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lvnleah · 2 days ago

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Would love a AWFC!Teen reader fic where she's Leah's younger sister who has always had to deal with being with Leah's sister, so many expectations on her and people being her friends because of Leah (Leah is still very much an amazing sister, loves her baby sister to bits!)

So when she's around ten ish, she makes the choice to not let anyone know Leah is her sister, goes to games but doesn't sit in the family section and sits with friends who she's never told about her family, maybe even uses her mum's maiden name rather than Williamson etc.

Leah is undoubtedly a bit upset about it because she doesn't want to make her little ones passion dampen just by being her (I hc that Leah would very much see R as her baby because that's what she called her when she was born or something) but her and their family all accept it and do what R wants and needs

Cut to R being brought into the senior time, smashing it in the big leagues and getting along well with all of the senior players who are looking at her like 'she seems familiar and I don't know why...' only to find out she's Leah's little sister when she's injured on the pitch or Leah gets injured and she gets all panicked and doesn't want to leave her side

Cue Beth, Katie, Kim etc. Who have all been there for years like 'Holy shit, you've grown up!!!!' Because they probably would've known her when she was younger since they've known Leah that long

Long winded but hopefully you'll like the idea 😂😂

the other williamson | leah williamson.

thank you for this request! :)

this is one of my favourite fics I’ve written!

You had always been proud to be Leah’s sister, how could you not be? She was England’s captain after all and an Arsenal star but sometimes being nine years younger than Leah came with its struggles.

You were only seven when Leah first broke into the senior team and you were so proud of your sisters that for a while it’s all you talked about. Everyone at school knew about your cool big sister Leah and how she was playing for Arsenal.

At that time, women’s football wasn’t massive so of course you got a bit of stick from a few boys in your class but it wasn’t anything you could handle.

“Arsenal women?” One of them scoffed one day in the playground, “that isn’t a proper team!”

You looked the boy straight in the eye. “They are a proper team! My sister’s going to be the best player in the world, just you watch!”

The boy had rolled his eyes and laughed, but you didn’t care. You’d march off, determined to prove him wrong. Well, Leah would prove him wrong, and you’d be there cheering her on every step of the way.

For a while, being Leah’s sister was the coolest thing in the world. You loved going to games, sitting with your family, wearing a little Arsenal jersey with Williamson on the back.

Leah always made time for you, even when her schedule got busy. She’d let you run around on the pitch after matches, ruffle your hair, and call you “my little bubba,” no matter how much you protested.

But as you got older, things changed.

By the time you were fifteen, Leah was a household name. Women’s football had grown massively, and she was basically the face of it after winning the euros. People started treating you differently, not because of who you were, but because of who your sister was.

At school, kids who’d never spoken to you before suddenly wanted to be your friend. “Can you get me an autograph from Leah?” they’d ask, or, “Do you think she’d come to my party?” Teachers started expecting more from you, too, as if being Leah Williamson’s sister meant you had to be perfect at everything.

At the academy, it was worse. You had been lucky enough to sign for the Arsenal academy when you were twelve but after the euros things changed. Every time you stepped onto the pitch, you could feel the weight of their eyes on you.

Coaches would compare you to Leah, even though you were nothing like her as a player. You didn’t even play in the same position, you were a striker not a defender. Teammates would make comments, sometimes kind, sometimes not.

“She’s only on the team because her sister’s Leah Williamson,” someone whispered once after you scored. “She’s not even good enough for the academy.”

It stung more than you cared to admit.

That was when you made your decision. You didn’t want to be known as Leah’s sister anymore. You wanted to be you. That night after training, you came home and broke down in tears to your mum.

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” Amanda asked you as you stormed into the house, flinging your bag down onto the ground.

You sat down with a huff as more tears started to escape, Jacob gave Amanda a look, “Been like this since I picked her, won’t say what’s wrong though.” Your brother sighed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping at your face angrily, though the tears kept falling.

Amanda crouched down in front of you, her voice soft. “You’re clearly not fine, Bubba. Come on, tell me what’s going on.”

You glanced up at her, hesitating. Part of you didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful for the opportunities you had or for Leah being your sister but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I’m sick of it, Mum,” you said, your voice cracking. “Sick of being just Leah’s sister. Everyone at the academy thinks I’m only there because of Leah. They don’t even see me as my own person, just as ‘Leah’s little sister.’ I can’t do it anymore.”

Amanda’s face softened, and she sat beside you before pulling you into a hug. “Oh, Bubba. I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way.”

Jacob sat down next to you on the couch on the other side, frowning. “That’s not fair. You’re talented in your own right. Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous.”

“But I'm always being compared to Leah, J,” you said, though your voice wavered. “No one believes that I'm good enough. They just think I’m riding on Leah’s name.”

Amanda kissed your temple, “You are good enough. And I understand why this is so hard for you. But what do you want to do about it? How can we help?”

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be ‘Williamson’ anymore,” you finally said. “I want to use your maiden name, Mum. I want to be a Baker, not Leah’s sister.”

Amanda blinked, taken aback for a moment, but then she nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll support you. Right, Jacob?”

“Of course,” Jacob said, ruffling your hair. “You’re still you, no matter what name’s on the back of your shirt.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, feeling a small wave of relief.

“What about Leah?” Amanda asked gently. “Have you talked to her about this?”

You froze. You hadn’t thought about how Leah would feel. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s always been so proud of me, but…”

“But you need to do this for yourself,” Amanda finished for you. “You know she’ll understand.”

You nodded.

Later that evening, when Leah got home from training, you sat down and told her everything. You expected her to be upset or worse, disappointed but instead, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Bubba,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I had no idea you were feeling like this. I’m so sorry, I’ve made things harder for you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. “It’s not your fault, Le. I’m so proud of you, but I just need to figure out who I am without being ‘your sister.’”

Leah nodded, her hands on your shoulders. “I get it. And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. Whatever name you use, you’ll always be my little Bubba, okay?”

You laughed through your tears, hugging her tightly.

That night, you went to bed feeling lighter than you had in months. You were ready to step out of Leah’s shadow and into your own light.

Fast forward a few years, you were now eighteen and transitioning into the senior team. Leah was now twenty-seven and somehow everyone had managed to keep it a secret that you were Leah’s sister.

Majority of the girls that you played with had either left the academy or completely stopped playing football. Your shirt name was now Baker and had been for two years now, your coaches were different too and everyone just thought that Leah was your family friend.

“Excited for your first senior training, bubba?” Leah asked you one December morning as she drove you both to the training ground.

You shrugged, a mixture of emotions, “Bit nervous…” you muttered, “Excited but nervous.”

Arsenal’s senior team had a new coach, Renee Slegers, and she had been to watch the u18s a few times. For some reason, she had seen something in you and wanted you to come train with the senior team and potentially play a few games.

“You’ve got this, Bubba. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough. Renee knows what she’s doing, and so do you.” Leah told you.

You nodded, trying to let her words sink in. You knew Leah believed in you, she always had, but the pressure of stepping into the senior team felt overwhelming. It wasn’t just about proving yourself, it was about proving you belonged and you were separate from Leah.

When you arrived at the training ground, Leah walked in beside you, her confidence making her look so at ease. Meanwhile, your stomach churned as the nerves threatened to take over. You adjusted your backpack, trying to focus on your breathing.

“Relax, Bakes,” Leah said with a smirk, using the nickname some of your academy teammates had given you after you changed your last name. “They’re going to love you.”

As you entered the changing room, you were immediately greeted by familiar faces, some you hadn’t seen in years. Beth grinned as soon as she spotted you.

“No way! Little Bubba? Is that you?” Beth’s voice was teasing, her eyes wide in mock disbelief.

You groaned internally. So much for keeping the “Bubba” nickname under wraps. “It’s Baker now,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, but your voice was warm. You couldn’t help but laugh a little as Beth pulled you into a quick hug.

“Leah didn’t tell us you’d grown up so much!” Beth teased. “Last time I saw you, you were, what, fifteen?”

“Beth,” Leah interrupted, shooting her a warning look, though she was clearly trying not to laugh.

More players filtered in, all of them reacting with surprise when they realized who you were. Some of them hadn’t seen you since you were a kid, tagging along to games and family events. For others, it was the first time they’d met you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Katie said, holding up her hands. “So you’re telling me Leah’s been hiding this one from us? You’re playing with us now?”

You felt your cheeks burn as all eyes turned to you, but Leah stepped in, her tone light and teasing. “She wanted to make it on her own. Didn’t want to ride my coattails.”

“Fair play,” Kim said with an approving nod. “Gotta respect that.”

Leah turned to you, her smile soft. “Alright, Bubba, I mean Baker, time to show them why you’re here.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile before heading out to the pitch. As you jogged onto the field with the team, the nervous energy in your chest began to settle. You reminded yourself why you were there. Not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

And as the session began, you could feel yourself falling into the rhythm of the game you loved, the sound of the ball connecting with your boot grounding you. The team was fast, skilled, and ruthless, but you held your own. A well-timed run, a sharp finish past the keeper and it wasn’t long before you felt like you belonged.

At the end of training, Renee pulled you aside, her expression calm but firm. “You did well today. Keep this up, and we’ll see about getting you some minutes in the next match.”

Your heart soared at her words, but you kept your face neutral, nodding. “Thank you, Coach.”

Leah was waiting for you by the car when you finally made it out of the locker room. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling.

“Well?” she asked as you climbed in.

You smiled, the weight on your shoulders feeling just a little lighter. “I think I did okay.”

Leah grinned, her pride shining through. “I told you, Bubba. You’ve got this.”

The night of your debut arrived quicker than you expected. Arsenal was playing a league game at Meadow Park against Crystal Palace, and the squad list had you on the bench. You tried to focus during the pre-match warm-ups, but your nerves were all over the place. Leah, as always, noticed.

“Stop overthinking,” she whispered as the two of you jogged back to the dugout after the warm-up. “Just play your game. If you get on, don’t try to do too much. Be you.”

You nodded, though the butterflies in your stomach didn’t ease. The match started, and you watched intently from the bench, studying the pace of the game and trying to picture where you’d fit in.

By halftime, Arsenal was up 1–0, the goal coming from Leah. Renee made a couple of changes early in the second half, but your name wasn’t called. You were beginning to think your debut would have to wait until another day when, in the 70th minute Renee called you.

“Baker, you’re on,” Renee said, her voice firm but encouraging. “Stay calm, yeah? Leah’s out there with you. We’re doing okay, 3-0, so just stay calm, yeah? Try your hardest.”

You nodded, barely able to believe this was actually happening. Leah was standing by the touchline, waiting for you, her hand resting casually on her hip. When you reached her, she nudged you with her elbow, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Ready for this, Bubba?”

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed, but you couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped.

The referee blew the whistle, and you stepped onto the pitch, replacing Beth up top. Leah gave you a quick pat on the back as you ran to your position. “You’ve got this.”

The first few minutes were a blur. The pace of the game was faster than anything you’d experienced before, but you adjusted, remembering Leah’s advice: play your game.

Then, in the 80th minute, the ball came to you. Leah had intercepted a pass in and played a perfect through ball into your path. You took a touch, your heart pounding as you found yourself one-on-one with the keeper.

You steadied yourself, then slotted the ball into the bottom corner with your left foot. For a moment, everything went silent, and then the roar of the fans hit you all at once.

You’d scored on your debut.

Leah was the first to reach you, lifting you off your feet in a tight hug. “That’s my sister!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

The rest of the team swarmed you, congratulating you with slaps on the back and ruffling your hair. The chant of your name began to ripple through the crowd, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged, not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

When the final whistle blew, Arsenal had secured a 5–0 victory. Leah pulled you into another hug as you both walked off the pitch.

“Told you you’d smash it,” she said, her grin wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks, Le.”

That night, as you sat with Leah in the kitchen at home, replaying the match in your head, she looked at you and said softly, “You’re going to have a great career, Bubba. I’m proud of you, you know that?”

For the first time, you didn’t mind the nickname. “Thanks, Le. Means a lot.”

#lvnleah #leah williamson x reader #awfc x teen reader #woso x reader

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hellhunde · 1 day ago

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This was an illustration requested on my patreon for $5! This was the illustration for December!

homunculushound on Patreon requested "Something About Condor and Crane". There's not a lot I can show without dipping into spoiler territory, so I decided to just go with their meeting!

Instead of a long winded explanation under the cut this time, I wrote a little scene to go with it! My prose isn't the best, but I thought that would likely be more fun than just hearing me talk about it! I'd honestly love to write more little scenes for these illustrations, but we'll see!

--------

Crane was still lost on what to do without her mother. The flock had only lost Goose a couple of days ago to wounds caused by that supposed King. Watching the life drain from her mother’s eyes, hearing her final words rasp out of her mouth—”Keep the colony safe”—it all weighed heavy in Crane’s mind. Crane had been trained and groomed to take Goose’s place since she was a kitten. But now that the time was finally here….

Crane wasn't a fighter. Not many in the Flock really were. While Goose had made the judgement to allow refugees fleeing the King’s conquest to join the Flock’s ranks, many were not battle hardened either. The majority were widowed mothers and fathers with kittens to raise, the elderly, and the already injured. Not much to be able to honor her mother’s dying wish.

The Flock were sitting ducks if she couldn't get her colony in a place to actually defend themselves. She wasn't going to roll over and let that barbarian wipe out Goose's Flock—Crane’s flock—for his own gain.

“Mother Crane?” Crane’s ear twitched at being called leader’s title. She still was not used to being called it. It was only the original Flock members that used the Mother honorific anyway. She sensed it often made the refugees too uncomfortable. She tilted her head around to see Blackbird, her medic.

“Yes?” Crane answered.

“Uh,” Blackbird stammered out. “That cat is awake.”

Crane's ears perked. After her mother's passing, she’d taken a walk to clear her head. How convenient then had she instead found the broken body of a muscular cat in a ditch. She thought he had been a corpse, until she saw his body twitch and his eyes train on her. She sent for the medics to treat him only as insurance. She hadn't expected him to actually live.

“Oh, good.” Crane wrapped her hairless tail around her paws. “What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Blackbird said. “Nothing at all. He just…stares. I think he might be incompetent.”

“Incompetent or not, he must be a strong soul to survive with those terrible wounds,” she said. “And the Flock needs more of those. Take me to him, maybe I can get him to talk.”

Blackbird scoffed. “Don't see what you could do that we haven't already tried.

“You should never doubt the feminine wiles, Blackbird.”

---

Blackbird was right about one thing. This cat sure did like to stare.

His head sat flat with the floor, paws on either side sheltering his muzzle. Without all the blood coating his body, Crane could more easily see the other scars that littered his huge body. This wasn’t his first tussle clearly. Crane winced as she saw the red bandages on the underside of his belly and neck.

She spared a glance at Blackbird before she walked towards him. His large amber eyes stayed glued on her. In the morning light they showed almost red.

“Hello, there,” Crane said soothingly, her mother had taught her. He blinked. “I’m Crane and this is the Flock’s base. Or at least a makeshift base. Our old home got ransacked and destroyed by the King’s army.”

The tom blinked again. Crane shot a look over her shoulder at Blackbird. He shrugged.

“What's your name?” She tried instead, turning back to the tom.

Still no response. In fact, no indication he had understood her at all. Just those same large red eyes looking at her. They reminded Crane of a kitten’s: innocent, curious, scared. What a ridiculous thought. This tom must’ve been several months her senior.

“See, Mother Crane?” Blackbird called from the entrance. “Incompetent. Can’t understand a word you say to him. We might as well throw him with kittens for all the good he would do in a fighting force.”

Crane sighed. She was about to open her mouth to sadly agree when the tom lifted his head.

“...mother?” He said, in a raspy voice. His eyes were still blown out wide and staring at her.

“He can talk—” Blackbird said, trotting inside to stand beside Crane. “Well, why didn’t you speak up before?”

At Blackbird’s scolding, the tom put his head down again. Crane smiled for a moment, thinking it looked like a turtle retreating into its shell with all the neck fluff he had.

Blackbird gave an aggravated huff. Crame ran her tail down his back.

“Let me speak with him alone,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me. I’ll report anything he says back to you, okay?”

Blackbird hesitated. He eyed the tom once more before nodding. He leaped back out through the entrance, leaving Crane alone with the strange cat. Crane watched his eyes follow Blackbird out of the den, unblinking.

“Now,” she said, sitting down in front of him and getting comfortable. “how about you tell me your name?”

He took several moments to answer. Crane was beginning to worry he had gone mute again when his mouth opened.

“Tiny,” he said. Crane couldn't help but huff a laugh. She was glad to see whoever his mother was clearly had a sense of humor. Tiny’s ears perked at the sound of it.

“Well, Tiny,” Crane said, laughter still in her voice. “This is my colony, The Flock. We’re the ones who saved you. Can I ask what happened?”

“Got ambushed.” Crane watched Tiny’s claws sheath and unsheath.

“Now why would they do that?”

“I killed some of them.” The frankness at which he said the words sent a shiver through Crane. That had not been what she expected to come out of Tiny’s mouth. He pouted. “It's not fair to get ganged up on though. It’s mean!”

Something is seriously wrong with this cat, Crane thought. She considered for a moment speaking with Blackbird and maybe killing Tiny themselves. Something painless. That's what Goose would've done. With so many mothers and kittens joining the colony, he might be more of a liability than anything. Though, Goose wouldn't have dragged a shambled almost-corpse back to their base during this desperate time in the first place.

But something kept her from making that call. For one, Blackbird and the other medics had used so many resources on helping this cat, it would be a waste to just kill him now. And for two… the way he looked at her. While before he had been staring at her non-stop, now he seemed to find anywhere else but her face much more interesting. He spared shy glances at her, seeming to gauge her reaction.

She’d done the same with Goose several times. Whenever she’d come back with prey after a long day for them to share. Whenever she made an order around the colony that her mother had taught her. Whenever she’d brought Scout back to her mother, claiming him as her mate.

Approval.

But Goose wasn't around anymore. Crane didn't need to get approval from anyone.

