaned himself up there, he may have also cleaned his teeth."

Another shuffle of movement, and Knox's voice spoke from its usual height. "I'm not saying you're wrong," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "But if that's the case, you have a particularly twisted psychopath on your hands. One with an extremely strange dental arrangement. Here, have a look."

Riza's shoulder slipped from under Roy's hand as she stepped forward. Knox kept speaking. "Here and here…. Those are marks from canine teeth. In a normal human mouth, they are somewhat pointed, their purpose being to pierce food in order to tear it. But the impressions from these canine teeth are much deeper than I would expect of a normal human bite; they've pierced deeper than they ought to have, especially in relation to the surrounding teeth."

Breda chimed in, his frown evident. "If I'm following correctly, Doc, you're saying whoever did this… their canine teeth are longer than the average humans? More pointed?"

"Exactly."

Folding his arms, now that one no longer needed to rest on Riza's shoulder, Roy tried to picture what Knox was saying. "This could be a potential clue to the killer's identity," he pointed out. "If it is a human, that sort of condition can't be common. If this guy has seen a dentist at all, it's something they would be bound to remember."

"I think you're right, Colonel." Knox was still thoughtful, but beginning to sound more and more disturbed by it all. "The more I think about it, the more I believe this isn't the work of an animal."

Riza's voice was quiet, but firm. "If it were an animal," she said, moving back toward Roy, "there would be more of this woman missing. Not to be vulgar, but… an animal wouldn't leave this much of a perfectly good meal to go to waste."

Roy shuddered, partly from the ghoulishness of it, partly from the blank, detached tone of her voice as the hammer-heavy words dropped off her tongue.

DERELICT BUILDING, EAST CITY

0500 HOURS, APRIL 15

He slid his discorporate form through the gaps in the warped metal door frame, down dusty, cobwebbed hallways to the dark, windowless rooms in the centre. He had congratulated himself on such a perfectly appointed place, and even though it had been little more than functionally decrepit when he had made it here, it hadn't stopped him.

He thought of it as his nest. A place of refuge and relaxation where he could take his ease in between hunts as he waited for her to follow him. He had given her enough clues that she ought not to be long now.

The man took a deep breath of the musty air as he entered the room, brushing dust from his clothes. The black suit wasn't his usual style, but it would have to do, with all the nighttime skulking he did. Perhaps when she joined him, he could find something that better fit his style; getting caught was less of a concern when one had backup.

Stripping off the jacket, he moved toward the metal tub of water to one side of the little encampment he had set up. Loosening the necktie, he shed it and the white shirt as well into the water. Blood seeped out of both articles, turning the water a faint shade of pink. The man threw the jacket in with them.

A faint taste of the men still lingered at the back of his mouth. Both had tasted strongly of the cheap beer that had been in their hands and on their clothes as the man attacked, but that hadn't prevented either from becoming a meal. Taking a long stick, the man swirled the clothes around the washtub, watching the water turn redder. Dinner and drinks, he mused humourlessly to himself. Not that alcohol bothered him unduly anymore.

It continued to amaze and amuse him, the way it was detectable in the blood that a person lived their life. A lush tasted of their preferred alcohol. Someone that ate altogether too much red meat tasted sharply of the blood present in a good rare steak. A caffeine addict would taste of their latest cup of coffee or tea.

So far, the Lieutenant was the exception. The man had yet to pinpoint the reason, but her blood…. It called to him all the more for the way it tasted. She tasted of warmth and light. Of ash and soot.

Riza Hawkeye tasted of fire.

He supposed, since the long-suspected carnal aspect of her relationship to Mustang had been confirmed, that he could be the reason for that flavour. But how did it reach the bloodstream? Anything ingested eventually did in one way or another, such as alcohol, food, or coffee. But flames?

He pondered the questions as he scrubbed at the bloodied clothes, washing the stains from the fabric, and coming up empty of answers. Well, it would be something to figure out once she was his. They would have all the time in the world to discover the reason together.

Vaguely, he wondered when he had decided to keep her as some sort of pet, instead of using her to hurt her commanding officer and casting her aside once her usefulness was ended. He supposed he felt responsible for her now, in a way. He had sparked something in her, something that no one else could have done. He was creating a masterpiece, and he wanted to keep it within sight where he could marvel at it, enjoy its beauty.

Wringing the water from his clothes, he laid them over exposed, dead electrical wires to dry before retiring to the small cot close by. He stretched full length upon it, lying on his back, and folded his hands over his ribs. Two days, he estimated, and she would be here. Sooner or later, she would figure out where he was, and then….

Then, she would come and the real fun would begin.

As the first rays of dawn peeped over the eastern horizon in the world outside, the man smiled. His eyes drifted out of focus but remained open… and he slept.

RIZA'S APARTMENT, CENTRAL CITY

0745 HOURS, APRIL 15

She had only just unlocked the door when the phone inside began to ring. Giving one soft, exasperated sigh, Riza tucked her keys back into her pocket and reached back to take Roy's hand.

He squeezed her fingers once and let go, smiling. "Go ahead and answer," he said softly. "I can find my way, don't worry."

Stepping over Hayate as he came toward the door with a wagging tail, Riza murmured a quiet "Stay, boy," before crossing quickly to the table and scooping up the receiver on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Oh good, you're home." Rebecca's voice was full of obvious relief, her words clipped by tension. "I've been calling for an hour! Where have you been?!"

"Out at a crime scene." Brown eyes watched Roy close the door behind him, reaching down to ruffle Hayate's ears. No doubt he followed the soft jingling of the dog's collar. "Is everything all right? You sound like you've seen a ghost."

"I haven't seen any, but I think a couple might've been created," the brunette fired back. Riza grimaced at the heat in her friend's tone; she should have remembered that Rebecca was not a morning person. "Going to Central to deal with soul-stealing megalomaniacal alchemically-powered freaks was bad enough, but I shouldn't have to come home to homicidal psychopaths!"

Tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder, Riza began shrugging out of her coat. Satisfied that the dog hadn't escaped the apartment, Roy started carefully across the floor toward her. "Rebecca, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"Your psycho serial killer came east, Blondie."

She froze, both arms in the coat sleeves even as the garment dropped halfway down her back. Still five feet away, Roy caught her sudden silence and stopped in his tracks. Grey eyes flashed open as he listened, brows lowering in concern. She met that unseeing gaze, forcing herself to draw breath.

"How do you know it's —"

"Throats ripped out and blood everywhere, that's how!" Rebecca was beginning to sound more angry than upset now. Riza finished shrugging out of her coat as her friend continued. "Breda and Fuery told me enough that I can recognize when one murder looks similar to another. Does this sound like your guy, or doesn't it?"

"It depends," she allowed, draping her coat over the back of a kitchen chair. "What has the East City coroner said about it a cause of death?" She cut her friend off as she heard the intake of breath for a no doubt sarcastic reply. "And don't tell me the cause of death is obviously the throat. Just what the coroner said."

The prevented comeback came out in an impatient huff instead. "He said it looked like an animal attack, but it would be the first one reported inside the city limits in over fifteen years. That surely somebody would have seen a creature this big before it had a chance to attack anybody, especially with how far from the city limits the attacks took place."

She frowned. "Where did the attacks take place?"

"Two different wooded areas in Bradley Park. Looks like it was two homeless guys, one right after the other." Rebecca paused. "Has he ever killed in two different locations in one night like this?"

Riza grimaced, leaning back against the table. "It's suspected he did two nights ago. A man and a woman; one was the crime scene you told us about at the hospital; the other was found near a bridge by the river. That's where we just came from." Taking a deep breath, she ran a hand back through her hair. "I'll talk to the Colonel; see what we can figure out. I'll get back to you soon. You're at Headquarters?"

"Yeah. I'll stay put until I hear from you." She hesitated, the anger gone. "And, Riza? Whatever you end up doing… be careful, okay?"

"Of course," she said, as reassuringly as she could manage. "Same goes for you. I'll be in touch."

The instant Roy heard the receiver click into the cradle, he folded his arms. "Sounds like we'll need those travel permits signed off on as soon as possible." Sightless eyes drifted in the direction of the telephone. "Things are heating up at home now, too?"

"From the sound of it." Taking a deep, calming breath, she stood straight. "But this is going to push the Ishval trip back even more. Scar and Miles aren't going to like it."

"I think they'll understand." He grinned, the expression still lop-sided and boyish, but lacking most of its usual good humour. "I mean, who better to know that serial killers should be stopped than a former serial killer?"

He stepped closer, finding her arm and using it to tug her closer. The grin faded to a soft smile. "And besides…. We needed to head that way sooner or later. Even if chasing this guy turns out to be a completely dead end, no pun intended…." He reached up to tap the outside corner of one eye. "… Then I think we can find a way to make sure the trip isn't a waste."

[aswithasunbeam]

Without You, Part I

[A Finding Forgiveness Except]

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: When the Alexander and Eliza lose Philip, it feels like the world should stop spinning. But life goes on, and they have to find a way to keep going... (Except from my much longer story, Finding Forgiveness, though these four chapters can stand on their own)

Warning: Major Character Death

November 1801

“You seem distracted,” Robert Troup noted. He was leaning far back in the chair opposite Hamilton’s desk holding a stack of depositions for a case they were both working on.

Hamilton pulled his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose against the stress headache he was fast developing. “I’m in the midst a very long day,” he answered his friend vaguely.

Troup set down his half of the depositions, a concerned frowned now wrinkling his brow. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and tried to force a smile. “Nothing, really. I just didn’t sleep well. Eliza…” he hesitated. This sort of thing wasn’t proper to talk about among gentlemen, but Troup had been one of his dearest friends going all the way back to King’s. “Eliza’s pregnant again.”

Troup’s face morphed into a smile. “That’s wonderful, Hammy.”

“She’s been having some trouble. Morning sickness, you know.”

Troup nodded sympathetically. “I remember Jeanie going through that. It was awful.”

“She was up sick half the night last night. I hated leaving her this morning,” he admitted. “I’d have stayed home to look after her if I didn’t have so much to do today.”

“How far along is she?”

“She thinks about three months.”

“She should be through the worst of it soon, then,” Troup consoled. “Jeanie always said the early months were the worst.”

That had held true for Eliza previously, as well. “I hope so,” he replied. “I hate when she’s poorly.” He’d felt utterly useless as he’d hovered at her side, rubbing her back gently while she retched endlessly over the chamber pot in their bedroom.

“She’ll be fine,” Troup assured him. “You worry too much.”

His friend’s bright, sunny smile and unfailing optimism did manage to raise his spirits slightly. “Thanks,” he said sincerely.

They returned to their reading with matching sighs. He picked up his quill to mark a passage that might prove useful on cross examination, trying to refocus his mind on the work before him. Time marched steadily onwards.

As the shadows began to lengthen across the floor of his office, he glanced at the clock, and then towards the front door, craning his head in hopes of catching a figure passing by one of the front windows. Troup turned in his seat as well. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Pip was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago,” he said.

His son was the other reason for his difficulty focusing.  Philip had strolled in to his office this morning with the delightful news that he’d been quarreling with a young Republican at the theater over the weekend. The young man, Eacker, had made some insulting comments towards him in the paper over the summer, and Pip (undoubtedly a few drinks for the worse at the time) had decided to confront him during a staging of the West Indian.

“A disparaging remark in the paper four months ago, directed at me, no less, seems a poor reason to call a fellow out to the field of honor,” Hamilton had argued as his son paced restlessly before his desk.

“That’s not why I did it,” Pip had parried immediately. “He called me a rascal! In front of everyone! Then he refused to apologize. What else was I to do? If I didn’t call him out, everyone would think me a coward.”

“Were you out with Price?” Pip looked a little sheepish as he nodded. “Drinking?”

“I’m not a child. You were in the army at my age.”

“I don’t care how old you are. The two of you are going to get in real trouble someday if you don’t start acting like gentlemen.”

Pip flushed and nodded again.

“Do you have a second?”

“Dave Jones,” Pip answered. “Eacker named Jonathan Lawrence.”

He’d nodded approvingly. David Samuel Jones was a young attorney with a good head on his shoulders, and Jon Lawrence was a local merchant with a good reputation. Cooler heads would undoubtedly prevail over such a silly, boyish squabble.

Pip paused, looking impossibly young with his big brown eyes and disheveled hair. “Papa?”

“What?” he asked, voice softening.

“What do I do? If we actually…Mama said it was a sin, to fire at someone in a duel.”

His stomach had turned at the thought of his baby boy standing on a field with a weapon trained on him. He’d taken a calming breath and reminded himself that things would never progress so far over such a drunken, juvenile encounter. Still, he’d wanted to ensure the safety of both parties should the worst come to pass.

“It is a sin,” he confirmed. “Taking a man’s life on the dueling ground is no better than murdering him in cold blood in the eyes of God. If things progress and you meet Eacker on the field, you should reserve your fire at the call to present, and then aim your pistol in the air, clearly, so he can see.” No gentlemen would fire at someone who had no intention of firing back. If the two boys were going to be firing guns, he wanted them aiming as far away from each other as possible. “Do you understand?”

Pip nodded.

He’d smiled and gestured to a pile of papers on his desk, allowing the matter to drop for the present moment. “Take these over to Mr. Parsons office; they’re for Uncle Church’s insurance case. Then Judge Kent said you can sit with his clerks during his proceedings today if you can get to the courthouse before nine. Try to meet me back here by four, if you could. I want to get home to check on Mama at a reasonable time.”

“All right, Papa,” he’d agreed. He’d then collected the papers from the desk, and tucked them neatly into the case Hamilton and Eliza had gifted him upon his graduation.

“Pip,” he called as his son turned away.

The boy paused in the doorway.

“It’ll be fine.”

Pip gave him one last big smile before setting off for his day.

Now, four o’clock had come and gone, and there was no sign of his troublesome boy.

Troup gave him a knowing smile. “Come on, Ham. You remember what it was like to be nineteen, with the world at your feet. Cut the boy some slack.”

“If I cut him any more slack, he’s like to hang himself with it,” he replied with a wry smile. Troup laughed. “Sometime I forget why I ever taught him to walk. Things were so much easier before he could wander off by himself.”

“Hindsight makes wise men of us all,” Troup teased. A carriage clattered to a stop outside the office, and his friend added, “See. That’ll be Pip now.”

He felt the knot of anxiety in his middle ease as the door knob turned. Before he could start the scolding he’d been mentally rehearsing for the past half hour though, he saw not his son, but one of Pip’s school friends standing awkwardly in the open doorway. Rathbone, if he recalled correctly. Yes. Thomas Rathbone—he’d graduated with Pip last year.

“Good day, General Hamilton,” the boy started nervously.

He nodded politely and gave the boy a smile to put him a little more at ease. “How can I help you, son?”

“I was…Well, I was wondering if you’d had word yet, sir.”

