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valkyyriia · 8 months ago

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A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look.

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.”

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?”

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.”

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside.

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature.

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation.

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer.

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter.

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.”

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.”

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.”

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!”

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs.

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically.

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips.

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.”

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse.

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss.

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it.

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest.

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs.

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.”

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving - you were the very image of debauchery.

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you.

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?”

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?”

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?”

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.”

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.”

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked.

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless.

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.”

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.”

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.”

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?”

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head.

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face.

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.”

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scribbbbbles · 14 days ago

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How Brooklyn Was Brought To Her Knees - Chapter Two: The Rescue

author's note: HIIIIIIIII this one picks up right where we left off. It's longer!! almost 1k longer!!! let's hope my professors keep being nice to me so we can stay consistent :)

word count: 2.7k

PLEASE CHECK THE MASTERLIST FOR ALL WARNINGS!!!

comments, reblogs, and likes are cherished!! thank you for reading ♥

I was never one to back down from a fight, but I took Steve Rogers hand. He was an enemy of my father, but he was Steve. Good, honorable, golden Steve. There’s no way he hated my family so much he’d leave me here to rot… right? I hesitated for a second before grasping his fingers, and his eyes softened. He gripped my bicep and yanked me to my feet, where I promptly stumbled. I missed how my assailant’s hand began to shake as he released me.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, steadying me with two hands. “She’s worse off than you were Buck.”

Wait.

No.

I slowly turned as the gears whirred in my head, actually hearing the words that came out of Steve’s mouth this time. The blue eyed man behind me pulled his mask down and shook his head to clear his hair. When he looked back up at me he was James Barnes, heir to the Brooklyn Mob, who last I heard was still missing .

He wouldn’t look into my eyes. He knew.

My throat went dry as I put the pieces together in my head. HYDRA had kidnapped Barnes- definitely while he was stationed overseas, it was easier to do on their home turf. If they’d lost their leverage with Bucky, maybe they thought they could play with a different boss. He must’ve been out for months , HYDRA can’t possibly work that fast.

“You got out?” I whispered to him, my voice fleeting in the silent expanse of the room. His eyes remained sharp, though a flicker of guilt blew over them like a top layer of snow shifting. It was just as quickly gone again. He only nodded as he turned to leave the room.

“You got out so they took me didn’t they? You’re why I’m here aren’t you?!”

“I’m why you’re alive!” He roared as he whipped back to face me, his finger up and pointed in my face. I felt Steve’s grip on me tighten, as if no longer to hold me up but to keep me in place. I planted my feet firmly in response, willing myself not to sway. I held my chin high. Steve’s foot stepped out in front of me, a silent threat to Bucky of stand down . Bucky exhaled sharply.

“Though frankly I couldn’t care less,” he said, tossing his hand before turning back towards the door. “You’re simply too good of a bargaining chip to leave here. Maybe your father will let me get a night’s rest if I drop your ass back on his doorstep.”

“Bucky.” Steve tone carried a warning, for what I had no clue.

Bucky turned back and glared at me, the cold in my bones reaching for him like it longed to go home, and that home was the man in front of me. He was harder than I remember- colder, meaner. His eyes were sharper, along with his jaw, and his nose looked like it had been broken a few more times. His adam’s apple bobbed slightly up and down as his large chest heaved to draw in more air from the stuffy room. His longer hair dusted across the top of his shoulders, with strands of the brown hair falling messily around his face. Some pieces got caught in his unkempt stubble and stuck to his sweaty forehead. Shadows seemed to pool at his feet like he could command them with a flick of his wrist. The pulsing light from the alarms jumped mutely around the small concrete room, illuminating him in a red glow of death. It carved dangerously down his easily 6’ frame and drew harsh lines through his blacked out tactical gear.

I saw it first in the flashes of light. His left arm was gone – a robotic-looking silver prosthetic gleamed in its place. On his outer bicep a red star was colored into the mechanism. It whirred ever so slightly as he moved. I barely heard it over the frantic slamming of my heart in my ears and my ragged breathing in the dead silent room, and if I wasn’t so focused on him or so intune with tech, I bet I wouldn’t even notice. I’d bet you couldn’t notice it if he had on a sleeve. This was not the boy who made me beg to be homeschooled to avoid his ponytail pulling, this was someone so much worse. This was less than a man, this was a well manufactured killing machine. He was living death.

He looked me up and down like I was his prey; and for the first time in my life, I felt like it.

I’ve never gulped down air faster than when Steve had finally hauled me out of that wretched basement, Bucky refusing to lay a single finger on me. The sunlight was blinding but oh so warm on my face. A grin involuntarily broke out across my chapped lips. There were police everywhere, and yet somehow we walked straight through them to an armored, blacked out SUV. One of the police nodded quickly to Bucky as we passed.

‘Right, Barnes owns the cops.’ In my defense, I didn’t expect his reach to come out to the Bronx, but everyone can be bought. It’s the only reason any of us have a job.

Steve kept a firm hold on me, helping me into the back of the van and making sure I wasn’t going to fall over before getting in the driver’s seat. Rogers was always nice to me, and I was thankful for that now. I shuddered internally at the thought of being here alone with Barnes. Steve’s spent a large portion of his life cleaning up Bucky’s messes; and I guess I’m one of them now. We could probably be friends, if it weren’t for our … affiliations.

The pair of men bickered in the front seat, Bucky opting to just dump me at Stark Tower in downtown; which was also my preferred option. Steve, who ended up making the choice for both of us, said 'there was no way in hell you could just dump her on the street and have it not look like you had kidnapped and held her hostage for five years.’ I also learned from Steve in their heated conversation that Bucky was still the heir, and thus had to answer to his father. I kept my mouth shut at that, though a laugh threatened to bubble past my lips. The prospect of having to see George Barnes in my current state or at all was not one I was a fan of, but the prospect of Bucky still being Daddy’s Little Servant? That cracked a smile.

Bucky had apparently had someone else call his father for him, lazy asshole, because when we arrived at the Barnes’ Mansion in Brooklyn there were double the amount of usual men and vehicles lining the property. I crossed every finger and toe that they were Stark cars. All I wanted was my dad, no matter how childish of a want it was. I never voiced it, but everyone silently knew. Bucky’s cold eyes had a brief sheen to them as I scanned the cars looking for any identifiable markers, understanding. I was hidden between the two gigantic men as we exited the car and moved inside the house, the main doors heavily thudding behind us as we entered the foyer.

I heard them before I saw them. I heard my father’s frantic yelling over everything, and I couldn’t stop myself from shoving through both men with whatever strength I possessed. Steve was the only one who tried to stop me, Bucky gladly let go of my arm like it was a cancer to him. Dick.

“You have the nerve to call my personal cell number after all these years and fucking use my daughter as bait to get me inside your godforsaken shitstain of a house��” I heard a very familiar accented voice boom through the doors in front of me, Steve and Bucky’s steps a few paces behind. They were murmuring about something, but I no longer had it in me to care. A grin crept wide up my cheeks as I shoved open the two double doors into what I could assume was the back meeting hall.

Every head in the room turned to me as the doors opened. You could hear my father out of breath from across the room. I barely had time to register who I was standing in front of or what I looked like - covered in blood, thin as a rail, paler than any human being should be, and grinning like I just escaped an asylum - before my father croaked out some kind of a pitiful sound and tears poured from my eyes.

I’ve never seen Anthony Stark run that fast in my life. I let out an ‘oof’ when he collided into me and scooped me up into his arms like I was five years old and not twenty; like he wasn’t one of the most feared bosses on the east coast. Our bodies shook with the combined release of sobs, adrenaline, and five years of worry gone from our shoulders as we collapsed on the floor. He pressed my face so hard into his chest it kind of hurt, but I didn’t care. He smelled like that Gucci cologne he refuses to admit smells like shit and that way too expensive aftershave he’s been using all my life. He eventually pulled back to help me stand, and we both started cackling like witches at the ludicracy of it all, slowly and shakily standing as he held me at arm’s length. He wiped my eyes as I death-grip clung to his forearms.

He was older, with grays streaking through his slicked back hairstyle and peppered in his overgrown goatee. The bags under his eyes felt more pressing and permanent, hollow dark semi-circles. He was thinner, not by much but still noticeable as I pressed my fingers hard into his suit jacket. It was one of his least favorites, a blue Armani one he always claimed to pull at his shoulders. His lips weren’t as chapped as they used to always be, they were smooth as they pressed several kisses to my hairline. His eyes flitted around my face, and a watery smile stretched across his face.

“Hi sweet pea,” he said, so soft that no one else could hear, as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes raked up and down my body and I saw the concern knot in his brow. I shook my head at him, looking pointedly before smiling.

“Hi Dad.” He beamed, his face relaxing and he kissed my forehead before hugging me again. I looked over his shoulder and caught Pepper Potts, who had her face schooled into a neutral expression, holding a toddler about three or four years old in her arms pressing her face away from me and into her shoulder. Next to her stood a young, crying, sixteen year old boy.

He was ganglier than I remembered, though I guess he had grown more than I thought. His sandy brown hair fell haphazardly across his forehead and his cheeks were flushed from crying. He stood taller, closer to my dad’s height judging by where he landed next to Pepper. He wore his school uniform, a collared button down under a navy sweater and some khakis, but I caught a dainty silver chain around his neck tucked under his shirt. He wore a silver ring on his pinkie finger, a plain band but no doubt engraved with our family insignia. A show of loyalty from an active member. My heart squeezed at that.

“Hi Peter.” My dad stepped back with a chuckle as Peter Parker flung himself at me. I laughed again and held him close as he picked me up and spun me around in circles. He was taller than me now, and stronger, but he was still my little brother. I caught Steve smiling out of the corner of my eye next to Bucky’s mom and sister, while I heard Bucky and his father leave the room arguing. I didn’t really care, because Peter was suffocating me. I swatted him on the back before he loosened his grip with a rushed, ‘sorry.’ I smiled up at him and he returned the gesture. A silent communication of a thank you. Pepper walked over with the toddler as I stepped out of the hug brushed Peter’s hair off his forehead.

“I missed you,” he said with a watery laugh, his hands remaining on my shoulders.

“Good because I missed you too.” I got the chance to finally turn to Pepper and see the small child in her arms who looked… just like my dad. I watched Pepper shoot him a glare, and cover the child’s face from seeing me again. I looked at him with an eyebrow obviously cocked and tilted my head. Pepper’s always been a great step-mom, this was not like her to do. He looked to the floor and sighed, stepping away from her and back to me, shooting her a look of ‘not now, not here. Know your place.’

“We need to get the med team to look you over sweet pea. I’m hoping not all of this is yours,” his mouth set in a firm grimace as he took in my frail form, brushing my matted hair off my forehead again. Suddenly embarrassed by my appearance, I held my chin higher.

“Never is, Dad.” He nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. As he turned to one of his men, Bucky and his father returned. Bucky looked shell shocked in a way I’d never seen him before. His eyes wouldn’t meet anyones and his gaze remained firmly on the floor. He slowly stalked by his mother and sister before falling in line next to Steve, hands clasped in front of him and head bowed. Steve whispered over to him, covering his mouth so I couldn’t read what he was saying. Bucky muttered something in return. His father remained in the doorway of his study, looking like nothing had gone down in the past few minutes.

‘ Damn, he really got his ass handed to him.’

Dad nodded at George Barnes, who nodded in return. A deal was made. I quickly flitted my eyes to everyone’s face in the room. Winifred and Rebecca were doing the same as me - it seems no one informed the women - Peter was blissfully unaware, Pepper was already leaving with my apparent infant half-sister, and Steve's expression matched Bucky’s but with a hint of amusement in it. Bucky smacked his arm and they quickly left the room. Rebecca turned her gaze back towards me, raising a brow. I raised both of mine in response. She smiled softly and shook her head, pointing towards her father with her eyes. She’d find out later.

“Welcome home, Miss Stark.” George spoke across the room. “I wish you a speedy recovery.” His baritone voice carried across the room with an air of sincerity. It was a dismissal. A ‘kindly get fucked,’ dismissal.

“Thank you sir. And thank your sons for me as well. I owe them a debt ,” I replied, very careful to highlight whom I owe my thanks. It wasn’t customary to owe someone a favor in the mob. To be owed is a life debt, and unfortunately I now inadvertently was trapped in one such predicament to the heir. George Barnes is the world’s best con-man next to my Dad, and he will twist whatever he can get his hands on to make it fit what he needs it to. He waved his hand, another dismissal, but nodded none the same. He dismissed the debt? My eyebrows flew quickly to my hairline before I schooled my expression. I shot another glare to Rebecca, who quickly nodded in response.

“Safe travels.”

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wherewritersgotodie-blog · 11 months ago

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Workin’ Hands (pt. 2) (Kit Walker x Reader)

Pt. 1, Pt. 1.5, Pt. 2

“You should do whatever you want.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you confess.

“Well, we can figure that out together. I’ll teach you whatever you wanna know.”

warnings: making out. smut. fluff? to smut. innocent!reader. parents?. fingering

You expected him to honk, or wait in his rusty blue convertible down the street— you’d walk down, your hand over your eyes, shielding your face from passersby, and quietly get in his car. He’d put his top up and drive off, putting his hand on your thigh without even saying hello.

Instead, he came to your door at five minutes to five. He knocked twice, whistling on your doorstep. Your mother opened the door. You were lucky— your father wasn’t home that evening, he was out drinking with friends from work.

“Good evening!” you could hear your mother say from your room upstairs. You were applying one last dusting of powder before your departure into whatever this odd night would be.

“Hello, Mrs. (Y/L/N). I’m Kit,” he held out his hand for her to shake.

She shook it loosely, then replied, “Nice to meet you, dear,” she’d said, her nose turned up slightly. She’d, like all the other mothers in town, heard of one Kit Walker, town womanizer and delinquent.

You came down the stairs in your skirt a few inches above the knee, a short-sleeved collared blouse tucked into it, a shiny belt around the meeting of the two pieces.

