#I must admit I sometimes drop threads when I feel they go nowhere... but usually I am just slow

[secondhand-trash]

Sun Shower

Kinktober 2020 — knotting

A/N: I need everyone to know that anything I write that has something to do with foxes is immediately self-indulgent, I cannot begin to describe you the joy I feel whenever I write about it

Pairing: kitsune!Miya Atsumu x f!reader

Description: Foxes, they mate for life.

Warning: feral foxtsumu, biting, oral (receiving), vaginal penetration, knotting, creampie, borderline cumflation but just putting it here to be safe

Word count: 4551 

(more of the modern magic au here)

-

The sound of sizzling filled the small apartment you called home, the weak venting system of the old complex far too incompetent to truly stop the blended smell of oil from spreading everywhere.

You were laying on your couch that you bought from a second hand store when you moved in, one that could barely fit in the two of you if you sit any less properly. Atsumu had claimed that it would be alright, saying with his loopy accent that he could just turn back into a fox when you cuddle to save space. That, on its own was far too tempting of an offer to give up and so you used the money that you had saved from buying the couch that was technically a love seat to get high quality tuna sashimi to celebrate your first night in your new home.

It was a lie, he never did willingly turn into the cuddly fox like he said he would when you tried to get him to scooch over because his much larger frame was squishing against you, only pulling you above him in a position that defied human anatomy before dozing off to his nap again.

“You should know that foxes are deceitful creatures,” he mumbled in his sleep when you smacked his arm for him to loosen up his grip, “should have known better...”

Deceitful creatures indeed, who were infamous in folklores for casting illusions on innocent humans only to run away leaving nothing but echoes of laughter once their tricks were see through. Sometimes you would walk up to him and poke his chubby cheeks out of nowhere, replying with a smirk that you were checking if he would eventually show his true form when he winced.

You wondered if he had pulled any tricks to get you to be with him. You fell for him little by little with harmless bickering and occasional moments of sudden charm that had your heart beating faster. Even though you were groaning inwardly that you couldn’t believe you were swooning for Miya fucking Atsumu of all people when he was just deliberately pissing you off with his grinning face just moments earlier. But before you knew it, you had already gotten used to making space for him and his flicking tail that always accidentally hit you when he turned around.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when he brought you to the neighbourhood Inari temple that day, pulling you close to him by your wrist and confessed to you in a voice that he thought was incredibly swoon-worthy. You rolled your eyes when he tilted his head at you with a smirk that seemed out of place for what he just said, mostly because you could not believe this really was the guy you stayed up at night thinking about. 

You could never forget how almost immediately after you returned his feelings. a droplet of water fell from the sky. You gasped when you felt the rain soaking into your shirt but was far too mesmerised by the way sun filtered through the rain and made it looks like threads of gold and silver appearing in the middle of a sunny day. Atsumu looked up at the sky and laughed, opening his palm to catch the rain while his other hand held you close to him.

“They say sun showers are the signal that the band to welcome the fox bride has set off,” he said, golden eyes glimmering brighter than the sun as he leaned down. His breath was warm against your lips when he spoke again before closing the gap, “the gods must be sending a message.”

Much later into your relationship after his perfect confession, you would learn that he seemed to be very friendly with the god that resided in the exact same temple he brought you to. If the god seemed to be casually good friends with your lover, who was to say that the “message from the gods” was not deliberately planned?

But trick or not, you could not forget the way he smiled when you told him that you also liked him with a grumble. Not one of his usual lop-sided grins or mocking lift of his lips, a real smile, the kind where his mouth could not be wider and he had to force them shut so he wouldn’t be showing his teeth. Nor could you forget the feeling of his tail that appeared out of nowhere curling over your leg when he held you close, the soft fuzz of his fur sending tingles all over your skin as if the feeling of his lips on yours was not enough to have you going haywire. 

You could not say it was a scam when you fell for it willingly, that was what you believed. 

Right now, the cunning fox was standing in front of the stove with one hand on his waist, his tail swaying side to side as he whistled a tune you had never heard of before. Sometimes, when you blinked, you would see the shadow of what seemed to be more tails swooshing around only for it to return to just that one brush when you focused again. 

The number of tails a fox had was a sign of status and power, he had told you one time while he was forcing you to give him scratches with his head on your lap. The dart of red at the outer corner of his eyes furrowed when he scrunched his face up in comfort, whimpering in content as he moved his head around to make you scratch down on the right spot.

More often than so, his antics would make you forget that beyond grinning faces and smooth words, he was indeed a powerful youkai much unlike yourself. Until he would crouch down in front of you after an argument, turning leaves into all sorts of strange objects just to make you laugh even though you were determined to give him the cold shoulder. The soft glow on his skin when he curled up next to you on the bed after just coming down from his high making you admit that he did look whimsical at times.

Some foxes were the gods’ messengers, even though the same fox that might have been worshipped centuries ago was here singing off tune in your kitchen while cooking dinner.

Calling it “off tune” was a bit of a merciful statement, you sighed and stared at the ceiling as his singing got louder and louder. Standing up, you made sure your steps were light enough that even his superb hearing would not catch onto as you slowly made way to the kitchen. His tail was swaying like a gigantic paintbrush, and you held your hands out to focus on your target.

“Heh??????”

The chopsticks he was holding in hand dropped onto the frying pan with a clink as he felt the sudden grip on his tail. You could feel his fur standing up like a pompom under your hand, your lips curling up at his reaction as you continued to rub your face against the soft fleece.

“What, what, what are you doing?” he stuttered, his nostrils flailing when he felt a very untimely wave of heat rising in his core. Shivers run down his spine as you handsily toy with his tail, your nails scratching lightly at his skin beneath the coat as you ran your hands up and down.

“Nothing, just checking on your progress.”

Atsumu gulped at how nonchalant you sounded, your hands not once stopping. If you had peeled your eyes away from the floof that had taken up all your attention, you would see that his ears were twitching uncomfortably on his head. His shoulders tensed as he bit his lips, focusing on anything but how he could feel himself popping a boner if you don’t stop it with your hands anytime sooner.

His breathing halted to a paused when you put your chin on his shoulder, your hands still around his tail as you pressed up against his back. He could feel the softness of your chest through your thin shirt and it was not helping with how hypersensitive he was. 

“The patty is starting to burn.”

“Huh?” he let out an incomprehensive string of curses when you let go of him with a light shove, his hands flailing to save the poor piece of meat that was crisping up under his lack of attention earlier.

He huffed, wincing at how long it would take him to get the burnt bits off the perfectly fine pan while thinking that he was definitely going to let his frustration be known later.

-

Atsumu leaped on you the moment you were about to pull your phone out to do some scrolling before bed.

“Tsumu, what is it?” you asked, letting your phone slide out of your palm as you stared flatly at the man that was pinning you down. He was smiling, like the scheming foxes straight out of a fable as he looked down at you. His pupils were squeezed into two thin lines, slicing his golden eyes into two halves. You could see the pattern like amber as he stared you down, the dart of black pulsating as he exhaled through his nose.

“You knew what you were doing.”

“Know what?” you asked again, this time slightly more amused than the last when the answer you were seeking for slowly appeared in your head. His ears were standing up on his head, the thin strand of fur at the very tip flicking as it twitched. His tail was swaying between his legs that trapped you under him, his position much like a predator that was ready to feast on his prey.

The chase was part of the fun too.

“You were railing me up,” each word fell off his lips with a short pause in between, his tone a special kind of sultry as he exaggerated the slight raise of his voice after the sentence.

Still laying flat with your face right below his, you glanced down at where a slight tent was poking against the material of his sweats.

Horny bastard.

“How did I rail you up?”

He snorted in bafflement, his head tilting like he could not believe what you just said as the wagging of his tail got wilder. “You know that my- hmph!”

You bite your lips to stop the chuckle from slipping past when he let out a choked whine the moment you hooked on leg over his waist and brushed the heel of your feet along his tail. 

“Like this?” you said, widening your eyes to forge innocence when you could physically felt the fur on his tail standing up at the stimulation. His face was contorted, the nonchalant smile on his face replaced by a scrawl. You would not mistake the grumble from the back of his throat when your hand reached up to rub his pointy ears between your fingers, scratching your nails down on the soft fleece at the bottom as your feet not once stopped.

He glared at you, his eyebrows locking together in place when he felt the dull ache in his groins growing. His face was on fire, a flush dusting at the top of his cheek and threatening to spread everywhere else too. 

“Or this?”

You were grinning ear to ear when you press your pelvis up against him with the help of your leg around his waist. What was only a small tent before was now a full on bulge and his tail stiffen under your foot at the pressure. His arms that were at both sides of your head was shuddering, his muscles flexing as you continued to blatantly feel him up.

One press of your heel on the base of his tail where the fur met with his hips was what made him snap. The animalistic growl that rumbled out from the back of his throat shaken you to the core when he latched on you, pinning you down by the shoulder with one hand while the other gripped onto your thigh that was still at the side of his waist. His lips were messy on you, forcing your mouth open with a bite on your bottom lip before his tongue dominated your senses. Muffled moans and breathy groans slipped out between heated kisses, his hand trailing down and groping anything he could get his hands on when you melted under his force and let him take the lead as he pleased.

You let out a breathy sigh when he released your lips and proceed down your neck, leaving trails of saliva as he went with the bites and sucks he left. His canines brushing against the sensitive skin had you whimpering, giving him the perfect opportunity to bite down. You yelped at the pain, your hand shooting up to find leverage in his hair as he licked at the sore spot he just clamped down on. The warmth of his spit left your skin tingling, the mark of his teeth still apparent to your senses with the dull ache that remained. 

His hands clawed impatiently at the thin shirt that clad your body, slipping underneath immediately when you scurried to peel it off of you with a slight arch of your back in the brief removal of his weight on you. You arched against him when he took your nipple in his lips, licking and sucking on the sensitive bud that sent you into an overdrive of pain and pleasure. You moaned when you felt his bared teeth brushing against the perky tip, the air of the room feeling exceptionally chilly with the slight sheen that was left on your skin. His fingers replaced his lips when he moved to the other side, his hand kneading and fondling roughly with your breast while his tongue swirled around the other bud.

His hips were held up as he lost himself in the want to feel more, taste more of you. Out of the corner of your eyes that was threatening to shut tight in reflex, the vigorous flick of his tail was all you can see between your lashes. He looked like a wild animal waiting to pounce on his defenseless catch, the pointy tips of his nails hooking onto the band of your shorts before yanking down with a forceful pull. You arched yourself off the mattress while his lips trailed down from the valley of your breast to the center of your stomach. Nothing could stop you from whining out loud when he shamelessly shoved his nose against the thin cotton of your panties where a damped spot was starting to form, the loud inhale making you squirm underneath him and wanting to push him away in embarrassment.

“Tsumu, don’t-”

Your breath hitched when he cut you off with a snap of his head upwards at glare at you. The low growl that was gritted out from his bearing teeth had your knees weak, the sharp tip of his canines on show as he warned you from stopping him. The look in his eyes was dangerous, like he was about to tear you apart and it was shameful how it made your cunt clench around nothing.