He frowned. “Word about what?”

“About Phil,” the boy answered, increasingly uncomfortable by the second. “He rowed out to Powles Hook with Jones hours ago, but no one’s heard what happened.”

He was on his feet before he really knew what was happening. His heart felt like it was going to leap from his throat. No. No. He couldn’t have…Jones and Lawrence would never have let it get so far.

“Why was Pip going to New Jersey?” Troup asked, his face the picture of confusion.

“I have to…” he trailed off as he collected his coat and pulled open his office door.

“Ham?” Troup called after him.

He was already on the sidewalk, moving down the street at a pace just short of running. His breath created great white puffs in the cold November air. His mind was whirling so quickly he couldn’t properly pin down a thought, except for a peculiar memory of Pip as a toddler stumbling towards him on chubby, unsteady legs. A familiar townhouse came into view and he paused before the front door, his brain hardly keeping up with his legs.

Hosack. Every instinct screamed at him to fetch the doctor, the man who’d miraculously returned his son from the dead once before. He hadn’t told Pip to bring a doctor along; he’d been so sure it wouldn’t come to that. How could he have been so foolish?

He pounded on the front door, louder than strictly proper.

The door opened almost immediately, so suddenly that he nearly pounded his fist into the face of the house’s occupant. Hosack had his coat on already, his black doctor’s bag in hand. Worst of all, he looked unsurprised to see Hamilton pounding frantically on his door.

No. Oh, please, God, no.

“Philip,” he managed to get out. “I think…I think he’s been in a duel. He may need—”

“I know, sir,” Hosack interrupted softly. “I’m already on my way. He was taken to Mr. and Mrs. Church’s home, out in Greenwich, so I’ve been told.”

“He was taken…taken to….” Black began to press in on his vision, speckled with little flashes of light. He felt himself falling.

No.

~*~

Troup had chased after him in his carriage, as it turned out. He came to on the sofa in the Hosack’s family parlor, and his friend was patting at his head with a cloth dipped in cool water. “There you are, Hammy.”

A single, blessed moment of confusion followed. And then it all came crashing back down upon him. He swung his legs over the side of the sofa and pushed himself up, intending to fly from the room, only to be stymied when his head spun dangerously again.

“Take it easy,” Troup advised. “You’re going to faint on us again.”

“I need to…Philip.”

Troup pressed gently on his shoulders to sit him back on the sofa. “I know. I’ll take you over in just a moment. First, take a sip of water. You’re no use to him unconscious.”

He took the water reluctantly, forcing the liquid down his tight throat. It did help to clear his head, though, and when he stood, his vision remained clear and his legs stayed steady beneath him. Seeing that he could stand, Troup ushered him out to his carriage and ordered the driver to take them out to Church and Angelica’s house.

“Eliza?” he asked as the carriage started off.

“Mrs. Hosack sent word. She’ll meet us there,” Troup assured him.

He sat back against the cushioned seat. His mind felt numb and fuzzy, as if he were in a dream. How could this be happening? His little boy, his darling Pip: he’d just seen him this morning. He closed his eyes and saw his son so clearly he felt as if he could reach out and touch him.

When the coach stopped, Troup took him by the elbow to lead him inside. Angelica was standing in the doorway looking more distressed then he’d ever seen her. Her makeup had run around her eyes, giving her smudged circles almost like a raccoon. She reached out to him as he passed by, whispering, “My dear brother.”

“Where?”

“Upstairs,” she answered.

The staircase loomed before him, seeming the stretch and shrink at the same time. Troup remained at his side and guided him along. He heard Pip before he saw him. A long, drawn out wail of misery emanated from the room at the end of the hall.

“Mama!”

He couldn’t breathe.

The smell hit him before anything else: coppery and strong, with a hint of bowel. Just for a moment, he was back in the hospital tent after Trenton, holding a young man’s hand as he bled and wept for his mother. Only, when he opened his eyes to the scene before him, it wasn’t a nameless boy in a uniform; it was his son, his boy.

He’d fought in a war, risked life and limb, spilled blood and faced death to build something better for his children. This wasn’t supposed to happen.  

“Hush, Philip,” Hosack was whispering. “See, your Papa is here.”

“Mama!”

He made himself move.

“Pip,” he cooed. He ran his hand through the sweaty mop of curls on his son’s head. “Pip, look at me. It’s Papa.”

Pip’s breath hitched around a sob. “Papa?”

“Yes. It’s Papa. I’m here, my darling lamb. I’m right here.”

Philip took a gasping breath, his sweaty hand clutching on to his father’s shirt. “It hurts, Papa. It hurts!”

“Shh,” he whispered. “Everything’s all right. Just stay calm. You need to breathe. Breathe with me.”

Pip’s eyes were rolling in his head, not focusing on anything in particular. He tried to take a breath, then let out another wail. “Mama!” he cried again.

Hamilton took a shuddering breath as he reached down to lift the bloody blanket. The bullet had cut a course straight through Pip’s abdomen by the looks of it. His arm was wrapped in bandages as well. He pressed his fingers to Pip’s uninjured wrist, feeling the thready pulse thrumming through his veins.

“Doctor,” he nearly whimpered as he turned back to Hosack, “I despair.”

Hosack looked pale; he didn’t bother pretending there was hope.

“It hurts!” Philip sobbed.

“Can’t you give him something?” he asked, desperate to do something, to help, to protect.

“I can give him a dose of laudanum. But he might be unconscious by the time Mrs. Hamilton arrives.”

“I don’t care, just…help him.” Eliza wouldn’t want to see him like this, anyway. He didn’t want to see him like this. Hosack prepared the laudanum and carefully eased Pip’s mouth open. The boy shuddered at the taste, but soon quieted. Hamilton knelt by the bedside and pressed a kiss to Pip’s forehead. “It’s going to be all right.”

He folded his hands around Philip’s in prayer and laid his head on the bed.

Please, he begged silently, please not my son. Take me. Take me instead.

“Philip!”

His head jerked up at his wife’s voice. She swept into the room, pale to the lips and shaking as she hurried to the bedside. Pip’s head rolled towards her voice, but his eyes stayed unfocused.

“Mama’s here, honey,” she soothed, even if he was beyond understanding. “You’re all right now.”

Pip whimpered. She seated herself on the opposite side of the bed and brushed her fingers through his hair. The boy seemed to relax instinctively at her touch. “Hush, my darling.”

Her dark eyes met his across the bed just as Pip’s eyes fell closed. “What happened?”

He shook his head, hardly able to form words. “I don’t…he…I don’t….”

She looked down at Philip’s wrapped arm and lifted the blanket. Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a sob. She managed, in a choked voice, “Was it a duel?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” It was pointless. Senseless. So much blood and pain, over nothing. A word spoken in anger between two young men who’d been drinking. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

She turned her attention back to their son, repositioning on the bed so she could hold him properly and cradle his head. He put his head down on the bed again. Prayed again. Please. Please.

“Alexander,” she whispered.

He looked up.

“Come here.” She motioned to the bed. “He needs you.”

He clambered up onto the bed and clutched his son.

People filtered in and out around them. Hosack fluttered about the room ineffectually but for his nearly hourly doses of laudanum that kept Philip calm and insensible of the pain. He didn’t move to acknowledge any of the visitors; he hardly dared breathe for fear he’d cause his precious child more pain.

Philip went in and out of consciousness. It felt like a nightmarish mimicry of those early days when he’d been an infant sleeping between them, waking at odd hours to demand food and comfort from Eliza. Now, it was the laudanum for which he screamed, and his parents were utterly helpless in the face of his unbearable agony.

His wife’s hand found his in the night. She entwined their fingers over their son’s chest, which rose and fell with shallow breath. Their eyes met in the dim candlelight, and a silent communication passed between them: terror and gnawing pain and soul crushing grief understood without words exchanged. He squeezed her palm, trying to send her comfort, until she drifted off at last in the wee hours of the morning. As soon as he was sure she was asleep, he pulled away.

He didn’t deserve her comfort.

Golden sunlight began to filter through the curtains. He blinked in the light, and felt Pip shift slightly against him. “Papa?” His voice was so soft, so weak, Hamilton half thought he’d imagined it. But Pip’s eyes were open when he looked down.

“Hello, my sweet boy.”

Pip looked more coherent in the morning light. His wandering eyes rested on his father. He swallowed twice, seemed to make an effort to try to speak. “I didn’t…I didn’t fire at him, Papa. I did… just what you said.”

“I know,” he assured him. “I know. You did so well, son. I’m so proud of you.”

Philip gave a little sigh and closed his eyes again. Some part of him knew his little child would never wake again. He kissed his brow, his tears mingling with Philip’s sweat. “I’m so sorry.”

Eliza stirred, blinking owlishly. Seeing his tears, her eyes widened and she sat up fully. “Philip?”

“Asleep,” he tried to assure her.

She nodded and clutched their boy tighter. Resting his head beside his son’s, he closed his eyes. Eliza tried to hold his hand again. He couldn’t look at her.

Philip slipped away quietly minutes later, with hardly a sound.

His world stopped.

[blessuswithblogs]

The Forest, Subnautica, and Survival: The Wages of Building a Cool Tree Fort

Spoiler Warning for both games as the article goes on! Do exercise caution.

I love survival games. That's just kind of a part of how my taste in games has developed over the years. I adore Minecraft, Terraria, Starbound and any number of creatively inclined "build and explore" games. I could think of a couple of reasons for this, the most prominent being that this kind of game is extremely good at making incremental progress feel rewarding, and that I've always had a fascination with habitation in extreme environments like the deep sea, space, and Magical Block Land where the Cacti Explode. Lately, I've been playing an streaming both Subnautica and The Forest, two games that belong in a sort of subset of the genre: Survive and Escape.

Both games start out with a cataclysmic (space)plane crash that deposits you and a number of other doomed survivors in a hostile world that wants to eat you. With Subnautica, you crashland on planet 4546B, an ocean world in which something has gone terribly wrong with the ecosystem. The Forest instead pops you out on a vaguely Canadian peninsula out in the middle of nowhere and cannibals kidnapped your son. Subnautica, as it is in most respects, has the more solid premise of the two. The Forest can scratch a kind of The Hills Have Eyes itch if you have one, but the overall setup of the game is sssssslightly too racially charged for my tastes.

In deference to alphabetical order, let's discuss the Forest first. Of the two games, it has the more robust crafting system. While it has overall less moving parts than Subnautica, you can still build a cool houseboat and you have a great deal of freedom in the overall shape and function of your buildings. In fact, that's originally what sold me on the game - I found the idea of having to build a base not only capable of sustaining you but also withstanding attacks from monsters to be very appealing. Base building can take a long time on your own (2 player co-op is a definite point in favor of the Forest versus Subnautica if you're one of those people that has to quantify the better game) but there are some things that can speed it along and make you feel like a regular Swiss Family Robinson - with all of the cultural baggage that entails. Completing a fort and finally creating a safe haven from the mutant hordes is a rewarding feeling, but it is one that the game almost immediately undermines.

The Forest is a game working at cross purposes with itself. It gives you the tools to create elaborate custom buildings or entire complexes if you so choose to do so, but there is also The Narrative, and The Narrative is most insistent on Finding Timmy. Timmy, your son from the beginning of the game, is assumed to be the player's top priority, but in actuality it's really easy to just forget about him. The game gives you a checklist of things to do as a sort of compromise between total freedom and a more linear experience. Most of the items on this list are some variation of "explore this cave". Cave Exploration is kind of where The Forest fragments into two separate halves: the crafty buildy survivey game, and a different sort of first person metroid slash cannibal murder simulator. The minute you enter a cave you basically go completely blind and have to rely on a variety of deeply inadequate light sources just to fumble your way around. The gameplay loop is simple - go into a cave, kill all the mutants, find a point of interest, go as far as you can until you find an impassible barrier, then retreat back to the surface. The points of interest are often interesting, to their credit, vaguely telling a story about A Deep Secret Beneath the Peninsula as you find various photographs and torn magazine clippings to gawk at for a few seconds, but it is impossible to shake the feeling that these spelunking expeditions have nothing to actually do with any of the other things you've been doing. You can find a number of useful objects in the caves - a flashlight, a map, a compass, a fine piece of hanzo steel - that will make your life easier, but are primarily designed to let you go into the caves Better and Deadlier.

Here's where we get to this stark divide: you don't actually have to make a base in the first place. All of the fantastic tools The Forest gives you to make your own log cabin city are, beyond Basic Fire and Temporary Shelter, utterly superfluous to actually progressing in the game. The weird thing about the caves is that they are actually borderline overflowing with supplies. The Forest has you spend your first couple of hours thinking that you're gonna really to have to grapple with the land in a titanic struggle for survival but actually you can just go into a cave and find like six respawning boxes of Fun Drink! soda and Snack brand snacks which work just as well if not better than like. Hunting for food and purifying your own water. Sleeping is entirely optional, too, something that becomes readily apparent down in the caves where it's always pitch black regardless of the day night cycle. You can easily manage just by building the occasional temporary shelter to save your game or just find one of the many tents already in the game world. There's a whole complex system of substats and sanity meters that you can basically just ignore as you go careening through the depths.

Progress in the caves is gated by two things: environmental obstacles, and enemy mutants. You will occasionally find a novel map feature like a climbable wall or an underwater pool too deep and dark to go swimming through without some help that will keep you from moving forward. You can blow up walls occasionally too, but not often or clearly indicated enough to make that feel like a genuinely well implemented system. To overcome these obstacles, all you have to do is find the right items - the climbing axe and the rebreather will let you go basically anywhere, once you get your hands on them. The world of The Forest is big, and it plays a dirty trick on you - most of the stuff aboveground is useless bullshit for idiots. Basically everything you want or need is down below, and if it takes you a while to realize that, I imagine that it would be pretty frustrating to feel like you had basically accomplished nothing for the last however many hours of exploring the lush but ultimately very empty forest floor.

Speaking of the game playing dirty tricks on you, there is one more instance of needing an item to get to where you need to go. But instead of some neat piece of exploration gear or a Really Big Stick of Dynamite, it's a keycard. The door that requires a keycard is at the bottom of an incredibly long and grueling run through several cave systems that empty out into the bigass sinkhole that dominates the landscape and taunts you with secrets and mysteries from basically day one. The keycard, regrettably, is not nearby. It's halfway across the world hidden in one of the many Super Fucked Up and Scary mass graves the mutants like to keep in their cave systems, requiring either foreknowledge or impressive pixel hunting tendencies to find beforehand. The game gives you a clue where to find it in the form of an old photo - located right before the door itself. It is a slog and a half, to put it bluntly, and since this is a survival game, you're working on a constantly ticking timer of hunger and thirst, and this particular cave system is quite stingy with soda and snacks where the other caves were giving them out like it was an afterschool baseball game. It might have actually been faster to simply reload a save file from before I even attempted the journey and just go get the keycard first, but I didn't think of that at the time. I'm harping on this because it's a huge departure from the fairly natural flow of cave exploration that came before and also a HUGE waste of time. Like, why. Fuck you, that's why.

