#I sure will and that's enough at the end of the day in this case specifically lmaooo

[alex51324]

You're right; this was meant to be contexualized by another post I made, about how Chaos Is the Point, and attention and outrage are finite resources. But this post ended up having a much bigger reach, so a lot of people are seeing it who didn't see the other one.

To summarize:

Because no one can live at DefCon 5 all the time, we need to be thoughtful about distinguishing between "Trump's back on his bullshit," "This is a real actual thing that could happen if they get their shit together," and "holy shit, grab the kids and run." AKA, threat levels Piss Yellow, Spray-Tan Orange, and Blood Red.

A lot of Trump's EOs are simply publicity stunts. For instance, a few days ago there was a flurry of panic because he'd rescinded a Johnson-era Civil Rights EO, which had a similar name to the Act which codified it into law a few years later. With this EO, Trump was showing us (once again) who he is and what he values, but in terms of actual legal effect, it was nothing. Within hours of the headlines announcing this EO, there were clarifications about it all over the place.

Another batch are so blatantly illegal that, again within hours, there are well-grounded legal challenges in process, and often judicial stays on the order. The "funding pause" is one of these, as was Trump's attempt to limit birthright citizenship.

The first group are pure yellow, and the second are sort of orange-tinged, like the urine of a man who drinks only diet coke (and not enough of it). It's important for state governments, the ACLU, and other relevant stakeholders to respond quickly with those legal challenges, but as an ordinary person, you can kind of figure it's being handled, and just keep an eye out in case it explodes somehow, or the groups doing the legal challenges are asking for a show of support from the public.

The next concern level, solid orange, is a mix of orders where it isn't really clear what Trump was trying to do or if it means anything, or where the legality of the order is more open to interpretation, meaning that if it ends up in front of a Trump-friendly judge, it could make it through.

These are the ones where you want to pay attention as the situation develops, especially if the order would affect you personally. With this category, there maybe things for you to do, like writing/calling your congresspeople, attending protests, etc., or ways you can prepare for impact if you're in the affected group (or help others in the affected group prepare). As you follow the story, make sure you're using trusted sources of information, and share information when you're reasonably confident that it is accurate and useful.

And then red, of course, is where the effect could be immediate and drastic, and affected groups should prepare to take quick action. For instance, for federal employees, the "fork in the road" emails are dark orange bordering on red. It's pretty clear that Trump is attempting a purge of the civil service; it's not clear whether he's actually going to succeed, or what comes next if making ominous noises and trying to bribe people to quit doesn't work. If you are in the affected group on this one--that is, a federal employee--you should be actively planning & working with your union, others in your department, and/or legal representation to understand what's happening & what is best for you to do.

As the threat level tends toward Red, it remains important to seek accurate and useful information sources, but at the same time, events may be evolving quickly. Be conscious of how you use and pass along information in the "important if true" category: of course you don't want to be so cautious you miss the window to respond before the situation turns critical, but you also don't want to waste your and others' time with actions that are unnecessary or counterproductive.

It's a very normal and natural impulse, when things are scary, to want to sound the alarm and share the scary information as widely as possible, but overreacting can make it harder for people to pay attention to the most scary things.

Food for thought

[vunblr]

Discipline (Blue-collar Bucky #2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Brat-taming (Bucky). Edging/Orgasm Denial. Power Play. Overstimulation. Spanking. A sprinkle of Degradation. Nipple play. Dub-con Elements (induced paralysis).

Summary: Bucky made the rules, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break them. And when he does, she’s more than ready to make him pay for it.

Word Count: 5.7k.

note: I just had to do this. Out of all my versions of Bucky, this is the only one who deserved it -so far-.

Also, I know it's unlikely that a simple taser could paralyze him, but come on, play along.

Bucky never planned on coming back after that first time.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, a simple, unspoken exchange that neither of them would dwell on. He’d walked into the bakery to pick up the crew’s lunch, and by the time he walked out, his hands weren’t the only things covered in flour. He figured that was it. A lapse in judgment. A moment of weakness.

And yet, here he was. Again.

The scent of fresh bread and warm sugar wrapped around him as soon as he stepped inside. The bell above the door chimed, and he saw her glance up from behind the counter. He didn’t miss the way her lips parted slightly when she recognized him, how her breath hitched in that barely perceptible way that made his cock twitch. She recovered quickly, though, offering him a polite, almost indifferent smile, like she wasn’t squeezing her thighs together under that frilly apron, like she hadn’t begged him to fuck her in the back room not even a week ago.

He smirked.

He sauntered toward the counter, tossing his gloves onto the surface with a lazy flick of his wrist. His vibranium fingers tapped against the display case absently as he pretended to glance over the pastries. "You know," he drawled, tilting his head, "I think I'm developing a sweet tooth."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

"Mm." He nodded, dragging his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "Keep finding myself coming back here. Weird, huh?"

She snorted, shaking her head as she reached beneath the counter for the already-prepared order for the workers. "Yeah, real weird. Almost like you have a job that sends you here regularly."

He liked this little game they played, this dance where she pretended his presence didn’t affect her, and he pretended he wasn’t counting down the hours until he saw her again.

"Convenient, isn’t it?" He leaned against the counter, letting his gaze flick over her slowly, deliberately. "Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back."

She rolled her eyes, setting the bag of sandwiches in front of him with a little more force than necessary. "Try not to strain yourself."

He chuckled, reaching for the bag but making no immediate move to leave. Instead, he let his fingers graze hers in a way that wasn’t exactly an accident. She tensed, just for a second, but it was enough for him to notice. He could see it in the way her pupils dilated, in the way her chest rose ever so slightly as she inhaled.

Yeah. She wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to think.

Good.

He stepped back, slow and measured, still smirking as he adjusted the bag in his grip. "See you around, muffin."

And just like that, he was gone.

----

The visits kept happening.

Sure, the foreman had asked him to handle the lunch pickups a few more times, but even when he didn’t, Bucky found reasons to stop by. Maybe he needed a drink. Maybe he was suddenly interested in croissants. Maybe he was just bored.

The excuse didn’t matter. The outcome was the same.

He’d show up, she’d pretend not to notice him lingering too long, and by the end of the day, he’d have her pressed against a wall somewhere, muffling her breathy moans against his lips.

Not that he was thinking about it too hard.

It was casual. No expectations, no obligations. She got off, he got off, and they both moved on. Just as he told her, the only thing he can offer her at the moment.

So why the fuck was he in front of the community center, squinting at a stupid flyer about free baking classes?

He stood there for a long moment with his arms crossed, his jaw ticking as he stared at the neatly printed words. "Learn to bake! Free classes every Tuesday & Thursday evening! No experience necessary."

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, shaking his head at himself. This was stupid. And yet…

The class was across the street from the bakery. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to sign up. He’d learn something, sure. Might be useful. But more importantly, he’d get to spend more time with her. And -if he was being honest- he wasn’t entirely thrilled about the idea of some random asshole getting too comfortable around her in a class full of strangers.

He knew how men were.

And he was the only one allowed to make her squirm.

Bucky smirked, turning toward the entrance with a sense of purpose. This was going to be fun.

----

He had expected her to be even a little flustered when she saw him walk into the class on that first day. Maybe she’d stumble over her words, maybe her eyes would widen in surprise, or -if he was lucky- she’d pull him aside and demand to know what the hell he was doing there.

But she didn’t.

She looked right at him, blinked once, and simply said, “Find a seat, we’re about to start.”

That was it. No reaction. No acknowledgment of their situation. Just... professionalism.

He hated it.

Not that he wanted special treatment. But it irked him that she could turn it off so easily like she didn’t spend countless nights milking his cock, moaning his name like a prayer. It was almost insulting.

So, naturally, he made it his mission to get under her skin.

It started small. Little things.

When she instructed them to knead their dough for ten minutes, he’d lean back against the counter after five and smirk. “Pretty sure my hands are strong enough. You wanna check?” just loud enough for the class to hear, just enough to make a few people chuckle.

If she ignored him, he escalated.

In the second class, when she passed by his station to inspect his work, he pressed the pipping bag in a very suggestive way and smeared some frosting on his hands. Then, he licked a slow, deliberate stripe of buttercream from his knuckle, watching her reaction closely.

She didn’t waver. Didn’t blush. Didn’t react at all.

And that pissed him off.

By the lack of reaction, he knew she was holding back. And if she was holding back, that meant she cared. At least a little.

Which meant he had to push.

By the third class, the students were catching on to his antics. A few laughed along with him, some just shook their heads, but one particular moment set something off in her.

She demonstrated how to pipe pastry cream onto cupcakes and showed them the proper wrist movement. It should have been a simple, uneventful lesson.

Then he had to open his mouth.

“Real delicate touch there, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning forward on the counter,  flexing his forearms against the surface. His voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with mock appreciation. “Bet that comes in handy for other things, huh?” A few students gasped. One let out a choked laugh.

And she?

She froze. Just for a split second.

Bucky saw it, the slight tightening of her grip on the piping bag, the way her lashes fluttered, the flicker of heat behind her composed expression.

But when she turned to him, her face was perfectly calm. And that was when he knew he was in trouble. Because instead of snapping at him, instead of rolling her eyes or brushing him off like she had before, she smiled.

“Oh yeah, it’s actually really, really handy. You’ll see, eventually.”

-----

When the class ended, she just looked at him with a neutral stare. "Barnes, a word? Since you are more than capable, be a dear and help me carry the supplies to the storage room, will you?" he nodded, grabbing almost all the stuff that was already clean into a couple of boxes and followed her toward a dimly lit hallway.

When they reached their destination, the door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing them off from the rest of the world in the storage room. The scent of flour and vanilla lingered in the air, mixing with something heavier: the unspoken tension crackling between them like a live wire.

Bucky dropped the boxes onto the floor with a dull thud, dusting his hands off on his jeans before turning to face her. She was already watching him, arms crossed, chin lifted in that quiet, unreadable way that made his hackles rise.

"What do you think you’re doing in my class, Bucky?"

His smirk was instant, practiced. "Learning."

She scoffed. "Don’t give me that crap. You made it very clear what our thing was: fuck buddies, no strings, no extra credit." Her expression remained impassive, but her words hit sharper than he expected. "So why the hell did you sign up?"

Bucky bristled.

Yeah, fine. Maybe he overstepped. Maybe this was a little more than what they agreed to. But something about her tone, about the way she looked at him like he was some inconvenient disruption instead of the man who had her coming undone in his hands, made his jaw clench.

His smirk turned sharper, edged with something almost mean. "Well, let me remind you. I may not be the perfect student, but at least I’m honest about who I am." He took a step forward, and his voice dropped just enough to make the space between them feel too small. "You, on the other hand, acting all high and mighty just because you’re wearing a teacher’s badge..." His voice carried, echoing in the empty room as he loomed over her.

She narrowed her gaze, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"Oh, don’t worry," she said, voice deceptively sweet. "I’ll teach you a lesson, alright."

Bucky exhaled a quiet laugh, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head down to look at her. "A lesson, huh?" he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. "Sounds like you wanna play principal for a day." He shifted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Well, go ahead then. Show me what you’ve got."

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Which, if he was being honest, kind of turned him on. He could feel it, the twisted little thrill beneath his irritation. A part of him craved this, to have her undivided attention, to see what she thought would be enough to discipline him. It was a fucked-up kind of want, born from the way she brushed him off in front of her students, pretending like he was just another guy instead of the one who made her tremble behind closed doors.