You didn’t say anything, just looked at your mother. You walked to the door slowly. He held a singular rose in a brown paper wrapping, a thin pink ribbon tied around it.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N), I’d love to take your daughter out on a date,” he said with an intense tone of earnest.

“Oh, my,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows, putting her hand on her chest. “Honey, you know I can’t say yes without your father.”

“Please, ma’am. I’ll have her back by nine,” he smiled. “Your daughter is a lovely girl. I have every intention of being a gentlemen,” he held her eye contact, then glanced at you. You saw a flicker of something else in his eyes, but your mother had looked out the window, a concerned expression on her face, so she missed this little addition.

“Alright. I want her back by eight, though,” she said, her fingertips pressed to her mouth, eyes wide, clearly distraught.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much,” he smiled, offering you his arm. You wrapped yours around his and walked to his car.

“Oh, this is for you,” he smiled sweetly, handing you the rose in his hand.

You look up at him. “Thank you,” you put your nose to the bud, smiling.

He opened the passenger door for you, closing it as you situated yourself. Then, he walked to the drivers’ side, getting in the car next to you. He looked at you, staring until you met his eyes, as well, and he smiled, then looked to the road and drove away.

The wind blew in your hair, which was pulled half-up. His arm rested on the top of the door.

You watched him, periodically, and he’d turn and catch your gaze, and you’d look down at your lap. He would then stare at you as long as his driving allowed him, watching your cheeks flush pink.

About ten minutes into the drive, you rested your head on the top of the car door, the wind blowing your hair back. You stuck your arm out the window, feeling the harsh breeze of the moving car hit your skin. He looked over at you, getting flushed himself.

You drove down a tree-lined street, his eyes frequently flickering from the road over to you.

As you pulled up to a lakeside lot, parking atop the grass, he looked over at you.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Ain’t never been to the lake before?” he asks, putting a toothpick in his mouth.

“Well, I’ve heard of it,” you flush. “But I heard it was where boys and girls go to… you know…” you tilt your head to the side, then back up.

He chuckles. “Aw, yeah, in the summers some late nights you got some couples out here in their cars, windows all foggy,” he shakes his head, “but mostly it’s just a nice place to sit, I think,” he pauses, then smirks, “Unless you wanted to… you know…” he mimics you.

You flush and frown slightly.

“Honey, I’m just kidding,” he says, putting his hand on your cheek. Then, he reaches to the back seat, grabbing a basket and pulling it to the front. “I brought sandwiches!” he beams.

You look inside the basket. There are two wrapped sandwiches, two apples, and two toffee candies.

“Not much of a dinner,” his Massachusetts accent was accentuated by the combination of words, “But you said you didn’t wanna be seen, so,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you assure him, feeling somewhat guilty. “I swear it! I just… didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about me,” you fidget with your fingertips.

“I understand,” he says, taking the toothpick from his mouth and placing it in the pocket of the door.

“The food is lovely,” you reassure him. He smiles.

You sit and eat and chat about light topics— work, college, your families.

When you’re finished, he puts his trash back in the basket, taking yours as well, then puts the basket on the floor of his back seat.

“So, you really never been on a date before?” he smiles.

“Not once,” you say.

“Sure you’ve kissed someone before, though, right?” he asks curiously.

“No, I haven’t,” you smiled awkwardly.

That was all he had to know.

“I’d like to be your first kiss,” he says smoothly.

“Now?” you ask in a light, mousy tone.

“Only if you want that,” he lowers his face, looking at you from under his brow.

“I really don’t know how soon you’re supposed to kiss a guy…” you say. You both engage in a near-deadly eye contact.

“Honey, you’re not supposed to do anything. That’s all stuff your parents make you think,” he says. He puts his hand on your arm, rubbing it gently, his face a soft, encouraging smile, “You should do whatever you want.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you confess.

“Well, we can figure that out together. I’ll teach you whatever you wanna know.”

“I think,” you pause, flushing a deep red, “I think I’d kiss you now,” you whisper sheepishly.

He stares at you for a moment, then puts his hand on your face. He leans into you, pausing a moment, feeling your warm breath on his lips. Then, he closed the gap, kissing you gently. It’s a still kiss, and it only lasts a few moments. He pulls away, eyes scanning your face once again.

You stare at him, gathering all of your will, then follow him back, pursuing his lips to kiss him once again. This kiss is more fiery, as he allows his mouth to work against yours. He moves the hand he had placed on your cheek back so his fingers became tangled in your hair, placing his other on the side of your waist.

When he realizes your hands are still on your lap, he reaches down, grabs them, placing them on each side of his neck. He inhales deeply, his lips growing momentarily harsher against yours. Those soft, small hands— he was tethered to them somehow.

He puts both of his hands back on each far side of your jawline, pulling your face towards his. Your kiss follows his in passion and movement, and you breathe in your proximity one last time before pulling away.

Your eyes flutter across each others’ faces, still inches away. You even smell sweet, he thinks to himself. Like cherries. He smiles at you.

He almost swallows his next question, afraid to ruin the moment, but he had to hear you say it. He had to hear it himself.

“So, you’re really a virgin?” he asks.

You pause, looking down at your lap. “I am,” you smile shyly.

He had heard about you around town.

A shame she’s a total smokeshow, boys would say when you walked into the diner, she’s a total prude. They called you stiff, stuck-up.

You were none of that. You were something completely different.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, lost in thought.

“You’re gorgeous,” you smile. Of course that’s what you would say.

He looked at you, raising his eyebrows, smiling, his dimples carving into his cheeks.

You breathe deeply, trying to re-center yourself. “I’ve never had this feeling with anyone else before,” you confess.

He smirks, leaning back, “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you pause, identifying all your current symptoms before speaking again, “You make my heart race and my cheeks feel tingly and sometimes my stomach will feel tight, and it’s almost like a nervous feeling, but it’s not exactly the same.”

“Honey,” he says smoothly, laughing a bit, “Am I… Am I turning you on?”

You’d heard the phrase, however you weren’t sure exactly what it meant. It felt right, though; you did feel as though he was flipping a switch inside you that hadn’t been flipped yet. “I don’t,” you pause, “I don’t know what that means exactly.”

He smiles. Of course you don’t. He leans into you, then says, “Well, it’s,” he collects his thoughts, trying to find the best way to describe it to you, “It’s what makes men and women… want to… touch each other.”

You place a hand to your chest, concerned about the tightness and heaviness with which your heart was pounding. “How do I know if that’s what I’m feeling?”

“Well,” he smirks. As smooth as anything’s ever been said, he looks into your eyes and asks, “Do you want me to touch you?”

It’s the way you know you need water when you’re parched or sleep when you’re tired or air when you’re lightheaded underwater. You think of him touching you and you feel in your bones that it’s what you need. “Yes.”

“Can you do me a favor, honey?” hey says, caramel laced in his tone.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Can you get in the back seat for me, sweetheart?”

You pause, staring at him for a moment, processing his request. You realize you won’t say no to him no matter what you decide is the correct answer, so you simply nod and open the car door. He sprints around to the other side of the car, holding the back door open for you. Even in these circumstances, he’s ever the gentleman.

He waits until you are seated, then follows you in.

You look at him, flushed, a slight confusion set in your brow bone.

“I’m not taking your virginity, sweetheart, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, his one hand on your hip, the other brushing a piece of hair from your face.

You look into his eyes, cheeks flushed a bright pink.

He whispers, “Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod without thinking twice on the question.

“Can you lay back for me?” he speaks in the most gentle tone he can, almost like speaking to a small, skittish animal.

You do as he asks, resting your head at the bottom of the car window.

He puts his two hands on the outside of your thighs.

Those big, calloused hands.

He kisses your knee tenderly. “Open your legs for me, please?” he asks, then adds, “It’s the last thing you have to do for me, okay? Promise,” he says.

You let your legs fall apart, and he kisses your other knee, whispering, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

“Hmm,” you mumble, smiling, closing your eyes.

You look back up at him, biting your lip and fluttering your eyelashes as he traces the inside of your thighs with his fingertips.

You push your hips forward, straightening your back, his hand ending up a few inches farther up your thigh.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice caught in it momentarily, your eyes closed once again. Fuck, he thought, did you even know how lewd those sounds were? Did you even know what it could do to him if you didn’t stop?

He winces at the sudden rush of friction in his jeans. He’d have to cope with the discomfort for your sake.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he said. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. So obedient, he thought. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

You cock your head to the side, not understanding what he meant.

Your naivety alone was enough to make him go rock solid.

“Have you ever touched yourself where other people haven’t so you could feel good?” he rephrases.

You shake your head, eyebrows knit together, lip between your teeth.

He begins to inch his hand up inside your thigh. You watch his face intently, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours for an instant.

When his fingertips finally brush against the lacy fabric of your underwear, you let out a high-pitched whimper, eyelids fluttering closed.

He pulls back a moment, tracing the inside of your upper thigh, then makes contact again, this time placing the entire area of his fingers against you.

You exhale loudly, looking at the ceiling of the car. You are flushed down your chest a bright red.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You almost believe you cannot, so shy under his hand now, but you know enough about him to know he means what he says.

You meet his eyes and, unexpectedly, he feels himself go weak for a second. Your otherworldly gorgeous face practically tore him inside out already, and now it was almost unbearable to look at you.

Almost.

His eyes scanned your features, taking all of you in.

He rubbed against the fabric, flipping between the flat of his fingers and the back of his knuckles, teasing you.

Then, he reached up with both of his hands, hooking his fingers around your underwear, pulling down over your legs, throwing them haphazardly onto the floor.

He leaned down, pressing his fingers against you again, his other arm now around your back, pulling you into his chest, crowding you with his heat. He maintains your eye contact.

He rubs your clit in circular motions, smirking as you struggle to keep your eyes open, letting out choked moans from your lips as you stare directly in his eyes.

He moves his fingers down, feeling all the wetness pooling at your entrance. He has to rest his head on your shoulder for a moment to recuperate. He’d never felt a girl this wet before.

“You are very wet,” he mumbles deeply into your ear, almost growling.

“Is- Is that a good thing?” you ask him.

“Yes.” He felt guilty for being almost frustrated with your innocence. You were torturing him, his dick relentlessly hardened against the seem of his pants.

He pushed one finger into you as gently as he could, slowly. “That okay, darlin’?” His accent grew thicker as the moments passed.

You winced in pain. You’d never had anything inside you before.

He nearly came just feeling how tight you were.

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled, relaxing as the pain resolved. You realized what you had said, “Kit,” you corrected.

“Mm, uh-uh. Sir is good,” he says breathlessly, pushing another finger into you.

You moan loudly, closing your eyes tightly.

“Eyes on me, sugar,” he orders.

Your eyes quickly return to his. “Yes, sir.”

He plays with you, moving his fingers up and back from circling your clit to pushing in and out of you.

You whimper at the strange combination of sensations, your heart pounding.

His eyes trail down your body. His hand up your skirt is the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, he resolves.

He begins to push his two fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. It’s seems a difficult multitask, however he has clearly mastered it beautifully.

You feel a hot, tight sensation forming at the bottom of your stomach. He continues to manipulate your body with his long fingers, and you feel the tightness building.

He smirks as your face changes from pleasure to confusion, and whispers, “Breathe, baby.”

It’s like he can read your mind.

“I feel,” you mumble, “I…” you wrap your hand around his bicep, suddenly needing something to hold onto.

“Uh huh,” he smiles confidently.

Suddenly, a white hot sensation rushes over your body. You moan loudly, breathing heavily, squealing out a messy string of exclamation like, “Kit, oh my.”

He’s nearly gone lightheaded from the vision of your arched back, your soft hands wrapped around his bicep, your hips rolling against his hand up your skirt.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you, “It’s okay.”

After a moment of the intense, unfamiliar sensation, Kit kisses you, smiling into your lips.

“Kit, what did you do to me?” you pull away, whispering, a euphoric smile pushing up into your cheeks.

He grins back at you, putting his hand on the side of your face. “All you need to know is I never want to stop doing it,” he responds.

You finally pick your shoulders up off the door, looking to the dashboard of the car.

“Oh my God,” you say.

“What?” he asks with a dorky smile on his face, still reeling from watching you come undone below him.

“It’s eight thirty!”

#american horror story #kit walker #ahs #evan peters #evan peters x reader #ahs fanfiction #kit walker x reader #evan peters ahs #kit walker asylum #fanfiction #evan peters fanfic #part 2 #ahs asylum

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juniperss · 8 months ago

Text

Something to Hold Onto

Joe Liebgott x Reader

This writing is based off of the characters of the show and inspired by this song from the musical Between the Lines. It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything so I hope this isn’t too painful to read

A/N: This was originally written on my main account a few years ago but I decided to move it here since I don't change this URL as often and it makes easier to find my writing! Also It's been a while since I wrote these so I'd like to think that I've improved somewhat since then!

This is as free as I'll ever feel....take my hand and I'll guide the way, Rest your head..be in the now, right now, Nothing else can ever undo this Our something to hold onto."

The chatter of soldiers around the small fire in front of Smokey almost made you forget the circumstances that placed you in the middle of the woods in Bastogne. From your foxhole, if you closed your eyes and focused real hard on the sounds of Malarkey's laughter a short distance away, the smell of the coffee brewing in front of you (courtesy of Smokey and his helmet), and the story that Luz was telling you could pretend that you were back in the noisy and warm mess hall at Toccoa. Minus the warmth that is. While the cold wasn't anything new it certainly didn't morph into a dull comfort. It bit at their noses and ears and stung the soldiers eyes whenever the wind blew particularly hard. It led the reoccurring colds and upper respiratory infections and kept you on your feet throughout the night

. Running your hand over your face to wipe the exhaustion from your body you couldn't help but scoff at that fact. You were an army medic, it wasn't like you needed colds keeping you busy when there as the constant threat of shellings. You were tired and despite the bone chilling cold, the foxhole offered just enough peace for you to calm your breathing.

