#I’ll defenestrate you

[hahahax30]

Studying US foreign policy atm and I want heads to roll

[courtneedsatoru]

The Way of the HouseBoyfriend: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Synopsis: in which you persuade your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, to play househusband with you for just one day. It’s going to a breeze because he’s good at everything—or so he thinks. Perhaps he had underestimated the way of the househusband.

Word count: 2.2k

Content: fluff, suggestive, crack, domesticity, thirst traps, kisses, female reader

“Just try it, Satoru. Just one day as my cutie houseboyfriend!”

Satoru Gojo was screwed, and not in the way he wanted to be with you on top of him. Turns out, being the honored one, the strongest sorcerer in history, meant he had little time at home to do the laundry, clean, and make proper meals.

The time supposed to be spent for chores was spent on you: he would never neglect you, ever. He’s always there for planned dates, always there for snuggles and kisses, always there for you, only you, by the end of the night. He’d do his best to take care of you in his own particular way. If you don’t feel like cooking that night, he’d bring home fried chicken or Chinese take out. While you would wash the dishes, Satoru would dry them with his Infinity in the blink of an eye (and complain that you were too slow, annoyed that you should be giving HIM the attention and not those damn dishes).

His workarounds were… passable, for the most part. You were so, so, so understanding. Truly. You knew that at times, you’d have to step up to maintain your little world with Satoru while he was out there kicking ass in the outside world. But by the sixth time Satoru stains your white blouse, you snapped.

“How many times do I have to tell you to NOT mix the darks and whites,” you gritted out. You were sick and tired of bleaching your shirts over and over again despite Satoru’s protest that he could just buy you more. “No, Satoru, it doesn’t work like that! It’s not resourceful and not good for the environment,” you’d answer back for the nth time. Enough was enough. Today is the day you’d train this menace your lovely partner the way of the houseboyfriend.

You clasp your hands eagerly together. “Who knows, if you do above and beyond, I might even promote you to househusband.”

Now that catches Satoru’s attention. His heart is beating two times faster, pumping blood straight down to his—

“Be my wife,” Satoru blurts out. Any conscience of thinking before acting is defenestrated whenever he’s with you. Just the idea of being tied to you, sincerely and forever yours, sends him into a mental frenzy. He wipes away the drool pooling at the corner of his lips with his sleeve.

You lift his blindfold up just enough to look at him in the eyes. “Maybe,” you tease with a wink that makes him throb, both in his heart and his d—. “You have to earn it though. And you do that by completing everything on the list I so kindly made for you.”

buy vegetables, tofu, and chicken

wash the windows (they’re so dusty!)

do the laundry—DO NOT MIX COLORS, I REPEAT, DO NOT MIX COLORS

fold the laundry <3

cook rice

You don’t trust Satoru to make dinner yet. Okay, technically he CAN cook (instant ramen), but that doesn’t mean he was GOOD at it. Satoru would often get distracted and end up burning the meal.

“Psh, that’s it? Baby, it’s only six things, it can’t be that hard. If this was all it took to be your husband, then I would have done it earlier!” Satoru boasts.

“That’s the thing. You should’ve done it earlier without any incentive or me telling you to do so.” Those words tug on Satoru’s heartstrings while simultaneously igniting a fire in him. He wants to be a perfect boyfriend soon-to-be husband, and he is going to prove to you that he is the one for you.

“Oh god, I have to have you,” Satoru murmurs and leans in for kiss. He whines when you stop him, hands cupping his face in place.

“Baby, my dude. Did you even hear what I just said?”

“I’ll be your perfect househusband everyday from now on. Won’t ever disappoint you again.” Satoru puckers his lips. He wants a kiss.

“Yes, yes, Satoru. I have to go to work now. When I get back, I expect the house to be nice and tidy and the rice to be cooked.”

You lean in to give him a short and sweet goodbye kiss. Satoru is hungry though. He likes the “sweet,” but not the “short.”

“One more.” Demanding, much? You shake your head. One more which means two more which means ten more. If you give him an inch, he will take a mile.

“I’ll give you so much when I come home from work. I’ll see you later, my sweets! Or should I call you my houseboyfriend?”

Satoru groans when you leave. Of all days, you just had to be working when he gets a day off. No matter. By the end of today, he will be your official househusband.

. . . . . . . . . .

Satoru was off to a good start, for he acquired the chicken breasts. The first time, his meany girlfriend smacked him on the butt for getting fried chicken the last time he was sent off on an errand. He thought that the love of his life would be too exhausted to cook when she got home from a long day of work... but he didn't take into account he had brought home fried chicken the past three nights!

The second time, Satoru actually did his job and brought home chicken breasts. He was going to take matters in his own hands (not a good idea) and make a "marry me" chicken to express his infinite adorations for her.

Except… it even possible to candy a chicken?

Satoru seasoned thoroughly on behalf of Gordon Ramsay's YouTube advice. Except that more-than-generous pinch of salt was not salt, but sugar! Not that Satoru could tell the difference, for he grabbed the first jaw he saw with mysterious white powder inside. Satoru ignored the dark brown crust of caramel on the outside, convincing himself it was just the pan’s fault.

He THOUGHT he was being smooth, sneaking a candy ring in between the butterfly cut of the chicken. But you couldn't even make it past the first bite, nonetheless reach the center of the chicken where the hidden gem lay. Hence, severe kitchen restrictions were set in stone on that faithful day.

Now, all that's left for Satoru to buy are tofu and vegetables.

Do potato chips count as vegetables? Ooh, sour cream and jalapeño-flavored chips! Jalapeño counts too, right? Satoru shrugs and tosses it in the shopping basket. Maybe, he should get at least one vegetable that isn’t processed so his partner won’t yell at him.

He spots a big-ass carrot, finding its size and shape comical. It’s definitely big, but surely not as big as his d—

BUY FOUR GET THE FIFTH ONE FREE!!

Ohohoho, just what his girlfriend needs: tofu! How could he miss that golden deal? Without hesitation, Satoru loads his basket up with ten packs of tofu. According to his calculations, he’s getting two packs for free! Not that it matters, because he can buy all of the tofu in this store and it wouldn’t make a dent in his bank account. But doesn’t it feel so gratifying knowing his lover will be so proud of him for saving money?

Satoru proudly struts out of the grocery store but there’s a feeling that’s gnawing at him, nagging him that he’s forgetting something. No matter; he’d make it up by getting lots of sweet treats for his dearest sweetheart (as if, Satoru wouldn’t finish all of the desserts first by the end of the week). Satoru mindlessly struts through the store, grabbing whatever he sees “necessary” to stock the pantry.

Chocolate cookies were a classic. He couldn’t forgo edamame-flavored mochis. Olive oil ice cream might pair nicely with that. He sighs as he begrudgingly tosses in a box of oatmeal raisin cookies that he knows his girlfriend likes, even if he deems it only for the ‘oldies.’

. . . . . . . . . .

Satoru Gojo does not want to clean windows. He wants you: to see you, to talk to you, to feel you. But noooo, he's stuck scrubbing these dusty motherfuckers. He NEEDS to spice things up a bit. He wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without a little mischief.

Satoru props up his phone on the counter and peels off his shirt. Oh, he knows he is the package, from those defined planes for tits to that teasing v-line dipping down down down... He lubes his abs with a generous amount of dish soap to create a glistening ✨ sheen ✨ so that the light will reflect off his abs.

Except the lighting was terrible! The ceiling lights were not doing his six pack justice. Satoru opens the window but to his dismay, his blonde-haired neighbor who just wants to take out the trash in peace catches him shirtless and red-handed with a bottle of dish soap in hand. Satoru waves even though sees his neighbor’s shoulders shrug up and down in a heavy sigh.

‘Oh well. Nanami’s lucky to have such a view anyways.’

Satoru presses record and films excess dish soap dripping down his apps and just right before it wets the waistline of his pants, he scoops it up with his fingers and smears it against his pecs because of the tease he is.

“You’re missing out, baby~” Satoru winks. “This househusband has been a good boy washing the windows, and now he’s waiting for you to come home.”

He smooches the camera and presses send.

(Poor poor Nanami stayed to witness his shenanigans.)

Why are you washing the windows with dish soap??? What the hell? Satoru, use Clorox wipes instead. What a waste… *sigh*

I can hear your signature sigh from miles away. It’s not a waste if it’s me 🙃😉

You send three photos to Satoru: the first of you shaking your head in disapproval, the second of you blowing him a kiss, and the third of you licking the whipped cream of the parfait Satoru packed for you for lunch off your finger. Satoru groans loudly as a bolt of heat is shot straight down past his soapy abdominal to his pelvis. He zooms in to your puckered lips wrapped around that little finger of yours, imagining what it would be like if it was something else… something bigger instead.

Excuse poor little Satoru for acting like a dog in heat. He can’t help it! Every little cute thing you do puts him in heat, and Satoru can’t control how his body reacts. It isn’t his fault that you aren’t here so he could show you just how much you affect him. He can’t resist the temptation, whimpering as he slides a hand down to touch the heat radiating from his pants. He should probably close the windows first.

The windows slam shut with a sharp bang, and Satoru manspreads on the couch with a hand between his legs. The picture will have to do for now…

. . . . . . . . . .

The garage creaks open, and Satoru gasps awake. For the past few hours, he was busy... taking care of some... assets... and quite literally passed out to the thought of you. Despite that his body is sticky and his mouth is dry, Satoru bolts up excited to greet the joy of his life.

Holy shit, she’s home!

…

Holy shit, she’s home.

Holy shit, I forgot to do the laundry.

And the rice.

Satoru has five more seconds to act before he gets his ass whooped. Well, more like two seconds because he spent the first three seconds panicking what he should do until he remembered that he's the strongest sorcerer in history.

In 0.05 seconds, he speeds upstairs and shoves the dirty heap of clothes on the floor into the closet, slamming the doors shut to prevent it from spilling out. He spends the next 0.05 seconds teleporting to his trusty neighborhood-friendly Nanami's house, stealing a bowl of freshly cooked rice. In the last second, he throws on an apron to pretend he's been hard at work... cooking rice in the rice cooker? No matter, it's fitting for a househusband who's ready to greet his wife.

The door opens, and Satoru immediately pounces. You are met with a faceful of cleavage, your face smothered with the sweet, slightly musty e s s e n c e of Satoru.

"I missed my wife!" He hugs you tightly.

"I missed my houseboyfriend," you choke out, air knocked out from your lungs. Satoru squeezes you tighter.

"Househusband," he corrects.

"Why are you only wearing an apron and boxers? Where's the rest of your clothes?"

"Because I'm seducing you." Lies. As if he didn't just wake up a few minutes ago. He just didn't have enough time to put himself together. "Is it working?"

"Mm, I'd say so." And you seal his lips with a kiss. "I gotta change out of work clothes, baby. Then I'll show you how to make fried rice."

Satoru gulps. Shit shit shit. He didn't anticipate this. He's about to stop you, but you're already making your way upstairs. He's prepared for you to scream his name but it's surprisingly quiet. Too quiet.

When you come down, you have a calm grin except the corner of your eye is twitching and that you are holding a sandal with a firm grip. A grip so tight that it was as if the sandal you were choking was Satoru's neck.

"Satoru Gojo. Love of my life. Sweetest bean. My dude. No laundry. Rice from a bowl we don’t even own. Dish soap on windows????" You smack the sole of the sandal against your palm. It was going to be a long light.

“Just wait until you see the tofu—” SMACK. If there’s one thing Satoru knew well, perhaps very well, about you, it’s that you never miss.

Houseboyfriend!Satoru was not promoted to househusband!, instead stuck as housedishwasher! for the rest of the week.

Tag list: @cupcaketeddybehr (Hello! You’re a sweetheart 🫶)

A/N: this was chaotic. to the four people who read this before I fixed grammar, I’m so sorry.

[chronically-ghosted]

sam and diane, eat your heart out

rating: 18+

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 3374

summary: after spending six months with FBI Agent Marcus Pike on a case almost-kissing, almost-flirting - almost - almost - almost - you decide to do something about that Unresolved Sexual Tension.

tags/warnings: thigh riding, marcus being a menace during a makeout session, marcus being a good agent first and an idiot second, i love marcus pike with my whole being (not a warning, just thought you should know), light cursing, reader is a journalist but no y/n or physical descriptions

a/n:  from @trulybetty 's request from my 100 followers celebration: "Going with psychography and this is hard… Let's see, I pick prompt no. 9 and Pedro boy of choice is Marcus Pike as he's one you don't have your master list yet! → “i’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit."I'll leave it to dealers' choice for smut vs. no smut on how it takes you!"

🤍Masterlist

“So, this is it? This proves the buyer knowingly purchased the artifacts illegally from the Belgian government.” 

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know any court of law that wouldn’t uphold this as evidence.” 