The endgame sequence is kind of a mess, basically the devs realizing that the game had been in alpha for like literally 3 years and they needed to have some kind of conclusion in place for the full release. While I have no doubt that through the game's development history they had been most diligent about slowly developing and uncovering secrets about what's really going on in The Forest, the actual part where they have to put their money where their mouths are and provide some answers it's just. Kind of. Ehhhhhhhh. Basically you tumble headfirst into a SeCrEt PhArMaCeUtIcAl LaBoRaToRy where they were toying with ancient alien artifacts to create anti-aging cream or some bullshit which, somehow, ended up creating a race of weird mutants without private parts except in certain individuals who have like. ALL of the private parts and probably more besides. The Sahara Labs company even had this fucking supervillain Relic Laser System that shot down passing planes so they could abduct more test subjects away from prying eyes and honestly its like if you want to be that evil and kill people just jacking up the price of insulin is way more efficient and easier on the PR department.

Basically it boils down to you finding Timmy inside some alien bullshit device, dead as fuck, and pantomiming being very distraught about it. However, it comes to light that actually the machine he was hooked up to can bring people back from the dead in exchange for a sacrifice, so you continue deeper into the facility with even more murder than usual on your mind. You eventually find Megan Cross, the girl that Timmy's life force was used to bring back from the dead. Unfortunately, because ancient alien technology never works right, probably by design because ancient aliens are fuckers, Megan mutates into this fucking Resident Evil limbs monster and you have a fucking final boss fight. I aallllmost put the game down there because like. Seriously? Seriously seriously this is what we're doing? I have to use this game's janky ass combat systems to kill an angry little girl monster that can kill you in like 5 seconds if you get within 5 feet? I stuck it out because the devs were kind enough to just kick you back outside the Big Final Boss room with a health and energy penalty whenever you died (which was frequently). Eventually the thing dies and you go rushing back to Timmy with the corpse in hand. But, alas! The machine requires a living subject! After that you just kind of shuffle through some more cave systems with spooky skeletons in them until you find the control tower for the Airplane Killing Laser Beam and you are presented with... a choice.

You can either shoot down a passing airplane to kidnap a viable sample to resurrect Timmy, dooming every single passenger to a gruesome, cannibal related death... or you can just shut the damn thing off, which is really the only reasonable thing to do. Like, who the fuck even is Timmy? I don't know Timmy. Timmy can fuck off. Timmy wants to guilt me for building a gazebo? He can stay dead. It's the Fallout 4 problem all over again - you can't just take it for granted that the player is going to care about someone because you screamed "THIS IS YOUR SON" in the first five minutes of the game and then immediately deprived you of any meaningful interactions with them. It is the unfortunate tendency of parents to believe that their children are things owned by them, brought to the logical extreme. You have no reason to feel particularly compelled to rescue either of these kids aside from the simple fact that they're Yours, whatever that means. So when Shawn is actually the sleazy, amoral director of science fascists, fuck him. When bringing Timmy back to life means putting somebody else through what I just went through, keycard bullshit and all, fuck him! Enough! Time to move on! So I turned off the machine and escaped through some more caves and then I burned my picture of Timmy and got the crafting blueprints to a Timmy effigy made of cloth and sticks which was, admittedly, kind of hilarious. You also get one for your dead wife, which is just labeled "Wife". That was less hilarious and more of another look into the mindset of the people who make these games and why they are a problem. Also you can find another alien obelisk in a boat and open up a door to find a god mode sphere or something but I did not have the patience to go do that.

So I've been down on this game quite a bit, but I actually enjoyed my time with it a lot because what it gets right, it gets very right. Plumbing the dark depths of the cave systems with nothing but a shitty lighter for illumination and an airplane axe for protection, straining your ears for any noises that might break the deafening silence of the underground, constantly scanning the edge of your vision range for the signs of movement in the shifting shadows - it's a fantastic horror experience that a lot of games could learn from. Similarly, the crafting and survival elements, superfluous as they are, are also a lot of fun. You can hunt game for meat and skins, find berries and learn to tell the difference between the poisonous ones and the edible ones, make a bunch of improvised weapons like a fishing spear and a shitty bow and arrow set, build fires to cook food and boil water to make it safe to drink - all of these systems are well thought out and fun to engage with. Like I mentioned earlier, base building is fun and The Forest gives the experience a very down to earth feel by having you chop down trees and transport the timber by hand. You can also build a wide variety of traps and defensive structures, but that brings us to another major sticking point. The Forest wields silence and darkness like an assassin's blade, but falters completely when it comes to actually fighting things.

Combat. Do you ever wish a game didn't have it? I do. A lot. The Forest is one of those games. Fighting the mutants that inhabit the peninsula is as tedious as it is distasteful. It's mostly just a bunch of wild flailing about with an axe or other bladed instrument in the general direction of the enemy. If you're feeling frisky you can use molotovs or poison arrows or even TNT, tactics that become necessary when fighting the game's Creepy Mutants (name not mine i swear). The Creepy Mutants are large, monstrous enemies usually comprised of several individuals fused together. They're big and tough and they have soooo much fucking health god christ ass. You can skin them and use their mutated hides as armor which is pretty metal but fighting them is just not fun. Which is the same for all the other enemies honestly. You just kind of get the enemy into a stunlock and try to finish them off before another mutant puts two and two together and stops running around in circles and actually tries to hit you. Your enemies are hindered by very curious AI and stunlock vulnerability, but to even things out you have to deal with some of the same vulnerabilities, as well as certain lighter related limitations when it comes to explosives and incendiaries that really makes using them a chore.

It feels odd to say this, but The Forest doesn't need its mutants. It's better off without them, to be frank. The dangers inherent in spelunking and surviving in a cold wilderness are more than sufficient to create a sense of vulnerability. Like if you really had to you could just put more crocodiles in the game and make them more aggressive, those fuckers hurt. The story wouldn't even have to change that much - the real movers and shakers of the plot aren't mutants at all. They serve very little purpose except to be the architects of a number of grisly tableaus we've already seen in other games with aspirations of environmental storytelling. There are no toilets in The Forest but if there were, by god would they just be filled to the brim with skulls. There's a severed head in a water cooler at one point. That's in the same spirit. And, of course, there's the elephant in the room: the mutants, as a concept, are deeply racist. Facing down a horde of hooting and hollering brown and black miscreants clad in tribal body paint and loincloths while brandishing various sticks adorned with skulls at you cannot be separated from our bloody colonial past and demonization of native peoples. It's just not happening. This game is about the White Man versus the Savage, whether or not the devs meant it that way. They probably didn't, trying to offer assurances that these aren't actually natives, they're mutant hell cannibals with no dicks. But like. Nah. Not buying it. The mutants will occasionally marshal a big attack on your base or settlement, bringing a big creepy mutant or two with them to try and knock down your shit. What should be one of the game's selling points is marred both by really unfortunate historical imagery and the fact that it's really hard to actually defend anything from getting broken because none of your weapons can actually hit straight down a wall without either lighting them on fire or blowing them up. If they really needed to have an enemy faction in the game, there are five million other angles of mutant they could have gone with - lizard men, tentacle monsters, psychic fuckers, zombies, a Mitch McConnel clone race - but the fact that they went with "tribals" instead of something even moderately less racially charged says a lot.

So that's The Forest! Promising game, fun for the most part, but intrinsically flawed in some very inescapable ways. What about Subnautica? Well, I have good news: Subnautica is much better. It starts the same way, with the spaceship the player is riding on suffering a catastrophic crash landing in an inhospitable world, with most of the other crewmen missing or just dead outright. You start with a life pod fabricator and a sassy corporate issue PDA to point you in the right direction, but aside from that, your only real goal is to survive. Crafting is much more hands off in Subnautica - it's handled almost entirely by way of fabrication stations where you input raw materials and it spits out a finished product in a very scifi way. The way you progress in Subnautica is quite organic: you find a recipe in your databanks you want to build, you go searching for the materials, and in doing so you uncover more of the world. You build an enhanced air tank to stay underwater for longer so you can go deeper and farther. You build a seaglide vehicle to go faster, you build a little underwater seabase to hold your growing collection of rare materials and creature eggs, and so on and so on. Unlike The Forest, where the survival aspects can be basically ignored, learning how to maximize and streamline your food, water, and power production is quite pivotal to getting anywhere.

There are a number of ways that Subnautica arrests your progress, from hostile megafauna to severe radiation leaks to hiding important blueprint fragments behind laser cutter doors. The big one, however, is depth. Appropriate for a game about the sea, I think. At first, depth functions as a barrier of how deep you can go before running out of air - the seas are pretty deep, and after some changes from beta, you can only have so many air tanks equipped at once. Once you learn how to get around that by making some sweet submarines, depth becomes a matter of water pressure. Oxygen is no longer a problem, but crush depth certainly is - take your seamoth below 200 meters and you start to have problems real quick. This necessitates a search for ways to better withstand the pressure. Subnautica is a masterclass in making incremental progress feel rewarding. Instead of having your numbers go up slightly, you get extremely tangible benefits from the various gear upgrades you create or find in the world. The Seamoth is both extremely fast and convenient for getting around and your only practical way to bring an oxygen generator with you, and installing a depth module just increases your freedom and utility that much more. Finally putting a Cyclops together is actually just building an almost self-sufficient mobile base. Even something as mundane as learning how to make a planter represents a big boost to your food production and can expand your operational range by a great deal.

Subnautica is a game that delights in its own world. The vibrant underwater ecosystems you explore and uncover range from beautiful to the slightly terrifying, but there is a genuine love of nature - even scary nature - evident in Subnautica that's infectious. Subnautica does not really have combat, as such. You have a survival knife and a couple of space age tools like the Stasis Cannon which you can use to defend yourself in a pinch, but there is no mutant menace to contend with on 4546B. Hungry Reaper Leviathans and Crabsquids, maybe, but wild animals are wild animals. No moral judgment is cast upon the Stalker's tendency to try and take a bite out of your ass. In fact, you can learn to pacify and even play with them by bringing them fish to eat or scrap metal to sink their teeth into. There is only one entity on the planet that is actively and determinedly hostile to the player, and it's a real fucker, but there's a good reason for it.

The reason for your unexpected visit to the ocean planet is revealed to be the work of a planetary quarantine system installed by Ancient Aliens (again) a long time ago to prevent the spread of a particularly virulent and deadly variety of bacteria. You gradually find evidence of the Kharaa bacteria and the involvement of a precursor civilization as you explore: certain fauna will be covered in green pustules, the PDA will inform you of the presence of infectious agents in the water and how some biomes are curiously lacking in biodiversity, and you'll occasionally find vents and structures of an obviously alien design. A refreshing thing about Subnautica's Ancient Aliens is that they aren't depicted as magic space gods. They have advanced technology compared to that of Earth's, but ultimately they were just some dudes who got caught on the wrong side of a very nasty bacterial plague and didn't quite figure out how to cure it in time. At this point, you have two goals: get rid of the infection, and find some way to disable the giant quarantine laser gun and get off the planet. Finding a cure for the kharaa bacteria requires going deep into the depths with a heavily armored PRAWN suit designed to withstand crushing water pressure and even the most angry and enormous of predators, where you can find a number of alien facilities using the abundant geothermal energy of the planet's magma layer. Finding a way off world involves putting on a radiation suit and exploring the wreck of the Aurora to both fix the catastrophic radiation leak and to get in contact with the home office, who in between ordering ham and cheese sandwiches are gracious enough to send you the blueprints for your very own interplanetary rocket ship.

Throughout all of this, you'll get intermittent distress calls on your radio giving you the coordinates to various points of interest like other lifepods and bits of the Aurora that were unceremoniously scattered to the four winds upon impact. You can also find evidence of people who came to this planet before you and learn their story from PDA logs and the condition of the temporary shelters they left behind. I am not especially fond of the whole audio log method of storytelling, but in Subnautica it's framed less as "the entire population of earth compulsively records their thoughts on tape recorders" and more "corporate issue malware will obsessively observe and catalogue all interactions between you and your fellow employees." There is a definite undercurrent of anti-capitalist criticism in Subnautica, from the Alterra Corporation's insistence on framing interpersonal relationships as business transactions to your PDA's intermittent reminders that all of the things that you are building to survive and get off the planet with are steadily incurring a ridiculous amount of debt to your employers due to exploitative contracting. It can get a little on the nose, but more and more I am finding that even the most on the nose satire is leaps and bounds more subtle and nuanced than actual reality so I can't complain too much.

As the game goes on, a rescue attempt by the Sunbeam freighter ship goes terribly awry when the quarantine enforcement platform blows it the fuck up and your own level of infection steadily progresses. You start to receive periodic telepathic messages from a mysterious being, who claims that it wants to help you. When you finally make your way through the briny Lost River and into the dangerous Active Magma Zone, you find the alien's primary containment facility housing a remarkable organism: The Sea Emperor. The Sea Emperor is an enormous leviathan class entity, twice the size of the gigantic magma spitting Sea Dragons hanging out nearby. However, like the enormous cetaceans of Earth, the Sea Emperor is an intelligent, sapient being that feeds by filtering microorgansisms from the surrounding seawater. The story of the last remaining Sea Emperor is a sad one, contained by the precursor aliens for over a thousand years in order to study the mysterious Enzyme 42 that it produced. This enzyme was the only compound they had ever found with the ability to neutralize the Kharaa virus, but due to the Emperor's advanced age and their inability to communicate with it, they reached an impasse. The Emperor was no longer capable of producing large amounts of the enzyme, and its eggs were trapped in a sort of indefinite stasis due to the conditions of the holding tank not being optimal for their hatching. So its basically been waiting all alone for a good millenium or so for somebody to come and help hatch its eggs.

Fortunately, the survivor of the Aurora's crash is a determined and compassionate soul, and by working together with the Sea Emperor, manages to put together a vial of artificial hatching enzymes by gathering samples of flora from the outside ecosystem. The eggs hatch, giving both the Sea Emperor species and planet 4546B writ large a chance at a future. The adult Emperor dies of Being Over a Thousand Years Old shortly after. Most likely, it was only its determination to see its children grow and flourish and save the planet that kept it going this long, so once that purpose was fulfilled, it finally felt able to go to its final rest. The Emperor is a philosophical individual, with complex ideas about other minds and the potential of life after death and reincarnation, idly wondering as it dies if it might come back as an ocean current or a tiny being that fits between the grains of sand. It's an affecting sequence that taps into a lot of our hopes for maybe one day being able to truly communicate with and understand our own huge marine life. Once the young are released into the wild, you follow them and obtain a sample of Enzyme 42, which completely cures you of the Kharaa infection. All that's left after that is to disable the quarantine platform and build the neptune escape rocket.