But he’d be damned if he admitted it aloud.

Instead, he held her gaze, waiting. Daring her to make the next move.

He barely had time to process the sigh that left her lips before she spoke. "Just be useful and give me that bucket over there. Unlike you, I still have things to do."

His brow quirked, amused by the audacity of it, but he humored her, rolling his eyes as he turned to grab it. "Yeah, yeah, princess. Don’t get your apron in a twist."

And then was when she did it.

Years of perfect training, years of being Hydra’s fist, a ghost on the battlefield, an apex predator in human skin… and yet he didn’t see it coming.

The zap of electricity hit him hard, sharp and unforgiving against the side of his neck. His entire body locked up instantly, and his nerves short-circuited as every muscle seized at once. His breath caught in his throat, his vision blurred at the edges, and before he could do anything, before he could even curse her name, he felt himself falling.

But she didn’t just let him collapse, no. She guided him down. Lowered him carefully. Like he was something fragile, something that mattered.

It was almost insulting.

His chest hit the floor first, then his head followed, resting against the side of his arm, his vibranium fingers twitching as they struggled to respond. He wasn’t unconscious, far from it. For the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes was vulnerable.

And she? She simply stood up, walked toward the door, and locked it. The click of the deadbolt sent a slow, crawling shiver down his spine.

Well, shit. Maybe he should have taken this class more seriously.

Bucky let out a strained growl, and his breath was uneven as he fought against the lingering paralysis in his limbs. "You backstabbing vixen," he bit out, roughly but undeniably amused beneath the indignation. "Using a fucking taser on me?"

Despite his predicament, despite the absolute betrayal of being taken down so effortlessly, his eyes still flicked to her legs as she moved. He also took in the way her skirt hugged her curves, the sway of her hips as she stalked toward him. Even flat on his stomach, and his nerves still tingling from the electric bite, he was Bucky Barnes. Cocky, stubborn, and utterly incorrigible.

That arrogance barely had time to settle in before she reached for something on the nearby shelf. A ruler.

Not one of those flimsy plastic ones. No, this was an old, thick wooden ruler, the kind meant for use on chalkboards. Or as he will discover, putting cocky super-soldiers in their place. His brow furrowed slightly as she turned back and closed the space between them, ruler in hand, with an unreadable expression.

Then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yanked them down -underwear included- leaving his pert, pale ass bare to the cool air of the storage room.

Bucky’s spine stiffened.

“What the fuck-?!” His face contorted in a mixture of outrage and mortification as his body betrayed him, heat prickling beneath his skin as the reality of his situation dawned. He tried to move, to push himself up, but the taser’s aftershocks still hummed through his system, leaving his muscles sluggish and uncooperative. The best he could do was shift slightly, but even that only served to expose himself further.

Then she spoke.

"You'll learn today, Sarge,” she mused, tapping the ruler lightly against his bare skin as a warning. “That you might be the fearsome Winter Soldier out there on the streets…” The ruler pressed against the curve of his ass, not hitting, just…resting. Teasing. “But I’m not afraid of the needy man who came in his pants not too long ago after just a little grinding."

Bucky froze.

Heat flared in his chest, creeping up his neck, and across his cheeks. She did not just say that. His mind flashed back to the bakery’s back room one afternoon, to the way she had ridden his clothed cock with desperate little whimpers, to the sticky, shameful mess he had left behind, the evidence of just how easily she had undone him.

His fingers twitched against the floor. His face burned.

“Y-you…” His voice faltered, but before he could string together something -anything- to claw back his dignity, she pressed the flat side of the ruler firmly against his skin. The sensation sent a jolt through his gut, and his stomach coiled tight with something unnameable. Humiliation? Frustration? Anticipation?

He didn’t have time to figure it out. Because then-

Smack!

A sharp, biting pain bloomed across his sensitive flesh.

He gritted his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache, curling his hands into fists as he swallowed the instinctive whimper threatening to escape his lips.

“You don’t get to talk if I don’t talk to you first.”

Smack!

“I won’t tolerate this bratty attitude inside these walls, won’t have you jeopardizing my job just because you can’t control your mouth.”

Smack!

"You think you’re so rough, huh?" She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something syrupy sweet, something dangerous. "Newsflash, Sergeant: you're just a bratty, horny little thing who needs to be put in his place."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Each sharp crack of the ruler on his ass sent a fresh sting through his body, each strike perfectly placed, each one burning a little hotter than the last.

His thighs tensed, his hips shifted, as if his own damn body was reaching for it, arching into it despite himself. His cock twitched against the hard wooden floor, and fuck, that was a problem.

His breath hitched, the telltale prickle of unshed tears burning at the corners of his eyes, not from pain, not really, but from how fucking overwhelmed he felt.

He didn’t know whether to curse her or beg for more.

And judging by the way she was watching him, ruler poised for another strike,

She knew it.

“Muffin, p-please…” Bucky choked out between sharp, stinging smacks, his voice raw with something he couldn’t name, something that tasted too much like desperation.

The floor beneath him was merciless, rough wood pressing into his chest, his hardened, pierced nipples rubbing harshly through the fabric of his shirt. Every jolt of sensation, every sharp crack of the ruler against his skin, fed into the unbearable pressure coiling low in his stomach. Shame and arousal twisted together like an inseparable duo. And fuck, his cock was aching, straining, leaking, trapped between his trembling body and the cold, unyielding ground.

She tutted, watching him squirm beneath her. “Since you used the magic word -please- I’ll humor you,” she cooed.

Her icy fingers, smoothed over his scorched skin, caressing the very spots she had punished. Bucky’s breath hitched. The contrast between the sting of the ruler and the gentle chill of her touch was almost unbearable, a heady mix of pain and comfort that made his thighs twitch. His body, traitorous and weak, leaned into her hand, silently begging for more.

“Are you going to behave around me?” she asked, in a sweet, knowing tone.

His throat worked around the lump forming there, as the humiliation and need kept dancing inside him. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, to reclaim his dominance, to snarl something cocky, hurtful, something that would undo the growing control she had over him.

But instead-

“…Yes, Muffin,” he whispered. It was barely a breath, barely more than a surrender. “I’ll behave. I promise.” The words felt foreign, bitter on his tongue, but they left his mouth without hesitation. And the worst part? He meant them.

Because the desire to please her, to earn her approval, to make her touch him again, was overwhelming. His cock throbbed against the wooden floor, shamefully wetting it with pre-cum.

She must have noticed, because she reached down, wrapping her fingers around his aching length with a grip that was mocking and possessive.

“What’s this?” she mused, giving his hard, neglected cock a deliberate squeeze.

Bucky’s entire body jerked at her touch, a choked, pathetic moan escaping his throat as his hips bucked helplessly into her hand.

“Are you turned on because I put your bratty ass in its place, hmm?”

His cheeks burned at the realization.

Yes. He fucking was.

The evidence was right there, dripping onto the floor for her to see.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Look at the mess you’re making.” She stroked him slowly, deliberately, gripping just firm enough to keep him on edge. “I think I’ll have to teach you a lesson about taking care of the establishment’s property, Sarge.”

His still-paralyzed body betrayed him, his head thrashed side to side in a futile attempt to regain control. But she was in charge now. And she was going to prove it.

“You defied my authority in front of the class today,” she murmured, tightening her grip for emphasis. “You can fuck me stupid in whatever situationship bubble we have, but I’m going to make sure that what has been transpiring in my classroom won’t happen again” Before he could process what she meant, she moved, flipping him onto his back with just enough force to remind him of how little power he had at this moment.

He sucked in a sharp breath, as she studied him—watched the way he twitched under her gaze, helpless and humiliated. Then, with calculated ease, she reached up, pulled the elastic band from her perfectly pinned bun, and-

Tied it at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s lungs stalled, a strangled whimper tore from his throat as the tight constriction bit into his swollen flesh, cutting off the blood flow.

Fuck.

His cock pulsed violently in protest, the restriction making his entire body thrash, but she didn’t stop there. No. She lowered herself, grazing her lips through the tip of his deep red, neglected length, and kissed it. A high, desperate sound tore from Bucky’s throat before he could stop it, and his hips jerked upwards as if begging for more.

She licked slowly, teasingly, flicking her tongue along his leaking slit, gathering his shameful arousal before pulling back just enough to watch him fall apart beneath her.

“F-fuck, Muffin-“ His voice cracked, and his muscles coiled tight as the heat surged through his body, building his orgasm. But then-

Nothing.

His release, -so close, so inevitable, so fucking unbearable- never came.

His eyes shot open, and his breath ragged as the realization hit him. She was denying him, trapping him on the edge and refusing to let him fall.

She tilted her head, with mock sympathy. “What is it, Sarge?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Does the bratty little soldier need to cum?”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, his eyes wide as he struggled to form words. But before he could beg, before he could even think of it, she pressed her lips on his throbbing cockhead once more and purred. “Well… you won’t get to.”

His entire body convulsed, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as the her words penetrated his brain.

She leaned in. “If you had paid attention in class, you’d know that it’s physically impossible until I remove the tourniquet from the piping bag.” She explained with amusement while swirling her tongue around his leaking tip.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, and his muscles tensed violently as his cock twitched uselessly against the unrelenting knot, pulsing with the orgasm that would never come. His body shook, his skin flushed, and his desperation got humiliatingly obvious.

He whimpered, something raw and desperate spilling from his throat as his cock throbbed violently, aching under the unrelenting pressure of the tight band still restricting him. Every pulse was torture, every slick twitch a reminder of just how thoroughly trapped he was in the pleasure she refused to give him.

“I-I’ll behave, Muffin,” he pleaded, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Fuck, I’ll drop the classes if that’s what you want, just, please…”

The admission burned him, but he’d lost any sense of shame earlier, at the moment his cock started dripping all over the floor. He needed her to touch him, to finish this, to let him fall apart, and he didn’t care what it took.

But she?

She simply tilted her head, unmoved, watching him like he was some fascinating little puzzle she was still piecing together.

“I’m not convinced,” she mused, softly. “After all, you’re the fearsome Winter Soldier, and I? Just a simple baker.” She let the words linger, let them sink deep into his buzzing, over-sensitive mind, before shifting her focus -completely ignoring his tortured cock- and zeroing in on his chest.

Bucky barely had time to process before she moved, sliding the fabric of his shirt up, up, up, exposing the broad plane of his scarred torso, the dark ink of his tattoos, and-

The silver bars piercing through his already-hardened nipples.

He twitched violently at the first brush of cool air, and his breath stuttered, clenching his hands into fists against the floor.

She smiled. “I have to make a point, you know.”

Then, with agonizing precision, she dragged her fingers over one of the piercings, then letting her nails scrape just barely against the sensitive flesh.

Bucky’s entire body jerked.

“F-fuck!” The strangled cry tore from his throat, hips buckling helplessly into nothing as his cock twitched pathetically, still bound, still denied. His nipples had always been sensitive, but this, this was too much.

And she knew it.

She leaned in closer, ghosting her warm breath over his exposed chest, watching the way he trembled beneath her.

“Poor thing,” she cooed, toying with the pierced nub, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before giving it a sharp little tug.

Bucky shouted, the noise wrecked, broken, and fuck, fuck, fuck- his cock ached so badly he could barely think. His hips lifted uselessly, but she kept her focus above, kept him on the razor’s edge of something devastatingly unsatisfying.