She fixed Tiny with a warm smile, a purr escaping her throat. “That isn't fair. We’re in that same situation now.”

“Really?” Tiny said, genuinely surprised.

“Yes,” Crane continued. “See, the King’s Army is bullying us small colony cats, it's just not fair. We need as many cats in our corner to hold them back. You seem like a strong fighter, you can join us if you’d like.”

“I can?” Tiny said excitedly. He pushed himself up, before wincing at the pain of his injuries. “I’ve never been in a colony before!”

“Yup. All you have to do is change your name to a bird. That's all.”

Tiny thought for a moment, his lips pursed like an overactive kitten being asked some history fact. While his demeanor was definitely odd, Crane was becoming more charmed by it as the moments passed. Tiny was handsome. His build was much different than Scout’s, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. She felt the burning shame of what her mother would think, but Goose didn’t have a say over her life anymore. Lost it the moment life had faded from her eyes.

“That cat called you mother,” Tiny said, pointing with his muzzle towards the entrance. “A mother is the one that names kittens, so you should name me!”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began before cutting herself off. She didn't think it was worth it to explain to this cat that ‘mother’ was just the Flock leader’s honorific. She wasn't sure he would be fully able to understand it anyway. “...Whatever, sure. I’ll name you. Hmmm, how about Condor? We found you in a bloody heap of yourself afterall.”

At that Tiny—Condor—finally cracked a smile, all teeth. Crane wasn't scared by the sight of them.

“I love it!” Condor said.

#art tag #original #s: waves always crash #c: crane #c: condor

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readychilledwine · 2 days ago

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Call My Name

Nightmare Prompt Drabble -“How long have you been having nightmares like this?”

Summary - War leaves a last mark on all who see it.

Warnings - Mentions of loss and death, mentions of war, reader is spiraling in secret.

A/N - My heart is so sad because I got bumped while drafting this and accidentally deleted the anon 🥺

So, if this is familiar to you and you sent me this, losing someone you lose to cancer is one of the hardest things to live through. I am so sorry, Anon. I wanted this to be perfect and warm. I wanted it to be filled with comfort. I held onto it for a while because I was worried about it not filling that need, but as someone who can sympathize with that loss, it hits where I think it needs to in a very short and sweet way.

🦊Lucien Masterlist🦊Master Masterlist🦊

The feel and scent of blood was still so real as you calmed yourself and strong hands helped you sit up. It felt as if a weight was on your chest, closing in and seizing the very breath from your lungs.

“You're alright,” a voice deep with sleep stated. “Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.” Lucien sat in front of you, his normally perfect hair a mess, his pajama pants wrinkled from moving as he slept.

“Lu?”

“You were screaming,” even in his sleepy state, his voice was like a silk that soothed your fears. “I could hear you from my room. I think we could all hear you, actually.”

Shame filled you. You normally could contain your nightmares to your own space, warding and shielding out the world from the visions that haunted your mind. “I apologize. I try to keep it in here,” you motioned to your room. “Rhysand taught me to shield, and it appears they failed me tonight.”

He shook his head. “Never apologize to me for being afraid. You are young and have already lived through so much. You have seen far too many things,” his voice was soft with sympathy as he settled down in your bed, pulling you to lay beside him. “How long have you been having nightmares like this?”

That sentence, one no one else had bothered to ask, opened the floodgates. “Since the war. Since-” You could finish, couldn't allow your mind to slip into that haunted place.

“I understand,” he stopped you as if he did not want you to bear that pain. Soft hands moved to your face, stroking your cheek bones. “I know that feeling. That piece of you leaving this world yet lingering in your nightmares and dreams. It makes you feel trapped. Like you can't move on no matter how desperately you try, and the hardest thing is no one has real advice.” He made sure his eyes found yours, the soft moon highlighting his own jawline and cheeks. “Other fae will tell you time heals all wounds, but I've learned that isn't always true.”

“Wounds like this fester, my spark. They infect and slowly kill. They rob you of your joy, your safety and security, your light,” his voice broke. “I cannot stand the idea of you losing your light. Not so young. Not so fresh to the magic of our world."

He waited for you to breathe before he spoke again, "I know it is hard, but you need to talk to someone. Me, Rhysand, Nesta. Any of us. We may not be able to replace them, but we can help you as you reshape your world around this loss. We can help you find another kindling to keep your flame alive."

You could only give a whimper as tears began to fall freely. You had not felt so seen, so safe, in months. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his warmth and scent. “You don't have to decide now, but we will speak again in the morning. Sleep, my dear, I'll keep you safe tonight.”

#elizabeths.updates #send asks #send anons #acotar #acotar x reader #lucien x reader #lucien x you #lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra x you #lucien vanserra x y/n #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra acotar

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nashusglasses · 3 days ago

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*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

i finished s1 of apothecary diaries recently and for some reason high ranking military official!zayne x courtesan!mc will not leave my head!!! (>/////< " ) (cw: extreme yearning!!!!!!!! intimate kisses!!! this may or may not have been inspired by absolute zeal huehuehue)

he visits you once every two weeks. the attending staff like to tease you when he arrives (7pm sharp – no later, no earlier) by saying the prince has come to steal you away, and all you can do is roll your eyes. yes, he's devastatingly handsome and has some money to his name, but you can't imagine him buying you out of here anytime soon. you don't mind the job, anyway – you're paid to play chess, serve tea and the occasional glass of wine, stealing a kiss or two when they're drunk enough – and you refuse to imagine leaving your sisters behind.

zayne is different, though. he only requests tea (jasmine white, every time), requests exactly three games of chess, and always asks you to fill the silence with stories of the previous two weeks he'd missed.

one night, it changes.

zayne is fifteen minutes late.

you don't care for the schedule, but it's a change of pace you didn't know you'd kept. when he does finally come to your room, he is flushed straight down his neck, his uniform unkempt like he'd been clawing at the fabric.

when he sees the concern on your face, he has the decency to look sheepish. "i apologize," he breathes, then gulps. "i – the barracks had an impromptu party and i–"

"please," you interrupt. in the low light of oil-licked lamps, he calms. "you have no need to explain yourself. would you like to sit down?"

he gulps again. blinks stupidly for a quiet few seconds. a part of you wants to warn him the manager will probably charge him for the full two hours regardless of any excuses, but you don't think he can process anything in what seems to be an incredibly muddled brain.

you gently grab his arm, and he looks hypnotized.

"come. i'll make you tea," you say.

the next five minutes of crushing leaves and boiling water is hilariously silent. zayne's posture is sagged where he sits in front of the chess board, he's still blinking stupidly, and you already know the reason why. you smelled it the second you came within one metre of him.

"so did they force a cup of sake down your throat?" you tease, readying a small porcelain plate for the hot teacup on a serving tray. "or was this your own doing?"

he watches your careful steps toward him. keeps his hazy eyes on your form when you lean over to place the tea in front of him, and he's a second too late to ignore your tits. (you wear this low-hanging hanfu for a reason – and if your words aren't getting to him, he may as well use his sight to communicate. your game sense isn't the only thing that's keeping you in the highest ranks of courtesans.)

zayne licks his lips, then remembers himself. he immediately turns his attention on a high-point of the ceiling. you watch his ears turn sun-red in record time. "the former," he answers.

"i figured as much. let me put this tray away then we can get started. please don't burn your tongue."

he's already finished his cup when you come back to seat yourself in front of him.

"are you sure you're of the right mind?" you reassure him. "i wouldn't want you to waste your money on trivial conversation."

zayne almost looks offended. "no conversation with you is trivial."

oh. now you're burning up. "i understand. shall we play?"

he hardly sobers after your first game. he loses so spectacularly you'd thought he was teasing you when he let you take his bishop way too early in the game, but you realize he's just that drunk. you let up in the second match when you start to see him swaying in his spot.

"maybe we should stop for the night," you suggest. zayne ignores you, eyebrows furrowed with intent to continue, dangling a pawn over a column you know he's contemplating with zero strategy.

you stop him before he drops it down with a warm palm on his knuckles. he freezes. "i insist."

zayne looks at you, teary-eyed. you're almost tempted to smother him in your chest and croon. so you stand up, beckoning him over to your bed where he can relax.

he keeps a respectable distance from you at the edge of the mattress. but in the warmth of your pink blankets, all his harsh lines soften. underneath his uniform, you know he's made of hard muscle. trained strength. he could probably lift you with one finger.

he makes a strangled sound when you cup his face, tracing the thin skin of his cheek.

"you're safe here," you whisper. truthfully, you have no idea how to comfort him. all you can offer is another cup of tea, and you scold yourself for being such a terrible host.

zayne closes his eyes, then leans into your touch.

you stay still. he kisses your palm. you squeak.

"oh," you say.

zayne offers no explanation, waiting for you to retreat. inevitably, you are star-struck.

with his eyes still closed, he grabs hold of your arm, trailing a light kiss on your wrist, the inside of your elbow. the middle of your bicep. your shoulder.

he stops, and says: "may i please?"

the neurons in your brain are firing at sonic speed. you tingle where his lips rained. and because you are the most indulgent person in the world with a beautiful man in your bed, you nod. "you may."

he aims for your jaw but misses terribly. his kiss is wet on your chin, and you can't help but laugh. he smiles, hovering his mouth over yours. letting you take the lead.

you make him swallow your joy.

he is a pliant lover, tasting you only when you tongue at him first. he is so, so gentle. when you break for air, he pants.

"you have all of me," he whispers.

he yelps when you tackle him onto his back.

(later that night, your manager asks you how the hell you doubled your rate for your service. you shrug, wiping your bottom lip, savouring what you can.)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #lads x you #lads x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #lnds #lnds zayne #nashusglasses fic

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mj-iza-writer · 2 days ago

Text

Whumpee snuck quick glances at the papers that had been left on the coffee table. They were certain that it was about them, but their new caregiver wrote in a strange handwriting.

Caretaker glanced out at them. They grinned as they watched Whumpee strain their neck... trying to see the pages.

"Мог�� ли я помочь?", Caretaker chuckled. (Can I help?)

Whumpee jumped back onto the floor.

"Sorry, sorry", Whumpee shook as they scooted farther away from the table.

"It's alright", Caretaker smiled as they helped Whumpee sit up, "what were you up to? Do you need help?"

Whumpee looked down with embarrassment, "I was being nosey... and I shouldn't be poking my nose in your work. I'm sorry."

Caretaker nodded, "Well, it is about you. You don't have to worry, I'm not upset. You were concentrating really hard. Were you able to read any of it?"

"M-my name", Whumpee admitted, "no offense, but your writing is hard to make out."

"Well, it's written in Russian, so I would hope it would be difficult", Caretaker chuckled as they picked up the notes.

"Rus... Russian?", Whumpee looked at them questioningly.

"Da", Caretaker nodded as they shuffled the papers, "I file my patient notes in two different ways. All of these notes will be stored in the secure program on my computer. I will transfer these into English then. My paper chart is kept in Russian as many people can not read it. That keeps my patient's information safe in case there was a break-in or something happened with the charts. When I finish with my patient, these papers will be shredded."

Whumpee glanced at the chart again.

"You can look at them if you like. I'm just about to start dinner", Caretaker handed the papers to Whumpee, "I hope you like кура с гречой."

"Uhm", Whumpee stared dumbfoundedly.

"It's chicken with buckwheat", Caretaker turned.

"Ku.... r..a... sss", Whumpee tried, but paused.

Caretaker slowly pronounced, "kura s grechoy", while Whumpee tried to follow along.

"Very good... Молодец (well done)", Caretaker cheered, "spoken like a true Russian."

Whumpee smiled excitedly, "really... I did it right?"

Caretaker nodded joyfully, "you did. Now, would you like to come help me cook, or do you want to stare at my writing for a while?"

Whumpee looked down at the pages, "it looks cool. I wish I could understand more of it though. I never really knew this was what Russian looked like."

Caretaker knelt down and took a page gently. They carefully read over the page in English to tell Whumpee what the lines said.

"Now this is the Russian", Caretaker read over the lines again.

Whumpee cocked their head to the side as Caretaker read to them.

Caretaker smiled when they looked up.

"Can I learn more?", Whumpee whispered, "please."

"Yes, you can", Caretaker nodded, "we can practice while you stay with me. How does that sound?"

"Good", Whumpee looked at them excitedly.

"Умелый (capable, good)", Caretaker finally stood, "I believe you are capable of learning the language, at least as much as you want to. I know it can be difficult, but it's possible. It's a great part of life to share in other's cultures. It can be a lot of fun. Would you like to learn how to cook something."

Whumpee nodded quickly.

"Alright, come on", Caretaker offered a hand to help Whumpee up.

Whumpee set the papers down and took Caretaker's hand.

"Ku...ra...", Whumpee attempted, "sss... uh... gre?"

"You'll get it", Caretaker promised, "it just takes time."

I just want to attempt something a little different and see if I could use a different language in my writing. I'm not Russian, but I think the language and writing are very cool. I also have a very good friend on here who is very very patiently helping me. This may be a sneak glimpse into a plan I have for SP Specail Containment as well. I am very excited for my next parts to hopefully come back soon. - Mj

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump scenario #this is me trying #writing new things #whump #whumper #recovery whump #russian caretaker #russian character #whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #caretaking #oc #for Thing

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felassan · 2 days ago

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Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 6. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Two, Post Three, Post Four, Post Five]

User: "after [Emmrich and Rook's] argument they don’t really bring it up again, is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" // Sylvia Feketekuty: ""is it pretty much the case that Rook being lost in the fade made them both realise what was important so that conversation wasn’t really needed? or did they have it off-screen?" I think either one is valid. There's some time skips, so I figured if you imagined your Rook and Emmrich talking about the argument, it could've happened while, say, they're traveling to the Necropolis. Flow-wise it seemed best to rely on that passage of time to smooth that part over, and get to the point where we enter the talk by the coffin. Or perhaps they're so in-sync that, like you said, Rook and Emmrich feel they can just move on. (If you bring Emmrich to Isle of the Gods he's apologetic there, and Rook picks up on it, so maybe that was enough short as it was.) (To my mind it's not a huge thing to declare one way or another, but I'd prefer this one to be player's choice)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "had a question about emmrich's last name. i know there is a banter with harding that confirms it is a commoner name, but i was interested in what his surname breaks down into meaning? I assumed volk=folk perhaps, but is there any other meaning/significance? thank you!" // Sylvia: "You pretty much have it right with "volk" = people. I liked the idea that Volkarin would sound fancy to someone speaking English (well Harding's not speaking English per se, but you know), but have its roots in something that plain. So yeah basically I got a kick out of the thought that in Nevarra, Emmrich's last name is the equivalent of Smith, or Jones, or Wilson. (The "arin" part is just because I thought together it paired well with "volk")" [source, two]

User: "With Hezenkoss, as a romanced rook, it feels like she's a bit jealous and was stuck in a one sided crush with her "friend" Was this intended? Or was she just competitive and annoyed at his popularity with everyone?" // Sylvia: "I always pictured Hezenkoss as annoyed that as they grew up, Emmrich become popular and effortlessly well-liked, while she, with her sheer brilliance, was clearly resented by jealous fools. Fools!!! (I pictured Johanna needling Emmrich over his romance mostly her going 'now there's some nice sore-spots I can press' because she has correctly anticipated his insecurities.) "become popular" Arg I meant to write BECAME. Cripes." [source, two, three] // Sylvia: "TBC I also don't want to invalidate any head-canons! My general rule is that if it's not stated outright in game, it's up for interpretation, regardless of my thoughts. La mort de l'auteur, etc." [source]

User: "I recently made an appreciation post on reddit how relatable he is for me and how it helped me with my anxiety. There were also other users agreeing and sharing their love for the character." // Sylvia: "I read your post and the others, and I'm glad meeting Emmrich touched people like that. His story was a team effort, and everyone making him knew we needed to hit this theme right. (His actor Nick Boraine deserves especial praise for nailing those lines.) I have indeed experienced what Emmrich does, and from the thread and other fan interactions, it's not an uncommon thing. If I can offer something I read a long time ago: you have the right to think about death without being in a state of absolute fear. I don't know why, but that thought helped me focus when things were rough. Maybe because it was correct: we DO have that right. Even if life and our own psyches conspire against us, it's ours." [source, two, three] // User: "I felt seen in a way I never have when Emmrich said he is terrified of dying. I've had panic attacks about it since I was old enough to understand what death is. Thank you for making so many feel seen and helping people realize its not just *them.*" // Sylvia: "I'm really glad it helped, because the conclusion I've come to is this is more common than we think, it's just not something people talk about." [source]

Sylvia: "(Full credit to the great feedback I got from the other writers and editors early on [re: Emmrich], he wouldn't be as good without them.)" [source] // Sylvia: "All credit to the team, especially the writers and editors who gave feedback that made him so much better during those early days and beyond." [source]

Sylvia: ""who came up with Davrin's "hand-to-bone combat" line?? 🤣" Haha that was Davrin's writer, John Dombrow! I'll let him know you (and other people) got a chuckle out of it!" [source]

User, on Manfred: ""I'm so curious -what about the almonds caught his fancy, and why so many?" Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" // Sylvia: "Some things are a mystery even to me when it comes to Manfred. (Whatever his reason, I thought as a vegetarian Emmrich would probably have a lot of nuts handy which was the germ of the idea.)" [source]

User: "When Rook romances Emmrich, through banter we can see that Emmrich is surprised that the other companions know about the relationship, and also h says to Johanna that it's a private matter. Is it because he wants to keep things private only, is it because he is worried that Rook may not be the one true love, or is he worried about the age gap, or all these reasons and/or others?" // Sylvia: "In this particular case, I think Emmrich just wanted to be discrete because he didn't want to assume it was a serious thing, and for people to think HE thought it was serious. (Though his line to Hezenkoss is snappish specifically because he knows she's needling him, haha.)" [source]

Sylvia: Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens "mean a lot to me, being my first published stories in a book.)" [source]