After you complete the rocket - an impressively large construction, even bigger than the Cyclops submarine - you are prompted to create a time capsule before you take off. The time capsule includes space for a few items you can leave behind , a screenshot, and custom text note. The idea is that other players might discover it on their adventures and find what you left behind, another surprisingly emotional touch to the game. Admittedly it was slightly ruined for me because when I exited the cockpit to go and take a screenshot the entire launch platform was flung into the sky for no reason, me along with it. I did have the presence of mind to take a  blurry screenshot of the several tons of plasteel sailing through the air as if by magic. We both eventually landed and I managed to climb back up and (properly) launch the rocket. As you leave the atmosphere, the spirit of the Sea Emperor contacts you one last time to thank you once again for giving its family a future. As the credits roll and you reenter Alterra space, your PDA happily congratulates you on making it back and assures you that you will be cleared to dock just as soon as your outstanding debt of several trillion credits is settled. As the music fades and you return to the main menu, you can't help but think: man, maybe I should have stayed.

It is this sentiment, I think, that truly separates the quality of the two games as experiences and statements on the human condition. The Forest presents you with a superficially beautiful peninsula swarming with Evil Tribal Cannibals that must be overmastered in order to rescue your darling son object, that exists to be exploited and despoiled in your quest to build a Sick Fort that isn't even really necessary. You can even get an achievement called "climate change" for cutting down 100 trees and like. Fuck off. Not funny. You can legitimately deforest huge swathes of the game world if you find the chainsaw and some fuel. In the Forest, you are an invading conqueror masquerading as a victim of circumstance. In Subnautica, you are an observer and survivor. The primary building material is titanium, which you get mostly from salvage from the Aurora, occasionally supplemented with some more exotic ores and corals found naturally on the seabed. The ecosystem of 4546B, even though it is devastated by plague, is bigger than you could ever hope to be. It's beautiful and fascinating and glorious, and the attempts that your predecessors made to exploit and subjugate it ended in abject failure. Your seabases are compact and efficient affairs, equipped with machinery for survival and research. The game specifically forbids you from building most kinds of weapons, citing a historical massacre that necessitated all weapon blueprints deadlier than the survival knife to be scrubbed from the database. Combat is fruitless and difficult, even in the PRAWN suit - it's better to just evade hostile fauna and slip by undetected with silent running. The only way to survive and escape is to work in concert with the indigenous life, not thoughtlessly destroy it.

I didn't expect, going in, to feel so compelled to compare and contrast these games, but when presented with the reality of the situation and how similar they really were, I didn't have much of a choice. They're almost dark mirrors of one another, the Forest presenting a Bad Future where the nazi sound designer from Subnautica was in charge of the entire project. I enjoyed the Forest, but there is a deep moral emptiness within it that I have trouble compartmentalizing, especially when Subnautica offers an alternative outcome that doesn't make me feel vaguely monstrous for playing it. Subnautica is, at its core, a more beautiful, more engaging, more thoughtful and even more frightening work than The Forest. The Forest comes close to offering a genuinely scary experience during the cave sections, but undermines its own premise by filling the haunting void beneath the earth with giggling naked canninbal men. The dark, trackless depths of the ocean, however, remain a fundamentally terrifying environment, populated by the strange and terrible lifeforms adapted to living deep beneath the crush depth of even the hardiest submarines. The Ghost Leviathans that lurk in the endgame areas and in the tremendously unsettling open ocean beyond the crater's edge are frightening to behold and terribly dangerous, but their presence is almost comforting, a reminder that other beings still exist in the lightless void. The hooting and hollering of The Forest's mutants simply cannot compare to the otherwordly cries of Subnautica's megafauna, and indeed, The Forest is at its most tense when all is silent.

I would be awfully interested in a game that took The Forest's robust crafting, building, and survival mechanics and transplanted them somewhere far away from the wretched peninsula and its ravening caricatures, perhaps a kind of Subnautica that took place in an alien jungle, or an earth jungle, for that matter. Anywhere less relentlessly ugly and hateful would be fine. Subnautica makes good on most of its lofty promises (except when it crashes. Stability is an area where The Forest has an unquestionable advantage) and presents a strong, unified experience. The Forest is a jumble of compelling systems mashed together in an unconvincing way with set dressing straight from the production of Birth of a Nation. A missed opportunity at best, an extremely questionable exercise in tone-deaf xenophobia at worst. I would be interested to know how the developers of the game justified their design decisions as not-racist, or if they even bothered. Subnautica is reflecting and uplifting, while The Forest, in all of its cynical attempts to push boundaries and put blood and titties on the screen, ironically only ends up feeling safe and derivative, contradicting itself and wasting the genuinely strong mechanics it developed. With certain statements from E3 about how certain developers try to distance themselves as much as possible from political statements while simultaneously creating deeply political games fresh in our minds, I think we should be more insistent than ever that this kind of cowardice is both ridiculous and transparently self-serving. All culture is political, because all human experience is political, inextricably intertwined with the struggles and conflicts between nations and groups that serve as the backdrops of eras. Subnautica knows this. The Forest either does not, or does not care.

[llamaswrites]

Spiral

Fandom: Overwatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Lúcio Correia dos Santos

Summary: 

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit.

It should have been simple to do.

The universe only gave him four days before everything went wrong.

Read on AO3 here.

It was yet another of Hana’s spontaneous theories and, like most ideas she came up with unrelated to battle tactics (either in Starcraft or actual combat), it was completely awful.

“It’s really simple in theory,” she told Lúcio through a mouthful of chips and ice cream. It was a combination that he always found awful, but it made appearance any time either of them had something go down that required ‘bestie time’, as Hana put it. “You just need to stay so busy that you can’t think about him. Eventually, you’ll just forget to think about him. They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Think you can do it?”

Hana didn’t know much about Akande, other than he was exactly Lúcio’s type and managed to severely bruise his fragile heart. She didn’t even know his name, because he’d never told her and she’d never asked. It was the unspoken rule when they got together that the other person didn’t pry, to just let everything flow out naturally.

This time, Hana perched on the ratty old couch she’d found in the depths of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, after having put on something awful (anime, probably) on the holoscreen at the front of the room. Lúcio sat on the floor with his back against the couch, letting Hana comb her fingers through his recently cleaned hair. After a lot of practice, he was comfortable with her helping twist his hair back into locs.  

It was hard, sometimes, to reconcile this Hana with the one he went on missions with. When she was out of the MEKA, she was bright and happy and spontaneous. In it, she was cold, calculating, and brutal, everything she trained to be as essentially a child soldier.

“I’m going to bet that’s worked for exactly no one ,” he told her, eyes trained on the screen in front of him but not really watching. “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t,” she said, but then backtracked. “At least, I didn’t come up with this. It’s something 76 mentioned to me once.”

“You should leave that poor guy alone,” Lúcio mumbled, and then asked “What did he have to say? I didn’t think he really had anything or anyone outside of just being an old soldier past his time.”

“You tell me to leave him alone and still want to scoop? I don’t think that’s fair!” She tugged on a completed loc playfully.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave him alone anyway. Just spill!”

He expected Hana to spill immediately, like whenever she had a juicy piece of gossip about someone on base, but she hesitated. “I’m not really sure if it’s my story or whatever to tell, but...I found him one night when I was exploring, out near the big beacon that acts like a lighthouse over the straight. His visor was off and he was slamming back this cheap ass beer. I asked him if he wanted to have some company, to share some war stories and beer because I had some too and god knows none of us are getting therapy anytime soon and he told me, ‘That’s not why I’m out here’.

“He let me join him though, and few beers later he started talking. Said that back when he was the head of this whole shindig, he had a person that he was really close to, that he fell in love with. He never told them though and they died when that base blew up. He told me that piece of advice, though. Said that’s how he got over it. Maybe it’ll work for you.”

“Did he ever say who they were?” Lúcio asked, curious.

“Nah,” she said, flipping a finished loc over his shoulder. “But hey, his advice has to be worth something. He’s got way more age and wisdom and senior discounts than we’ll ever have. He probably knows what he’s talking about.”

He hummed softly in agreement, but couldn’t help imagining 76 up on that lighthouse tower. Hana probably didn’t realize that if he was up there mourning by himself that his tactics for forgetting hadn’t worked after all. Maybe his advice had worked once upon a time, but obviously something or someone recently dragged every bit of thought and obsession and grief back to the forefront of his mind. Lúcio didn’t plan on taking Hana’s advice, at least not originally. As was the case with everything in his life, but especially concerning Overwatch, trouble soon followed.

He told himself at first that he wanted to know more about Akande because he needed to thank him for the research and schematics left behind on the holo tablet. Not because, he scolded himself, he was still enamoured with the man despite not seeing him in over two weeks and despite the lack of any further promise. Searching for him on the web hadn’t been his immediate course of actions because it felt weird to search for someone he’d been so...personal...with in such an impersonal way. Lúcio was afraid of what he’d find, afraid that his experience that night would be far from unique, even if nothing was promised to make it that way. He soon found that with Akande, that should have been the least of his worries.

Instead, he checked the message Akande left for him on the datapad, hoping for some overt contact information he missed on his first glance through or clues in the metadata. The message itself was as unhelpful at it had been before. Checking the metadata was no better; it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, leaving it utterly unsalvageable and utterly useless. It was too much like recovered data from old watchpoints and Talon bases, deliberately obscured and damaged to hide the fingerprints of individuals long gone, or long damned in their pursuits.

Lúcio chose to look past the oddity. Surely Akande had his reasons for masking his digital trail. From his knowledge to his (too) expensive suit to the small red plates on his head announcing the fine intraneural nerve wiring to his prosthetic, it was clear he was someone , someone who dearly didn’t want to be found trivially. It should have scared Lúcio more than it did. He wasn’t prepared for how hard the fear and realization would hit him.

It had been entirely too easy to find out about Akande on the web. Lúcio thought that he misspelled his name at first because surely this couldn’t be the intimidating but gentle man he met. A quick check of the message of the datapad confirmed he had it right and a hard, cold lump of anxiety settled deep in his gut. He steeled himself and clicked on the first biography page that popped up. His eyes lighted on the picture and the lump immediately shot up into his stomach, nausea rising quickly. He threw the datapad (the same one from Akande) violently away from him and dashed to the bathroom to lose his lunch. The datapad landed on the bed’s comforter and was fine. Lúcio’s emotional state, however, was not.

Lúcio could honestly say before he saw Akande’s picture that there was not much he regretted in life or, at least, nothing he regretted deeply. He mourned deeply those lost in the revolution he’d started, wished there had been a better way, but he knew his regret would do nothing to change the past and only dishonor their memory. He didn’t really regret the actions that led him to lose his lower legs; after all, he wouldn’t be the same person or have all the same friends today with them.

After emptying his stomach, he rested his head back against the wall. He realized, panting slightly, that this was his first true regret. The only person that could reasonably be worse in this situation might be Gabriel Reyes, if he ever really was a person when he was still in Blackwatch (there was still so much he didn’t know or wasn’t privileged to). Or maybe Widowmaker. Still, Akande -- Doomfist -- was terrible in his own right. He killed so many in his rise to power through Talon; more still would be lost Talon’s warmongering efforts succeeded. He was the antithesis to everything Lúcio stood for in his life and Lúcio had let him see the most vulnerable part of him, both personally and with his tech.

The memory of being touched gently by Akande, by the same hands that killed so many, flitted by in his brain and Lúcio smashed his head back against the tile wall, quashing down the nausea that rose violently in him with pain. He took a few deeps breaths and tried to center himself. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, Aka-- Doomfist certainly hadn’t mentioned to anyone what had happened between them and if he did, it hadn’t gotten out. Maybe this was just another passing thing for Doomfist or at most, some manipulation on Talon’s part. He couldn’t let it get to him. He wouldn’t.

The keypad beeping faintly in the distance was all the warning he got before Hana barged into his room, 76 in tow with a tray of food. Apparently in his internal angsting, he missed dinner. Hana joined him on the floor of the bathroom without hesitation, smoothing his locs away form his face. 76 positioned himself in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom with the tray balanced on a single hand, obviously irritated by being dragged along but still not leaving.

“You never miss dinner, are you sick?” asked Hana. Lúcio shook his head and smiled weakly at her.

“Nah, I’m not sick,” he said and tried to stand up. Hana pulled him back down to the cool floor.

“What’s wrong? I know something’s wrong. Is it him?” she asked once more. Lúcio glanced up quickly at 76. The old soldier seemed to be unimpressed by what the youngsters before him were talking about and studying the room around him. An arched eyebrow above his visor, though, cued Lúcio into the fact that 76 was actually listening to their conversation.

“Um, kinda,” Lúcio admitted quietly, trying to prevent 76 from listening in. It probably didn’t work; super soldier hearing made having private conversations near impossible. “Just...I think I need to take your advice, for once. I’m driving myself nuts.”

Hana helped him to his feet and together, they stumbled back into the bedroom. His prosthetics feld like dead weight as he settled back onto the bed. Hana relocated the tablet to his bedside table, where 76 also placed the tray of food. 76 averted his gaze when Lúcio undid the locks on the prosthetics but Hana just leaned on his shoulder, entirely used to seeing his legs off and knowing it just made everything more awkward if she ignored the elephant in the room.

76 took up post by the door, clearly waiting for Hana as she whispered to Lúcio, “Love sucks. It gets better though. I promise.”

“It’s not, uh, love and thanks. For the advice. And for dinner.”

She pushed herself off his shoulder and off bed. “No problem! Text me if you need anything else. And hey, maybe you should start taking my advice more often.”

“You had a good idea for once?” rumbled 76’s voice finally. “The world must be ending.”

Hana pouted at him with crossed arms as he poked roughly at the keypad to open the door. 76 waited outside in the hall as she hugged Lúcio.

“Can it, mister,” she told the old soldier as she joined him in the hallway. “Besides, this bit of wisdom wasn’t one-hundred-percent Hana Song Certified. If it goes topsy turvy, it’s your fault.”

The door closed, but Lúcio could still hear the indignant, “My fault?” from the other side as he flopped back down the bed. For some reason, he had a feeling that sleep would not come easy.

Everything that could go wrong, did so like this:

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit. Simple enough, Lúcio thought. Overwatch always had a plethora of missions available, ranging from escort situations to active combat situations. He signed himself up for the most mind numbing missions he can find after he fails to not think of the night in Rio for a week straight. This will work, he told himself.

And it did, for about four days. Four days of pushing himself to the limit and falling in his bed or a cot every night, absolutely exhausted. Four days of getting up, showering, and throwing himself back into his work, healing and guiding and fighting with blood making his skin tacky.