“And then used the money to bankroll the opposite party? These tapes, Marcus – I don’t know how you got them, but –,”

“Wouldn’t have gotten them without those bank statements,” he smiles at you, fingers pressing down those specific documents on his desk. “I don’t even wanna know how you got into that personal server, but –,”

“I’ll keep my secrets if you’re going to keep yours.” 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles and the sound sends a cascade of warmth down the back of your neck. You turn your head away to hide your cheeks like some schoolgirl with a crush. Well, about half of that is right. A crush on the FBI agent you’ve been working with on the side to not only bring an end to one man’s hunt for cultural artifacts that do not belong to him – how stupid could you be? This is not the way to getting your first Pulitzer!

Besides, this is only going to end badly – for you. Because whether or not you were convinced that Agent Marcus Pike may in fact be interested in you, depended on the day, the weather, and if you were susceptible to crying and eating chocolate bar by bar. Your combined case against this wanna-be museum pilferer was more airtight than your little book of tells: “Marcus noticed my perfume today”, “Marcus didn’t mention my haircut” , “Marcus complimented my outfit today.” You plucked off hopes and disappointments like petals from the most pathetic daisy and when you found yourself staring at an empty stalk, you were no closer to finding an answer you were happy with. 

Because for every reason, every indication, every hint that no, Marcus annoyingly respected you only for your brains and journalistic integrity . . . he’d look at you like he’s looking at you right now and every semblance of dignity would go flying out the window faster than you can say defenestration. 

Marcus drops your eyes, mouth parted as if surprised by his blatant staring, and he brushes the lynch pin to your case with his fingers.

“This is, um, this is really good work. Your editors are gonna love it.”

You lean your hip against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms, elbowing your way back into his attention. Your thigh teases the space between his. His head down, you watch his tongue wet his bottom lip the longer he stares at your hip. 

“They’d love it more if the agent in charge went on record about the whole thing.” 

Like you burned him, he retreats, stepping back towards the corkboard that’s been hanging in his office for six months. He tugs at his tie and clears his throat.

“Mhmm, yeah, maybe for a follow-up piece.” Swallowing, he pulls at the knot of his tie, and slips it over his head once the hole is big enough, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. He looks at the board like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

You can’t stop the irate scoff. The hurt, the embarrassment, it burns you. It’s such a stupid crush and he’s making you look like an idiot for it, desperate for scraps when you deserved a whole fucking meal. Your self-confidence had been hard won, built up under years of duress and shame, and a need for a change in your life. If you aren’t happy with something, fix it, your father used to say. So you did and you weren’t about to let Marcus goddamn Pike make you feel small again.

“You know what, fuck this.” In two strides, you move away from his desk and snatch up your shoulder bag. You know you’re making a scene, your cheeks warm, nose flared, and this isn’t the best way to end the last six months, or even continue a potentially invaluable insider source that could benefit your career for years to come. But you can’t help it. You hate how Marcus makes you feel. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking you’d have the balls to reciprocate so, you know what, that one’s on me. Keep the tapes, Marcus, I have copies. I’m going home.”

He frantically sputters out your name as he intercepts you between the door to his office. All the blinds are shut, this case of the highest confidentiality, and at least there’s the small miracle that his coworkers can’t see you act like a jilted fourteen year old. Your hand squeezes the strap around your shoulder when Marcus reaches for you. 

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”  

You grind your teeth together, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m talking about us, Marcus. This thing between us that’s been going on for months. The thing that you refuse to acknowledge. I’m so sick of this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ shit. I’m a grown woman, Marcus, and if you’re not interested then just come out and say it. Just stop . . . messing with me.”

The hand outstretched to you curls in, fingers, fist, retreating. His mouth twitches again, his eyes fundamentally unreadable. He glances over your shoulder at the board, and then when he looks back, his gaze is . . . different. Like he swapped his usual soft, friendly brown eyes with a pretense that carries a little more heat to it. The spilling of too black powder in a dangerous, unstable place, where careless matches are liable to fly. 

Marcus shifts his weight, crosses his arms with the full strength of his back yanking on his blazer, and bites just below his lip on his left side, somehow making that bowed mouth even more pouty. 

“No, I mean . . . why did you think I’d never act on it?” 

Now it’s your turn to take a small step back, even though the low pitch to his voice is exactly what you’ve been all but begging for. The sound of it twists your insides, tugging arousal low in your belly. You swallow, suddenly blinding padding around for that righteous anger. 

“It’s been six months, Marcus. Three since you almost kissed me during the stakeout. Two since I saw you staring at my bra after the rainstorm. A-and last month . . . last month, when you invited me over for dinner, I thought . . . I-I thought . . .”

You thought dinner was going to end in something sweeter than chocolate pie for dessert, when a woman called him, furious that he hadn’t been answering his calls. Her screaming was audible and the sheer look of panic on his face was enough to confirm every terrible thing you thought you were so terribly correct about. 

“I told you about my ex-wife when we first met. I wasn’t hiding her. You weren’t the other woman.” 

“Yeah, but people usually go their separate ways after a so-called nasty divorce.” 

His eyebrow jumps at the unmasked condescension in your voice. You hold the strap across your chest like a lifeline. 

Marcus’s eyes stray to the corkboard again as he works his jaw, split between being rather irritated and . . . something else. 

That something else slams full force into your chest when he meets your gaze: heartbreak.

“Did you ever consider I tried to stop anything before it started, because I didn't want some asshole defense attorney to have any reason to blow holes in our case?” He shakes his head, this time overwhelming you entirely as he oversteps at least three professional boundaries by herding you back against a filing cabinet with just the sway of his body. The metal clangs as you crash against it, shoulders around your ears. “A reason like if the lead investigator and his CI were fucking?”

The messenger bag around your hips is the only thing keeping him from pressing up on you entirely. You are intimately aware of that when he tilts his head at you, eyes mournful and explorative as they draw a path over your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrows. Down the curve of your jaw and your neck. 

You do the only thing you can think of and laugh at him: “A CI? Please, I think I was a little more integral than that.” 

Marcus hums as he gently brushes the arch of your cheek with the pad of his finger. 

“All the more reason to keep everything squeaky clean.” 

You finally understand why he’s been looking at the board over and over, as if it’s going to suddenly catch flames. You suppose it's only fair that he’s worried – does a blasphemer not worry about his own state of grace on holy ground? 

He’s knee-bucklingly close when you work up enough courage to look him in the eye and say what’s been looping around your mind like an unhitched railway car.

“But you said it yourself, the case is over, right?” There’s a corner of your mind that is keening with embarrassment at how breathless you sound, so you throw a shoe at her and drop your eyes to Marcus’s increasingly close lips. They’re wet when he runs his tongue over them. 

“Yes, I did say that.” Fireworks explode in your brain when he tucks his middle finger under the strap of your messenger bag up by your collarbone, and then proceeds to slide his hand down the strap, knuckles very intentionally rubbing between the valley of your breasts. You wish you had worn a push-up bra or nothing at all. His hand shakes as it stops just above your belly button. 

On a slow inhale, his palm changes directions, turning over to your stomach, heat blooming from where he touches you over your skin, to slide with a solid grip on your hip. A weight. The shifting of the scales. 

“Marcus–,” it sounds like begging and he’s hardly even touched you so you have to follow it up with something. You drop your head back against the metal, trying to even your breathing. “Marcus, w-we got the evidence. The case is closed, we d-don’t work together any more. We - we can–,”

“I want to,” he murmurs and you swear the heat from his breath across your collarbone tightens your nipples in your shirt. “God, I fucking want to. But this case can’t be jeopardized. The bureau has been after this guy for years and if we fuck it up on a technicality –,” 

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” you blurt out. The back of your head pinned to the metal locker behind you, you stare him down from the end of your nose, breathing hard and heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut before opening them to his gun-powder gaze. “We don’t even have to do this more than once, but . . . fuck, I’ve gotta get you out of my system, Marcus. I can’t think straight around you anymore.” 

Making a noise like someone popped him across the chest with their elbow, he shuffles closer, the bag between you digging painfully into your lower stomach. Both hands find their way to your hips. He squeezes you through your jeans, your panties a truly forgone mess at this point. You had men tease you before about how wet you got, like it was something shameful or embarrassing – giving so much of yourself away so quickly – but nearly pinned beneath him, you are quite sure Marcus would never have that inclination. Your own hands have latched onto his shoulders of their own accord. 

“We don’t have to tell,” you hiccup when his thumb barely brushes the bottom of your bra. “I won’t tell, Marcus.” He tilts his head, the rough hairs of his beard brushing against your temple and you shudder, so eager to be touched by him on your skin and not through your clothes. “Please. Please.” 

He groans again, eyes fluttering, head shaking. “Fuck, baby, don’t beg me like that–,”

His body presses you flat against the locker when he eagerly collides his mouth with yours. His broad hands cup your cheeks, holding you exactly where he wants you, your fingers digging around his wrists to confirm to him there’s literally nowhere else you’d rather be. 

Marcus Pike executed everything in his life with dogged determinism. From catching criminals, to shining his shoes, Marcus was meticulous and detail-oriented. It made him a great agent – and one hell of a kisser. 

His tongue rides along the bottom of your lip, then the top, not seeking entrance, but cataloging if the places on your mouth taste differently. He nips your plush lip and finds the sound you make is not exactly how he wants it. So he licks your mouth open, as forcefully as he politely shows a warrant before kicking open a suspect’s door. He finds that you like it when he’s a bit rough with his tongue, biting more at your upper lip to make you keen at that frequency he’s been craving. He does it again and you moan louder, fingers tightening around the curls at the back of his neck. He’s not satisfied with that sound alone, so he pushes even closer to you, seeking your heat with his thigh as if he could feel you pulse for him with just his mouth on you. 

But this goddamn bag –

“Get this–,” he scrambles over your hands as you both incorrectly fight with the strap and the weight of the bag, “what is even in this?”

You chuckle as he manages to yank it over your head without pulling out your hair. “My little pheromones to drive hot FBI agents berserk. Why? Is it working?” 

His moan is set between his teeth, sucking on both his own desperation and frustration at your teasing. Barrier gone, he shoves his knee between your thighs and slides it until it nestles against your crotch. It pushes the seam of your jeans against your clit and you rip your mouth away from his, gasping at the overly hot pleasure that roars up your middle. 

“Fuck, Marcus,” you keen and his mouth splits open, eyelids heavy, as he watches you writhe on this thigh. 

“You’re so warm, but are you wet? I can’t feel you.” His nose and mouth tucking into your neck, his wide palms tug and push your hips in a steady rhythm that has you fisting his jacket. “Couldn’t have worn a skirt?” 

“I didn’-t know – you’d want to – do this,” you breathe through this rapidly swelling pleasure, your clit throbbing. He presses up with his thigh just barely and you moan like a fucking pornstar, his cock rock solid and hot against your hip. 

“Can-can you do this?” He asks breathlessly, his own hips rolling in time with yours. “Can you come just on my thigh?” 

You bite your lip and nod, eyes shut and head back against the metal. “Y-yeah, I think I’m – God, yes, I am – I am so close.” 

“What do you need – to get you there?” He dips his head back to that spot on your neck that made your skin break out in goosebumps and he nips at your pulse point before soothing it with his tongue. You jerk at the sensation, your own pleasure ratcheting up to a soaring new height, the damp stripe of your panties almost soothing to your aching clit. You’re so sticky everywhere. You gasp, your hands curling into his shirt, shoulder digging into his jaw, neck arched to the side, as if your body is concerned how hard this orgasm is going to hit when he sucks a distinctive bruise into the hollow of your throat.

“Oh, God, Marcus –,” 

“Tell me, what do you need?” he slurs in your ear. 

You feel so empty, so wet and hollow, you want him to strip your pants down now and fill you as fast as you can. But you tremble on the razors edge – his cock anywhere near you is going to ruin you for the rest of the night – you just need to break through this one and then you’ll –

“Your fingers, Mar-cus, just put – them –,”

He huffs, grunting as he understands, and one of the steadying hands on your hips lurches to the front of your jeans. His knuckles dig into the skin of your stomach as he flicks open the button of your jeans, a low-heavy-drag whine as he finally feels the heat of your pussy, ready to suck him up inside you. He yanks down the zipper, cups you and that’s almost enough. It’s nearly enough and you gasp, your core fluttering, nails tearing into his shirt. 

“Yeah, you need more?” Marcus hums, his teeth scraping your jaw as he pins you to the wall with his full body weight. “Can’t let anything be easy, can you?”

All sense and shame dragged out of you with every swipe of your clit against his thigh, you shake your head and let out a loud whimper. 