Then, without warning, she lowered her head and took one into her mouth. He choked on air, arching his back sharply as her hot tongue laved over the hardened bud before sucking, teasing, biting just enough to make his thighs tremble.

Every little movement sent sharp, electric pleasure bolting straight to his cock, a cock that was still trapped, still denied, still leaking helplessly onto his lower belly.

“F-fuck, Muffin-” he gasped, in a high and wrecked tone, as his chest heaved beneath her mouth when she moved to the other nipple, repeating the same exquisite torture.

His thighs shook again, his muscles locked, and his cock twitched violently… but his orgasm remained agonizingly out of reach.

She stared at his wet, tender nipples, the silver bars glistening under the dim light, and hummed in satisfaction. Then without a word she moved, straddling him, settling her weight over his hips, pressing herself down against his aching, trapped cock.

Bucky’s vision blurred at the sudden slick, teasing friction of her pussy dragging along his length, sending a jolt of pure, blinding ecstasy through his still-paralyzed body. His hips bucked involuntarily, chasing more, chasing anything, seeking relief that he already knew she wouldn’t give him.

“Ahhhn… just, please,” he moaned, voice thick with need, desperation, surrender. Then, through the haze of pleasure, something darker surfaced. His teeth clenched, “If you know what’s good for you-”

She cut him off immediately.

“Poor, defenseless Sergeant,” she mocked, in a tone drenched with sickeningly sweet amusement as she slammed herself down onto his cock, impaling herself fully in one smooth motion.

Bucky’s head snapped back, and a hoarse scream tore from his throat as her slick heat swallowed him whole, gripping him like a vice.

“See,” she continued, settling herself above him, grinding her hips to fully seat herself on his fat cock, “you don’t get to threaten me, Sarge.”

She began to ride him mercilessly, bouncing with wild abandon, taking exactly what she wanted from him.

“This is a valuable lesson,” she panted, rolling her hips as her fingers dug into his tense, flexing abdomen for leverage. “I’m going to discipline you so every time you think about disrespecting me in front of other people…” Her nails scraped down his stomach, and her pussy clenched tighter around him as she rode him harder. “…you’ll start leaking like a fucking faucet.”

Bucky’s back arched violently, his body betraying him completely as each ruthless downward thrust drove him closer, closer, closer-

“F-fuck, Doll!” he howled, his voice raw, wrecked, echoing off the walls. “Y-you’re killing me here!”

Each intense, wet slide of her inner walls around him had him spiraling, hovering right at the edge of relief, his entire body coiled so tightly he thought he might snap apart. The sight before him, her breasts bouncing despite being confined by her bra, her moans and panting filling the room, the sheer fucking confidence in the way she rode him like she owned him…

It was too much.

A pathetic, broken sound left his lips as she used him, took him, denied him.

“Shut it.” Her voice was sharp, cutting through his haze of pleasure. “I gave you tons of opportunities, and you kept pushing further and further.” She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his, and her breath came hot and heavy against his ear. “This is what you get for being horrible to me.”

Bucky whimpered, and his hips trembled beneath her, as his cock twitched violently inside her tight heat.

“I won’t take the hair tie off your cock,” she whispered, brushing her lips  against his sweat-damp skin, “you won’t get to cum.”

His eyes flew open, and his breath stuttered.

“Me, on the other hand?”

Her fingers slipped between them, finding her swollen, needy clit, and she moaned loudly, circling it in quick, precise strokes as she chased her own release. “I’m gonna cream all over your fat, bratty cock.”

Bucky’s whimpers of pleasure morphed into anguished wails as she rode him mercilessly, grinding down harder, clamping around him tighter with every roll of her hips.

“P-please,” he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. His cock was throbbing, pulsing, aching, each squeeze of her pussy only made the pressure worse, worse, worse-

“I can’t- I’m going to- Ahh, FUCK!”

But nothing happened.

His body wanted to cum, needed to release the unbearable tension, but the hair tie held firm in place, trapping him in a state of endless, excruciating denial.

She, on the other hand…

Her rhythm stuttered, and her movements turned erratic as her moans grew desperate, and her brows knitted together tightly as she neared her climax. “So big, so fat, Sarge,” she mewled, trembling as she rode her orgasm out over him, soaking him with her slick.

Each pulse of her pussy sent pain-pleasure waves radiating through his cock, threatening to tear him apart. Bucky was shaking, thrashing, begging-

“Fuck!” he gasped, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. “Stop, I can’t-”

Despite his pleas, he couldn’t deny the way her praise sent a twisted thrill through him. It fueled his ego, his need to please her, even as his body screamed for release.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lifted herself, sliding off his cock with a wet, slick sound. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his entire body trembled as he stared up at her. His eyes were glassy, his nipples red and swollen, and his shaft almost painfully engorged.

She looked him over critically, tapping her finger against her lips as if thinking.

Then, without warning… she spat.

A slow, deliberate string of saliva landed on the tip of his cock, glistening, mixing with his pre-cum, adding more slick to his aching, desperate length.

His gaze snapped down, staring at the wetness on his cock, with his pulse hammering. She smirked.

Then, kneeling beside him, she wrapped her fingers around his twitching, neglected cock and started jerking him off. “Do you wanna cum?” she asked, mockingly sweet.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and his hips bucked wildly into her grasp.

He nodded quickly, so quickly.

“T-thank you, Muffin,” he whispered with gratitude and lingering lust. “I promise, I’ll be good for you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were hollow. Deep down, he knew he’d push her again. Provoke her again. And oh, when he’ll regain control of his body…

She tightened her grip, stroking him harder, faster.

“Beg for it.”

Bucky snapped.

“Please, Muffin, please let me cum!” he whined, pleaded, and sobbed. “I need it so fucking badly! I can’t take it anymore! I’ll do anything- please, PLEASE let me finish!” his body shuddered violently as he begged.

She hummed, pleased.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Since you begged so pretty.” She pulled the hair tie free. “Cum for me, Sarge.”

And the instant the band snapped free, the dam burst.

Bucky’s cock erupted, thick ropes of hot cum splattered across her hand, his stomach, and pooled messily onto the floor beneath him. His back arched violently, and every nerve in his body was ignited as an earth-shattering orgasm tore through his entire body.

A guttural roar ripped from his throat, his hips jerked wildly, and his cock twitched and pulsed nonstop as if making up for every second of denial.

“Ah, ah, ah- YES!” he howled, as his vision blurred at the edges, the intensity of his orgasm consumed. “FUCK, IT FEELS SO GOOD!”

His body convulsed, the aftershocks hitting hard, every lingering stroke of her fingers making his overstimulated cock twitch helplessly in her grasp. He had never felt so wrecked, so drained, so utterly destroyed, and yet…

He was already thinking about the next time.

She held him just a little longer, letting his final weak spurts dribble down his spent shaft before finally, slowly, releasing him.

And then -without a single word of praise or sympathy- she wiped her cum-coated hand on his shirt.

Bucky barely had the energy to glare, but his jaw clenched, his cheeks burned, and a fresh pang of humiliation mixed with the post-orgasmic bliss.

Her eyes flicked over his wrecked form. “I estimate the taser’s effect will wear off in about half an hour,” she said matter-of-factly, brushing invisible dust off her skirt as if she hadn’t just broken him into pieces. “So,” she continued, leaning down just enough to press a single teasing peck to his damp forehead, “you have plenty of time to reflect on your behavior.”

With that, she straightened, adjusting her skirt back into place, retrieving the wooden ruler from where she had left it, and placing it neatly back on the shelf. Then, without looking back, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

She just…left.

Bucky watched her go, helpless, spent, ruined, still lying in a pool of his own cum on the floor.

His breath was uneven, his body still tingled, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at the ceiling, floating in the limbo between debauched satisfaction and simmering frustration. But as the post-orgasmic haze began to clear, as the sting of humiliation faded beneath something darker, sharper, his thoughts slowly began to shift.

Her parting words echoed in his mind.

The taser’s effects will wear off soon.

And when they did?

Payback’s a bitch, Muffin. And she wouldn’t see it coming.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[writingwisterias]

Dreams

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hospital, Coma, Injury, Near Death, Fluff Summary: One Month to go before a well deserved early retirement and all he can think about is the future

If you like this then I'll give you all a big kiss because I worked hard making sure this one flowed correctly!!

An early retirement was something that he never envisioned for himself, his life never seemed like it would end in something he wanted to do. The grass in the back garden was finally tended, the flower beds blooming beautifully as he stood watching over it with a coffee in hand. It was peaceful, weird. Something he was never quite used to. The soft barks of the dog were loud as they echoed in the open space. His money that he saved was more than enough to treat himself to this space, though it often felt too lonely. Until he found you, the light of his life. You just slotted yourself into his world without even trying. You worked perfectly understanding his duties and responsibilities he had to fulfil. The dog was next, a retired police dog. A protector in case something went wrong whilst he was away but he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Not when he could see you from where he was standing, playing in the long grass with the old boy. 

He could see your smile the way you would pet him as he brought the ball back. It felt too much like a dream, like he never actually went into the office and demanded his retirement early after yet another mission gone bad. He felt lost without his work, his service. Having to train his hands to do something else other than fight, survive and protect. No hobby seemed to stick, nothing seemed to fill the gap he was left with. It was strange that he would spend so many years hating on his service, his job to then wish for it back. The scars that littered served as a reminder of what he went through, his medals of service shown proudly in a display case that you insisted on making. He watched you look at him, the grin on your face only growing wider. Your hair glowing in the sunlight as it blew into the wind. 

He wanted to reach you, to step off the porch and race to you. Scoop you in his arms and run through the garden with you. The dog following behind you both barking happily. Yet, his feet didn’t move from the back porch. His hand only raised waving at you. You never came closer– some days it felt like you were further and further away. The garden seemed to grow longer each passing day, the line of flowerbeds changing every so often. 

You watched him, the light shining brightly on him. His skin that was once full of colour -- now laid pale looking even more sick underneath the white light of the hospital. That damn beep engraving itself into your brain. You were meant to be happy with it, it meant he was still here. His heart steadily beat as you watched over him. Your hand clutching his tightly that your fingers grew sore.

There were others in the room coming and going, offering you food - drink anything you needed. They couldn’t help you though because they can’t help him. You didn’t want to cry anymore or return to a home where his side of the bed was cold. You didn’t want to lie on his pillow in case his scent got washed away even though that beep was proof he could…will…return. “Wake up please” You whispered as you laid your head against the side of the hospital bed.

His hand was cold, it shouldn’t be cold. It’s never been cold except for the time he bounded over to you when you were playing in the snow, shoving the frozen fingertips against your stomach as a joke. You remembered that night, the first winter in your new house. The one he always wanted with a large garden to play around with, to host family and friends with BBQ's and other events.

One month was all he had left, of all his service. It had to be their version of a fuck you that his mission had to have been another dangerous one, they couldn’t have just given him a simple chase like they did a few years ago. Sure it ended up being tied into something more but it was simple. The government showed how much they thought of him when they sent him there healthy and brought him back in a coma.

Just one month.

One. 

There were no more tears to cry anymore, your eyes were puffy from the amount you had been crying. It wasn’t fair. That he was so close to finally being able to lead his own life now he tethered on the edge of it.

“Leon wake up please” You begged again, voice waving as anger laced it. How dare he set it all up to just end here? You knew he was fighting that irritating beeping was proof he was still here. You needed his presence, you needed him just like all those times he needed you. The others jumped up as you spoke again, watching you with sad eyes as you screamed at him. Begged him to come back. You didn’t care if the hospital staff forced you to leave, you would come back the next day and do it again. Until he woke up. 