You could still hear the purr from his throat when he dipped his head back down, his tongue poking out to lick a stripe up the crotch of your panties. He had your knees hooked on his shoulder, holding you in place as his tongue mapped out the print of your folds and making you threw your head back against the pillow. You bucked your hips forward, urging him to give you more and his ears twitched at your antics.

One finger hooked under the strip of fabric and you hissed when he shoved it to the side, revealing your pussy that was already coated with a thin shine. He did not waste a moment before latching onto your folds, his tongue that had always been anything but well-behaved parting your pussy and delving in. He groaned at the taste of your arousal, his tail tugging neatly to the side as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and pushing them back further. 

He was lapping at you like he had been starved and you were the first meal he had, salvaging every inch of you as far as his tongue could reach and drowning in your scent. His hips were humping against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the ache in his pants that was fueled by the feeling of your skin right under his hands. Your voice came out as broken moans and pants as his tongue plunged in and out of you, the brief moments when he slipped his tongue out of you to catch a breath was when he smeared your juices coating his lips over your clit and sucking on the engorged nub. 

Your panties were shoved to the side but the flimsy cotton was still too much of a constraint to the greedy fox and he let go of your legs with a displeased hiss before pulling it down until it was out of his way completely. He did not bother to fling it to the ground before scooping your knees up again, a high-pitched moan ripping from the back of your throat when he flicked his tongue furiously against your sopping folds, your toes pointing in pleasure with your panties still barely hanging on your ankle with how hasty he was at removing it from you just earlier. You felt your limbs numbing at the coil that tightened every time he growled between his teeth against your cunt, kicking your panties off of you before letting your eyelids fell from the white you were seeing in your vision. His name rolled off your lips in a cry when you cum around his mouth, his tongue rubbing against your walls encouragingly as he basked in the sweet sounds you were making.

The fox perked up from between your legs, his long tongue swiping across his lips to lick up your juices that was tinting across his face and strong jaws. His eyes were glinting when he rose up, ears pointing upwards as he took your quivering lips in his once again while his hands fumbled to pull down the band of his sweats. You whimpered into the kiss when you tasted yourself on him, his tail brushing against the side of your waist as the comb of fur swayed behind him now that he was bare. His cock was pressed against his lower stomach, the vein at the side pulsing and beads of pre-cum rolled down his length from the leaking tip. He held your legs up once again, the time pushing your knees all the way back until they were right against your chest. 

He sucked in on your scent at the crook of your neck in satisfaction, loving how you were always smelt more euphoric after you were lost in bliss. Rubbing the side of his chin on your neck, you whined at the stretch pulling at the side of your thighs as he messily glided his cock across your folds that was dripping with the mixture of arousal and his spit.

Your soft moan overlapped with the feral grunt he let out when he pushed his tip inside of you with ease from the wetness, the stretch making your fingers dug into his back as he filled you up inch by inch. 

Atsumu’s warm huffs of breath was moist against your neck, his nostrils flaring at how warm and tight you were around him. The first thrust set him loose as he focused on breaking you into pieces, each surge of his hips hilted deep inside you with how you were bent in half underneath him. Your brain was in a mush as his tip rubbed against your velvety walls, the vein at the underside of his cock creating extra friction and making your skin burn.

He was not shy with letting you know how much he was enjoying himself, grunting and growling in your ear as he jackhammered into with frigid snaps of his hips. His tail was stiff at his back, the fur on it spiking up as his stomach spasmed. His nails were almost painful on your thighs as he gripped onto you tightly, his broad frame completely towering over yours as he drilled inside of you in a force that felt like he was not going to stop until he shattered your bones. 

“Tsu- tsumu!” 

He groaned at the way you mewled out his name, your eyes struggling to stay open as a wall of mist glossed over your pupils that were blown out in wanton lust. Your hands clawed at his back for leverage before they found hold on his hair, a loud grunt falling off his trembling lips when your fingers scratched down on his ears. 

His thrusts were short and fast, not bothering to bottom out of you completely before slamming back in. The position he had you in allowed him to plow as deep as he wanted, making your toes curl each time his tip slammed against the spongey spot in your lower stomach.

Your breath hitched when you felt the swell at the base of his cock starting to form, stretching your cunt out even more than he already did. He panted in your ear, nibbling at your collar and trailing his tongue along the marks that he had left as his primal desire started to kick in. You whimpered at the feeling of him filling and growing in you, your hands fisting his golden hair egging him on to keep slamming his hips down on you.

“So big...” you whimpered as his knot grew larger and larger, feeling like you were being pulled apart by the seams when he pushed the rounded base inside of you until it locked him in place. The burn from the stretch had you seeing stars and you felt the band in your core snapped when his thrusts turned into rigid humps from your cunt clenching down around the thick base of his girth. His chest was heaving as his breath got heavy, your legs pressed up against his shoulders as his brows twisted together. 

Your head was thrown back but if you could look down and see your stomach, you could imagine the outline of his knot being visible even in your belly, pressing up against you and filling you up like nothing else. 

The first time you experienced that, you jokingly told him that you could never try anything else after having a taste of getting your brains fucked out with his knot to which he replied with a humph that you should not even think for a second that he would give you the choice of having anything else. 

That was a useless statement to make, because you were certain that no one could make you feel as good as he could.

Your pussy was fluttering around him from your high and the tension made him moan. His shoulders were tensed, shuddering as his cock pulsated inside of you. His jaw felt painful from how hard he was clenching it tight, his hands no doubt leaving bruises on your thighs with how hard he was gripping down on you.

A choked whine leaked out from his lips when he finally felt the pent up frustration in him coming out like a river. You whimpered at the warmth that rushed over you as he shot ropes and rope of cum in you, his body stiffening on top of you as he bit his lips from the pleasure that had his mind in blank with no thought other than how you were all wrapped up around him. The was a faint glow on his skin as his muscles clenched, the dart of red at the corner of his eyes like they were actual spurts of flames as he lost control of his power at a moment of vulnerability. 

The specks of gold reminded you a lot of the sun shining through the droplets of rain on the day he told you that he was in love with you.

He held you there for a while, the fat load of his release making you felt like you were about to combust from how much he was cumming. The knot at the base of his cock slowly eased down, allowing him to give a few sloppy thrusts before pulling out of you. The last few spurts of his cum splattered across your lower stomach as he heaved, the sticky substance that filled you up gushing out with each flutter of your sensitive cunt. You felt used and worn out, the feeling of his fullness still lingering even though it was just his release mixed with your juices that stuffed you now.

“You,” you said with a pant as Atsumu flopped down on you in content, “are an animal.”

“Low blow...” he mumbled, his cheeks squished out as he laid on top of your chest. It was an amazement how fast he went from feral beast to this harmless looking baby that had his face buried between the soft mounds of your breasts. His tail was now swirling happily behind him, brushing against your legs in a steady rhythm. The softness did help to coax you down, and he grumbled in satisfaction when you put your hand on the back of his head and rubbed his ears gently.

“You better clean up the mess you make later.”

“You’re ruining the atmosphere," he complained with a pout, smiling a little at the snort you made. He pressed a light peck onto the center of your chest, nuzzling his face against you before looking up at you with his jaw leaning on you.

Fine, you would have to admit that Atsumu always looked cute when he was in his post-sex clingy form with his tail curling around your leg and ears flicking at the top of his head.

“You know,” his words sounded off with how he could barely move his lips. His eyes were squinted into two thin curls on his face that was tilted to the side, pressing his ear against you to hear the steady rhythm of the pounding of your heart, “foxes mate for life...”

You wanted to tell him that you do know, because he told you that every time he was feeling mushy. When he just woke up, when you two were in the bath together, when he was in your arms like he was now, he liked to remind you every now and then that he was ready to do all that with you for the rest of his life as long as it might be, like how he seemed genuinely overjoyed when the drops of rain fell from the sky as you told him that you loved him too.

So you stayed silent, and basked in the simple bliss of knowing that the universe had sent a message and it was that you made the right decision choosing each other.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

after i posted that reblog & was washing dishes it was like, oh no, there was what now feels like an obvious neon point to make that i sure did not, so here i go also just giving it its own post

basically just that, in the context of this “do other people think winston is Smart, do they think he is ‘smart’ in a way that is considered an intinsic positive quality attributed to that person rather than like, well this external result i guess indicates the mechanics of your brain are good enough to produce this but it’s hardly a positive for you as a person, b/c you’re probably worse at being a person for the fact all your stats go into running endless arithmatic in there, on that note do they think he is definitively Not smart outside the [external results] of math aptitude, has winston internalized anything from this assessment & according treatment by others” that point of winston so often being right about things outside of stuff to do with math / otherwise directly quant related matters sure seems to indicate he’s not Just Good / Smart At Math, but having to compile a post about instances he’s had these valuable / accurate contributions to make was sure motivated in part by these instances not necessarily being obvious, b/c in the show when he says “off topic” things / isn’t just sticking to the quant stuff people are mostly just trying to get him to shut up / even as he’s saying this Correct, Useful stuff people are just like, revving up the disdain b/c he’s talking / acting wrong & annoying. the Extrinsic quality of his social approach making the inferred Intrinsic quality that winston’s clueless/useless or whatever & thus so’s whatever he’s actually saying, it’s wrong & it would’ve been better if he hadn’t said anything at all

plus it only kind of backs things up that i don’t think like, for viewers it’s meant to be completely obvious that winston is out here like, being insightful & perceptive & generally paying attention to everything on his own & keeping up with all of it & being attentive to / right about social elements of goings on, w/his ideas about what other people are like & what their feelings & motivations might be & how that might be playing into / relevant to various situations....a particularly clear & relevant example being his 4x11 admonishlogue, which was naturally a subjective spontaneous spiel while he’s worked up & irritated rather than like, yes this is the objective 1000% accurate rundown of the situation, but it was right enough for taylor to have listened & then we get their 4x12 conscious course correction / them acknowledging They Were Wrong & Are Sorry, & if you’re not a billions viewer failing to realize axe & taylor have these parallel plot threads in 4x11 & that taylor’s speech in 4x12 wasn’t out of nowhere, about & inspired by nothing, with no context, the implication is that taylor recognized winston made some points / was influenced thusly......but also, [all the billions viewers who didn’t get that at all] is kind of relevant here b/c you Can just suppose that automatically everything winston says is wrong & useless, & furthermore the 4x11 scene “resolves” with mafee jumping in & saying as much & just taking the Pwning A Nerd route to shout someone down into dropping the point, as always mafee doesn’t really argue with any of the actual things winston was saying, but if you’re operating with the understanding that the Axe Cap Approach of bullying less epic winner guys into shutting up is the extrinsic behavior that indicates any & all intrinsic positive qualities, aka they’re just Always Right b/c they’re the cool guys, & annoying insecure math nerds like winston are always wrong, well then