He grunts something low and fast, heated and possessive, his hand shifting, knuckle peeling back your sticky underwear, fingers rubbing up against your puffy lips, and finally –

You toss your head back, a hot freeze locking your body up from your toes to your forehead, when he slides two fingers right up your cunt and curls them forward. A second later, heat crackles from your cunt up to your chest and you inhale, stars in your eyes and toes barely scraping the ground. 

As you sink back down into your own body, your brain plugging back in, you realize he’s whispering to you, muttering, his lips moving fast over your skin as he gently brushes your cheek with his own. 

“So good, baby, everything I thought you were going to be, you let me touch you, you make such pretty sounds, so good,” 

The high continues to drag you back down, down until you’re shaking in his arms, a lethargic weight pulling you into his chest. He cups your head into the curve of his neck, his own heart pounding into the vein of his neck. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re messing with me anymore,” you chuckle into his skin and you feel him smile above you. “Okay, a little messing. A messing when asked.” 

“Good. I like messing when asked.” He kisses your cheek, lips lingering as he breathes out his nose. “But, uh, I know you said you weren’t going to tell anyone, but you weren’t exactly quiet about it.” 

You warm again, but this time with a bashful grin. 

“Yeah, sorry. I guess there are advantages to being a workaholic and staying in the office until ten at night.” 

He shakes his head, gently easing his knee from between your legs, careful to hold you until you are steady on your own feet. 

“Don’t need to apologize for that, pretty girl. In fact,” he picks up your infamous shoulder bag and loops it over his neck. The strap catches the fluff of his hair and it stands straight up. You didn’t think you had the energy, but your heart goes wild at the sight. “In fact, when I take you home, I’d like you to be even louder.”

Apparently you had a lot more stamina than you thought because your toes curl and you can practically hear your pussy throb. Your eyes flicker to his crotch.

“You don’t want . . . here?”

He pulls you into his arms, and kisses your forehead. “I do. I want very much. But the first time I’m inside you with anything but my fingers, it’s not going to be in my office. Won’t be able to concentrate.” He takes a look around what had been the epicenter of your investigation for months. “Actually, I might have to repaper the whole thing now.” 

You chuckle, leaning up under his arm where he’s damp and warm. “I think that might tip off someone to our little technicality.” 

He matches your smirk with an eyebrow raise. “Fair. Guess it’ll just have to linger here.”

You kiss his throat as he leads you out of the abandoned building, arm tight around you. Where he does take you home, where he does come inside you with something other than his fingers, and where you scream his name . . . yes, even louder. 

[jennyfk13]

⚠️IOTS X TNMN AU!⚠️

Hey there! I kind of fell off since I’m currently on vacation but i’ll finish Alf and Robertsky’s deaths! Thank you everyone who supported me so far!

Regret.

Aftermath; Anastacha Mikaelys

Poor little child.. Not even 15 years old yet she’s alone.. All alone, her mom? Defenestrated. Her dad? Chopped up. Ana wished it was her instead.. She would do anything, ANYTHING. To swap their places, to take their pain away.. She regretted not being a better daughter before she lost them.

Last time she talked to her mother it was an argument.. And she barely wanted anything to do with her father.. As most angsty tweens are.

She hates you, Henry. She doesn’t believe you when you plead and beg how you had nothing to do with it.. No matter how many times you apologised for something you had nothing to do with.. You’re in a twist, huh?

How does it feel to have no one in your corner?

How does it feel to be alone, like Anastacha?

[odinsblog]

i know russians hate putin who runied their county like trump

[re: this post]

I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that wherever there are sham elections, there will always people who do not like it, and a brave few will stand up and resist.

For example, if you search social media for something like “Russia sham election,” you’ll see videos like this:

I fucking love watching these. They showed up and did the damn civil disobedience thang.

And if you search for “Russian fuckery” or “disappearing ink,” you’ll find gems like this, where voters were generously supplied with pens to complete their ballots, but the ink wasn’t permanent and could be easily burned away with a bic lighter. (source) (source)

So yeah, people had every right to be pissed and resist Russia’s sham elections.

A lot of Russian dissidents and Ukrainian citizens in occupied Crimea and Mariupol risked their freedom to protest Putin’s sham election. They quite literally risked everything, and many of them have already been jailed.

So yes, you’re right; I know that there are people who do not like it, and a brave few who will stand up and resist Putin.

BUT … it’s quite impossible to take a full or accurate accounting of how Russian citizens inside of Russia feel, because, 1) Putin and the Kremlin control the media outlets, and journalists are routinely murdered by the Kremlin in Russia, so we won’t ever get a true picture, and 2) dissidents know that they will be harshly penalized (shot, jailed, poisoned, defenestrated, etc) for publicly voicing any serious or prolonged anti-Putin sentiments.

And there are also Russians who are against Putin, but who are not against Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Unfortunately there are quite a few Russians, like the woman in the video below, who aren’t even in Russia, but who have very clearly chugged the kool-aide and fully believe Putin’s propaganda and disinformation.

SN: No, Crimea/Ukraine was not in NATO, nor was Ukraine even applying for NATO membership when Putin invaded—that is a propagandistic LIE that tankies have stupidly bought into. (source) (source) (source) (source)

So yeah, it continues to worry me that some Russians outside of Putin’s distortion bubble still believe his lies. Again, I know that there are also many Russians who vehemently reject Putin’s lies …. I just don’t know if it’s a sizable majority, or a tiny but vocal minority. My guess is that anti-Putin citizens living in Russia are, unfortunately, a minority.

And this isn’t me dunking on Russian civilians. I live in America. We have similar divisions about countries that our government has invaded. So yeah, I’m in the U.S. and I am also dealing with the exact same flavor of willfully gullible miscreants, who believe anything Trump tells them, and I’ll have to wait until after our general election to see if they are a majority here.

A quick aside, but in the original post, I said I’d be watching to see how tankies addressed the OBVIOUSLY fake sham elections that Putin legitimately “won,” and it’s pretty much what I expected - tankies crawling out of the woodwork to announce that any evidence of coercive tactics was itself fake, or CIA propaganda (filmed in Russia! no less). But I gotta admit that I was lowkey surprised that the usual tankies on tumblr were uncharacteristically on mute. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, Idk where you are, anon, but if you’re in Ukraine or anywhere in the Baltic states or Eastern Europe, please be careful and stay safe. 🫡

[mostmagical]

For the Drabble prompts….defenestration 😌 (or defenestrate…any version works ahaha)

this is such a funny word for a hundred word drabble dhvbbgk THANKS KAYLA

surely this has been done. but not by me.

Prompt: defenestration

Ladybug inched closer, her breath shallow as she realized what she was about to do.

Adrien’s fingers dug into her hip, encouraging her probably a little more than he should be.

Her yoyo string was still taut in her hand where it led out the open window, anchoring her as she finally swept forward. His breath blew across her lips like warm summertime.

“Adrien,” a wintry voice called from somewhere behind her.

Without any logical thinking behind it, Ladybug shoved Adrien forward, watching in horror as her own hands defenestrated him. The yoyo zipped.

“Oh, bad time?” Nathalie hummed, unbothered.

Send me one word, I’ll write you 100

[youling-the-ghost]

I don’t know if this is a hot take or a barely lukewarm take but I’ll say it: the trend of hating on cringe culture is ruining fandoms.

A but part of fandom culture is not giving a shit what other people think. Go wild with ships, write odd fanfiction, roleplay with other fans, make elaborate cosplays. The “cringe” part of fandoms is what makes it so fun. It’s a break from the suffocating rules that you have to conform to. But now people are being so self-conscious online that they’re too scared to even ship non-canon ships, and I absolutely blame the push against cringe culture for this. I’ve seen people attack someone on tiktok who shipped tododeku. Not even something toxic or illegal, fucking **tododeku**. This new fandom culture is taking what made the original fandom culture so enticing, and defenestrating it with the force of a thousand elephants stomping on the ground. It’s actually so sad to see fandoms slowly lose the creativity and imagination that it once has.

To new fandom members: do whatever the hell you want. You ship two characters who have never met in canon? Great! You want to write fanfiction about them? Awesome! Fandoms are supposed to be cringe, so don’t think too much about what others might think.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @astranite

From @astranite to @scribbles97

Lots of family fluff and slice of life with Lucy, Jeff and the kids going on holidays.

*****

Lucy woke to a blaring alarm, pulled from a dream of her lab being evacuated because the characters from that kids show Torchy were invading. What had been the lab alert system in her dream resolved into the reality of Jeff’s obnoxious phone alarm ringing out across their bedroom. 

She buried her face into her pillow. It was far too early. 

She kicked Jeff under the blankets because he’d better turn that damn thing off before she decided to defenestrate it. 

There was rustling and a grunt of effort and then finally blissful silence. 

Just as she was slipping back off to dreamland, Jeff pulled her into a hug. Lucy reluctantly opened her eyes again to Jeff’s grinning face. Far too excited and awake for an AM time starting with five or less. 

She envied his ability to be awake as soon as he was, well, awake. It took her a good half hour and ample amounts of coffee to get even half that into gear. 

Lucy screwed up her face. Coffee was needed, now. Jeff pecked her on the nose, then across the freckles scattered over her cheeks. 

Maybe she could get up. Maybe. As she made to kiss her husband back, he pulled away, landing her kiss on his stubbly cheek instead of his mouth. 

“C’mon Luce, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” Jeff was far too cheery about the prospect. 

“Mmph.” 

“I’ll get the kids up and you can head straight to the coffee,” he negotiated. He knew her too well.

“Mm hmph.” It was a loving mm hmph. 

Jeff smiled fondly at her and she managed to drag herself out of bed at the prospect of caffeine. 

“Everyday’s a school day,” Lucy grumbled, as Jeff pulled a t-shirt over his head and she elected to stay in pyjamas for as long as she could get away with it. 

The challenges of getting five kids out of the house were not unfamiliar to them. They were faced frequently, chaotically, and not willingly on anyone’s part. 

Lucy shuffled downstairs for coffee, leaving Jeff to wrangle the hordes. She’d do her own share later. But first caffeine.

***

The sound of hands being clapped together rang out across the house. 

“Good morning! Time to get up!” Jeff called.

Jeff barged into Scott’s room as first port of call, tossing the curtains open and throwing light across walls coated with aeroplane posters and copious amounts of blue that Lucy would have fancy names for every shade. 

A pillow hit him with surprisingly good aim, given the teen was supposedly asleep. 

Jeff chucked it back, to the exclamation of, “Daaad!”

“Up you get, Scotty,” Jeff chuckled, “We’re burning daylight!”

Sure enough, his eldest was soon well awake, wide blue eyes blinking as Scott brushed unruly curls out of his face. 

Jeff tugged Scott into a hug, running a hand through his hair. No luck on neatening it up, much like his own.

Scott buried his face at Jeff’s shoulder for a moment, and stars his boy was getting tall wasn't he? 

“Whatcha want me to do?” Scott asked. 

Thank god, what would they do without Scott. 

“Can you get breakfast while I wake the others?”

“Better you than me. Virge has not had enough sleep,” Scott shot back. 

Jeff ruffled Scott’s hair, before Scott gave him a mock salute and headed off.

Now, onto his trickiest mission of the morning. 

John and Virgil’s shared room was at the quieter end of the hall. The middle child in particular was difficult to wake. 

Jeff tried the same clapping hands and throwing open the curtains trick as with Scott and got a very different response.

John and Bagel the cat hissed at him in unison from where they were curled up together. 

Virgil didn't stir. 

Jeff sat down on the side of Virgil’s bed, listening to the kid’s sweet sleepy snuffles, before finding Virgil’s shoulder through the green quilt, giving him a gentle shake. 

He got only a quiet grumble in response, so had to keep trying. 

“Time to get up kiddo, we gotta go.”

“Don’t wanna,” came a small voice from beneath the blankets. 

Jeff made gentle efforts to excavate Virgil from under the covers. Getting their middle child up always took an extra bit of patience. 

He found a pillow-creased cheek and still closed eyes hidden by a mess of dark hair, before Virgil tugged the quilt back, all while half asleep. 

“Come on Virgie. We’re going to grandma and grandpa’s farm today,” Jeff tried again, hoping to drum up some enthusiasm.

But nope, Virgil was already asleep again. At least John was slowly making his way awake and hadn’t just buried his nose in another book as soon as he was conscious, yet. He gave John a smile in silent greeting, glad of the small but affectionate one John returned. Jeff left him to it, knowing John would appreciate an extra bit of quiet time to get ready. 

Jeff fondly rolled his eyes where neither of his boys could see it. Virgil definitely didn't get his own morning person tendencies. 

This called for another approach. Jeff bundled Virgil into his arms, blankets and all. 

The most effective method for getting Virgil up was hugs. Jeff could spare a minute before he tackled the tinies, and still get the car packed for an early departure. Just a minute with his kid leaning on him, still warm and still small enough to mostly fit in his arms.