Leon continued to smile despite wanting to walk towards you. His foot never seemed to land on the grass, only hover. He felt bad, ignoring your smile and your voice that called out to him in a sweet tone. He wanted to warn you of the storm he spotted, the one that was coming behind him. He could feel the cold air trying to rip you away from him. Trying to force him to come back inside. Leon couldn’t…not without you. “Come back!” He shouted. You couldn’t hear him, not over the wind or the disappearing sun. His heart beat wildly in his chest. If only he could step on the damn grass. 

The beeping grew louder, doctors began to pull you away but you continued to shout at him. Even from the corner of the room where Chris held you against him. All of you watching in horror as Leon thrashed around. His hands gripping the sheets. You didn’t know what was happening, your shouts turning into whimpers as you stared at him. Watched as they tended to him. Your voice hurts, your body hurts, everything hurts.

Why Leon? Why did it have to be him? 

Leon turned around towards the house, the thunder crackled louder. He knew he needed to head inside, his brain was conflicting with his heart. You would come back surely. You would round the dog up and bring him back inside. You’ll come running through the doors laughing as the two of you are soaked beginning to help him shut the doors against the harsh winds. You wouldn’t stay out there, you would have heard him. The anxiety bit into him as he walked closer to the safety of the house, was the main light always this bright? You would shout at him if he found out you turned this one on and not the lamps. Always one for ambience lighting. The thunder was so loud, booming as it roared above him. Once he was inside he turned to watch you running up the garden to meet him.

Only you were gone, the flower beds had changed again. 

The nurses and doctors backed away from the bed, their bodies no longer hiding him from your view. They spoke to you but you couldn’t hear them, not when those eyes stared at you again. Chris’ grip had loosened, your legs wobbled as you approached the bed. His stubble bit into your hand as you cradled his face. “Leon?” You whispered. He smiled. He was here smiling. Your name sounded so sweet coming from his lips. You didn’t realise you could cry anymore, you thought all the tears were gone. “Never do that to me again” You laughed as you brought him close. “Please” 

It wasn’t until later - when everyone had gone home. With genuine smiles this time not the pity ones you had been given the past few days. Leon held you against his chest, his fingers working their way through your hair. He had been quiet, the silence at first you thought was just him getting overwhelmed by the full room. Or the numerous tests the doctors were running on him to make sure everything was okay. Yet, it continued as he held you now. His brain elsewhere whilst he remained here with you. 

Leon was the quiet hero, the one that was constantly praised and reminded of his success but never allowed to process the loss he had experienced. The saviours guilt that landed deep inside every time someone else died on his watch. Hero's were given parties and parades in celebration for their wins. Congratulated and recognised on the streets for their service but not him. All the work he had done was in silence, encase somehow someone linked him back to that one night that changed his world. A dark shadow of his past that effects everything he has done. He did what he did out of the goodness of his heart, out of just wanting to help people despite the horrors and baggage he has gained along the way.

His actions spoke louder than any words, that was why you fell in love with him. Why you knew no matter what he would have come back to you. Leon didn't love quietly like he was a hero. He shouted it to the stars above you, screamed it to any person that asked about you. You were his entire world, everything that was worth fighting for was in that dream he had. The survivors guilt washed away for just a moment when you got that house and he finally realised that he deserved something good. A slither of happiness to outshine all the bad. That was you. It will always be you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked. He flinched at your break of the silence. Leon sighed, his head landing on the shit pillow he had propped up behind him. “I was dreaming…during the coma” he stated simply. His words followed by a comforting silence, the space for him right now was much like all the nights he would return from missions and hold you like this. Only that was in the safety of your home, not the cold hospital that never seemed to be just as silent as you wanted it. “We were home with a dog, an older service dog. I’d watch you play with him in the garden but each day you got further and further away. The garden seemed to grow bigger and I could never reach the end. I couldn’t step off the back porch to meet you” 

“Then there was a storm, I tried to call you inside but when I turned around you were gone and I was awake” he continued as did the silence that followed his words. The two of you are taking in the gravity of the situation. It was then you realized his idea of heaven was his ending with you, the home you were in the middle of building, the garden that still hasn't been tended to. 

“I shouted at you. Screamed even. Begging for you to wake up, to come back - not to let it end like this” you admitted quietly. Leon felt you shift so you were sat up on the bed, your legs laid out over his thighs. Your soft hands landed on his face again guiding him to look at you. The world seemed to disappear when you did, nothing else mattered except him. Not anymore. “I’m back” He whispered, smiling softly at you. His lips touched your palm and kissed them. They were warm again, as were his hands when they touched your wrists. His fingers entwine yours looking at the ring on your finger. The same one that matched his. You nodded to his statement. “Maybe my shouting was the storm, waking you up from your dream?” You spoke again, leaning against his chest. Your head tucked neatly underneath his chin. “Well your anger and love can sometimes be like a raging storm” he teased. 

He was back, finally. Your bed would be warm again, the house would feel like home once more. “At least your recovery period leads up to your final day. I don’t have to worry about this happening again” You giggled. Leon smiled, his own chuckle leaving his lips briefly. “You’re doing all the gardening though, I have an idea for what it should look like. Now that I've had time to think about what the future might be like.” 

[starlightkun]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you bring for dinner?”

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

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

“I can hear the food in your mouth.”

“Just a snack!”

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

“For like five minutes.”

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

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

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

“Maybe I will,” you bickered back.

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

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

“I’ve got a salmon one today.”

“Question still stands.”

“Who eats warm salmon and mayo rice balls?”

“Plenty of perfectly normal people.”

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

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

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

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

“Our towers are exactly the same.”

“Almost.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Practical.”

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

“Like I said, practical.”

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

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

“Hundredth time’s the charm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I copy, didn���t you hear me the first five times?” The pilot was clearly irritated now, and so were you and Quebec.

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

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

“No.”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asshole,” Quebec muttered over your internal frequency.

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

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

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

“Lots, I’m sure.”

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

“Bec?”

“Yeah, Zu?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, whatever.”

“What’s your ETA, Hummingbird?”

“1743.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“What sort of information?”

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

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

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

“Too many.”

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

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

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

“My one year was a few days ago.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

“What about the day before?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah, he’s not so bad…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair skies. Control over.”

“And following seas. Wasp over.”

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

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

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

“Do you want to be my archnemesis instead?”

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

“Only for you.”

“Ooh, I feel so special.”

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

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

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

“Because then you’re already my archnemesis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He talks about me?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

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

“Look in the minifridge.”

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

“You’ll just have to find out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, we are.”

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

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

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

“What about your parents?”

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

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

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Quebec confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quebec? You there?”

Nothing.

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

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

[TOWER1: Q? DO YOU COPY?]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s all the way—”

“Now, Zulu!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Twenty minutes?”

“Okay. Any sign of injury?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Who is the patient?”

“An STC—call name Quebec Kilo.”

“And who are you?”

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

“Got it, got it.”

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

“They’re in the elevator now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. I’ll be right behind you.”

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

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

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

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

“You know where?”

“Sector 2 infirmary.”

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

“Right. Bye, Pops.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you a friend?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, go for it.”

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

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

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

He continued resting, chest rising up and down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clutched his head, and you winced sympathetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knew what?” You chuckled nervously.

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

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

“Kun.”

“What?”

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

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

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

“It was a hunch.”

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

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed.

“I mean it, though.”

“Mean what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Sector 1?”

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

“I was being a gentleman—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a date.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⤷ masterlist

TAGLIST

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[gangstalkerbarbie]

You know maybe this is like a cultural thing but I don't have a man to look after, right, and I'm fulfilled running my household, personally. I find it fulfilling same as anybody else, because yeah, it is inherently fulfilling. It's inherently fulfilling to have a place of my own, over which I have executive authority. In principle I enjoy keeping it tidy, maintaining it, looking after it, and one day I want to bring children into it.

It's my responsibility, which is why in theory I should have the opportunity to go to work to make money in order to take care of it. To have that opportunity, it needs to exist under the law, and I need to be able to theoretically acquire employable skills and then get employed, whether I like working and want to do it or not (I don't, if I could be a lady of leisure I would be, but even ladies of leisure have incomes — just passive ones grown from inherited money).

If you want to do fulfilling things, you need to get money from somewhere to afford to do them, and generally speaking you need the freedom to go and get money in order to consolidate your buns and get up to go get money. Unless another class of people exists that can do it for you, but is it fair to put that on men? They crack under the pressure, you know?

They usually make more than women for the same work, but in this economy it's generally exhausting to try to support a family by yourself regardless of your gender, it's just mildly more so for most women unless they have men that know how to help keep house. I'm a lesbian personally, so my wife and I don't have gendered expectations between us that our egos ride on, but men and women both equally want to be good spouses, and some elements of the traditional expectations around that are confining for everyone.

The reason people object to these influencers isn't because after millions of years of female animals maintaining dens, it's suddenly against women's best interests to live in and run houses. We're going to be doing that until the sun dies.

It's just, in what conditions? If you have a person that loves you and brings you money, freeing you not to work so that you can focus on taking care of the house you love, that's an undisputed good, but health isn't eternal and a lot of people don't.

A lot of people these days choose bad men and then end up trapped with them because they looked for husbands all their teen years instead of studying to do well paying work that could support them and some hypothetical children, in case it went wrong. The danger isn't the advertisement of domestic labour as fulfilling, which at some point you have to grow up and learn to romanticise because you'll be doing it until you die, it's the dishonesty about the economics of householding towards economically illiterate people. In the working class, unless you want to end up in the precariat, even most homemaking women have to work.

That's why intelligent women in very patriarchal or poor or unstable countries are so often doctors, lawyers and engineers. It doesn't pay as much as it pays men, and maybe they don't all even like the job, but it pays enough. They study hard to make sure that in case they chose wrong and made children with someone who abuses children, they can leave under their own power and still provide the children with a good life. They want to make sure that if something happens to the man they love (many people do have happy marriages to men they love, and I hope yours is a beautiful one), they can catch him when he falls and he doesn't have to become a dark statistic.

The advice I give people also from cultures that do this (I grew up orthodox jewish) is don't even think of having your marriage arranged unless you can afford to feed and house yourself, a man and two kids, because you never know, you know? You could need to divorce him, or he could be the most perfectly loving partner in the world and get hit by a car and paralyzed from the waist down. There are ways to lose a man's income that can't be avoided by not being a feminist, and then — poverty, a spiral of mutual resentment, both of you screaming at each other in front of the children.

Is that really aspirational? That's what cute cottagecore TikToks don't show you.

It's much easier to be able to be there for your kids and keep your house if there are two people working, but the world doesn't owe anyone that - anything could happen.

And then suddenly it matters if you don't have the freedom to get an education, or freedom from having to stay with a man that hits you because you couldn't afford to feed yourself and your babies on the salary of someone who didn't go to school. Nothing about law school or lawyering is fulfilling for anyone, but men and women both do it to afford to give their kids a better future than they had.