which is then also relevant to how winston of course wouldn’t / couldn’t fit in at axe cap but Can work for taylor.......thinking of how, you know, there’s these characters who are regarded as Extra Smart who also have to be perceived by other characters & viewers as having these extrinsic qualities that Intuitively indicate / prove their intrinsic smartness, i.e. / e.g. how, say, taylor has to “seem” smart pretty much immediately, to a character like axe (who can also have these moments of, without external successful results that would “prove” anything, will just be “evidently” smart in what he does/says in an exchange & how he does it), because their other extrinsic qualities would seem “wrong,” & thus what people might infer about their intrinsic qualities based on that would be negative, but axe can recognize their smartness & prioritize it over them being The Tough Guy / having successfully bullied their coworkers (or co interns) until they had some superior position because of that or the other stuff that’s supposedly the Right way to do things that proves you’re a Winner in any / every way....but, while at axe cap / dealing with now coworkers (or now subordinates) or other people in the business, taylor still had to navigate those situations even with axe’s conferred protection / approval / blessing, requiring having to consciously adopt certain extrinsic / external approaches b/c they know it’s the only way to get people to listen or take them seriously (on top of how already the approach they had re: interpersonal / social exchanges & presenting themself was titrated in the hopes of people taking them seriously / inferring helpful/positive things about them)

and then when it comes to tmc / taylor for real having the final word / ultimate authority on everything, they don’t want their employees to Have to put on the same kinds of performances they sometimes did, and they sure don’t want their employees to have to act like what was the norm at axe cap re: cool tough guy winners being terrible to everyone as a way to prove your worth, and they sure are not going to Make or even encourage anyone to do any of that. and even if any intrinsic smartness(tm) of winston’s doesn’t extrinsically manifest in the way axe cappers, or even mase cappers, think that it could/would/should, taylor’s more concerned with his intrinsic talent than extrinsic demeanor, and even if they’re suggesting these are at odds, they aren’t quite 100% directly connecting them, i.e. they’re not saying “well, your demeanor means you’re a dumbass but you’re still smart somehow,” the issue is just that he was too grating & rude to them in 3x03 (& beyond that is still Not sweet / “being a dick”) which is now, in some notable contrast with what they said in 3x03, being considered as this separate matter rather than “of course you can’t work for me b/c you hate yourself too much to Really be effective,” now it’s like, well yeah you were annoying but also you’re still skilled enough to consider....and by kompenso they obviously think he’s actually worth hiring, b/c there he is, hired, & kept on, & brought to tmc at axe cap, & still here (with him only Apparently being on thin ice when taylor has given enough control of mase carb to wendy that they no longer exactly have the final word / ultimate authority (and even if they kinda do, they don’t just wanna immediately / completely take advantage of that))

but naturally what really counts even beyond this is that, besides being the person who of course hired winston in the first place / wants him around b/c he’s good at math, taylor also just actually also always listens to & genuinely considers what winston says and, as seen in 4x11 to 4x12 for one, can actually change their mind / reevaluate a situation / decide they might’ve been wrong because of what he’s said, on top of instances like 5x03 where they’re also listening to him like, yeah he’s talking about math, but he’s Also contributing some personal, qualitative leaning insight, thanks to admitting that, you know, This’ll Be The First Live Test, he’s not saying “well yeah the numbers totally back us up” but he’s still saying that he himself thinks they can do it, and they do it.......so yeah the point is taylor must of course think he’s Smart At Math but they must also consider / (realize) that he’s also smart at other shit / just in general and, even if other characters / viewers might think that the way winston behaves / seems he must Not be smart, taylor is always listening to him & is definitely not instantly writing it off / interpreting it as outright Wrong / simply experiencing radio static ft. “ugh hate that this guy has to be so annoying” as soon as he speaks....so shoutout to taylor for that, and maybe there’s a parallel in how, their first time around at axe cap, taylor could sort of avoid axe cappers giving them as much shit as they might’ve b/c they had some protection from axe, the top shit giver, and here’s winston able to be treated as smart & valuable despite the fact other people wouldn’t see him that way b/c taylor, the smart value detector,  wants him here

but you know, Not shoutout to the fact that taylor’s kind of the exception in reliably listening to Everything winston might have to say / taking him seriously & realizing that he has good contributions besides Just strictly in the quant realm, and that for the most part characters (and viewers) are kind of just automatically like boooo everything winston says is dumb and wrong and we hate him.....while, you know, the whole time he’s so often “secretly” Right about plenty of things, as long as there’s anyone actually listening and not just automatically writing him off as The Guy Who’s Wrong About Everything But Numbers

(feels relevant enough to put in the text as a postscript here: Of Note the way that axe cappers react to winston in s5, the weird contradictory 5x01 quantphobia like “they’re smarter than us and better at us. at math ig, but i guess also in general. and this is an own i guess” and “also they’re not better than us at math even or whatever,” and then dollar bill’s apparently assuming some quant would just guaranteed be able to make him money, but he’s also stomping in with no real leverage and so you’ve just got him pitting his usual bluster and bravado “this means i’m intrinsically a winner” approach against winston, whose social approach means he’s a dumb wrong nerd, but also please do your good math for me, and you know, it doesn’t really work out for bill and was just a waste of everyone’s time, kind of a failure of bill’s not only to convert his Winner Axe Cap Behavior directly into making money / succeeding but trying to do so by actually getting the math guy to do the valuable shit for him....and then they kind of all forget he exists which is very fine by me b/c you know, winston can’t really just exist in the general axe cap scape and ideally taylor should always be in the group he’s in, although it also helps if rian’s someone who just listens to him normally / hadn’t immediately judged his extrinsic / intrinsic qualities negatively (she is))

[fastpacedfreefall]

InuKag Week Day 3: Haunted

AN: I know this is late, and today’s prompt will be late as well. I had some family issues come up suddenly, but hopefully tomorrow will be a return to normal. I’m really grateful for everyone’s kind tags on the first two fics, though; they were a boost I really needed. 

This one takes place immediately after the Tsubaki debacle, because Kagome was a little blase about getting possessed for my tastes.

Can also be found here

The next time Kagome wants to go home, to her surprise, Inuyasha doesn't put up a fight.

They'd only just gotten back to the village to reassure Kaede of her recovery, and Kagome had tentatively floated the idea of going back home to catch up on schoolwork and check in with her family. The group needed the rest; their nerves were still raw after the fight and pursuit of Tsubaki, and she hadn't missed the looks and whispers that Miroku and Sango were sharing behind her back. Sango had tried to bring it up during a bath, but what her school friends had termed her 'scary smile' had come out in full force, and the taijiya had promptly changed the subject. Shippou had rode on her shoulder or her lap the whole way back, quiet in a way he usually wasn't, his small fingers clinging to her shirt no matter how much she petted his hair and assured him that she was okay. Inuyasha hadn't said anything in particular, but she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head.

She knew that the whole mess with the dark miko's curse must have scared the daylights out of them, but the way they were hovering around her was taking her already frayed nerves and yanking the threads out one by one. She didn't want to repay their concern by biting their heads off.

Not only did Inuyasha not argue with her, he'd taken her bag and walked her back to the well himself. They didn't say much more than a few words before she let the portal carry her back, and she couldn't help but wonder about the considering look on her best friends' face.

*

The shrine grounds are quiet when he slips out of the well-house. It's not any different from any other night he's stole his way up to Kagome's window; the shrine is closed to visitors, the family is asleep in their beds. All is calm, nothing amiss.

It shouldn't put him on edge as much as it does.

Sometimes he thinks the others don't give him enough credit when it comes to observation. Oh sure, they trust him with their lives when it comes to battles and playing guard dog for the camp at night, and he knows there's no real ill-will meant when they call him bone-headed, because he can be. But when it 's anything involving emotions, they underestimate how much attention he's paying to the world around him. He'll be the first to say he's no expert, but even he can't ignore how strung out Kagome is, and how desperately she's trying to pretend she's not.

It's not like he was surprised; after the shit that witch had put her through, he'd be worried if she wasn't stressed out or exhausted. But the fact that she was trying to pretend that she was okay, that she wasn't jerking awake in tears every night from her nightmares, that was starting to worry him. Kagome always said that he would feel better if he talked to her about what was bothering him, and she usually tried not to be a hypocrite, so what was it about this time that was so different? Why was she suddenly clamming up behind a strained smile and refusing to admit there was something wrong?

He worries the entire time he's sliding through her unlocked window, his eyes easily finding her curled up form laying back against the wall. There's already a divot in the skin between her scrunched brows, a sure sign that the nightmares have started up again. He backs off and takes up his post underneath the window, waiting for the inevitable with his sword resting against a shoulder.

It doesn't take as long as he thought it would.

Kagome's eyes are wild as she shoots up from a dead sleep, a quiet whimper escaping when she catches a flash of moonlight reflecting off his eyes.

“'s just me,” he murmurs, watching the recognition seep into her gaze and his tense shoulders relax with her own. She clears her throat and gives him a trembling smile, and the shimmer of growing tears on her eyelids makes something in him snaps.

“Kagome, what's going on?”

It's not so much a question as a gentle demand, and the way Kagome's teeth sink into her lower lip tells him she hears the frustrated undertone. He knows he's risking a fight, and the set to her jaw tells him that she wouldn't be adverse to giving him one, but it's starting to drive him nuts not knowing what the problem is or how to fix it, and he won't unless she talks to him!

“Don't glare at me like that,” he growls, not willing to indulge her stubbornness. “You know damn well there's somethin' wrong, somethin' you're not tellin' me, even though you always nag me to talk about my problems. So out with it, wench.”

(He will, however, take full advantage of her guilt.)

She wants to fight him on it, that much he can tell. Her lips purse like she's ready to 'sit' him through the second floor into the family room, and his next words come out barely above a whisper.

“Kagome, let me help.”

It draws her up short before her mouth can form the word, and something about the intensity of his gaze on her takes the wind out of her sails. Instead of trying to keep up the angry front, she scoots until her back leans on the wall, a silent request for his company. He's on the bed for all of a second when she tips over to rest against his side. He can feel his skin burn red all the way up to his ears, but a clawed hand snakes around to grasp her shoulder and pull her in closer.

Her voice is choked and wavering. “I can't stop seeing it. Every time I try to sleep, I go back to Kaede's hut, and I'm pointing an arrow at you again. Her voice is back in my head, telling me to shoot, and sometimes-”

The confession cuts off with a muffled sob, and Inuyasha fights not to squirm as the smell of salt floods his nose. She needs strength right now, not his discomfort.

“...sometimes you loose the arrow,” he finishes, drawing her closer to his chest and silently swearing that next time they meet, he's going to take every tear she's cried out of Naraku's flesh for this stunt. She flinches, but nods her head against his sternum and whispers an “I'm sorry”.

“Stupid,” he says, not a hint of anger or irritation in his tone. “You don't need to apologize for what happens in dreams.”

It doesn't pull a smile out of her; instead, the hand gripping his haori tightens, and he hears a shuddering intake of breath.

“What if... what if it wasn't just a dream? What if—I could have killed you. I almost did.”

He'd been afraid of this. Kagome's one of the toughest people he knows, but like him, she can rake herself over the coals really well when she put her mind to it. It's probably the reason she knows how to pull him out of his own self-loathing so well.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, meant to soothe rather than threaten for once, and he absently strokes her hair. He's nowhere near as good at dealing with emotions; how is he going to do the same for her?

“I didn't think it would be so easy for her to control me.”