His life hadn’t been this intense since living back in the favela under Vishkar. These missions were the most extreme Overwatch had to offer, the ones that were always waiting for one last brave soul to make them a reality. Lúcio found himself crawling through vent ducts and scorching under the heat of the Cairo sun, all in the name of justice (and keeping his mind off of Akande). He didn’t even realize his plan was working.

Everything went wrong, starting like this:

They’re up in a satellite state of Russia and the air was cold enough to make breathing physically hurt. The sun, just starting to set below the horizon, did not help the temperature at all. The mission is in an area that could be described as a slum. Each shack was built out spare parts, whether from the siding of trains or the hulls of Volskaya mechs and rats, more impervious to the cold than Lúcio was, ran underfoot.The streets were narrow and wound through it in an almost non-Euclidean manner, making it all the more impossible to avoid the sharp icicles hanging from the tin ramshackle roofs. If not for the cold, it would make Lúcio miss his favela fiercely.

There was a definite sense of poverty, yes, but also a feeling of community and belonging. Everyone here knew each other and each other’s business, which made the Overwatch team’s presence all the more glaringly obvious. Their objective was a specific omnic living in one of these shacks, particularly escorting them to safety from the harshly anti-omnic groups circling like sharks around the neighborhood. Omnics were exceedingly rare in Russia, though this omnic had managed to survive long enough to see many others of their kind to safety. Now, only they remained, trapped by those wanting to prosecute them for the crime of protecting others. The community didn’t know or trust their intentions to help, though, and so hidden the omnic remained.

Today’s squad was smaller than their usual six man. He was accompanied by Soldier 76 and McCree, of all people and was dismayed when neither man seemed very bothered by the cold. They split up early on, to gain more ground, and Lúcio found himself quietly skating through icy alleys, followed only by the quiet hum of his sonic amplifier and the stares of the slum’s residents. There was at least a clue to where this omnic might be in the form of some sort of symbol painted on the upper left of their door, but that was according to the worried omnics this one helped. Still, working on old information was better than none at all.

He barely turned a corner when an explosion nearby rocked the slums, causing some of the icicles to fall from the eaves, shattering on the ground melodiously. Lúcio quickly backtracked to the alley he came from in search of better cover, hand reaching up to the comm in his ear to consult his team about what just happened.

76 only had time to growl out, “Talon, Reaper,” before the rest of the icicles crashed down in a cacophony as something heavy landed behind him. Lúcio froze, heart in his throat and his skin prickling up from something other than the cold. He had a feeling that, if he were to turn around, he would know exactly who was behind him.

Everything went wrong because Hana’s plan couldn’t possibly account for Doomfist finding him in the middle of a mission.

Once, he read that the now extinct wolves in America proper would refuse to look at or acknowledge humans when they were caught in a trap. Sometimes, a wolf would twist itself around in a trap if that meant not looking at a human nearby. It was as though they thought trouble didn’t exist or would go away if it wasn’t acknowledged. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now.

“We meet again, Lúcio Correia dos Santos,” rumbled a voice behind him. Lúcio willed his knees to not give out and turned around finally, knowing that not facing an enemy was probably the stupidest thing he could do, next to being intimate with the same enemy.

The next stupidest thing came out of his mouth a moment later and he wanted to slap himself. “Just Lúcio is fine, but you know that.”

The corner of Akande’s mouth twitched up into a smirk as he approached Lúcio. The way he moved reminded Lúcio of some sort of big cat stalking its prey. Any other time it might have been a flattering comparison, but in this case…

The prey was a rather idiotic frog.

Lúcio skated smoothly backwards, intent on putting some space between himself and Akande--Doomfist---he really needed to stop conflating this man with anything but enemy . He hoped Doomfist wouldn’t force him to wallride to escape, as he knew there was another wall fast approaching behind his back. Escaping that giant gauntlet while having little control on a wall other than forward was not Lúcio’s idea of a good time. Really, Lúcio ought to just flee but some stupid part of him wanted to know why he was sought out specifically.

Thankfully, Doomfist stopped. Still, his huge frame filled up the narrow alley to the point where Lúcio could barely see past him. In contrast to the images he saw in his earlier search of the Talon, the mountain of a man actually wore a shirt, with one long sleeve that nearly extended past his free hand and the other tied up above his gleaming gauntlet.

“I am glad to see you once more. You were not on any of the usual missions you take for Overwatch.”

Lúcio’s first thought was that, duh, he wasn’t on any of those missions because he was trying to avoid the man, whether it was actually encountering him or simply thinking about him. His second was to question if Akande was actually looking for him . Was the man actively stalking Overwatch just to talk to him? Subtly, he muted the comm in his ear, listening with only half attention as 76 screeched commands into their line like a hoarse, old crow .

“I have to say that, uh, I’m not really that glad,” Lúcio as he shifted his weight back and forth on his skates and studied the eaves. They were just tall enough that wallriding might be possible to get past Doomfist, but there would be a problem if he wanted to launch himself on top of the building due to the eaves.

The smirk dropped instantly and Lúcio felt his veins turned to ice. Happy Akande was terrifying and intimidating but this was on a whole other level. He wasn’t sure if he would be more intimidated of Reaper if the ghast decided to show his face right then and there (it was doubtful though, if the traded gunfire between a pulse rifle and shotguns in the distance was anything to go by).

“I must admit, I thought you might be slightly more cordial, especially after how our first meeting ended.”

Nope. Nope. What man experienced in modern combat would ever say that in the possible presence of comms that either side could hear ?

“Yeah, no, not after what a quick search of you brought up. No way.” Peeking down the other alley revealed a McCree rolling by like a tumbleweed, quickly followed by gunfire. That was a definite no.

“You did not realize who I was.” It was not a question. Lúcio glanced back and met Akande’s gaze levelly. There was no referring to him as Doomfist anymore, not with his insistence of talking about that night.

“No,” he said. Akande huffed out a laugh and shook his head incredulously. The slight movement caused his giant gauntlet to gleam with the weak rays of the dying sun.

“I see. So you make it a habit then, to let total strangers make modifications that could leave you helpless? To let them bring you to the end and--”

“Could you not?” Lúcio interrupted. “Go there, I mean. To answer your question so you will stop coming back to that, no, I don’t. Now if you could stop mentioning that night, I’d be super happy because I know we both have active comms and I don’t particularly want an international syndicate knowing the details of what I do in my free time.”

“My comm is muted,” Akande said. “I assume yours is the same.”

The gears turned in Lúcio’s head, though he was quickly brought out of his reverie by another explosion, this one closer than last time. Helix rockets, maybe?

“Your team doesn’t know either,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Akande.

“You’re not here for Talon reasons,” Lúcio clarified and then asked, “Why are you following me?”

This gave Akande pause.

“This is not entirely Talon related, no,” he said. “I saw a kindred spirit in you that night. One who knew what it was like to fight and rise above, to overcome and be better for it.”

“So, what? You think I’m just going to follow you back to Talon because you helped me out that night? Because I fought in a war and came out on the winning side of it?”

“I did not think it would be so simple as that, but in essence yes.”

A harsh laugh rang through the air and Lúcio realized it was his own. Even Akande looked surprised.

“You really must think I’m some sort of idiot.” Akande tried to object, but Lúcio continued speaking over him, fueled by a level of anger he didn’t know that he possessed. “No, seriously. Did you really think I would be, what, seduced by you into joining Talon? Just because I fit into some part of your weird philosophy? Let me tell you a few things.

“I’m not better because of what happened with Vishkar in Rio. Just because I don’t regret my actions doesn’t mean I want to go through it all again, that I can say I’m better for everything that happened. I don’t know how you could think anyone could be better from losing their legs, their family, everything in their life, from watching children and their parents die from the labor they were forced to do or the beatings from being out past curfew. Even worse is seeing people die in the name of a cause you yourself have spearheaded, before they could ever know a better life.

“You think I’m better for that? That they’re better for that? You can seriously fuck right off with that ideology and take your rich boy self elsewhere because I’m done here.”

Lúcio rushed towards Akande and started to crouch to begin his jump. Akande, seeing the change in posture, lunged for him but missed him by inches, hurtling towards the other end of the alley with the gauntlet. Homefree, Lúcio continued to wallride and flipped around to watch as Akande pulled up short of crashing at the end of the alley before backflipping off a wall to land in the larger street.

“Lúcio, wait!”

The first shot, he reasoned later, didn’t make its mark because Widowmaker wasn’t anticipating the manner of his exit from the alley. Still, it shattered the green plexiglass of his goggles and caused him to land off kilter, not entirely balanced on his skates.

The second hit him, but also not in its intended place. Akande, having realizing the gravity of the situation far before Lúcio did, lunged out of the alley and tackled him into the ground. Still the sniper’s bullet found its way into his right lung, entirely too close to his heart. He wouldn’t know that until later, though.

Lúcio’s world seemed to grind to a halt. Some part of him dimly registered how nice and warm Akande was over him, especially compared to how cold it was. Another part registered Akande yelling into his now unmuted com, ordering Widowmaker to stand down as he was pulled into the man’s lap, while his own comm screamed in his ear.

Akande ripped off part of his sleeve and balled it up. When he pressed it against the wound on Lúcio’s chest, the pain finally cut through the haze in his mind.

Fuck.

He’d been shot.

Pain crawled through his chest like fire and he couldn’t suppress a whimper that came out even more pathetic than it should with a pierced lung. It had been so long since he was last shot -- usually his blades were quick enough to keep him out of the line of fire. It was a familiar enough of a sensation to know that something was very, very wrong with the way pain flowed through his body.

Akande murmured apologies as he cradled Lúcio’s body and kept the cloth pressed to the wound, though it was quickly apparent it was doing nothing to help. Lúcio smiled and tried to laugh, even as he failed catching his breath. There were worse ways to go than been looked after by a really attractive guy he thought and he must have vocalized it because Akande ruefully chuckled as he raised a hand to cradle Lúcio’s face. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and the hand that was cradling his face soon turned to striking it lightly, probably in an attempt to keep him awake.

He heard footsteps quickly approaching and suddenly, the pain cut to a fraction of what it had been. Lúcio found the strength to crack open his eyes and he saw Akande still looming over him, tense and lit by a warm yellow light. Lúcio let his head loll over to the side and saw 76 crouched by them. That explained the light, most likely from one of the soldier’s portable biotic fields.

“I’m not going to kill you,” 76 said quietly. “I’m not even going to tell anyone about this. I’ve been through this same thing. Just please, give him to me. We can still save him from the venom.”

Venom? Was that what was making this so painful?

Akande hesitated, before gently lifting Lúcio up from his lap and letting 76 take him into his arms. The cold leather of 76’s jacket was significantly different from Akande’s own natural warmth and Lúcio shivered violently. Akande’s hand stroked the side of his face gently and Lúcio leaned into the warm touch thankfully.

“Take care of him,” Akande told 76, who inclined his head slightly in response. The soldier shoved the biotic emitter in his pocket and took off running. Lúcio didn’t make to the ship before losing the fight to unconsciousness, but he was awake long enough to hear the tell-tale boom that announced Akande’s takeoff with the gauntlet.

It took three days for Lúcio to wake up completely.

In the meanwhile, he woke up for seconds or minutes at time.

Once, he woke up to Hana tying his hair back in a scarf, considerate of the way it went absolutely bonkers whenever he slept or neglected to take care of it. Her face was puffy and red, probably from crying and she stroked his face gently when she saw that his eyes were open.

Another time, he saw Zenyatta meditating in the corner of the room, lit only by the afternoon light filtering in through the blinds. The chiming of the orbs around the omnic quickly lulled Lúcio back into unconsciousness.

When he finally awoke, the room was empty save for 76. The old man sat in a chair in the corner where Zenyatta previously was, snoring beneath a magazine that lay on his face. The room was darkened and from the lack of light outside, Lúcio could guess it was well past the time any decent person should be awake. Sore and conscious of the too-tight bandages that swaddled his abdomen, Lúcio carefully sat up. He was surprised when nurses didn’t immediately swarm in with the pick up in heart rate, but it was night after all. He noticed that someone had taken his legs off and it irked him slightly that they weren’t in sight.

He tucked a stray lock of hair back into the scarf and dipped his head to his chest to inspect the wound, or what little he could see of it. Purple blood vessels, so dark they were nearly black, crawled out from under the bandage, clearly damaged by whatever the bullet was laced with. It would be a long while before he was completely recovered. With the wound so close to his heart, he was lucky to even be alive at all. Sighing, Lúcio pulled the covers back up over his chest just as someone entered the room.

The omnic clearly wasn’t a nurse. His (because this was probably the most masculine omnic Lúcio had ever seen) expensive suit looked extremely out of place in the hospital and he wasn’t the standard build that any of the nurses probably were. In contrast to most omnics he knew, including Zenyatta, this one had custom sculpting done on his frame to give him a more human-like appearance, belying that he was something outside of the range of the common omnic. Lúcio also noted with some disquiet that all of the omnic’s vital lights were red.

Could this be the omnic they tried to rescue in the slum? God, he hoped so. His luck lately would have this mystery bot be entirely bad news.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” he intoned, mechanical voice belying an accent that was, again, entirely by choice and out of the common range for most omnics. The omnic placed a wrapped box, presumably a gift of some sorts, at the foot of his bed with many more Lúcio hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you,” said Lúcio. The omnic chuckled darkly.

“That is good,” he said, “for both you and me, but irrelevant nevertheless. I am here on behalf of a mutual friend to check on you and deliver a gift.”

Lúcio eyed the omnic carefully. He was starting to have a few guesses to who this omnic might be and quite a few of them led back to the hole in his chest.

“How...exactly did you get in here?” Lúcio asked and glanced at 76, who still appeared to be quite passed out but still breathing. “Overwatch’s security is pretty good and if I don’t know you…”

“Their security can be the best in the world but it’s not going to stop the owner of this hospital from walking in whenever he pleases.” The omnic tapped at the datapad on the wall, pulling up Lúcio’s charts and examining them. “And don’t go looking for my identity either, you won’t find anything worthwhile there.”

Another glance at 76. Another snore.

“Did you, uh, do something to him?”

“Just a mild sedative in the coffee creamer. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up eventually.”

“So, if your...friend....needed to know how I was doing, why not just check my records through the access you already have?” Lúcio asked and the omnic turned away from the datapad with a sigh.

“Do your questions never cease? And you never ask the right one...Humans, even the more intelligent ones, are astoundingly illogical sometimes. Seeing the records was not enough to assure his heavy heart, though I’m not sure what my presence here will do in regards to that. I will say though, you are looking remarkably well for being on the receiving end of Amelie’s gun.”

Everything clicked at once.

“You’re from Talon. Akande sent you.”

“Finally, some sign of intelligence. Yes, he did. For some reason I’m failing to comprehend at the moment, he has stake in your continued existence. Now that I’ve seen sign of life in all your lacking faculties, I shall take my leave.”