Responsibility is fulfilling, but it always entails other, less fulfilling responsibility, you know? And a mother will do anything for her children, but I think before they even exist it's her responsibility to make sure she can feed them. It makes for happier families when a household forms from two separate people who each have their own income, and if anything happens to your husband, he should be able to rely on you. The best thing you can do for your family is to be able to look them in the eyes and promise them it will be okay, and you don't have to use the freedom that you have to do that but it's good to have, isn't it? To know it's possible?

influencers actively trying to convince young women to aspire to unemployment and servitude is literally so sinister

[mack-writersblock]

Hello! I want Emily X reader.Rossi's sister arrives to help them with a case (she works at the CIA) and Emily begins to appreciate it both flirting and teasing each other and end up succumbing. ..

-Anges

More Than We Bargained For || E. Prentiss

Summary: The BAU get a case that reminds David of an old case of his sister. He called fem!reader in to help with the case, yet she leaves with more than just another solve case under her belt.

cw: one use of Y/N for introduction, reader goes by mother's maiden name, pet names, drinking, first kiss, barely edited.

Word count: 2286

First ask and first Emily fic here on Tumblr, hope you like it!

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

It wasn’t every day you got a call from your older brother. Sure, sure you two talked, but it was once a month at most. So when your phone rang, the last thing you would have guessed it was, was David Rossi asking you to consult on a case.

“As I live and breathe,” you answered the phone, “David Rossi calling his dear younger sister two days in a row,” you teased and excused yourself from your conversation with one of your coworkers.

“I’d love to say it’s because I missed you but I need your help,” David admitted and you gently shook your head.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, sitting down at your desk.

“We have a case, it reminds me of an old case of yours,” David admitted and you blew air out of your nose.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” you told him, standing up and collecting your things.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You were in the elevator on the way up to David’s floor, you had reviewed the case information David had sent over in the car ride. The doors slid open and you saw David waiting on the other side of them, Aaron Hotchner standing with him.

“Dave,” you smiled, opting to gently push his shoulder instead of hugging him. You turned to look at Aaron. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. Dave talks about you,” you shook his hand before following the two into the bullpen and to the round table. Your eyes traveled the team before you, lingering on a brunette longer than they should have.

“This is my sister, Y/N Moretti,” David introduced you to the team, they went around in introductions before jumping into the case.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Prentiss, I’ve heard about you,” you looked over the brunette, you two being stuck with stake-out duty. “Faking your death is a pretty ballsy move,” you told her, watching her take a drink of her coffee.

“Is that all Rossi told you?” Emily looked over at you.

“You think Dave calls me enough for me to ask about anything but if he’s ok?” You joked, tilting your head back with your soft laugh, missing the tender look Emily gave you. “I get all my information about you through the grapevine of people, it makes it back to us. Especially since Interpol,” you told her, looking back at the house.

“What do you know about me, Moretti?” The teasing lit in her voice making you smile.

“Well, Prentiss, not much. What can you tell me?” You teased back, making her smile. And that’s how you two spent the remainder of the time, talking about yourselves and watching the house.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“There was no movement in or out of the house,” Emily told everyone and you sat down, looking over the files again. Your team joined you once you had confirmed that you would be working on it and they had brought over the old files with them.

“If this is the same guy, there’s no way he would wait this long for another victim,” you mused, focusing on the case files in front of you.

“Why’s that?” Derek asked you and you looked up at him. 

“He might be calculated, but he is compulsive. He was caught the first time because he couldn’t help but attack Sarah Winters when he saw her. He knew she was a cop and that her partner was a shout away, but she was his type. If this is him, there has to be another reason for him not striking again,” you told them.

“We find the reason we find him,” David said and you agreed. “What do you know about Jovan Orlov?” David and the team all sat as you started talking.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Tell me, Prentiss, you got a boyfriend?” You paused a moment. “A girlfriend?” You heard her laugh, not bothering to turn to her.

“Why do you wanna know, Moretti?” She was looking at you but you were more focused on the papers in your hands.

“Just curious, darling,” you responded.

“No, I don’t,” she told you and you nodded. “Do you?”

“Not anymore,” you said in a sing-song-like manner.

“What happened?” You could feel her stare boring into the side of your head.

“Guys tend to think that just because I also like women, I’m automatically open to a threesome with some other women they are attracted to,” you shrugged.

“Are you?” It was a joke and you could hear it.

“Are you offering?” You finally looked at her but cringed back when you saw David standing behind her.

“Are you two working or flirting?” He had a smile on his face and you narrowed her eyes at him.

“Working and flirting,” you told him and he shook his head.

“I knew bringing you here would have odd consequences, just didn’t think you flirting with Prentiss would be one of them.”

“You brought me here and then made me do a stake-out with the one person here who would be my type, try again, David,” you watched him laugh.

“Just more working and less flirting,” he pointed at you.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You and Emily ran after Jovan down an alleyway, you were slightly behind her as you started to run a little after she did. You rounded the corner right after her to see her standing over the unsub with her gun pointed down at him.

“Jovan Orlov, you’re under arrest for the murder of several women,” you walked over to pull him up and put the handcuffs on him. Your brother and the rest of his team rounded the corner and you handed Orlov off. You turned back to Emily as she walked up to you. “Good job, darling,” you told her, watching her smile and slightly turn away. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” You teased her.

“You wish,” she said back.

“You’re right, I do wish,” you responded, walking off as your team made it to the crime scene. Emily watched as you talked with your team, how you stood with your shoulders back and hands on your hips. You stood with confidence and it was obvious you were the person your team looked to for guidance. You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at Emily as you made eye contact before looking back at your team.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“So, how’d you like it?” David questioned and you looked at him.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“Did you like working here?” He clarified.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just asking,” he told you but you shook your head.

“Sure you are because this has nothing to do with the fact you’ve asked me to join the BAU since the beginning,” you raised an eyebrow.

“Well, at least now I have a better argument instead of just me working here.”

“And what’s that?” 

“Emily Prentiss,” he said her name and you looked him in the eyes with an eyebrow raised.

“Hm, she is a compelling argument,” you smiled.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You sat at the slightly sticky table of the bar watching Emily dance and have fun. You and your team joined the BAU for celebratory drinks after the case, mostly at the insistence of David. You had been slowly nursing the same drink the whole time, watching as everyone else slammed drink after drink. You made eye contact with Emily as she stopped at the bar to get another drink, you smiled at her before you looked away and down at your drink. You downed the last little bit of it before looking up to the roof.

“Here,” Emily placed a cup of water in front of you, making look at her.

“Thanks,” you took a sip of it. “You’re surprisingly coherent for someone who has been drinking all night,” you mused, watching her take a drink from her cup.

“I have a high tolerance,” she shrugged and you looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Had me fooled, you looked quite intoxicated,” you told her, watching her as she scooted closer and eventually put her hand on your thigh. “Darling, as much as I would love to see where this is going, try again when you’re sober,” you grabbed her hand and led it in yours.

“I am sober, babe,” she tried again but the hold on her hand stopped her from placing it on your thigh.

“You may not be drunk, but you have been drinking and that’s enough of a reason for me to think you aren’t thinking straight,” you placed your interlaced hands on the table as she just looked at you. “Do you want me to take you home?” You watched her nod. “Ok, wait here, I’ll go pay for both of our tabs then come back, ok, Tesoro?” 

“Ok,” she downed the rest of her drink and on your way to the bar, you stopped by your brother.

“Hey, I’m taking Emily home per her request,” you told him.

“Ok,” he nodded and you smiled at him before continuing to the bar.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“You have a nice house,” Emily was standing in your walkway, she insisted you take her to your place and you agreed.

“Thanks, Tesoro, right through here,” you guided her to the kitchen, dimming the lights as you walked in. You grabbed one of the glasses from your cabinet and filled it with water, you handed it over to her. You could tell she was sobering up by the way she wasn’t slightly swaying. “When you asked to come over, did you plan on staying here or did you just not want to go home at that moment?”

“Can I stay?” She sounded hopeful and you nodded.

“I’ll let you wear some of my clothes to bed then,” you took the glass back and placed it in the dishwasher, you could feel her eyes on you. “Are you staring at me, Prentiss?” When you didn’t get an answer, you turned to her and found her leaning against the counter looking ready to pass out. You wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her to your bedroom, sitting her on the bed to grab some extra pajamas you had. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” you directed her to the right door with a point, watching as she walked there.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You could hear Emily get up from the kitchen, the soft padder of her feet making you look up. You smiled at her as you continued to make breakfast, she sat down at the island of your kitchen with a groan.

“Does your house have to be so bright?” She groaned in pain, shielding her eyes from the sun and the lights you had on.

“Sorry, darling, here,” you reached over to dim the lights with a small laugh before returning to making dinner.

“You have dimmers on all your lights?” 

“Yeah, the house came with it,” you told her, placing a plate in front of her. “You watched her take it and the medicine you handed her moments later. “I called Dave, and he said that it was ok for you to be late,” you sat down on the chair next to her.

“What about you?” She looked over at you midbite.

“Oh, I don’t have to be in until 1 pm unless we are actively working on something,” you explained and she nodded.

“I’m jealous,” she went back to eating and you followed her.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Babe,” Emily called from your bedroom as she got ready, you told her you’d take her to work since she didn’t have her car at your house.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You stopped at the door, not wanting to open it just in case.

“Can you help me?” She asked and you opened the door to find her struggling with the buttons of the shirt.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry I forgot to tell you that the buttons are slightly too big for the holes on that shirt, it always shrinks in the wash,” you walked over and pushed her hands out of the way. You did the buttons for her, ignoring how her gentle breaths blew across your face. 

“How expensive is the outfit I’m wearing right now?”

“Not very, unlike my brother I did not write books and become rich, sure I have some money but I also don’t spend it on things like dress shirts,” you told her, removing your hands from the shirt you looked her in the eyes. You watched her eyes dart down to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“Am I sober enough now?” Emily asked and you sighed, looking over at the wall clock.

“After all my hard work, you’re going to have me unbutton this shirt again?” You joked, leaning closer to her. You brushed your lips against Emily’s before the two of you practically smooshed yourselves against each other. 

“I don’t think we’re going to make it in today,” Emily told you and you laughed.

“Yeah, neither do I,” you reached up to her shirt, and ripped it open. Emily gasped at the action and you smiled extra wide. “I didn’t like the shirt that much anyway,” you shrugged, pulling her closer to you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Like this story? Here's my masterlist

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God p57

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Scar's pov*

Guess getting in contact with Altostratus might end up being the hardest part of the whole process. The association gave you a direct comm machine to keep in contact with the other heroes a while ago but you have never... actually used it?

It's not your fault! You never actually had to use it before! You always managed everything yourself! Or well...with Cub's help. Plus the association said to only use it when you really needed it so you always... found reasons not to waste it just in case.

...

Hmm...Your room is a mess even on good days and right now It's at least ten times worse then usual, you aren't going to ever find it are you? Not fast enough at least. Which leaves contacting the association directly as the only option, you really didn't want to do this because you know they'll ask questions and make you promise to pay them back somehow but if It's the only way you'll-

"Found it" You turn towards Cub who is holding the little communicator thingy right in his hands.

"Where did you-"

"It was in the closet, why would you even put it there? That's where one puts clothes usually."

"I... Have no idea Cub... Wait! You have no room to talk mr I have weird glowing chemical liquids in my drawer!"

He just snorts and waves his hand in the air dismissively. "Well, here you go."

You grab the little radio and nod, Cub leaves the room and you begin the call....Well, this is strangely nervewrecking, you feel like a nervous teen ordering pizza for the first time... you don't even know if he's occupied with hero work right now, maybe this is a mistake- oh he's answered!