There's a note of self-reproach in her voice. “It was so hard to fight her. I know I've never been trained, but... she had complete control, and I couldn't do anything to stop her. I've never—never felt so-”

White puppy ears slam down against his skull, and the harsh words that he'd been so free with when they first started traveling together are front and center in the air. She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't have to.

Never felt so weak.

Looking like he'll be kicking his own ass right after he's done with Naraku.

If they were still in his era, he wouldn't have dared to do this; the monk and the kit have awful timing, and the teasing would be relentless. But the only other people in the house are sleeping, not even aware of his presence, and Kagome is starting to do that thing she sometimes does when she needs to cry, but tries to do it as quietly as possible, not drawing attention to herself. Like it's going to make him worry any less or something.

The hand that's not on her shoulder slides under her knees, and he lifts her into his lap without a word, bringing her head to rest against his collarbone so he can tuck her under his chin. She stops crying, her breath hitching for a different reason, and it's hard to keep his own embarrassment from taking over when his ears pick up her faster heartbeat.

“Don't start with that shit, wench,” he growls. “You're not weak. You know damn well you're not, no matter what stupid shit I've said to you in the past. This ain't about bein' strong or bein' weak; that old witch and Naraku got the drop on us, but you sent the bitch's curse right back at her. You fought her off and made your arrow miss me. What part of that sounds weak to you?”

Her fingers twitch against his chest.

“B-but,” she whimpers. “I still did it. I was the one holding the arrow on you. Making it miss you... I only barely managed to do that. And now Naraku knows I can be controlled. What if he tries again? What if next time, I can't make myself miss the shot?”

“And what if next time, it's one of us who's being controlled,” he snaps. He can hear what she's dancing around: it's not safe for you to be with me. He's had too much experience with the idea himself; he can't let that poison take root in Kagome's head. “You ain't the only one who's done awful things when they couldn't control themselves, wench. You should have run your fool ass back to this time and blocked the well after I slaughtered those bandits, and no one would have blamed you one bit.”

Kagome jerks her head back to stare up at him, red-rimmed eyes wide in disbelief. “That's—that's completely different!”

And they were back to their common ground: arguing.

“How in the hell is it different!”

“Because you were going after actually bad people, who did bad things! You were protecting those village women!”

“Big fuckin' deal! I still killed humans without a thought, and if that asshole Sesshoumaru hadn't shown up and stopped me I probably would've turned on you and the others next!”

“I don't believe that! You could've easily gone after the villagers first after breaking that moth youkai's cocoon since they were closer, but you went straight for the bandits and the youkai! I was running straight at you and yelling your name, but you didn't make a move towards me!”

“That's not the fuckin' point! If I hadn't been-”

The creak of an opening door catches his attention, and Inuyasha catches his lip on a fang cutting his words off. He hadn't realized how loud they'd gotten—Kagome's mom put up with a lot of his shit, but he gets the feeling that she wouldn't be very forgiving of him screaming at her daughter in the middle of the night, alone together in her bedroom. Kagome's eyes still burn with belligerence, but she seems to sense the need for silence, so she turns her attention to his bleeding lip while Inuyasha's ears strain for the sound of approaching footsteps.

None come, and there's soon a quiet click from the same direction, so he figures they're out of the woods for now. A flash of white catches his eye, Kagome's hand already dabbing a handkerchief at his tiny wound before he can wave her off, and it sends a wave of warmth through him to replace his earlier temper. He catches her fingers before she can pull away, gripping her hand in a gentle hold, and watching a soft, pretty blush wash over her face with particular interest.

“Don't you get it, wench? You ain't abandoned me, even when I'm at my most dangerous. So what the hell makes you think I'm willing to abandon you?”

Her eyes go soft, drawing him in with the hope and promise he can see rising in her gaze, and he draws her back into his embrace. “I told you, I need you with me,” he murmurs, lowering his head until the tip of his nose rests in her hair. “Nothing's ever gonna change that.”

I trust you. I trust you with me, so trust yourself a little more.

The tension finally goes out of her shoulders, and she melts into his hold with a tiny nod, her arms coming up to circle around his back. They stay that way til dawn, neither willing to move an inch from this little corner of the world just for the two of them.

[kiruuuuu]

More recruitverse in which Ivan is actually nice! (Rating T, nothing but fluff, ~2.2k words) - written for @nutbrain​ because you inspire, encourage and support all those around you 💙💙

.

Ivan Ivanovic has been called blind countless times throughout his life, sometimes a variation like deaf or stupid, usually in relation to perceived obliviousness. He’s neither of the three yet sees no trouble in letting others believe he is – after all, their assumptions about him reveal more about their personalities than his.

He learnt early on that some of the facts taught to children in good faith are nothing but propaganda, a desirable yet unattainable outcome, merely a way to try and manipulate them into ‘goodness’. He’s unable to help everyone so he doesn’t, reduces the situations in which he could help to a simple cost and reward deliberation: when he notices Shay (who quite clearly has his heart in the right place even if his head isn’t on straight) hanging around with the wrong people, he doesn’t interfere; when Jojo gets bullied for something over which he has no control, he stays away; when Valenti becomes a regular scapegoat since he wants to fit in so badly he’d rather take the blame, he doesn’t speak up; and when Gian is alienated and called elitist behind his back because he refuses to partake in activities he feels are unfair to others, he ignores it. None of these scenarios were worth his meddling.

But he also got told that others would come to his aid. That humanity is inherently good. And while he remains conflicted on this notion, he must secretly believe it true or else he wouldn’t be fighting for them. Even so, he remembers digging his own grave by allowing everyone around him to share his happiness, the life he was building with her, and in the process undermined his own credibility. Because when he started telling others of her worrying behaviour, they waved it off. She was so nice, wasn’t she? He was lucky to have her, who cared if she wanted to go through his phone? He shouldn’t have anything to hide, right? And if he did, it was his own fault. And so, eventually no help came. Because he’d been happy so far, hadn’t he? He knew what she was like, and he was probably exaggerating anyway. He shouldn’t throw away years of happiness after one off day, everyone has those, she’s been under a lot of stress recently, right? No? Well, there must’ve been a reason and the reason can’t have been anything other than him.

And then Jojo wouldn’t go away, and he brought three others with him. And Gian listened with more compassion than any of Ivan’s friends and family had done. And Shay treated him as if they’d known each other since they were kids. And Valenti, who normally doubted all his achievements and frequently demanded proof, defended him viciously the moment someone outside of their group did it.

Helping anyone became a lot easier with these four idiots as pay-off.

So no, Ivan isn’t blind. He’d even call himself unusually perceptive, though he doesn’t often act on it which, he assumes, is the reason why his awareness gets insulted, and he doesn’t act on it as it oftentimes requires him to go out of his way for someone who generally isn’t worth his time or effort. But sometimes, the opposite is true.

.

“I got propositioned just now!”, Jojo announces sarcastically proud as soon as he’s breezed into their room, hair still wet from his shower and already wearing clothes fit for sleep.

“Did you reactivate your Grindr account?”, Gian wants to know, being quite aware of the fact that Jojo proclaimed never to use the app ever again, but seeing as it was the third outburst he’s had over it since they’ve known each other, none of them took him seriously. Gian and Valenti only just came back as well from some form of punishment outside, meaning they’re both shivering and dancing on the spot to warm up faster.

Ivan’s arms remember the feel of the Frenchman’s body between them and remind him sharply. He regrets the hug they shared, the entire odd moment really because it leaves him no peace. He thinks back to it at least three times a day and has since tried to stay away from Valenti – and if his presence is unavoidable, then he at least hasn’t touched him again.

“Fuck no, I’d rather rim the devil than go back to that endless void of horny middle-aged creeps.”

“Sounds like you have solid target group at least”, Ivan offers as half-hearted comfort and gets shown a finger in return.

“Tell us, Jojo, who was dumb enough to hit on you while you’re in a mood this rotten?”, Valenti joins their conversation, trying to rub some feeling back into his hands.

“My mood was perfectly fine before that douchenozzle macho fuckboy opened his stupid mouth.”

“Please, your mood has been rotten for days now.”

“That’s not bloody true, why would -”

Wordlessly, they all glance at Shay who’s stretched out on his top bunk, phone in hand and texting away blissfully with a smile on his face. He hasn’t even welcomed Jojo back, let alone acknowledged any of them since he’s started talking to Brittany half an hour ago. By now, even Thatcher must be aware of what’s going on yet the Irishman in their middle remains unsuspecting. He would deserve to be called blind.

“Anyway”, Jojo continues and they all seem relieved at him picking up the thread of the conversation once more, “I ran into Jacob Griffin-Worthington, and as the laws of nature dictate, with a name like Jacob Griffin-Worthington, he had no choice but to be a giant arsehole. So there I was, minding my own business, when Jacob Griffin-Worthington appeared out of nowhere and wanted to know how my love life was going. And I told him it was fantastic, I literally can’t stop sucking dick every free minute I have, so Jacob Griffin-Worthington -”

“I swear, if you say his full name one more time I’m going to tell him you’re crushing on him”, Valenti groans, much to Ivan’s amusement. There’s no love lost between Jacob and any of them.

“- so he who shall not be named suggested I kiss his ass in case my mouth would ever become available again and I said before I voluntarily touch any part of his body, I’d rather -”

Shay produces an odd sound, almost like choking, and this time he notices holding all their attention, looking both flustered and thrilled. “What? It’s nothing. Keep talking.”

“Are you alright?”, Jojo asks, concerned, because as much as he’s pissed off with his best friend for everybody to see, they’re still best friends.

“Yeah, it’s just – Brit just -” He trails off, looks at his phone screen again briefly and cradles it against his chest once more. “No, it’s fine. What were you talking about?”

“Did she send a nude?” Valenti must’ve noticed Shay’s bright red ears.

“Well, not quite, but – almost. She’s so pretty.” Another glance. The red darkens. “Jojo, do you want to see? I’m only showing Jojo, before you ask, everything else would be weird.”

“It’s weird enough showing me”, Jojo murmurs and rolls his eyes, “but alright. Let’s see the goods.”

And while the two stick their heads together to marvel at Shay’s girlfriend at the one end of the room, Valenti and Gian exchange a few exasperated looks at the other. For the moment, Ivan returns to tapping away at his phone, learning all about castling while simultaneously keeping his ears open for fragments of conversations in case anything interesting comes up again.

“Did you not own a scarf?”, Gian addresses Valenti questioningly.

“Ah, curses, you’re right. If it’s gone, Bandit must’ve taken it. I’m telling you, we need to take him down, truce or not, he offered me another brownie the other day and I bet it wasn’t a normal one.”

“Perhaps we could try to endeavour not to instigate trouble for which we suffer the same consequences as Bandit does for his pranks.”

“So what you’re saying is: we shouldn’t get caught again.”

Gian’s deep sigh doesn’t cover up Shay’s quiet ‘you smell nice’ to Jojo and if Ivan wasn’t already busy googling something all of a sudden, he’d attempt to send Jojo some telepathic sympathy.

.