User: "Are there any other areas of Thedas that you think young Altus mages would tour? Poor Dorian looked like a fish out of water in Ferelden." // Sylvia: "Completely talking off the cuff here, but Orlais and Antiva, certainly, and some of the "better" Free Marcher states seem like good candidates. (Poor Ferelden! Always forgotten by the north.)" [source]

User: "I know you said previously that emmrich doesn't really vibe with cats or dogs But like if rook already has a dog or something (that someone is like pet sitting for them while they're kicked out of their faction and traveling with varric) would that be a deal breaker" // Sylvia: "Nah that'd be fine, they're not his favorites but he'll put up with them for Rook." [source]

Sylvia: "I have indeed seen Cushing's version of Hound of the Baskervilles, for some reason that part where he whirls around and throws the knife is embedded into my brain. What a great Holmes he made." [source]

User: "1. Where did Emmrich live in Nevarar when he was a child? 2. When do you think his birthday is? 👀 3. How did Johanna know him?" // Sylvia: "1. He lived inside the bounds of Nevarra City itself. He's always been a city boy. 2. For some reason, he feels like a January/February birthday to me. 3. They met as young students in the Mourn Watch." [source]

User: "if Emmrich didn't think it was serious when he'd always wanted one true love -apparently-, why did he embark on this relationship, especially with so much passion?" // Sylvia: "I think he thought it wouldn't be so serious at first, but then things progressed. And people want conflicting things, sometimes." [source]

User: "I really love Strife being a love interest for Emmrich! What lead to him as the choice if he isn't romanced?" // Sylvia: "The writing team discussed who felt right, and I liked that Strife was from one of the factions because it gives the feeling of your followers interacting with the wider world. And I felt Strife would provide a nice contrast with the romance with Rook. Unlike them, he's more established in his place in the world, like Emmrich is. Just felt like a different dynamic." [source, two] // User: "Strife balances Emmrich well since they are both interested in study but have gone about it differently." // Sylvia: "Agreed! (I wish I had thought to put it like that.)" [source]

User: "how are pets and animals honoured in the Necropolis and by the Mourn Watchers? The same as any other being?" // Sylvia: "Beloved animals are absolutely permitted to be buried with families. Mild Necropolis exploration spoiler: inside the passage you unlock after finding all the wisps in the belfry area, there's actually some caskets for faithful hounds interred in the crypt." [source]

User: "My question is do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" // Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "how long has Manfred been under Emmrich's care?" // Sylvia: "That's a good question, yet another thing I left a little vague in case I needed to define it concretely in the future. And since I've left, the answer is very much in my head only. But I feel it's likely to have at least been a decade. (Hezenkoss acts like she knows about Manfred, I figure she could've met him during an earlier clash. But I don't think Manfred was around when she and Emmrich were young students.)" [source, two]

User: "if Emmrich had tattoos, on what theme would they be?" // Sylvia: "Something anatomical/surgical, patterned on the MW's mystic theories of the body and death, feels appropriate to me." [source]

Sylvia: "BioWare put out an infographic about choices a few weeks ago, and "lich" was winning out. 1) When Emmrich says how he feels will change did he just mean his senses or is it on an emotional level?" He's definitely talking about his senses in that scene. On an emotional level: unknown. (I imagine it WOULD change someone because it's such a big shift, but exactly what does it do, mystically, if anything, is something I'd like to leave alone since I didn't really cover that in the game, and it feels like it'd been bigger consideration if that makes sense.) I kind of want how the lich-romance proceeds to live in players' imaginations, purely so people can tailor it to their own story. I'm afraid any writer-declaration would narrow the possibilities instead of expanding them, if that makes sense." [source, two, three, four]

Sylvia: ""I've been waiting for Nevarra for years and it was everything i could have dreamed of and MORE!" I'm very glad to hear it. The rest of the Necropolis team and I were very excited to finally get to portray even a small portion of the ancient and hallowed graves of Nevarra." [source]

User: "If I remember correctly, we only really see Emmrich use necromantic magic in-game. Are there other types of magic (elemental, healing/spirit, etc) that you think he would gravitate toward?" // Sylvia: "Hrm. He does have a bit of healing magic, mechanically in combat. It coudl work, but somehow I don't think Emmrich would ever be a high-level healer. He could maybe get the basics but it's not his great gift. Something about the gravic magic of the force mage specialty feels appropriate though." [source]

Sylvia: "I'm so glad you liked meeting and getting to know our necromancer. (Huge props to our cinematic and audio team on that garden scene, it was incredible seeing it come in finished for the first time.)" [source]

Allegra Clark: "I just wanted to say that I miss you so much and I’m so excited for whatever comes next in your career. Josephine means so much to me and I’ve fallen utterly in love with Emmrich (how dare you, he’s perfect). Thank you for trusting me with your child over a decade ago ❤️" [source] // Sylvia: "Allegra! Thank you so much! I'm so excited you've been digging our gentleman necromancer. I hope you've been seeing people ping me about their love of Josephine. I heard someone very good did her voice.. Thank YOU for embodying her so quickly and completely!" [source, two]

User: "how was Emmrich doing when Rook was trapped in the Fade?" // Sylvia: "Probably very poorly! Poor man would've been incredibly anxious and working all hours towards a solution." [source]

User: "So i asked you before what music emmrich does like but um is there any music he hates I feel like he'd die if someone took him to a death metal concert XD" // Sylvia: "I think that's a good one to pick, lol. "It's all just noise!"" [source]

User: "Did Emmrich teach (or at least attempt to teach) Manfred how to read?" // Sylvia: "I think that was beyond his skillset, beforehand; Manfred could be taught to recognize objects, but the abstraction of reading was one step too much at that point." [source]

User: "Do Mourn Watchers undergo a Harrowing?" // Sylvia: "They do! You may've missed it but there's a MWer in the Necropolis who mentions MW Harrowings if you go by them. (The MW has had to suspend theirs because chaos in the Fade.) But that's a temporary suspension, probably resolved by the time the credits roll. In general: I figure that if you're a mage who underwent a harrowing in some other circle, that stands, but that the MW would also perform harrowings for students they took in early. Also: not a silly question! It doesn't really come up with the MW except that one ambient line, and it's very easy to miss." [source, two, three]

User: "Doing a 3rd MW playthrough after not playing one for a couple of months feels like coming home again" // Sylvia: "That's some commitment to the dead! The Mourn Watch approve." [source]

User: "if two mourn watchers were to share a piece of grave dowry between them, that's grounds for a serious relationship?" // Sylvia: "You mean like each one having the half of a necklace, or having the same bit of gold made into matching rings? Or swapping jewelry? Either way, what a nice idea. It could be!" [source]

Sylvia: "Emmrichwas very much the work of the team, including some very good feedback early on from the other writers and editors." [source]

Sylvia: "The team and I were also super excited to get to explore the Necropolis. It was an honour to open up the tombs to everyone." [source]

User: "Emmerich's particular respect for trans characters was extremely enticing to me." // Sylvia: "Thanks, I'm glad he resonated. (Some trans colleagues kindly spent the time to give me some feedback on the wording of the lines, which I think made them way better.)" [source]

User: "Emmrich is so amazing" // Sylvia: "Thank you again, that is incredible to hear. (And I want to mention, only possible with the team; they helped improve the story every step.)" [source]

Sylvia: Tevinter Nights "was a fun collection to work on" [source]

User: "Does lich Emmrich feel anything when Rook kisses him or touches him?" // Sylvia: "yeah, I don't think he's "numb" so to speak, he can sense a touch (with his new powers from beyond the graaaaaave 🪦💀🌹)" [source]

User: "about Emmrich so i know he's into flowers and botany but is he into plant meanings and symbolism" // Sylvia: "I think he is - Emmrich mentions some flowers that are "famed in verse and song", I think he'd enjoy reading up on the cultural importance and symbolism layered on to them." [source]

User: "Obv the game mechanics require Rook to make the choice but would a romanced Emmrich choose to become a Lich if the choice was in his hands? Would he abandon his dream for love?" // Sylvia: "I must refuse to answer on the grounds that it's too melancholy to contemplate. ;_;" [source]

User: "On the dinner date in the Necropolis I loved how Emmrich felt philosophical, it was so relatable, especially when he talked about the connection to something finer than we are. It was magical!" // Sylvia: "I'm really pleased that last part of the dinner date, resonated with you, I was trying really hard to get a certain feeling across." [source]

User: "What month do you think Emmrich was born in? I really wanna know what my guy's zodiac sign is" // Sylvia: "I don't know anything about zodiac stuff but weirdly, I do have a range, for some reason I always thought it'd be January or February." [source]

User: "1. How does Emmrich feel about children, both in general and possibly having them? 2. Would Emmrich be into gift-giving?" // Sylvia: "1. In general, he likes kids okay, and tries to be kind, but his students are mostly older so he doesn't really chat with many. Regarding having them, if circumstances aligned so that was the case, I think he'd be excited if maybe a little overwhelmed by the thought. 2. I think so! Not overbearing about it, but he would like to show some tokens of affection at appropriate times. (There's no way he's not delighted to get gifts.)" [source, two]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: tevinter nights #strife #lgbtq #“Please archive away” :D

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redisthenewblue · 3 days ago

Text

TINKER-Twisted Wonderland x Tinkerbell!Yuu/Fem!Reader Part 5 Part 4

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ "Red... Red... BAM! Whoa! It turned blue?!?" Deuce took a step back, totally shocked. How did he mess that up so badly?!

"Change, you awful color! Change! AHA! BWAH! The rose is on fire!" Grim was frantically trying to put out the flames on the bush.

[Name] just sighed as she watched the boys struggle with painting the roses. She pushed them aside and flicked her magic pen at the bush, instantly changing all the roses' colors.

"See how easy that was? I’m just way too good at this!" [Name] tossed her hair back with a smirk, reveling in her own talent.

The boys exchanged glances before looking back at her.

"What? Why are you staring like that?" [Name] raised an eyebrow, confused.

"[Name]... the roses are... um... pink," Deuce stammered, clearly nervous about how she would react. Ace, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

"Don't tell me you're color blind?!" Ace teased the fairy.

"Wow. You’re even worse at this than I thought," Cater scratched his head, trying to figure out what to do with the first-years.

"Hey, maybe you should just leave the roses white! They look perfectly pretty to me," Ace suggested, but Cater wasn't having it.

"It’s all about tradition. You can’t have an unbirthday party without the roses being red. And you can’t play croquet without seven-colored flamingos as mallets and a hedgehog for a ball. Oh, and don't forget, the roses have to be white when the garden flowers have their spring concert. That's non-negotiable!" As Cater rambled, [Name] was left speechless. What kind of animal cruelty were these guys into?!

"What did those animals ever do to you?!" [Name] exclaimed, horrified by how the dorm treated them.

"All your rules are totally insane!"

"They say the Queen of Hearts made these rules herself—she was one of the Great Seven, you know. And Riddle is really into tradition, probably more than any previous housewarden. I’ll admit, he’s a bit... much," Ace huffed, clearly annoyed. 'A bit' was a serious understatement.

"Yeah, no kidding. I don’t have time for this nonsense. Is Riddle around? I need to talk to him," Ace said, cutting straight to the chase.

"Yeah, probably. But are you sure that’s a good idea? Did you even bring an apology tart to replace the one you ate?" Cater interrogated Ace.

"Uh, no...? I came here first thing in the morning!" Ace clarified defensively.

"Ah ah ah... That could be a problem. Have you forgotten rule 53? 'Stolen items must be replaced.' If you’re not in compliance, I can’t let you in," Cater said, sticking out his hand to usher Ace out.

"Are you serious?!" Ace looked at the upperclassman in disbelief. Was he joking?

"Are you telling me I came all this way for nothing?!" [Name] nearly lost it. Of course, the one time she got dragged along, she ended up painting roses, getting teased for messing up the color, and now getting kicked out. Seriously?!

"You know you didn’t have to come, right?" Deuce piped up.

"Deuce." The fairy shot him a warning glance.

"Yes ma’am!" Deuce quickly zipped his mouth shut.

"All dorm residents must follow the rules. If I let you slide, it’ll be off with my head next! Sorry, Ace, but I need you to leave before Riddle spots you. Thanks," Cater began pushing Ace out, who was digging his heels in.

"I... think this guy is serious. You guys, do something!" Ace cried for help.

[Name] glanced at her nails, bored. "I don’t really feel like fighting right now."

"Why should WE do anything?" the blue-haired boy crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Come on, please! I can’t use magic! Hurry, he’s—" Ace begged before Cater blasted him with a light spell, sending him flopping to the ground. [Name]'s wings twitched slightly as she watched him crash. A determined look crossed her face as she pulled out her magic wand and pointed it at Cater.

"Fine, today’s your lucky day, Ace," [Name] said, glancing back at the boy behind her. Deuce looked at her with admiration as he grabbed his magic pen, ready to back her up.

"I’ve got your back, [Name]!" Deuce declared, filled with determination.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[Name], Deuce, and Grim were panting in exhaustion outside the dorm. Just how elite was this guy?!

"Make sure you bring that tart next time, okay? Bye now!" Cater waved his fingers at the first years. [Name] was the first to break the silence.

"Ace, I am never helping you again."

"What?! Why?!" Ace exclaimed, shocked by her statement.

"We hit him over and over, but he just kept coming. Maybe he was using some kind of illusion magic?" Deuce said, clearly frustrated.

"So let me get this straight: we walked in there completely tartless, and this dude still made us go through that whole rigmarole before tossing us out? He just wanted us to paint his stupid roses!" Ace facepalmed at the realization.

"We really look like a bunch of chumps," Grim said glumly.

"No, Grim," [Name] corrected him, "ACE DOES!" Her voice rose in volume, emphasizing her point.

"I get it, okay?!" Ace sulked, feeling defeated.

"I guess we’ll just have to grab an apology tart and come back. Maybe after class, we can— Oh no!" Pure panic crossed Deuce’s face.

"What’s wrong?" Yuuken asked, looking at the blue-haired boy with concern.

"We already missed the first bell! We’re going to be late for class!"

"Myah! I can't afford to get a blemish on my first day of glorious Night Raven education! Let’s move, everyone! To the classroom, pronto!"

"I’m out!" [Name] said, her words coming out in a jingle as she flapped her wings and zoomed off.

"[Name]?!" Yuuken called after her, bewildered.

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[Name] was sitting quietly at the back of the class, trying her best to ignore the curious stares from the other students. Even though she promised herself she wouldn’t let it bother her, those insecurities were eating away at her. Sure, she could be tough, but deep down, she was still just a teenage girl.

“Ah, you must be my new homeroom students!” The teacher redirected everyone’s attention to the latecomers at the door. A grateful smile spread across her face as Yuuken and the others glanced up at her. “Hmm, that’s quite the unique coat of fur you’ve got there. Just make sure you come to class looking presentable. My name is Divus Crewel, but you can call me Master Crewel. Now, take your seats because class is about to kick off. We’ll start with the basics, which means cramming the names and key traits of a hundred herbs and poisons into your tiny brains. We’ll tackle mycelia later. But hey, I’m hoping you’ll eventually figure out how to stroll around without munching on anything poisonous. I know you all have the self-control of ravenous hounds right now, but I will not tolerate a single student failing this class. Get ready to be drilled!”

Deuce looked at the worksheet in front of him, confused. “Huh, so… does anyone know what a mycelia is?”

“I’m not really into memorizing stuff like that, ya know?” Ace chimed in.

“Good thing I’m a quick learner,” bragged the fairy with a smug grin.

“All I care about is figuring out which plants are tasty and which ones are gross.”

Yuuken groaned, “Seriously, Grim?”

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“I’m your History of Magic teacher, Mozus Trein, and this is my familiar, Lucius. You’re here to dive into the rich history of magic and see how it’s shaped the world you take for granted.”

“Mrrrrooowww…”

[Name] glanced over at the grey cat, which was staring at her like she was out of place. She grimaced and quickly looked away. What’s with cats and her?!

“I grade based on how you behave in class as well as the quality of your work. Don’t even think about sleeping on my watch. Now, let’s open our books to page fifteen. This section dives into the magestones discovered in the Dwarfs' Mine…” The teacher droned on.

“Mrrrrooowww…” The cat rolled over.

“As knowledge and awareness of magical energy spread across the globe from this point, this year is considered Year One of the Magic Era.”

The fairy could feel her eyelids getting heavy. “Oh my Sevens, this lecture is a snooze-fest…” she muttered to herself. Even the cat looked like it was about to doze off! She rubbed her face in agony, wishing she could escape this boring lecture.

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“I’m Coach Vargas, and it’s my job to whip your weak little bodies into shape. Great sorcery starts with great physical fitness! Just look at the muscles you can build with a diet of raw eggs! A great mage needs a solid physique! So, let’s do twenty laps and a hundred push-ups!”

“Sevens,” the fairy muttered, her feet dragging as she flew close to the ground, shoulders slumped. “Why do I have to run when I can just fly?”

“Ugh. This forced exercise is bad enough, but meatheads like this guy drive me up the wall,” Ace complained, already dreading the class.

“Finally! A subject I’m actually good at!” Deuce exclaimed, pumping his fist in excitement.

“Seriously, what’s the appeal of running around in circles? Do I look like a hamster?” Grim complained, the flames near his ears dimming as he trudged along beside [Name].

“Well, Grim, you’re not too far off from a ham—”

“Henchman!”

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“Let’s see, our next class is…” Deuce mused as the group walked through the crowded hallway. By now, [Name] had gotten somewhat used to the annoying stares. She tucked her wings close and squeezed through the crowd with ease.

“This so-called magic academy feels a lot like a boring, regular school. Not exactly what I was expecting, but at least this collar isn’t too much of a hassle after all. You feel me on that, Grim? ...Huh?” Ace paused, looking around for the cat.

“Wait, where’d Grim go?” Yuuken joined Ace in searching for the missing cat. This made [Name] perk up her pointed ears.

“Oh! Look out the window! I just saw a ball of fur darting across the yard!” Deuce exclaimed, and the rest of the group followed him, leaving [Name] crossing her arms, glancing back at the mob of students near the classroom door. She scowled, contemplating the consequences of skipping class before ultimately deciding to follow the rest of the group out to the courtyard.