A few moments later and yep, he had brown eyes blinking up at him as Virgil latched on. Not letting go any time soon. 

Jeff could work with that. The kid was getting far too old to carry, and hadn’t that happened quickly, but what were the point of NASA’s stringent fitness standards for astronauts otherwise? 

Downstairs he deposited Virgil on a seat at the kitchen table next to Lucy, as she nursed her massive mug of coffee, the one with an obscure physics pun that even he didn't get on it. Mother and son, with their identical bedheads and expressions of displeasure at the early awakening were quite the pair. 

Jeff chanced to nick a sip from Lucy’s coffee mug, but was caught in her glare before he could. 

“Oh no you don’t, Jefferson Tracy! You have your own!” Lucy was definitely grinning beneath her mock frown. In all their years of marriage and many morning cups of coffee, he’d never managed to get hers once. He still tried it when he thought she wasn't looking for the laugh it gave them both when she inevitably spotted him. 

He laughed and picked up his own mug, sculling it in several gulps. Old habits died hard from when he could be called out on a mission at any moment. So did drinking it with enough sugar that Lee always complained it was going to melt his teeth, to cover the taste of the freeze dried, vacuum packed, instant dirt that NASA called ‘coffee’. 

John had followed him down, carrying Bagel, the ever present book tucked under his arm. Jeff placed a kiss on the top of John’s head when the kid wasn't feeling up to hugs quite yet. The cat was held out to him, and with the expression on John’s face clear, Jeff obediently placed a kiss between its ears, very glad his nose wasn't bitten off in the process. 

Bagel and John were inseparable, but it could be hit or miss with the rest of them. The total opposite of her kitten, Cheerio, who’d grown up to want to be in everybody’s space all of the time, and had on several occasions had to be removed from his office during holo calls to amused NASA higher ups. 

He threw a mock salute at Scott in appreciation as he put mounds of bread through the toaster, not telling the teen off for sitting on the counter top just this once, and nodded to John as he went for the plates, before going back up for the tinies. 

As soon as Jeff entered the room, Allie was trying to climb out of his cot to reach him, while Gordon remained asleep, starfished beneath mounds of marine themed stuffed animals. 

But not for long. Jeff had just enough time to pick the toddler up and respond to chattering about dreams of spaceships, when Gordon came barrelling into his legs.

“Morning, fish!” Jeff greeted.

He got a sunny, gap toothed smile in return. 

“Are we going swimming today?” Gordon asked, as he did every day. 

Jeff shook his head fondly. Gordon had attempted to pack his own bag to get ready yesterday, but it had been missing a few key items, such as pants, but it more than made up for it in several sets of swimmers for all the family, goggles, flippers, snorkels and every rubber duck and bath toy they owned. Gordon remained ever optimistic in the face of the explanations that Texas equals desert equals no water for swimming.

They were just in time for Scott hollering, “Breakfast!” up the stairs. Jeff held Allie’s hand when it became clear he wanted to attempt to get down on his own two feet, and called to Gordon not to run.

Jeff grinned at his family sat around the kitchen table. Being with them all was always his favourite place to be.

***

Coffee kicking in, Lucy was ready and raring to go. Five kids to get in the car, more bags than that as there had to be room for presents, and a dozen pieces of jammy toast currently being breakfasted upon. 

From the corner of her eye she caught movement. She lunged and caught the half eaten bit about to go flying from Allie’s hand right at Gordon. Handing it back to the jam-covered toddler, she turned back in time to stop Gordon from simulating a tsunami across the table with his cup of milk.

Virgil was happily chatting to Jeff about how he’d presented his last school project about fire engines, a big achievement for their shyest kid, on the other side of the table. John was sitting on the floor chewing on a bagel (the foodstuff), whilst holding an animated, if one sided discussion about theoretical physics with Bagel (the cat). She had wondered if he’d outgrow it, talking space to his stuffed toys like he was at an academic conference, but though now it was to the cats, their second teen never had and she suspected John did it now in part because it amused both him and her. Often quiet but talkative on subjects he cared about, John could be a paradox to people who didn’t take the time to figure him out. 

Lucy chipped in with a few points, then got up to check on Scott, who was going between all his little brothers and packing snacks for the trip at the same time. A gentle hand on his shoulder had him sitting down on Lucy’s vacated chair with a plate of toast in front of him to make sure he got a chance to eat without getting distracted by everyone else. She pressed a kiss to his forehead for good measure.

Then dashed upstairs to get dressed in the brief moment of time the little ones were occupied. Her stars and musical notes pyjamas were the most comfortable things she owned, but she supposed she should set an example of being dressed and prepared for adulting. And so she could convince Gordon to follow suit, when it still took significant amounts of persuading to get the kindergartener to dress himself willingly in anything that wasn’t swimmers. 

Lucy was a hurricane in human form. She whirled through the hall with a laundry basket of last things that hadn’t been dry in time for packing last night balanced on her hip. She narrowly missed colliding with Scott running after a jammy toast crumbs-covered Allie with a wet wash cloth, both brothers laughing their heads off. 

The presents were wrapped, a task set upon well after midnight last night by her and Jeff with all the fevour of last minute checks for a space craft launch. All the kids bags were done, checked that essentials such as enough underwear had been remembered, zipped up and stacked in the hall. Unfortunately, between all that, she and Jeff’s were not. 

Her’s was half exactingly, efficiently and scientifically organised, before the rest was jammed in and she’d had to sit on the suitcase to close it. While getting everyone else in military order, Jeff’s packing of his own clothes was… haphazard. Lucy had remarking jokingly that he, “Might’ve gotten to Mars and forgot your space suit,” when Jeff’s eyes had widened and she got to hear first hand the story of how the great astronauts Jeff Tracy and Lee Taylor nearly had got to the ship before realising both had distractedly put their helmets down whilst giving out final orders. Jeff told it laughing, as he followed suit with her good-enough approach to packing, because this was why they had a team and had so many people checking absolutely everything before a launch because it was too much for a single person. And their awkward jog back in bulky pressure suits was objectively hilarious, and she was totally going to dig out that footage. 

Then she was off again as Jeff took the bags down, items on her mental to-do list constantly being ticked off, added and shuffled about.

Neighbours were minding the animals and watering the plants. Windows were shut in case it rained. 

A detour to the art room was made to help Virgil locate the travel set of watercolours he wanted to bring, her picking up her own sketchbook on the way. Virgil was being very helpful in making sure they were all fully prepared for any eventuality, running around with items such as a head torch, duct tape, bandaids, the multitool he’d received this year for his birthday from Grandpa Grant, and an extra hoodie for Scott because he’d give his to any brother who said they were cold. She gently stopped him when he tried to lug the heavy tool box from the shed and a coil of rope from the camping gear.

He’d gotten that from her. Lucy liked to be prepared, thinking of scenarios in advance and what they could need, whereas Jeff preferred to fly light and improvise as situations arose. Both had their merits and it fascinated her to see which her kids picked up from them.

Then onto the game of 3-D tetris that was packing the car. She and Jeff worked as a well oiled machine to fit everything in with room for them too. 

Gordon was caught attempting to smuggle his entire marine menagerie of stuffed animals into the back, because of the tail of a very large whale shark sticking out from behind the far smaller Gordy. Several were returned, then a number more as they were discovered shoved out of sight beneath the seats. Squiddy the Squid and some smaller friends remained, and Gordon was cheered up by imagining the antics the toys left behind would get up to while they were away. 

When he attempted to pick up John’s bright orange bag, Jeff staggered, swore and nearly dropped it. 

John was called out and asked exactly how many telescopes he had packed this time.

“There are no telescopes in my suitcase,” John answered with the exact wording of someone who would find the loopholes in any set of rules if they were to be had. 

Lucy coughed pointedly at the suspiciously cylinder-shaped lump inside the extra duffel bag in John’s arms, ignoring the fact she had packed a similar bag.

Jeff sighed long sufferingly as if he hadn’t been bitten by the space bug too, and waved John ahead to situate it carefully in the car, muttering, “Like mother, like son.”

John and Lucy shared identical grins.

“So the other’s all books then?” Jeff looked impressed at how the orange bag acted like it had the density of a neutron star.

“No, I filled it with rocks,” John deadpanned, then cracked a smile, “Many, many oddly book-shaped bricks.”

Negotiations were made to leave an amount of thick volumes at home, leaving only several novels, the current astronomy textbook John was making his way through and a math book in case Scott wanted it. Another astrophysics book was snuck back into the pile with a wink from Lucy.

And they were done. Lucy slammed the car boot door with a thud, and wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. All luggage in the car, last final bathroom stops were had and the kids piled in.

She and Jeff made their usual negotiation that he could drive provided he remembered their vehicle was car not a multi-million dollar NASA test project of a go fast rocket ship. 

“Keys, Luce?” Jeff called.

Lucy patted down her pockets except she didn’t have them either. Surely the couldn’t have lost them again with the neon pink rocket ship key chain attached after finding them the last time to prevent this.

The suspense built of the utter mystery as everyone racked their brains for where they’d seen them last.

Until they both spied Scott, out of the car and leaning against the drivers side door, swinging the keys around his finger.  

“So, can I drive?” Scott asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question. 

“No!” came the parental chorus. 

She caught Jeff’s eye and struggled not to burst out laughing as the other kids repeated them, picking up on it slightly behind. 

“Aw,” Scott protested, “But Grandma lets me drive on the ranch.”

“Unfortunately you’re not old enough, and law enforcement prefers to stick to boring rules like licences and speed limits on their roads,” Jeff chipped in, “Sorry kiddo.” 

“And it’s the farm, and that ute shows it even when there’s not much out there to hit anyway, I know.” Scott pouted. “But I’m allowed to fly planes!”

Lucy added, “Soon you’ll be tearing up the tarmac too, with all that bonus practice.” 

Scott often railed against injustices, which as a teenage could be many, but he was always first to make sure everyone was getting a fair go.

“Yeah and you’d better watch out!” Scott grinned.

He tossed the keys in the air, then caught them a couple more times, until Lucy had to raise a mock-stern eyebrow to prompt him to place them in her waiting hand.

She chucked them to Jeff with faith he could catch, before tugging Scott into a hug. He leaned into her, the same way he had since he was small. 

They pulled out of the driveway to cheers all round. 

Then a small voice wailed from Allie’s seat, “I forgot my blanket!”

The car was turned around. Lucy jumped out, grabbed the keys, unlocked the door, found the knitted patched-together blue blanket screwed up at the bottom of the cot, reversed the whole process, and handed it back to Allie. The big, wet blue eyes peering out as the blanket was hugged, Allie’s face morphing into a wider grin, reminded her of a far littler Scott, when the blanket was his before it was passed down through all the brothers finally to the youngest.

Back in the car, mission accomplished and blanket retrieved, they tried again.

“Ground control, do we have permission to launch?” Jeff asked, with a twinkle in his eye and because he was also a nerd.

Lucy grinned. “Permission granted, begin countdown.”

“Five,” Jeff began.

“Four,” The kids joined in.

“Three,” With Lucy, it was all of their voices.

“Two.”

“One.”

“Tracies Are Go!!!”

[taskmastercaps]

[ID: Seven screencaps from Taskmaster. Dara Ó Briain performs a song in front of an animated grey background of a house and garden. Looking worried, he sings, “Do you know my greatest fear, of all the fears, my greatest fear, is to be the victim of defenestration? That fear might seem nebulous, mysterious, fantabulous, but it spins around my head, it’s quite gyratory. They used to do it in Prague a lot in olden times, political plots, but listen now I’ll tell you how it happened to me.” End ID.]

[summerlycoris]

Day 4- Food. (Also pretty slice of life-y tbh) of @vanweek2024

Fic is also below, under the cut. (About 5000 words.) Not formatted sorry because I'm tired.

A plate with the most beautiful looking cheeseburger she’d seen in ages was placed down in front of her. It had a salad on the side, and had tomato sauce leaking from the sides in a way that made her mouth water. 

And she can barely resist devouring it right there and then. Except she is trying to be polite, because Mike and Abby are here and hadn’t quite got their meals yet. Also, she didn’t want to push herself too hard only to end up back in hospital again. 

She could still feel where her stitches had been. 

She didn’t have much time to ruminate, thank goodness, because Abby needed help to clear away her half finished coloring in, to receive her meal (a plate of chicken nuggets and chips.) And Mike received his plate, with a steak and mushrooms on top, and chips to the side. 

Once all the plates were placed. (And they’d thanked the server.) The conversation started again. 

“I got a twenty out of twenty on my spelling test, Vanessa! Even though some of the words were really hard, like ‘defenestration’. Apparently, that’s the word for when you throw somebody out a window.” Abby said, looking so excited that she could almost bounce herself out of the booth. 