Getting away from the others isn’t difficult for Ivan, he merely needs to threaten with additional exercise and they drop out, and even on the occasions Valenti doesn’t, he can tire him out easily and then sneak away while the Frenchman is busy trying to breathe. He rarely makes use of this way to distance himself, yet sometimes needs a bit of time alone without having to justify himself and sometimes just so he can browse the shops in town. Wholly being in charge of his own income is a relatively new concept to him and so he makes a few purchases just because he can. He knows Valenti caught a look at some of his animal socks at some point and watching him struggle with himself about whether or not he should bring them up was extremely entertaining.

In this case, he makes a trip to buy something specific and then pretends to go for a late run that same evening, instead seeking out the only operator in Rainbow of whom he’s certain to receive assistance.

“You’re a recruit, no?”, Zofia asks him as soon as he’s gotten her attention.

“Yes. Ivan Ivanovic. I need your help.”

Admitting it to her is daunting. She possesses a strong presence as well as confidence and reminds him of two women in his life, none of whom he’d like to ever meet again. But where they abused their power over him, Zofia listens to his request willingly, asks a few questions and eventually agrees with a kind smile. Most operators neither have the time nor the patience to deal with any of the recruits’ problems, not even necessarily out of malice – Ivan understands it all too well and therefore doesn’t hold it against them, but it means he appreciates what Zofia’s doing even more. She wants to know why he came to her specifically and laughs when he reveals she just seems the right person for the job, like someone who has the skills he requires.

She goes out of her way to teach him, inspects his work readily and even meets with him secretly during the day for more encouragement. He vows to find out more about her interests so he can pay her back accordingly, but for the moment he’s busy with other things.

.

“Sounds like we’re meeting her tomorrow”, Jojo says over his shoulder as he enters and Ivan makes a conscious effort to arrange his expression into something neutral so he doesn’t give anything away. “Hey, Ivanko, have you heard? Shay wants us to meet his beautiful girlfriend with the differently-sized tits tomorrow.”

“Be nice to her”, Valenti warns him as they swarm out and gather a few supplies in preparation of going out again. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t mention her boobs.”

“Or what, Gian’s going to write me a very stern letter? If she’s a bitch, I’m gonna fling shit back at her. Not that Shay would ever be interested in a bitch, but just in case.”

“Well, he’s friends with you”, comes the mumbled answer which startles a chuckle out of Ivan. Valenti shoots him a quick smile before finally taking notice of the object lying on the blanket of his top bunk. “Oh, what is this?”

“The last fucking thread holding my patience together”, Jojo grumbles in response but looks over nonetheless, squints at the fabric Valenti picks up. Rich dark red is cascading over his hands and nearly reaches the floor on both sides, the material soft yet thick wool. “Looks like a scarf.”

“I recently lost mine, but – Ivan, was this here when you came in?”

He’s hesitant to make eye contact in case he gives himself away but needn’t have worried as Valenti’s attention is still focused on the cloth he’s holding. “Yes”, he says simply.

“Huh. Then I have no idea where it came from. You didn’t buy this for me, did you, Jojo?”

“I would’ve gotten you something more stylish and you know it. Maybe in purple.”

“But this is my favourite colour. I think only Gian knows it is, but I don’t think he can knit. It looks hand-made.”

“Yeah, whatever, just put it on and quit whining about the cold. Do we have everything? Ivanko, you want to watch us ruin our complexion by planting face-first in the snow with our improvised sleighs?”

“Always.” He closes the game app and gets up to put his jacket on, trying not to let his satisfaction show upon seeing Valenti wrapping himself in the scarf with a content expression.

“It’s really warm”, he announces and sinks deeper into the several layers, “and it smells good. Forget whoever might’ve lost it, it’s mine now. Let’s go.”

And while the two lead, rekindling the discussion about Shay’s girlfriend, Ivan follows them with a smile.

[cloudbattrolls]

This Is A Gift

Ullane Wistim || Nott Station || Present Night, Following The Hanhai Cavern Massacre

There’s a place on Nott that’s usually as peaceful as it gets for the station, bustling full of crime and business as it is, not that the line between the two matters much here. It’s tucked away high between the tall hivestem capsule hive blocks, the brothels, the shipping lanes, and the gangster spots, hard to see even for anyone passing by in a hovertaxi.

It’s a pain to get to, even for you. Up elevators and stairwalls, across bioframe and metal walkways until you get high and deep enough in to reach it. 

Usually, the silence of the little spot makes it worth it. It’s a half-forgotten place, a tiny patio next to a run-down thrift shop selling fleet castoffs. The door in the wall surrounding it blends in so well that you’d only discovered it was there when you felt bacteria on things larger than insects on the other side, and through trial and error (a few stubbed walkpod fronds) you found the dusty metal door, the detritus making you sneeze as you’d cautiously pushed it open.

Most places on Nott don’t stay abandoned for long. Gang meetings, fleet business, fugitives on the run from the policeradicators, or run of the mill backalley deals; there’s hardly a spot that someone isn’t occupying, at least sometimes. Space is at a premium, and every lowblood with half a pan knows that like anything else, highbloods will claim it first.

With deadly prejudice.

So you pushed open the door but didn’t step through, when you first found it. You sniffed the air, swiveled your ears - and then you shut it and came back with every detection instrument you own. 

An hour later, you had to admit that there were no hidden traps, or else they were beyond your ability to find. This really was, miraculously, abandoned. You’ve watched for other trolls ever since, but no one seems to come.

“Ullababe, I am sooooo bored.”

Until now, when she’s decided to follow you here.

“Didn’t ask you to come.” You respond evenly, sitting on the other side as you attempt to read a book. It’s a mistake (engaging with Kokora outside of anything involving work is) but there’s no getting rid of her until she is actually bored.

She walks - sways, rather - over, in a way that might be attractive to some trolls, what with the swing of her hips and braid. The patio is set into the floor, with metal walls surrounding it that once may have been able to turn transparent at the click of a button, judging by the power cells you see in the corner, but the remote has either been long lost or scavenged.

The bubblegum on her breath wafts up your sniffsponge as her similarly hued eyes stare down into yours. Pink. Why is it always pink?

You can’t find Kokora attractive for many reasons, but right now that’s the main one. 

“What was I gonna do?” She whines, in a pitch you know is carefully cultivated to set your fangs on edge. “Pet your dumb lusus? Look at your gross experiments? Your block’s so boring, and I’ve lived in a cavern! That should be like, the worst ever! You’re more boring than a bunch of dusty matrons, Ulla, which is just so sad, I don’t know how you live like that.”

She gets up, turns around so that her sitcushions are almost directly in your face before you pull back and puts her hands on her hips, huffing and making a pout you know even though you can’t see her expression.

“Why can’t you like, go to a club or something? There have to be some clubs that aren’t totally lame or filled with smelly gangsters! Have to be. I’m pretty sure it’s totally illegal to have no good clubs.”

“Go to club.” You say, almost as indifferent as you sound. Kokora getting in trouble or killed would be a mild inconvenience. You’d have to explain it to her employers, who you barely know anything about. They’re even more suspect than QPIN, not that it matters; you’ve always done well at staying out of the jade’s business. 

She pouts, her long fangs worrying her lip. A tiny drop of jade blood runs down it, and she smirks as she sees your eyes follow it.

“You can get it off for me, sweetie.” She breathes, bending over to lean closer to you until you send her reeling back with a bleeding sniffsponge, your eyes sparking maroon.

“That’s no fair!” She whines, but it’s all for show; if Kokora wanted to, she could do far worse to you with a flick of her own powers. She’s stronger even if it comes at a price, one sunk into her pale flesh in threads of silver, copper, and materials you can’t name in Standard.

Your sparks fizzle and die against your will, and Kokora’s oculars lose their pink sheen, reverting to their metal-flecked jade.

You whip out your gun from your sylladex, ears pinned to your skull, head turning in every direction -

The gun is grabbed from your hands and vanishes into thin air. Your jade companion looks just as shocked, so it can’t be her doing. You can see her instinctively reaching for her psi and failing with the flick of her eyes, mantling her horns defensively.

“Do you two sprogs have any more toys I need to confiscate? No? Good!”

Your face goes pale. Not her. It can’t be.

Kokora’s shock slackens into confusion and her shoulders slump back into a more relaxed pose, though suspicion and annoyance are obvious in the tilt of her head and rack.

“Hey, aren’t you that old fogey the stiffs hired? You sure sound like them!”

The distinct buzz and shimmer of cloaking technology ripples through the air, brief transparent hexagons winking in and out before Etuuya Vannyn is standing not feet away from you in the walled patio, looking slightly bored but wearing an indulgent smile as they tuck away what must be their - they, not she, you suppose - tech.

“Correct, lovely emeraldine. Now, why don’t you let me and the good medic here have a moment to ourselves?”

Kokora twirls a strand of hair between her fingers and looks at both of you before shrugging. It’s strange seeing her bulbs without their usual bubblegum-hued veil; she seems less expressive, despite her pupils being properly visible.

“Yeah, okay!” says the younger jade, though Kokora’s still older than you and your ears flick in surprise at her lack of argument. “Whatever you two talk about is gonna be way mega boring anyway. Byyyyyeeeee.” 

With a swish of her braid, she’s walking back to the hovercar she came in, and you’re still pinned to the spot by disbelief, finding it difficult to breathe.

You have no weapon left save your claws and teeth, and you know what would happen if you sunk them into that creature’s shell of flesh. Hovertaxis hardly know this place exists; you came here on foot. Running from a drinker, especially one so much older than you, is futile.

They sit down on the old, cracked plastic tiles, and you eye them, trying to figure out where they’re keeping their nullifier. It can’t be in their sylladex; it wouldn’t broadcast properly if it was. They aren’t holding it. Is it concealed in their clothing, perhaps?

Or...no, you refuse to finish that thought.

They’re not in their cavern wear, likely because it would attract too much attention on Nott. There aren’t many jades living in the station; Othelo turned some heads when he first arrived, and Kokora draws trolls’ oculars for plenty of reasons, including her caste. 

Instead they’re dressed in a gray knit sweater with white hairs clinging to it - lusus fur - and slightly less be-haired black jeans, with no jade to be seen, except a small necklace with their symbol. They look...normal, jarringly normal, and you realize that they’ve even put contacts over their bright eyes to darken their pupils’ chrome. 

Your mouth twists in a frown. They have no right to look like an ordinary troll. 

“I’d ask how you were doing and all, mustardseed, but I know you’d give me endless bile, so I’ll skip the pleasantries and get to the point. I know what happened at the abandoned Hanhai cavern.”

Stone creeps through your limbs, your body - even your very breath feels slowed down. You force your expression to remain impassive thanks to sweeps of practice, facing down ghosts and drinkers and worse things, keep your ears at half-mast.

“I heard of a disturbance.” You offer, sounding mildly interested. It isn’t every night so many cavern trolls die at once, especially ones from different regions mixed together in an abandoned one.  

You checked the surviving matron’s report yourself, the article on the Psi Hounds’ results - they found minor psiionic activity, and confirmed it definitely affected one of the dead, but were unable to explain why the whole group died within hours of each other of a disease none of them were known to be carrying when they entered.

“Rivali’s cavern tried to offer them some insight.” They remark with an almost gentle tone. 