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“I am NOT putting up with this boring routine every single day. I’m Grim, Sorcerer Prodigy, and I don’t need anyone teaching me how to blow stuff up!” Grim stomped across the courtyard.

“The Headmage is going to be furious…” Yuuken sighed, eyeing the cat.

“Wow, that guy really isn’t a fast learner.”

“Tell me about it,” the fairy said, watching with amusement.

“Not a good look to lose your only student on your first day as prefect. Want some help catching him?” the orange-haired boy offered.

“Yes, please!” Yuuken practically pleaded with the rest of the group.

“I do love those chocolate croissants at the co-op,” Ace nudged Yuuken.

“I’d do it for an iced latte at the cafeteria,” Deuce chimed in.

“I think I could go for a donut or two…” [Name] mused, tapping her chin in thought.

Yuuken groaned at the idea of buying all three of them something, calculating the cost in his head.

“Look! Grim’s getting away, Yuuken!” [Name] pointed.

Finally, the boy relented. “Fine, fine! Done, done, and done!”

“Pleasure doing business! Now, [Name] and Deuce, let’s clean up the mess made by the worst prefect to ever set foot on campus!” Ace got ready to chase after the cat.

“I can already taste that latte, Ace, [Name],” Deuce said, pulling out his magic pen from his pocket. The fairy unfurled her wings and stretched, signaling that the chase was on.

“Deuce, go left!” [Name] shouted, flapping her wings faster to pick up speed. The blue-haired boy shifted to the side, allowing [Name] to gracefully maneuver around the cat, fairy dust sprinkling onto Grim’s soft fur.

“Nyah?!” The cat lifted into the air as the fairy dust took effect, clearly distressed.

“Mrrah! I’m done with these boring classes!” Grim whined as he spun around, “Get me down!”

“Wait… you could’ve used that fairy dust floating trick the whole time?” Ace muttered in disbelief.

“Oops!” [Name] batted her eyelashes playfully, “I’ve been a little too tired lately!” She glanced down at her platform Mary Janes, checking for any scratches from landing.

“Can someone get me down?!”

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“Woohoo! Lunchtime finally! Whoa! This food looks amazing!” Grim’s eyes darted around the cafeteria, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth.

“Ooh, a buffet! That’s fancy,” [Name] said as she grabbed a plate and tongs, opting for a tender slab of smoked salmon with a side salad, though that cheeseburger with fries was definitely calling her name.

“Look at how fluffy those omelets are! Ooh, grilled chicken! And a bacon-and-egg tart!” Grim was swooning.

“Shhhh! Dude, inside voices! Where was all this energy earlier today?” Ace hushed him.

“Yuuken, grab me the grilled chicken! There’s only one left! And an omelet too! And that jelly-filled bread. Just fill your whole tray, will ya? Ow!”

“Hey! Watch where you’re going! My carbonara! You broke the yolk!”

“Whoa, that’s messed up! Poking the egg is the best part! You better make this right, dude!” a boy yelled, grabbing the attention of some passersby.

“I’m gonna need that grilled chicken of yours as compensation,” the delinquent said, reaching for the chicken.

“Myah?! No way! Hands off the bird, dude! I need my protein because I am HANGRY!” Grim pulled his tray away from prying hands.

“Hey! That’s no way to talk to an upperclassman! Meet me outside, and I’ll teach you some respect!” an older boy with magenta hair threatened.

[Name] stepped in front of Grim, intervening. “Are you seriously about to fight a freshman over an egg mishap?! I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine eating it like that.”

The delinquent sized her up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Are you his owner? You should take responsibility for your little friend. Y’know,I’ve always liked my girls with a bit of an attitude.” He placed a hand on her shoulder while his friend snickered. “How’d a girl like you manage to sneak in here anyway?”

[Name] felt her blood boil, her eyebrows twitching in irritation.

“Uh oh…” Yuuken grabbed Grim and stepped back, knowing what was about to go down. He glanced at [Name], noticing her glow shifting from pale yellow to a fierce blood red. Deuce, sensing the tension, gripped the delinquent’s wrist and yanked it away from [Name].

"Excuse me, sir, but the handbook clearly states that fighting with magic is prohibited. I suggest you remove your hand from her shoulder,” Deuce said, narrowing his eyes, nervousness flickering in his stance.

“Fighting?” the white-haired student glared, “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just helping this ignorant freshman understand his place.”

The magenta-haired friend grinned wickedly, “Now, let’s see just how many ways there are to skin a cat, heh!”

Sorry for the late chapter I’ve been under the weather recently😥😓 I’ll try making the next chapter as soon as possible 🤍

Taglist : @itwaszzmoon @brights-place @capcryooo

#tinkerbell!yuu✨#twst wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland

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katarandaa · 1 day ago

Text

The Augmentor part 1

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Pairing: F! reader x Sevika

Set in season 1 between act 1 & 2.

Augmentor: Someone who specializes in augmenting the human body with mechanical or Shimmer-enhanced parts.

Summary: You’re a well-known augmentor in Zaun who - through your sibling Ran - take on a special commission to make Sevika a mechanical prosthetic after her accident.

CW: alcohol use, swearing, smoking,

Word count: 4.2k

AN: this is my first Arcane fic! It's a bit long, but I'm FINALLY happy with it after working on it slowly for WEEKS. This is basically just my MDD universe lol. (There will probably be a part 2). Hope you enjoy ~

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The music from your speakers was blasting in your workshop, you were bopping your head to the beat while working on a rusty prosthetic leg a customer had dropped off for you to fix. Smoke filled your nostrils as the cigarette you put out in your ashtray didn’t completely extinguish. You didn’t hear the elevator doors open and someone entering your workshop until the volume of your music dropped. You quickly turned around to face the elevator to see Ran through your goggles standing by the speaker.

“Ran!” You propped the goggles you were wearing onto your head and smiled at seeing your sibling dropping by for a surprise visit. “Didn’t expect to see you in here today. Your hand need a fix?”

“Hey, no, I actually have something to ask of you,” Ran said as they made their way down the steps into your shop. You put your tool down and spun around on your stool to face Ran, inviting them to keep talking.

“So, you need to hear me out on this one, YN - I need you to do a commission, -” Ran said and leaned on one of your workbenches.

“I don't know Ran; you know I don't really do commissions anymore. Just doing repairs is so much better,” you said the second you heard them say commission, turning your attention back to fixing the metal leg laid out on your workbench.

You had stopped accepting commissions after overworking yourself, and now you ran your business only doing repairs and occasionally some modifications for people who already had mechanical prosthetics. Doing commissions wasn’t easy work, it took months of work, long hours, loads of people involved and a lot of planning, so you decided to take a step back and work on a much smaller scale.

Ran walked closer to you. “It’s an important request, and I seriously need you to consider doing this job. I told them about your work. We really think you’re the best augmentor in Zaun for this job.” Ran flexed their prosthetic hand, which you had made for them several years ago. You sighed again and glanced at their hand before continuing your work.

“It’s a request from Silco - Sevika needs a mechanical prosthetic,” your heart jumped at the sound of her name. “I know you heard of her accident. They know of your previous work, and they want you to do it; they specifically requested you. The pay is really good, it’s from Silco’s pockets, so you’ll be compensated for your time and hassle, and then some.” Ran really tried to sell you this gig, and you could feel the desperation in their voice. “And I know you have a thing for Sevika, you know-”

“I do not!” you interrupted Ran and snapped your head in their direction. “What makes you say that?!”

“YN, she’s totally your type, and I’ve noticed the way you look at her and act whenever she’s nearby - you get all stiff and nervous.”

You stayed quiet for a moment. “Is it that obvious?” You almost whispered.

“To me it is,” Ran smirked.

You had met Sevika several times at The Last Drop whenever you were out drinking with Ran or your friends. You had never really spoken, but you knew that she knew who you were; all the shared glances, the drinks sent to your table, thanking her by raising your glass in her direction, your blushing and fiddling. You had always been too nervous to approach her; she seemed to distant, and so unattainable.

“Fuck,” you muttered and couldn’t help but crack a smile. “ I don't know. It’s always too much work doing commissions - the clients always have way too high expectations, they never respect the timeframe I give them, they don't pay what they owe. It’s always such a hassle,” you explained, sliding the goggles off your head and running a hand through your hair. “Plus, if it’s for Sevika I’m gonna be all nervous, what if affects my work and I don't deliver her a good product?”

“YN, it’s gonna be fine. Just do what you’re good at. Please just come meet with them, have a chat about your conditions and the pay. I already told them I would talk to you and bring you in for a meeting tonight.”

You tilted your head back and sighed hard, looking over at Ran. “Ok, fine,” you said, and Ran quickly muttered a quiet “yes”.

Ran came running towards you and wrapped their arms around yours. “You’re gonna do great, I know it.” You wrapped your arms around Ran and squeezed before getting up, both of you disengaging from the hug. “And, maybe you and Sevika can get to know each other a little better-”

“Ran!” You interrupted them and hit them playfully on their arm. “Inappropriate! She’s my customer at this point.”

"Alright, fine,” Ran chuckled. “Just, don't promise them anything you can’t deliver. And don’t let them rush you.” Ran squeezed your arm.

“Don't worry, I won’t. Let’s just go.”

The atmosphere at The Last Drop was calmer than usual. The last time you visited was to get a few drinks after work with Ran on a busy night. The same night you had seen Sevika sitting at her usual table, cards in hand and a hefty sum of coins in front of her, the other men around the table looking stressed out with their heads in their hands.

Ran leads the two of you through the bar and up the stairs towards Silco’s office. Outside the door were two guards keeping an eye on the people passing by. They saw Ran and opened the door for the two of you, one of them following you inside.

Inside the office, Silco sat at his desk, and Sevika to your left, sitting on the sofa, a cigarette in her mouth and a whiskey bottle and a glass on the table in front of her. You also noticed that her hair was down, and not in her usual half up half down hairdo; it looked good - maybe even cute.

Ran greeted the two with a nod and closed the door behind you.

“Ran, good to see you,” Silco said from the other side of the room, a cloud of smoke swirled around him from his cigar. “This is the augmentor?”

“Yes, sir. This is YN. She’s agreed to come talk over some terms and hear more about the job.” Ran said and sat down at a round table to the right side of the room. You were stood in the middle of the room as you felt Sevika’s eyes on, leaving your stomach in knots.

Silco looked over at you and stood up from his chair behind the desk and walked in front of it. “Alright. What are these… conditions?” He pointed his hand, which had his cigar resting between his fingers, towards you for you to speak.

“Well, first of all, I’m gonna need to know exactly what you’re commissioning,” you said and put your bag on the floor beside the low table to your left. “I’m assuming it’s not just a mechanical prosthetic.” You crossed your arms over your chest and peeked at Sevika, your eyes met for a brief moment before you looked away, to her left arm, or whatever was left of it, which was covered by her cloak.

Silco quickly took the word: “You’re right. It’s going to be used for fighting, as well as just being a prosthetic. Enhance its strength with shimmer, in a way that makes it more responsive and lethal. Find a way for shimmer to be injected into Sevika’s bloodstream in small doses. Obviously it needs to be sturdy and durable; it needs to withstand blows and return them twice as hard. The attachment needs to be secure - no risk of it coming loose, but make sure it's flexible enough for her to move freely. You’re making a weapon, not an ornament. This sound like something you could do?”

You suddenly felt a little nervous having everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for your response. You looked at Silco.

“Of course, not a problem. But if I am to agree to this, I have a couple of terms. I have my own team of doctors and surgeons who are experienced with installing mechanical prosthetics. And if you want the commission to be done faster, I expect a supply of shimmer. I also want one month pay up front before starting the mech.”

Silco was looking at you as you named your terms, almost threatening. “And a few free drinks from your bar would be nice... Sir,” you added. You heard a light chuckle from Sevika at your last comment.

Silco and Sevika exchanged a look before Sevika broke the silence. “Sounds like reasonable terms to me, sir.” She took a swig from her glass, finishing her drink.

“I can get behind your terms. But I need to know an approximate timeframe,” Silco said as he took a puff of his cigar.

“Usually for mechs like this, the planning and design will take about a week, the manufacturing of the arm itself will take anywhere from three to six weeks. Then there’s the installation, recovery and physical adaptation, which I’m guessing in total will be about three weeks at max, but I’m gonna have to hear with my doctors on that one. So, in total, if everything goes to plan, about two months. But with some shimmer, I will be able to work faster and more efficiently, and Sevika’s healing period will also be sped up.”

A silence grew in the room. You could tell Silco was digesting what you just explained. “I imagine that you probably want this to be done much faster, but good work takes time. I promise you that I will make this commission my top priority moving forward. But I’m not going to rush this to a point where I feel like my craftsmanship gets diminished.”

Another silence fell over the room until Silco broke it. “Alright, you’ve got yourself a job, YN. Don’t disappoint me. I will supply you with shimmer. Don't forget that I want it done as soon as possible.” Silco voice way low, almost threatening. He turned his back to you and sat back down behind his desk. “When will you be able to start?”

“I can have you come over to my workshop tomorrow so I can have a proper look at you,” you said and looked at Sevika - she nodded in agreement.

“Great. You two have a plan. You,” Silco said, pointing at the guard standing behind you by the door. “Get the girl her pay.” The guard nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind you.

“I’m gonna need your address,” Sevika leant forward and looked at you with an intimidating look, taking a long puff of her cigarette and exhaling it through her nose. She looked really good. Fuck. You tried to push your thoughts aside; you had to remain professional.

“Oh! Right, of course!” Your nerves had gotten to you. You grabbed your notebook and pencil from your bag on the floor and scribbled down your name and the address, the name of your workshop, as well drawing a quick silly doodle at the end of it out of habit and handed the note to Sevika.

“You enter through what looks like a tinker’s shop, or a salvage shop, you’ll see a sign that says Junk and Joints and loads of scrap in the windows - can’t miss it. Just tell whoever’s in there you’re there for me and they’ll send you down,” you explained. You thought you saw a slight smile tug at Sevika’s lips as she looked at your note.

The door opened and the guard came back with two pouches in his hands. He walked over to Silco who was sitting at his desk reading over some paperwork. Silco looked at the pouches, squinted and waved his hand before looking back down at his papers. The guard walked over to you and dropped the two heavy pouches on the table in front of you. “Your pay.” The guard said and exited the room again.

“Ooh, thank you…” you muttered and looked inside them. In one of them was your money. In the other, vials of shimmer, looking to be enough to last you about two weeks. You put them in your bag along with your notebook.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she looked up at you and gave you a slight nod, her face back to being stern with her cigarette hanging from her lips.

Your heart fluttered for a second before speaking. “Yeah, I’ll see you.” Ran came up behind you and put their hand on your shoulder and walked towards the door. You quickly flung the now heavier bag over your shoulder and exited the office with Ran.

As you heard the door shut behind you, Ran turned to you. “You did good. They seemed to like you.”

“Were you concern they wouldn’t?” you said playfully as you walked down the metal staircase.

“No, not really, but they don't fuck around. You would know if they didn’t like you.”

“Shit ok, I’m glad you didn’t tell me that beforehand - I wouldn’t be able to keep my cool.” You walked to the front door before stopping and turning to Ran. “I’m gonna head to the shop and get started on some ideas. I’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Ran gave you a quick hug. “See you!” You waved at Ran and headed out.

You were sitting at your workbench doodling in your notebook with a cigarette between your lips - your music was playing from your speaker, but this time it didn’t drown out the sound of the elevator arriving at your floor. You felt your heart race as you saw Sevika stepping into your workshop.

“This a good time?” she asked and looked around.

You shot up from your stool and picked your cigarette from your mouth. “P-perfect time! Please, have a seat in my so called - living room,” you stammered and gestured to the other side of the room; an old sofa and two armchairs, and a small run-down coffee table with a few old mugs, an empty wine bottle, a candle and an ashtray.

Sevika walked over and sat down on the sofa against the wall as you hurried over to your speaker to turn the music down, now barely audible.

“Alright, so, I’m gonna ask some questions and I’m gonna need some measurements after,” you walked over to ash your cigarette in the ashtray and took a seat in one of the armchairs, notebook and a pencil in hand.

“I got the whole ‘mechanical shimmer arm that deals possibly fatal blows’ shtick,” you waved your hands in the air as you spoke, “but do you have any other requirements that I should know of before I start?”

“The most important part is functionality. If it can’t win me a fight, it’s useless,” Sevika lit a cigarette, taking a long drag from it before continuing. “It needs to have some sort of buff to it.”

“Shimmer can help enhance the hits by hydraulic force, and as Silco requested, I’ll integrate a shimmer system for both injection, infusion and storage - so I don't think you can get more fit for fight than that.”

She nodded. “It also needs to be durable – I don't want you skimping out on the materials here,” she said in a demanding tone. “Don't have the time to constantly come in for repairs. I need reliability with this thing.”

You nodded your head and smirked. “Of course, only the best.”

Sevika scoffed and took another drag from her cigarette. “And it can’t be too heavy, I’m gonna be wearing it outside of combat as well. So don't go too crazy with your fancy mats.”

“Sure, no problem,” you spent a few minutes jotting down some more ideas in your notebook.

“I made an exception for you, y’know.” You broke the silence.

“That so? Why?”

You shrugged. “I stopped doing commissions, but Ran practically begged me to take this job. And when I heard it was for you, the decision was kind of a no-brainer – it seemed important, so I wanted to help.”

Sevika scoffed, smoke from her cigarette exiting her nostrils. “You and Ran close?”

“You could say that,” you smiled and kept your eyes on your notes. “Alright, if that’s all, I wanna get some measurements of you while you’re here,” you said as you stood up and walked over to your workbench to get some tools, as well as a whiskey bottle you spotted on your shelf.

“You want a drink?” you asked and held up the bottle.

“Sure.” She fumbled with the buckle of her cloak for a few seconds before getting it, she swiftly slid it off and left it on the sofa arm. Under her cloak she was wearing a tank top, revealing her broad shoulders.