"Doc."

You blinked twice before the tan blur in front of you came into focus to form Joe Liebgott, bright red nose and chapped lips and all. You smiled, shifting back to allow him more room across from you. He'd been watching the line with Peacock if you recalled correctly, though he must've been relieved now as he had already scooted so his back was propped up against his bag in an attempt to get comfortable. He flashed you a tired smile in return, the Joe Leibgott signature grin that made your stomach flip flop and heart race just a bit more than it had any right to. No words were exchanged as the two of relaxed once more, allowing the chatter of the others to lull you as close to sleep as you could.

The earth shook all around you as you pulled yourself out of the foxhole and towards the nearest cry of "Medic!!" from across the way. Darkness illuminated briefly by flashes of gunfire and the earth shattering explosions around you as shells dropped. It was chaos, a chaos that you had learned to run straight into despite the way your mind told you to stop and to hide. You could make out the shape of Shifty crouched beside a soldier you didn't recognize, his hands holding tightly to the piece of fabric he had placed over the soldiers wound.

"I got him, Shifty.

Relief flooded Shifty's face as you slid onto your knees, hovering over the wounded man that you now realized was a replacement named Jenkins that you'd only briefly met weeks before. You could see bone protruding through the soldier's arm, piercing through his skin and the uniform covering it. "You're gonna get a hell of a lot of points with the others for this, Jenkins." Wide eyes stared up at you as you worked to stop the bleeding the best you could, sulfur dusting the wound. With help from Shifty you managed to pick out the bits of metal that lay in the flesh of his wound before wrapping his arm, pulling him into the jeep. You barely had a chance to breathe before running towards the next cry for help.

The attack continued for the next hour and the treatment of soldier's wounds for another hour after that. It was another hour of searching for anyone that you'd missed who needed minor treatment before you finally sunk back down into your foxhole, your body numb but your mind racing. Three injured enough that they had been taken back to the town, ten that you had treated and sent back to rest while they could, and four dead.

Four dead....it didn't get easier. You worried that if it did, you'd lose yourself, but you also wished that it stopped hurting. That the guilt stopped eating at your soul. That you could forget the ones you lost.

Eyes screwed shut and knees pulled up to your chest, you pushed for the tears stinging your eyes to stay away.

"Doc."

It was Joe again, sliding in across from you as he did every night. But this time there smile from you or warm greeting that he was so accustomed to. No "you look like shit" or other cheeky compliment. Just your body curled into itself and the blood on your clothes. Joe stared, only pausing for a moment, before he moved so he was beside you. His warmth was the first thing you noticed. You could feel his breath on your ear as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, hand resting on your arm. The smell of cigarettes and old coffee on his uniform washing over you. Grounding you at the same time as it made your head spin.

"Sweetheart..."

His voice was what pulled you out of your own mind. Out of the self pity, the guilt, the pain, and the cold. Pulled you into the moment and the realization that you were not alone right now. But you couldn't do more than turn your head an inch to face him as he leaned closer to you to meet your gaze. His sharp eyes softening as he brought the hand on your arm to rest on the back of your head.

"Hold onto me, I gotcha."

The words made your heart clench and you choked on a sob of mixed emotions as you thought back to the times you had said that to him. When he and you danced back in England, when you had reunited after that disaster of a jump, the first time you'd shared a foxhole and caught him shaking from a nightmare. So you did. Your arm wrapping around his chest as your buried your face into him, hands clutching at the fabric of his uniform. You held on and melted into him, soaking in the smell of him and the strength of his arms. The solid form of his body anchoring you and the strength in which he held you providing nothing but protection.

#my writings #my writing #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott x reader #joseph liebgott x reader #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers

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blinddreams24 · 1 year ago

Text

Good Soup

With Horror

Masterlist

Prev / Next

You sneezed.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it definitely wasn’t this.

Your soul was blue as you sat on the wall waiting for the skeletons to calm down enough for you to get a word in. From the snippets you could distinguish in the chaos of sound, they thought you were sick and needed medical attention or you would die. Surprisingly enough, Killer seemed the calmest. Key word being ‘seemed.’ Hate dripped freely down his face. Cross was sweating and arguing with Horror while somehow managing to keep his magic from dissipating. Horror looked close to throwing hands. Dust kept up with the conversation with his own hurried input. Nightmare stood behind them all silently while his tentacles whipped around behind him. He’d been staring at you since the sneeze.

You waved at Nightmare. His tentacles slowed for a moment as he tilted his head at you. He pushed passed the quarreling group and Cross spoke up.

“I’m not sure it’s safe to go near them, sir-” Cross said.

“WHATEVER!!!” Horror finally snapped at Dust before stomping into the kitchen. “DO WHAT YOU… WANT!!!! I GO…MAKE SOMETHING!!” Dust huffed at Horror’s departure before continuing the argument with Killer.

Nightmare gently gripped Cross’s shoulder. “I think they’ve spent enough time on the wall, don’t you think?” He said patiently.

Cross’s eyes darted between you and Nightmare for a moment before he carefully lowered you to the ground and released you. Now without something to do, he started fidgeting as Nightmare took a step towards you.

Nightmare stayed a good distance away when he addressed you. “Y/N. Care to fill us in on why you are calm about this?”

“Because I’m not sick. I just got some dus- something in my nose that made me sneeze. There is nothing wrong. I am fine.” As you spoke, the argument in the background had gotten quiet. The group seemed calmer but definitely didn’t believe that you were okay. You took a step forward when you suddenly had three layers of blue magic on your soul. Nightmare glared at the three skeletons. They gave him sheepish looks before reluctantly releasing your soul.

You sighed. “It’s a human thing. If a foreign substance gets in my nostrils, my body will reject it and force it back out by sneezing. It can happen when I get sick, but that doesn’t mean that I am sick. Currently, I’m not sick.” The skeletons sighed in relief.

Nightmare looked intrigued. “What exactly are you rejecting when you sneeze?”

“It depends. But mostly dirt, dust, toxins-” You froze as another sneeze started coming. The gang got uncomfortable when you interrupted yourself and your face twisted. “Achoo!” They flinched at the sound.

There was a clatter in the kitchen before Horror sped into the room and grabbed you. You protested and fought back as he ran you to the couch and wrapped you in at least three blankets like a burrito.

“Horror!” You snapped, struggling to get out of the bundle. “I’m fine! Let me out!”

“Stay.” Horror growled. “I’ll grab you soup. . . Website said soup.” He hurried back to the kitchen before you were able to call out to him.

“Heh heh.” Killer giggled at you. He leaned over the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t move unless you want Horror to hunt you down.”

You stopped struggling and glared at him. “You’re no help at all.”

He shrugged, grin splitting his face. “Maybe.”

Nightmare came around the couch to face you. “You said something about toxins.”

“Yeah.” You glared once more at Killer, earning another giggle, before turning to address the boss. “Sneezing is also a way to get rid of toxins. Just like sweating, crying, and exhaling.”

Everyone leaned away from you.

“You’re telling me that you’re spreading toxins everywhere while you breathe??” Killer questioned, leaning further away from you. You blew air at him. He yelped and backpedaled, falling behind the couch.

Turning back to Nightmare, you clarify. “It’s not that type of toxin. It’s more like hot air. It won’t do anything unless it’s the only air there.” You hesitated. “I don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to understand the human body more.”

There was obviously still confusion coming from everyone when Horror came back with a steaming bowl.

He shoved it at you. “Soup.”

“Thanks, Horror. I’m not sick tho.” You said, still burritoed.

His face of confusion matched everyone else’s. “You’re . . . not sick?” He thought for a moment. “But sneezes mean . . . you’re sick.”

“Not always. Sometimes humans just sneeze.” You explain shortly.

Killer’s grinning face crested the back of the couch. You gave his mischievous look a suspicious side eye. “Yeah, Horror. Sometimes they just sneeze out toxins.”

Horror’s face went panicked.

“You’re not helping!!” You snapped at Killer. “Horror, he’s-Mph!” Your mouth suddenly had a spoon in it. The flavor of chicken noodle soup filled your senses as Horror continually spoon fed you. You sent Killer another glare as he laughed at your expense.

At least the soup was good.

#undertale #nightmare sans #horror sans #dust sans #killer sans #cross sans

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winters8child · 5 months ago

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It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 97

“So, have you gone to the memorial?” she asked, her notepad on her leg as she twirled a pen absentmindedly. I was fixated on the framed picture of an elephant behind her, a constant reminder of the phrase "the elephant in the room." And the elephant in my room was that I still hadn’t gone to the memorial for those who had turned to dust.

“Not yet,” I replied with a small shake of my head. “It wouldn’t change anything if I did,” I added, shrugging as if it didn’t matter.

“Being able to say goodbye might,” she suggested gently, her pen scribbling across the notepad again.

I scoffed, the sound escaping before I could stop it. Saying goodbye? All I’d done was say goodbye to Bucky, over and over again—this time, forever. And none of it had ever dulled the ache. Steve had gone, of course. He’d asked me to join him more times than I could count, but every time I’d said no. She probably thought Steve was making more "progress." Maybe she was right. Maybe he had found some peace. But I was still here, stuck, unable to see how a memorial could ever change the hurt.

“Have you gone on a date with Steve? Spent time together as a couple?” she asked, her tone almost too knowing as if she’d already predicted my response.

I shook my head and sighed, “I mean, we watched a movie yesterday... but I fell asleep halfway through.”

She nodded, jotting something down on her notepad again. “I meant something where you get out of the apartment,” she clarified, looking up at me, her eyes expectant.

I started fidgeting, tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. My gaze drifted back to the picture of the elephant, trying to focus on anything but the pressure building inside me. The ticking of the clock behind me felt louder like it was counting every second I’d been sitting there, squirming in discomfort. I had no answer. The idea of leaving the house for a "date" seemed trivial, impossible even. Like trying to pretend everything was normal when nothing ever would be again.

“Mrs. Barnes…” she said softly, and I looked up at her again. That name—it was bittersweet. I loved hearing it, but at the same time, it felt like a cruel reminder of what I’d lost.

“I just see no point…” I shrugged, my voice barely above a whisper as my eyes filled with tears. “I know life goes on, but for me, it doesn’t… not without my baby...not without Bucky.”

My hands trembled as I grabbed a tissue from the small table between us, wiping away the tears that came faster than I could stop them. There was an emptiness inside me that no amount of time, therapy, or forced outings could fill. It was as if I was stuck in the past, in that moment, and everyone else was moving forward while I remained in limbo.

"I know you feel stuck," she said, her voice soft and filled with understanding. "You've been through so much pain, but the fact that you're here tells me that deep down, you want to move on."

I shook my head slightly, my eyes fixed on the tissue in my hand. "Not for my sake… but for Steve," I admitted, my voice breaking just a little. "He keeps talking about buying a house, starting fresh, a new beginning..." I blew my nose, trying to steady myself. "But I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I can give him that."

I wanted to, but the weight of everything—the loss, the grief, the memories—made it hard to imagine a future, even with Steve.

"I understand that big changes like that might seem daunting," she said, her pen moving quickly across the notepad. "You don't have to rush into anything. Start small. What about something simpler—a date, just to reconnect, to feel the spark again?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of her words. A spark? The idea of a date felt so distant from where we were now, like a piece of another life. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “It’s hard to even think about things like that... after everything.”

She nodded, giving me space to process. "It doesn’t have to be anything grand. Something low-pressure, a way to spend time together outside of the grief for a moment. You might find that the small steps help you both heal."

I glanced at the picture of the elephant again. Maybe she was right, but part of me was terrified of moving forward, of living without constantly mourning.

I didn’t even know who I was without the pain. It had seeped into every part of me, shaping the person I’d become. It wasn’t just something I felt—it was something I lived with, something that defined me now.

"Think about it, and we can talk more next Friday," she said with a gentle smile, glancing at the clock behind me. "That’s all for today. And remember, if you need anything in the meantime, you can always call."

She stood up, signaling the end of the session, and ushered me toward the door. I gave a small nod, my thoughts swirling, unsure if I would ever know how to move past this.

Steve was already waiting outside, arms crossed over his chest, his expression softening the moment he saw me. "Ready to go?" he asked, reaching for my hand. I nodded, grateful for the simple comfort his presence brought.

We headed down to the garage, the silence between us familiar and unpressing. The sound of the car doors shutting echoed in the quiet space, filling the gap where words might have been. Steve never pried after my appointments, and I never offered much. There wasn’t anything new to say—no breakthroughs, no progress. Just more of the same.

He slipped the keys into the ignition, but before he could start the car, I broke the silence. "Steve?" I asked my voice tight with nerves.

He paused, turning to look at me, his eyes soft but curious. We rarely spoke on the drive home; I was usually too busy wrestling with my own frustration, hating myself for being stuck—unable to move forward, unable to heal.

I frowned, feeling the sudden slickness of sweat on my palms. It felt ridiculous like I was asking out my high school crush. Clearing my throat, I forced a small smile. "Do you want to go on a date?" I asked softly.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then a wide, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yes," he said with a warmth that filled the car. "I would like that."

The look in his eyes shifted as if he had just witnessed a miracle. His expression was tender, almost in disbelief, as though he had seen a bedridden man take his first steps.

I sighed in relief, even though I knew I had no reason to be nervous. I couldn’t imagine Steve saying no, but the tension still lingered in me until he answered.

"On one condition though," he said, his voice turning serious, though the smirk on his face betrayed him.

"Uh, okay?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going.

"I get to choose where, and it’s a surprise." He was grinning now, clearly pleased with himself, and I could tell by his expression that he’d put thought into this—probably for a while. That realization made me nervous again. I thought we would start small, but this seemed like something bigger.

Steve must have noticed my hesitation because he quickly raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "I mean, we can do something else too... I just had this idea, but if it’s too much, we don’t have to..." he stammered, his words rushing out, clearly afraid I would change my mind.

It made me feel awful. He had spent the past year tiptoeing around me, living around me instead of with me, constantly afraid of breaking me even more. He must think I’m so fragile.