Where is that nullifier? If only your life sense was keen enough to find its gap in their body’s signature, but you’re nowhere near that sensitive, and your psi is suppressed right now anyway. Your tail clutches you under your clothing and you wish you could turn your head to look around you, take better stock, but the drinker would notice.

“Seems not many trolls are willing to listen to the cavern where the sole survivor comes from, as the interrogarroters are still questioning her. What they’ve extracted so far is enough to confirm that the jades gathered were plotting Imperial treason.”

No use trying to find the thing, you realize. You only have one other option, and you can’t even look behind you.

“So they don’t know about you yet, but - hey!”

You turn, run, push open the door and vault over the edge of the biowire railing around the walkway the patio is on. 

It’s hard to not screw your eyes shut as you plummet, your hair coming undone from its bun and your tail ripping free as it lashes in animal panic, trying to balance you even though there’s nothing to grip.

Then the flight lane gravity adjusters kick in, and you’re still falling, but slower, more controlled. In a way that won’t break every bone in your body when you land.

In a station as large and busy as Nott, there are Empire grants for ways to make sure that traffic isn’t subject to the same level of force that keeps everyone tied to the station’s rotation and pull. Its gravity is naturally weaker than Alternia’s anyway, and it doesn’t take much (with the right, if expensive, equipment) to lessen gravity in the airspace so that hovertaxis and personal vehicles can travel faster and use up less fuel. The last factor also keeps the airspace easier on the filters to maintain.

It’s the same gravity adjusters that make leaping for your life not a completely insane idea.

So long as you can grab onto something before you get low enough to be out of their range, and hit the ground with certainly enough force that would be difficult for even your powers to repair.

A hovercar pulls closer to you and while you don’t want to open your mouth to grin, it’s a near thing, and you’re already preparing your effusive thanks when one of the side doors opens beneath, you land with a bit more velocity than you’d like in the seat and - 

“Wow, Ulla! Didn’t think you had it in you!”

Kokora smirks out at you. You waste no time shutting the door and hiding your tail back under your clothing as best you can. You don’t know if she saw it, but it’s hardly your biggest problem right now.

“Drive, please.” You say. “Not to my block. Anywhere you like.”

“So what did fogey want with you anyway?” She says, zooming off to empress only knows where, darting between taxis and towships and droids as the columnar buildings zip past. As long as it’s away from Vannyn.

“How you know them?” You ask. 

“They’re a new hire! Not really new, because they’re old, and could totally be someone’s ancestor. They were cavern, so the bigshots pulled them in for some kind of consulting deal, all that boring traditional jade crap. I guess creeping up on people is just the kind of weird stuff they do! What a freak.”

Kokora’s tone certainly has her usual careless disdain, there’s a note of subtle fear and you would bet ten caegers it has to do with the nullifier they had. The girl is plenty dangerous without her psi, but it’s much a part of her as ID’s telekinesis is for him. 

You’ve never asked Kokora exactly why she left the caverns - any time she mentions it she’s dismissive and mocking, calling their ways backwards and boring - but while you hardly care for the details, you know she was still raised by matrons for eight sweeps of her life. 

Matrons who likely used whatever tools necessary to force a psiionic wriggler to fall into line.

You run through your options. You can’t rely on your companion; sometimes you can persuade her to do certain things, but she would land herself in deep trouble if she attacked another member of her company, especially one not easily replaced. There aren’t many ex-matrons for hire.

It’s not as if you’re eager to fight them either. Even drinkers who aren’t excessive abominations are deadly within any close range.

Paying them off is unlikely to be possible, if it’s even money they want. They weren’t in a hurry to get to their point, and you realize you've no clue what they’re after. Blackmail seems the most rational choice, but why did they take so damned long about it?

The hovercar descends and slows down, finally slotting in neatly to a street parking spot. As Kokora steps out and locks it up, idly flicking a coin in the meter you right behind her, you see she really has gone to a club. 

One of Nott’s most expensive, The Gilded Fin is a gold and violet building with a pair of massive blueblooded bouncers looming over whoever flows in and out of its double doors. It caters to the fleet, the gangsters, and anyone else rich and bored enough to want its entertainments.

You’re unsure if yellowbloods are allowed to -

Kokora slings an arm around your shoulder and, steering you before you have a chance to react, walks up to the bouncers. They stare down at her coolly until she flashes enough large-caeger bills that they pluck out of her frond and nod curtly as she blows them a kiss with her free hand and drags you in with her.

You slip from under her touch as you fold your arms, unamused by the treatment. A shame she must have cleaned off the dried blood from the spongebleed you gave her earlier, since there’s no sign of it. 

“I’m gonna go have fun! Byyyyyye!”

The jadeblood abruptly turns and heads for the bar, which is just as well. You need to find a relatively quiet corner to think in.

It’s unlikely Vannyn will look for you here. They can’t know Kokora very well if they just started work, and even if they did, Nott has many clubs.

Tapping your fingers against the beautifully carved chairs as you walk, you keep an eye out for anyone who seems too disgusted or interested by you. Small robots hover around ankle height, automatically avoiding any trolls who veer too close and sucking up garbage and cleaning any stains or messes they find. 

You slide into an empty booth carved with seadweller epics that sits in a less busy part of the club. The scattered highbloods are focused on themselves and their companions as they drink, laugh, and hoot appreciatively at the slam poet reciting in a further-off part of the room. You lean forward, elbows out as you rest your head on your chin.

What does Vannyn stand to gain from you? They’ve clearly thoroughly fooled people, or else found ones indifferent enough to their condition to give them work and protection from the law; you can’t imagine their cavern ever willingly letting them free, not after the security and the damned silence binding the jades put you under. 

You are a valuable resource, and much more, but you’re also one of the few trolls who could cull them if they were ever without a nullifier. What makes such a risk worth it?

Never mind. You need to protect yourself, and the easiest way is to persuade Kokora to make up an excuse from their superiors to get them off Nott. You can compensate her for it with little trouble, and she’ll think nothing of it. 

It will buy enough time to set up extra baseline and psiionic defenses around everywhere you frequent. 

“May I sit here?”

Your ears pin back. 

“How...?” The word escapes you in the quietest, most disbelieving voice as you jerk your head around to see the creature standing at the other end of the booth, hands clasped with a slight, bemused smile.

“Don’t bother your head about it, mustardseed, I’ve followed far more tricky people than you and your jade.”

Half of you wants to protest that Kokora is in no way yours, and the other wants to attack them right now, never mind the consequences. Your claws dig into the polished wood of the table, the material a rarity on Nott. 

“Cannot stop you.” You manage, in a stiff tone. “May sit.”

“Before you made your overly dramatic exit, I was about to say that they don’t know about you yet, and I can make sure they never will.”

You gape at them for a moment before screwing your mouth shut into a firm line. They still have no proof. If there’s a hidden recording device on them along with that nullifier - you can feel it dampening your psi again - you’re not going to be tricked into a confession. Vannyn could have been an ally of the jades who discussed treason. They could be an illusionist or shapeshifter troll in disguise.

They purse their lips and sigh, pressing their fingertips together. 

“What’s it going to take for you to be straight with me, mustardseed? I’m not asking you to trust me. That’s too much for your suspicious little hide and I suppose I haven’t exactly earned it. But think: if I’d wanted to haul you in for it, don’t you think I’d have gotten some backup? It would have saved me time.”

“Caverns won’t listen to you.” You retort. “Not with your status.” 

It’s impossible to keep your voice completely free from satisfaction. Kokora may not be cavern, but she still has all the privileges of her caste; Vannyn, abomination that they are, is entitled to none.

They roll their contact-covered, strangely dull jade eyes. “If you think I need the caverns behind me to drum up some support, you’re woefully unimaginative, mustardseed. I have contacts in this very station.”

Oh. 

A keen gaze studies you as you digest this depressing nugget of information, and Vannyn chuckles softly. 

“Kokora was right about you.”

You’re determined to not rise to the bait, but your ears betray you with a slight flick.

“You’re very keen to put everyone in a little caste-colored box, aren’t you? I suppose it’s none of my business, but it’s interesting, given you seem otherwise intelligent...and your career path.”

It’s not as if casteism is a new experience, but your lip curls back to show a few fangs at this science experiment directing it at you. 

The jade waves a finger at you as if they’re actually a matron and you’re a naughty crechewriggler.

“Pack your bags from having jumped to conclusion island fast enough to give yourself whiplash, dear. I’m saying that for someone who bucked lowblood tradition and decided to be a medic - one not tied to a highblood’s hip, congrats on avoiding that - you’re awfully conservative, and if someone over a hundred and fifty sweeps older than you is saying so, perhaps that’s a bad sign.”

What right do they have to judge you? What do they want? They offer you safety and reprimand you in the same breath. You can’t make heads or tails of it, and you stare past them into the laughing, drinking crowd as if there’s an answer there.

Then their words fully hit you and you bristle with indignation.

“You talk so noble, will use me the same as any highblood. Wouldn’t have come if I’d killed lowbloods, no? Or any caste but jade? You’re no legislacerator, no policeradicator. Have no right.”

The noise and smell of alcohol wafts over you, sickening you slightly. You just want to go hive.

Unfortunately, you have a monster to deal with.

Their smile becomes more sardonic, and they tilt their head, strands of wavy hair falling across their spiked horns. That makes it unlikely they’re a fake; most illusionists can’t do such fine detail, not with the way the club lights reflect off the strands and the hard, bright keratin of their horns.

“I have no particular love for the caverns of Alternia. They are narrow-minded, stifling places run by trolls who cannot see the present because they cling to the past so tightly. The matrons wish to stifle and control any rogue impulse, any blood or trait they see as undesirable. The worms inside me were made to serve that interest.”

Your ears perk and you lean forward, detesting the impulse but as ever, curious.

Vannyn looks at you with an odd mixture of pity, disgust, and regret that flickers across their face before they continue on in a more cool tone.

“You know how they work; don’t you have a whole slew of notes on their abilities by this point, given that you stole part of me?”

The only response you give at their irritated accusation is raised eyebrows. Do they expect you to be sorry?

Vannyn’s bile quickly fades into a deep sort of weariness as they sigh and tap the table with their claws, shifting in their seat. Their face looks young - not too much older than your own - but as you look, you see the worry lines of many sweeps.

“Any rebellion, any inclination to spare a mutant -” Their eyes linger pointedly at your waist area, and you hiss softly as your concealed tail clutches your body. “ - would be eliminated. It’s not perfect; some jade lines have a resistance to the drinker parasite. Still, it could hold most of a cavern.”

“May have stopped those traitors if used.” You reply glibly, mostly to see how they react.

To remind them that as their nullifier hums, your gun taken, outmatched physically and by blood privilege...you’re still a threat.

Their eyes widen, and for a moment their mouth opens wide, wide in a snarl and hiss that bares all their sharp fangs made for ripping a troll open and draining them dry. Your ears flatten as you shrink back from their fangs and the brightness of their glare, frustration bubbling at your own fear.

Never let a monster get to you, never show them any weakness, or else you’ll die.

Strangely, they relax and smile sadly.

“It might have.” They concede quietly, low enough that you’re forced to move back closer to hear them, despite your carapace’s prickling.