You grabbed two clean cups from your shelf. “It’s nothing fancy, just some stuff one of my customers brings along whenever she visits for repairs,” you explained as you walked over to the sofa where Sevika was sitting and put the cups and the bottle on the table. You nervously sat down on her left side and poured the two of you a drink, Sevika immediately finishing hers.

Sevika shrugged. “Not bad. I’ve had worse.”

You took a sip of your drink before turning towards Sevika to finally have a look at her.

It wasn’t the first time you had seen an amputee; you had seen several people having lost anything from legs and arms, to hands, feet, fingers, even noses. Prosthetics was your most common request when you took commissions, and you keep repairing all sorts of prosthetics. But Sevika’s amputee scar looked different. The scar had healed nicely and it looked fine - besides the blue lines going from her healed wound up her shoulder and neck to her cheek, and over her chest, her tank top hiding the full extent of it. They looked like scars, and they almost had a blue shine to them. It kind of looked like she had been struck by lightning. You had never seen anything like it; it looked cool, but you would never dare tell her that.

Sevika leant forward refilling her cup with whiskey as you gently touched her shoulder, she briefly flinched at your touch and gave you a nasty side eye, but didn’t pull away.

“I’m gonna have to touch you, y’know,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Sevika scoffed and picked up her cup, bringing it to her lips. “As you please,” she muttered and glanced at you. You felt your cheeks go warm at her comment.

Her shoulder was stiff, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of the amount of muscles this woman had, or her being uncomfortable because she was showing you something vulnerable - or maybe a mix of the two. She probably wore the cloak for a reason.

You got on with the prep work, pulling out your measuring tool to measure her shoulder, jotting down the numbers as well as thoughts and ideas in your notebook, even things you might not even need, just to be sure.

“Could you stand up for me?” you asked and stood up, holding out your measuring tool.

Sevika looked up at you and hesitated for a moment before ashing her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and getting up. You almost gasped at her big frame and height as she stood up in front of you, she glanced down at you, waiting for you to do your thing.

Sevika kept her eyes on you with a stern look as you stepped onto the table to get better access.

“Hold out your arm for me?” you asked quietly. She obeyed, and you measured the length of her arm, as well as the width, quietly muttering the numbers so you would remember.

“How close?” Sevika broke the silence.

“What?”

“You and Ran.”

You chuckled at the fact that Sevika had been thinking about your earlier mention of the two of you being close. “Oh, we grew up together – we’re siblings. Their parents took me in when I was a kid.”

You wrapped the measuring tool around her neck and put your hand behind her to grab onto the tool, looking at the measurement.

“People often think we’re a couple. We don’t quite look alike, but if you know we’re siblings you can tell how our demeanors are similar. And we have the same laugh.”

Standing this close you could smell her; she smelled woody, like cigarettes and whiskey. So hot. You gave her a quick glance and saw that she was looking directly into your eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at your lips.

You snapped out of the moment and stepped down from the table, grabbed your notebook from the table and wrote down the measurements.

You heard a sigh from Sevika as she sat back down. “What the hell are all these measurements for anyway? Aren’t you just making me an arm?” Sevika asked and grabbed her drink.

“A lot of these are just-in-case-numbers; I don't wanna be running around Zaun trying to find you in case I missed a measurement.” You sat back down and kept your notebook in your lap.

“You don't?” Sevika smirked and took another sip of her drink.

You could feel your cheeks get hot again. “Not really, no,” you chuckled. “But if you’re not running around doing Silco’s dirty work, you’ll probably be at The Last Drop.”

“You might be right about that.”

“But – to answer your question, there are a lot of things that go into making a prosthetic arm. I want to get the size of the mech right; don't want it to be loads smaller or larger than your other arm. And I’m gonna be making you a harness.” You took a swig from your drink.

“What am I gonna be needing a harness for?” Sevika asked, her tone was as sharp as usual.

“When you get your arm surgically attached, you’re gonna have to keep it in a harness for a few weeks while it heals. And the weight and feel of the arm is also gonna take some time to get used to - don't wanna fuck up your shoulder. It’s just for the first few weeks,” you explained, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “I don't doubt your strength, but it will get tiring, no matter your physique,” you pointed towards her with your pencil. “Especially if you’re gonna be fighting with this thing.”

“Guess you have a point,” Sevika muttered. “But I can’t be completely useless for too long. I have shit to do - business to deal with.”

“I know you do, but you have to take the healing period seriously. If it doesn’t heal right you’re just gonna make this take even longer.” Your tone was strict.

Sevika just scoffed and took a swig from her cup. Her hand was so big compared to the cup, her fingers to long and her fingernails pristine, which was kind of surprising. You sat there observing her for a few seconds before snapping out of your trance.

“I-uh, have everything I need from you, at least for now,” you put your notebook on the table. “I want you to come back when the first part of the prototype is done so I can make sure it’s a good fit for your shoulder before we commit to anything. Then you’ll also be able to have a look at the blueprints - see if you like the design and stuff.” You leant back into the sofa, putting one leg up, your knee to your chest.

“Sounds good. When do you think that’ll be?” Sevika dragged her cloak back around her shoulders and fumbled with the buckle for a few seconds.

“I think I’m gonna need about a week to design and plan all of it, and about one or two more weeks to make the first parts of the prototype, depending on how long the shimmer Silco supplied will last me.”

“You know how to reach me?” Sevika turned her head to look at you, her face stern, but not intimidating as usual.

“I’ll find a way, but I’m guessing I’ll find you at your usual spot at The Drop.”

“Oh yeah? My usual spot?” Sevika smirked.

“Yeah, I know where you like to sit. Seen you gamble and put some of those crude old men to shame,” you said and chuckled lightly.

“You calling my men crude?”

“Yeah, I am.” You smiled smugly.

“Hm. You might be right,” she grabbed her cup and finished her drink. “Guess I gotta get back to my crude men.” She stood up from the sofa, the weight of her moving shifting you slightly.

“Alright, you do that. I’ll see you in a few weeks!”

“See you.” Sevika gave you a nod and a smirk as she got into the elevator.

#arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane fandom #sevika x female reader #sevika my love #sevika x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic

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frogsinflannel · 23 hours ago

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call me by my real name (call me baby) 9-1-1: bucktommy | rated T | 874 words | prompt: non-sexual intimacy

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary - read below or at ao3

♡ ♡ ♡

"Hey. Can I ask a favor?" Buck looked up from where he'd been meal-prepping, two neat lines of clear glass containers sitting on the counter in front of him. Tommy's brows raised and a bemused smile curled up his mouth. "You doing lunch for us? What's on the menu this week?"

"Rainbow salad," Buck said, beaming. He pointed to the piles of chopped vegetables scattered on the two cutting boards. "We've got, uh, bell pepper for red and yellow. Carrots. Cucumbers, because I thought, uh, three colors of bell pepper was too much. Or edamame, for green. I probably have some other options, too, if you want something else. And then we've got some riced purple cauliflower, and some strips of grilled chicken."

"Evan." Buck flushed. No one else said his name like that, with the same loose-weave softness, cool and easy and comfortable. Tommy grinned and walked over to him. He pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, baby," he said, speaking against the skin.

His voice was warm and his mouth was a little damp and Buck's vibrating, wanting-- Well. Just wanting. Anything from Tommy he could get. "You're welcome," he breathed.

"So." Tommy leans against the counter, feet crossed at the ankle. He holds up the wrist with the brace on it. "About that favor?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. What did you need?"

Tommy grimaced and then gestured with his left hand to the bottom half of his face. "I could probably shave myself even with the brace," he said. "But I thought maybe I'd ask you to do it." His expression changed, smile sly and his eyes dark, and Buck felt a little curl of heat in his gut. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind getting all close and personal, huh? Lathering me up. Bet you have a steady hand." Tommy tilted his head because he's a tease and a flirt - and kind of an asshole, too, because he knew what he's doing to Buck. Which might be a bad thing, if Buck didn't like it so goddamn much.

"I can... Uh, I can help, yeah." He swallowed. "Of course."

Tommy grinned and bumped his shoulder with his good hand. "Perfect. Let's get these lunches put together and then get rid of this shitty almost-beard."

They finished the meal-prep for the week and then Buck followed Tommy into the bathroom. He pulled out a nice safety razor and some moisturizing shaving cream, then leant back against the skin. "I'm all yours," he murmured.

"S-so I should..." Tommy's posture was relaxed, his whole big body so at ease. He tilted his chin up and Buck sketched out the strong, lovely line of his throat. His mouth went dry. "The shaving cream?"

Tommy's eyes closed and his mouth curved up warm and crooked and fond. "Yes," he said. "You should the shaving cream."

"Don't tease me," Buck said, but he didn't really mean it. He grabbed the shaving cream and squeezed out a dollop into his hand. Tommy's waiting, and it seemed silly to ask for permission, so. He reached out and spread it smoothly over Tommy's skin.

"Ahh," Tommy said. His lips parted and Buck's gaze was drawn to the line of his open mouth. "Thank you, baby. That feels nice."

Buck cleared his throat. It was almost harder to talk to Tommy like this, with his eyes gently closed and the line of his neck long and bare. “Well?” Tommy’s eyes fluttered under thin lids and he wore a smirk, teasing and still so, so fond. “Am I getting shaved or aren’t I?” “Sorry,” Buck said. “I was just… uh. Just thinking?” “Mmm.” Buck’s hand tightened in the razor and his body swayed forward, leaning into Tommy’s. He was pulled, constantly, like a magnetic in his chest with Tommy as the opposite pole. How did he yearn so much for something, he wondered - something right here. Something he already had. One eye popped open. “Thinking about what?”

“Ha.” He looked down, let out a breath. “It’s… Well. I-I like it. That’s what I was thinking. I like it when you say, uh. When you call me baby.” Tommy’s smirk shifted into something softer. One big hand landed on Buck’s waist and then slid to the small of his back, tugging him forward. “Yeah? You like it?” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth. Then he leaned closer, nuzzling into the soft skin under Buck’s ear. “Good. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?” His voice was whisper soft, a warmth ghosting across Buck’s neck. “Tell me, Evan. Tell me what you are.” He groaned, one hand gripping Tommy’s bicep as the other came up to cup the back of his head. His head tilted back and his got one glimpse of the soft yellow light of his bathroom ceiling as his eyes drifted closed. Tommy’s mouth pressed kisses onto him like promises, moving across his throat from one side to the other. He’d remember. He’d wear it like a necklace, the jeweled presses of Tommy’s rough, perfect mouth. “I am,” he said, voice tight. It hurt to speak, the words were so heavy. It felt like a relief to finally get them out. “I’m your baby.”

♡ ♡ ♡

(I wrote half of this in present tense before I realized that I'd started in past. I think I got it all fixed and consistent !!! Also I think Buck would have a dressing or sauce for their rainbow salads but I forget to mention it! It haunts me!)

#my fic #bucktommy #911 fic #fluffebruary

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starlightkun · 1 day ago

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➺ word count: 9.3k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec’s real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ author’s note: agh i had so, so much fun with this one! i know i say that with every new fic, but it’s true! also, i don’t know a whole lot about being an air traffic controller, so this was only loosely based off that (and reader and kun’s jobs are made up anyway), but my dad used to have his pilot’s license and take me flying with him when i was little and i took aviation classes in hs, so i do have a bit of knowledge/experience from that so there’s definitely a lot of influence from american aviation jargon in here (whether or not it’s used correctly is an entirely different thing... we’re in space in the future, after all)

You didn’t immediately see any sign of injury and grabbed his wrist to try to find a pulse. It was faint, but there, and when you put your hand under his nose, you could feel his shallow breaths against your skin. He didn’t rouse, though, and that was when you saw a drop of blood trailing out of his ear.

“Hey, Quebec?” You spoke into the mic, knowing that only one other person could hear you.

“—eah, Zulu?” A familiar man’s voice came through your headset, the very beginning of his sentence cut off as he hadn’t let there be enough still air before he started speaking.

One might think your job lonely or heroic or an opportunity to travel and see some of what the vast Milky Way had to offer. Space Traffic Control was by no means glamorous, and you certainly didn’t feel like a grand figure of mythology in your standard-issue orange jumpsuit that all employees wore on duty, sat at your desk with your feet crossed under you and your mic in one hand as you used the other for leverage against the counter to spin yourself around and around, the various lights on your control panel turning into a starshower before your very eyes. But you quite liked your job. You had the same shift almost every day, so your schedule was predictable, and while the landings and takeoffs that you oversaw were pretty regular thanks to the advancements in space travel, every so often, something fantastic did happen, and you did get to save the day with your quick thinking and directions. You were very rarely thanked or even acknowledged for it, all of the credit and glory going to the pilots, of course, but you didn’t mind—keeping your head down had always best suited you.

And you could never feel alone, even if you were the only person in your control tower. Not when you had Quebec. It was policy to have two controllers on duty at all times, in case of medical emergency (or non-emergency, since even Space Traffic Controllers had to use the bathroom). While you and Quebec weren’t always on shift at the same time, the shifts that you shared with him were by far your favorite. You’d never met in person, nor seen his face, nor even knew his real name, only his call name (Quebec Kilo). But other than that, you knew everything about each other. It wasn’t against any rules for STCs to know each other’s names, but since you only ever used call names on shift, it was pretty pointless to give out your real names.

The landing dock had two towers facing each other, and while they technically did have windows so you could see outside at the approaching spacecraft, even when the lighting was perfect, you could make out no more than a fuzzy, shadowy outline of a person in the window opposite you.

“What did you bring for dinner?”

“Don’t tell me you’re eating your dinner already.” His voice was clearly exasperated.

You hurried to swallow the chip in your mouth before replying. “No…”

“I can hear the food in your mouth.”

“Just a snack!”

“And now you’re going to get hungry again right after dinner and have to go to the vending machine down the hall for another snack and leave me alone with everything.”

“For like five minutes.”

“Remember when that Class-III Tanker came in for an emergency docking while you were on a snack break?”

“Remember every single other time when that didn’t happen, and it was perfectly uneventful?”

He kept his mic on to sigh directly into it, letting you know exactly how he felt. “Just go ahead and eat all of your dinner, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will,” you bickered back.

“I just brought a rice ball from the convenience store in Sector II,” he answered your question anyway. “And an iced tea.”

“You like to warm your rice balls up or do you eat them cold?”

“I’ve got a salmon one today.”

“Question still stands.”

“Who eats warm salmon and mayo rice balls?”

“Plenty of perfectly normal people.”

He laughed, his disgust from earlier fading away. “You warm up your salmon and mayo onigiri, don’t you?”

“What’s weird about that?” You immediately defended yourself.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he gave in. “I’ve just never thought to try it. Pork, sure. Beef, absolutely. Salmon or tuna? Never.”

“You should try it today. I know that tower has a microwave.”

“Our towers are exactly the same.”

“Almost.”

“What are you leaving me this time? And where?”

You tried to imagine his grin, despite knowing nothing about what he looked. You had decided long ago that he had dimples, one deeper than the other, because that was obviously cuter. And probably straight teeth, since he spoke like he was well educated, which meant his family probably had the money to afford braces if he needed them.

“You’ll find out,” you replied in a sing-songy voice, having already stashed various gifts somewhere around the office. Days in the towers were long and boring, so you’d been teaching yourself more and more complicated origami, always leaving pieces in hiding spots around the tower for Quebec to find the next time he was in there.

The ten STCs were split into two teams of five. Since the station was so large, it was a chore to commute back and forth between the towers every shift. So, each team of five was assigned to one tower, then you’d swap every two months. This meant that your cabin also moved every two months to the opposite side of the station, but you didn’t mind—crew cabins were impersonal and barebones anyway, and different sectors had different offerings in the convenience stores, cafeteria, food court, and just different people. It was a change in scenery even if you were still stuck in the same corner of space.

“And what do you have for dinner, Zu?” He hummed, imitating your tune.

“Well, I just finished my chips,” you sighed with disappointment, tossing the wrapper away. “They were salt and vinegar. But I still have some fruit—honeydew, it’s my favorite—and a leftover sandwich from the caf from yesterday.”

“The fruit—is it imported? From Earth?”

You scoffed. “Pfft! I can’t afford that! You know how much we make! Wait—Unless you’re making more than me. Bec, are you making more than me?”

“No, no, no,” he reassured you with a laugh. “I just thought you might have saved up, since it’s your favorite.”

“It’s my favorite, but I still can’t justify spending that much on something that I’m just going to digest.” You shook your head. “Ag-bubble-grown is perfectly fine for me, thanks.”

“Practical.”

“It’s what I grew up eating. I don’t have a spoiled palate.”

“Like I said, practical.”

A blip appeared on one of your screens, at the same time that all the information on the craft appeared on the screen beside it. “It’s that civilian craft we’ve been waiting for,” you said. “Rock paper scissors?”

“Because that’s always been great via audio,” Quebec chuckled.

“Hundredth time’s the charm.”

“Rock paper scissors, shoot—Rock!” “Paper!”

“See?” He said pointedly, and you imagined him rolling his eyes. “The person who says it always has the disadvantage because of the delay.”

“No, I think you almost had me that time. Really.”

He sighed and cleared his throat, which you took as your cue to turn your mic off. There was another distinct crackle of him turning his outgoing signal on before he started speaking to the incoming spacecraft.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Sparrow, November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey. Do you copy?”

“Civilian Sparrow November-One-One-Niner-Six-Whiskey, we copy, Space Traffic Control.” The voice of the pilot was even more garbled than yours and Quebec’s, typical not only of civilian spacecraft, but judging by how short the N number was, he had a much, much older craft as well. There had been so many made by now that some N numbers were over 10 characters long and included letters too. After the initial identification was made, the N number would typically be abbreviated to the last three characters to save time, unless another craft was in the area with a similar N number. “We are approaching your portside slightly positive on your z-axis, but we’ll sort that out before we get there, about five minutes out. Do we have permission to land?”