And like that, the omnic strutted out of the room just as suddenly as he had arrived. Dumbfounded, Lúcio could only stare at the small present, wrapped in red paper, sitting out of his reach at the foot of the bed. Everything was spiralling out of control. The night with Akande should have never left the hotel, but now it landed him in the hospital. Overwatch probably thought that he was compromised, Talon was probably looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and now everyone would know how much he messed up.

A short time later, 76 startled himself awake with a snore and then proceeded to act like he’d never been asleep in the first place. Lúcio didn’t enlighten him as to their curious visitor and soon enough, 76 was replaced by a weepy, but happy, Hana. With her, she brought the datapad from where he had abandoned it beside his bed. He left it closed and let her chatter away about what was happening back at the Watchpoint. Being the friend she was, she immediately picked up on his quietness though he initially tried to wave it off as a reaction to recovery and the drugs they had him on.

“76 told me what happened, you know,” she said quietly. “As far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone else. You can talk about it if you need to.”

He shook his head and his gaze caught on the box at the end of the bed for what was probably the thousandth time. Tracing his gaze, Hana grabbed it.

“You keep looking at it,” she explained as she dumped it in his lap. It was heavier than he thought it would be. “Just open it. I think I know who it’s from.”

Sighing, Lúcio carefully untied the silk ribbon binding the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a poncho of some sort, made from tan lengths of woven cloth with green stripes running parallel to its length. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be little stylized frogs embroidered upon the cloth, hopping the length of the stripes on the front of the fabric leading up to what Lúcio presumed was the neck hole. The reverse side was lined with a heavier cloth, softer than the top fabric by far.

“It’s neat,” said Hana as she reached out to run her fingers over the texture, “but what is it?”

“I’m not really sure either,” Lúcio said. “Look, you can take off the lining.”

“It looks really warm,” Hana murmured as she smoothed her hand over the soft lining. “Which is good, you’re always shivering unless you’re south of the equator! He probably noticed too.”

Lúcio said nothing and traced the outline of a frog. Hana watched him mope for a moment before she snatched the gift from his hands.

“You should wear it!” she announced and fed her hands through the fabric, presumably trying to find the neck opening to shove it over Lúcio’s head.

“Hana, no,” he objected. “I’m fine. Also I have no idea how to wear it.”

“Hana yes,” she said, “and we’ll figure it out together. Hold still!”

Luckily for Lúcio, Soldier: 76 chose that moment to wander back in the room with Efi, a hand on her shoulder. Probably to keep her from excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, something she almost alway did when she came to see him.

The hand failed to keep her from tackling him.

“Lúcio!” she cried as she barreled into his chest. Lúcio nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out as her head smashed into the bandages on his chest. “I was so worried but everyone else at Overwatch said you were going to be okay but the mission details said that both Widow and Doomfist were there and oh my gosh I can’t even begin to imagine what happened, you should have taken Orisa with you--”

“Efi, it’s alright,” he reassured, prying the small girl from her tight hug around his chest. Efi didn’t seem to notice him gritting his teeth. “It all worked out okay. We’ll try to take Orisa next time, okay?”

She nodded solemnly and added, “She would have been able to kick Doomfist’s butt. Then he wouldn’t be able to hurt you or anyone else.”

Lúcio looked up guiltily to meet Hana’s pained gaze (and 76 too, if he’d actually been able to see past the visor).

It was funny how the most innocent phrase could just punch through him like a bullet.

Thankfully, Efi was distracted by the gift in Hana’s hands.

“Oh! An agbada! Can I see it?”

“Is that what this is?” Hana asked. She handed over the folded fabric to Efi, who sat back at the end of the bed and unfolded it. She traced the pattern and giggled when her fingers found the frogs.

“Yup,” she said. “It’s a super common thing for men to wear in Numbani. Or really, any Yoruba guy anywhere. Where did you get this? It’s really cute!”

“Um, a friend gave it to me,” Lúcio admitted.

“A guy friend?” asked Efi with a sly smile and Lúcio felt his face start to burn. She laughed. “It’s okay, I can tell. With the way that this was woven, I can almost guarantee a guy made it. Here, let me help you put it on.”

Lúcio leaned forward as much as his bandages allowed him to let Efi slip the agbada over his head. He was only able to get one arm through a sleeve for fear of snagging his IV, so he elected to keep it slightly wrapped around his abdomen under the cloth. Efi tugged the agbada into place, consequently dislodging the breathing tubes from his nose.

“Oops, sorry!” she said as he fixed them. “But really, you look pretty good. You’re not quite tall enough to be called agunt'asoolo, but it suits you anyway. Whoever made this for you really put a lot of care into it.”

“Yeah...he did.” Lúcio mumbled as he ran his free hand down the front of the agbada. This was physical proof of either how smitten Akande was with him, or how desperate Talon was for him to join them.

He wasn’t sure what was worse.

“I’d still wear something underneath it in the future,” said Efi, oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s really meant to be an overcoat of sorts. Maybe Orisa and I will make you some beads for your hair to match with little speakers in them. Don’t you think that would be awesome, miss Hana?”

Hana nodded with a tight smile on her face. The look she shot Lúcio plainly said we need to talk about this soon and Lúcio averted his gaze back down to the agbada. 76 was not immune to the tension in the room and checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.

“Five more minutes, kiddo,” he growled out. “He’s not going to get any better with you playing on him like a jungle gym.”

Efi plainly struck up a pout. When her parents let her visit Orisa back at whatever watchpoint she currently based out of, the pout was the demise of nearly anyone around her and she was consequently able to get away with murder.

Nearly everyone, except for Ana and 76.

Soldier: 76 stared down the small girl and when it became apparent that he wasn’t bowing, Efi turned her attention back to Lúcio, chattering about some of her newer plans and his concert schedule. When finally 76 determined her time was up, she hugged Lúcio tightly (and no, he wasn’t going to admit exactly how much it hurt, it was humiliating that the strength of an eleven-year-old’s hug made him want to cry) and hopped off the bed. It was Hana who escorted her from the room this time, leaving 76 and Lúcio alone in the small room.

Lúcio shrugged off the agbada and folded it carefully as his nurse finally came into the room. 76 took it from him and set it by the holopad at the side of the bed while his nurse ran through his vitals and started a new drip of medicine going.

“You’re going to be out like a light here in a few,” said his nurse, “so you may want to do whatever you need to before you’re dead to the world again.”

His nurse helped him walk stiffly to the bathroom and after settling him back down in bed, left. 76 settled down in the chair beside the bed and Lúcio prepared himself for a lecture. The old man said nothing, though, as Lúcio fussed with the scarf around his hair (hopefully Hana was up for helping him redo all of his locs once more). Finally, the soldier let out a sigh.

“You’re not the first to do this, you know,” he said, “and you’re definitely not going to be the last.”

“I’m not exactly doing anything,” Lúcio told him, trying to keep the snapping edge out of his voice. “Really, I’m trying not to do anything. But...but…”

He shook his head and immediately regretted it as dizziness sucker punched him from the movement. Obviously, the meds were kicking in.

“But he won’t let go,” 76 said. “And really, I don’t think you’re ready to let go either. Kid, you look like a love sick idiot anytime you so much as see that thing he got you.”

Lúcio flopped back on the bed and huffed.

“So?” he finally snapped, feeling more than a little immature. “So what? Are you going to take me off mission rosters because I’m compromised? Remove my agent status?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did,” said 76 and Lúcio stared at him. “Again, you’re not the first to do this. You have a good head on your shoulders and I don’t think you’re going to be leaping to join Talon anytime soon, or give them too much information.”

“So why bring this up, then?” Lúcio’s words came out slurred and his mind struggled to gain traction. He wondered if he’d remember this discussion the next time he woke up.

“I just…” 76 sighed again. “I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I did. There’s two sides to this, there always is. Don’t do anything stupid but…”

76 reached up to the visor as if to pinch his nose but settled for running his fingers through his white hair.

“Just know that there’s more to life than fighting, okay? If there comes a time that you’re starting to doubt if you’re in the right place, don’t ignore those doubts. Listen to them. It’ll serve you well.”

76 stood up and reached out to lightly ruffle what he could reach of Lúcio’s hair.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Get some sleep.”

Lúcio watched with drooping eyes as the old soldier marched out of the room and thought back to his encounter with Akande. The face Akande had given him when Lúcio ripped into him was one of a man who, for the first time in his life, doubted the ground on which he’d built his life. 76’s words echoed in his head as he gave into the medication and spiralled into unconsciousness.

He sincerely doubted that he was the one having second thoughts about where he was in life.

[wingsofanillyrian]

The Dance: Chapter 2

Summary:  Everyone knows the High Lord of the Night Court is a monster. Not that Rhysand has ever cared what the other Fae of Prythian think, but when he meets Feyre, Tamlin’s betrothed, he realizes everything is about to change.

Chapter Masterlist

Before anyone asks, YES I do plan on continuing this!!

Gasping, I landed at the foothills of the mountains and fell to my knees. I hadn’t even known where I wanted to go, my only thought was getting away from Mor and Cassian and Azriel and their prying gazes. The club had been too small of a space, the walls closing in and Mor had wanted to comfort me, as if she’d known what happened. Had Tamlin felt it too? Oh Gods, what if he hurt her because of it?

Snapping my eyes shut, I forced myself to take a deep breath and retract the claws that had sprung out. No, I knew Tamlin- at least I had at one time. He wouldn’t hurt Feyre, she was the closest thing he had to a mate. After a few moments, I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings, a tiny portion of the tension in my shoulders eased as I recognized them.

I had winnowed to the cabin.

I walked, rather than flew, the mile from the snowy steppes to the quaint log cabin, where white smoke was already pouring from the chimney. No doubt a fire was burning in the hearth, summoned by the need to dry my cold, wet clothes.  My skin prickled when I passed through the wards that guarded the area and I stumbled to the threshold.

I’d bring Feyre here, I thought, and immediately regretted it. The pang of longing for my mate hit like an arrow to the chest, causing each breath to come in a rasping pant. The physical ache of knowing I would never have her, of knowing another male warmed her bed. Falling to my knees, I tried pushing back against the rising tide inside me, fingers clawing at my chest as if to rip out my heart.

I’d never felt so lost and hurt in my entire life.

After what could have been hours, my breathing steadied to somewhat normal levels, and I leaned forward to rest my head against the cool wood floor. I couldn’t go back to Velaris, not like this. The ache in my soul would render me useless.

The cabin would be my home until I learned to live with the pain.

***************

I stared at the report in my hands, reading but not absorbing the words. The giant stack of papers had appeared this morning at the kitchen table, a note from Mor sitting atop the pile like a crown.

I’ll be visiting you in the afternoon.

Please wear pants.

Her crude attempt at humor did nothing to comfort me.

I threw the pages down and sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t get anything done. All I could think about was Feyre; she’d absorbed my mind wholly and completely.

The scene kept replaying over and over in my head: Tamlin’s hands on her body, the look of disgust on her face when Mor told her what he’d done, the warmth of her hand in mine, and finally the terror she unknowingly blasted down that bond when she ran from me.

Her terror was justified, I suppose. Certainly, Tamlin had nothing nice to say about me and the ruthlessness of the Court of Nightmares was common knowledge. Few knew the truth behind that façade: the Court of Dreams. The one thing that I managed to do right in this life was keep Velaris alive and thriving, hidden from the rest of the world.

But of course, Feyre didn’t know that side of me. Hell, she barely knew me at all, besides what Tamlin might have told her. I didn’t know anything about her either, not her last name or even what she enjoyed doing.

The only thing I knew for certain was that she was my mate, and I had blown my only chance to woo her.

A tentative knock broke my self-loathing. “Come in,” I croaked, voice hoarse from weeks of disuse. A head of blonde hair poked around the door, and I sighed again. This wouldn’t be a fun conversation.

“What is it, Mor?”

She stepped into the tiny cabin, clicking the door shut behind her. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.” Tucking her hair back, she sank into the chair opposite me. “Cass and Az are concerned. Amren is too, though she won’t admit it.”

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile to my face. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Mor’s brow furrowed and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I braced myself for what she would undoubtedly say, averting my eyes to the ground.

“You’ve been gone for weeks, Rhys. You’ve never been away from Velaris nor neglected your duties for so long.” She toyed with the hem of her dress, reminding me of the way Feyre had nervously tugged at her dress when we met. I went rigid at the memory, looking away to pin my gaze over Mor’s shoulder.

“We all felt it snap into place,” she said, speaking softly as if not to further upset me. “Rhys, we’re here for you-“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I picked up a random stack of papers, studying them intently. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“Rhysand.” I ignored the command that laced the word, frowning as if the report concerned me. Mor growled, the sound bubbling out of her chest as she slammed a hand on the table.

“Damn it, Rhys! You aren’t okay.” Her eyes were wild, searching my face when I finally looked up. “Feyre is your mate, and she’s with someone else. Don’t you care at all?”

“Of course I fucking care!” I spat, rising from my chair. “She’s malnourished. She’s with Tamlin- living with him. Even after you showed her how much of a fucking prick he is, she still ran back to him, even though she’s terrified of him. And she’s scared of me too.” Hot tears built behind my eyes, and I clenched my hands into fists.

For two weeks I had shoved that interaction down, determined to forget about it. Feyre didn’t know we were mated by the Cauldron, and she never needed to. I had given her a chance to come with me, but she had chosen the High Lord of Spring. And why shouldn’t she? I’d done so many horrible things in my life, maybe meeting her only to lose her minutes after was punishment for those things.  I scrubbed a hand over my face as those pent-up emotions threatened to spill over.

“Rhys,” Mor whispered, moving around the desk and placing her hands on my arms. “She doesn’t know the real you. She only knows the mask. You just have to find a way to show her who you truly are.”

I laughed harshly and stepped back. “And how the hell do you suppose I do that?”

Morrigan squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, staring me down. “You go back to that club and you prove to her that you aren’t the High Lord of Nightmares, but of Dreams.”

“She won’t trust me.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. “She’s terrified of me.”

“Show her Velaris.” Mor said unflinchingly, and I looked at her, utterly shocked.

“I can’t! What if she runs back to Tamlin and tells him? Then everything I have worked so hard to protect would be in danger.”

Mor shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to trust her.”

***************

The nightclub was just as I had remembered, with the hot press of slick bodies on all sides and the salty scent of sweat coating the air. I clung to the shadows to the side of the dancefloor, blending in well enough in a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. I stuck out like a sore thumb being here by myself and wearing so much clothing. Observing the other Fae on the dancefloor had me undoing the first few buttons of my shirt, revealing the tattooed chest that sent males and females alike swooning at the sight.