Mike put his hand on her head, to keep her grounded. While Abby tried to duck away with a whine.

Vanessa tried to fight back some giggles, and responded. “Wow, that is a hard word to spell. You did really well Abby.”

Abby stopped squirming and beamed up at Vanessa. Allowing Mike to get his hand back, and start eating. Vanessa finally gave in- but started with the salad. She was going to save the best for last. 

“I’ve also made some new friends at school- there’s this girl I’ve met, her name’s Emily. She’s nice, and lets me play with her at recess.” Abby said, in a big clump of words. 

“Is this Emily a real girl, or another ghost?” Mike said between bites of his chips. 

Abby rolled her eyes, and stared up at Mike, who was fighting off a grin. “She’s real Mike- but ghosts are real, too! You should know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Ghost kids are real. You know what else is real. Abs?”

She looked confused, and shook her head. While Mike tried to keep a straight face, pointing to her plate. “Your chicken nuggets. You better eat them up before I do.” Before faking a swipe at her food. 

“Hey!” Abby yelped, and tried to push him away by the shoulder. She quickly chucked one of the chicken nuggets into her mouth, and pulled her plate to the side furthest from Mike. Almost scrunching up the coloring page she’d been working on.

Luckily for Abby, Mike seemed to give up on ‘trying’ to eat her meal for her. Instead, focusing back on his own food. Though, he asked Vanessa a question first. “Once we’re done here, I’ll show you around the house, okay?”

Vanessa nodded. She’d agreed to stay with them, after discharge from the hospital. Because the alternative was to be at her place, by herself. With nothing to distract her from everything. 

She’d finished the salad by the next time Abby asked her something.

“Hey Vanessa, when we get home can I show you my toys?”

She couldn't help but smile. She knew Abby and Mike would be great at distracting her. Without even realizing it. “Of course, I’d love to see them. Oh, and you’ll have to introduce me to them, too. I don’t know any of their names.”

That got Abby excited again. To the point she nearly bolted out of the booth  “Okay then- let's go-” before Mike could grab her hand and get her to stick around.

“We’re not ready to go- me and Vanessa are still eating.” Mike said.

Abby tapped her fingers against the table, before asking. “Can I go play in the playground for a bit?”

Mike hmmmd over that. Leaving Abby in suspense. “Okay- but be good in there, okay?” Abby nodded, and jumped out of the booth, this time without being stopped.

“Okay- bye Mike, bye Vanessa!” She called back as she ran through the diner towards the playground. Nearly running into the waiter delivering to another customer. Vanessa waved after her. 

Mike sighed, and shook his head. 

“Oh well, it’s good for her to meet other kids, Mike.” Vanessa said. 

“True, true. Just wish she’d be a bit more careful sometimes. Could’ve got a plateful of spaghetti for hair just before.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that’s in fashion these days. Don’t they have dolls about that concept?” Vanessa joked. 

“Ugh, yes. I’ve seen the ads sometimes when Abs is watching cartoons.”

She couldn't help chuckling at the thought of Mike sitting through a bunch of ads for toys. Even if it made her stomach hurt a bit. (Only a bit. She wasn’t going back to the hospital for laughing.)

They chatted together, mostly small talk while they ate their lunches. 

The burger proved Vanessa absolutely right- it tasted as good as it had looked. Or maybe that was just a week on hospital food talking. 

Either way, she wasn’t complaining. 

While they talked, she learnt that Mike had found a better job, and that he’d sworn off sleeping on the job. “Only took nearly losing my sister to teach me a lesson.” He said, shaking his head. 

“If you’d listened to me the first time, you could’ve saved yourself the hassle.”

He fought back a laugh at being chided. “Yeah, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Next time, I’ll listen.”

“I hope so.”

He changed the subject, to a slightly more serious one. “Hey, uh. With you staying with us.” He looked like he was really struggling to figure out what words to use. “If Abby’s too much. Like, if you need to rest or something. Let me know? I can distract her, take her to the park or for a walk-”

“I should be fine, Mike. But I’ll let you know, okay?”

He nodded, and shrugged his shoulders. 

For a while, they ate silently. There was a tension in the air, and sometimes, Mike would look like he wanted to say something. Until he put down his cutlery.

“I’m glad you're doing okay. After everything. It must be rough.” He said, quietly. Trying to avoid drawing too much attention to them in the busy diner. 

She put down her half finished burger. Honestly, she didn’t feel hungry anymore. Her stomach hurt. 

“Yeah, it is a bit rough. But it’s better this way.” She said with a faint smile. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself. 

“I guess it is, huh?” He said, looking away. “I just… I can understand if you have mixed feelings about him. In the end, he was your dad.”

She didn’t want to talk about this. Not here. 

“Hey, what’s the new job like?”

They got caught up in a conversation about work, and life. Until Mike finished his lunch, and until Abby came back from the playground.

“On the way home, did you want to swing by your place, so you can grab some more clothes?” Mike asked over Abby's head, on the walk back to the car. Because Abby was in between them both, holding both their hands tightly. 

She nodded. And felt relieved. She was wearing the spare clothes that she’d asked a coworker to bring in from the station a few days ago. But she’d need more for a sleepover. 

Especially one that'd be lasting for a few days. 

________

“Over here, over here!” Abby led the way, running off to her bedroom. While Mike was bringing in her bag of clothes for the next few days. 

She felt bad for not carrying it herself. But she could still feel where the stitches had been. And being bed bound for weeks left her feeling weak. 

(It hadn’t even been a big day, but she felt wiped.)

All she could do was hold the door open for him. And thank him for the help. And for letting her stay. 

“No sweat, happy to have you.”

She’d ‘visited’ before, but hadn’t got to go inside then. Now she was, and it was a cute little home. A living room to the right, kitchen to the left. And Abby's bedroom must've been to the left, too, because Vanessa could see her come back through the kitchen to grab her hand. Tugging her impatiently towards her room. “Come on, I need to introduce you-”

Vanessa could hear her bag slump to the floor, as Mike called out. “Abby- don’t pull, okay? She only just got here.” 

She wanted to call back out something like “I’m okay!”, but she was spirited away too quickly, straight into Abby’s bedroom. 

A bedroom with a desk, filled with crafts, and a pillow fort over by the far wall near the window. Abby let go of her, now that she was here, and dove for the fort. Vanessa walked a bit closer, and could hear Mike catching up.

Looking through the curtain, Vanessa could see the toys Abby wanted to introduce her to, as Abby pulled them out from under the blankets.. A stuffed bear (that wasn’t a Freddy doll.), a fairy doll, some knockoff barbies (just as good as the real thing, Vanessa thought.), and a baby doll. 

Once Abby gathered them all up together, she dragged them outside, and handed the bear to Vanessa gently.

She could hear the creaking of springs behind her. 

“This one’s name is Alice. She’s a pretty bear, and she likes playing catch.” Vanessa sat down, still holding Alice. While Abby showed off her other toys. “This one is nicknamed Beatrice. She hasn’t told me her true name yet.” She whispered that last part, as she held up the fairy doll. “These three… I don’t have any special names for yet. They get different names based on what I’m playing with them.” she put the barbies to the side, “And this one's name is Michael.” She said with a cheeky grin, while holding up the baby doll around his waist.

“No it’s not. You were calling it Ricky the other day.”

Abby pouted, and held the baby doll tighter. “Well, his name is Michael now.” She went back to addressing Vanessa. “Do you want to hold him?”

She nodded, but stopped reaching out for the doll. “Hold on, Abby. To hold this baby safely, I might need to swap you. Did you want Alice back?”

“Okay? Though, what do you mean?” Abby asked, as Vanessa put Alice down next to her. 

“Well, to hold a baby safely, you need to support his head.” She held out her arms, and demonstrated the hold, when Abby passed over Michael. 

(Yeah, that’s never going to stop feeling weird to call it, she thought.)

“... And if you hold the baby like this, you can even rock him to sleep.” Vanessa said, changing her hold slightly. Abby nodded, looking at her intently, like she was trying to take mental notes. 

They played with the dolls for a while together. Because Abby found a baby bottle for Michael, and also found a fairy wand for Beatrice. At some point, Mike left the room for a while, leaving them to it. After a while, she could hear what sounded like a vacuum start up in the living room. 

Occasionally, Mike would open the door with a creak, and check on them. Sometimes, he’d even come in and play for a little bit, before going off to do another chore.

Vanessa was decent with kids. Honestly, if she hadn’t been… compelled to join the police force, she probably would’ve studied to become a teacher, or something similar to that. 

So she had a lot of fun playing with Abby, even if she wasn’t as good at imagining things as Abby was. 

Eventually though, she did have to call it quits. She felt rude, for not saying much to Mike since she got here, or asking about house rules, anything like that. 

Also because her legs were filled with pins and needles, from sitting on the floor for so long. 

“Please, Vanessa. There’s so much more we could do.” Abby whined, as Mike checked in on them again.

“Sorry Abby. My legs aren’t okay with me sitting like that for so long. Maybe we can play again a bit later?”

“Hey. Abs, let her go for now, okay. We can go for a walk if you want?” Mike said, walking over to the two of them. Vanessa used this opportunity to slowly stand up, and try to stretch her legs to get the blood flowing again.

Abby wasn’t impressed, clearly. Though, she was also clearly trying to regulate herself. At least in Vanessa’s eyes. “When we play later, can we have a tea party?” She looked from Vanessa, to Mike. 

“Yeah, I’d love to- but later.” She could understand what Mike had been telling her about earlier, now. 

“After dinner- we can have a tea party, before bedtime, okay?” Mike clarified. Abby nodded, so he continued. “I’m gonna show Vanessa around- you can come help, if you want. Then I’m taking you for a walk to the park.”

Abby quickly put her toys back into the fort, then stood up with an “Okay.”

It wasn't a big house, so there wasn’t much to show Vanessa, except where the bathroom was, and where she was going to sleep. Mike led her and Abby to the bedroom, where Vanessa could see her bag of clothes near the bed. 

“Mike, I can take the couch.”

“No you're not. You’re our guest. And you're recovering. You’re getting the bed.”

Abby looked up at them both. “You could always share.”

Vanessa could barely fight her giggles, while Mike shook his head. 

They still barely knew each other, in the end. 

“Sorry Abby, I steal the blankets while sleeping. So we really can’t share.” Vanessa lied.

“All the more reason for you to get the bed.” Mike said.

With that, she gave up the fight. For now. 

“Anyway, we’ll give her some time to settle in, right Abby? Vanessa’s probably tired out from playing.”

Abby considered it for a moment, before going with Mike. “We’ll see you when we get back, okay?”

Vanessa nodded, and waved them off. Before heading back out towards the living room. She could see the front door shut behind them, and hear them walking away.

During the tour, she’d noticed an inflatable mattress on the living room floor, inflated, and folded up to the side. With a pillow and a blanket folded on top. 

There were some puzzles that Abby had shown off during the house tour out here. Mike had also shown her the VCR player, and where he kept the tapes. 

She found one that she hadn’t previously seen. A mystery, by the blurb on the back of the case- so her mind would be occupied, and hopefully wouldn’t wander. 

She put it on, and settled back on the couch to watch it. Her legs no longer felt like pins and needles, and she could barely feel where the stitches had been. Even when her hand absentmindedly grazed over her abdomen. 

…

She was starting to wish she’d gone with them. 

________

Abby had the patience of a saint. All through watching a movie together with Vanessa and Mike after her walk (though, she kept looking like she was barely resisting the urge to drag Vanessa and Mike back to her room for that tea party.), and then through preparing dinner and eating it. 

To the point where she was vibrating in place so much at the kitchen table, Vanessa thought she was going to explode. 

“Mike?” Abby started to ask, as he took the plates up to the sink. “I kept my part of the deal- can we please have the tea party now?”

Mike hemmed and hawed, and kept her in suspense for a bit longer.

“Well… we could… but I need to clean up the dishes first, Abs.”

Abby flung her head down on the table in defeat. “No, Mike…” she grumbled. 

Vanessa couldn’t help but feel bad for her. “Hey, Abby?” She picked her head up, and looked at Vanessa. “How about you and I get ready for the tea party, then when Mike’s done with the dishes, he can bring the tea?”

That seemed to help her perk up again. “Yeah- I know where the tablecloth is. And the coaster!” Abby said, before pushing away from the table, and running back to her room. 

Vanessa thought the Tea party would be out at the kitchen table. So she was surprised when Abby reappeared carrying supplies, only to rush right past her into the living room. 

“Hey, Abs. Where's the fire?” Mike called out, a little late as she was already long gone.

He didn't get an answer, so Vanessa asked him a question. “Are tea parties usually picnics with Abby?”

The dishes clanged against each other, as he put them up in the drainer to air dry. “No, she's probably using the coffee table. She once told me, ‘It's the right size for my dolls’.” He said.