<Hello? Hotguy? Why are you calling me?>

"Do you have a car?"

<. . . What?>

Oh yeah, probably should have uh said hi first huh. You might have gotten a bit excited. "Sorry, sorry...hi Stratus!"

<Uhh Hi Hotguy why are you calling? What do you want?>

"Do you have a car?"

<No, I heard you the first time, WHY are you asking me that?>

"Cuteguy is awake!" Wait...was he even told about that? He must have! Definitely!

<... Huh... I still don't see how me having a car relates to this?>

"I uh... Thought it would be easier to get to the clinic by car I'm not allowed to go out as Hotguy right now and the association would kill me if I used my powers to run tgere in civilian clothes...soooo I would have to walk there...under the rain"

<... Are you ser-wait one second>

You hear a noise in the background, it sounds like a somewhat familiar feminine voice? ... Wait, is that Ocean Queen? Why is she with Altostratus?

"Ocean Queen!"

<Wha- you can hear her through this? How powerful is this thing?>

He sounds upset, weird.

"I didn't know you two were working together on a case!"

<... Yes... Working together on a case, definitely what's happening... So uh, anyway, when did you need me to come by?>

"Uh...as soon as you can? Wait! Could you get Ocean Queen to come with? I'm sure Gr- Cuteguy would love to meet her"

There are a few moments of silence on the other end before you hear a stifled giggle come trough.

<You know, I think I'll be able to convince her...just give me like twenty minutes to get dressed.>

And the comm turns off, he must have cut off the call ...wait, why would he have to get dressed if he's working on a case with Ocean Queen? Wait... Are they doing undercover work? Come on! You always wanted to do that and the hero association always said no! That's not fair.

[fraudulent-cheese]

You know, funny you bring that up, i actually kinda went on a rant/analysis about this in discord the other day... More centered on the kids themselves than their parents but yes, i'd argue the parents of the kids post gen 1 are at best a little neglectful or too hands off, and at worst just do not care about their child's safety whatsoever.

To get a concrete answer answer on this however, we kinda need to know exactly how the more dangerous and absurd aspects of Total Drama were considered in canon. Like. was the ending scene of world tour actually aired in canon? were all the scenes in mike's head only there for our convenience or did they actually convince this italian boy to dress up as his alters and reenact their discussions? Do the people in universe think the more dramatic scenes or harsher injuries were exaggerated for the cameras, or is the promise of a million dollars enough to sway concerns? (because let's be real here: a million dollars is a fuck ton of money. i calculated for fun what money Cameron would actually be giving in his ending and if every camper takes him up on his offer they get around 77 grand. which is crazy)

If we're talking specifically Gen 1 parents, basically every parent except Sierra's and Alejandro's gets a pass for letting their kid on TD, since it's kinda plot relevant that they were duped into thinking it would be on a luxury hotel and not. crappy summer camp except there's a middle aged guy torturing you for clout. (if you want i'll drop what i said about Ale and Sierra's parents in a seperate reblog because i had. alot to say.)

HOWEVER. I cannot give this pass to the Gens 2, 3 and (maybe) 4 contestants or their parents. Outside of the ones that didn't know (Damien, maybe Dave, unknown if Anne Maria or Ella watched more than just a couple episodes since they only talk about the singing), they really watched the "get thrown out of planes" season or god forbid the "toxic waste" season and decided "yep, auditionning this show is a great idea, actually".

Yes, it was the most popular reality show in universe at some point, but REALLY? Are you sure this is a good idea? ZOEY ARE YOU SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA YOU SAW THE VOLCANO FINALE

This goes double for the Pahkitew Island cast, btw. based on their audition tapes + Leonard's stated age in Ridonculous Race, they had to have had sent their tapes close enough in time to the actual filming of the season itself. Which means this was after Revenge. Like at that point auditionning for TD would only be something you'd do if you either:

desperately needed to be away from your family/get that mil

considered the more outlandish happenings to be staged in some way

have the ultimate "Nah i'd win" mindset and just think the bad shit won't happen to you because yes

In any case, their parents HAD to have let them be on the show. How. Especially for the Roti cast's parents, actually (i hc that TD's ratings started dropping after World Tour but this isn't confirmed in canon) because as established, this shit was POPULAR popular. They at least had to have heard about it, and i wouldn't understand why you wouldn't at least double check to see if the show wouldn't make your kid get life long consequences from it. Then again, maybe im overestimating what regular people know about Reality TV and all of it's possible consequences on their contestants or whatever.

So yeah. Gen 2 and Gen 3 parents are not off the hook whatsoever on this... but im not sure about Gen 4.

Listen. Listen. Hear me out. I don't know how much the reboot cast knew about the show. Idk how much teenagers care about 10+ year old reality shows, no matter how popular they got outside of youtube videos talking about the more negative sides or keeping up with the former contestants. or something. I sincerely doubt the show wouldn't have developped an Action Park-like reputation, but... people still went to Action Park when it was open. Even after people fucking died. Maybe it morphed into daring your friends to submit an audition or hoping you could get major clout out of it?

But im still giving Gen 4's parents the major side-eye. They were VERY MUCH alive and aware of the show while it was airing, Priya's parents are proof of this.

On one hand, the most recent related season to TD in canon was most likely Ridonculous Race, and from what i know it got less extreme than TD? In terms of injuries? Like the worst that happends is a broken arm and a concussion i believe. Trends get forgotten quickly. Maybe they promised it would be safer somewhere in the contract??

On the other... They were alive during the time TD presumably aired in canon. They had to have heard about some things, right? Unless Chris burried the intern deaths, the injuries, the everything, (or it was covered up as staged/it was actually staged) shit had to have come out eventually right? RIGHT??? Did no one do any double checking? Granted some of the reboot parents already seem neglectful in canon (Ripper, Chase, Scary Girl, Julia even come to mind), but... Did Damien's parents not ask about it at all? Did neither Raj or Wayne's parents double check what their kids would be doing for summer? Do their parents even know they're going on Total Drama at this point???

uh, TLDR: Something is up with the Gens 2 and up parents, but i'd argue there's something up with the contestants themselves as well.

when u think abt it a lot of td parents are shitty like lightnings dad wouldnt even pay attention to him, duncan’s dad questioned if they really loved him, heather’s parents were celebrating she was gone, sierra’s mom is neglectful of her to the point she puts her idols before her own daughter, trent’s dad doesn’t support him being into music, cody’s parents forget his bday, courtney’s parents have pushed her so hard to succeed she feels inadequate when being anything but successful.i’m p sure u got good td parents like dj’s and cameron’s moms, but like….jesus christ dude

[bubblegumrabbitwriting]

I scrolled and scrolled and didn't see this so here i am. Lol

Hiiiiii. I hope your week has been rainbows, sunshine, and all things good. 💖

How would the ROs react to seeing a mark on mcs neck assuming it's a hickey while it's just a bug bite. Deeeeep crushing stage.

This one floated to all the writing blogs, so maybe you have done it, and I'm just a blind person, lol

Hello!

My week has been good, other than work kicking my ass but that could litterally be almost everyday of my life. Hope your week has been good 💖

I have not answered this yet but it's one of my faviourite blog questions. 😊

Reactions below

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Echo -

She is talking to the MC as normal until she notices the supposed hickey and stops in her tracks, an emotion flaring in her that she knows too well. Jealously. Leaning closer, she inspects MC's neck; when MC tries to ask what she's doing, she just raises her hand to stop them.

"What is that doing there?" Points to the MC's neck, already knowing the answer but hoping that actually hearing it from the MC's mouth might calm her heart slightly, stop the emotions raging within her. When told it's a bug bite, she instantly goes back to normal, recommending bug sprays and other antidotes to help the swelling. Inside she is actively imagining how it feels to leave a hickey on MC, her ears blushing at the thought.

Cy -

Sees the supposed hickey, death glare at MC neck. The rest of the day they are quiet, constantly staring at the spot and making sure that they are positioned where they can see, like they can scare it off MC's body. Stuck between hurt and understanding. They missed their chance with the MC, letting it fall through their fingers like sand; they have no right to be upset, but the ache in their heart just won't die down.

When confronted, they will crumble and act as petty as possible to protect themself, pointing to the spot. "Were you thinking of me when you got...that? Just to let you know, I would have been 100 times better." When told it's a bug bite, instantly their face is covered in a blush; they're running for the nearest exit without an explanation.

A -

Sees the hickey, shock, annoyance, and maybe a slight smidge of jealousy. Not that any of it shows on their face. Waits for MC to be distracted by something and sneaks up behind them, analysing the hickey with a critical eye. Make's sure to leave another next to it even bigger. When the MC turns around, they just grin at them. "Sorry, I thought you were an open buffet."

When told it's just a bug bite, they just continue to grin at MC. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" By the end of the day, it is an actual hickey.

Salem -

Soon as she sees the MC's neck, she goes into detective mode. Analysing the MC's body language and movements with a straight face. Trying to figure out if her worst thoughts might be true. Will start asking the MC questions in a thinly veiled integration. Where were you last night? Did you meet anyone new?, etc.

If the MC catches on and asks what's wrong, she will just say that she's not the one with something wrong and point to the MC's neck. As soon as she knows it's a bug bite, she's embarrassed and questioning her own skills at deduction. Will avoid the MC for the rest of the day and spill everything to Harper when they are alone.

Harper -

Sees the supposed hickey and instantly reverts back into their shell, won't know how to interact with the MC for the rest of the day in case of randomly blurting something out. Mentally scolding themself the whole time for not trying to tell the MC their feelings when they could, going to take a prep talk from Salem to actually build up enough confidence to talk to the MC about it.

Goes to speak with the MC and instantly starts questioning the decision, just lets out a hurried. "I-if you're going to be...interacting with people, p-please be careful.". When the MC tells them it's a bug bite, they instantly blush and start rambling. "W-well that's good then, n-not good that you got bit—" Ends up running away and hiding until MC or Salem finds them.

Thank you for the ask and hope you enjoy 😊

[acesw]

Knowing our Arcanists: Urd

Hello! It's been a long time since I've made a post for this series, but unfortunately I've been busy and thus I haven't been able to catch up. However, this entry is special because this is the first NPC that I've wanted to explore ever since 1.6 dropped. So for this post, let's welcome: Urd.

Urd has been a mysterious character since the beginning of the game, and it's only now that we've come to a point where we're introduced to the face of the biographer.

Even then, we don't have much to understand about her, so this post will be mainly dedicated to understanding who she is and why she's so significant as a character. Let's get started.

Being from an unknown time and place, Urd is most known as the famous biographer who has traveled to many niche places around the world; most notably Apeiron and it's Island. This particular article is what prompted Vertin's search for her, and why we're here now.

Igor claims that Urd had been previously involved with not only Zeno, but also the Foundation's Pax Security Council.

We're not sure with what she did with the Pax House, but it became significant enough that she had been gifted a marble chair—one that continued to be brought to her until the present day.

At the end of 1999, there was a war that happened between Zeno and an unknown entity, and Igor also claims that Urd was involved in it. After that, the "Storm" happened, and Urd disappeared with it.

Or at least that's what everyone had thought.

For the next 8 years, however, Urd had continued to roam the Earth as the biographer, having been confirmed to have appeared in 1996 and 1966.

She released stories about Rayashki and London (refer to 1.1 and 1.8), but she barely remembers them now. She writes articles and travel notes for UTTU, and the magazine releases them to the public once doing so.