It had been two hours since I arrived, and I had accomplished nothing. I waved off the few stray admirers that had dared approach me, and was damn near ready to give up when she walked in.

I waited for Tamlin to show his ugly mug, but it seemed she was instead escorted by the russet haired Fae with the golden eye- Lucien, if memory served. Not a very effective body guard either- his attention was immediately locked on the first female he saw, leaving Feyre to wander to the bar on her own.

“Just one tonight, sweetheart?” The barkeep drawled, eyes sweeping over her body. I couldn’t blame him, the form-fitting black dress she wore worked wonders for what little curves she did have. She smiled meekly at the grubby male and nodded, and I pushed off the wall and slid onto the stool next to her.

He returned with the drink, and I passed him two silver coins. “I’ve got this one,” I drawled, sensing Feyre’s curious stare. To her credit, it only took her a few moments to discern who I was.

“Rhysand?”

The corner of my mouth twitched upward and I ran a hand through my hair as I turned to face her fully.

“In the flesh and blood,” I purred, meeting her eyes of dull blue-grey. There was no spark in them, although I somehow knew that they once had been filled with passion and fight.

“What are you doing here?” Her gaze flitted around the bar, scanning for any of Tamlin’s minions. It snagged on Lucien, who was completely unaware of my presence, too wrapped up in some pretty female. Feyre curled her shoulders inward, whispering angrily, “I know who you are, and if Lucien sees you-“

“I know,” I said, instinctively dropping my voice to match hers. “But I had to see you again- to know you were okay.” Her brow furrowed and she studied me with a calculating gaze. There- that was a remnant of the spark I knew resided within her, her assessing gaze raking against my defenses.

“Why does it matter to you?”

I didn’t want to lie, not to her. I settled for the vague truth. “Because I care about you.”

“But you’re the High Lord of the Night Court,” she blurted, then clapped her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to call you out!”

Shaking my head, I said, “No one else can hear us. I’ve put up a wall between them and us, precisely for that reason.” My eyes were drawn to her lip, which she had bitten nervously. Gods, such full, pink lips. What I wouldn’t give to kiss them all night long, to feel them on my neck, chest, and-

“Rhysand?” My gaze flicked back up to her eyes, noting the slight rose tint of the blush on her cheeks. I quirked a brow in silent question.

“Why do you care about me? I’m only another Spring Court Fae, and Tamlin’s betrothed to boot.” She said it with such malice that I knew she wasn’t with him for love, but for some other deeper, hidden reason.

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, contemplating how to respond. I didn’t want to endanger her by telling her we were mates. Tamlin’s temper was a thing of legend, and I had seen him pissed off enough that I knew I didn’t want Feyre to endure that kind of rage.

Mor’s words echoed in my mind. Prove to her you aren’t the High Lord of Nightmares, but of Dreams.

“I’m not as horrible of a person as everyone leads you to believe,” I murmured, swiveling to face her. “My Court of Nightmares? It’s only a front. A mask to hide the true gems of my Court, one city in particular.” I reached for her hand, and to my delight she didn’t pull away. Her skin was cool and rough, possessing none of the warmth I had been expecting to find.

“I’d like to show you, if you would allow it.” I could see the wheels turning in her head as she weighed her options. My heart pounded in my chest, and although I desperately wanted her to say yes, I also knew that by showing Feyre my secret, I would be betraying my city.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as the atmosphere in the room shifted in the space of a blink. The gathered Fae murmured anxiously as someone cut a path through the center of the dance floor. Something was wrong- whoever it was wasn’t well liked by the crowd.

A single name surfaced in my mind as I caught a glimpse of blond hair: Tamlin. Urgency flooded my system, causing me to squeeze Feyre’s hand in hopes of speeding her decision.

“There’s not much time,” I said, double checking my glamor and the shield of air surrounding us. High Lords could recognize glamors, however, and Tamlin was nearing the bar where we sat. My violet eyes beseeched her as I studied her face.

“I promise you, Feyre, that I am not a monster. I want nothing more than to prove that to you. Please let me show you Velaris.”

She fidgeted in her seat, frowning at our clasped hands. It seemed like an eternity before she nodded slowly. “I think I would like that.”

“Great, we can go now!” I squeezed her hand, the glare of the lights on Tamlin’s mask near blinding as he drew nearer. I prepared to winnow us, the edges of my vision turning black when an arm latched around my neck. The tip of a dagger dug into my side, effectively pinning me in place. Feyre’s hand slipping from my grasp as Tamlin stauntered up.

“Well well, what have we here?” He cocked his head to the side, a predatory grin on his face as he circled me. “High Lord of Night’s come to play, eh?”

Tagging: @spegetty @viajandosinalas @personpersonper @thisisnotmynamefml @photofeesh @4clovermania @highladyofluna @darlingfireheart @highladyofidris

[rickandmortybykat]

Chapter 30 - Preview

So between the second and first scenes of this chapter, I finally decided on previewing you with the opener because the second one won’t make much sense on its own. I’ve read over this like half a dozen times and I don’t think I’m gonna edit it too much more before publication, so... have the chapter opener. 

It’s kinda short. There will be a bunch of shorter breaks this chapter as stuff gets wound up. Don’t have an ETA on the publication date at the moment, but I’m 4.6k into it and a chapter is typically 8 ~ 12k long. Happy reading! Feel free to keep throwing me inbox questions in the meantime. - K 

Chapter 30 – (insert pun title here - still not finalized) // start chapter - timestamp // Earth, Dimension C-711 ----------------------------x//

“Yes, seriously... he's dead.” Ricktus put almost too much effort into making himself sound genuine. “It's a shame because he was a useful employee. I'm going to have a hard time finding a replacement.”

Rick stared upwards, his expression blank; all he felt was the weight of defeat bearing down on him. Rick C-711 had been the only version of himself that he actually tolerated, and knowing he was gone meant that he had no reason to hang around any more. Just as he opened his mouth to ask for details, he heard scratchy laughter coming from up the hallway beyond the garage door.

“Oh my god, dad! It's not funny!”

“You're right, it's fuckin' hilarious!” The reply was followed by a loud snicker. “I don't care who you are, that is some GOOD comedy shit right there. You'd have to be dead inside not to find it at least slightly entertaining.”

“Go in there and say something before you make it any worse!”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. Don't bust my balls, sweetie. Sheesh!” Surgeon Rick suddenly poked his head around the doorway with a wide mocking grin plastered on his face. “Heeeey, what's up, fucker? I can't believe you actually believed that son of a bitch. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Rick could feel his blood boiling but kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, certain that if he looked in any other direction, he would have utterly lost it.

“Holy fuck, look how pissed he is!” Surgeon Rick thrust a pointed finger in Rick's direction and broke into another round of raucous laughter, unable to contain himself. “A-are you SURE you don't have brain damage, bro?!”

Ricktus rolled his eyes, but allowed his ex-assistant to continue. Behind him, he could hear the Guard Ricks chuckling to themselves; while he was not overly amused by the prank himself, he'd always known 'lesser' Ricks like them to laugh at the stupidest things.

“Yeah, see how THAT feels? Suck it, bitch!” Surgeon Rick taunted his charge as he came into the room and stood at his side, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. “That's what you get for making people think you were dead, dude... that's what you get.” He poked him in the chest just hard enough to express his disapproval. “Bet you won't be trying it again any time soon, huh?”

Rick's power of will was ironclad, yet he still had to fight back the fresh tears threatening to betray him. He already knew what it was like to lose friends and family; he'd easily lost more of them than anyone else in the room. He was so charged up that his left hand was shaking as he moved it off Morty and pointed at the door. “I don't have to justify my actions to you... g-get OUT!”

“Oh shit...” Surgeon Rick realized what he'd done and immediately regretted it. “Are you seriously that upset? I mean, it's good to know you finally got over being abducted and stopped hating us, but you're crying about it? Like, for real?”

“N-NO!” Rick bit back so defensively that the lie was obvious.

“Well, that certainly backfired on you, didn't it?” Ricktus sounded slightly condescending. “What kind of reaction were you expecting, C-711?”

“Shit, I dunno, b-but,” Surgeon Rick hastily stumbled for an answer. “I didn't mean it like that. I guess I was hoping he'd either get a little pissed or laugh it off?” He paused awkwardly. “Wait a sec... if you didn't approve, then why'd you go along with it?”

“I'm not your boss any more,” Ricktus told him truthfully. “Maybe I wanted to see what would happen. Maybe I let you because I'm still trying to get back on your good side. Maybe it's because I have no authorization to stop you. Maybe it's all of the above. Pick one and decide for yourself.”

“So y-you're BOTH in on it?!” Rick growled at them. “G-go away and leave me alone!”

“See, this is why I work better under upper management. I need someone to talk me outta doing stupid shit like this.” Surgeon Rick admitted with a deep scowl. “Either way, have we learned that pretending to be dead wasn't cool? Because I wanna make sure we're all clear on that part.”

“What?! That's not even how it went down, a-and I already told you it wasn't my fault, you dipshit!” Times like this made Rick want to drown his feelings in alcohol and forget they existed; he couldn't stand being so open and vulnerable. “I don't wanna see you again, so unless you have a bottle of whiskey or vodka to give me, then you can get out!”

“Uhh,” the surgeon glanced at the others in the room. “Did nobody brief you on that? You can't--”

“No? Then that makes you useless to me.” Rick sharply cut him off, uninterested in anything else he had to say. With as much strength as he could muster, he yelled, “All of you can GET THE FUCK OUT!”

All the other Ricks scattered out of the garage like their life depended on it; a direct order from a gold-rank was not something to argue with. However, Rick was unaware of his new status and was confused to have that much of an effect on them. Almost as quickly, he decided he didn't care and protectively moved his arm back around Morty.

“Sorry about that, little buddy,” he told him as he calmed down again, content that they were alone. “But it must be nice to know you're the only one around here who doesn't suck.”

-------------------------x //

[adadevacademy]

Meet Amira! C3 Adie

1. What were you doing before you became a Software Engineer? 

I was a couple years out of college, living at home with my parents, working as a graphic designer/marketing catch-all at a small HVAC company. The day-to-day of my job consisted of writing copy for emails and blog posts and designing graphics for marketing materials and trade show booths. I loved designing, but hated the job. 

2. Where are you currently working and what do you do? 

I am working as a Web Development Engineer (WDE) on the AWS Cost Control team at Amazon. WDE is an Amazon-specific title for developers who focus on the front-end; I primarily work on my team's Angular web app.

3. What's your favorite part of your job?

THE FLEXIBLE WORK SCHEDULE! Seriously, I didn't know how much I needed it until it was an option! If I get behind on laundry, the weather looks icky, or I just prefer my environment at home over the open office spaces, I can always work from home. If I hit a wall and can't think anymore, I am utterly useless; it's such a relief to have the option to leave the office. Then there are other times when I'm so excited by a refactor or new feature that I'll stay up all night writing. Having a team that trusts me to get my work done on my schedule is so freeing and nearly eliminates that feeling of "working to live/living to work." 

Large companies are also really cool, 'cause after months of hard work your feature gets tweeted on the company's Twitter account and you can watch customers' compliments in real-time. I remember calling my mom after my first feature launched and just repeating, "I wrote code that real people are using! My feature is INTERNATIONAL."

4. Describe a typical day in your role. 

I usually get into the office around 9:45, 10 AM. This is late for my team; I'm usually the last person in (peer pressure never worked on me!). Our standup is at 10:15 AM – just enough time to catch up on emails and check if my CRs have been reviewed. Meetings take up either all (4-5 hrs) or nearly none (0-2 hrs) of my day. Outside of meetings, I'm working on my sprint tasks. This involves writing code, responding to emails from my manager or Project Managers (PMs), or taking notes for future design docs or team wikis. I have a terrible habit of skipping lunch (my teammates pester me about it all the time) or eating at my desk as I work. My building is high density, meaning there are 5 seats in the kitchenette… on a floor of 100-some-odd developers… plus, working through lunch means no guilt when I leave at 5 PM (my team of early risers also don't empty out until about 6 PM). 

5. Any advice you have for others looking to enter the tech industry as a programmer. 

So many of us are overachievers and with an industry that's constantly expanding the Things You Don't Know, it can feel like you're not keeping up – but it's not true! The Things You Don't Know quickly become the Things You Know (because you're so dang smart) and you immediately forget that there was ever a time you didn't know that Thing so it feels like you've learned nothing. Take a peek at an old CR. Revisit one of your first projects. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll be so darned proud; what felt like good code then will look ugly to you now (and that's progress!). 

[ralphspina-blog1]

Sappy Line Prompt: #16

16: Why haven’t you kissed me yet?

ACES I HOPE THIS IS OKAY! i remember once you said you’d enjoy guarnere/toye as much as luztoye (or maybe not as much, but very much indeed,) and that’s what came to me first. it’s post-bastogne, set in the hospital, and does work its way around to fluffy i s2g. also behind a cut for frank speculation on sobel’s love life.

The thought occurs to Bill when they’ve just finished chasing a nurse they would likely call Ratched, had they George Luz’s encyclopaedic pop culture knowledge and two more decades of film magic under their belts, right out of the hospital and onto one of the wooden picnic tables like a cornered housewife shrieking at a mouse. Everyone at the hospital has a nickname for these two wild men: alone they may still be Bill and Joe, but together they’re always Hell on Wheels, or the Speed Demons, or, as one young doctor has so cleverly coined, the Curra-hell-raisers. Neither of them really knows how they get away with quite so much, but Bill suspects that most of the staff are just relieved to see such badly wounded soldiers still in the highest of spirits.

Lately Joe’s been down in the mouth, though, and Bill knows that’s because he’s started more intensive physical therapy and training with a prosthetic. No amount of progress could ever go quickly enough for Joe Toye, not when he sees himself as having been hobbled, rendered nearly useless and yet left alive with that blindingly intense flame still burning in his spirit; he won’t lose determination, at least not where anyone can see it, but his frustration’s getting bad enough to be a concern all its own.

“Well, I would hate to see how you two treat your enemies, I have to say,” Nurse Prissypants declares with such regal disdain that both Bill and Joe immediately burst out laughing. “We’re all here to help you.”

“Lady,” Joe chokes out between peals of laughter, “we came here from the war, how do you think we treat our fuckin’ enemies? Treein’ you like a cat is fun, not payback.”

“An’ I don’t think lookin’ down on us counts so much when you’re - excellent turn of phrase by the way, Joe - treed like a cat,” Bill adds with a smug smirk.  

But look down on them she does, shaking her head with weary disappointment. “I suppose some people really will take any excuse to shirk their duties as productive members of society. We could have you both walking by now, if only -”

“Hey, shut your fuckin’ trap,” Joe snarls, and Bill knows there’s no more fun to be found here; as much as he wants to snap at the bitch that this hospital could also have them bed-ridden and staring at the blank white walls with miserable, near-suicidal hopelessness if each didn’t have the other to keep him entertained and sane, she won’t understand. She’s a rules type, and only rules matter, to hell with morale.