“That makes sense. Her knees and legs stung, reminding her of how she'd been sitting on the floor earlier. “Will she be offended if I sit at the couch, instead of on the floor?”

Mike shook his head. “No, when I play it with her, I'm usually up on the couch. So she'll probably be expecting it.”

That made sense, so she went into the living room, and checked to see how Abby was going. 

She'd managed to clear off the coffee table, and get the tablecloth (really just a large tea towel) onto it, as well as the coasters and had placed some little pretend teacups on top. Now she was in the process of laying down some of the cushions from her fort, as seats for her dolls. 

Speaking of dolls.

“Hey, Vanessa? Can you help me bring the dolls out here?” Abby asked, as Vanessa got closer to the couch. 

“Yeah, of course.”

Abby burst into a big grin, before grabbing her hand again and leading her back through to her bedroom. “I'll carry Michael- just like you taught me, earlier. Can you please bring Alice and Beatrice with you?”

“What about the barbies?”

Abby scrunched up her face, deep in thought while cradling her baby doll. “They're too little for a tea party. And also, they're too old.”

Vanessa could barely resist laughing, wondering how old Abby thought she was. As she picked up the two dolls and followed Abby back to the living room. 

On the walk through, Vanessa could see that Mike had finished with the dishes, and had gotten out some biscuits to put on a plate, as well as a small jug of what looked like milk.

Mike must've seen her looking it over, because he responded before she could even ask- “She doesn't actually like tea. So, this milk is ‘pretend tea’. Don't tell her.”

“Do the dolls get any ‘pretend tea?” She joked.

“No, they get straight vodka. Keeps them quiet over night.”

She burst out laughing, and nearly dropped the dolls she was holding. Only stopping when Abby came out, wondering what was keeping her up. 

They all went back to the living room together, because Mike was done getting the drink and snacks. Mike put the plate, and the jug down in the middle of the coffee table, Abby took a seat while holding her baby doll, while Vanessa found two spare cushions for the dolls she’d been carrying. After seating them, she joined mike on the couch. 

Abby sat stiffly with her back straight, and “a-hem"d to get their attention. Even though she already had it. “Welcome everyone, to this wonderful tea party. The best tea party to ever exist, in the history of tea parties…” Abby started, putting on a pompous voice for her speech. 

Unfortunately for her, ‘Beatrice’ (actually Mike) was a heckler. “Get on with it! We're starving over here!” He said, trying to look like he wasn't, and make it sound like he wasn't too. Poking the poor fairy doll with his shoe to make her look like she was moving. 

Abby played along, gasping at ‘Beatrice's rudeness. “Why, I never! Beatrice- you will be the last to get tea! And you will get the last biscuit!”

“Awww…” complained ‘Beatrice’. 

After giving a pointed look at Mike, Abby continued her speech. “Yes, this tea party is a special tea party, because it is a celebration. A celebration of Vanessa being okay again!” She cheered, and made all the toys cheer along with her, by lifting their arms up.

Just before Vanessa could say something like ‘this is too much’, or ‘thank you, Abby’, Abby continued. “And also, a celebration for my perfect spelling test.”

“Nice priorities, Abs.” Mike said. And Vanessa nearly burst out into giggles at this silly exchange. It all just… Well, it didn't remind her of her family. More what her family could've been.

Abby kept supporting her baby dolls head, but only his head- as she took one arm away to point at Mike. “Shush you! Or you'll be sharing the last biscuit with Beatrice!” 

This threat didn't phase Mike at all. “Oh no, whatever will I do?” He said, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “It's not like I can't go get the rest of the packet after you go to bed… also, watch for that baby, you're kind of dangling him right now.”

Vanessa wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Whether Abby would call Mike's bluff, or laugh along, or get angry. 

Instead, she shook her head in disbelief, and looked up at Vanessa. “This is what I live with. Every single day, Vanessa.” She looked over at Mike, with a cheeky grin, while continuing to address Vanessa. “Hey, Vanessa, could you adopt me please?”

Mike burst into loud laughter, falling back against the couch cushions. And that cut through whatever tension there was, making Vanessa and Abby burst out laughing too. 

“Sorry Abby, my apartment has a no children policy.” Vanessa lied, between her laughter. (It was more like she didn't have enough bedrooms. And also because, while she liked Abby, she didn't want to adopt her. Or take her away from Mike.)

“Aww, Abs. I thought you liked me again?” Mike managed to splutter out.

Abby crinkled up her face, thinking it over. Still holding her doll with one hand. “I do… but you're on thin ice, Mike!”

“I'm always on thin ice.” He said to Vanessa, before getting the baby doll thrown at his face. 

________

It was only right that Vanessa would help pack away the tea party afterwards, while Mike got Abby ready for bed. She was a guest, but that didn’t mean she should be lazy. At least, that's the way she saw it. 

By the time Abby was in bed, and Mike was shutting the door and turning off the light, the living room was cleaned up just like it had been earlier. The tea dishes had been washed, and put away. 

Mike sighed in relief, as he sat down on the couch next to Vanessa. She’d flicked the TV on, not to anything specific. Just to have some quiet background noise, something to focus on.

“Thanks for keeping her busy earlier.” Mike said. For a bit, Vanessa was confused, until he clarified. “It can be really hard to get stuff done while Abby’s home, sometimes. So, thanks for making it easier.”

She shook her head. “It’s no problem- your sister’s cool, and it was nice to play with her.”

He fiddled around with the remote a bit, flicking between different channels. “Yeah, she is pretty cool. Sometimes.”

“Most times.”

the conversation died off, for a bit. As Vanessa tried to think of something else to talk about. Absent-mindedly, she looked over at the uninflated air mattress.

“Hey, where did you get that from?” She asked, pointing to the mattress. 

“I don't actually know. Just found it recently, in some stuff from our old house. Pretty sure Mom brought it for Abby, when she got too big for the crib, but was too scared to sleep in her own room yet. At first, they set it up in their room, so Abby could sleep on it and get used to a ‘big girls bed’. And then, they set it up in Abby’s room, for Mom to sleep on. Until Abby was okay sleeping by herself.”

Vanessa sighed, after Mike was done telling that story. “Sorry, was I boring you?” He ssked. 

She shook her head. “No, no. I just… It's hard to explain. It's a nice story. I'm a little jealous, if I can be honest.” That put a little smile on his face, so she continued. “Got any other stories you want to share?”

“Yeah, plenty. How much time do you got?”

“All the time in the world, now.”

“Well, let me go get the album, and I'll show you some stories.”

Mike stood up, and went to get out the family photo album from the hutch. When he brought it over, it was visibly dusty. And had a faint handprint from when he grabbed it, before he swept the dust away. 

“Maybe you should have done that outside? Since you just vacuumed earlier?” Vanessa joked. He smiled faintly back, but didn’t continue that topic. Instead, cracking open the photo album. 

There was a slight tension in the air now. Not the tension of someone staring you down holding a knife. But the… anxious sort of tension. Of realizing you're seeing something normally kept private. 

She’d felt this tension before with Mike- when he was telling her about Garrett at the storm drain. She felt it while he had been needling her about spring locks in the storage room of Freddy's. And again, after she’d patched him up, before he went to try and save Abby. 

Now she was feeling it once more looking at some family photos. Photos that had two young boys in it, plus a Mom and a Dad. And she counted herself lucky that she didn’t recognize either of the boys in the photos.

Mike must've seen that relief on her face, because he didn’t press her about Garrett,. About what she hadn’t seen. (That time.)

He did keep flicking through. Talking about the events behind the photos. Birthday parties, road trips, his parents anniversary dinner.

And the photos changed. To have an older boy only. Then a baby was added. Who grew into a young girl. Before the Mom vanished from the photos. Then the Dad. 

Mike didn’t focus on the losses from the photos. He kept the story going- talking about Abby's first day of school while showing off that photo, when they went to the beach, or out on a snow day. Things like that. While Vanessa listened and watched intently. 

Until they got to the end of the album. There were still some empty slots in it, for new photos. 

“Thank you for showing me.” She said, as he shut the album gently. 

“Thank you for listening. I know going over a completely different family’s old memories can be a bit… boring. Aunt Jane used to have the slowest slideshows imaginable, when I was a kid.”

“It wasn’t boring at all- Your family's nice, Mike. Except for your Auntie.”

He agreed with that. Then got up, to put the photo album away. leaving Vanessa with the tv for a moment. 

And the tv crackled away, in front of her. She was tempted to turn it off, honestly. Until Mike sat back down. 

“How was it for your family, if I can ask?” he said, quietly. As if he was worried that someone would be listening in. 

She wasn't sure how to answer that question, at first. It was… personal. 

But then. He'd spent the last while showing her something very personal to him. Because she'd asked. She'd feel like a hypocrite, if she didn't try. 

“I don't exactly have any photos on me. You okay hearing the cliff notes?” 

Mike nodded. So Vanessa kept going. 

“Well, you know my dad. You know what he was.”

(A murderer.)

“But he could be nice, sometimes. Especially when Mom was still around. Sometimes we’d go on trips as a family, or just spend time together. Never often enough, though. Never often enough.”

She could feel her fingers grazing near her stomach again. 

“Oh well- I could spend the rest of my life wondering about him. Or, I could spend it trying to pick up the pieces, and start again. What do you think?” She said, trying to lighten the mood. 

“A second chance? Sounds good to me.” Mike agreed. 

She changed the topic slightly. “I'm thinking of following in your footsteps.”

“What, planning on sleeping on the job when you get back to work?” He joked. 

he laughed a bit, when she shoved his shoulder lightly. “No, I think I've had enough of sleeping in the hospital. I meant changing jobs.”

“That makes more sense. What are you thinking of?”

She shifted slightly in her seat. “I haven't decided yet, I’ll need to think a bit more about it.”

“Well, what did you dream of being when you were a kid?”

That question. He had asked it innocently, but it still felt like pins jabbing into her spine. 

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a police officer. I wanted to help people.”

(The only person she really helped was her dad.)

His shoulders slumped, and he took some think to think over a response. 

“You helped me. And Abby. So, personally, I think you did a pretty good job.”

That helped lighten the mood. A little bit. 

“Thanks, Mike.”

They chatted for a while longer. That tension from earlier felt like it was gone now, even though what they were talking about was often still very personal. 

And time flew by, until they were both yawning and tired. 

“I don't know about you, but I'm thinking of getting some sleep soon. I've got work tomorrow, and I'll need to make sure Abby gets to school, too.”

And he got up, to grab that uninflated air mattress, with the pillow and blanket on top.

And Vanessa's heart sank. Because…

Well, she didn't want to be alone, at night. While she tried to keep her thoughts at bay and sleep eluded her.

(She'd had enough nights like that, before meeting Mike.)

She'd hated it earlier, when they went out walking without her. And she knew she'd want to do something tomorrow, to get out of the house and not be by herself all day.

But tomorrow was less of a present problem than tonight.

…

And also? Because the thought of Mike spending the night out here just felt sad to her. 

It felt weird to ask. There was a good chance he just wouldn't want to. But it'd feel weirder to her not to ask.

“Hey, Mike?”

He turned to  look at her. “Yeah, Vanessa?”

Even with her resolve, she needed to force the words out through her teeth, or at least it felt that way.

“I don't want to be alone. And I noticed earlier, there's plenty of room in your room, for the mattress-”

Mike took mercy on her. “And you want me to set it up in there, so you're not alone?” he interrupted.

She nodded. 

And for a second, she thought he'd refuse. After all, they'd only met about a month ago. And this was already such kindness offered to her, letting her stay here at all. He hadn't been obligated to have her stay with him. She could've been discharged, and went back to her apartment. Alone.

But he didn't.

“Yeah, I can do that. You don't snore, do you?” He joked. And she let her shoulders relax. 

“Not often. If I do, just throw a pillow at me.”

They took turns, getting dressed into their pajamas. And Mike checked Abby for a final time, before turning off all the lights, except for the one in the bedroom. They both worked on inflating the mattress, and setting it up near Mike's dresser. 

And Vanessa tried to pick that fight back up, from earlier- “Are you sure you don't want the bed? I'm happy to take the mattress.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Though, ask me again tomorrow, and I might change my mind if my back's aching enough.” 

“I'll make sure to ask.”

They both got into their beds, After Mike turned off the bedroom light. Throwing the room into darkness. 

Seeing the shadows in this unfamiliar room, she was glad she could hear Mike's subtle breathing. Even if she could barely see him laying on the mattress on the floor. 

“Goodnight Vanessa, I'll see you in the morning.”

“You too.” 

Despite… everything. She was slowly able to get some sleep. 

________

The next morning, Vanessa was woken up by the subtle creaking of the bedroom door. 