She has become a very important piece in understanding the true nature of the "Storm" after being discovered that she is able to cross it mostly unscathed. Urd is unlike Vertin's case, since she still gets affected by it.

The "Storm" greatly affected her not only physically but also physiologically. For every "Storm" that happens, she becomes reconstructed as the same blind woman, but she loses a chunk of her memories as a result of the "Storm" affecting her mind.

She remembers who she fundamentally is, but she had forgotten her memories from prior to the "Storm" and the early years of it.

It's likely because of this that she began to go under different aliases when she had began to travel. Marta, Dr. Dores, The Friend From Afar, and (possibly) Bessmert—they're all under the same face, and it's why not a lot of people had been able to find her for so long.

Nevertheless, her survival has become incredibly invaluable for many, and it is mainly why she's sought after by multiple parties. From not only Vertin and the Foundation, but also Igor and the Manus Vindictae, and even the Pax House.

In Chapter 8, she was found in São Paulo, and we're finally introduced to her proper. Urd can be described as an altruistic and gentle person, seeking peaceful resolutions above everything.

She wanders around a lot and keeps her typewriter on her person. With her fondness of interacting with those around her, she's able to befriend people quite easily.

Urd is also a very insightful person and is (almost) sincere about herself and her own observations of the world. She stands as an observer from a distance, but wishes to make everyone's stories known by her own means.

However, she remains enigmatic with her methods and her plans, making it difficult to discern the goals she's trying to achieve in this story.

Beyond this, she's a peculiar person in the lore, and the fact that she looks like a certain someone is already damning. I hope that her story and her relationships with everyone is further expanded upon in future chapters.

[echoessilencepatienceandgrace]

Codex Day 11: Letter from Rook to their love interest

A Letter to The First Talon

No drawings are on this sealed letter. The wax seal is stamped with ‘A.L.M’ for -Althea Loren Mercar- on orange parchment, with hints of lavender in the folds

Dear Lucanis,

As I’m writing this, you’re fast asleep next to me. You look so peaceful… beautiful even. You deserve that and more after everything you’ve gone through. Thank you for trusting me enough to see you this way.

The last few weeks have been so jarring between saving the clan, dealing with Aelius, clearing out Invenci and the Antaam-it’s hard to find a second to breathe. So, this letter is just to say thank you.

From the moment we saved you from The Ossuary, you haven’t left my side. I was nervous at first, that you felt as if you had to, like you owed me a debt. But now, looking back now, I’m so grateful you were there.

In the midst of all this chaos, with the weight of the world possibly ending, to know you were always within an arms reach or deflecting a blow I didn’t see, squeezing my hand through my panic-I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.

And tomorrow, we face the impossible, stopping the gods at Tearstone Island. With you by my side I feel I can conquer anything, and I know you don’t do promises but… I will do everything I can to keep you safe. I vow that to you. We will make it through this together.

You have brightened my life in ways I can’t even describe. To know you is a joy, to be known by you is something I will never take for granted. You have shown me so much patience, love and care, and that extends to Amalia as well. Thank you. You always make things better whether you know it or not. I hope you do. Thank you for being you.

Tomorrow, I’m not sure how things will go, and just in case I don’t have the chance to say:

My heart is yours. It’s been yours since I saw you unlocking the gate in Minrathous.

I love you.

-Althea

[facultativeactivity]

Hmm, but why do they have a file then? Just because they were a human? Otherwise the file attribution theory suggests that the game generates a nubered Save File to any entity with enough DT to use it, be them humans, monsters or anything else, which works pretty nicely. Assuming that Chara didn't have the required level of Determination but still had a file muddies the waters quite the bit. It would mean that all humans are inherently born with Save Files, wheter they have enough Determination to use it or not. Monsters on the other hand born without Save Files but they can spontaneously generate one should they aquire enough DT.

While that works, and I'm not saying it can't be the case (also a Chara who lacks Determination is an amusing contrast with popular fanon) I think it's really not the only reasonable conclusion we can draw from canon.

For one, yeah, we know for sure that Saved data survives even if the file's owner loses the ability to Save and Load, but to my knowledge, we have no canon info on what's the case if the owner willingly gives up and, as Flowey puts it, lets the world move on without them.

When Frisk dies in the game we can't just sit back and watch how the rest of the timeline plays out without them before deciding to Load or not. It seams reasonable that it works similarly to other humans dying in universe too - time freezes in the moment of their death and they're given the choice to either Reload a Save or just leave. We know that Chara's Soul was conscious after their death, just like all the other human Souls are implied to keep at least some of their agency and personality after death, as we see in the Neutral Ending. We know that at least some of those humans (and presumably all of them) could Save and Load. So why don't they just do it?

Well, because they already given up. I think for a human Soul to stay behind and be able to be absorbed by a monster, the human has to give up first - that is, die, then renounce their power they have over the timeline, which presumably all six children before Frisk did at some point.

What's up with the empty Save File then? If Chara could (and probably did) save in their life then where is that data?

Let me get even more meta here.

Let's say you just got your butt kicked the seventh times by Whosua and Aaron Sans that day and you had eough. You quit the game and go and do literally anything else. A day, a week or a month later you come back, open the game, and you're still able to continue from where you left off. Time obviously didn't move in the game world.

It can't. Not as long as you have your Save data. Even if you never come back, as long as there's only a theorethical chance of you wanting to continue, that universe in that 640x480 window will wait, perfectly stay, for your return.

So, for Chara's plan to work, for Asriel to be able to absorb their Soul Chara had to make the greatest sacrfice: not just giving up their life, but all the power and control they ever had, bringing themself down from a Player toying with the word and the people within, into a mere Character within its story. And the only way to do that would be to erase their Save data.

(Which again, the other six humans had to do as well. Kind of makes sense - while being in a heart in a jar is not very exciting, it probably beats staring at the Game Over screen. Assuming they all hit an obstacle they couldn't avoid, neither bypass, they probably just grew frustrated and wanted it all to be someone else's problem.)

For why neither Chara, nor Asriel reloaded after their plans went awry, despite being access to both a perfectly good Safe File and more than enough Determination to do it, there are several possible explanations. Following the logic earlier, Chara probably couldn't do it on their own, as they already given up. Asriel might have had the ability to do it, but he had no experience with this power, and he might have been wary using it especially if Chara tried to push him to do so. But honestly, I don't think any of them really wanted to do it. At the end of the No Mercy route, Chara admits to being confused about their own resurrection, since their plan already failed. And the monsters in New Home on a Neutral Route describe Asriel as dying with a smile. Whatever went down between them while fighting for the control of their body, it was a heavy blow to their friendship, and after seeing how disastrously their schemes ended, I don't think they wanted to keep existing trapped in a shared body.

Chara did not have the SAVE power when they were alive

In Undertale, all humans have high amounts of determination compared to monsters.

Considering that Frisk has it, and that it is hinted on multiple occasions that some if not all of the fallen humans also once had that power, one would assume that the answer to the question of wether Chara once had the power to most likely be yes.

But… Looking at it with more attention, its far from being so simple.

For instance, Flowey has been heavily projecting his views and actions on Chara’s past ones. Had Chara been SAVING and LOADING in life, it would seem really very unlikely that Flowey would have never reflected on things Chara did in the past and concluded that they must have been like him too on that regard. He did this regarding many things which Chara did not even really do, would he really have missed something he knows the signs of so well and would have been so glad to pin on Chara if it had it actually been true ?

Well, there are actually a number of things that suggest that Chara did not actually SAVE/LOAD at all during life.

(Note : A lot of the following evidence for this comes from file attribution theory. I would suggest reading that post first in order to understand what’s said in this one better)

Keep reading

[enemiestolovershoe]

20 Moments bf!Chris Made Your Heart Swell

bf!Chris who always makes sure you get home safe

It doesn’t matter if you’re out with friends, running errands, or just heading home from work—Chris won’t sleep until he knows you’re safe. "Text me when you get home," he always says. And if you forget? Your phone buzzes with a simple, "You home, love?" Every time, without fail.

bf!Chris who memorizes your coffee order

You never have to ask—he just knows. One morning, you were running late, and before you could even stress about skipping your caffeine fix, he handed you your usual. "Figured you’d need it," he said with a smirk.

bf!Chris who leaves his hoodies at your place on purpose

You always tell him he forgets them, but he never corrects you. "You just look cuter in them," he admits one night when you’re curled up in his hoodie, sleeves covering your hands.

bf!Chris who will literally drop anything for you

You once called him in the middle of a frustrating grocery run because the self-checkout machine wasn’t working. Five minutes later, he walked through the sliding doors, shaking his head with a grin. "Can’t leave you alone for one second, huh?"

bf!Chris who always pulls you closer in his sleep

Even when he’s dead asleep, his body knows where yours is. If you roll away, he’ll instinctively reach for you, mumbling something incoherent before tucking you against his chest.

bf!Chris who hypes you up over everything

New outfit? "Damn, my girl looks fine." Finished a book? "Look at you, a whole scholar." Made dinner? "Oh, we’re eating like royalty tonight!" No accomplishment is too small for his full support.

bf!Chris who gives you the last bite of everything

It doesn’t matter if it’s his favorite meal—if you want it, it’s yours. "Nah, I’m full," he’ll say, but you know he’s lying.

bf!Chris who kisses your forehead like it’s second nature

In the mornings, before he leaves, in the middle of conversations—it just happens. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s just instinct.

bf!Chris who holds your hand under the table

Even in a crowded restaurant with all his friends, his hand finds yours. He doesn’t need to say anything—just having you close is enough.

bf!Chris who makes you feel like the only person in the world

At the end of the day, no matter what’s going on, he always makes time for you. "You good, baby?" he’ll ask, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. And when he looks at you, you know—there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

bf!Chris who texts you “good morning” and “goodnight” every single day

Even if he’s right next to you, even if he saw you five minutes ago—he still sends them. "Just in case you forget how much I love you," he says with a smirk.

bf!Chris who instinctively rests his hand on your thigh when he’s driving

It’s not even a conscious thing anymore. The second he gets in the car, his hand finds your leg, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin.

bf!Chris who takes random photos of you when you’re not looking

You’ll find them in his camera roll—some blurry, some candid, all taken with a quiet kind of love. "I just like having pictures of my girl," he shrugs when you catch him.

bf!Chris who brings you snacks when you’re working late

If you’re busy, he won’t interrupt—he’ll just quietly place your favorite snack next to you and press a quick kiss to your temple before walking away.

bf!Chris who randomly tucks your hair behind your ear

It doesn’t matter where you are—talking, eating, watching a movie—if your hair falls in your face, he gently brushes it back without a second thought.

bf!Chris who rubs your back until you fall asleep

Some nights, when your mind won’t shut off, he just runs his hand up and down your back in slow, soothing motions until you drift off.

bf!Chris who makes up the dumbest nicknames for you

Some are cute, some are questionable, but they’re all undeniably Chris. "Come on, snickerdoodle," he’ll say, completely serious.

bf!Chris who always waits for you to walk inside before driving off

Even if you tell him it’s fine, he won’t leave until he sees you step inside. "Just wanna make sure my girl’s safe," he says every time.

bf!Chris who always notices the little things

New earrings? "Cute." Different perfume? "You smell good, baby." Something’s off? "What’s wrong?" Nothing about you goes unnoticed.

bf!Chris who pulls you closer when someone flirts with you

He’s not the jealous type, but if someone’s being too bold, his arm finds your waist, his lips press against your temple, and his voice is soft but firm—"She’s with me."