"No, we’re doing what you had planned," I said, trying to inject some sarcasm into my voice. "But this better be good!"

His smile returned, lighting up his face, and he nodded eagerly. "Okay."

With that, we drove off, and for the first time in a long while, the air between us felt lighter.

The date was set for Saturday night, and Steve assured me it would be nothing fancy—just something casual. That eased my nerves a bit. I pulled on a simple sweater and jeans, slipping into my sneakers.

Standing before the mirror, I took in my reflection. I had neglected myself for so long, and it showed. My skin was pale, with dark circles under my eyes, and my hair had lost its usual shine. I barely recognized the person staring back at me.

My eyes drifted to the vanity, where my makeup had been collecting dust for months. I hesitated for a moment, then sat down in front of it, determined to make an effort this time. I didn’t know where Steve was taking me, but I wanted to feel like myself again—or at least try. Besides, Steve always drew attention wherever we went, and for once, I wanted to look like I belonged beside him.

I started small, brushing on some foundation, a bit of blush to add life to my pale cheeks, and some mascara to open up my tired eyes. By the time I was finished, I almost felt like a different person—like a version of me that hadn’t been so broken.

When I stood up, I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing it down as best as I could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an effort, and for tonight, that would have to be enough.

I walked out of the bedroom, and the way Steve’s smile lit up when he saw me made my heart flutter for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Is this outfit okay? I can change..." I asked nervously, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.

He looked me up and down, his gaze soft and appreciative. "You are perfect," he said simply, his voice full of warmth. He reached for my hand, his touch steady and reassuring. "Are you ready?" he asked, his eyes full of a gentle excitement.

I nodded, squeezing his hand in return.

We drove for about an hour, and no matter how many times I asked, Steve wouldn't give me a hint about where we were going. Eventually, he parked in what looked like an unfamiliar neighborhood. There were no restaurants, no shops—just rows of suburban homes.

Steve got out of the car and opened my door, offering his hand to help me out. I stepped onto the pavement, glancing around in confusion. "What is this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He just smiled, his fingers intertwining with mine as he led me away from the houses, toward an open field further back, far from the nearest home. As we walked, I spotted it—a picnic blanket laid out on the grass, surrounded by lanterns glowing softly in the evening light. A basket sat beside it, filled with what I could only assume was dinner.

"Courtesy of Natasha," Steve said with a grin as he sat me down on the blanket.

I looked around, my heart warming at the thoughtfulness of it all. It wasn't some extravagant gesture, but something much more intimate and meaningful. "This is perfect," I whispered, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and hope.

"I'm glad you like it," Steve replied, handing me a glass of red wine with a smile.

"Thank you," I said, taking a sip as he began to serve food onto our plates. There were mini sandwiches, a Caprese salad, and mini quiches, and I even spotted a cheesecake nestled in the basket.

I looked around, still curious. "It's really cute and all, Steve, but why here?" I asked. "We could’ve done this in Prospect Park."

Leaning on his elbow, he took a bite of his sandwich, grinning as if he was hiding something. "Do you like the area?" he asked, avoiding my question.

I glanced around again, taking in the open field, the quiet, and the homes in the distance. "I mean, it's peaceful. There’s no one around, but... I don’t even know this neighborhood," I replied, confused but intrigued by his sudden shift in conversation.

He smiled wider, clearly enjoying the suspense, and I began to wonder what he was up to.

He straightened up, his face suddenly serious. "I bought this piece of land. It’s ours," he said, watching me closely for my reaction.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You did what?"

It wasn’t entirely shocking—he had talked about getting a house someday—but I hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

"I want to build a house here," he continued, a bit nervous. "It’s a great neighborhood, and the offer was too good to pass up. But if you really hate it, I can sell it... I just didn’t want to buy something already built. I wanted it to be perfect for us. I even talked to an architect. He’s ready to take all your ideas and make them happen and—" He was rambling, his excitement lighting up his face, even in the dim glow of the lanterns.

I could see how much this meant to him, how much hope he had pinned on this dream of ours.

Seeing him like this, so full of hope and determination for our future, sparked something inside me—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, I could heal too. With him by my side, it felt possible.

Without thinking, I leaned forward, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him mid-sentence. His eyes widened in surprise for a brief second before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around me. We held each other close, kissing under the moonlight, in the place that would one day be our home.

Next Chapter

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #marvel #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #the avengers #fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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inkwell-intermission · 7 months ago

Text

THIS IS AN OPINION PIECE

List of intermission characters that I personally do not believe would have their hair long OR should have other specific hair lengths/styles and why- note: This does not include characters i think would look better with short hair, this is just about characters I think would not have their hair long for personality/realistic reasons, NOT because I do not like the hair long, that's a different kind of list

1) Pickle Inspector does not have long hair Why: He's got really bad hygiene problems. He keeps his waste in glass jars in his office, is a serious alcoholic, substantially mentally ill and wildly dissociative day-to-day, this man could not take care of long hair. It would require a level of hair care or showering or brushing or even oiling that he is absolutely not up to. If he has long hair, I think it should NOT be pretty and silky, it would be an absolute disaster that would make a hairdresser call upon a higher power to fix 2) Die does not have long hair

Why: I personally headcanon Die as having trichotillomania so he pulls his hair a lot. Having long hair can trigger that more often, and would make the patterns of where he's pulled hair and has scars or destroyed follicles way more obvious. I don't think he moves through the world without a hat on in almost any situation and has entirely removed his eyelashes, his hairline is not making it out alive. I also think similar to Pickle Inspector, he has terrible hygiene because of how wildly anxious he is. He barely feels comfortable taking his coat off let alone all of his clothes to shower, and long hair would not be taken care of by him- it might be brushed, but it would probably be often filthy due to that kind of neglect and terror at the idea of even approaching a shower. 3) Diamonds Droog does not have long hair

Why: This man is so autistic he would just die. If he had his hair down and wind blew and hair got on his face he would kill someone. If he had hair long and was unable to perfectly catch every single hair in a hair tie he would kill someone. If too much hair came out in the shower he would get too fixated on whether or not he's losing hair because when you have long hair, losing the same amount of hair looks like a LOT more than when its short. Also someone could grab it or pull on it in a fight, which is also a problem. If he put a shirt or coat on and the long hair got caught under it he consider cutting it off entirely. As is, my version of Droog has more of a 3b-3c type of hair and keeps it cut very short, with touch-ups every two weeks. He likes going to a barber (male bonding homoeroticism) frequently but also after every haircut he needs to shower and change clothes because if he has stray hair on him he will die. He COULD NOT SURVIVE LONG HAIR (neither could most people within bludgeoning range).

4) Matchsticks would have a mustache

Why: Old timey firefighters in the 1800s who were working before filtration systems had mustaches because they helped to keep debris and particulates out of their noses! it was good and helpful to have and a lot of firefighters today still have them. He would not have a beard though because that could actively ruin the seal on any filtration helmets that he DID wear, so I think it's a good argument to give him a mustache! It's also dashing. NOTE: he COULD have long hair! He just would not wear it down in almost any situation for fire hazard concerns especially considering how constantly he's fighting fires- he wouldn't wear loose clothing, he might not even have coattails for that reason!

5) Cans would not have long hair

Why: I think because of his size and the dexterity and overall massive nature of his hands and arms he would feasibly have a difficult time dealing with long hair, whether its for brushing or styling. It would also be inconvenient to get a lot of plaster dust caught in if he's crashing through walls all the time, and if he got wet at the same time it could really ruin someone's hair. I think it's more practical and realistic for him to keep his hair, at least in the back, cropped fairly tight.

6) Doc Scratch would not have hair

Why: HES BALD i know people love to give the human versions of him like, slicked back white hair and I'm NOT saying that's not a design for him that absolutely works and makes sense but what I am saying is that it's a hairpiece. He is wearing a wig. He has no eyelashes or eyebrows that are not intentionally applied. This man has alopecia and is completely smooth and slick like an amphibian and dries incredibly quickly as a four foot tall hairless jackass.

7) THE GIRLS would not have long hair

Why: This one is the least fact based, but i think it still makes sense. I think Snowman, Dame, and Broad should keep their hair similar to what is seen on them, or otherwise short. This is mostly because of the 1920s-40s aesthetic fusion nightmare that is the vibes of the intermission- a lot of women wore their hair short, especially young fashionable women. If women had long hair, it may be worn close to the head to emulate a bob cut. Some had longer ringlets, but for the femme flapper energy of Dame and Broad, I think it fits that they would have shorter hair. For Snowman, I personally depict her as being completely bald and wearing a variety of incredibly expensive lace-front wigs. If they're carapacians, all of the ladies would be wearing wigs, but even as a human, I think Snowman keeps a fully or closely shaved head and has the most expensive collection of quality wigs known to Midnight City- if she even wears one at all. With Ms. Paint it's totally up in the air because she wears a bonnet or hijab or other kind of headwrap and can have whatever kind of hair she wants underneath that, girls rock.

literally every other character can easily have longer hair and it would make a level of sense even if i wouldn't personally give them longer hair, these are just the characters i think shouldn't have longer hair more on principle but AGAIN THIS IS AN OPINION I'M JUST SHARING MY THOUGHTS. IM NOT HAIR POLICE

#diamonds droog #pickle inspector #die six #matchsticks eleven #cans fifteen #homestuck intermission #midnight crew #sleuth team #loreposting #snowman eight #hysterical dame #nervous broad #ms. paint #this is not intended to police anyone elses depictions of them #this is just me going over my explanations and rationality behind certain design decisions #everyone can do what they want obviously .#innovator on the other hand can have longer hair bc the circumstances change when hes super medicated and a shapeshifter

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archoniluthradanar · 2 years ago

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It's one little sneeze

A response to a request from @iloveslasher

Spring has arrived in Volterra. The trees are starting to bloom, then the blooms will fall when the leaves begin to grow to take their place. The air is filled with excitement while the human citizens of the city begin to plan several upcoming festivals. Unfortunately for you, with Spring comes sneezing fits. Your mates are vampires, the three leaders of the Volturi coven.

It was during one of the castle tours. You got in for free, thanks to a woman named Heidi, but found yourself about to be attacked mid-tour. Except for the quick reflexes from the tall man sitting on a dais where three thrones were, you might have died. The masters took you in and discovered their link to you. Marcus had seen the bonds first, telling both Aro and Caius you had to stay. He warned them not to harm you, but to offer you a home here, with them as your mates, and for the meantime, as a human. You were grateful when you heard that. But now that Spring was here, you wondered if that was such a smart idea. You suffered from allergies, and would sneeze whenever a breeze blew through the garden. Any irritant would set you off actually, but this was your first Spring in Italy.

The Volturi had defeated werewolves, immortal children, and the entire Romanian coven. Yet these ancients, these super-educated men, these police of the vampire community, your loving mates for many months...find themselves flummoxed by a sneeze.

The strange thing was your sneezes were like that of a baby. Tight, quiet, and at times, they had almost a musical quality to them. It wasn't that you tried to hold them in. They just came out as tiny sneezes.

When Aro had first heard the sound, he looked around the throne room from the table where he had been sifting through some old manuscripts. The smallest bit of dust from them set off a sneezing fit in you. He flashes to your side. "What is that noise?"

"I'm sorry, Aro. I...I...*hu...he...*snirt* The dust from your old books made me sneeze," you explain, before sneezing again and wiping your nose.

Aro's eyes go wide. "If you are ill, then you should be in bed." Before you can object, he picks you up in his arms and runs quickly to his rooms. All the while, you protest this is normal for you and that you're not ill. Once in his rooms that he sometimes shares with you, Aro takes you to the bedroom, removes your shoes, and orders you to undress, picking out a nightgown from one of your drawers. He hands it to you and once you've put it on, he tucks you into bed.

You sneeze again, the sound muffled naturally.

Marcus has entered Aro's bedroom, having heard the sounds when they originated from the throne room. Seeing Aro, he flashes to his brother's side. "Is something wrong with our mate, Aro? What is that sound she's making?"

"She says nothing is wrong, Marcus. It's normal," he pronounces doubtfully, emphasizing the word "normal".

Caius storms in a few minutes later, concern on his youthful face. "What is going on? I heard some repetitive noise coming from this room. Who is being strangled?" he demands, ready to fight for your safety.

"No one! Caius, it's just me. The dust from the old books in the throne room made me sneeze. It may sound...different, but I can't help that," you say. "My doctor says it has something to do with my lung capacity or trachea size. I'm fine though. Even if you are thousands of years old, I can't believe none of you remember what a sneeze is."

Marcus sits on the side of the bed, taking your hand in concern. "Can we get anything for you, my dear?"

"Yes, please. Tissue boxes, several. And nose spray. It might clear my sinuses." You lay back, thinking of taking the slightest advantage of your mates' distress. How long had it been since they were human? Did they really forget what a sneeze was? Were they willing to do anything you asked?

"Aro, I could use a cup of hot tea, or maybe a whole pot. And maybe a few of the chef's homemade cookies?"

"Will that help you?" he asks, worried that you might need a human physician instead.

"It can't hurt," you answer, trying to keep from smiling. "And no doctors!" You might fool the masters, but you'd never fool a real doctor.

Caius sits on the other side of the bed from Marcus, while Aro flies to the kitchen to see what the chef can make up for you.

"Is there anything we can do for you, love?"

You frown, as if in pain and ask for a movie to watch. Caius goes to the TV in the room and offers various names of films Aro has bought for you. Just as he is putting in the movie for you, Aro returns with a tray carrying a tea pot, a cup, and a plate of chocolate chip peanut butter cookies. The breeze that accompanies his speedy gait carries pollen from the garden and you begin to sneeze again.

*snirt* ahhh...oh no...he-choo!" You curse with each sneeze, holding your nose while your mates wait patiently. Marcus pours you some tea and hands you the cup. You feel miserable, but loved as you grab a cookie off the plate. The three masters join you on Aro's huge bed, and all four of you watch the movie you requested, the original version of Fright Night. It never fails to make the Volturi masters laugh.