And then nearly fell out of bed at the not-so-subtle yelling-

“You two had a slumber party? Without me?!”

 

Authors note- HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT BETTY? BETTY SPAGHETTY?! 

Yeah that ads gonna live rent free in my head forever too, sorry Mike. 

[fibula-rasa]

Favorite New-to-Me Films

January ’24

READ on BELOW the JUMP!

(listed in order of collage above, L to R)

Eleven P.M. (1928)

[letterboxd | imdb | kanopy]

Synopsis: Sundaisy, a violinist, tries to fulfill a friend’s dying request to ensure his son is raised away from the criminal element of the city. Unfortunately, Sundaisy is duped by a phony priest, and the boy grows into a low-level crime boss. After a series of misfortunes spurred on by the boy over the course of decades, Sundaisy’s family is nearly ruined. However, Sundaisy’s will for vengeance leads to supernatural consequences. All this is couched in a frame story of a man trying to meet an 11 p.m. deadline.

This is easily my favorite first-time viewing of the month. The synopsis above admittedly does not capture the mystical/transcendental attitude that Eleven P.M. reflects. This is the only film Detroit-based Richard Maurice ever directed, but it displays sophisticated ideas about film storytelling, using an array of devices in inventive ways. It’s always a treat to be reminded of how creative and exciting independent filmmaking can be in America. If you want to check this one out, I advise you to keep an open mind and not approach it with an overly literal, nitpicky mindset. Let Richard Maurice take you on this ride and I don’t think you’ll regret it!

I watched this on the Pioneers of African-American Cinema box set, which I can’t recommend highly enough. The films are outstandingly curated and contextualized and the set showcases an often-overlooked but indispensable part of American cultural history. A lot of the films are also available on streaming through kanopy, which you may be able to access with your library card if you live in the US.

---

Lea on Rollerskates / Lea sui pattini (1912)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: Lea isn’t allowed by her parents to go rollerskating with a friend, so she decides to skate in her own bedroom. She proceeds to wreak havoc in the home before an accidental self-defenestration sets her free to wreak havoc at the roller rink instead.

A jam-packed, stunt-heavy bit of nonsense led by Lea Giunchi. I’ve watched quite a few of her films now and I’ve learned this is pretty standard for her. I love each and every pratfall.

---

Two Girls are in Love with Foolshead / Le due innamorate di Cretinetti (1911)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: Cretinetti is dating two girls at the same time. The girls decide to duel, but Cretinetti is the one who loses… repeatedly.

I’ve finally gotten around to watching more Andre Deed films and this one was a highlight for January. I don’t know who the skinny woman is, but she and Valentina Frascaroli are great together.

---

X (2022)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: A crew of filmmakers leave Houston, TX for the country in order to film a farm-themed porn. The producer of course did not disclose the nature of their stay to the elderly property owners. Said owners have ulterior motives in renting their cabin and respond violently to the group.

Appreciative of all of Ti West’s work, and X has so much going on and so much to say that I originally typed out two full pages (single spaced) on it before I knew it. I won’t be sharing those two pages because I think there are a few points on the approach to gore in recent horror movies that I need to mull over more. For now though, I’ll just say, I didn’t enjoy X at all, but I deeply appreciate what Ti West is putting out there. I probably won’t watch it again and I’m going to be sure my stomach is prepared for whenever I get around to Pearl (2022).

---

The Hayseed (1919)

[letterboxd | imdb | Silent Comedy Watch Party]

Synopsis: Fatty wants to marry Molly, but so does the sheriff. Buster tries to keep the general store in working order while the sheriff plots against Fatty.

Luke the dog is one of my top 5 movie dogs of all time. I’ve never made an official list, but I know in my heart that Luke is at the top. Also, I adore how many modern professional wrestling moves you end up seeing in Fatty/Buster collaborations! In this instance, note the dance sequence with the lady who gets swung around wildly.

---

The Ghost Ship (1943)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: Tom Merriam, a young officer, reports for his first commission on a long haul trip on the Altair. The captain has a bit of a strange vibe, but the newbie likes him, at first. As crewmen perish under the captain’s leadership, and the captain’s lectures take on a more sinister tone, Tom knows he needs to act to save the remaining crew and the ship. 

Checked this out as I was on a Val Lewton kick not knowing much about it beforehand. I did not expect it to be a movie about fascism done in microcosm. So, if you were looking for a movie about ghosts or a Flying Dutchman, this ain’t it. Its off-beat structure amped up the tension, though the denouement was a little too pat. Cinematography was fantastic, as you might expect from Nicholas Musuraca. I hope Sir Lancelot got two checks for how much his singing contributes to the movie. Richard Dix is such a skilled actor in everything I’ve seen him in, but he is pitch-perfectly terrifying in this movie.

---

Miss Pinkerton (1932)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: A nurse who’s bored with hospital work gets assigned to an old woman who’s ailing after a big shock: finding the dead body of her nephew. The detective on the case asks the nurse to gather reconnaissance for him at the house and she gets all the excitement she can stomach as a result.

Miss Pinkerton is a pre-code gem I somehow have never seen before, despite my devotion to Joan Blondell. The plot and characters are interesting, the cinematography (done by Barney McGill) and staging of the film is very dynamic and Joan Blondell brings so much to Miss Pinkerton with her signature effervescent sass. It’s also just over an hour long, so it would make a great watch for one of those evenings where you’re indecisive but want to find something compelling but compact.

---

Phil-for-Short (1919)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: Damophilia “Phil” Illington is a free-spirited tomboy brought up by a Greek-professor father and his right-hand man, Pat. Her lack of lady-like decorum raises the ire of two town elders, who are also the local killjoys. When her father passes away, one of the elders abuses his position of power to force her into a conservatorship. Phil disguises herself as a boy and hightails it with Pat. While on the lam, Phil makes the acquaintance of a young woman-hating Greek professor. Through a set of misadventures, Phil and the Professor end up married, but it takes quite a bit of work after the marriage for them to find happiness with one another.

Great characters and performances and I enjoyed marriage not being treated as the resolution or an end point to the story. It’s also very endearing to see such a pervasively queer story about a man and a woman getting together.

---

The Mystic (1925)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: A con artist enlists the help of Hungarian travelling carnival performers to enact a phony medium scheme against the hoi polloi of New York City.

Tod Browning is a sure-bet filmmaker for me and The Mystic was no exception. Highlights for me were: the execution of the seance sequences, Erte’s gorgeous costumes for Aileen Pringle, and an ending that I hoped would happen but assumed wouldn’t!

---

There Ain’t No Santa Claus (1926)

[letterboxd | imdb | Silent Comedy Watch Party]

Synopsis: When Christmas rolls around, Charley doesn’t have enough money to both pay the rent and buy his wife a present. He uses his $80 to buy her a watch, instead of the rent, and his nasty landlord/next-door-neighbor steals the watch. Christmas Day turns into a free for all, when both Charley and his landlord dress as Santa and plan to enter via their respective chimneys for their respective children. 

Well-paced, great comeuppance, and very well-executed gags. Additionally, Charley Chase looks absolutely outrageous in his Santa wig and he knew it!

---

This one didn’t make it into the collage, but it’s still on the list:

Little Moritz Runs Away With Rosalie / Little Moritz enlève Rosalie (1911)

[letterboxd | imdb]

Synopsis: Little Moritz loves Rosalie and wishes to marry her, but her father objects. So, of course Rosalie and Mortiz run away together in his funky little flivver, but dad and the family dog give chase.

Most of this short is the chase sequence and it’s very well executed. Sarah Duhamel is so cute and so is her family dog. The location shooting is nicely done (was this shot in Nice?) This charming poster captures the vibe of the short perfectly:

---

In January we were hit with a nasty winter storm and, while we were relatively lucky in my neighborhood, we were without internet for a third of the month. So, we ended up relying on our home video collection, which accounts for five of the films above and me re-watching two seasons of Soap and Fritz Lang’s Niebelungenlied (1924). 

Despite the holdup, I continued my “Lost, but Not Forgotten” series with The Dancer of the Nile (1923) and started a limited spin-off series, “How’d They Do That?” about special effects and stunts in the silent era. 

I also made themed gif & still sets for: Miss Pinkerton, Dementia (1955), and A Christmas Carol (1971).

Here’s to a less eventful February! And, as always, if you’re interested in any of these films, but have specific content warning needs, feel free to ask me.

[satohqbanana]

Rewrite Tag

Rules: Rewrite the previous person's lines in your own style, then supply a few new lines for others to rewrite.

A.k.a. my favorite writing activity (again). Let's GOOOOO!!! Apparently, I tagged @kaylinalexanderbooks in my last Rewrite tag, but the published post must've eaten up her line and my rewrite of her line. 😭 I do remember doing it; do take note that I reviewed and edited the post before I published it so it says "I have two sets of lines from two writers". I'm so sorry Kaylin for the mixup. As an apology, please have three rewrites:

Line 1: Warning: Body horror, possibly upsetting imagery

Orange and white fur tore out of the follicles of my skin, with high-frequency black stripes coating my body. My skull squatched and stretched and crunched into a new form, ears and muzzle rearranging themselves into a feline structure. My spine and hips warped and elongated into a longer torso, stretching into a tail, contourting until I had no choice but to put my hands, morphing into padded paws, on the ground. My nails grew alarmingly quick into claws I could retract, my teeth burst out of my gums into fangs. My entire body tensed in the exhilarating pain. Once I was comfortably in the complete form, I almost collapsed out of relief.

Mine:

Now see, while the power to transform is truly amazing, the act of transformation can be quite a bother. During which, pain overwhelms my human flesh. I keep my eyes open to watch streaks of black, white, and orange cover my arms and long, sharp nails grow from my fingers. I fall to my knees as my torso elongates and my spine stretches into a tail. I support myself with padded paws as my skull morphs itself into a boxier form. I must admit, though, that the shift from hearing sounds from next to myself to hearing sounds from above myself can be a bit of a delight - as is completing my very furry feline transformation. My paws are all cold and sweaty, but my heart relaxes in relief.

Line 2:

“How’re you and Niri? I accidentally found out you texted him.” “We’re fine.” Hannah smiled a bit. “Is that a hint of red on your cheeks?” I asked. “Now, don’t you start,” Hannah said, pointing harshly. “I had to deal with Charlie and Amanda grilling me about the boy I was texting in your absence.” I smiled. “I’ll come save you.” “Thank you.” Hannah swung the door open and we went back into the crowded family room. I tried to ignore the devices pulling me back.

Mine:

"So. That little text of yours." "Hm?" The slight flush of Hannah's cheek tells me I don't need to say the thing. I still say the thing, though. "I meant Niri." "Oh, don't me!" She crossed her arms and turned her head away. "Thanks to your little antic, I've barely survived the hot seat with Charlie and Amanda." "Alright, I guess I do owe you one. If anybody asks, it's because I like the attention, and not because silly widdle Hannah isn't ready for The Talk--" With a harsh palm, she hit my shoulder multiple times. I can only laugh. It even distracts me from the devices probing into my head. "…thanks." "I got you, Babe. Our blood kin better be ready for me." With that, Hannah swung the door open, and we presented ourselves before the family.

Line 3:

Jack scrutinized the castle before him. It stretched up, up, up into the sky--and as they were already in the clouds, Jack didn’t want to know how high the tallest tower was above the ground--how he wouldn’t like to be the poor bloke who was defenestrated from it. The castle was made of some sort of dark stone, giving it the unsettling feel of a haunted house. There was the cobblestone path, yes, but on either side of it, Jack realized that yes, they were still on clouds, though where the castle was, the clouds were dark and gray, and when Jack listened closely enough, he realized that there was a booming irregular pulse of thunder that shook the ground ever-so-slightly, enough to cause the stone beneath his shoes to rattle.

Mine:

Jack followed the cobblestone path that paved the gray clouds around him. Soon, he arrived before an eerie castle held together by strong masonry. It knocked on the gate of the highest level of heaven - so he imagined as he gazed upward. Standing atop its towers must've been exhilarating and horrifying - the last fool who'd fallen from one definitely saw their life flash before their eyes. As that incident came into mind, something flashed in the inky clouds as well. Seconds after, thunder rolled and the ground - or the clouds - shook in its booming roar.

And the new line you must try to rewrite is this snippet I wrote for a test scene in Arcanium:Liberatio:

Curious, he followed the voice. A sensation from his palptayl gave him directions. Following that impulse, he exited the market district and found himself before the Garden of Hues. Beyond the trellis gates were pillars peeking from the vines they supported and trees carved to create arbors beneath the sky. Fragrant flowers of different colors bloomed here and there and short wooden fences marked the stone path before him. The sound of running water almost dampened the song that piqued his interest, but the melody called to him once more. Ignoring the sights before him, he placed trust in his palptayls and jogged through the garden. His motions disturbed the surrounding fauna but he cared little. Desired implored him to uncover the mystery and he ached to know whose song this was that instilled intense emotions in him.