Taglist: @sophand4n4 @courta13

[cosyvelvetorchid]

My Big Ao3 Master list

Multi-chapter

General

Serendipity - Based on the movie of the same name

Explicit

For One Night Only.. Maybe - The fake dating/Clipboard Buck au. Tommy asks Buck to be his fake boyfriend in order to get his aunt to stop setting him up with men, and it goes well. Very well.

I Want You To Want Me - Buck strikes up a friendship with an old 118 pal, Tommy. Over the next few months they bond over text and Buck develops some surprising new feelings.

Death Becomes Them - A month after Tommy breaks up with buck his dad dies and Buck accompanies him back to his home town. Tommy finally opens up about his past and they both reevaluate things and share some truths.

100 Days - When Bucks apartment building gets sold and the rent gets raised to high, Chimney suggests he stay with an old 118 buddy, Tommy, who was renting out his spare room to make some extra cash. He’s immediately taken by how nice Tommy is, and Tommy is absolutely taken by how sunny and thoughtful Evan is.

I don't Want To Fall In Love - (Ongoing) - Buck is temporarily reassigned to Harbor station to cover. his immediate impression of Tommy is not good. But when Buck has a panic attack and Tommy helps him, things change. From friends, to friends with benefits, to.. something both of them are terrified of and use every ounce of energy to shove deep down away. But It's not that easy..

Possibility - Set around season 6. While Buck is working on living his life in the 'Age of Possibility', a former member of the 118, Tommy Kinard, gets temporarily transferred back to the station, opening up Buck to a whole new world of possibility.

One shots

General

The Letter - w/c 2,203 - Buck decided it was time to gives Tommy back his things and throws in the box the letter he’d had in his locker in case something happened to him. It’s the last thing Tommy expects.

Tommy's Wonderful Life - w/c 12,927 - Based on the movie It's A Wonderful Life. Heartbroken about his decision to break up with Buck, Tommy gets a chance to see what everbody's life would be like without him.

For The Love Of God No More Baking - w/c 3,475 - Eddie’s had enough of both Buck and Tommy in his ear about their breakup so he decides to interfere and force them to talk.

I Belong With You - w/c 4,297 - With the help of Eddie (and his fist) Tommy releases what a mistake he’s made and tries to fix things with Buck.

Fight - w/c 1,881 - Tommy gets some news that makes Buck spiral about their relationship and goes to his sister (and her sidekick Josh) for advice.

Accident - w/c 2,466 - Tommy learns that Evan was in an accident and finds himself thinking about their future

Four Weeks - w/c 3,677 - After Buck is helped out of a tricky situation by pilot Tommy Kinnard, he feels drawn to make sure he's okay when he has his own accident, and reaches out. After four weeks of texting, then phone calls, then finally meeting in person, Buck starts to feel something new.

I Am Not Your Son - w/c 2,302 - Tommy has no choice but to see his father and confronts him about his past.

He Doesn't Have The Power, you do! - w/c 1,537 - After running into Captain Gerrard at the medal ceremony, Tommy opens up to Buck about how he feels. And in more ways than he was expecting to.

Teen

Shattered Glass - w/c 2,601 - Tommy begins to open up to Buck about his dad.

Explicit

I Should Let You In - w/c 15,537 - Buck discovers his bisexuality in his probationary year and he and Tommy embark on a secret affair. Gradually, he starts to feel more for him and wonders if Tommy, the closed off and less than talkative man, will ever feel the same.

And You Fill My Head With You - w/c 13,023 - Bucks halloween party doesn't go to plan and everybody has to leave except for Tommy who he'd only just met. By the end of the night they're both feeling some surprising new feelings.

Cake - w/c 1,937 - Buck makes an idiot of himself on his first date with Tommy, but after explaining himself, Tommy agrees to start over and the night gets better.

I'll Crawl Home To Him - w/c 12,478 - Buck storms out of his parents home after another fight and find himself at a local motel and unexpectedly spends the whole evening with the owner, who by an incredible coincidence used to work at the 118. Before the night is over Buck’s entire world has been flipped upside down and leaving will be anything but easy.

One Year With You - w/c 4,148 - Some important moments in buck And Tommy's first year together.

Down Goes The Wall - w/c 4,302 - Tommy, having taken things slow with Buck to make sure he doesn't feel pressured, realises he's true feelings for Buck

Bonus saltommy

Explicit

Say That Again - w/c 2,188 - Sal, lashing out about his divorce, let's his true feelings about Tommy free

[https-kittyx3]

Omgg hii Is this where requests go?

I wanted to ask for a dandys world looey x circus! reader

Readers from another company and is paired up with looey and maybe they get a little competitive since they're both circus themed 🎪

keep your rivals close!

YESYESYESYES oh my god i absolutely adore looey i am SO excited to get this request!! he's my favorite toon and i main him 🩷 he's so adorable also can we talk about how adorable his festive skin is? his little TOP HAT is SO PRECIOUS AAH gushing aside, yes!! you are in the correct place!!

reader is implied to be a main toon from their company, and this is set before all the chaos happens

i'm mixing a written scenario with headcanons!! and also putting both platonic and romantic things in here just in case :3

lowercase intended || art cred

your toon handler was far too insistent on bringing you over to garden grove.

it's not that your company has never collaborated with dandy and co., but this is your first time being brought along. ever since your release, you've skyrocketed in popularity — you were becoming more sought after than the rest of your crew. sure, it may be a temporary surge in popularity, but your toon handler was dead set on taking advantage of the situation.

so, here you were; tossed into garden grove with the expectation to perform a circus act alongside looey in the next coming days.

"hey! you're looey, right?" you extend a limb towards looey expectantly, "it's nice to meet you! i can't wait to perform with you!"

looey grabs your hand in return, shaking it gratefully, "likewise! it's so great to see another circus toon!"

that greeting was the most positive interaction you've had. after that, it all went downhill — but subtly. slowly.

to practice for the performance, you and looey decided to show off what you both can do. it started off simple: balancing on a ball, juggling pins... until it became a competition of who can do it better.

looey shows off his ability to turn his balloon limbs into shapes, while you create an entire replica of him with your balloons. you juggle five pins at the same time, while looey doubles it and juggles ten.

looey balances on a unicycle, and you balance on it while standing on the seat. you walk across a thin tightrope while balancing juggling, and looey does it while doing a handstand.

this goes on, and on, and on — you both manage to one-up each other each time you try something, leaving you both competing to see who's better. but there's a problem: you're both really good. it's clear that this small rivalry is never going to end.

you and looey go until you've both collapsed to the ground, exhausted and overworked. looey is visibly deflating, and you can barely pick yourself up.

"you're... haahh... really good," you admit, picking up your head enough to see him similarly flopped to the ground. looey grins at you, his ears picking up slightly, "thanks! you're really good, too!"

PLATONIC

from then on, you became pretty good friends with looey

your little competitions never stopped, of course, but they always started with one of you saying "want to see who can do [x] better?"

it always lands in the two of you going until one of the other toons stops you, or you both get too tired.

you and looey came up with a secret handshake that you do every time you visit garden grove, or the rare times that looey visits you

after a successful first performance, you and looey became a common duo seen doing performances and having collaborative episodes together — the children absolutely love seeing you and looey perform together.

it's a point of pride for you both :3

ROMANTIC

i headcanon that when looey is flustered, he deflates a little bit

the competitions you both have still happen, of course, but you always make sure not to exhaust each other out of concern.

you also end up playfully arguing about who gets to take care of who when it does end up happening

looey absolutely loves giving you hugs. he's even worse than goob when it comes to you, because it's almost like he doesn't want to let go

looey is rather insecure, though - he gets worried that no one is watching him when he performs, and by extension he worries sometimes that you don't recognize all of his efforts

hold his face, tell him "i see you, looey, and i love you", and you'll need to go get the helium pump... he completely deflates when you praise him.

[thorns-and-rosewings]

Okay I have been stewing on this all day and I will just add my thoughts here...

Now take my opinion with a grain of salt, I'm just a nobody who watches and loves the shows. I don't have a crystal ball to know the future, but I would hope that I am capable of looking at things rationally and logically.

Firstly, Im not sure that this is necessarily the 'end' of the Lunar and Earth Show for one specific reason.

This has ALWAYS been a bridge the characters were gonna have to cross...

Pretty much from when we first met Gemini, they have said that Lunar might have to leave and become an Astral. So... Whatever is going to occur has long been planned.

Do I think Lunar is going to leave? Eh...

I give it a 50/50 chance...

Just given everything that has been happening for Lunar in his life, he might leave to try and keep his family safe. Or to find a purpose in his life which he feels he currently lacks... Or believing that he's hurt his family enough, such as the case with Earth. But what life would he have? Gemini has become icy towards him courtesy of the latest episode, pretty clear they now view him as an investment more than even a friend... Leo clearly still hates him even if we haven't met him yet.

And even if Lunar leaves, Rez and Kerian are still on earth and are presumably not going anywhere. Maybe Kerian would follow Lunar, but Rez won't and that's a big threat to the family... Not to mention the Creator when he gets unleashed.

Now playing devil's advocate for a sec and assuming he leaves, what would happen? There's several options here...

The show just ends... Now this is HIGHLY unlikely. But it's understandable that everyone jumps on this bandwagon, given how we have just lost two wonderful VA's amongst the shows. But hypothetically if Lunar goes with the Astrals, they will just replace him as a main character.

Would it be permanent though?

We could have Lunar leave for a month and then come back... Even though they said that wouldn't be possible, who knows what is actually planned.

As for who would replace him. I know that everyone would automatically assume Davis and that is certainly possible... But I think it's unlikely. The reason? Davis plays HOW MANY CHARACTERS?! I know he plays Solar normally but I don't know if he could do ANOTHER show. I mean it's possible... But unlikely.

Also one thing that makes the show ending unlikely is because we just got introduced to a new character in Kerian and his interactions with Lunar get lots of views.

A lot of things do boil down to what is the best move financially, these shows are run by a company after all. LAES is pretty popular and gets lots of views. So one needs to take that into account.

Due to that I don't think we're going to get a 'Lunar says Goodbye' episode... Although it's still in the cards.

Personally... I think Lunar might just close the book on the Astrals and move on. Him choosing his family over the powers forever. That move would make the most sense. Although it would result in the Astral storyline ending. At least in its main part. But it would also probably allow the writers to explore different stories with the characters, possibly some more whimsical and happy stories and just a little less angst.

Who knows, I sure don't...

But what I do know is I trust the writers to do what they think is best and I will accept whatever they choose to do.

...that's all I got y'all...

THE LUNAR AND EARTH SHOW WILL BE GONE SOON. ITS HINTED

A lot of the TSBS shows have been dying and gettIng rebranded with new characters. Since the latest LAES episode, lunar will have to make a choice either he gets his powers back but then he has to leave earth or he doesn’t get his powers back. this is hinting that the main character will probably go away and the show is gonna be rebranded. Probably it will be renamed as the THE SOLAR AND EARTH SHOW or THE EARTH AND SOLAR SHOW, which I predict it will be from watching the live stream. But we’ll have to wait and see.

Hmmm…. Perhaps Timer (if you don’t who he is, he was introduced from the episode where Sun and moon travel back in time and stuck in loop, go watch it.) could help? He’s the god of time! 💫⌛️