#aro volturi #marcus volturi #caius volturi #aro volturi x reader #marcus volturi x reader #caius volturi x reader #allergies #tiny sneezes #three volturi mates x reader #volturi fanfiction

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alexthefly · 10 months ago

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Spilling Tea

This was supposed to be an entry for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial, but life got in the way and I went really over time (😅), so it's just a silly little something now, bringing a well-loved TOS character to the TAG universe. Enjoy!

Fandom: Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds are Go

Content: mention of Pen & Ink (canon events only)

Spoiler warning for TAG episode 1:10, Tunnels of Time

Or read it on AO3

**********

Lillian and her trusty scouring pad had just reached a particularly stubborn bit of baked-on sauce at the back of the oven when she heard the kitchen door go, followed by a great clattering of boot and chair.

“Cor Lil, do us a cuppa would ya? H’I’m gasping, I am!”

Of course, she thought. There's only one person in the world who could make that much noise just entering a room.

Master thief my backside…

“You’ve got legs, haven’t ya? Get it yourself,” she called, not looking up. “Can't you see I’m busy?”

“Aww, but I’ve ‘ad an ‘ard day. H’I’m dead on my feet!”

“You’ll be dead under my feet if you keep carrying on,” she grumbled. “Though on second thought,” - she extricated her head from the oven and took off her marigolds - “I'd better do it for you. Who knows what you might set fire to if I left you to it.”

She clambered slowly to her half-asleep feet and finally looked over to see Nosy Parker seated at the kitchen table, covered in dust, trying and failing to stifle a chuckle.

“Looks to me like you’ve been burning a few things yourself, girl. Get a look at your face!”

Eh?

She limped over to the hob and checked her reflection in the shining silver kettle there, only to see a grime-smeared ragamuffin staring back at her.

“You could be an extra in H'Oliver!” Parker chortled, clearly delighted with his joke.

She just barely resisted the urge to fling the kettle at him - she had only just polished it, after all - and instead wiped her face with a nearby tea towel before flinging that at him instead. He spluttered some sort of outrage at the assault, but she noted that he never actually stopped smirking at her.

“Whatcha so ‘appy about anyway?” she asked, filling the kettle and setting the hob on. “I thought you was bone-tired.”

Parker yawned and stretched, kicking his boots off under the table, which earned him a royal scowl.

“I am. Been traipsing round a bleedin’ temple all day, ‘aven’t I? I’ve been shut in, shot at, gassed, nearly buried h’alive…”

“Well that's bad luck. Still, perhaps they’ll get you next time.”

He glowered at her, but carried on.

“Frankly I’m just glad we made it out in one piece. No thanks to Gordon Tracy of course - ‘e was no ‘elp at all. All that equipment ‘e brought, and what good did it do us? ‘Er Ladyship said the same thing. Well, not in so many words…”

“Is she alright?” Lillian asked, leaning casually on the countertop. Her Ladyship was a tough lady indeed, but for all his catastrophising it sounded like they'd had quite a time of it.

“Oh yes, right as rain,” replied Parker. “Save perhaps for a smooshed nose, courtesy of that great fishy lummox.’

“Gordon did that?”

Lillian quickly scrolled through her various kitchen utensils in her head, considering how they might best be inflicted on a young Tracy’s sensitive bits. A jaded old bird she may be, but she didn't mess about when it came to Lady Penelope’s wellbeing.

That was one thing she and Parker had in common.

Perhaps sensing impending bloodshed, Parker held up his hands in an attempt to placate his companion.

“He never meant any ‘arm, Lil. It was my fault really, setting off that booby trap like that - he was jus’ trying to save ‘er from a fatal stabbin’. And ‘Er Ladyship gave ‘im a right ol’ earful over it, so I reckon the poor lad’s suffered enough.”

The kettle whistle blew and Lillian straightened to go and make the tea, still quietly plotting.

“The truth is,” he continued, “I think ‘e might be a bit sweet on her."

She was so surprised she almost dropped the kettle on her foot.

"Really? Gordon?"

He nodded. "Like a puppy, ‘e is, following ‘er around, trying to h’impress ‘er, like; he’s like a little blond labrador.”

“A dogfish,” she suggested, grabbing a packet of biscuits from the overhead cupboard.

“Ha! H’exactly!” he chuckled. “Wet nose and wet behind the ears, that one!”

Carefully, she balanced the full cups on a tray and took it over to the table.

“But ‘e’s not that young though, is he? Twenty-four?”

“About that,” replied Parker, shovelling a hobnob in his mouth. “Seems younger though, somehow. Too young for ‘er, anyway.”

“You would say that though, wouldn’t ya? Nobody's ever gonna be good enough for her s’far as you’re concerned.”

He grinned sheepishly and reached for another biscuit.

Lillian stared into her teacup, thinking.

“You don’t think she might like ‘im too, then?”

Parker’s biscuit fell in his cup.

“You wot?”

“Well I was just thinkin’,” she said, handing him a teaspoon to fish his biscuit out, “all this talk about how annoying he is and ‘ow he’s always getting into scrapes ‘n’ all that…” She took a sip. “It just seems that if she didn't like ‘im, she might not care quite so much what ‘e does.”

“Don't talk soft, woman!” exclaimed Parker, forgetting all about his slowly-disintegrating hobnob. “She’s fond of all those Tracy boys, Gordon included. It's part of her nature to worry after ‘em. Nothing more than that, I'm sure.”

“Hmmm. If you say so…”

They sat in silence for a minute, pondering.

“Though…” Parker started. “...Nah.”

“What?”

“S’nothing.”

She picked up another teaspoon. “I’m going to stick this somewhere painful if you don't come out with it.”

"You wouldn't dare," he scoffed.

"...Sideways."

A gulp.

“A moment?” She leaned forwards.

“Alright, alright, keep your ‘air on! It's only that I was just thinkin’, back there, there was a… a moment.”

“Between the two of ‘em, when we were up on that stairway, starin’ death in the face…”

He paused, waiting for sympathy.

She brandished her spoon at him. “And?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Well, we all thought that might be it - ‘The H’End’, as it were…”

“Uh-huh?”

“An’ he was saying something about us not having much time, and it being now or never…”

“Yes?”

“And the way they was looking at each other, it was like…”

“Yes?!”

She was right on the edge of her seat, tea and spoon both entirely forgotten.

He shrugged. “Well anyway, then next thing I knew, we was grappling into the air and out the roof to safety.”

She blinked.

“...What? That's it?!”

She picked up the tea towel off the table and threw it at him again.

“You almost ‘ad me then, you bleedin’ tease! Gettin’ me all invested like that…”

“What? That's what ‘appened!”

She was fuming. “I thought you’d at least say he kissed her hand or something. ‘A look’, he says!”

He flushed. “It was more than that-”

“Load of nonsense. You’ve been watching too many of those serials on telly!”

She got to her feet and stormed over to the oven.

“I can't be sittin’ here listenin’ to this rubbish all day. Got things to do,” she grumbled, pulling her rubber gloves back on.

He folded his arms, glowering. “Well that's just fine then! Last time I tell you anything.”

“Fine!”

And so they retreated to their respective corners to sulk; her scrubbing the oven, him harrumphing in his chair, stormclouds hovering between.

A minute passed. Then two.

“...You can finish up your tea before ‘elping me with the dinner, if you like?”

“...Yeah, alright then.”

#thunderbirds Lillian #aloysius parker #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds tos #alexthefly fic

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dracoxmalereader · 1 year ago

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Snowman

Draco Malfoy x Male Reader

Context: Reader and Draco are already buddy buddy, but not together. They totally have crushes on each other though, make no mistake about that. Reader is a third-year Hufflepuff, and a fan of the Slytherin Quidditch team. The two have been friends since second year when Draco joined said Slytherin Quidditch team.

Summary: Winter is in full swing and Hogsmeade is as snowy as ever. You're minding your business building a snowman on the ledge overlooking the shrieking shack, when Draco decides to join you. <3

Word Count: 828

Snow crunched under the weight of your feet. You lugged the last of three mounds of snow on top of your snowman, wiggling it around in place to find a stable place to rest it. You smiled and let out a sigh of relief when it stopped wobbling, slowly backing away from it to admire your handiwork. You tucked your hands into your sleeves and rubbed your arms together, shivering in the cold.

“Having a good time, eh, L/N?” You turned your head to see Draco trotting down the hill towards you, a bag clutched in his hand.

“Yeah! I built a snowman.” You smile widely at him, opening your arms out to present your snowman. “Took me ages.”

He got closer, eyeing the snowman before nodding his head back like he had an idea. “Looks like rubbish, in all honesty.”

You brought a dramatic hand to your chest and feigned offense, clicking your tongue. "What ever could be wrong with my son?"

Draco blew a puff of smug air out of his nose, the vapor dusting the air. He opened the bag in his hand and pulled out a carrot, snapping it in half and tossing the bag and blunt half off to the side haphazardly. "Well, he could use a nose, for one, and-"

After shoving the carrot nose into the snowman's head, he bent down and started gathering snow from the ground, pressing it into the gaps between the lowest layer of the snowman and the ground.

“You have to make him more stable than this, otherwise he won’t last.”

He looked up at you with a shit-eating grin and you rolled your eyes, shuffling to the other side of the snowman and crouching down to join him. The two of you continued in silence, scooping snow into the crevices of the snowman to ensure its stability.

Once it looked much more concrete than it had before, you both stood fully back up, but not before Draco gave the snowman one final pat down to make sure everything stayed in place. “See?” He pointed towards it, settling at your side and leaning slightly towards you. “Much better. You’re lucky I came here, really. He wouldn’t have lasted at all if I hadn’t. Not a day.” He nodded to himself, looking at the snowman proudly.

“Sure, ferret-face.” You said sarcastically, the smile on your face betraying your tone. Draco was about to talk back when you hugged yourself tight against the cold, a wave of shivers passing over you again.

He stared for a moment, eyes lingering just a second too long on your cold-tinted lips. His eyebrows quirked up. “By the way,” He squinted at you. “What are you doing out here with no jacket on? No gloves, even.”

“I would have them on if I had them at all! It’s like one moment they were in my trunk, and the next, they weren’t.” You waved your hands through the air in exasperation as you spoke.

Draco stared at you with an amused glint in his eye before shaking his head with a smile and shimmying out of his outermost jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? You git.” He held the jacket by its collar for a moment like he was contemplating tossing it at you, before he turned towards you and lifted an arm above your head, swinging the jacket around you.

You felt your face heat up a little and you stared at his eyelashes as he tugged it snuggly onto you. His eyes stared off to the side purposefully, never once meeting yours even after he pulled away. You slipped your arms into the sleeves. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I was already wearing layers under it, anyways.” He swatted at the air, still avoiding eye contact, cheeks dusted pink.

“Thanks Dray, what a gentleman you are, truly.” You teased him, making a bashful expression and pulling the corners of the jacket up in a curtsy. You fought a smile and exhaled from your nose as you watched his eyebrows furrow and his face further redden.

“I’ll remember that next time you decide to come build a snowman with no jacket, you ungrateful arse.”

You giggled and paid his empty threat no mind, knowing he didn’t really mean it. You playfully hugged his side, and brushed off his still-reddening face as the cold getting to him.

Draco tried to push you off, but you clung stubbornly. He gave in and begrudgingly hugged you back, both arms around the tops of your shoulders. He made a point to face off to the side still, gaze fixated on the shrieking shack in the snowy distance. If he enjoyed your hug just a little too much? Well, that was nobody’s business.

And if he showed up again hours later with a suspiciously new-looking set of Slytherin school-spirit gloves with a matching hat and scarf? Well, he supposes, neither was that.

Any engagement is appreciated. (:

I just got into HP literally last week and I have ONLY watched the movies so if this is painfully OOC for him someone please tell me. Did like 12 passes of revisions, but I mighta missed some stuff so also pls let me know if there are any misspellings or grammatical errors. Hashtag first fic for this fandom. <3

#draco x male reader #draco malfoy x male reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter fandom #tagging is hard

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incubotwriting · 9 months ago

Text

14 Sleepless Nights

Inspired by the work of @1-800-daylon

Chapter 1

The wind blew cold and sharp, kicking up snow and dropping the nearby visibility to near zero. Bardon trudged through the ice, whipping around at the roars he heard that seemed to come from every direction of the white haze around him. His long white-gold hair whipped around, tangling in the wind and frequently blocking his eyeline, his light outfit completely hiding his silhouette in the icy void.

Vibrant colour blasts of Divine Energy lit up pure white mist, Bardon’s only link to his squad mates as they fought against the Miramon pack they had stumbled upon.

He called out, trying to find a direction to someone, anyone, to regroup and reassess, but his voice was lost in the roar of the swirling wind. He was completely separated, lost in the howling noise. His arm ached, the cold metal of its housing biting against his skin in the frost.

A roar right behind him was the only warning he got. Bardon swivelled on his feet and instinctively pulled his mechanical left arm above him to block the incoming strike, but felt it disregard his commands. Sluggish and stuttering, straining against the chill, the arm raised to the intended location right as a stone claw loomed from the void. Bardon desperately tried to fire his shield, forcing as much Divine Energy into the arm as he could muster.

The translucent golden shield started to grow out from the lens on the back of his forearm before sputtering in and out of existence and finally shorting out completely.

The claw came crashing down on his arm, heavy living stone crushing through the stressed steel with ease. Bardon felt a shot of pain through the arm as its sensors topped off and then were crushed one by one.

The metal arm was ripped from its socket, sprawling uselessly onto the ice in thousands of tiny fragments. Bardon dropped to his knees, a single thought running through his mind.

“Chalmers is gonna kill me.”

“You did WHAT?”

Chalmers’ voice travelled through the cluttered workshop, even more busy for the multiple people that now occupied it.