“Control to Sparrow, you are all clear for landing. We’ll see you in a bit.”

“Roger-dodger. Thanks, Control. Fair winds. Sparrow over.”

“Fair winds,” Quebec echoed. “Control over.”

Quebec had hardly turned off his outgoing feed when you caught another blip on your screen, this one you weren’t expecting, approaching quickly. You frowned as Quebec cursed under his breath, the information on the spacecraft once again reading out underneath the information on the Sparrow. This was also a civilian craft, slightly larger than the Sparrow, and definitely newer, the N number at least 10 digits long by the look of it.

“Space Traffic Control to civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India—”

“Yeah, copy,” the pilot of the new spacecraft cut Quebec off.

“I need to finish identifying your craft,” he said through gritted teeth. “Civilian Hummingbird, November-Zero-India-Zero-Zero-Seven-Four-Two-Zero-Juliet-Foxtrot-Niner-Eight-Delta. Do you copy?”

There was a long bout of silence, so Quebec asked again, “Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do—”

“Yeah, I copy, didn’t you hear me the first five times?” The pilot was clearly irritated now, and so were you and Quebec.

“Were you holding the button to turn your mic on the first five times?” Your coworker asked.

“I’m landing in like, two minutes. It’s clear, right?”

“No.”

“What?!”

“We don’t have your flight on file, and there’s another spacecraft that did put their landing request in ahead of time that we’re expecting to land within the next five minutes. So, no,” Quebec reiterated with no sympathy. “Do an orbit. An eccentric one.”

The pilot sputtered indignantly before declaring, “This is an emergency!”

“All readings from your vessel indicate that it’s in perfect condition. Brand new, even. What is the nature of your emergency? Please give us specific details so we can assist.”

You, meanwhile, were glad that your mic was muted, because you were keeled over at your desk laughing, wiping at the tears being forced from your eyes.

Clearly unable to think of a specific emergency scenario, the Hummingbird pilot gave up. “Fine! I’ll orbit and land in ten minutes.”

“We will process your landing request and let you know if you have permission to land.” There was no response from the pilot, but Quebec nevertheless said, “Control over.”

“Hummingbird over,” he finally replied, not hiding how peeved he was.

The dot signifying the Hummingbird changed course, beginning an oblong orbit around the space station that would thankfully take it out of the path of the incoming Sparrow.

“Asshole,” Quebec muttered over your internal frequency.

“Just because we’re not near any major planet doesn’t mean they can show up unannounced and expect to land whenever they want,” you scoffed. “Nobody seems to get that we’re the last station around for light-years, so everybody stops in. Which is why they’re trying to land in the first place.”

“You would think they’d think about that, but no,” he sighed. “Everybody assumes nobody exists outside their own ship. Including us. We’re just disembodied voices to them.”

“I wonder how many people think they’re talking to an automated system when they talk to us.”

“Lots, I’m sure.”

A few minutes later, the Sparrow landed with no issues, and you waved to the quaint ship of various patchwork panels of tan and browns as it came in, despite the pilot being unable to see you. It was just something you liked to do.

“Bec?”

“Yeah, Zu?”

“You want me to let the Hummingbird know their landing has been approved?”

He groaned. “No, but better you than me.”

You snickered, composing yourself right before turning your external comms on, establishing a connection to the Sparrow with a flick of a switch. “Space Tower Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?”

“Where’s the other guy?” The pilot asked, surprise evident in his tone. He was clearly ready for a round two.

“Control to civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta, do you copy?” You repeated in your most neutral, artificial customer service voice.

“As long as he stays gone,” he grumbled. His time-out imposed by Quebec had clearly done him no good. “Yeah, this is civilian Hummingbird Niner-Eight-Delta. I copy, Control.”

“Your landing request has been approved. In the future, please submit your landing requests at least twelve standard Earth hours prior to arrival in non-emergency cases.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What’s your ETA, Hummingbird?”

“1743.”

“Copy. Fair winds, Hummingbird. Control over.”

“Fair winds,” he repeated unenthusiastically. “Hummingbird over.”

The Hummingbird was of course a sleek ship, slightly larger than the Sparrow in size, but all smooth, thin, long shapes and a glossy scarlet red paint job with chrome accenting. You flipped it off as it glided by to dock with the space station.

After coming back from your late-night vending machine break, you catapulted yourself back into your rolly chair with enough momentum to roll back up to your station with no extra movements needed. Putting your headset back on, you announced into your mic, “I’m back!”

“No disasters,” Quebec reported dryly. “This time.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?” You clicked your tongue.

“No.”

“Anyway, I got cookies, in case you were curious,” you told him cheerily. “And information!”

“What sort of information?”

“There was a paper on the bulletin board by the vending machine advertising skiing lessons on Nixu for this upcoming snow season. Starts in just a couple months. You know what that means?”

“We’re about to get all their tourists coming through here on their way to go ski and snowboard and whatever else,” he sighed. “For the next three Nixiun years.”

“Yup!” You confirmed through your bite of cookie. “How many standard years is that? Five? Ten?”

“Too many.”

“Well, Nixiun summer was peaceful while it lasted. For the whole six months.”

“God, have we really been working here for that long?”

“We started within a couple weeks of each other, I think. My one year’s coming up.”

“My one year was a few days ago.”

“Aw, and you didn’t tell me?” You gasped in betrayal. “I would’ve done something!”

“It’s fine, Zulu. I think I was on shift with Pops anyway.” Pops—another one of the Space Traffic Controllers on your team, an older man who happened to be assigned the call name Golf Papa (shortened to Pops).

“Yeah, but you and me are like—” You gesticulated wildly as you scrambled for the right word. “You know?”

“No, not really,” he laughed. “I need you to elaborate a little bit more.”

“We’re Quebec and Zulu, you know? Bec and Zu.” You could see your pout in the reflection of the glass window as you looked out at Quebec’s control tower across from you. “I know we’re all close but you and me are like extra. Right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Quebec agreed without a hint of sarcasm or jest. “When’s your one year? I want to make sure I don’t miss it.”

“In six days. I expect fireworks,” you teased.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’re working together that day, I think.” You pulled up the schedule on your computer connected to the ship’s intranet. “Yeah, the 1600 to 2400 shift again. It’s starred, we’re going to have a VIP that shift.”

“What about the day before?”

You hummed as you looked it over. “Wednesday… I’m off, and you are on the 2400 to 0800 shift with Uni. You have a lot of time between shifts on Wednesday and Thursday at least. Ooh… never mind.”

“What?”

“You’ve got alt shifts Tuesday-Wednesday. You’re on 0800 to 1600 Tuesday with Uni.”

With 8-hour shifts and two controllers needing to be on shift at a time, your supervisors tried to give you at least two shifts—16 hours—off between when you were scheduled to allow for adequate rest and downtime. Being scheduled for alternating shifts, on, off, then back on (or god forbid, double shifts), was a nightmare for trying to get any rest, errands, or other personal time in.

“Let me see this,” he mumbled, presumably pulling it up on his own monitor. A few moments later, he groaned. “Kill me now.”

“Hey, I’ve got the 1600 shift Tuesday with Indy,” you scoffed. “I’ll kill you if you kill me.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad…”

“You interact with him for all of five minutes when you swap, I have to deal with him for the whole eight hours.”

“Our crew quarters are near each other, actually. We’ve grabbed lunch.”

You clutched your chest as your jaw dropped in horror. “I thought we were friends, Bec, and now I find out you’ve grabbed lunch with my archnemesis?”

“Normal people don’t have archnemeses, Zu.��

“Well I—” A blip popped up on your screen and you quickly switched your comms over to address the incoming ship. “Space Traffic Control to military Wasp, Kilo-Five-Five-Eight. Do you copy?”

Military ships didn’t have N numbers like civilian crafts, instead they had a much shorter ID number. The first letter indicated the classification of the vessel, while the numbers after were unique to that ship.

“Military Wasp Kilo-Five-Five-Eight to Space Traffic Control, we copy,” the pilot replied automatically. “We’re not looking to dock, just requesting a conditions report.”

“Nothing major in the past twenty-four hours and nothing expected in the next forty-eight. Sending the full specs to your ship now,” you said, quickly doing so on your computer.

A few moments later, she confirmed, “Received. Thanks, Control. We’ll be heading out now.”

“Fair skies. Control over.”

“And following seas. Wasp over.”

It seemed a bit silly to you when you started as an STC, to say an old Naval blessing every time you ended a conversation with someone, considering that you were in space so there were no skies or seas to speak of. But soon it became second nature to you. You found that most civilians just echoed ‘fair skies’ back to you, but military personnel would actually complete the phrase.

As soon as you had turned your outgoing feed off, you got right back into it with Quebec, closing your eyes and putting a hand over your chest as you went on with your impassioned opinion, “I think having an archnemesis livens things up. Especially around here.”

“I thought that’s what I was for?” He teased.

“Do you want to be my archnemesis instead?”

“Could be fun.” You imagined him shrugging with a lopsided grin on his face. “Are you taking applications?”

“Only for you.”

“Ooh, I feel so special.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired of wasting time and brainpower on Indy of all fucking people.” You kicked your feet up on the desk, eyes focused on the other tower now as you grinned at it. You always left shifts with Quebec with sore cheeks. “I need someone more on my level anyway.”

“Are you saying if I become your archnemesis then you’ll think about me all the time?” His voice curled around your ear, still playful but not quite the same friendly banter as before. You weren’t sure when it started, but there were moments like this, between your taunting, and poring your hearts out to each other, and rousing games of audio rock-paper-scissors, and actual work, that the mood… shifted.

You bit the tip of your thumb to keep from literally screaming, taking a second to compose yourself before answering. “Mm… maybe.”

“Because then you’re already my archnemesis.”

Muting your mic, you then literally screamed and pumped your fist into the air victoriously. After a deep inhale, you turned your mic back on, unable to contain your giddiness in your one-word question, “Really?”

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you let out an embarrassing yelp directly into the mic, whipping around to see the STC who was taking the next shift from you. “Fucking—Delta! What the fuck, man?”

Quebec was now laughing directly in your ear over the headset, and you took one ear off to hear what Delta said back to you.

“I’ve been here for the past two minutes. I thought you saw the light.” He indicated to the red light above your station that flashed when someone opened the door to your tower. You must’ve had your eyes shut when Delta came in and missed the signal. Delta looked entirely unamused and a little disgusted as he looked down at you, continuing, “Anyway, I’m ready and I can’t listen to you and Quebec do… whatever that is anymore.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass at his words. What the hell did your conversation with Bec sound like to other people? Apparently bad. You barely knew Delta, only interacting with him during shift hand-offs, and, yeah, he seemed a bit uptight, but still, this was embarrassing.

Quebec was no longer laughing, now coughing and sputtering on the other end of the line too. You meekly put the mic back on the desk and took the headset off, handing it over to Delta. He took disinfectant wipes to the headset, waving them in the air for the solution to dry before putting them on and taking the seat which you had just vacated. You shuffled over to the table by the door where your bag was, as well as the IN/OUT log, which you signed before hurrying out.

Returning to the hall where your crew cabin was, you walked by an open door and stopped to poke your head in, beaming at the woman sitting on her bunk. “Hey, Uni!”

“Hey, Zulu,” the STC on your team—Uniform Lima was her full call name—lifted her hand in greeting. “Just get off shift?”

“Yeah, I was going to grab something to eat and head to the gym before sleeping. Want to come?”

“I already worked out, but I could eat,” she agreed.

“Let me get out of my jumpsuit then we can go. You pick.”

Indy was the only STC who was a gym rat to your knowledge, but being in space, working out and supplements were just a fact of life in order to prevent muscle atrophy and other deterioration of your body. You were used to it, having spent plenty of time on spaceships growing up. Going to the gym with a buddy made the mandatory exercise regimen go by a lot quicker.

After changing into casual clothes appropriate for the gym, you grabbed Uni and headed out. She was a few years older than you, not nearly Pops’ age, but you knew she had been here for a little while before you started. Uni was a tall woman, tall enough that you had to crane your neck a little to look up at her, with dark black hair that she kept cropped close to her head. There were a few premature specks of grey at the back, which you never mentioned to her in case she hadn’t noticed.

“You were on shift with Quebec today?” She asked casually.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you answered. “You… checked the schedule?”

“Just to see when I was working. You had your dopey little smile on, so I figured.”

You covered your mouth with both your hands, squinting at her over them. “What are you talking about?”

“No, I think it’s cute. You guys are so cute when you talk about each other.”

“He talks about me?!”

She burst into laughter, fondly patting the top of your head. “Gotcha.”

“You’re mean,” you huffed, swatting her hand away. “Mean and awful and a liar—”

“I wasn’t lying!” You friend defended herself. “He does talk about you when we’re on shift. And it is very cute, too. I just also gotcha by bringing it up.”

The two of you had arrived at the food court that never closed, and she started towards one of the options. You followed, not caring where you ate right now, and also desperately needing to continue this conversation.

“What does he say, Uni?” You pleaded, shaking her by the arm as you got in the short line. Time was pretty meaningless on a space station in the middle of nowhere, constantly getting travelers arriving and departing, so people ate whenever they pleased. The only ones who tended to keep a pretty regular schedule were the crew—except STCs, of course.

“He talks about you the most, out of all the STCs. It’s always Zulu this, Zu that. He knows we’re friends, so he asks about how you’re doing if you guys haven’t been scheduled together for a while, stuff like that.”

You dug your toe into the metal panel under you as you thought about it. Suddenly, your friend was pinching your cheek and cooing at you, “Cute!”

“Uni!” You whined and smacked her hand away, cradling your now-tender skin. She laughed as the two of you shuffled up in line.

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

Because of where you were in space, the last station for a very long while along the intergalactic travel routes in this region, it wasn’t unusual for you to receive special arrivals. Politicians, ambassadors, military leaders, celebrities, you’ve seen a lot in your one year as an STC. Today, an ambassador from Earth was stopping over on their way to an intergalactic peace conference. You and Quebec had received the briefing for the landing in advance to your crew emails, so the ship information that appeared along with the dot was already familiar to you. When the VIPs were of this caliber, all of the higher-ups on the ship would be at the docking port to greet them. The protocols for landing were also slightly different, meaning that having two STCs was necessary for much of it.

“Space Traffic Control to military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner. Do you copy?” Quebec took over the initial paging.

“Military Heavy, Papa-Zero-Four-Niner to Control, we copy,” the pilot’s voice came back quickly. “Sending out recognition codes…”

An incoming message from the Heavy flashed up on your screen, and you accepted. Quebec read his out first, then you got on the mic to read out your three-number code.

“Great, thanks,” the pilot acknowledged. “Are we clear for landing?”

“Yes,” Quebec confirmed.

The two of you seamlessly worked through the pre-landing protocols with the Heavy’s pilot. Finally, you just had to wait for the craft to get closer before you could begin the next phase: landing. The pilot dropped off the comms momentarily to address something internally, promising to get back on when it was time to begin the landing. That just left you and Quebec again.

“Wonder why they even keep having these intergalactic peace conferences,” he mused. “They only invite the factions that are already at peace, never the ones with any tension.”

“It’s symbolic, I guess,” you shrugged. “Maybe they talk about how to go about achieving peace with the ones that aren’t there? Or to promote continued peace among the ones that are there?”

“It’d probably be worse to stop at this point, huh?”

“Yeah, might not look good if they stopped holding the intergalactic peace conference that’s been going on for the past couple decades.”

“Still, Th’irin always has something to say about—” A heavy clunk punctuated the end of his words, followed by silence. Not fuzzy silence, like when the mic was on but the person on the other end was quiet. Dead silence, like the mic had been shut off entirely.

“Bec?” You said uncertainly. Someone must have come into his tower, and he was addressing them off-mic.

When he still hadn’t responded a minute later, even to tell you to hold on or wait a minute, you started getting nervous. Sitting forward in your seat, you futzed with cover on your microphone as you called into it again.

“Quebec? You there?”

Nothing.

You paged him properly this time, hitting the button to flash the lights in his tower as you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Space Traffic Control Tower One to Tower Two, Quebec Kilo, do you copy?”

At the same time, your hands rushed to send a message to him via the STC system.

[TOWER1: Q? DO YOU COPY?]

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as you desperately went to send another message via the ship intranet to your superiors instead. As soon as you had started drafting it, though, you cursed under your breath and deleted it. They would be down at the dock waiting to receive the ambassador, not at their usual stations with monitors ready to receive emergency alerts from the STC towers.

“Military Heavy to Control, do you copy?” The pilot’s voice cut through the sound of your heartbeat, and you banged your fist on the desk in frustration. You quickly went into the system and switched it over to be a dual STC setup on your monitors since Quebec apparently wasn’t going to be able to help.

Turning your outgoing feed back on, you confirmed, “Control to Heavy, we copy.”

Now with both set of STC controls, you had to move twice as fast to input everything and go through the landing protocols with the pilot. All the while, in the back of your mind, the black put of worry in your stomach only grew and grew.

In between operations, you were drafting a new message, this time to the other STCs. You doubted any of them were going to be checking their staff emails not on duty, but you needed some kind of help. It was a succinct SOS, and you had to focus back in on landing the ambassador’s ship again, and sent it off without another thought.

“Your partner’s quiet,” the pilot commented, their tone light, and you knew they meant nothing by it. “Did you guys rock paper scissors for who would take what parts?”

“Mm, yeah,” you forced out a laugh through gritted teeth, smacking the page button for Quebec’s tower again—just in case.

The light in your tower flashed, and your heart nearly exploded with hope that it was Quebec signaling back to you, that something had just gone awry with his mic and he was still there. Then a hand tapped your shoulder, and you were thrown back into despair again.

It was Pops, the lines on his forehead clear as he furrowed his brows in confusion. He held his digipad out to you, your SOS message on it. You held a finger up to gesture for him to wait a moment as you were receiving pertinent information from the pilot.

“Seven-Five, Two-Zero,” you echoed, entering the numbers as you said them. “Copy.”