“Perhaps the matrons would have interrogated and culled all of them. Perhaps I would have done it myself, as Rhomox intended. Perhaps you never would have been taken against your will to begin with. Tell me, medic; was this about revenge?”

You blink at the idea, idly scratching your neck. Vengeance was never on your mind when you locked yourself in the lab, trying to think of ways out, realizing that no one there would ever let you live. Knowing that your life meant nothing to jades except as a tool or a threat, just like before...

Ah.

Disappointment in yourself wells up. Revenge and its tawdry, messy cycles are a thing of highbloods, or lowbloods too dense to know better. It’s never worth the energy, and it only comes back to bite a troll in the end.

You didn’t realize that maxim could be quite so literal.

“Does it matter?” Your voice comes out harsh, yet strangled. “Cannot be fixed. Was not...something I chose, with purpose. Wanted to survive.”

The pity on their face makes you long to throttle their throat again.

“I really shouldn’t sympathize with that.” They say idly, as if trying to talk themself out of a minor misdeed. “But I prefer it to a calculated act.”

“What is point?” You retort icily. “Results are same.”

“You knew what you wanted, but you didn’t want to admit to yourself why. I don’t know whether you contemplated exactly what you were doing in that whirring thinkpan of yours, but the jades are now in even further disarray. People are terrified their cavern will be struck down by sudden disease next, or betrayed from within. The brass aren’t sure who they can trust, who should be allowed to tend mother grubs and eggs. Conscripting surface jades has been forced through as an emergency measure, causing uproars with surface authorities.

Congratulations, medic; you’ve sown exactly the sort of chaos the would-be traitors wanted.”

They give you an ironic salute.

“Was supposed to let myself die, then?!” You slam the table with your hands and stand up, breathing heavily in and out. You can’t tolerate their high and mighty hoofbeastshit any longer, drinker or no.

“I didn’t say that.” They reply, so calmly that you feel a shade of shame for your reaction, but you hold fast.

“You are a quandary, miss Wistim, and I do so hate a quandary I can’t hand over to someone else. You did immense harm; you are a judgmental, irascible individual who is frankly quite dangerous left unchecked. If I were a responsible troll with any shred of caste loyalty in me, I’d turn you in.”

Before you can sputter a reply, a tight and darkly amused smile flits across their face.

“But if I had that,” They say lightly. “We’d hardly be here, and I would have burned myself sweeps ago out of shame. Thankfully, whatever our faults, we’re both too wise to give into such a silly feeling, aren’t we?”

“Am nothing like you.” You spit through gritted teeth.

“Believe what you wish, mustardseed. More importantly...my offer still stands. My silence in exchange for a few things from you.”

You fold your arms and sit back down. Finally.

“Sadly I can’t totally stop you from your little experiments, but I can certainly compel you to behave a little more constructively about it.”

“Explain.”

“The caverns can never change if they keep suffering. Do not hurt one again. No more taking things from people, including the thinking dead, without their permission. Get the sentient among us to cooperate, and you’ll be surprised how much easier things can be. We have no more love for the mindless hordes than living trolls do.” They say lightly.

It takes effort to not grind your teeth too hard. Their conditions could be much worse, but an abomination thinking they deserve to bargain with you is galling. 

Never mind. You’ll kill them some night.

“Is that all?” You reply in a flat tone.

They blink at you and twine their fingers together, lips twitching in a mildly amused fashion.

“Not at the moment. I may ask for other things if it becomes necessary.”

They stand up, stretch, and you see a passing cerulean pause and eye them with interest. You repress a shudder of disgust. 

Then you wonder.

“Why spare me, then? Suppose isn’t only lack of caste loyalty. Didn’t ask for anything useful to you. Doesn’t make sense.”

They pause, fingers tapping on the table in a slow rhythm, and your awareness of everything else filters back in a little. The music has become bouncy and chipper, some pop tune in East Alternian. You smell fried grubs and realize you’re hungry.

“Would you believe it’s because I’m a forgiving soul?” They say, and chuckle at the withering look you give them. 

“You remind me of someone who never got the chance to do better, except a tad less blinded by ambition and needless cruelty. That’s the first time you’ve slaughtered that many trolls, right?”

“And last.” You say stiffly. They don’t deserve to wring guilt or remorse out of you, but that doesn’t mean you want to repeat the incident. Especially after what’s happened in the wake of it.

It’s incredible knowing you caused all of that. It scares you deep to your bones. 

“Let that be so.” They say, unexpectedly soft.

They take out a card from their sylladex, and put it on the table.

“Use that handle to contact me.” Their voice returns to its normal tones. “Kokora will fetch you if I need something.”

They finally leave, walking away and out the door until they leave your sight.

You take a deep breath, then several more, inhaling and exhaling as you slump in your seat, tail relaxing from its death grip around your waist.

The contract still stands. You can’t tell anyone about Vannyn’s worms, their existence, or even the binding itself. 

Kokora wanders back over, two drinks in her hands and her eyes restored to their usual pink.

“You’ve gotta try this drink, now that you’re done with whatever weirdo crap that was.”

You almost snap at her, then sigh and think better of it, taking the proffered shot glass.

It burns as it goes down, with a slightly sour aftertaste, but perhaps it sparks the idea that occurs to you as you fix Kokora with an intent look. The noise of Nott bustles around the pair of you, poetry coming from the corner, and you’re not overly anxious to get back to your hive or your lab just yet. 

“What you know of psychics the caverns employ?”

END

[timeisacephalopod]

Optioned

Um, random Peter/ Bucky AU in which they both work a shitty job at a movie theater. I don’t know what this is but its definitely crack lmao. I just wanted to write the pairing tbh.

Ok so Peter had aspirations- once upon a time that was a thing but now all his dreams are dead and he stuffs bags full of pop corn for a living. Its not exactly that he hates his job at the local movie theater, its just that he’d rather kill himself than speak to an actual live human being at a till. People are assholes for one, and also he’s discovered that the ‘ice vs no ice’ controversy is real and people are passionate about it. His preference? He doesn’t have one because he can’t be assed to care about trivial shit like that.

The only good thing to come out of his shitty job making surprisingly good popcorn is that he met Bucky. Sure he’s like ninety percent sure Bucky never actually does any work mostly because he’s way too fucking anxious to handle being on till but he’s funny and that’s all Peter cares about. Plus he’s awesome enough that no one else seems to notice that he doesn’t do much. Either that or everyone likes him too much to care.

“I hate closing shifts,” Kamala mumbles and Peter snorts.

“That makes two of us but fuck getting up in the morning,” he says, shaking his head. Morning shifts are slow as shit too so not only would he be up early but he’d have nothing to do. Fuck morning shifts. Actually no, fuck working in general, he misses stealing shit to get by but Bucky thinks its immoral to steal or whatever. Personally Peter likes to think of himself as Robin Hood except he’s only taking money for himself- if the public wants more of it they can steal their own shit.

“I already have school so you know, I’m used to it,” Kamala says.

Peter wrinkles his nose, “I’d say drop out but then I’d be a bad influence.”

Kamala laughs, “I’m pretty sure my parents would skin you if you told me to drop out and I listened.”

“Has anyone done the butter yet?” Bucky asks and Peter turns.

“No, not that I- why are you in the vat of pop corn?” he asks, frowning at Bucky sitting in the pop corn machine. Its not even empty either, he’s sitting in a giant ass vat of popcorn with food surrounding him.

“Monkey brain,” he says like that’s some kind of explanation.

Peter sighs. “When I was nine my mother died, I got kidnapped shortly thereafter, became a fucking conspiracy theory-” which he hadn’t even known about until he met Bucky. The guy reads way too many conspiracies. “-Ended up leading a life of crime so I could accumulate enough money to go to film school and also assimilate into the group of criminals I was kidnapped by. Went to film school with big dreams of being a director and writer that got sucked out by this shit place, and all for it to end with my boyfriend in a vat of popcorn explained away by ‘monkey brain’. I can’t even write that shit.” But then most of Bucky’s life is such a level of bizarre that he couldn’t write it. If he did he’d deem it unrealistic because Bucky attracts weird like nobody’s business. “Kamala, can you do the butter?” he asks her.

She sighs grumpily but agrees until Bucky interrupts, “I asked because I was gunna do it,” he says.

“You can clean out the popcorn vat,” Peter tells him and Bucky sulks, eating some of the popcorn that surrounds him. Kalama laughs as she pulls the butter from its warmer. Knowing how long those things sit there makes Peter feel almost bad for feeding it to people. But then he remembers half the customers shriek at him if he puts ice in their drinks and feels less bad.

“Can I go home? I hate it here,” Bucky says and Peter snorts.

“If I have to suffer so do you. Kamala, you go home, you have school tomorrow,” he says.

Kamala frowns, “I mean I’m leaving but we don’t have school on Saturdays, Peter.”

Bucky lets out a long whine, “how come she gets to go home? I’m the one dating you, give me special treatment.”

“Yeah, I also happen to know you pay half the rent and need the hours, Kamala’s only here to save money for college so she’s not missing out on much,” he says. “Now clean the vat.” Bucky sighs and mumbles something about Peter sucking the fun out of everything but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t like rent either but Bucky’s the one who insists they work shitty jobs for a living instead of just selling meth or robbing homes in rich areas.

“You’re the best,” Kamala tells him before she takes off. Man Peter wishes he could follow and leave this stupid job behind. Why couldn’t he have dated someone with no moral compass so he could avoid this hellhole?

“Do I still have to clean the vat?” Bucky asks and Peter nods.

“I’m not cleaning that shit,” he says.

“I thought you wanted weird experiences for your writing or whatever,” Bucky says and Peter frowns.

“I hope you know finding my boyfriend in a vat of popcorn is far weirder than cleaning it out,” he says. “Also I don’t feel like cleaning it out when I have to count literally everything in this damn place. Save me some of that popcorn,” he adds, earning a look from Clint like he has the right to issue out looks given his eating habits. Peter watched him eat an Oreo off the lobby floor once.

“His ass as been in there,” he says.

“Clint, I’ve ate is ass, why do you think that matters to me?” he asks, earning a gag from America across the room. “Oh hush, I’m sure you and Kate get up to worse,” he says to her. She gives him a doubtful look but he damn well knows Kate is probably into weird shit, she hangs out with Clint.

“Please don’t tell our coworkers about our sex life, I have to look them in the eye,” Bucky says, climbing out of the popcorn.

“Does he actually do anything around here or does he mostly just talk to you?” Clint asks.

Peter shrugs, “probably the latter but I mean are you complaining? Could you imagine this guy at a till? Dude is a human chihuahua.” He shakes at everything and sometimes has a lot of anger in unexpected places though Peter has to admit if he were Jewish and spotted a Nazi near him he’d punch the Nazi too. Except Bucky acted totally on instinct and went Full Human Chihuahua right after so it was a weird situation to be in and if Peter ever writes a comedy that is so going in it.

Clint snorts, “one time when he was on floor I watched this guy try to walk up to him and he basically ran away and left Loki to deal with it. I’m sure it went horribly wrong.”

“Actually I think Loki solved his problem and that reaffirms that I’m not fit to deal with people,” Bucky says, dumping popcorn into the trash.