Bardon winced, sheepishly explaining the situation. Not that Chalmers could have missed what had happened, with the mechanical socket attached to his shoulder conspicuously lacking the arm that was supposed to be there.

“Most people start with ‘are you alright’ first” Lin Xiao mused, dropping a heavy bundle of blankets on Chalmer’s workbench with a thunderous clatter. There was a metallic rustling from within the bundle as whatever was wrapped inside shifted and settled.

“I ASSUMED he was fine considering you came to my workshop and not the Infirmary” Chalmers snipped back.

Lin Xiao crossed her powerful arms defensively. Normally the two of them were fast friends, but today she was here on Union business as Bardon’s commander, and the status in the room had a way of temporarily tempering friendships.

Chalmers pulled open the blankets on his desk to reveal the utterly obliterated remains of Bardon’s mechanical arm. The prothesis was in fist sized pieces, with wire, leaking fluid and dust from shattered circuit boards making a mess of the rags it was bundled in.

“We were doing a string of missions out near the frozen wastes, and it wasn’t dealing with the cold well…” Bardon started meekly.

Chalmers pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please don’t tell me you got it serviced by an Utgard mechanic” he said.

Bardon and Lin Xiao looked at each other.

“We only asked them to swap out the coolant for a non-freezing type…” Bardon started.

Chalmers sighed loudly.

“You’re lucky it’s not filled with vodka” he said. “So what did it do? Slow down? Divine Energy spike?”

“Stutter glitch…right as a Miramon came down on me.” Bardon confirmed, apologetically. “The shield failed and, well. I tried to scoop up everything I could…”

Chalmers looked up from examining a handful of scrap to see Bardon’s distraught face and Lin Xiao’s pointed glare. He sighed.

“It’s just an arm. Better it than you. You did good to try and get it back, but this is properly fucked, we’re going to have to rebuild it from scratch”.

“I figured you were going to say that” Lin Xiao interjected “So I went ahead and booked you for two weeks. Authorisation from Raven should be in your inbox.”

“Two weeks?” Chalmers replied, confused “A bit lush for a fab and a refit”.

“If you were just building him the SAME arm” Lin Xiao said with a smirk. “Upstairs are starting to get a little nervous about one of their star Espers rocking an unreliable antique.”

Chalmers looked at her. He had been complaining about the Mk 1 arm for months in their Friday night drinks. He had droned on and on about how the platform was basically hacked together and almost impossible to work with for all the engineers its design had passed through, not to mention the sheer amount of tech-debt he had to wade through.

“Bardon here’s been forced to take 2 weeks sick leave to help you with R&D” She continued. “Think you can do it?”

"I kind of had plans this week…" Chalmers began

"No you didn't" Lin Xiao interupted, with the playfulness of a best friend. Chalmers shrugged. That was mostly true, and besides, this opportunity intrigued him.

Chalmers looked between them, his mind alighted. Gears turned in his brain as he rapidly started checklisting everything that would need to be done, designed, even invented for a full platform refresh. He started pacing, tapping a broken piece of Bardon’s old arm against his palm. After a few minutes of deliberation he looked back at them and delivered his verdict:

“Maybe.” he said. “But it’s not going to be fun.”

Chapter 2

“The alloy is lighter while being more durable, the servos are now top of the line and it’s got a better compute core that lets us triple the polling rate from all the nerve endings compared to your old one. Still haven't got it hooked up to a divine wave capacitor yet, let’s make it work as an arm first before we make it work as a power station.” Chalmers rattled off, his voice husky from weariness.

It had been two days since their project began, and Chalmers hadn’t slept a wink.

‘Not until we have a proof of concept’ he’d said at the time, but predictably his proof of concept had refused to play ball. First the servos burnt themselves out. Then the arm responded perfectly when puppeteered by a game controller but refused to be controlled by a neural wave emulator. In one memorable case it just caught fire. But problem by problem, Chalmers persevered with dwindling patience, energy, and sanity.

Finally, at the end of the second long day, Bardon stood shirtless as he always did when receiving arm care, with a skeletal and clearly unfinished metal arm attached to the socket at his shoulder. Despite its fragile and sinewy appearance, Bardon articulated it with surprising organic dexterity. He opened and closed the spindly fingers of the prototype experimentally.

“Well that’s a good start” Chalmers said, ducking and weaving around the various power-providing and diagnostic cables that anchored Bardon to the room to settle back at his worktable. He rolled through page after page of diagnostic readouts to make sure the prototype was running stably.

“Even only half made I can’t tell you how much easier this is to work with” Chalmers mumbled to himself, pressing buttons in his control software he never had the luxury of building before.

“So, how does it feel?”

Bardon rolled his shoulders back, attempting a handful of stretches that his tethering allowed. Chalmers watched, taking note of the way his exposed pectorals and shoulder muscles moved. He could just picture the gigabytes of sensor data running from the wired nerve endings around his shoulder into the multiple interlocking systems of the arm. He didn’t need to picture it, he thought, he’d made a control panel for it. Perhaps it was his weary eyes not wanting to refocus, but he didn’t feel much of a pull to look away.

“It’s Silent!” Bardon exclaimed “And so smooth, you even fixed the steppy problem around the thumb!”

Despite the sleep fighting him at the edges of his eyes, Chalmers couldn’t help but feel a deep satisfaction from the review. That sticking thumb problem had been bothering him for months. Quietly, he was immensely proud of his work, even in the prototype stage.

“If there’s any other feedback or information you have, say so, we need to get it perfect before we can move on.” He said, rubbing his eyes. Bardon clenched the metal fist and unclenched it, deep in thought.

“There’s one thing…” He began.

Chalmer’s satisfaction rapidly flipped to the usual mild dread he felt when he could sense a nitpick coming down the pipe.

“There’s a lag somewhere, I can’t tell where exactly…there’s just something off kilter.”

Well, that was helpful.

Chalmers grabbed a purple stress ball with a smiley face on it and pegged it forcefully across the room at Bardon. Without even thinking Bardon raised the skeletal prototype up and snatched the ball out of the air, eyes widening in surprise.

“Seems fine to me” Chalmers said, dryly.

Bardon blushed “I mean it though, it’s not very much but you asked for any information I had…”

Chalmers felt a small twinge inside of himself. Perhaps that was dismissive.

“Ok. If there’s something there it’s clearly tiny. We need a way to quantify this.” He leant back in his chair, his mind lost to wires and signal flows.

“Do you want this back?” Bardon asked, pointing at the stress ball still held firmly in his mechanised grasp.

“No.” Chalmers replied stiffly, opening his eyes and beginning to busy himself in the menus of his worktable’s oscilloscope.

“But it’s kind of cute…” Bardon began, transferring the purple sphere to his other hand and giving it an experimental squeeze.

“Stewart gave it to me when he came in to get his watch serviced” Chalmers said half-heartedly, wholly focused on detangling a mess of wires from his drawer “…told me I needed to lighten up. I think he thought he was being funny. Sit.”

Failing to find an empty surface in the cluttered workshop and still tethered close to Chalmer’s workbench, Bardon simply pocketed the ball and complied with the request, sitting in the worn swivel chair Chalmers had just vacated and rolled over to him.

Chalmers picked up a pair of headphones from his desk, wired to a battered and heavily modded music player and gave them to Bardon, who took them with an inquisitive look.

“Tap each of your fingers in time to the music.” Chalmers said, pulling up an unopened box of components and sitting on it across from Bardon. “Just your fingers on the table, use as little movement as possible.”

He quickly checked the song on the player as Bardon pulled the headphones on. It would do, he thought to himself as he hit play. He heard the music bleed through the open eared heaphones as Bardon began to listen. He watched him close his eyes and bob his head the tiniest amount as he began to tap. Chalmers put his hand flat next to the prototype tapping on the table, hoping to use the vibration of the table to assist his hearing.

…..TAP..tap…tap…tap…..TAP..tap…tap…tap…..TAP

There it was, clear as day, yet almost impossible to catch. Each downbeat was occurring a fraction of a second too late. Chalmers’ eyes lit up. He began to excitedly clip wires to test points on the prototype, hungrily on the hunt for the issue. Bardon briefly stopped his tapping, opening his eyes at the motion, but Chalmers gestured for him to keep going.

The oscilloscope flicked to life as it started to receive signals from the wires, dancing in chaotic noise until Chalmers brought it into line with button press. His face turned to an involuntary smile as he saw one of the waveforms drift slightly out of step with the others.

“Hah, got you bastard.” Chalmers said to the glitch, leaning over Bardon as he probed different test pads, chasing the delayed signal through the wires like a bloodhound.

“It’s coming in clean from the socket, stays in sync past the elbow but then lags in getting to the second digit servo…” Chalmers spoke rapidly, using his words to sift through his own swirling thoughts.

“…so it’s not a software issue because each finger shares the same rotation function, then it has to be something in the…oh I’m an IDIOT the index finger trace is longer because I wrapped it around that capacitor…oh that’s dumb why would I…what?”

He paused as he caught Bardon’s face. There was something wistful about the look the man was giving him. Bardon blinked, gently shaking himself.

“Oh, it’s nothing it’s just…Your…uh, your music. It’s really good.”

Chalmers glanced down at the headphones, now resting uselessly on Bardon’s neck, pushing a gentle beat into the air against Bardon’s exposed clavicle.

“Uh…thanks. Those cans are really good for it. Not that fancy, but they’ve got the same drivers as the expensive ones, just lose the wireless stuff, but who needs that anyway. Not to mention they've got a really good sound stage for games and all that”

The very same headphones tried admirably to fill the silence.

“Right. So. Long trace.”

Chalmers worked in silence as he fished a soldering iron from the mess on his workbench, effortlessly bridging two points near the prototype’s wrist with a shorter bodge wire.

“Better?” He asked as Bardon experimentally wiggled his skeletal fingers. Bardon’s face broke into a trademark wide beam.

“Perfect!” he said, pleased.

“Great. I’ll adjust that for the next revision tomorrow. I think that’s all we can do today.”

Chalmers reached into the prototype’s shoulder and released a hidden latch, detaching Bardon from the prototype and its umbilical wires. Bardon rose and offered the swivel chair back to Chalmers, who sunk into it, already distracted by the challenge of re-routing the index finger circuit but also fighting against a mind that begged for sleep. He tabbed into his already open designer tool.

“See you tomorrow” he called wearily into the room.

He heard Bardon’s footsteps head towards the door, engrossed as he was in his design. However, as he heard the door to his workshop open, the small twinge entered his stomach again.

“Bardon?” He called, looking up to see Bardon stop at the door, halfway through pulling a jacket over his bare chest.

“…I’m sorry if I was dismissive earlier that was…not intentional.”

Bardon looked confused before breaking back into a smile, this time not his usual readily available beam, but something a little softer and somehow even warmer. He pulled the stress ball out of his pocket and effortlessly launched it back across the room into one of Chalmer’s unsuspecting hands.

“See you tomorrow. Please get some sleep” he said, with a last lingering look back.

Chapter 3

“…So I give this guy the service manual and he just looks at it with the most fear in his eyes I’ve ever seen in a mechanic, I might as well have given him a bomb to defuse” Bardon described, animatedly.

“Well, divine wave tech, You kinda did” Chalmers mumbled through the side of his mouth

The two sat on the floor of the workshop, Bardon stripped to the waist as usual, with Chalmers kneeling next to him, working on the socket at Bardon’s shoulder. Between a particularly warm day and a morning spent arm-deep in greasy mechanics, Chalmers had discarded his long coat and shirt for the tanktop he wore underneath, his brown skin marred by dark oil and sweat.

Bardon continued to talk excitedly as Chalmers worked. What had started as a simple service and the installation of some minor upgrades had turned into an in-depth repair as Chalmers had discovered several stress faults in the socket from the old arm being ripped from it. Chalmers held a handful of screws in his mouth as he methodically checked and replaced the various connection points and bearings that allowed any prosthetic attached to it to function properly.

He let Bardon talk, his own mouth full of hardware as it was, though he had become exceptionally adept at uttering the phrase ‘piece of shit’ through a clamped jaw.

Perhaps it was the latent joy of seeing a project come together, but there was something very calming about sitting here with Bardon, performing this maintenance.

The work wasn’t difficult, but it was methodical and required a substantial amount of Chalmers’ focus. He could feel his mind slow in these moments, not having the room for the cacophony of design and troubleshooting that usually filled his thoughts. He was half listening to Bardon's stories, more enjoying the tone and presence of his voice than the actual content.

With a strong twist, Chalmers tightened the final screw in Bardon's shoulder, locking it in.

"Well, now that THAT diversion is over and done with…" Chalmers said, pulling himself heavily off the floor. Bardon sprung to his feet too, trying to admire the work done in a nearby mirror that Chalmers had put up for exactly that purpose

"Oh, it's not going to be particularly sexy" Chalmers called back to him. "Routine stuff and parts swaps."

"Those are probably very important though!" Bardon replied enthusiastically. "And it's a good thing my best mechanic is on it."

"I'm you're only mechanic"

"So it's good that you're the best!"

Chalmers scoffed. "Your positivity is exhausting. Kidding. I'm kidding" he hastily appended when he caught the look on Bardon's face. He ushered Bardon over to his table, where the prototype lay on a stand.

It was still intimidating and skeletal, but since the beginning of the week it had been slowly freed of all the power and resource lines that had tied it to the lab. Instead, a large clear component sat at the shoulder.

"So that's the power bit?" Bardon asked, forgetting Chalmers' previous attempts to explain it to him.

Chalmers nodded, patiently. "Brand new Divine Wave capacitor design" he confirmed. Powers the mechanics of the arm from your natural resonance. Turns you into a big battery. Do you want to give it a go?"

Bardon's eyes lit up, his smile lighting up the room as answer. The two positioned themselves, Bardon lowering himself to let the arm align with the socket without much lifting, and Chalmers readied himself to make the connection.

They caught eachother's eyes, as they had with this manoeuvre so many times before, and nodded. Chalmers lifted the arm and felt it magnetise to the socket.