Please note that "palptayls" was my term for a special set of antennae that Lyarshu has. This is temporary, as I realize having too many special terms can confuse readers in the long run. :(

This is a gentle tag for @wyked-ao3, @literarynecromancy, and @drchenquill.

Arcanium tag: @philosophika (ask to be added)

[bwobgames]

i’m back with more beebo commentary!! endings edition! (we’re starting at the last decision™️ and working our way backwards)

jesus christ just jumping into clock ticking is jarring like oh frick things are happening

angel :((

god i am obsessed with this take on haunted houses

angel please :(

oh fuck i lowkey don’t remember what i answered the first time fingers crossed for a new ending i guess

he did get defenestrated

beebo 😭😭 i love him

they hug 🥺🥺

he wants to see the chickens 😭😭😭

there’s duckies!!!!!

one crime as a treat

they love each otherrr

oh no. can’t have shit in detective beebo

beebo i swear to god if this dooms us

yes dear men love you houses fear you please leave the burning house now

i can’t remember what falling sprite i’m picturing but beebo falling sprite hehe

yeah, no jail is pretty important i agree vivi

i think timeloop crimes only don’t count if no one remembers so technically he killed many

his payment is a boyfriend 😌

aww angel carrying beebo

omgggg his covering face with hat blushy sprite i’m dying that’s so cuteeeee

they’re so cute

live simon and nadia reaction

aww sibling moment

angel: *trauma stare* ; beebo: yum coffee :3

hi mari

i like mari :)

yippee beebo getting paid

the brainrot took over for a sec i read stay forever instead of stay over omg

god all of the art of them is so cute

the cattt

wait long hair beebo :o

yippee dnd

everyone sub to angels gaming channel

wait it me!! yippee!!

he gets to be an uncle

gets each other extremely thoughtful gifts but evilly

autism diagnosis yippee

omggg mari and nina wedding!!!

wait i completely forgot to read the credits

yippee happy ending!! i can’t believe i was one choice away from getting it on my first go around. i’m realizing i should’ve saved it since now i gotta get all the other endings. it’s fine i’ll just play it again when i get all the others ones. i can also actually read the credits then lol

You didnt save??? Oh well, time for the New Game + (The + is the knowledge of the game that you now have so you can see the foreshadowing)

And also the other endings!

It is pretty lucky got the canon ending first try, most get ending 6 first

[junianashore]

Sadly, Tumblr ate my first attempt at posting my thoughts on Volume 4 of Trimax, so I had to retype this. Next time, I think I’ll be keeping a backup of my manga screenshots.

-This is a pretty generic message, but I love how everyone here just immediately starts celebrating anyway. They may not know…well, anything, about the Earth fleet’s motives, but no one is going to let a good spot of hope go to waste.

-Good vibes immediately interrupted by this Knives jumpscare, which I am now inflicting on all of you again.

-We get a brief glimpse of Meryl’s backstory here. I feel like this sums up a good portion of what Roberto did for her Tristamp self, encouraging her to take up arms because unfortunately, the sort of planet she lives on almost requires it.

-Wolfwood is pretty quick to advise ditching the girls here. Vash is starting to realize that they are just about the only humans who have shown such determination to keep following him all this time…

-…which then leads to some choice defenestration once Meryl gets kidnapped. I like that in all iterations, their bond is based on a mutual understanding of each other’s beliefs and circumstances despite the enormous differences in their lives.

-Milly will not be left behind, either. There’s plenty of talk about how the whole cast is willing to go above and beyond for Vash’s sake, but I’d actually say that Meryl inspires the same kind of devotion among her friends. Something about their true, honest belief in helping others, I suppose.

-Is Zazie the first to mention gateways in terms of how plants work here? Or that Vash and Knives are plants themselves? Either way, Meryl has quite a bit more context now.

-A companion piece to that Vash panel from the very beginning …Wolfwood, dying in a glue trap. Along with the Punisher!

-The townspeople have officially booed him for this one, and I’d say he deserves it. You’re part of the Vash squad now, Wolfwood, these things come with the territory.

-I’m pretty sure I know who this is…but no sspoilers in case I’m correct. 👀

[agenderfrenchfry]

Had to scramble to doodle this because oh my god.

Not sure if I ever reblogged utmv content on this blog, but I used to be really into it, especially a certain fic about a tiny version of Dream. Anyway, trans rights are human rights and if you argue otherwise I’ll defenestrate you.

[gosecretscribbles]

Rise August Day 5: Prison Dimension

Summary: Leo's triggers from the Krang and the Prison Dimension do not go unnoticed.

A/N: Trigger warning for triggers, literally. Leo experiences triggers that cause anxiety, blackouts, and minor flashbacks.

One minute and forty-seven seconds.

He did, in fact, sustain life-threatening injuries, and there were some complications when a cut on his shell got infected. But it wasn’t as bad as what could have happened. So he was fine.

He might have died in the Prison Dimension. That would have been bad.

He might have not died in the Prison Dimension. That would have been arguably worse. The Krang somehow lived in there for hundreds of years. Yet Leo had seen no sign of life or water in there. So maybe the dimension itself preserved its inhabitants indefinitely. Leo could have been trapped in there forever. He hadn’t been.

So he was fine.

1. The Fridge

It was a cold morning. It shouldn’t have been, but somehow the floor chilled his feet into little bony ice cubes the moment Leo got up. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled to the kitchen. Mikey was already up, of course, making a buffet of French toast and bacon.

“Morning, sleepy head!”

“Your early morning cheerfulness disgusts me.”

“I control the food.”

“Therefore I shall refrain from eating you today.” He ambled over to the fridge. He wanted to get some juice while he waited for breakfast. Maybe heat up a piece of last night’s pizza. He reached an arm out, opening the front of his blanket cape, and pulled it open.

Cold air hit the front of his plastron and everything turned gray and empty. Leo shut the fridge too hard and did not breathe.

“Leo?”

“Something stinks,” Leo said, pinching his beak. That was it. Something smelled bad and that was why his voice sounded weird, because he had to pinch his nose. He backed away from the fridge. “Did you throw Monday’s fish bones in there and forget to tell us?”

“No?” Mikey stopped mixing batter and went to the fridge. Leo made a beeline for the door and had just passed the table when Mikey spoke again. “Oh, hang on, Barry’s brownies are in here! And they’ve gained sentience. Yikes. I’ll take them back when I have my next lesson with him. Huginn or Muninn will eat them.”

Leo spun and grabbed a chair, pulling it out with a flourish. He was going to sit the whole time, obviously.

“Papa Defenestration strikes again,” he sighed, stretching his arms out on the table. “Can’t even get a glass of juice in my own home because of his mad scientist shenanigans.”

“Oh, please. We’ve lived with Donnie our whole lives, we’re all used to mad scientist shenanigans.”

“I would argue, but you control the food.”

“You bet your shell I do!”

2. Barry’s Vines

Leo sliced a hole in space as casually as he’d slice a pizza and stepped through it into Barry’s courtyard. The old goat still lived in April’s apartment complex, but since he’d been dubbed a hero for helping defeat the Shredder, it was safe for him to come back to his old lair. It was a good spot to train Mikey’s prodigious mystic powers.

Sure enough, Mikey was standing in the center of a large crater. Multiple chains floated around him. They ended somewhere, but somehow Leo didn’t see where. They didn’t go beyond the crater but still stretched and stretched without ever looping back on themselves. It was giving him a headache.

“Mikey!” Leo called. “You’re late for pizza and Hueso’s making judgy comments in my general direction!”

Mikey didn’t seem to hear him. Barry didn’t seem to hear him, either. He was standing like a rock on the other side of the crater.

“Again,” he called.

Mikey’s spots were already glowing with power and his scales seemed to glisten. That was weird. Was he perspiring? Mikey didn’t have sweat glands. Leo started to step forward to take a closer look when the air around him flashed with heat. Another chain whipped into view. The addition also seemed to cause a loss of control. All the other chains suddenly lashed like angry snakes, whipping wildly and striking everything within the crater. Leo had stepped a split-second too late.

His foot was already over the edge of the crater. A chain curled towards him. He couldn’t change trajectory. He ducked. He felt it whizz overhead, felt it crisp his scalp. It struck the ground beside him. He lost his balance and opened his mouth to yell just as something thick and pink whipped itself around his waist.

He wasn’t sure what happened next. Mikey was standing in front of him, eyes wide. He was holding his swords. The vine – several vines were in pieces around him. Barry stood behind Mikey. His face was blank but his eyes looked straight through Leo.

“Don’t touch me. With the vines,” Leo bit out. “Had enough of those when you threw me off the roof.”

“Always the roof with you,” Barry said, but his tone was rote and he was still looking at Leo with his stupid sharp eyes.

“C’mon,” Leo muttered, grabbing Mikey’s wrist. “Raph and Donnie aren’t going to wait forever and I don’t want to eat vegetables again.”

“Uh. Okay.”

Leo sliced open another portal and pulled his brother along.

3. Splinter’s Sewing Machine

This one wasn’t fair. Splinter kept his sewing machine in his room. Leo was in Donnie’s lab. He liked going there and just existing when he couldn’t sleep at night. It was a little bubble of time and space for just him and Donnie. It was private and normal and safe.

Splinter’s sewing machine had broken. Donnie had taken it to his lab to fix it. Leo knew what a sewing machine sounded like. He walked in, took one look, and settled in his spot in Donnie’s chair. He curled up with a medical textbook and Donnie flicked on the desk lamp without looking. That’s what Leo came here for. That wordless, automatic understanding. Leo didn’t know. How could he know?

And then Donnie closed the sewing machine.

The scrape of metal on metal cut through Leo’s spine and he saw Prime walking towards him, the metal of his suit echoing across an infinity of broken steel and stone. He came back just in time to catch his book from falling. Donnie hadn’t turned. It hadn’t even been a split-second. It wasn’t a flashback.

“…replacement part,” Donnie was saying. To Shelldon. He’d been sleeping at his charging port, but the noise must have woken him up. “Could have it here by next week, unless I fabricate a new one.”

“Ohhh, let’s make it purple!”

“Indulgent chuckle. Of course we will. Let me take some measurements.” Donnie pulled the case back open. Leo dropped the book.

“Could you soak that thing in some WD-40?” he gritted out.

Donnie rolled his eyes. “Lubricant won’t fix a bent hinge. I’ll probably just end up replacing that, too.” He let go of the case to grab a part. The case creaked shut.

Leo shot to his feet. “Cut it out!”

Donnie stared at him. Leo’s scales went cold. Donnie wasn’t supposed to look at him like that, not here, but before he could say anything, Donnie turned to Shelldon.

“Shelldon, please add metal friction stress to the list, notes A-E sharp.”

“On it, dude!”

Leo looked back and forth. “What list?”

“The Code Blue list!” Shelldon said cheerfully. “The fridge, subnote any sudden gust of cool air; Barry’s vines, subnote anything pink and prehensile; isolation, subnote unintentional or undesired isolation; applied pressure, subnote chest or plastron; absence of weapons, subnote weapons beyond easy reach; metal friction stress –”

“You can’t do that,” Leo bit out. Every word felt like it was being punched out of him. “You can’t. Have a list.”

“Why?” Donnie asked.

“Because taking data collection on other people’s trauma goes way past self-soothing! How about that, Donnie?!”

Because he hadn’t even noticed some of the stuff on that list. Because some of that stuff didn’t happen where Donnie could have recorded it. Because it meant his brothers were talking about him behind his back. Because they were looking at part of him he couldn’t admit even existed before he was ready to see it himself.

“It is very much not about soothing myself. Do you want to hear my list?”

“I – what?”

“Everybody’s got one,” Shelldon explained. “They’re color-coded for optimum organization.”

“No.”

“Alright, yeesh.”

Donnie sighed. “Shelldon, take the measurements and assemble the materials for fabrication. I’ll create a template for the parts tomorrow. I have to get my dum-dum brother to bed.”

“I’m not tired.” He was exhausted, and so wired he was sure he wouldn’t sleep for hours.

“Fine, then you can lay on my shell and acknowledge my self-sacrifice. I’m giving up coffee and precious work hours for this, you know.” He grabbed Leo’s wrist and tugged him toward the door.

“There’s no list,” Leo said.

Donnie stopped and glanced at him. They were still inside the lab. The unspoken rule of automatic understanding still applied. Donnie nodded.

“There’s no list.”

They went to Leo’s room. He was right, he was too wired to sleep, so they watched skateboarding videos until their eyes got dry and grimy and then kept watching anyway. It wasn’t the same as the lab but the scrape of wood on concrete was enough to cover the sounds in Leo’s head.

@sariphantom