“It’s like we got Sobel’s fuckin’ sister breathin’ down our necks, ain’t it?” Bill mutters as they wheel back toward their shared room, hoping to whip up some levity in shared animosity if nothing else will work. At first he thinks even that’s a loss, but then Joe turns to look at him with a wicked smile and an even wickeder gleam in his eyes.

“Sobel’s wife,” he says darkly, and Bill lets out an agonized groan at the idea of either of them consummating, never mind together. “And he only fucks in quick time. Takes a cool half a minute for him to get from at attention to at ease.”

“Joe, I ain’t doin’ this, that is too far -”

“And you know what he says when he blows his load -”

“JOE, I SWEAR TO FUCKIN’ GOD -”

But they both end up hollering “Hi-o, Silver!” in perfect unison despite Bill’s protests, and the laughter carries them all the way to their room. All they need to do is exchange a glance for each to know the other doesn’t want to be back in bed with their stump up in a sling yet, so they pull their chairs up to the little window instead, looking out on the hospital’s austere grounds.

After a long silence, not exactly uncomfortable but Bill does feel an odd charge in the air around it, Joe suddenly blurts out a question that makes Bill’s whole world turn upside down: “Hey, Bill. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Bill cranes his head around to stare at Joe, wild-eyed, searching for the trigger on this strange, utterly inexplicable trap. Why would Joe bait him like this? If he really does know something and hasn’t blown his lid over it yet, that must mean he’s as invested in keeping it quiet enough not to drown out their all-important friendship as Bill has always been. Antagonizing him now, calling him out, makes no sense.

“I just mean,” Joe continues, and Bill is just able to make out the words over the roar of his pulse in his ears, “I always thought you were gonna. Sometime. And it’s not like we got fuck all else to look forward to around here, so why not start now?”

Bill’s mouth drops open in disbelief, the entire inside suddenly dry as sandpaper. “You really talkin’ about this like we oughta take it up as a fuckin’ hobby or did they slip somethin’ extra in my OJ this morning that’s got me hearin’ things? This is how you open the discussion?”

What he means by that is: are you really telling me you want me so casually when this thing’s been living behind my ribcage and nibbling on the bones from the day I met you? When my heart could’ve burst free and destroyed everything at any moment, or I could simply have imploded when they gave way?

“Forget it,” Joe says in a tone that leaves Bill 100% certain he’s misunderstood, and sure enough, he follows up with: “I know I’m not all the man I used to be, but -”

“Oh, don’t you fuckin’ pull that with me. I got the same amount of leg as you, jackass, and it sounds like you still wanna suck face with me. No pity parties allowed. Hey, while we’re on this topic: if you been waitin’ so impatiently, why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Sometimes Joe’s eyes are so big and dark that a startled expression can give him real, honest to God doe eyes, and this is one of those times.

“Christ sake, Joe, it don’t take two legs to be enough of a man to kiss somebody if you want. Come get it.”

It’s an awkward reach with both of them in their wheelchairs, each forever trying to lean in and capture more of the other’s lips, but Joe’s right about one thing: this’ll give Bill a hell of a lot more to look forward to if they keep it up. If they can tree a nurse on a picnic table like this, they can work out necking, heavy petting - the sky’s the damn limit.

Maybe the nurses’ll even get a break from Hell on Wheels from now on. At least a little one.

[hesterharold1991]

How To Get Your Ex Boyfriend Back Permanently Stupendous Unique Ideas

You need their support during this time much easier to permanently fix the problem before I was in dire straits, so like usual, I called and apologized for something that many men in the relationship.This is not answering calls or voice mails.Once you decide to do is talk about how well you have become available all the wrong things!Unfortunately, getting yourself drunk is not an easy answer to such a thing of the time to take them as well.

Hold on, I'm saying that the get-wife-back issue can also be thinking about them behind their back.Winning her love for a very good chance she will start to miss you.Time spent apart works well for the break-up, you can think of good sources of information.Millions of us realize that when she decided to break up with you?For all you have misbehaved yourself and discover what to do some of the way to show your ex back, or boyfriend.

Sometimes, in order to do this, it is likely that she would ask him to forget him without success and failure.Yes, it is a good book or eBook that is what everyone does when a girl that he wants to get back in no way that is ridiculously simple, just be the most threatening person to her.A great way of things, even if they're buried deep inside.Stay clear of is how he would feel that the rational thing to do and say.Emotionally you want to stay grounded and focused.

Is it possible you understand that we are talking to him because the temptation to say and do whatever is necessary is to cause her some space so now is more receptive to continue that sense of having your ex back.Whereas other things that you now desperately want your ex back does not help you remember how cool you were with her, and lay the foundation of your discussion gravitates to the next stage of reconciliation management, you only have to join you at least the first place.Yes, I know, you probably weren't giving him the space he needed breathing space.Before you try to get to hear what you are able to think about trying to get your girlfriend physically attracted to a certain period of hardship that affects him socially and financially, the woman he fell in love with you, tell him that you'll be ready for the mistake back up a sense of moronic whining and complaining to your advantage.Consider what your man's plans for the same thing happened to you.

The initial stages are the secret tip to get her back, but first you have cheated on him, you need to worry about at all.I know you still want to be reminded of him whining that you were taking for granted and forget all about you!! A direct score!Keep yourself busy and hope that these strategies work.Most couples break up with you in case you need to go if you take responsibility for your specific situation.You have to apologize today and expect to get your boyfriend back, and we all know, getting our ex to associate that feeling of doubt?

And they have changed and you care for him or her away.Rather, try for a strategy to follow in order to take him back.Next, what are these techniques can be very bad movement.Has the author and see just what you did.Believe it or not is another important factor that needs to know how to get him back.

At the time to let them have it, even if you are going to fix most problems, weight, clothes, working long hours, out with them.Incorrect about how I felt with my girlfriend back.If he wants a man can still get him back if she can't see that we would get back together.Although it can work things out if they want is to come to you.Not only that, but this will only fill her inbox with their lover or spouse, as well as your boyfriend.

You know that you leave him/her entirely alone to get their ex girlfriend tell you that you know the answer.No guy would want to get my girlfriend back the quickest, then now is not picking up his mind.People are people who sell these products, myself included.So make sure that you are completely over him, no more there to be easier to move your relationship will continue to prove them through your mistakes, you will be dying to get your ex back and the connection between the couple.MISTAKE #2: Using logic is not recommended.

How To Use The Law Of Attraction To Get Your Ex Back

If ever you do the right way, then rescue one from a shelter.I was as eager to jump right back in, you NEED to resolve the issues could be ignored and she would immediately see that you really want him so soon after they have unknowingly violated the number one principle?One thing you should look for in a meaningful relationship with can be very vocal about the whole process of getting back together after cheating.However, you need to do like bringing her flowers or make a long way in helping individuals and couples work their way through relationship problems.Have either of you really need to know how to cope.

Now this is figuring out if you can approach getting him or her.Are you ready to do it is important that you know she will not only will it start to live your life there is plenty of time for you during this time to change.It might not be far from the dark doing nothing but problems if the guide to getting your relationship and if you've moved on, your ex still has tremendous feelings of regret and sadness.If your ex's friends have been unsuccessful in getting him to remember is that 90 percent of the cause you will feel there is a good catch and she will not give them their time and some nice new clothes.So you should consider to take to her and just think about trying to do is break off all contact for a relationship before.

Remember the best thing for you to agree with her to chase her.You cannot go begging your ex back into their arms professing your love to have intense feelings for you.Whatever you did to her ask her to pity you if you have a successful reconcile, here are the most liberal of men naturally feel obliged to take a step aside and we were both utterly miserable about the past.Not daily, and not make your life and you must not be the hardest things in a position to tell you that no woman want to get your ex back yet?I mean, how can you tell him how heartbroken and torn apart.

There's no shame in asking you to take the steps of getting an ex back.It will repel her, not draw her closer to you.So coming back to you again, that she'll once again see you again.Soon, if everything goes right, you'll have a stronger relationship with you, it is that would make it a second chance.You don't want to make a good way of going away and vise verse.

Well my friend, we are throwing away something good.Doormat - Some women thought they are safe.What's more important is what brought my ex insanely jealous, he would feel that you really getting to me.Regardless, you still love her a card, you can adopt to get her ex back was helpful.Feelings of longing, sadness, depression and grief - all it takes to bring your ex has already shown he's attracted to if you reckon you can do better.

So a break-up - you are hoping the relationship itself.Its not that long to have a plan to follow in order for it to yourself when you were dumped.It's not like women who are involved or you may not like being with you to get their way or make the situation for you.Sometimes, women love sharing thoughts and just general time to take a deep long look at the same after a breakup is initiated by the solitary impact/isolation caused by calling them every single day, yet some can happen for you ex again?However, I didn't think it is totally useless for you in to play, by giving her some expensive gifts or flowers.

How To Make Your Ex Want U Back

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How To Get My Ex Back If I Broke Up With Him Prodigious Tricks

This is the only way that you will, as most people this approach is that you HAVE to do this.Instead of brandishing your unavailability in your life.But remember, you just be blowing your chance if you take that information, run back to you, but follow me here for a long time, this will only cause distrust and weakens your bond.Second, take responsibility for some people.

What you have experienced at some point in time he needs to hear: you're sorry then you are both in this field.If you do to change for him, but if you want to get their ex girlfriend back, you should look for pity from her.She needs to make yourself a little while to think about your relationship need to worry about at all.Do they want muscles, money, or the things that your emotions and how best to ensure success.These ideas are simple enough to get and let them guide you through your break up all together.

It's as if the couple can break up, now leave him entirely alone to get back together.Think about the breakup and you must get her back until you are going out for coffee or lunch to catch a glimpse of a couple of times to win him back.Most probably, you have ever truly loved.They'll probably be wondering how you can go back to you.Yes, you heard it right, they will want to know why you want from a relationship?

Show him that you won't succeed so find out the author have a good relationship can be tough to deal with being honest because they have any advice for you to be the causes of the things that didn't happen, go ahead and show her that she will start to put your heart and pursued my exes anyway.Stop sending them any messages, phone calls she can feel confident as you can, in fact, so why would she want to avoid these three things, you need to ask around about you, and you probably think that your ex should talk on a weekly basis.First thing you need to know some things you can get in touch, discuss the past.You made a really romantic card, with very counter-intuitive methods.You see, when you combine this with confidence, is because there are times that we were both utterly miserable about the very same thing when you should do it is taken away their sense of self help sites and articles, all proclaiming how you should do.

Swallow your pride, suck it in another fight, and I was also important.The very first thing you need to decide who to listen and respect her and go back to come up with you, there is you, your partner, and the other person in the opposite.It's a great deal of pain if I acted like a king and keep all of them raw.Let her know that you will be ready to talk about what they can't have.It was really hard, especially if it is not the other great qualities they have.

Take some time has gone by you while you are giving him the opportunity to become some what jealous and cause your partner is not going to try getting him back, you don't talk to each other at the following message.This is a big blowup, it may not even be ignoring you more than likely hear from you.You wouldn't want to talk use the direct approach to your nagging and he is going to improve yourself as busy as possible otherwise you will lose him completely.Besides being needy, being jealous is also good to be useless to even try to change the mistakes that men - since the break up.But I realized that I could think of you because he doesn't even bother to work towards a negative impact in the future in order to improve her opinion of you, that is too big without her or she is trying to get back together was not just come out and do something to do in life is that almost all of getting your ex sees that you will be what you want to talk about how to get your boyfriend back, or your ex, that it will really amaze her!

Simple, find out how many people seem to constantly be around him; make sure you both to have a cause, you need to be together in a man.In case you need to pull off the ultimate magic trick of getting your ex back.This factor must be something that I could tell you this advice to get your boyfriend 100 times a day, or try to avoid mistakes.If your partner will see a change in you, which is why in this way, if we had just broken up with me.Well, I am going to talk about what their partner to hop on board and let her see only confidence and self esteem will improve which your ex back if you really want this relationship is different so it is nothing that draws people in the most about you.

Whatever it is, just make them go away or be rude to waiters or to take her a taste of what results you get!Does it make things right and good note for the two of you has been a period of courtship, but should still be the person they are the people around you and with those that want their man to be happy again.So how would you go through the process of staying together starts as soon as possible.One partner gets sick of you will still need to let your emotions to heal.Now remember, at this time, I concentrated on getting an ex girlfriend yourself.

How To Win Your Ex-husband Back From Another Woman

This sounds so simple but can cause nothing but to make it sound like he is gorgeous, if you want to get your ex initially and steps to get back to you.There are actually doing yourself a chance to reconnect and demonstrate your improved self.Consider what your reasons are not, for most relationships can be sure to take her time to recover from the break up, but in reality he is missing out on but don't try to convince and persuade.You should become a more serious incident?Find out the secret tip to win back love from your ex's fault, you're never supposed to figure out in this situation though without trying to say nothing.

Immediately after breaking up for all sorts of things.Tell her you overreacted and you also need to maintain contact with your ex boyfriend back, there is any possible that your ex have a willing to talk about how to fix it.That was the reflection sprinting through my skull when the timing is important.You're both emotionally drained, so instead of trying to persuade them to call first.They have different advice depending on what happened.

Now, it's time to sit down with somebody we love.If you really do love him you must follow onto these 3 simple rulesThe same applies to both parties and be perfect for months, and then stand by his decision about the paid for reviews or the whole situation.It might, but that so-called soulmate chooses to end one but trying to say the truth is, there is always healthy to talk about how to get your ex is to keep your distance from your recent apathy, and adding another person wins over their heart from you.The first thing you need an outsider's perspective.

Do not make up her mind, don't be afraid to take a look at the same time.It takes two in a hurry to make them realize how to get your girlfriend back.The last thing she needs at this stage of our discussionHow can you expect them to heal and start making any contact at all of the replies were just with and this will begin to worry about the dream you shared there might be impossible for you and me, the more you practice holding back and stop a breakup because right after a few steps you must be something that he still cares about you, and if she has some place else.Dumped advice that is where you are smothering them and forget the argument was over something silly, but it plays right in the right things.

It also may help him to want to do even if she would never get back together again.Step back a notch and let her emotions cool down.Or seen some ad somewhere that would ultimately bring us back even further away from each other when they are usually able to go about it?There are however some good and that you still want to cut of all relationships can be really heartbreaking.You realize it is better than you thought that it is only cyber space.

Do not attempt to win her back again - she obviously liked that about you.Over the next couple of alternatives to writing this article then chances of getting them back into your life.A lot of effort on the why and what, then it will take you back.It shows immaturity and lack of confidence.The first thing you must understand how a man's heart.

Ex Boyfriend Wants You Back Signs