"Nerves." he warned and Bardon tensed himself. Chalmers twisted the arm and felt it lock in place. A static hum ran through the arm as hundreds of intricate components came online. The clear crystalline capacitor started to glow a gentle gold as it took up the task of converting off-cast divine resonance into electrical power. Bardon grimaced, feeling emulated nerve endings and sensory responses reawaken. A small shiver ran through his visible chest muscles as his brain adjusted to the mental load of controlling the extra limb.

"That part didn't get any easier" Bardon said, good spiritedly but with a wry chord.

"Yeah. Sorry." Chalmers replied

"You're giving me a whole new arm, I'm hardly complaining" Bardon's smile had returned in full force and he lifted the arm off the stand, moving it gingerly, but definitely moving it.

Despite himself, Chalmers found himself smiling too, watching Bardon slowly gain more and more confidence with the prototype, and watching it transform from a tool attached to him to a part of him, seamlessly following the natural movement of his body.

"Alright" Chalmers prompted, "Let's try pushing some more Divine Energy through it. Slowly."

Bardon nodded and clenched his new robotic fist. The capacitor began to glow brighter and brighter, the gentle gold turning into a piercing yellow light that sent trails of light coursing through the creases and crevices of the arm. The aperture on the back of Bardon's forearm blinked into life, sparking with golden holographic wisps.

"Come on…" Chalmers encouraged "Come on, you bastard. Give it more, Bardon."

Bardon nodded and tensed harder, except for his hand which he opened in a claw-like hold. All the light pouring from the prototype brightened and brightened, almost becoming blinding. Golden sparks jumped between Bardon's new skeletal fingers as the divine power surged.

Something was very wrong.

Chalmers looked up from his eyeline at Bardon's hand and caught sight of the exposed capacitor. From this angle he saw a hairline fracture in the glassy surface that in his tiredness he had missed. Chalmer's eyes widened and he yelled out, reaching out a hand…

There was a deafening cracking sound and the capacitor shattered. The arm malfunctioned immediately, the hand clamping shut around Chalmer's outstretched wrist. The servos in the rest of the arm surged, pulling Chalmers to his knees painfully by the hold. Chalmers resisted with his arm, doing anything to stop it from twisting any further, but his own creation was overpowering him, forcing him to the ground.

Bardon yelped, clearly no longer in control of the limb, and tried to help pulling it back to no avail. Chalmers tried to babble the locations of the safety disconnects, but he was in too much pain. He grunted, only adding to the panicked look on Bardon's face.

"I'm going to try something, but I need to let go of the arm" Bardon announced with a surprisingly cool authority. "When I say, push back as hard as you can."

Chalmers had no other option but to nod at the command. Bardon gave the signal and Chalmers put every ounce of strength he had into resisting the twist of the arm. Bardon released his hold on the metal wrist, before raising his good arm in a fist. He took several deep, pointed breaths and braced himself before bringing it down with immense force on the narrow joint at the arm's wrist.

The joint sparked and one of the metal bones split as the hand instantly fell limp. Bardon followed Chalmers to his knees and went to scream, but immediately cut himself short when he realised something he expected wasn't coming. They knelt facing eachother, breathing heavily. Chalmers cradled his wrist, released from the iron grip

"It didn't hurt" Bardon timidly realised aloud

"I disabled pain emulation, the code wasn't done yet…" Chalmers said before something crossed his mind "…how did you know that?"

Bardon shook his head.

"I didn't."

They held for a moment before Chalmers came to his senses and reached for the emergency release. The prototype unlatched and fell to the floor with a thunk, a handful of exposed components snapping off as it hit the ground.

Chalmers picked it up off the floor with his good arm, swearing profusely as he went. He threw the prototype roughly against his workbench, where it hit with a frightening crash, before collapsing into his chair and sinking his head into his hands. His wrist was burning red hot and his prototype lay in tatters in front of him.

Bardon quietly approached, looking at the wreck of metal.

"Is it bad?" He asked.

"What do you THINK, Bardon?" Chalmers snapped.

Bardon recoiled, deep concern etched into his face.

"I'm going to need to start most of the hardware from scratch, that's IF my Godsdamn hand is usable at all."

Head still in hand, Chalmers didn't notice the deep guilt sinking into Bardon's expression

"Look, just, take a few days" Chalmers fumed "I've got work to do."

Bardon didn't need to be told twice. Chalmers didn't watch as Bardon fled the workshop, not even stopping to put his jacket on.

Chapter 4

By the end of the first week, Chalmer’s wrist was still too swollen to do any meaningful work, so he allowed himself the luxury of his usual Friday night drinking date. The dingy bar was perfect for shooting the shit, and the barely dressed tigress he sat with was an excellent complaining partner.

The two of them sat at the wooden bar countertop at their favourite spots that the bartender knew to leave open for them. The lights were moody and the cramped room was made even denser by the tacky and multitudinous posters, photos and boxing paraphernalia littering the walls. ‘Unpretentious,’ as Lin Xiao described it frequently.

It took the better part of an hour for Chalmers to bring Lin Xiao up to speed with how the first week had gone. He talked about the all-nighters at the start and the incalculable numbers of advancements, breakthroughs, and regressions he’d made. He talked about the prototype, and how it now lay broken nearly clean in two, showing off his now painfully swollen wrist which Union Medical had assured him was only sprained.

"And you're not upset about, yknow, the whole snapping the arm thing." She asked.

"Why would I be?" Chalmers replied with genuine confusion "It was my dumb fucking mistake"

“So let me get this straight” Lin Xiao said as their second round was placed in front of them. “Our man has a polycarbosomething alloysomething malfunctioning on the end of his shoulder, got you in a full-on wristlock, and so the first thing he does is snap his own wrist before asking you if the pain receptors were on yet?”

Chalmers nodded, taking an exploratory sip of the new pint.

“Metal.” She said approvingly. “That’s the dumb hero shit I’m told I have to tell him off for.”

“Yeah, well it was certainly a change of pace for me” Chalmers admitted. “Like, he’s loud, sure, but I dunno. Guess he never shows that larger than life side of himself when he’s in for repairs.”

Lin Xiao looked at him with a mixture of amusement and interest at this new information.

“I get it, you need that big hero energy to do Union face work, but he always seemed kinda timid to me. Shy or something. So seeing that superhero streak was new” he concluded.

“Oh, man you don’t know the half of it” Lin Xiao scoffed.

Chalmers raised an eyebrow.

“So a few days ago I was sent out to mediate this disturbance in Union HQ, right…” Lin Xiao began, in her all-to familiar work story tone, “…Bardon has got himself into a proper scene with two jackoffs who were talking shit about you, funnily enough.”

Chalmers looked over from his pint.

“Me? What’s somebody's problem with me?” he wondered aloud.

“Dunno, something about you being a bit of a weird grouchy shut-in or some bullshit” Lin Xiao shrugged.

“Oh, is that all?” Chalmers scoffed “Are they even wrong?”

“Well Bardon seemed to think so. Got himself into a hell of a shouting match with these guys. Had to cool him off before he got into a one-armed fistfight.”

Chalmers frowned into his beer.

“What could possibly drive him to make such a scene, I don’t need defending.”

“Oh, you haven’t worked it out” Lin Xiao exclaimed amusedly.

“Worked out what?” Chalmers asked, heatedly, as Lin Xiao laughed openly at his expense.

“You smart people are always so STUPID” She wheezed, racked by belly laughs

“Lin, what don’t I know” Chalmers demanded, intensely disliking the joke at his expense.

“Nah, you’re gonna have to sort this shit out on your own. That’s what you do isn’t it? Troubleshoot the problem? Trace the wires? Figure it all out?”

Confused and put out, Chalmers settled for drowning his angst in his pint.

“I’m surprised you just let the guys be, I’ve never known you to show restraint” he said, trying to move on from the joke he wasn’t getting as Lin Xiao regained control over herself.

“Oh, I beat the shit out of them as soon as golden boy was out of earshot” Lin Xiao grinned “Couldn’t do it while he was there, didn’t want him getting all mopey for your sessions.”

---

The sun was setting as the two parted, and instead of his apartment, Chalmers found his way back to his workshop. He settled himself in as evening turned to night, and night turned into quietest hours of early morning. His checklist sat in front of him, taunting and paralysing him. Small problems flowed and combined in his mind into giant walls that he could find no crack or foothold in.

The light outside his workshop had faded into darkness long ago, but Chalmers had barely noticed, his powered swivel lamp the only concession to the passage of time.

He was technically listening to music, but his concentration jumped between intense focus and the very edge of sleep so quickly that he often caught himself sitting and thinking in complete silence as a playlist ended.

Lin Xiao’s friendly taunts still clung in his mind. His understanding had not progressed an inch, but it provided an easy mental detour that his thoughts slipped into when he lost his train of thought on an electrical or mechanical problem.

Chalmers ripped out a page of useless trigonometry from his notebook, not even giving it the dignity of a toss to the wastepaper bin, and he was once again faced with the imposing emptiness of a blank gridded page.

He sighed and sunk his head into his hands, mind both racing and somehow completely and painfully still. He emerged from his palms just to be faced with the taunting silhouette of the prototype, barely built up from the initial rounds of testing; skeletal, technical, fragile, broken, and scary beyond belief. His wrist gave a painful twinge in agreement.

It simply wouldn’t do, he thought. An image of Bardon flashed through his mind, how inspiring and comforting the common folk must find that smile, the shining demeanour and booming voice that Chalmers had only heard of second hand.

Chalmers’ hand moved without him, sketching out the silhouette of an arm. With each stroke his hand added the crossbars, the connection points, the synthetic muscle, the rivets, the wires. The diagram formed itself from raw muscle memory, countless technical traps and compromises effortlessly avoided, aesthetic aiding function with the elegance his masterwork deserved.

Chalmers finally arrived at the shoulder, detailing the circular cutout for the divine wave capacitor and stopped. He saw the circular void and exposed machinery and fragile components filled in the space in his mind’s eye.

His pencil paused. He knew the components that should go in there, but they didn’t seem right. He thought of the bright, flowing hair, those eyes and smile, and his pencil found a different path, carving precise arcs across the shoulder until a sun motif adorned the shoulder, protecting the socket and naked mechanical intricacies underneath.

Chalmers blinked, the full diagram in front of him. It was beautiful, genius even. And yet, even now, it didn’t seem complete.

He placed an exploratory stroke off the arm from the shoulder. Upper Trapezius, supplied by the accessory nerve, connected to the socket at neural link port 7001 through 8080. More lines. Clavicle, secondary anchor point for the main housing. Pectoralis major, driven by the medial and lateral pectoral nerves, port 8100 through 9000. Latissimus dorsi. Obliques. The shapes of Bardon’s physiology came effortlessly to him, intrinsically tied to and indeed the host and purpose of his work.

He sketched, and sketched, well beyond the realm of anatomy he knew and into what he didn’t realise he’d noticed. He sketched how the tiniest bit of rib poked above Bardon’s abdomen line, the barely visible abdominals that showed proud when he tensed or laughed, the frankly unfair amount of oblique that showed above his waistline, the deep grooves of his clavicle and neck, the proud jaw, the long hair, the piercing eyes…

Chalmers slammed his notebook shut with a deafening thud. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears in the silent night. All notions of sleep were dismissed from him in an instant as he was left with an uncomfortable, dawning realisation.

“…Shit.” He said into the empty, dimly lit room.

Chapter 5

“So, am I getting my two favourite boys back next week or am I playing the grocery lady again?”

Lin Xiao burst into the workshop with a clatter of clinking bottles and rustling paper, unceremonially dropping the bags of snacks and beer at the door. This meeting was technically in the Union calendar as a ‘progress check,’ but hearing that Chalmers was going to have to spend another evening in the workshop, Li Xiao had coopted the time to steal back their usual Friday night drink.

Chalmers looked up from his soldering station and a smile crept to the corners of his mouth.

“Come and see for yourself” he said, stepping aside to reveal a stunning creation of alloy and synthetic weave. The Mk 2 version of the arm was laid out like a half-finished jigsaw on a stand, fine plates of polished metal sitting amongst intricate circuits and components, all waiting to be assembled into a work of art.

The divine wave capacitor sat quiet at the shoulder, waiting for the golden energy that would see it spring to life, protected by layers upon layers of spiralling motifs, laid out like stylised sunbeams radiating out from the sleeping core.

Lin Xiao rocked up to it, hands behind her back just in case, as Chalmers went to rifle through the bags she brought. He started splitting out the things that would need to go into the minuscule bar fridge under his desk as Lin Xiao let out a long whistle.

“My man, you’ve outdone yourself” she called back to him taking in the microscopic detail and care evident in every centimetre of circuit board, wire and plated alloy.

“Still a bit to go, but all the dev work is done” Chalmers said, pulling glass bottles held together with cardboard out of the paper bags. “And thanks for this, genuinely…” he began, before fishing a solitary dark bottle from the final bag.

“…though I’m not really a porter guy.”

“Oh, I know” said Lin Xiao, refusing to elaborate and still examining the Mk 2 with immense interest. Chalmers just shrugged and started to take everything to the fridge.

“So have you tried it on the man himself yet?” Lin Xiao asked, stealing a beer bottle from Chalmers as he walked past and successfully twisting open the distinctly non-twist top lid.

Chalmers made a fuss of bending down and stocking the fridge to buy himself a moment of thinking time. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen Bardon since the malfunction last week. In fairness, he hadn’t told Bardon when he could work on the sprained wrist again, but Bardon also hadn’t asked. Perfectly fine, he told himself, it’s probably why it came together so quickly. His wrist twinged as a beer bottle weighed it down.

“Don’t need to. All the experimental stuff we got out of the way in the prototype” He justified out loud. “Everything else is just boilerplate, linear upgrades and miniaturisation.”

“Mhm” Lin Xiao responded, taking a swig of her beer, clearly unconvinced.

“And besides, he probably wants to actually do something with his time off” Chalmers continued.

“Probably.” Lin Xiao replied.