Taking one ear of your headphones off, you switched your outgoing comms off before immediately rambling, “It’s Quebec! He dropped off the mic like five minutes ago and he’s not answering, Pops!”

The older man held his hands out in a ‘calm down’ motion. “You’re sure he’s not just getting a snack?”

“No, no, he’d tell me! It was in the middle of his sentence, and we’re literally landing an ambassador’s ship right now!” You sputtered out, gesticulating between your controls and the large ship right outside your window. “He wouldn’t just leave! Something’s wrong!”

His jaw set and he gave one solemn nod. “How far are you?”

“The rest is automated now. But I can’t—”

“I’ll monitor,” he cut you off. “You go check on Quebec.”

“He’s all the way—”

“Now, Zulu!”

You shot to your feet and threw your headphones off and onto the desk. Running from the control room, you didn’t even stay to see Pops take over the station like you’re supposed to.

The space station was huge. It was a thirty-minute walk on a good day from one side to the other, but now that you had fully been overtaken by panic, all of the worst-case scenarios playing in your mind, your stomach consuming itself in fear and anxiety crushing your lungs, it felt insurmountable. Probably your only saving grace was the fact that word had gotten around about the ambassador’s arrival, so lots of people were down on the observation decks above the landing bay to watch the ship dock rather than milling through all the halls that you were currently sprinting through. Even the crew-only shortcuts that you had access to—which you knew were faster—felt like agony to wait for. Standing around in the elevators felt like standing in lava despite the fact that you knew they were moving 100x faster than it felt. The crew corridors were narrower, and you cut corners too close, banging your shoulder or elbow a few times. In your impatience, you lost the location of Tower 2 a couple times on the directory when selecting your destination in a transporter, screaming and kicking the wall in frustration. The pain distracted you from all the what-ifs, and grounded you back into this moment, so you didn’t actually mind it much.

You clutched the handles of Tower 2’s elevator so tightly your fingertips went numb, gnawing on your bottom lip until well past the point you tasted blood. Finally, you were at the control room, and you damn near pried the doors open yourself. Pushing yourself through the doors as they opened, you probably bruised your shoulder again, but you hardly registered it.

Under the red light that flashed to announce your arrival, a man was sprawled on the floor between the chair and the control station. You ran over, pulling the chair away to reach him. He was face-down, and you took his headphones off to roll him over.

“Quebec!” You shook his shoulder a little less than gently.

“Oh, God,” you muttered, scrambling to your feet to lunge for the bright blue medical emergency button by the door. The button lit up, and you ran back to grab his headphones and mic.

“—ation EMTs will be at your location in less than two minutes. Please communicate the nature of your emergency if you’re able,” the dispatcher’s voice requested.

“I just found the STC in this tower passed out. He’s got blood coming out of his ear and he won’t wake up,” you said.

“Do you know how long he’s been in this state?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Okay. Any sign of injury?”

“No, nothing. He was fine, he was talking and just, I don’t know, collapsed I think!” You didn’t mean to snap at the dispatcher, but you were freaked out by how little you knew.

“Alright, okay. I understand. The EMTs will be there very soon. Can you stay on the line with me in the meantime?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is the patient?”

“An STC—call name Quebec Kilo.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an STC too. Zulu Echo. We were on shift and he just dropped off the mic in the middle of a landing.”

“Got it, got it.”

“Where the EMTs?” You asked, feeling for Quebec’s breaths again.

“They’re in the elevator now.”

The elevator door opened then, and your throat seized up anxiously. “They’re here. Thank you.”

“I’ll hang up now. Goodbye, Zulu Echo.”

You took the headphones off as the two EMTs swarmed Quebec’s body, watching them start evaluating his vitals with their field scanner.

“We have the information you gave dispatch,” one EMT informed you. “We’re going to take him to the infirmary in this sector.”

You grabbed the edge of the desk to pull yourself to your feet. “I’ll—”

“Elevator isn’t big enough for all of us,” the other informed you regretfully as they had started loading him onto a stretcher. “You can take the next one.”

“Right. I’ll be right behind you.”

You watched them take him out, and as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, felt your knees buckle under you. Barely catching yourself against the desk, your eyes filled with tears, which you barely saw the flash of a red light through. The elevator wasn’t opening again, though, so you figured it must be a page.

Picking up the headphones and mic, you kept it on the internal system as you croaked, “Pops?”

“Oh, Zulu, there you are,” his relief was evident in his voice. “How is he?”

“Bad, I think,” you confessed, tears slipping down your face. “He was out cold, and there was blood coming from his ear. The EMTs took him—”

“You know where?”

“Sector 2 infirmary.”

“So what are you doing still talking to me?”

“Right. Bye, Pops.”

Your hands were trembling as you set the headphones down on the desk. With a trembling breath, you recalled the elevator. It was empty when you stepped on, and you numbly selected down. The infirmary was close by to the tower, and you wiped your eyes in the hall outside before entering.

It was eerily empty, and your stomach dropped. You dug your nails into your palm to try to get control of yourself again. Finally, a nurse came out of the hallway and into the main hallway where you were, clearly surprised when he spotted you.

“Sorry about that.” He focused a frazzled smile on you. “How can I help you?”

You were sure you were mirroring his expression. “I’m here to see somebody. He should’ve just come in with the EMTs…?”

“Yes, the doctors are working on him.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to where you can wait.”

You were put into a small patient room with a bed and one chair. After pacing for who knows how long, your feet finally got tired enough that you sat down in the chair. You didn’t sit for very long before you were back on your feet, pacing again. That repeated at least three times before you finally heard something from the hall.

Your eyes were already on the doorway when a gurney was pushed in, Quebec laying atop it. Stepping out of the way of the two nurses who transferred him from the gurney to the bed and started hooking him up the monitoring equipment, you were then pulled aside by the doctor who had come in with them.

“Are you a friend?” She asked.

“Yeah, we work together,” you confirmed. “I called it in.”

“Good timing,” she commented lightheartedly. She filled you in on the issue—most of the specifics went over your head, but it didn’t sound good—then gave you the prognosis, “We plugged everything back up. He’ll have a headache for a few days, and needs to take it easy for the next week. But other than that, he’ll be fine.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“How far medicine has come, huh?” She chuckled. “Something like that would’ve killed him a decade ago. But he can go on like it never happened now.”

You looked over at where Quebec’s eyes were still closed, still unable to calm your panicked heart despite the doctor’s reassuring words and relaxed demeanor. “When will he wake up?”

“An hour or so.” She nodded towards the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a couple other patients to check on.”

“Oh, go for it.”

“Push the call button if you need anything, or just holler. Small infirmary, someone will hear you.”

With her departure, it was just you and Quebec. You pulled the chair up to his bedside, gathering your knees to your chest in a self-soothing grasp. His heart monitor beeped steadily in the background, and you noticed that his hand was hanging off the bed a little bit, so you reached forward to pick it up and rest it over his abdomen like his other one. There was a small piece of gauze affixed under his ear, and you recognized it as the ear that had been bleeding earlier.

“I’m never letting you live this down, Quebec,” you stated through a sniffle. “Every time you bring up that Tanker showing up while I was at the vending machine, I’m going to bring up you passing out while we were in the middle of landing an ambassador’s ship.”

He continued resting, chest rising up and down.

“So you better wake up soon, so I can start teasing you.” You poked his shoulder before taking your hand back and wrapping your arm around your knees again.

For the first time since you entered Tower 2, you took a moment to process what Quebec actually looked like. Dark brown hair, bangs falling out of the way of his forehead and pieces curling around his ears, and a freckle under his right eyebrow.

You sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Of all the times you’d let yourself daydream about finally meeting Quebec in person, this was absolutely not how it went. Usually, it was something like bumping into each other while you were switching crew cabins, or you just so happened to go to a more centrally located place to eat and started talking to a handsome stranger and found out that it was him. Funny enough, you never thought of actually asking Quebec to hang out off-shift. You were more than happy with what you had, fully content with the knowledge that nobody in the universe knew him better than you, and vice versa. So what if other people knew what he looked like or knew his real name? That never felt important.

Before you realized it, your eyes were fluttering shut, your ears continuing to listen to the rhythm of the vitals monitor. Eventually, a confused grunt caught your attention, and you looked up quickly.

Quebec was hesitantly squinting one eye open, rubbing his other as he seemed to be struggling to adjust to the bright lights in the room. You stayed quiet as you let him wake up a little more and acclimate, getting two eyes open and blinking as he registered first the hospital gown he was wearing and infirmary bed he was laying in, then did a sweep around the room, brown gaze landing on you.

“Hey, Bec,” you greeted him gently, offering a small smile. “How do you feel?”

“Zu?” His voice was hoarse, gaze unblinking as he reached a hand towards you.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you confirmed, taking his hand between both of yours. “You had uhm, a problem. The doctor can explain—But you’re better now.”

He clutched his head, and you winced sympathetically.

“Your head will hurt for a bit, but other than that, all better,” you corrected yourself. “You feel okay?”

He nodded, sitting up a little straighter. “You came all the way here?”

“You passed out in the middle of us landing the ambassador’s ship,” you told him frankly, a hint of teasing in your tone. But your voice wavered as you added, “I was worried sick. Found you on the floor of the tower.”

“Ah, sorry. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand.

“No way I was going to let you die, Quebec. I mean—What if they started putting me with Indy instead?”

He was just staring at you, mouth parted, before a soft smile came across his features, two dimples marking his cheeks. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” You chuckled nervously.

“That you’d be the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

You covered your face as you laughed and shook your head. “Quebec—”

“Kun.”

“What?”

“That’s my real name,” he hummed. “Qian Kun.”

“Kun,” you sighed fondly. “I knew you’d have dimples.”

“What?” He giggled, touching one of his cheeks. “You could hear my dimples?”

“It was a hunch.”

He looked down at the IV in his arm. “They’ve got me on some good stuff.”

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed.

“I mean it, though.”

“Mean what?”

Kun turned over on his side to face you. “You’re beautiful, Zulu.”

You traced the lines of his brows, his freckle, his eyes, his nose, the curve of his smile, his cupid’s bow, and his jaw with your eyes. “Y/N. That’s my name. Y/L/N Y/N.”

He mouthed it to himself first, slowly, then said it aloud, “Y/N. Thank you.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Kun.” You pressed a fleeting kiss to his hand that you were still holding. “Really.”

You kicked your feet up on the desk, tapping your toes in the air along to an imaginary beat. Clicking your internal comms line on, you asked, “So what are you doing after this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kun immediately teased back.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked, asshole,” you scoffed.

“Ouch, first day back on the job and this is how I’m treated?”

“Doctor said you’re fine, no need to throw yourself a pity party.”

He laughed, but answered your question nevertheless. “Gym and then dinner. Missed enough required exercise thanks to that little incident I’m going to start withering away.”

“I’ll have to find another archnemesis if you do.”

“So I am your archnemesis.” His grin was audible, and you could perfectly imagine it now, bright and dimpled. “Well, I can’t have you thinking about anybody else.”

You looked over your shoulder before offering, “Want some company?”

“Sure. Sector 1?”

“Damn, you really that afraid of withering away you’re willing to come all the way over here?”

“I was being a gentleman—”

“Wait, your favorite restaurant is in the Sector 1 food court,” you said knowingly. “Would that have anything to do with it?”

“It’s a win-win—you don’t have to come all the way over here, I get to see you…”

“And eat at your favorite spot,” you snickered. “Smart, Bec.”

“I would’ve offered even if I hated all the food in Sector 1, Zu,” he declared dramatically. “Hand on my heart.”

Despite knowing each other’s real names, it was still habit (and technically proper) to use call names on shift. You checked on him every day during his recovery over the past week, so you’d gotten used to calling him Kun as well.

“Uh-huh,” you agreed mildly. “I’ll meet you in the gym at 1630 then.”

“It’s a date.”

After getting through your mandatory workout for the day, you and Kun meandered over to the Sector 1 food court. Despite your teasing, you also got food from the same restaurant as him. He didn’t move to take a seat in the food court, however, jerking his head for you to follow him. With your bag of food in one hand, you did so, intrigued. Kun apparently had a destination in mind, weaving through the crowds with intention and reaching back to grab your free hand to not lose you.

Soon, you arrived at a crew-only observation deck devoid of other people. You couldn’t recall if you had been to this particular one before, but the door slid shut behind you two and the sounds of the rest of the ship faded away. This particular deck was pointed directly at a large plasma cloud, glowing with energy and all sorts of swirling pinks, purples, and greens.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” you gushed, sitting on the ledge under the window.

“I like seeing how the cloud has changed whenever I’m in Sector 1,” Kun said, sitting next to you. “It’s different every time.”

You drew your gaze over to him, eyes catching on the faint line under his ear, marking where he’d been operated on just last week. It had healed very fast, of course, as all surgeries now did, and you reached out to touch the skin under it with a fingertip. “Do you feel okay, Kun?”

“Brand new.” He took your hand from the incision and laced your fingers together. “I promise, Y/N.”

“Good.” The two of you ate your dinner like that, hand-in-hand, watching the plasma cloud and stars, sometimes talking, and sometimes in silence. And that was more than enough.

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

@classicroyalty @fairvtale @giirlfriendd @shaqs-oatmeal @sofipolii01 @fae-renjun

#qian kun x reader #wayv x reader #nct x reader #qian kun imagine #wayv imagine #nct imagine #nct fluff #kun x reader #qian kun fluff #kun fluff #kun imagine #wayv fluff #writing #text #mine #f: clatr #kunkun #bias tag

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genderqueerdykes · 3 days ago

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thank you so much for talking about the whole "i hate men except for you" thing. i'm friends with a cis girl (that i don't really want to be friends with anymore for obvious reasons) who loves saying stuff like "i hate boys" "all boys are the same and they never change" "i'm starting to hate boys more and more" "except for you of course!!" but it's not like she shows any respect towards my identity. she's the only friend of mine that uses she/her for me, says stuff like "mommy and daughter bonding 😊" when i mention i'm spending time with my mom, and deadnames me when i don't immediately respond to a text she sent me 2 seconds ago (and in that text she'll call me by the right name). i used to think that she's just doing this on accident but i've noticed that she only deadnames me and calls me a girl when i'm the only person listening. she's been messing up my pronouns around my friends more often and thankfully one of them noticed and is starting to talk to me about it but UGHHH. i already stopped liking her the second she started saying man hating stuff but the fact that i'm supposed to be the one exception yet she treats me this way... am i the exception because i'm your friend or am i the exception because you're trying to make me feel special when you don't even see me as a boy to begin with?

of course, anon, that's what i'm here for! thank you for taking the time to send in your story, it's important that you be heard

this is absolutely disgusting behavior, but you are not alone in going through this in the slightest. i have seen this behavior play out so many times. that is absolutely sickening that this girl will deadname you just to get you to respond to texts quicker. that is some seriously malicious behavior and you are 100% in the right for not wanting to be her friend anymore.

it's not flattering to be seen as a Special Man. the trans acceptance basics are not treating trans boys/men and trans girls/women like "Special" boys/men/girls/women. we for the most part do not want to be seen as "Different" from other guys. that isolation and singling us out makes us feel alienated and unwelcome everywhere.

honest to god i think the more people who stand up and go. yeah i don't want to be your friend anymore. the bigger of an impact we will have on this kind of behavior. you're not the first anon i've gotten who has wanted to/ended a friendship over this behavior. i have gotten so much feedback from people who have completely terminated friendships over this and GOOD.

people need to understand that trans men don't constantly want to be otherized, infantilized, mocked, scrutinized, deadnamed and fucking harassed for the sake of """""FITTING IN""""""". this isn't fitting in, this girl has made herself into your own personal antagonist. you are right in realizing this is not on accident. this is malicious behavior on purpose. she knows what she's doing. she sees you as a girl and wants you to know that and fuck her for doing all this.

you deserve way better. i hope you're able to get her out of your life and find friends who *actually* support you. that is utterly disgusting behavior and she deserves to lose a friend over it. you're not there to listen to her hate on your siblings and friends. nothing good ever comes of "oh well i don't mean YOU i hate all men BUT you :)" yeah that's not making you safer to be around. YOU are the dangerous person in this scenario. wise up.

take care of yourself anon you deserve so much better than that. if you need any help feel free to stop by again any time

#asks #feedback #transandrophobia #man hating #anti masculinity #anti masculism #answers

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lieutenantbatshit · 2 days ago

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CHAPTER 06 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

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----

You focused your gaze on the line in front of you as you await your turn. You felt your stomach grumble a bit, an indication that you were already hungry. You've been so caught up with what's happening in this hellhole that it didn't cross your mind that you needed food. You wished for the food to be good, something nutritious at least. If they were going to let you compete on these games, they might as well at least give you a fulfilling food to prepare you.

The guards hand you a gold, rectangular lunch box and a bottled water. You reached for it, turning your back from the guards as you made your way towards 456's group, who were sitting on the staircase near their self-assigned beds. You had a lot of questions on your mind, especially with why he approached you in the club, and about being the sole winner years ago. You thought it may be a bit bold and abrupt to ask such a traumatizing event, but your gut was telling you to at least ask, to know what was out there.

If he was indeed part of the games back then, he would probably know the next games.

"Ahjussi," you spoke up, earning a glance from 456. You seemed to have interrupted his conversation with player 390. You noticed 456 eyeing your patch, a small smile forming his lips as he saw the X patch. "Do you remember me?"

456, clearly confused, eyed you as if trying to remember you. 390 also shot you a confused look. "I'm sorry, miss. Do we know you?"

You ignored 390, feeling a bit of annoyance as you were talking to 456, not him. 456 seemed to soften his expression as he spoke, "Oh, have we met before?"

"You approached me in the club," you explained. "Then I found you here. Were you looking for something else?"

456 nodded, now remembering. "Ah, yeah I remember," he gave you a reassuring smile, somewhat apologetic. "I'm sorry about that, miss. I was looking for someone else at that time."

"Were you also picked up in the club by these... people?" You motioned your head towards the guards. He nodded, reluctantly meeting your gaze. Just as when you were about to speak again, you heard your stomach grumble.