“How do you date him?” Clint asks and Peter shrugs.

“Dude is so weird he inspires a crap ton of stories that no one will ever option,” he says and Bucky snorts.

“I’m sure it’ll happen eventually,” he says and yeah, maybe, but Peter is bored of writing for no audience. And also of serving ungrateful dipshits who scream about ice. Once he found a cockroach in the ice and he hopes some jackass customer has eaten one.

“Well when you hit it big remember that time I took your shift,” Clint tells him.

Peter squints, “you’ve never taken anyone’s shift ever. I know this because I help make the schedule.” Its a horrible job and he hates it.

“What I’m saying is that I want your money,” Clint tells him bluntly.

“Uh, I get his money first, you get it later,” Bucky says. “Also you want to scoop the rest of this popcorn?”

*

Peter considers the last year and a half of his life. “Do you ever think about the fact that Tony Stark basically paid you five million dollars to make him a drink?” Bucky asks.

“All the time because literally what the fuck.” He’d been closing, as usual, and then out of nowhere actual Tony fucking Stark walks up and practically begs for a drink. Peter had made a joke that he’d make it if Tony gave him the money to make a movie and the guy must have been some desperate for coke because he agreed. Peter is ninety percent sure the only reason people even went to see it is because Tony was the one who funded it but what the fuck ever man, he’s got a whole new project in the works and his last movie went over surprisingly well.

“I can’t believe real people are funding your space opera about your daddy issues,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

Peter snorts, “you get all the benefits so shush.”

Bucky grins, “well yeah, but a space opera about your daddy issues? That’s also a musical? That’s got to be a niche market.”

Not if Tony Stark is funding it but Peter has long known the guy was genius at marketing. Dude makes a shit ton of money, as evidenced by his paying a stupid amount of dollars over a joke Peter made. But like hell he was backing down from that. “It’ll sell. I mean people loved my weird sci-fi comedy that had a really odd sense of Millennial humor with an absurd amount of conspiracy theories in it,” he points out.

“Yeah, you’re officially in the Illuminati now. Tony invited you and now you’re trying to control the masses,” Bucky says, dead ass serious because he’s probably read whole Reddit threads on it or something. 

He considers that for a moment before looking back to Bucky. “First, please stop reading weird conspiracies about me. Two, do you have any idea how tempted I am to steal all of Tony’s shit always? You should be lucky I love you because he has some nice stuff and I could probably sell it for a lot of money.” He stared at that stupid expensive Rolex for so long Tony probably got suspicious at some point but Peter let him fuck around on set so he didn’t seem to care too much. Turns out Pepper Potts is terrifying though and for a hot second she took everything over to shoo Tony out.

“Actually I don’t really care if you steal from the rich but maybe not the rich guy who’s funding your shit. Steal from all his friends,” Bucky says and Peter blinks.

“Wait, what? I thought you had a thing against stealing!”

Buck shrugs, “I don’t count it if its from rich people who can replace it right away. Its like Robin Hood but selfish,” he says.

Peter stares at him for a long few moments before letting out a long string of swear words. “I’ve been avoiding stealing shit for three damn years and you didn’t even care the whole time? I’m robbing Betsy DeVos so blind she’s going to have to get laser eye surgery to correct it!” he says. He’s got plans.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, “save that line, its funny.”

[pickalilywrites]

I dont know if you have watched the greatest showman, but if you did can you make a Rivetra fic with Levi as Philip and Petra as Anne?

I’ve never watched it but I’ve listened to Rewrite the Stars so many times lol I love Zendaya ;~; 

The Secret to Flying

Rivetra. The Greatest Showman AU. 

1736 words. 

Hedoesn’t know how she manages to climb up to the bars every day and night topractice and then perform. Just the climb there has him winded and it’s noteven that long of a climb. He must be out of shape. But it’ll be his last timethere – in that particular place and in the circus in general. He just came tosay goodbye even though he knows she’ll probably hate him for it. It’s strangebecause she’s not one to hate very many things. The fact that he’ll be one ofthem is…well, he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Leviwatches as she swings across the ring effortlessly, not even frightened aboutfalling in the least bit. She has the net set up like she usually does forpractice, but he still can’t imagine what it feels like to fall at that heighteven with a safety net. That’s just another thing that separates them though.

Shemust see him. He wasn’t exactly quiet as he clambered his way up the ladder towhere she was, and he’s the only person in the tent besides her. While it’sspacious, it’s not exactly difficult to notice if someone’s there with you whenthe place is empty. She probably thought that he would leave if she ignored himlong enough, but he’s more stubborn than that.

“Petra,”he says when he can’t stand her not looking at him any further. His voicesounds so loud in this empty space. It’s impossible for her to pretend that shedoesn’t hear him.

Shefinally turns to look at him, a feigned smile on her face. It lacks the warmththat it usually has, and it only makes him hate himself more. “I’m surprised tosee you here,” Petra says to him. She’s breathing a little heavily from hertraining, but he’s surprised she doesn’t sound more winded. “What are you doinghere?”

“Sayinggoodbye,” he replies. He fiddles with a button on his shirt. How funny that heis doing such a thing. He’s never been so nervous as to play with imaginarythreads on his clothing, so why is he doing so now? It’s just a simple goodbyeto a friend. There really isn’t a need to feel such guilt over it. He’s justbeing ridiculous.

“Isthat it?” Petra asks. She’s not exactly angry – at least not entirely – buthe’s confused as to why she looks so amused. When he only stares at herblankly, she gives him another half-hearted smile. “Well then, goodbye. Thankyou for stopping by.”

Thisisn’t what he expected. It’s not what he wants either, although he can’t sayfor certain what he really wanted in saying goodbye to her. Not tears. Thatwould be too selfish of him to ask from her, but he was perhaps hoping thatshe’d be a little distraught at his leaving. It should be a good thing thatshe’s already accepted it, but he can’t help feeling a little annoyed.

Butwhat annoys him the most is her back turned to him, so he grabs her by thewrist without thinking because he cannot bear to think that her retreatingfigure will be the last image he’ll ever have of her.

“Isthat…is that all you’re going to say to me?” he asks her. He realizes howchildish and bitter his tone is, but it’s too late. He’s already revealedhimself and he can’t hide it away from her.

Sheglances at his hand gripped around her wrist, but she doesn’t pull herselfaway. “What else is there to say? If you’ve made a decision, who am I to tellyou to stay?” she asks. It’s so strange to see her so indifferent when usuallyshe’s so passionate and caring, sometimes forcing her way into his personalaffairs even if he doesn’t want it. Is this really the same person?

“It’snot as if I want to go,” he mumbles, angry for saying something so soft andsentimental at a moment where she doesn’t even care. “This just isn’t the placefor me. I don’t belong here.”

It’sonly then that she looks him, really looks at him, and her expression is nolonger unfathomable. She’s angry for some strange reason, but at least it’s nother indifference.

“Didyou decide that on your own or did someone tell you that?” she asks, pullingher wrist away from him. She frowns at him as if he had personally offended heralthough he doesn’t understand how she could be so hurt about what he said. It’snot as if it concerns her anyway. “What makes you think there isn’t a place foryou here?”

“BecauseI’m not like any of you,” he mumbles. He feels a fool now, but he knows she won’tlet it drop until he gives her a proper reply. “I can’t be a part of…all ofthis.”

It’sonly then that her gaze softens. Petra lets go of the rope she was holding onto,letting it unwind around her arm and fall onto the floor behind her, andreaches to brush his check with a gentle hand. “Have you been alone so longthat you can’t imagine yourself happy with others?” she whispers. “Thishappiness is not an illusion. It isn’t forbidden to you, so why don’t you takeit?”

“Didn’tI just say?” he says. “I’m not like you.” He can’t see something he wants andtake it fearlessly when he knows there’s a risk of having it taken away from him.If that means he has to be alone forever, he can be content with that.

Tohis surprise, she smiles at him like one would smile at a child. Silently shetakes him by the hand and leads him to the edge of the platform. She standswith her toes hanging over the edge, but he remains behind her, not braveenough to venture so far where a fall is so much more likely.

“Thenbefore you go, let me teach you the secret to flying,” she tells him. Again,she takes the rope she had previously discarded and wraps it around her wristthe way he’s seen her do so many times in practice and in shows.

He’soften heard the other circus performers joke that what Petra does is a fancyway of falling. Perhaps so, but she always makes it look like flying. There’s areason why the crowd is silent as she performs, watching her glide across thecircus tent as if she was always meant to spin and twirl in the air instead ofliving with her feet on the ground like most other people are.

Andalthough he would like to watch her one last time before he goes, he findshimself saying, “I should go.” If he stays any longer, he’ll never be able toleave.

“Youshould go, or you want to go?” she asks him. The rope is still wound around herarm and she’s teetering on the edge of the platform looking as if she couldleap off at any moment.

Heshould go, but he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t know which one he should say,so he remains silent.

Shemust take his silence as a desire for her to continue speaking – and she’s notwrong in making that assumption. “When you’re flying in the air, you need tomake a decision. Are you going to remain where you are, or are you going tofly?” Petra lifts herself on and off the very edge of the platform, pushingherself off and then falling back into place. It’s just a simple movement, butshe makes it look so graceful. “And once you leap into the air, you can’t changeyour mind midway. You can hang onto the rope for safety, but you’ll dangle inthe middle of nowhere. You need to decide where you’re going and stick to it –then you’ll be at the place where you want to be.”

Helooks at her warily. She’s been doing this almost her entire life, so she cansay such things so easily. How can she expect him to live like her? “Is itreally so bad staying on the ground where you’re most comfortable?” he asks.

“Peopledon’t come here to watch me with my feet on the ground,” she laughs. She stopsteetering off the edge and sits on the platform, patting the space next to herso he’ll sit beside her. “And if I did that, I’d never know how exhilarating itis to fly. If you really want something, you have to reach for it even if itscares you. So when I perform, I look for the place I want to go and I takemyself there. All the flips and twists are something a little extra.”

Hesits beside her, letting his legs finally dangle off the side just like hersdo. He probably won’t fall unless he leans forward, but there’s still thatdanger. It’s a little thrilling, he has to admit. Petra will probably call hima wimp if he admits this to her.

“Whathappens if I reach for it,” he asks, “and I end up falling?”

“Silly,”she smiles. She reaches for his face, thumb caressing his cheek lightly. “ThenI’ll catch you.”

Hisheart beats faster and he wonders if her heart beats this quickly when shejumps and flips into the sky. It must be something like this, right? Being so entrancedby something you need to reach for it, he thinks as he leans in closer to her.If you want something, you should take hold of it before it escapes. He thinkshe’s beginning to understand, so he closes his eyes, waiting for their lips tomeet, but when he opens his eyes she’s gone.

Hesearches for her and only finds her when she laughs, the sound of her amusementechoing across the empty circus tent. She’s swinging so easily across the wide-openspace, unafraid of the drop beneath her, dangling from the ceiling from only arope. She doesn’t think of the terrible things that could happen. She’s onlythinking about gliding through the air, the feel of the wind as it brushesthrough her hair, and he can see on her face that she’s happy.

She’sflying.