The two shared a moment of silence, drinking deeply from their bottles.

“So did you figure out your little puzzle yet?” Lin Xiao asked, breaking the stillness by setting down her beer.

Chalmers rapped his fingertips against his own beer, sending a pinging noise into the workshop. He had. In his moments away from his project he could think of little else.

“…Bardon likes me, doesn’t he?” He asked, despite knowing the answer.

Lin Xiao gave a thunderous clap paired with a deafening holler. “See! I told you you’d get there eventually!”

There was an aggressive rolling noise as Chalmers stood up. He needed to do something with his hands. Anything.

“…well?” Lin Xiao asked, arms held out questioningly.

“Well what.” Chalmers responded flatly, mashing the temperature control on his soldering iron, and reaching for a pair of magnifying goggles.

“What do you think about it?” she asked, encouragingly.

“I think he’s loud. I think he’s always bursting in, getting his tech busted up by being an idiot, I think I’ve had to pull multiple all-nighters for him just this week…”

“Yeah, but do you like him though?” Lin Xiao interrupted.

Chalmers fell silent.

Lin Xiao looked up at him, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Oh you doooooo” she growled.

“I do NOT” Chalmers retorted, far too quickly.

“Oh, you REALLY like him” Lin Xiao shot back, immense joy in her voice.

Chalmers refused to respond, busying himself in trying to locate his tube of solder flux.

“So you know he likes you, and you like him…” Lin Xiao continued “…so you just go up him, say ‘thinking about your ripped bod has been keeping me up at night’ and then all that’s left is to pick who starts taking the fibre supplements”

Chalmers dropped his soldering iron, cheeks burning.

“This is extremely un-commander-like behaviour from you.” He said, attempting to cool the iron before it marked his table.

“What good am I as a commander if I can't get my boys laid?”

“I’m not on your squad.”

“Wasn’t talking about you, buttercup.”

“Look, it’s not that simple” Chalmers said, attempting to distract himself in the task of seating a miniscule ribbon cable.

Lin Xiao leant her elbow heavily on Chalmers’ desk, resting her cheek on a powerful fist, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. Chalmers swore as the impact knocked the cable clean out of the socket it was just about to be fastened into.

“Enlighten me.” She demanded. Chalmers pulled off his magnifying goggles and stood up from his chair to face her.

“I don’t…I just don’t DO people and relationships, Lin.” He said. The sincere chord in his voice caused the mirth to falter in Lin Xiao’s face.

“I’ve never… no one’s ever…” He started. Chalmers didn’t have the words for this.

“Look. I don't know what interesting or fantastical version of me Bardon’s cooked up in his head, but I can guarantee the real thing isn’t nearly as interesting.”

Lin Xiao looked at him seriously, the wisdom of her age showing for a rare moment on her face.

“I don’t know WHAT he’s seen in me, but it would be cruel to lead him on and force him to figure out for himself that whatever funny or interesting or special version of me he’s imagined just isn’t there.”

Silence filled the workshop once more.

“Bet you a round you’re wrong.” Lin Xiao said, unusually gently.

Chalmers sunk back into his chair, sending it gently rolling backwards from the momentum. Lin Xiao downed her beer and started gathering her things.

“Lin…please. Don’t say anything to him.”

She walked over to him and planted a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Alright. I won’t say anything, but I think you should.”

She gave his shoulder a bone crushing squeeze before bouncing back to her usual heightened energy.

“Right, you better get cracking so you can actually get a day off” she said, cheekily before bounding her way to the door. With her hand on the door handle she stopped and turned back, a large accusatory finger pointed at Chalmers.

“But listen here, loverboy, if I don’t get a report on my desk that you two got caught sharing a metal handy somewhere you’re not supposed to I’m going to be VERY disappointed in the both of you.”

Chapter 6

Chalmers rapped at the apartment door, standing awkwardly in the unfamiliar hallway. He had considered calling Bardon back to his workshop, but legitimately didn't think he'd be able to make the call.

He heard a shuffling from inside the aparment and sure enough Bardon opened the door. His eyes went wide with surprise when he saw Chalmers standing there.

Chalmers had clearly caught Bardon unaware, he was dressed in a pair of leg hugging teal trackpants and a loose white-beige tank top that didn't cover any of the shining metal socket that replaced his left shoulder. In many ways he resembled a looser version of Chalmers himself, who had stopped bothering with the jacket and overshirt several days ago and stood across from him in his grey singlet and dark cargo pants

"Hi." Chalmers said "…Hi." Bardon said back, the spitting image of an embarrassed bird hitting a window pane "I er, sorry I didn't phone ahead but…" He raised the long carrying case he held "…She's ready"

Bardon looked from Chalmers, to the case and back again, before at long last breaking into his smile and gesturing for Chalmers to come in.

He was lead into the small apartment and placed down on the couch. Chalmers sat and took in the unfamiliar premesis, trying to acclimatise himself to the unfamiliar surroundings.

"It's done! That's amazing! After the wrist and the protoype and everything I thought…"

There was a ceramic clattering as Bardon hastily dumped a collection of plates and mugs into an unseen sink. He needn't have bothered, Chalmers thought, this place was infinitely cleaner than any space he had ever curated

"Yeah" Chalmers called out "The wrist was just sprained, I got back to work that weekend and the rest came together pretty quick."

"Oh! Oh well that's a relief!" Bardon replied with the plastic creaking of packaging being stuffed in a bin.

Relief? thought Chalmers. Had Bardon been worried?

Chalmers was finally able to take in enough of the space to notice what Bardon had clearly been doing. In front of him on the coffee table sat a game controller, modified for single handed use, with a foot pedal tucked underneath. The paused game in front of him was familiar, no, more than familiar.

It was a fantasy game, tough as nails and released exactly two weeks ago. The very same game Chalmers would have been playing if Bardon hadn't broken his arm. In a moment of sudden realisation, it made sense to Chalmers why Bardon could notice a finger response delay in the order of milliseconds.

"I didn't realise you were a fan of this series" Chalmers said to Bardon, who had deposited a glass of water in front of him before shuffling back to the kitchen and returning with a second.

"Oh! yeah! It was just kind of lucky I guess, lined right up." Bardon sat next to Chalmers with the glass.

"I wasn't going to get this one after getting stuck on an optional boss in the first one but…"

"Oh HER" Chalmers couldn't help himself. "Yeah, bullshit design, there's a weapon in the area before that she's weak to but it's basically impossible to find if you're not reading the item descriptions and…what?"

Bardon was looking at Chalmers with a mixture of aghast surprise and elation.

"What? I'm old" Chalmers said back, his cheeks warming "All the kids like arcades now. Too many people."

"Not great with accessibility either…" Bardon agreed before blushing and breaking eye contact.

For the first time in his life, Chalmers sat in an incredibly strange position. He was used to people having more information and understanding than him and making him blunder through a social encounter blindly. However, just this once, in a strange way he held all the cards.

He was a troubleshooter, built to observe strange symptoms and connect them to systems, and for just a moment, that instinct fired for the man in front of him.

He knew for a fact Bardon liked him, and armed with that knowledge he started seeing symptoms. He saw how Bardon was trying to shuffle closer but also how he seemed scared to approach. He saw the unusually tight grip on the water glass and the eyes that flicked from his his face, to the opening of his singlet, to absolutely anywhere that wasn't him. It seemed all so obvious now.

"So, shall we?" he asked, tapping the hard travel case, and Bardon nodded enthusiastically. They cleared off the coffee table and placed the case on top. Chalmers gestured to Bardon to do the honours. He unclipped the latches on the case, then carefully with Chalmers' help lifted the lid.

The completed Mk 2 could only be described as a work of art. The polished alloy gave wave to dark, textured synthetic muscle. reinforcement bands criss-crossed across the upper arm before descending to a solid metal gauntlet with interlocking facing at the elbow. Up at the shoulder, the Divine wave capacitor sat crystal clear and dark, protected by a sprawling collection of curving sun rays that spiralled outwards to cover the entire shoulder

"It's… I mean It's…" Bardon was speechless, his eyes practically sparkling.

"Yeah." Said Chalmers.

"You designed it after me" Bardon continued, quietly

"Well, the underlying tech could be generalised but…yeah, this one's for you."

Bardon's eyes were damp and his body was filled with tension. It was if he wanted to do something, but was doing everything to hold himself back.

"Well, come on, let's get it on you" Chalmers said.

A flash of fear crossed Bardon's face.

"I'm not going to break it again, am I?" he asked, nervously

"Again? What do you mean again?" Chalmers asked, eyebrows raised

"Oh, I thought I…that you…nevermind!" Bardon stammered, before collecting himself with a breath.

For a moment, Chalmers' mind went back to the day of the malfunction and his gut sank. He thought about his anger at himself, his frustration that he made no attempt to direct, and then he thought about what that might have looked like to someone who liked him.

Had Bardon blamed himself? Had he thought that Chalmers was angry at him? Had he thought he'd blown his chance? Was that why he hadn't checked back in? Guilt? Fear?

He had to stop that feeling. He wasn't going to be able to sit by passively this time. He was going to need to make the effort. Make a choice. Reach out.

"Hey." Chalmers said, putting a hand on Bardon's bare shoulder, unsure in his actions and words but trying anyway. "It'll be fine this time, trust me."

Bardon's shoulder was warm against his hand as he looked back up and him. Chalmers was subject to that beautiful blue gaze, the soft features yet strong jaw. Chalmers' heart leapt

He likes you. The only one standing in the way is you

Chalmers helped Bardon remove his tank top and he knelt next to the coffee table, Chalmers took a chance to observe the physique that he knew on a systematic level. His heart leapt again.

You hold all the cards. You just have to say yes

Chalmers lifted the Mk 2 from its case and felt it magnetise to the perfectly maintained housing.

"Nerves" He warned, and Bardon braced.

All it takes is for you to play your hand

Click. Locked. Bardon grimaced, but then blinked in surprise. He slowly stood up, marvelling at the sculpture attached to his shoulder as he slowly twisted the wrist and opened and closed the fingers.

"You figured out the nerves" Bardon said, aghast.

"…Yeah." Chalmers replied. "It's not perfect, I don't think it can be, but it now slowly connects the nerves down the arm rather than crashing them all on. I don't know why the standard is to do them all at once, probably some backwards compatibility thing, It just really sucked seeing it hurt you all those ti-"

Chalmers couldn't finish because he was locked in a tight double armed hug. He could feel everywhere Bardon's bare skin came in contact with his own. The hug barely lasted a moment before Bardon broke it, putting a cautionary space between them

"But how can I be sure it won't hurt you again?" Bardon asked

It was time for Chalmers to do something for once.

Chalmers reached out and guided the textured black hand of the Mk 2, laying it at the center of his chest, just above the low cut of his singlet. He took his hands away and Bardon held it there, the sensitive weave passing the feeling of Chalmers' bare skin to Bardon.

"Trust me." Chalmers said.

Bardon's eyes were wide, and slowly, ever so slowly he moved the Mk 2 across Chalmers' chest. The weave felt rougher than skin, and the divine waves powering it gave the fingertips a fuzzy, almost gentle static feel. Chalmers' breathing caught in his throat as the hand touched him, the first time anyone had touched him in a long time.

Bardon's breathing was also heavy from the flood of ever so slightly different and enhanced sensations the arm was passing to him. Hundreds of tuned sensory inputs fired to life for the first time, and the very first thing they would feel would be their creator.

The arm's movement got more natural as the hand wandered, and by the time it found its way under Chalmers' singlet to meet with its brother and raise the singlet over Chalmers' head, it was no longer the Mk 2, a work of mechnical genius made under 2 weeks of near constant toil and stress.

It was simply Bardon's arm.

Epilogue

Chalmers slept soundly for the first time in two weeks, hells, even longer that night. He was woken well past his operational start time by an email to his communicator. It was from Raven, granting him an extra week of his and Bardon's time to complete the Mk 2 at Lin Xiao's request.

The two lay there, at a complete loss of what to do.

"If it's alright…" Chalmers said to his bedmate "…I think I'd like to give this…" He gestured to the two of them and the world at large "…Y'know, people, a go. If you'll help me take it slow."

Bardon blinked, slightly baffled by the request, but flashed his warm smile anyway.

"Yknow, if you've got nowhere to be…" Bardon began, cautiously, trying to piece together Chalmers' meaning "You could hang out here for a while."

Despite his revelation not 30 seconds ago, Chalmers felt an instinctive twist in his stomach at the suggestion. He forced it down. He needed to try.

"I'd like that" He said, feeling the knot tighten, but then release as he committed.

"Actually, I suppose you haven't had a chance to look at the new game yet…" Bardon raised, thoughtfully.

And so, Chalmers found himself in someone else's room, with someone else's system, sitting on someone else's couch in his underwear with Bardon lying next to him in not even that. Bardon had put the Mk 2 aside for the moment so that Chalmers didn't have to rest on it, and he guided Chalmers through the opening levels.

Chalmers played abysmally, Distracted by the parts of Bardon's anatomy that he wasn't yet familiar with, but was eager to learn.

As morning shifted to afternoon, the two found themselves in a similar state, but in the relaxation Chalmers mind drifted to something incongruous, something that had escaped his attention all this time.

Chalmers reached over to his bag, left abandoned since yesterday and rummaged around. He had thought the two might have shared a celebratory beer together after successfully testing the arm, but naturally plans had rapidly changed. He distinctly remembered clearing out the last two beers from his mini fridge and sure enough when he fished in his bag he pulled out a single bottle of his own favourite cider, and the lone dark bottle.

She didn't.

"Here." Chalmers said to Bardon, handing over the bottle "I have a hunch this might be your speed"

Bardon looked at the bottle and smiled wide in disbelief.

"Oh! Porters are my favourite!" he said, eagerly taking the bottle "How did you-"

She did.

"Like I said. A hunch" Chalmers said, making a mental note that the next time he saw Lin Xiao, he owed her a round for a bet he spectacularly lost.

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