456 and 390 seemed to hear it, as 390 moved himself and motioned for a space for you to sit. "Oh, you may as well eat with us, miss."

You gave 390 a bow, taking the space beside him. You fixed yourself up as you opened your lunchbox, seeing a good set of rice meal. This was the kind of meal your mother used to make for you back then, a small smile forming your lips as you remember it. At least, there was something comforting in this place, making you remember your mother.

"I don't know about you, but that 20 million wouldn't even cover my interest," 390 said, munching on his food. You noticed 456 staring into space, his expression dark as if he was thinking hard. He didn't bother opening his food. "If we play just one more game..."

"Jung-bae," 456 replied coldly. So, 390's name was Jung-bae, you figured. "Last time I was here, someone said the exact same thing. And in the end, the person died here."

You froze as you took a spoonful of your food to your mouth, slowly eyeing 456. You were correct, you figured only one person can win the total grand prize. There was no way you would make it out here alive.

"Help us then, sir," you looked up and saw Player 001, a crowd of players following him from behind. He kept his gaze to 456, his expression somewhat comforting yet... something. "I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was so scared. I wanted to quit and leave, but you made me think maybe I could just play one more game."

As much as the darkness prevailed in this place, you knew to your gut that he was right. You knew deep inside you that 456 may have wanted to save everyone, stating that he was a winner back then and its consequences of being one. Though the fact that he survived may be a motivation for the others to complete and win the games. The system, not seemingly rigged, was a calculated and precise one.

"Sir," you spoke, the attention turning to you as they waited for you to continue. You felt each eye on you, making you a bit conscious but continued to speak. 456 looked at you, seemingly surprised. "You know which game is next, don't you?"

"That's right," Jung-bae said, putting his food down. "You're a previous winner, so you should know." He moved his face near 456, his question almost a whisper but still loud enough to hear. "What are we playing next?"

456 sighed softly. "The second game was Dalgona."

You heard the bed frame creak from your upper left, seeing a man who continued to eat on his lunch. He bent down a bit, earning the attention of the small crowd you were in. You saw his number, Player 388. "Dalgona? The sugar candy with a shape you can carve out?"

456 nodded. "That's right, we had to choose one of four shapes and carve it out."

You stayed silent as you continued to eat, enjoying the meal despite the commotion around you. You felt Jung-bae move as he positioned himself closer to 456. "Four shapes? Which was the easiest one?"

"Triangle."

"Which was the hardest one?"

"Umbrella."

"Umbrella?" You exclaimed, a bit of rice splashing from your mouth. You quickly covered your mouth, almost choking. You bowed to everyone and apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. So I'm assuming the ones who picked umbrella had no little chance to survive?"

You grabbed your bottle of water as you coughed a bit, trying to calm yourself down. Then, 001 spoke up, the amusement in his expression evident. "Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust."

You saw 456 glare at 001 for a bit. You grimaced, thinking maybe 456 chose umbrella last time. You noticed 456 raise an eyebrow but looked away, sighing deeply.

"So, that means we should all just pick triangle," 388 said. "Everyone could probably pass the round."

Player 100 advanced in front, hushing the crowd. "If all 365 of us survive, the prize money won't go up at all. Then we'll have risked our lives again for nothing."

You looked at 100 in disbelief. You couldn't believe how he could think of such, so hungry for money. It added to more to your disgust when you hear the others agree, your thoughts being proven correct again on human greed.

"Listen," 100 whispered. "We should probably keep this information to ourselves. What do you say?" He looked at 001, as if waiting for him to agree. For a brief moment, you saw 001's eyes glance at you. It was so brief that you could miss it in the blink of an eye, but you knew he did.

"We can't do that," 456 retorted, the crowd's silent cheers fading. "I'm telling you this to save everyone's lives. If it's confirmed that the next game is Dalgona, I'm going to tell everyone what I know."

100 only scoffed, turning his back to 456 and walked away, shaking his head in disbelief as he did so. You noticed 001's eyes fixed on 456, as if trying to see his next moves were. You can't help but look at him, his hair pushed down perfectly neat, his eyes holding an emotion you couldn't decipher, his posture composed, opposite to the other players in this room.

001 looked away, his chest heaved as if he took a deep breath. The other players grumbled as they followed 100. The area seemed to be less suffocating as it is, when you decided to speak up again. "What if the games have changed since you won, sir?"

456 shot you a look. In your peripheral vision, you saw 001 look at you. "What do you mean?"

"They said the players are given a new advantage where we could go home and share the accumulated prize money," you explained. "It's a new advantage. I'm assuming in the past game you were in, voting for the games to end will leave you with nothing, is that right?"

456 nodded. You looked at Jung-bae who seemed to consider your words. While 001 kept his eyes on you, listening intently as you analyze the situation.

"They could change the games this time, or every season if they do that," you continued. "We can't be sure that Dalgona would be next."

"She's right," Jung-bae said as he nodded. "They probably know that the previous winner is with us."

You nodded back in agreement. "They have our information, for sure. No one's going to walk out of here with that prize money when someone like you could easily give us information on the new games. In every game, there are rules. One that must be fair and equal for everyone."

You looked at 001, who seemed to be amused with your words, though you could see how he was trying to hide it. You didn't realize how both of you were staring at each other for a minute, only for him to look away and turn his gaze to 456. "May I ask you something?" He sat down near you, feeling your knees brush against his back. "Why did you come back to this place? You said you won and made it out. Then you must've received 45.6 billion." You thought he stopped there, but he continued again. "Did you spend it all?"

"That money doesn't belong to me," 456 said, his tone assertive. "It's blood money for the people who died here." He looked up and pointed at the piggy bank. "The same goes for the money up there."

You felt 001 move his body a bit as you moved your knees away a bit, giving him room to sit back. "It's not like you killed those people, and saving that money won't bring them back to life."

You thinned your lips, the feeling of empathy washing over you as you imagine the lives taken in this place. You were a bit taken aback when you see 456 moving his body near 001, who seemed to hold a tense look in his eyes, filled with frustration. "If you had pressed X, everyone here would've made it out alive."

001 paused, seemingly absorbing his words. You stared at him as he continued to speak, feeling the tension between the two. "That's right, I was the last person to press the O button. But there were more 182 people who chose to stay."

"And there were 182 other people who chose to leave," you muttered, earning a look from 001 in front of you. His eyes stared at you intently, sensing the darkness behind it. You almost regretted speaking, but you couldn't help but retort. As much as you agreed with him, you still held hope that O team would change their minds.

001 didn't seem fazed. In fact, he was able to choose his words carefully. "Let's say, I pressed X and we all left. Would everyone have been happy?" He stated, his tone commanding but determined to make a point. "Do you think if they ran into me later, they'd thank me for saving their lives and tell me they're happy now?" He tilted his head on to you, trying to get an answer from you. You only looked at him sternly, the tension now between the two of you. You clenched your jaw, feeling your heart beat faster through your chest.

Honestly, you didn't know what to say. You never lived a day in poverty, you never felt the need of being in debt nor having to borrow money so you could sustain your needs. If you think about it, you've been risking your life for nothing alongside the other players. You had no place in the game, what more of a purpose? You were simply there for the thrill of it, nothing less, and nothing more. You were set for life, only to throw yourself in this pathetic, deadly situation with the others.

Winning the prize money would grant you nothing. It would just make your bank account accumulate more fortune, but nothing in your life would change at all. You didn't want to admit it to them, but you also didn't want to lose the argument. If you were going to die at this place, you could at least make your stay memorable.

"All right," Jung-bae spoke up, enough to snap you away from your thoughts. "There's no point in placing blame now. You know the saying, a widow understands a widower best." Jung-bae chuckled uncomfortably, trying to somehow ease the tension. "Let's just focus on tomorrow's game okay? He has won all these games before. If we stick together, we'll have nothing to worry about."

"That's right, sirs," the man from your upper left dropped down, turning to face the three of you. "We have to stick together. I'll be with you all the way."

"Who are you?" Jung-bae asked, looking at Player 388.

"I'm Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho," Dae-ho reached out his hand in attempt to shake Jung-bae's, only to be ignored by him.

You started to space out, still feeling the tension between you and 001. You felt your ego crush a bit, having to lose an argument with him. In all your life, especially in your marketing career, you dominated the industry. You were always ahead of everything, calculating every next move for your plans to work. You worked you way through sales, it's no wonder how your boss promoted you to a higher position, putting his trust into you as their company's percentage continuously goes up, thanks to your help.

001 only proceeded to eat his food, his gaze not leaving you. 456 and Jung-bae turned their attention to Dae-ho, who introduced himself as a former Marine. You stared into space but felt 001's eyes on you. At this point, you started to brace yourself for the next games. You didn't know who he was, what he was capable of. He may remind you of In-ho, but the In-ho you knew would never believe in such a statement that 001 said.

As you finished your food, you chugged on your bottled water. It was a fulfilling meal, at least. You laid back a bit, trying to savor the meal you just had. You almost daydreamed, hoping to get out of this place as soon as possible so you could enjoy more of the meal you just ate.

You jolted in surprise when you heard a loud thud on the ground, seeing 230 beat Myung-gi, along 124. They clearly had no manners, fighting in the middle of meal time. You wished for a guard to come in and stop the two, but they stood still with their guns, letting the commotion continue.

You saw 001 stand up as he brushed Jung-bae and Dae-ho aside, speaking up. "Boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime?" He walked towards 230, whose name you heard was Thanos. "No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners."

You looked intently to 001. For a tensed situation as this, his posture remained composed. He looked at Thanos sternly as he continued to speak. "And two against one? Aren't you embarrassed?"

Thanos faced him, eyeing him from up and down as if trying to size him up. He started to walk up to 001, as 124 followed. "You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?" Thanos scoffed. "Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids."

You could see 001's fist clench, staring darkly to Thanos. Though he didn't flinch as Thanos moved crudely, trying to distract him. 001 tilted his head. "What did you just say?"

Thanos moved closer to 001, eyeing him. "I said save the lecture for your own damn kids."

In just a snap, you let out a gasp as you see 001 grab Thanos by the neck, earning a grunt from him. 124 marched to 001, only to be kicked in the leg by him and kicked him away, leaving 124 groan to the ground.

Thanos seemed to let go from 001's grip, attempting to advance towards 001 to place his fist on to him, only for 001 to duck and punch Thanos on his stomach, earning a groan from him. Thanos raised his hand up but 001 relentlessly twists his arm, his bones cracking as he fell to the ground. 001, seemingly unfazed, kicked him some more.

Thanos stayed on the ground as 001 grabbed his neck, gripping it with his other fist in the air. You stood up, catching more sight of the commotion. You watched as 001's eyes darkened, as if he could break Thanos in a snap. "I'm sorry...." Thanos choked. "Please..."

You noticed 001 charge his fist, then his eyes darted on you, his other hand still gripping Thanos' throat. Your eyes widened, your heart about to burst to your chest. You couldn't but feel shivers down your spine, wondering why he was looking at you as 001 did so. Was he threatening you? Was he trying to prove a point?

One thing's for sure - you didn't want to be on the other end of his hand. There was something dangerous to this man, something deeper than what you see from him right now.

"Let me go..." Thanos begged, his voice starting to strain. 001's eyes slowly softened, letting his grip go, his eyes still on you.

You looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore. You heard the sound of claps and people cheering, but you didn't join them. If anything, you felt your life was in danger. Not because of the games, but how 001 was invested in you, or what seemed to be.

"Ahjussi," you approached 456. "Will it be okay to join your group?"

456 nodded, immediately motioning a space on the bed near him. "Yes, yes. Also," 456 sighed softly. "Call me Gi-hun."

"Gi-hun," you said, a small smile forming your lips. "Thank you. I'm Y/N."

Gi-hun returned your smile, letting you take over the space for you to make yourself comfortable. You heard 001's footsteps approaching, purposely averting your gaze. If there's anything, you needed to survive in this place, so steering clear of 001 could somehow help you.

Yet you couldn't deny the charm he had. As much as you wanted to distance yourself from him, he held his gaze to you that was mixed with curiosity and... longing. Deep inside you, you enjoy the thrill of it, wanting to know more about 001. He reminded you of In-ho, the way he carries himself around the place.

You tucked yourself under the blanket as you notice the other players fixing their beds. In a few hours, lights would be out.

----

"Honey, I'm sorry..." You heard Jung-bae say, his voice drooling as he slept.

You couldn't sleep. Sure, your eyes were closed but you just couldn't fall asleep. You tried counting sheeps, the alphabet, from 1 to 100, but your senses stayed awake.

The lights in dorm were dimmed, the piggy bank with its money shone its light to the room, giving it a warm touch to the room. The lights for X and O shone through the ground. In a few minutes, the lights would be out. Though you wanted to sleep, but your mind didn't want to.

You figured it was just the tension filled in the room as everyone settled on their beds, trying to get some sleep. While some players still chatted with each other, exchanging names and getting to know each other's backstories. You sighed as you heard some of them, hearing how some decided to play to pay for their child's treatment, gambling addiction, got scammed, didn't get their investment back, and so many more. Your heart felt heavy as you listened to their stories, clutching your chest as a sign of empathy.

You heard footsteps approaching near you. You were at the top of the bunk bed, with Gi-hun down you. You looked down for a bit and saw 001, looking at Gi-hun, his face softened this time.

"Excuse me," 001 said, his voice low. "If you're still up, can we have a little talk?"

You felt movement at the bottom, sensing Gi-hun to sit right up. 001 sat on the staircase near Gi-hun. "Sure," you hear Gi-hun say.

You laid back down, trying not to get caught to eavesdrop. You closed your eyes, trying to catch some sleep, but you couldn't help but hear them. "I think I was out of line before. I'd like to apologize," 001 said, his tone soft and sincere this time. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's okay," Gi-hun replied, as if reassuring the latter. "I laid all the blame on you. I was out of line."

You thinned your lips, realizing how Gi-hun could be so nice. As much as you didn't want to trust people in this place, you can't help but feel a sense of trust and hope for Gi-hun. Though for 001, you were still on guard, in case something happens. You couldn't trust someone who could easily grab someone by the throat, almost killing them.

You heard 001 take a deep breath, sighing heavily. This time, his voice held a strain, his vulnerability showing. "My wife is very sick. She has acute cirrhosis. She needs a liver transplant."

You felt your heart drop a bit, kind of hating yourself for it. An unfamiliar feeling washed over you, your emotions debating as it confused you, wondering why you felt this way.

"But when she was going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant," 001 paused, his voice cracking. You couldn't help but peek, turning your head over and saw tears forming in his eyes. "The doctor suggested a termination, but she won't listen. Says she'll give birth even if it kills her."

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to make sense of his story. You remember the story, seemingly familiar to you.

No, it can't be.

"You see, my wife is stubborn. I've never been able to change her mind about anything. We were struggling to find a donor, and her condition was getting worse," 001 paused for a bit before continuing. "I borrowed as much money as I could, but it still wasn't enough. I was desperate. Then, one of my oldest vendors heard about my situation and offered to help. So, I borrowed money from them. But people saw it as a bribe, and I got fired from my job."

"His wife passed due to a liver failure, or something like that," Jun-ho said, as you opened your mouth in shock. "She was pregnant, noona. Hyung took on a bribe in exchange for his wife's liver transplant, but by the time he came back, she was already gone."

"Where did he go?" You asked Jun-ho, who averted your gaze, his eyes sternly looking into space.

He took a while to answer, his eyes fixed away from you. You put your hand to your mouth, shocked on what you just knew about In-ho. In-ho, who always put others first before himself, the one who saved and comforted you whenever you scratched your knee as you ran down the street, the one who gave you a paper ring.

You looked through your wallet and grabbed the paper ring inserted along your cards, seeing In-ho's handwriting as you unfolded it. There it wrote, "Always and in all ways."

"Always and in all ways," you muttered under your breath. You sat up abruptly, hearing the bed creak a bit. Your eyes widened, your breath hitching as you slowly piece things together, one-by-one.

"I had devoted my entire youth to it. These games were my last hope. I get it. I know what you were trying to say, Mr. 456. What that money represents. But I... I really need that money, even if it's blood money. I need that money..."

A tear fell to your cheek, your heart beating fast as you slowly look down, seeing the man down there as his lips trembled, breaking down.

"...to save my wife and our child," he looked up, staring at the piggy bank. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold his tears back. Then, he looked down, seeing the tears flow to his cheek.

You sniffed, wiping your tears away. Though it was bittersweet to feel happy knowing that you've found In-ho here. You weren't sure if he remembered you, but you hope that even in the slightest, he would. And you were going to make sure of that.

"In-ho..." you whispered, yet you noticed his face slowly looking up to you, his eyes shocked. You wanted to go down there and hold him in your arms. You wanted to tell him you were back for good, and that you're never leaving again.

He heard you. He wouldn't be looking up to you if he didn't. Yet his stare fixed on you, as if he didn't know what to feel. You couldn't tell what his eyes told you, but one thing's for sure, he was surprised. You only gave him a smile and a little wave. You laid back down, turning on the other side as you feel the sleep catching on to you, finally closing your eyes.

Although you couldn't help but see some loopholes in his story. His wife already passed, why was he talking to her in present tense? Something seemed to be going on, as if he had to keep a certain facade. You thought of all the possibilities, but you were too blinded with the happiness that you remembered In-ho, excited for the next day to come.

----

A/N: And sooo, here it is! I'm trying to update as fast as I can so you guys wouldn't wait for too long. I understand the feeling of having to wait a few days before the next chapter comes haha. I'm also thinking of creating a playlist for this series since I listen to music as I write, some of them are based on some songs 😄 Let me know if you want me to create a playlist for this series and I'll have it ready in the next few days. 😅 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

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TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 (p.s. if i forget to tag you, please let me know)

#hwang in ho #lee byung hun #player 001 #squid game #the front man #oh young il #squid game netflix #001 squid game #001 #squid game season 2 #in ho x reader #hwang inho #in ho #frontman x reader #frontman x you #inho x reader #inho x you #hwang inho x reader

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